Glorious Namesake

Recently I met one of my old friends from school. We had the usual exchange of info as to who is doing what etc etc. When I asked him what he is doing nowadays, his reply was ,”Oh, I am into a very important job.”
“Oh, is it? What job?”
“I work as a senior graphical content representation editor for a reputed magazine.”
“What is this ‘graphical content representation editor’, I mean what work you have to do?”
“You see, I cut, paste, arrange and try my best to make the crap written by those paltry reporters viewable.”
“You mean, you edit the headline stories and news reports?”
“No, no, the lexical editing, I mean the content editing is done by the chief editor and his assistants. I make the articles sizeable, attach them with the photos and put them on a magazine size paper and make it print ready. Did you get that? Leave it. Log heads like you won’t get.”
Well, well, if he would have said it in a simple language that he is a cut and paste DTP artist with a news magazine, there won’t be any difficulty in actually getting what his profession is. But in a bid to make his profession look more important he stated it in the most audacious jargon.
Whatever work we do is important (atleast for the worker). But to make it further sophisticated, people like my friend adopt long nomenclatures for their profession. For instance, the grocery shopkeeper, just imagine, to follow the same track as my friend’s, starts calling himself as Consumable Disburse System Manager!!!! Ridiculous it might sound, but he is not lying about his profession. Similarly the sweeper as ‘garbage collector’(some java programmers might wake up from their slumber), the cook as ‘canteen officer’, the dhobi as ‘the launderer’, even the cobbler can be elevated to the status of ‘a surgeon unto mens’ shoes’!!
See, how the change in the nomenclature change the drudgery of the occupation and assuage the feeling of the deprived? As for me, since at present I am doing nothing, I can call myself as ‘the explorer of the oddities of life’.
What say?

A Real walk to remember

When I watched this film, I felt that all this sacrifice for love,a person changing himself just to see a twinkle in his beloved's eye or a flicker of smile on her beautiful lips-all this does'nt exist in reality,it looks good in stories and are restricted to films and romantic novels only.But when I came across this,my thinking took a U-turn and all the presumptions and thoughts that my all so wordly and logical mind had developed got erased in a moment. Have a look-
21 year old Katie Kirkpatrick Godwin held off her cancer so she could enjoy the happiest day of her life. She had battled her cancer since her starting teen years.But it always returned and ultimately her body stopped responding to medication.She had to use an oxygen tank to breathe, the strong pain in the back broke through the strong morphine dose and her organs were shutting down.Yet all this was not able to stop her from marrying Nick Godwin who loves her from 11th grade.Katie got married on 15th June,2008, five days later she died.This is how love can beat even the toughest sorrows.

Unlikely Believers

(Contributed by Vipin Buckshey in one of Khushwant Singh's columns.)
In a small town in India,a person decided to open a bar right opposite to a temple.The temple and its congregation started a campaign to block the bar from opening, and prayed daily against the business.Work progressed.However,when it was almost complete and was about to open in a few days' time,a strong lightening struck the bar and it was burnt to the ground.The temple folks were rather smug in their outlook after that,till the bar owner sued the temple authorities on the grounds that the temple,through its congregation and prayers,was ultimately responsible for the demise of his bar shop,either through direct or indirect means.
In its reply to court,the temple authorities vehemently denied all responsibility,or any connection that their prayers might have with the bar's demise.As the case made its way to court,the judge looked over the paperwork at the hearing and commented,"I don't know how I'm going to decide this case,but it appears from the papers,we have a bar owner who believes in the power of prayer and we have an entire temple and its devotees who don't."

What is your take on this issue-please do post your comments on the above situation,this is the face of spirituality in Shining India.

Curriculum Vitae

My employer seems to have given me a lot of time to think and read weird things by not calling me for the last 6 months.Following is one of the weirdest resume one of my friends has come up with.

NAME: Greg Bulmash

DESIRED POSITION: Reclining. Ha ha. But seriously, whatever's available. If I was in a position to be picky, I wouldn't be applying here in the first place.

DESIRED SALARY: $185,000 a year plus stock options and a Michael Ovitz style severance package. If that's not possible, make an offer and we can haggle.

EDUCATION: Yes.

LAST POSITION HELD: Target for middle-management hostility.
SALARY: Less than I'm worth.

MOST NOTABLE ACHIEVEMENT:
My incredible collection of stolen pens and post-it notes.

REASON FOR LEAVING: It sucked.

HOURS AVAILABLE TO WORK: Any.

PREFERRED HOURS: 1:30-3:30 p.m., Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday.

DO YOU HAVE ANY SPECIAL SKILLS?:
Yes, but they're better suited to a more intimate environment.

MAY WE CONTACT YOUR CURRENT EMPLOYER?:
If I had one, would I be here?

DO YOU HAVE ANY PHYSICAL CONDITIONS THAT WOULD PROHIBIT YOU FROM LIFTING UP TO 50 LBS?:
Of what?

DO YOU HAVE A CAR?:
I think the more appropriate question here would be "Do you have a car that runs?"

HAVE YOU RECEIVED ANY SPECIAL AWARDS OR RECOGNITION?:
I may already be a winner of the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes.

DO YOU SMOKE?: Only when set on fire.

WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE DOING IN FIVE YEARS?
Living in Bimini with a fabulously wealthy super model who thinks I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread. Actually, I'd like to be doing that now.

DO YOU CERTIFY THAT THE ABOVE IS TRUE AND COMPLETE TO THE BEST OF YOUR KNOWLEDGE?: No, but I dare you to prove otherwise.

SIGN HERE: Scorpio with Libra rising.

A Cat's Diary

Day 751: My captors continue to torment me with bizarre dangling objects. They eat lavish meals in my presence while I am forced to subsist on dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of eventual escape -- that, and the satisfaction I get from occasionally ruining some piece of their furniture.
What do they think they are feeding me?Milk and fish bones day in and day out,let them have a taste of this meal for once,silly blokes.
That girl in the house-what does she think me?A cushion or an inanimate soft toy.Next time if she does that silly molly-codling exercise of hers on my petite frame m going to dig my teeth into her manicured hands.Silly girl,thinks she can copy my walk with that jumbo waist of hers.Simply intolerable when I have to bear the sight of her walking like that.
I simply go beserk when that old lady drenches me.I fear I may be going insane. Yesterday, I ate a houseplant. Tomorrow I may eat another.

A Bug

Every night, Frank would go down to the liquor store, get a six pack, bring it home, and drink it while he watched TV. One night, as he finished his last beer, the doorbell rang. He stumbled to the door and found a six-foot cockroach standing there. The bug grabbed him by the collar and threw him across the room, then left.

The next night, after he finished his 4th beer, the doorbell rang. He walked slowly to the door and found the same six-foot cockroach standing there. The big bug punched him in the stomach, then left.

The next night, after he finished his 1st beer, the doorbell rang again. The same six-foot cockroach was standing there. This time he was kneed in the groin and hit behind the ear as he doubled over in pain. Then the big bug left.

The fourth night Frank didn't drink at all. The doorbell rang. The cockroach was standing there. The bug beat the snot out of Frank and left him in a heap on the living room floor.

The following day, Frank went to see his doctor. He explained events of the preceding four nights. "What can I do?" he pleaded. "Not much" the doctor replied. "There's just a nasty bug going around."

P.S. I read this somewhere.

Those 6 months (contd.)-Kitchen Misadventures-part 1

Now back to the fried eggs. Ok, I have the egg here which is fortunately in one piece otherwise Kaddu will twist Mother Nature’s rules and make me lay eggs. The tiffin, oh sorry, Teflon coated non-stick pan is on the gas oven.
What should I do next? Break the egg perhaps.
“What are you doing by merely staring at that egg? Break it and put the yolk in the pan”, Kaddu howled.
See, I an not that bad in cooking, I was also wondering the same. But the million dollar question is how to execute the above thought process. A pragmatic analysis tells me that I should knock the egg against the kitchen slab- yes, that’s it. So ready, steady GO-thack-there goes the egg against the slab. Hey but I missed a part in my thought process- the yolk. It has landed and made itself comfortable on the kitchen slab.
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” Kaddu resembles a hyena animagus when she screams at the top of her voice.
Now I ve surely didn’t commit a crime as trechearous as a murder-but yes-I actually murdered the egg.
“What have you done?I told you not to break the egg, see, yuck, you ve ruined the kitchen slab, I polished it clean just before you entered the kitchen.” Kaddu screamed, finally breaking into a diatribe.
“Ok, I …well, now will you tell me what to do next.”
“First clean this place, then get another egg- I’ll tell you how to put it n the pan. You are such a tomboyish, dung-headed , spoilsport. You cant even do such a simple task as this-what will you do after marriage,you will make your family starve……..” and the diatribe continued. This lady should join Miss Mamta Banerjee’s political party. Had she done that earlier, it wouldn’t ve taken Miss Banerjee such a long time to drive Mr Tata out of West Bengal.
“Clean the place with what?” I asked her.
“See there’s a rag near the tap.”
I found the rag alright. But I cant really make myself touch it. Its condition is thus, it could have been used to wrap a Mummy at some point of time.
“What are you waiting for?” This lady is surely going to drive me mad.
Ok ok, I am doing it. She is actually in a revenge taking mood for all the fun I had made of her before.
So finally I am ready with another egg. This time no more analysis. Its wise to consult the experienced- in this case, well supposed to be the uber-experienced.
“What shall I do now?”
“Break the egg shell by knocking it gently against the slab.”
“Ok”
“I said knock against the slab, not brush it as you are doing . if you continue doing this, the egg will break only when the chicks will come out of it.”
“Ok ok”.
Thash- I am telling you people, the yolks of this particular species of eggs have an affinity to rest on the slab, they don’t like it there on the pan, so what can I do about it. Kaddu wont stop blaming me for the debacle.
“GOOD FOR NOTHING, good for nothing, good for nothing, that’s what you are. Get out of here at this very instance. You are going to ruin my kitchen in a day.”
As if the kitchen is her property- constructed and maintained by Kaddu Pvt Ltd.
When she broke the first egg (ok in this case I will also include the second) didn’t she make the same mistake. Now if I ask her, she will lie.
“GO-I said.”
“Who is going where?” Hitler staged her re-entry on the scene of accident at a perfectly calculated moment. Had she come back a moment later, I would have escaped this torture. But no-she has to come back at this very moment and announce the extension of my torture routine.
“No one is going anywhere, Kadambari, give her some other work to do. She has to learn these things. Its not credible to be a stupid bloke who is not good for anything………….” Another diatribe continued for the next 15 minutes.
These ladies can actually try out their career in politics. Our country will go great guns. Each and every representative of the upcoming generations will look forward to becoming a great cook so that they can prevent themselves to be sent to concentration camps aka kitchen , as I am today.

6 Months

BANG!!!!!!!!!!! No-its not a fire cracker going off in a celebration party, this is actually the sound of one of the unfortunate tires on which my Chariot of Fire(that’s what my car deserved to be called) runs on. 17 years and still running-first this wonder of technology used to be handled by my father ,who, one fine morning,(fortunately for me and unfortunately for the car) gave in to my whims (well partially as I was urging him to buy me a kinetic bike with my pocket money savings of the last four years so that I can participate in a bike rally) and decided to hand over the car keys to me with a never ending list of conditions which begins like this:
I should take care of the car, i.e., regularly wash it ,take it for servicing etc.
I should never drive alone and always take any one of the noisy ladies(well this is according to me not my father and this group includes my mother-heading the list, 3 of my aunts(masi ji) and 2 of my cousin sisters who are so scared of sitting in the car when I am behind the wheel that their screeches can mke my ear drum resemble a rag.)
This list goes on with several other conditions like I should listen to whatever suggestions our mechano-cum-driver bhaiya gives me about driving (and during driving)-but if I start imposing this condition on myself I and the bhaiya both might end up in a hospital because this guy not only have a gift of gab but he can shut up all the chatterboxes in the world with his never ending AkhandKatha which are more or less about his achievements in the field of repairing punctured tires, blown off horns, his Schumacher like driving skills et al. Sometimes I wonder that someday I might have to hear it from him that he has helped the ISRO guys in assembling the Chandrayan.
Back to the present scenario, here I am in the middle of a high road, with a punctured tire AND a punctured stepny in the hood.
This is one of the many incidents which imply the lashing of bad luck that I have to bear for the last 4 months now.Bad luck?Is it fair to call it a bad luck-well, I am confused there as well. This phase began with that Dumbo Singh(good for nothing) walking out of my life. Surprisingly I didn’t feel bad because of the break up-I tried to make myself cry( as girls and protagonists do in soap operas) but I ended up laughing thinking about the blunders I ve committed while I was with him-one among those numerous blinders being I gifted him a pink teddy bear on his birthday, because I couldn’t think of anything else. I mean what can you gift a person who talks about chocolates, cooking, soft toys and dresses and apparels (discussions about these made up most of our conversations). Till date I couldn’t figure out how I happen to be with him as I hate chocolates and soft toys and I can do anything but cooking.
Cooking- well, as far as this skill goes – we say that some skills are inherent in us or a certain person is god-gifted in a certain thing-well, as far as cooking is concerned, the above saying goes the other way round in my case. Ever since I completed my graduation, my masiji is making a fervent effort to teach me the basics of this skill-but as I said, some things are really not made for me. My venture into cooking enterprise( which happen to comprise my masiji’s kitchen as the head-office with my masiji being the CEO and her cook-Kadambari Kalavati Pan being the sole senior executive cum senior business analyst and resource manager) began with my masi’s endeavor to teach me cooking , especially kindled by the incident which took place when some bullies (that is what I consider them) disguised as groom’s family came to our place to consider my sister’s prowess to be their son’s bride. It so happened that the lady in the party happened to be a chalti firti encyclopedia of cooking and she expects her to be daughter-in-law the same, started a jargon- “What should be added to bitter gourd curry along with cardamom , sugar and salt to get aesthetic taste that Raja of Muzaffarpur used to get in his bitter gourd curry?” WHAT???? ‘cardamom + sugar’ that too in bitter gourd curry, and how would my sister know what some bullshit raja used to have for his lunch or dinner or whatever-I mean , what does she want?A daughter-in-law or a chemo-food lab assistant or a food historian or someone who cooks weird things like cardamom + sugar along with bitter gourd. Obviously my sister, who till then could prepare only a handful of dishes(that too in such a manner that even the stray dogs might sometimes refuse them )failed in her interview, and lo!, our family(according to the senior ladies in the family) lost a prospective groom,who according to them is “laakhon mein ek –heera tha who”. Well, I really wanted to tell them-that their statement has a folly in it-first of all-he cant be “laakhon mein ek” because whatever manipulations my aunts would like to make to the demographic reports of the current Census, a boy cant be “laakhon mein ek”, but the same can be said about a girl if she happens to hail from Hazari village of Haryana because that is approximately the sex ratio of that village( well , for this result multiply the numerator and denominator by100).
Anyways, that one hell of a cooking bum had started the epidemic in my family ,among my aunts (particularly),and I happen to be the sole victim of this because I am the only member in my big fat Bengali family who is still unmarried and who doesn’t possess any of the skills that are supposed to be the pre-requisites to launch oneself in the ,marriage market. So there I am-the very next day I was woken up at 4 in the morning and when I protested to the atrocities being committed on me, Hitler re-incarnated has a prompt answer for me- “If you don’t start cooking now how can you serve food at 8-that is the time when the breakfast is being served. You are such a spoil sport that you don’t even notice at what time you are being served. GET UP “, ok ok, I am getting up .Its really difficult to drag yourself at such an hour of night or day-what shall I call it-ok leave that for now.
Finally I managed to freshen myself and enter the kitchen. I was ordered by Kaddu(that’s what I call her-though she is frantically mad on me for this-but this is what she deserves, though I don’t call her by this name infront of her-then I would be sent on a no food ,no TV ,no mobile and no computer concentration camp by Hitler) to fry the eggs-on a non-stick pan. Oh..k-non-stick “Nothing sticks on it-Nothing. It is tiffin coated.”
“Teflon”-I corrected.
“Yes yes, that”.
“If nothing ever sticks to Teflon, how do they get Teflon to stick to the pan?”, I asked her.
“Shut up-otherwise I’ll call didi”
“Ok ok”
“Now back to work- get the eggs-and don’t break them, if you break even one I’ll make you lay one.”
How can she possibly make me do that? Does she have any idea as to what the hell is she talking about-ok,we will not go into the details of mammalian anatomy that I am sure Kaddu doesn’t have the capability to pass through her neural processors. But anyhow, Kaddu’s name is actually a pun on her just like her surname “Pan” and the comment she has passed just proves it. She has a Kaddu for a brain and she even looks like that- ok enough criticizing others ,even I don’t have Einstein brains and Aishwariya looks –so I think I shouldn’t be criticizing Kaddu like that.
So back to kitchen work, rather back to obeying Kaddu’s orders.

To be continued.............................

P.S.: The above work is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to the real life characters is purely non-coincidental :D and for the sole purpose of fun.

A piece of Mind

Speech by Bryan Dyson (CEO of Coca Cola)

'Imagine life as a game in which you are juggling some five balls in the
air. You name them - work, family, health, Friends and spirit and you're
keeping all of these in the Air.

You will soon or one day understand that work is a rubber ball.

If you drop it, it will bounce back.

But the other four Balls - Family,Health, Friends and Spirit - are made of
glass. If you drop one of these; they will be irrevocably scuffed, marked,
nicked, damaged or even shattered. They will never be the same. You must
understand that and strive for Balance in your life.'

Rock On

“meri laundry ka ek bill , ek adhi padhi novel-tana na na na”

Awesome tempo and mind-blowing music, complimenting my mood to the hilt at the moment when I am riding a bike (with damaged shockers), on a highroad patch-worked with pot-holes. The speedometer shows a perfect 180kmph and to complete the picture there’s a slow drizzle.

Thud thud thud thud-“ tana na na na”

The damaged shockers of my bike along with the pot holes are playing a perfect role in keeping the tempo of this song.

Drops of rain touching my face with the slush greenery in the backdrop is just enough to set the mood for wild fantasies- but my mind decided to do a somersault and I ended of thinking all weirdest of the weird thoughts.

This song for instance, a rock song showed me a basic difference that is inherent in our minds, yet we fail to recognize it- the difference between our role models and our icon. Most of us have both-that I am sure-yet we can’t differentiate as to why we call one as our role model and the other as our icon. The picturisation of this song shows the difference. I am sure most of us, in the score years that we are on this earth, have witnessed the performance of a rock band on yanky channels like channel V or M tv, at the same time most of use have accidentally (or non-accidentally) have the pleasure of listening to classical compositions (hindi or English or whichever language- as for me I am not fortunate enough to lend my ears to classical music of any other languages). If you have observed the difference, you would have see that the artiste in classical concerts never invites the audience to join with him. Maximum participation on the audience s’ part in such concerts is to supply chits with their requests written in-that’s it. And the artiste sings the requests to his perfection- this is whom a musician would look upon as a role model, the person whose achievements we look upon to as the milestones in our lives, but can we really relate to this person-whom we have so duly labeled as our role model-can we match his subtlety, perfection etc, but that is what we try to achieve through out our life, and when we do achieve it we realize how much individuality we have lost in the process.

But in a rock band’s performance- the band members invite and entice the audience to sing, to dance, to groove along with them-that’s why it does’nt really matter as to what they are singing, or are they missing notes while singing- because it does’nt really matter as long as the audience is enjoying. This is what we call an ICON- the person who lives the dream with you, you encourages you to dream big, wild and unrealistic, who sets you free and that is what our bollywood heroes do to us- they completely sweep us off our feet to the fantasy land where everything ends in the same climax- living happily ever after……. But how many real life stories end in that climax, well the number can be perfectly counted on our finger tips, yet we watch them, love them, and somewhat believe in the stories they tell and they on the other hand, show exactly what the person on the other side of the screen wants to see- saccharine sweet families, heroes who are successful in all spheres of life, beautiful ladies with chisel-shaped bodies and glowing skin and lots of attitudes. It’s good to see these screenshots of dreamland reveries because if we don’t see them how can we remember what we have set on to achieve in our lifetime.

But do we all remember what we wanted to achieve or we intentionally try to forget as we eventually realize that those achievements are not circumstantially not feasible, as I slowed down my bike across a small poodle where I happened to notice a big snail crawling at its supersonic speed leaving a perfect blue trail on a huge leaf, I remembered the days when I wished to become a sketching artist. How I wished to put down nature and sky-scrappers in pencil and paper. Today when I think of those dreams I cant help smiling to myself. But that is how life is-it ends up making you the obvious monotonous being that you had labeled as bore and out-dated in your school days-but all of us can’t end up being the “in” thing-can we?

All these show the greatest paradoxes of life that we live with-we end up becoming someone whom we have hated at the horizon of our adolescent consciousness.

“Hey you, watch your speed and the pot holes otherwise you will end up below a truck’s tyres”- damn it-who asked this fat old bum, what sorrows is my accident going to stir up in her life that she has to shout after me like that. But people have this general tendency to boss others around-tell them what is good and what’s not-that’s what the whole lot of art connoisseurs are doing for ages. They are selecting the best artistes, artists etc etc etc , but how they do it, is really difficult to follow. I wonder why actually they do it, I mean, aren’t we grown up enough to know which art forms are good or what we should like and what we should consider shit-do we need another asshole other than our own self to point that to us-what I like might be an object of utter dislike for another person-then how can a bunch of hippies decide it for us –as to who is best and who is worst-but that is how it is-nowadays-in reality shows they have invented an ingenious way to do it-by public voting, but by doing this you are actually leaving out the choice of those who have voted in favour of the person who actually loses the competition-but this is what we call “democracy”, and this is what Miss Mamta Banerjee is liberally using in calling a state wide bandh every other day, obviously she doesn’t respect the decisions of lakhs of citizens who are willing to work on that day-but it doesn’t really matter much.

So its best to just forget the muck that is happening all around and enjoy the scenery, this song makes it all the more intoxicating, the lyrics is also somewhat relative- laundry bill, unfinished novel both of these bug you till you finish or clear them off and ladki ka phone number is something that is treasured , as for important papers are concerned, I don’t think I possess any in my careless lifestyle, but good things never last long…….

Grrrr…………thrushhhhhhhhhh……

There goes the tyre of the bike- magnanimously changing its state to puncture. The drizzle has graduated to a downpour and is giving me the actual hint of the real world I inhabit in.

Anyways friends, sometimes its necessary to be in the fantasyland for a while, otherwise this world will be devoid of all the creative insights.

P.S. : Don’t ask me why I wrote this and please don’t point out grammatical errors, I know there are many.

To the Editor

This section is used to represent the vox populi of the people or to be more precise, of the readers. The readers’ mails used to share the space with the au fait members of our society who held eminent posts in government offices or are those who are supposed to carry the ex cathedra in the field of English literature in our country.

This particular section of columnists, to speak by the book, used to cut the Gordian knotn and deliver articles that presented new ideas, proposed socio-economic solutions and suggestions on a sine qua non. But such articles have become the things of yore. Nowadays, with celebrity writers donning the editorial circuit, the editorial column is mostly used to launch a smear campaign on the existing politburo or on our foreign policies and if not anything else on our nation’s blue-eyed boy Abhinav Bindra quoting his victory in Olympic as a pyrrhic victory just because of the fact that he does’nt represent the BPL (below poverty line) members of our population. But is that inevitable to become a nation’s hero? I simply don’t understand the simple fact as to for which mistakes of his Bindra is getting this public whipping by some people who claim to be the carte blanche not only on the literary scene of India but also on the celebrity journalism of our country.

Last Sunday, I read Mrs Shobha De’s weekly column stating what change this lad’s victory in Olympics has brought about in our country’s condition. She had exemplified this by showing a poor wretched girl excitedly selling newspapers, claiming that it contains Bindra’s victory story.

Mrs De quotes this poor girl’s excitement as reducto ad absurdum since Bindra’s victory is not going to change the wretched girl’s condition. But did it mean to? It seems this lady has put Bindra in the high and dry and has mistaken him for the financial redeemer of our country. I would like to ask one question to her- as to what extent did her last book’s release has improved our nation’s condition? Rather if she at all knows what turmoil the nation is through in the recent days. This lady, more or less repeats examples in her columns and as a matter of factly decided to pin someone against the wall on charges irrespective of what the person or persons have done.

Following her footsteps is another columnist, who claims that Bindra is certainly going to corrupt himself by appearing in every other advertisement and will be in no time the face of beau monde and she has decided to put the onus probandi of her claim to the infra dig assumption about the Gold winner’s personality that he is no doubt an ugly customer and a rich spoilt brat. She went further stating that its only a matter of a fact that he is born in a poor country like ours but nowhere does his economic condition relate him to our country. I would like to ask , in our country is it a sin to be born with a silver spoon? If he is rich and if this columnist thinks that this is the only reason of his winning the gold, can’t our sports officials take a cue from that and try to improve the practicing conditions of our sportsmen instead of putting all their eggs in one basket, i.e., cricket.

Dei gratia, why can’t we remember the age old proverb :

Mens sana in corpora sana

And stop being a wet blanket by blowing hot and cold on just anything under the sun that too sans souci. But if these people start doing that, they cease to be the haute coutre of the country as they cease to become the “different” crowd. This is a virtual death of their eglaritatrian character which is however not acceptable.

Hence we are going to get such editorial per diem.

About Me: The best I 've come across on a social networking site

about me:

Why to see Random people's profile in internet?

sometimes, Random People could change your life into upside down, yeah i meant in a good way. there are many of my random friends who experienced this and so do i. join with us.

How many times in a day u think of wishes...

when u see a chocalate - u wished for it -
when u want good marks...
when u want to see a movie imm..

i have been also like you,
later i realised..

Be careful in what u wish for, u might get it..

What will u do if u get it..

then starts the problems, wish goes recursive...

some of my wishes that has become true

As usual like other School Topper - yes done, with 199/200 in computer science
As usual a gold medalist - Yes, done, with Gold Medal in Bsc Computer Science
As usual lot of studies - yes done, with Bsc, Computer Science, M.C.A., M.Phil. Computer Science
Starting our own company - yes, done, with our Microworks Software Solutions
Joining world's biggest microsoft - wish done
Joining World's biggest microsoft's head quaters in usa seattle - wish done
buying my first car small one - wish done
buying my first big car one - wish done
buying my own tv - many tv's :) - wish done
buying my own things - yeah plenty wish done
Getting a girl friend - huh huh? secret! :)
Travelling around the world - almost done, travelled to Singapore, Malaysia, Canada, Japan, USA, most parts of India

My next wishes are:

A Contribution to science - oh yeah, i want to get out computers, into earth science, natural science, physics are my passions now.

i know, dreams become thoughts, thoughts become passions, passion become actions, action become habit, habit become character, character will determine you



Life is a Algorithimic Puzzle. I tried to debug it most of the times and got stuck in break points. I lived half of my life is primary memory of grief and half of it in virtual memory of happiness.

To tell a jist about my technical side, I have done my Bsc Computer Science, Master of Computer Applications, Master of Philosophy,Computer Science, I am a Gold Medalist in my UG and College Topper, I have won more than 50 Debugging and Programming Competitions.

To tell a jist about my personal side, yeah i understood nothing in the world is yours except "you". As per physcology theory, human mind goes through different stages and finally comes to a stage of "acceptance", i am reading more about brain and human mind, will write more about this in my blog.

Logic of Wish:

Callstack looks like:


Desire()
Wish()
Wish_Granted()
After_Wish_Effects()
Again_Desire()
Wish()..

This Keeps repeating, well how long a stack of life can hold it, give it a break, it won't crash with a Stack Overflow right?

Travel Freak:
Washington
Northern Cascades
Tulip Valley

Singapore
Malaysia
Japan
India
Bangalore
Ooty
Mysore

What more you would like to know about me...World of technology amazes us with "MAGIC" of internet, yes where ever you are if your interest and my interest matches, then lets make a Inheritance Exist: Ping Ram...



If you don't like change it, if you can't change it, change ur attitude, Don't Complain!!!!

Life is a circle, here, winner loses next time, looser wins next time.

For everything there is a medicine, but for jealously there is no medicine. I learnt this from a proverb.



I would love to be a friend function inside your heart class.

current diet plan: yeah i have been recently affected with many health problems since i ain't took care of my health
fDrinkWaterWheneverThirstyNotAnythingElseExceptReasonableAmountsOfMilk = true

fEatLotsOfProteins = true
fEatRice = FALSE
fEatLimitedRotis = TRUE
fDrinkMangoDrinks = false
fEatAtIndianRestaurants = false
fEatAtSubwayOrHome_not_fattyfood = true
fEatAtUdupi = false;


My latest passion or i should say soon the job i would like to be is geo-science...

i am doing lot of tours and collecting informations visiting waterfalls, volcanoes, ancient cities, architecture.

latest trips include

trip list will

P.S. :- This "about me" is taken from the profile of a person I 've come across . It seemed quite interesting and motivating to me, hope this will do the same for you.

"Size 0" Syndrome

Nowadays a grotesque epidemic has struck the female population of our country. With the histrionic publicity of figure reduction of an almost megalomaniac Bollywood heroine, the “size 0” syndrome has spread like wild fire amongst the girls, across the country.

Girls and ladies across the country are busy making out time out of their busy schedule, which are mostly filled with verbiage sessions and beauty treatments, to rush to gymnasiums. Nowadays, the ladies are least pecuniarily concerned when it comes to shopping or maintaining their aphrodisiac figures.

Ladies’ gym is a curious place to visit. It manifests such a wide variety of curios that can put a connoisseur (who is ) visiting Louvre, to shame. If anyhow you happen to browse through a gym’s brochure, you will notice three prominent features mentioned there.

First one being the “Hall of Mirror”. This feature is just like the hall of mirror we usually see in entertainment parks, just that here it is used in a mendacious manner. If you are fat, the trainer will make you stand before a mirror that will emaciate your reflection.

Second feature is “Aerobics”. It happened so, at the advent of this “size 0” epidemic, few cognoscenti from this field met and discussed that if you are charging 200 to 500 bucks for something, it would be ignonimous to call it “Jumping and Punching”. So to make it mellificious and to make it the “in” thing of the haute coutre , they decided to call it “Aerobics”.

Third feature being “Stem Bath”. For taking steam bath you are required to sit in a room where steam will be emitted. Girls being credulous, believe that they will emerge with immaculated skin from that chamber, but once you are inside it, you get the actual feeling of Hitler’s gas chambers. This chamber gives an odious feeling of how the vegetables feel when we put them in a pressure cooker over a burning stove.

The gym is a place where you get to meet a variety of characters. You will meet solicitious girls who conjure a feeling of contrition at the thought of eating junk food. There are others who react in such a manner at e weight loss of less than quarter of a pound, that their weight reduction deserves a salvo. These ladies act in an omniscient manner conveying quixotic advices with slapstick alacrity and a dash of pleonasm.

The trainers at gym sleight at every other occasion and expertly use the art of equivocation for telling the opprobrious exercising ladies about the increase in their body weights.

If there happen to be a feminine plebiscite in our country, then one law I am sure is going to be enforced- right to go to gym whether or not its financially feasible.

If................

In ethics class so many years ago

Our teacher asked this question every fall:

If there were a fire in a museum

Which would you save, a Rembrandt painting

Or an old woman who had’nt many

Years left anyhow? Restless on hard chairs

Caring little for picture or old age

We’d opt one year for life, the next for art

And always half-heartedly. Sometimes

The woman borrowed my grand-mother’s face

Leaving her usual kitchen to wander

Some drafty, half-imagined museum.

One year, feeling clever, I replied

Why not let the woman decide herself?

Linda, the teacher would report, eschews

The burdens of responsibility.

This fall in a real museum I stand

Before a real Rembrandt, old woman,

Or nearly so, myself. The colors

Within this frame are darker than autumn,

Darker ever than winter – the browns of earth,

Though earth’s most radiant elements burn

Through the canvas. I know now that woman

And painting and season are almost one

And all beyond saving by children.

Poet-Anonymous

Lessons for the Lesser Mortals

“If music be the food of love, play on”. Simple idea, but no so simple grammar: why “if music be ” Rather than “is” ? The short answer is that “be” here is an old fashioned use of the subjunctive mood, where we today would use the indicative “is”. A longer answer is that this simple idea has landed us in two tricky quagmires of English grammar, the subjunctive and the conditional sentence. A reader’s email dropped me in them last week, asking whether he should write “if I was” or “if I were”. Here are some guidelines to firm ground.

The conditional looks simple. “If I were a rich man… (the condition), I’d … (the result).” But it has traps. You meet a sentence like “If Mountbatten esteemed Nehru, he esteemed himself more.” This is’nt a conditional at all : the last viceroy’s self admiration did not depend on his view of Nehru. In fact, it’s a pretentious imitation of French. Shun it.

Beware of such shortened conditionals as “should I discover that …”, “were I smarter …” or “had I known…” . All these substitutes for ‘if’ are idiomatic, but all others smell a bit of the past, especially in speech. And not even poets should imitate 17^th century Andrew Marvell’s plea to his mistress – “Had we put world enough, and time, this coyness, Lady were no crime” , where ‘had’ simply means “if we possessed”. Yeats did it in “Had I the heaven’s embroidered clothes”, but we lesser mortals should steer clear.

As for the subjunctive, few of us use it and often not even grammarians can tell whether it’s being used or not. That’s because in every verb except “to be”, where it substitutes “be” for the indicative “am”, “is” and “are” – the two moods are identical, except in the third person singular : in place of “I go”, “he goes”, “we/you/they go” , the subjunctive uses “I/we/he/you/they go” all the way through. A famous passage in 1611 translation of the Bible has St. Paul writing : “Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels …”. Is that “speak” indicative or (more likely, in high flown English in 1611) subjunctive? No one can be sure.

Still, where the two can be told apart, should you use the subjunctive? Not in conditional sentences. “If music be the food of love” is fine for Shakespeare, but “if the bus leave on time (instead of leaves)” would sound as affected in today’s Calcutta as it is improbable.

Yet every rule has its exception, the one raised by that reader’s email. In phrases like “If I were wise” or “If I were you”, that “were” is a bit of the subjunctive. It’s bizarre : it refers to the present , not as one might expect, the past, and it always implies that the condition is unmet. But it is definitely preferable to “if he was wise” or “if I was you”.Both forms are acceptable (and with any other verb than “to be” you don’t have a choice); but “were” is better than “was”.

P.S. :- This is an excerpt taken from Telegraph, composed by Steph Hugh Jones.

The Happy Prince

Few days back, Prince William was in the limelight – not for some heroic deed but for a (according to me) zany episode of buffoonery that he committed – as a means of his chauvinist attitude, he landed a militia helicopter in the backyard of his girlfriend’s mansion. What would this chimerical attitude of this gentleman of aristocratic upbringing imply? What kind of role model does Prince William present himself as to the Gen X? Is it not an act of chicanery on his part to dabble with national property? But who cares? After all he is a prince.

Nowadays, the definition of aristocracy has wizened to the extent that in the name of Kings and Princes – what is left is a herd of yokels whose cupidity and avarice has made them materialistic zealots, who are busy wrenching money out of their own people to quench their thirst.

It would be quite churlish on my part to badger the image of a PRINCE by presenting examples of charlatans such as Prince William and Prince Gyanendra (of Nepal).

Shri Ram and Buddha are princes of yore. Don’t we have such heroes in Kalyug? Surely there’s some respite to the prevailing jungle raj. Prince Jigyel Ugyen Wang Chuck of Bhutan is one such example. This young prince, when he was aged 19, left the luxuries of Oxford to join one of the militia groups of upper Himalayas to protect his country from intruders from the Northern Terrains. Nowadays, at the age of 24, he is accosted by political and social groups from all over the world to speak in conferences. He gave a lecture in the Asiatic society (UK) emphasizing on the revival of art and culture. This gentleman is a follower of Buddha and is a staunch believer in liberation theology and is an internationalist. He is the only person in the present political scenario of decoy and counterfeit who can save is country from a gradual decadence or a debacle. I have a genuine deference towards his actions and speeches. I would like to suggest novices like Rahul Gandhi to take a leaf out of his life before sitting on the Prime Minister’s throne.

With Love to Mrs Clinton

The two big issues faced by the super Sam are racial discrimination of “Blacks” in the society and the inequality of status of women in the so-called male-dominated society.

The latter problem I presume, is rather poised to become bolsterous issue following Mrs Hillary Clinton’s act of abnegation from the Presidential electoral polls. The issue raised by her during the electoral campaigns seems quite an aberrant one provided the fact that the status of women in United States of America as compared to the Arab countries and the Third World countries is quite high.

The freedom regarding speech, freedom to work, to study and freedom for all other social amenities essential to life that the Western women are accoutred with is a strike contrast to the women of Mid-West Asia and other third world countries whose women are supposed to spend a major part of their lives in the aviary of an abominable institution of marriage.

These women are badgered by their obstinate husbands and in-laws. Day-in and day-out they have to brook the cathartic and acrimonious nature of their in-laws without being allowed to speak a word against the transgressors. My suggestion to Mrs Clinton is she should descend upon her callous cavalcade in one of these households so as to justify the actual meaning of Misogyny.

For the last few months, she had been openly executing her bigotry oratory. She attacked her opponents in highly acrimonious terms, all the time, complacently relying upon one notion-misogyny. Her followers too, abjured their rights to vote as she quitted the presidential polls- commiserating it as a sign against misogyny. But for a split second, if these reverend ladies would spare a fragment of their cerebration and divert their uncanny grey-cells on the actuarial surveys produced by WHO- they will discover that theirs’ is the country with the highest female literacy rate and highest female workmanship in the service industries, thus reducing these advocates of misogyny to the mere strata of buccaneers who would wear any disguise for fulfilling their avarice.

"Inter"VocaboPolitics

The present US presidential campaigns and the Indo-US Nuclear deal has made the last days of Bush regime in US look like an interim. The whole world is worried about who is going to hold the reins next but no attention is being paid to the current jockey.

Interim implies the intervening time. Tracing back to the history of the word ‘interim’- it stands for the truce pending a General council between German Protestants and the Papacy in 16^th Century. But in the current scenario the truce between the Democrats and the Republicans has given rise to an interregnum, interestingly, not in the host country where the elections are being held but among the sycophants of the US.

Ultimately in the recent interlude of the electoral pantomime, one of the contenders have decided against being internecine and instead has cleverly intercalated herself as an internuncio, so that even after the Black King will be crowned she can still interstate her position as an internationalist.

So enjoy the play till it goes on.

Life in a Metro

This post is not a review of the Bollywood film, in fact through this I would like to convey my experiences of daily life in a Metropolis.

A general idea that people have in their minds about the life in a metro is the life goes on a fast-track with a lot of frenzies. I being brought up in a small sleepy town had this idea infused in my mind that life in a big city like Kolkata is so fast that people rarely get to see their children. But after spending the four most formative years of life in this metro I found it is quite the contrary, maybe this is because of the fact that I am/was a student and I stayed with a family that found reasons for gathering and rejoice, no matter however small the occasion is. But that is how most of the people here are like. Be it India’s victory against a paltry team like Bangladesh or be it Big B’s next block-buster, their alacrity for celebrations is beyond any normal person’s imagination. A celebration need not be a huge party in a multi-star hotel. It is a small gathering in a household with some good home cooked food (Bengalis have a flair for good food) and a never-ending “adda “ session.

Bongs are like this. Bong is a newly coined term for Bengalis. It stands for those who are characterized by their typical chauvinist attitude teamed with an indolent attitude towards their profession.

Cricket, football and politics (both national and state level) are what they virtually thrive on. A high-quality tape-recorder would accept defeat when compared to Bongs, because even a tape-recorder has to stop at the moment when the cassette is over but a Bong would go on with his (mostly) enigmatic views on topics that range from nation’s security, to oil prices, to despising present educational system, to the brand of chappals that should be worn during rainy seasons. Sometimes they will actually make you wonder what would have happened to the country had these Bongs and their precious comments not existed. These beguiling discussions emanate irrespective of place and time or the persons who are participating in them. Wherever more than one Bong is juxtaposed- be it in bus, in train, in auto or even waiting in queue outside a doctor’s chamber, these discussions are bound to creep in.

The discussions are unique in themselves. They are started with a topic which is perversely changed in due course of time by the speaker(s) when no one finds any point to show-off their punditry on the subject or when there happens to be more dissidents on the subject than there should usually be. In the end all these discussions take a preposterous turn when the speakers become utterly discordant.

Bongs’ allegiance for the political party they vote for is something that can be rarely seen in any other state. Whether it is to commiserate for the victims of the recent industrialization fiasco or to exhilarate the wrong done by BCCI on their very own “Dada”, they have only one way to show their disgust- prodigous strike (mostly headed by Mamta “didi” Banerjee). This city is governed by a set of polito who are busy in sardonically diatrinbing the opposition for the “Bandh”s and the opposition busies itself in criticizing the ruling party for its insensate polity, thus giving rise to a political pantomime.

All these and so many other issues that the aboriginal Bongs fathom to live with, yet they are cheeriest people I have ever come across who carry an undefined determination in their heart.

Otherwise how would you describe the actions of a desparate lady picking bricks from the street for building her house.

All this along with the blatant and plangent noise of the traffic which no other Calcuttan can parry makes life in the Metro all the more foxy and exciting.

Local train and Ladies' compartment

My experience with local trains began with my first year of engineering. To reach my college I have to spend five hours of my daily life in local trains, to be more specific- in ladies’ compartments.

Every morning at 8, one has to wait on the platform for the train to arrive as a predator waits for its prey. Clutching one’s bag to your chest, ready to pounce into the ladies’ compartment the moment the train comes to halt. Ladies’ compartment is characterized by the state of profound pandemonium. Then after some shoving and punching, which might put a professional rugby player to shame you are welcomed into the compartment with a diatribe for having stepped on some fat lady’s feet. Though you concede your guilt from the inside, of having caused such an injury, you can’t really help it at the same time can’t admit it on her face lest you want to be slapped. Till here, you have won only half the battle, the next step is to get in between a seat of rows by trampling a few more pairs of so-called ‘pedicured’ feet which belong to forty somethings who hate themselves to be called “aunties”. This is a major problem of Ladies’ compartment- even after traveling for the last 4 years, I have failed to figure out the mode of addressing my co-passengers. It’s neither by their first name (then it becomes an issue of prestige), neither as aunty (do they seem that old?) nor didi (“we are almost the same age!!!!!!!!!”)- I don’t know how?

Now that you have finally got your foot-hold in the compartment (here I must specify that standing on one foot or standing on a toe is also considered as a foothold), you have to attain the impossible- reserve a seat for the last 3 stations (in a 15 stations journey) in an unreserved train compartment. How? Well, for this you need to have “contacts” or “informers” or you should be in good books of an “influential” compatriot. You have to follow your compartment’s rules in making reservations- if you break it, you are handed an indictment- may be life time ban from the compartment.

Let me introduce you to my co-passengers- people who have never traveled in local trains may never have an idea of what wider range of professions exist where only ladies can be employed.

If I have to describe my train buddies- it would be really difficult to put all of them in a single mould. In fact their personas are poles apart, and not all of them belong to a single strata of society. Most of them have a veneer on them, which disables a person to guess about their personal selves at first glance. Why first glance? Even after I have spent nearly 4 years traveling with the same set of ladies- talking to them for nearly 5 hours everyday, I don’t know their names or where they go, what exactly they do. They prefer it that way- no personal questions should be asked unless they prefer to tell you themselves. But what is common in most of them is, their speech is characterized by staccato and most of them have a proclivity towards covetous desires.

Once inside the train, most of them acquire their second personality- they are beautician, doctor, chief minister, caring guardian, expert cook and so many other things at the same time.

Their real professions range from charwoman, to sales-girl, to factory worker, to manager. Some don’t want to name their professions- you can guess why.

After talking to them, (i.e. even if you don’t talk they will make you talk by their piquant nature) what I found common amongst the most is not all but the majority have to face obscene treatments from their husbands who refuse to abstain from gambling and alcohol, and their in-laws despite of the fact that these ladies are the sole bread-winners of their families. Yet what seems surprising to me is even after leading a life of depravity , these tortures and sufferings are the least petulant to them and they become all the more debonair as they enter the train and chatter away like school girls till the end of the journey. All of them have a strong determination teamed with indefatigable energy to redeem their and their families from penury and abysmal living standards to a better standard.

Their daily struggle has enabled them to face whatever situation they are put into with utmost alacrity. Once I forgot my monthly ticket at home and to top it, I couldn’t make my way inside the compartment. So I had to stand on the dashboard. I had noticed from the day one of my train journey that a huge group of ladies (mainly domestic helpers) sit on the dashboard. That part of the train is their property by birth-right and any trespassers are duly put to “punishment”. That day I knew that I have to face a series of slang and so many other abuses half of whose meaning I would not be able to decipher. One of those ladies (seeing me standing there) asked me to sit down. On seeing my troubled face, she asked me ‘what’s the matter?’ I told her that I had forgotten my ticket. She laughed like a clown and said “You know what, I have never bought a ticket in my lifetime. Once a ticket-checker caught me and asked for my ticket, do you know what I told him? I told him- ‘See sahib, yesterday I got married, but last night my groom had run away, I an going to kolkata to find him, by evening if I don’t get him I’ll take you back home as my groom-so either you become my groom or you let me go so that I can search for him.’ After that , that ticket-checker never asked me for my ticket.” Good story, but can I repeat this if I am caught? Next she asked my how many houses do I work in? God help my appearance, anyways the train arrived at my station and I have to get down. I couldn’t give her a number but a smile is all that came to my lips- she probably thought me as an illiterate.

My friends who had spent their college life in hostel tell me that I have missed hostel-life. But can I explain them what I have gained and they have missed.

I can go on and on about my comic experiences on train which is a mirror to exactly how rude the world is, but yet people smile, laugh and try to find happiness in their own way. May be this is why this city is called “the city of joy”.

What does spirituality means in this era of consumerism?

In today’s era of big retail stores, fashion brands and plush shopping malls, what role does spirituality play in an individual’s life, rather the question should be rephrased as whether spirituality at all exist for the generation next or its stature has reduced to being a mere word in old texts of sexagenarians whom the generation next has felicitated as hypocrites.

Before we further go down the line arguing the existence of spirituality, there’s an exigency of knowing exactly what spirituality means? Spirituality in simple terms imply the existence of a superior being; “Spirituality” – its root word being spirit, hence spiritualism in wider sense is the belief that spirits of the departed communicate with the living, especially through medium.

But why should there be a need of the existence of the superior being or why should there be need to communicate with the spirits of those who have already left this sordid and materialistic world? The answer to this question lies in the weakness of man – his fear of defeat, his sorrows, grievances and the guilt feelings that he unconsciously buries in his heart for the transgression he consciously or unconsciously commits. Every human being is conscientious enough to have feared his wrong-doing, difference being, some show it through confessions while others simply bury the hatchet, but that too only in façade. However infamous a criminal or gangster, everyone wants to be in His providence. This is spirituality, to believe in the existence of God.

We say – God exists and to believe in him is called spirituality, but has anyone actually seen God – there are prophets, saints and like people who claim to have felt His presence in some way or the other, but then we only have their word for it – no evidence whatsoever. However, even though most of us have no such divine experience yet we have an image of a divine being with his resplendent glow, and the belief to communicate with this divine being is what we call spiritualism.

Coming back to our argument of existence of spiritualism in this era of consumerism where the modern generation of agnostics and atheists whose actions lead to sacrilege. So-called religious leaders and god-men through their narcissistic actions, which involve terrorism in the name of religion, terminations, ex-terminations and communal riots in the name of resurrecting the “supposed to be” birthplace of God have given rise to a state of pandemonium and has made religion and spiritualism all the more abominable for the present generation. Yet in all this depravity, there are certain spiritual leaders who have euphemized the spiritualism through consumerism. Whether it is through “Art of living” or through Yogic discourses or through Lord Krishna’s hymnbooks and rosary – the young customer is being attracted to the chapel or temple in some way or the other, hence making spiritualism congruous with the consumerism. The spiritual leaders instead of teaching just religious and spiritual discourse, have made religion and spiritualism the “in” thing, the fashion statement which has made the fashion-savvy young generation lackey to spiritualism.