Non-Techie managers...

Manager: Let us see when the fire starts. Till then this is working.In our planning itself we have taken care of the fire, it will not happen!!
This is accompanied by a stupid grin and rapidly hand gestures.

Tech member: The requirement is not clear. They have not told us, when to populate the dropdown

Manager: See, you have to think OOTB(This means "Out Of The Box" for the hoi-polloi, simply means, think creative… don’t be bound by the 4 walls). You have to set some flags in code and check how the existing requirement can be translated to delivery. If you do not do this, you cannot grow. Instead of one way of displaying the dropdown, think of many manners. Implement all the possible choices and use a flag to activate them.

Tech member: Nod-nod... Straight from the horse's mouth into his puzzled psyche.

Manager: Did you understand?? Grins satisfactorily.

Tech member: Nod nod

Manager: rubs his hands gleefully

Tech member goes back to his seat. Hir colleague asks her,

Colleague: "Kya bola woh?"

Tech member: "Pata nahin!"

Colleague: "Kya matlab pata nahin!" Looks away from his screen and stares at his fren.

Tech: "Bol raha that ke bahut se flags use kare... Implement all possibilities. Use flag to identify them. Depending on what the client wants, activate the required flag. He only kept talking about flags…!!! ”


Colleague: “Kahe to jhande peharade??? India, Pakistan, America aur srilanka ke jhande chalenege kya? Ja pooch ke aa usko!!"

Hum aapke hain kaun and the immediate ROP

On a lazy sunday afternoon, I was swaying between my urge to sleep and watch the India-Pakistan match. My 10 year old nephew was conducting the stess testing on the television remote control. I was barely able to see what was playing on which channel. During this catch-a-glimpse-of-the-program-if-you-can game, I managed to snatch a view of the movie - "Hum Aapke Hain kaun - Who am I to you!" playing on Zee Cinema.

The second Shaadi scene was in full swing. The Baraat has just arrived. The always-Prem of all Barjatya is dancing with all the sorrow in the world. The Dulhan is decked in all pain. The Khan evades the questioningg looks of the faithful servant Lallu - Mr Berde. He picks up the trumpet, blows out his distress and prances along.

This saga of Melodrama would have continued, if not for the entry of God - the mystical, Lallu - The invoker, Tuffy - the receiver of all divine revelations. Thanks to this trio, we did not have to wait for - "Kitne baar poochu, Hum Aapke Hain kaun" (sequel to HAHK, HAHK 2) to see Prem's wedding to Nisha. Dekha jaaye to, Mr Barjatya (B), used the power of Lord Krishna (LK), to swerve the movie to a befitting albeit highly expected 'Kahani mein obvious twist'.

During the pre - "The family that prays together, eats together ….. Stays together" age ( a.k.a. Hum saath saath hain - We live together together!), LK had to be specifically appeased. And here, Mr Berde(Lallu) was tailored by Mr. B for the same. Somewhere during the pace of the movie, Lallu realises that he has not contributed enough to the movie and starts invoking the blessings of LK. He stands in front of LK, hands folded. Amidst the chanting if 'Radhe Krishna, Gopala Krishna', the wool/flower tied at the end of the flute, which LK is holding to his lips, sways (Did someone open a window??). A halo appears around him. A perfect lighting set-up! Immediately, the focus shifts on Tuffy. The audience is left to deduce that Tuffy received some divine revelation. But why did Mr B use a Dog?? This is not the only scene. Read on, but don’t forget this deduction.

If you go back half the movie, you will realize the serious but unbelievable comradeship between LK, Lallu and Tuffy. During the "Joote do, paise lo - Give shoes, take money!!" parody, the bridegroom's shoes are stolen by Nisha and her giggly troupe of friends. Lallu needs the shoes. He again prays. Tuffy blinks (remember the deduction, we spoke about). The canine tugs at Lallu's dhoti. Bingo, Lallu and Prem run behind Tuffy and return with the jootas! God, are you really there? Do you really answer to such prayers?

The director was well aware of Lallu’s transcendental ability. He used it only wherever needed. When Pooja was dying after rolling down the staircase, Lallu was not around, In fact the director quietly sent him away to his hometown. Now, Tuffy could not alone execute the ‘Tell me how I save her’ act. This would have been definitely very filmy and bollywoodish!! Imagine, Tuffy administering some medicine or blowing air into Pooja’s mouth, leaving the qualified doctors baffled and ashamed. Phew… Poor Tuffy must have felt so helpless! Moreover during that age, LK could not pro-actively help out, not in this movie atleast. And Mr B wanted Pooja to die, yes that is right, die! This is the reason he sent Lallu away to save his sister-in-law.

Hmmm! What a well-synchronized movie! Mr B used LK at the right reel and role, to pause or stop a movie from chugging into monotony… Ah whatever! Lallu definitely had the power … Like Return on investment; let’s talk about Return on Prayer (ROP).

The shoe - buckle race

Someone asked me a question today, which at the outset seemed very out of place. I pondered over the question, as I walked back to my desk.

It seemed just like a day before, when I was competing in the Shoe-buckle race. It was not really yesterday, but in my second standard. Dressed in a checkered pink bloomers, In the scorching heat of the summer, the class of 2nd A was lined to compete against each other. We were a batch of 10.

The race began with my class teacher blowing the whistle. The shrill noise set us on. I completed my buckling of the shoe and looked up. My counterparts were still struggling to get the buckle in place. The moment I realised, I was the first, my legs picked speed. Half way through, I turned back, I was still the only one running. As I was turning back to look where I was heading, my eyes caught my friend far away. In a reflex action, I stopped. Today, I wonder what my little mind then thought. I waited for her to complete, so that we could both run to the finishing line together. Hmmm, stupid me!! As my legs came to a halt, I was cheering her to hurry. She looked up. She was done. She started her sprint towards the winning point. I saw her racing towards me. I must have definitely imagined a happy picture, both of us crossing the line, hand in hand and sharing the prize, 50-50. As I waited for her, she came close to me... before I could realise, she whizzed past me like a bolt of lightening. I was taken aback. I ran behind her. She finished first. I finished second. The third in line came much later. I still have the picture of the three of us standing on the 1st, 2nd 3rd box.

By the way, the question that my friend asked me today was, "What friends meant to me?".

Re 1.00 = 100 paisa

Not so long ago, I was taught in school the worth of money. The typical Re 1 = 100 paisa conversion deals.I cannot pinpoint the year very precisely, somewhere in the vicinity of 1988-89. But if you know where I stayed during my primary school days, it was the era of Mangala bakery that stood at the corner of the turn to my house. Well, it was year I was taught the Re 1 = 100 paisa mathematics, and the around the same year when Mango Frooti skyrocketed to success in hubli.

This blogs revolves around a little green rectangular carton with a bright yellow mango printed on it, which had a advertising line that was used was ‘Mango Frooti, Fresh and Juicy!’. The Parle Mango Frooti was launched in the mid 80s packaging India's premium fruit into international tetrapack. This was some background.

Now, I love Mangoes. I can eat a dozen of them, chilled and cut. I have always had this weakness for them. And so goes with a pack of chilled Frooti. Coming back to this bakery that I earlier mentioned, it sold Frooti. I thought that this owner was mighty rich as he hoarded these tiny green packs inside a chiller. Well, Hubli was not the place, then, as it is now. A typical small town that you spotted all over India, terribly hot in summer accompanied by load shedding, scorching heat and trickling sweat. The swirling dust devils kept me company during the summer holidays.

On one such seething summer noon, my dad and I were running an errand for my mother. I found myself behind the counter of this bakery, where dad was buying bread. We had to wait as the bread was still being drawn out from the oven. I wanted to ask dad to buy me a Frooti. My a-very-rich-friend has mentioned how her father had bought 10 packs of Frooti for her, so that she could have one each day. She had mentioned that the price was Rs. 5.00.

I deliberated long before asking dad for it. I was calculating, Re 1.00 = 100 paisa. Rs 5 = 500 paisa. To a kid, this was a huge amount. A kid, barely reaching the top of the counter of the bakery, was standing there with her foot raised, so as to catch a good sight of the drink. She was calculating the cost of the drink that she wanted her father to buy for her... She moved her head from the pack to her father, wondering if he noticed her eyeing the pack. Now, when I catch a glimpse of this scene upon my inward eye, my heart goes out for myself. 500 paisa or Rs. 5.00 meant a lot then, to me. Hurriedly, the boy came with the pound of bread and began packing it a news paper. My father was drawing the money from his wallet. I pulled at my dad's sleeve and asked him if he can buy me a frooti. I told him that it will cost 500 paisa. I dont know what happenned after this. But, I walked home, skipping with joy and sipping with glee... I was holding the green pack close to me.

I must have bought frooti a hundreds of times. But, I wonder if it tastes as good as it did, when I had it the first time.

What I think of Telemarketing?

I would hate to make phone calls to earn my living!

Harnessing sound bytes

You would find some people who revel in the fact that they can talk like they are competing in a verbal marathon. Your desire to interject an input to their sound bytes is like trying to thread a running needle. Each time you want to say something, it would seem to the onlookers that you are stopped mid way through a yawn. We expend so much energy, which I think can be harnessed into a means of energy producing agent.

I was hearing a lady talk other day. It continued for exactly 42 minutes. I am aware of the duration because, when she stopped, a wave of silence washed over me. Felt like a speaker blaring terrible songs had just died out because of a power cut.

Coming back to the harnessing part, I was imagining a wind mill placed in front of her mouth. The blades would keep rotating. No power could have stopped it. The other end of the windmill can be connected to a power station.

Wild imaginations..

Dialogbazee at the Vienna airport!

On way to India after a span of 10 months and few odd days, I was booked to take 3 flights from Amsterdam to Hubli. Austrian airlines operated by some carrier(I do not the spelling),was a nightmare one sees onself walking through unknowingly. After embarking on a carrier like this, there is not way back. For the reason that, a way back would mean, doing a "pilotless" debut sky diving.

As I settled at seat 5A, window(which I had regretted earlier), A puzzle maniac gentleman was seated at the aisle seat. Not once did his gaze avert from the book that he was scribbling away to glory.

I was ravenous and could eat an entire elephant alive. All that I could think of was food!! The lady in red came walking the aisle holding the I-dont-know-what-you-call-that! As she handed over the hot-something to me, I felt like seeing an oasis in a desert after a week in the of treading the arid sands!! It was hot and scent was appetising. I carefully drew the silver foil away from the edges. My patience was wearing thin.

As I finally managed to get a view of the contents, I felt like a knife piercing through my gut. I could see myself crying at the visceral remains of myself strewn all around me. A pancake shaped some-dead-animal waited in the "sunrise" breakfast pack. It was sunrise for me... the sun had long set for the once-living thing, now lying in the tray. My appetite went down like Alice sliding down the rabbit hole. A cruel joke played by I-dont-know-whom. To confirm my sight, I asked the lady in red, if the stuff was vegetarian. She answered me coldly , "No". I stashed in the farthest corner of the tray. I continued to gaze into the skies. The pilot announced that the flight will be late by 30 minutes. My connecting flight to India was scheduled at 11.15 am. I hardly had the time to breathe. Landing at 10.30, I hurried away from my terminal and searching for gate B10.

I had anticipated some problems at the Vienna airport. The NL govt issues residence cards to the long term migrants. If one is leaving Holland forever and does not have any plans of returning, then he needs to surrender the card. After the visa expires, the residense card serves the purpose of the same. I was told by the lady in blue while I was being issued my boarding pass in the schipol airport, Amsterdam, that the Vienna govt does not like this. They may even prevent me from boarding and I may have to pay a hefty fine before they can debate of letting me free.

Now, I am no exception and I had followed the rules to the letter. However the folks at the Vienna passport check counter did not agree with this(visibly, as told). The guy at the board, had a look at my passport. I handed him the acknowledgement letter from the Amstelveen population office in lieu of the card that I had rightly surrendered. I could see his facial muscles tighten by a some millimetres.

Before he could search his limited vocab to say something (in)appropriate, I started. "I understand that this is not a on-off event that you are witnessing. Most of my colleagues have been in such a uncomfortable position before. We stay in the Netherlands and have to abide by the rules laid for the civilians. As per the rule, I have returned the residence card. What do you want me to do? Comply to the rules of the country where I lived for 10 months or the rules of the country where I find myself only because I am in transit and my connecting flight is from here?".

He had not yet looked up from the letter, but my sixth sense (called non-sense) very well knew he was listening to me. He looked up at me, abruptly, gave me a dirty look and handed the passport along with the letter and wished me a good journey! phew... Raj(my co-passenger from Amsterdam) said, " Oh.. What dialogbazee? I wonder how much he understood! He definitely hates you. Hope he does not remember you. Go on, See you at the gate B 10! ".

Selling Nescafe on the runway

After 24 hours of landing in Mumbai airport, I was thinking of checking n for my flight to Hubli. I spotted a Nescafe stall. I asked for a coffee and paid 10 bucks. Hurriedly finishing the cup, I walked towards the checkin and cleared it in less than 10 minutes.

After a brief walk to the gate 10, I sat down facing the electronic board that announced the flight for which the boarding was in progress. I had more than 2.30 hours for mine. As my eyes started to feel heavy, I was in need for another coffee!! Hmmm, another Nescafe stall. I dragged myself to the box.

A man, in a well cut suit, was looking into this wallet to pay for the big Ferroro rochter gold rimmed box that he had bought. He had atleast 20 cards in there. (debit/credit). The card holder was huge, in brown leather. He made no attempt to be discreet about the contents. Even a guy standing 10 feet away could have noticed it. I exclaimed under my breath, "You must have paid a bomb for the handsome card holder!". The Nescafe guy pulled me out , "Yes Maam".

"One coffee pls" and held out a 10 rupees note. Well, I had just had a coffee at a distance less than 50 feet.

He said, "20 rupees, Madam!".

Me -- "I had a coffee before coming here. It is inside the airport. Why does the price double every 40 feet and a floor?"

He -- "As you come closer to the flight you board, the more expensive eveything is".

Me -- All smiles, sipping the coffee, I burst out into laughter. The black suit, million-dotted-tie clad guy had stopped rummaging through his huge wallet and was gawking at me. I said, aloud, "I am glad you do not sell coffee on the runaway".

As I walked away, I had to make a huge attempt to hold the coffee cup steady. I was laughing aloud. All eyes were staring at me. The Nescafe boy looked at me sheepishly. I could hear the suit clad guy laughing uproariously. Seems like it took him some few extra seconds to understand what I had said.

Later, as we again crossed paths, a more sober me saw the guy burst into laughter. I wonder what he had found so funny, My face or then-made my remark, "Selling coffee on the runway". As I walked past him, I noticed him settleling down at the far end of the room, with bunch of some more well-cut suits. He was talking to them, and they were smiling at me. All I did was acknowledge with a faint forced smile!

How bad can your life get?

Today, I found myself having lunch with a swedish colleague. Over the usual conversation and din of thoughts, I exclaimed aloud, "I must finish my lunch in 30 minutes". To this, my colleague retorted, "This is the most DUTCHiest thing ever said by you". It took me some time to understand this. He continued, "I never knew that the dutch are so influential!!".

My mind was filled to the brim with the details of the meeting that I had to attend in another 40 minutes. I was not able to give time to the study of the module that we discuss during the one hour slot each day. Guilt was eating into me. My colleague efficiently read the fine words etched on my face. I looked at him with pleading eyes, just to let me dwell on the floaters in my brain. He let me be.

On return to our floor from the cafetaria, my colleague stopped me in my track and said, "Preeti, just imagine a life if you have to sell fish day after day, morning, noon and evening. At dusk, when the fish rot, you have to clean up the rot and walk back home or take the late evening metro, mulling over the profit earned. Every sunrise brought the same activities to the daybreak . Every sunset, sent a trail of depression following you home. When you finally managed to reach home, all that you looked forward to is a nice bath. You dabbed enough perfume to mask the smell of fish. Eventually, when you feel that you do not smell of fish, you decide to go to bed to your husband, the man you need to wipe away your day's sorrow. The moment you move close to him, your husband tells, you, Why dont you have a bath. You smell of fish. Hurt by his insensitive remark, you manage to answer, I did have a bath. He answers without even giving you a glance, Please shift to the couch. I cannot stand you, err the smell. You move over to the couch."

At this, my colleague stopped, look a long breath and asked me Is our life as bad as this?

We stared at each other. The stillness was pregnant with a dense air of gloom. The silence was defeaning. Both os us nodded at each other, with a pretense that we understand the situation each of us are in. I smiled at my colleague and moved towards my desk to collect my file for the meeting.

What do I need to do?

The following conversation between a budding engineer and a bored , gives "my" answers to this question.

Friend: Hello :)


Me: Hey there. Long time!


Friend: Ya, quite some time. Was busy in my 7th semeter project preparation


Me: Hmm,how is it going?


Friend: Good.. no major hiccups so far.


Me:Amen,


Friend: Hmmm, so how long in IT? 2 years??


Me: yes, 2 years this september.


Friend: how does it feel?


Me: I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes.. I feel the weariness.


Friend: :)


Friend: I have a question.


Me: Shoot..


Friend: Which is better, tcs or infosys? I got thro Infi for the heck of it yesterday. Had a on-campus call.


Me: You prefer strange organisations even for the heck of it!!


Friend: :) now tell me in 1 words how are the 2 companies..


Me: Why do you add to my woes? The client wants me to cut down the estimation of a projects by 10%. My lead wants me to gives numbers of the order of 1000 hours per quarterly release? Totally tangential demands.. And now you want me to describe the major Indian IT hubs in 1 word!!!


Friend: Come on..


Me: TWINS.


Friend: Bingo... you actually did use one word...

Me: Well, its my opinion. It may not be the entire truth, of course.


Friend: Another question: What does one need to survive here?


Me: :), why are you putting me to test on a lazy saturday?

Friend: I need to know.


Me: The most obvious skills viz, communication, basics of what you have learnt... anyone can harp on these for long hours. But here is something that my friend passed to me:


1. Know when to talk


2. Its ok even if you break the first rule. But know when to shut up. This can keep you in sane mind


3. As long as you do not prove to be worthless during the time of the interview, your employer would even hire and retain a monkey with a good haircut!! quoting Dilbert here with the "retaining" being my add on.


4. The egos are big and fat as the salary packages. Make sure that you do not step on them.


5. Learn to play tennis. You always need to put your ball out of your court.


6. There will always be a sniffer in your team. He is usually the most talkative and the most approachable. He sniffs for information and feeds it to your boss. Any potential threat will be nipped in the bud.


7. Dont gossip. Everyone is busy doing it. You can keep yourself busy by laughing at them


8. Observe people. They are a great source of live jokes.


9. Be true to your work and yourself. The rest are all worthless and devoid of substance.

Vivaah

Life can boast of many first times ... the first book, the first job, the first boss, the first bad decision, the first goof-up, the first date, the first kiss, the first altercation, the first time you spilled coffee at the most inappropriate time, the first skid off the moped, the first sight that didnt turn into love, the first tear in public, the first guy and among many other firsts, the first time I watched the movie Vivaah... if I can attempt to use one word to define this ageless saga is anachronism.


There was a time when there was a clear division among the movies that were recycled from the bollywood movie-manufacturing industry. Tut tut, did I say Bollywood... Purists of this industry please forgive me for the blasphemy. I heard of late that someone did not like Bollywood being called "Bollywood"... argh pbbht!!!

Coming back to where I had started, I scoffed at the folks who had watched the movie. I was not sure what impetuous was needed for someone to watch the movie. Sarcasm was evident in my tone whenever I spoke to someone who had bore the videographic tome for 3 hours. Alas, I can scoff no more.

The first time I watched it, I was surprised to receive the world neatly wrapped in a glossy wrapping paper, with a red satin ribbon tied round it. Perfect and boring... My friend Dipti had put in the CD and was watching it in rapt attention. Nothing could shake her from there. She even knew the dialogues by memory. I was amazed by her taste. Of course, I did not appreciate what was unfolding on the screen, reel by reel. This is was my memorable reaction to the near-perfect-family-minus-a-bad-mother movie.

The second time when the movie was playing, I realised that I need to put aside my prejudices and watch the movie with an open mind. It is then that I saw the innocence portrayed. The spirit is so palpable. The emotions are so evident in each moment.

Simplistic depiction of the story. It does not force the right or wrong of characters. For example, the protagonist's aunt is depicted as a shrew. Except in one scene, where her husband berates her for her behavior, there is no animosity slung towards her. The movie does not preach, neither precribes. Well, none of the Barjatya movies have. My friend stated, " The movie should have been premiered a decade ago. It would have been a mega money grosser then. We have lost the innocense to appreciate such narration." How right... We have lost the sensitivity take notice and applaud this effort.

I thought the director let us down this time. But, Am glad to be wrong. I just needed to grow up to like the movie. Am grateful to have given myself a second chance.

N70?

When i got out of Paal 9/11, my office premises and walked to the metro station, my eyes came to stop at a cute guy, working in the same office as mine, waiting for the metro 54. Little did I know that I would be sitting opposite to him in the bus 300. If Nostradamous had predicted this as well, then I would have worked longer today.. till 2100 hours.

I reached the Bijlmer station only to see the bus 300, still 13 minutes into near future. Meanwhile my colleague, let me call him A started chatting with the cute face, call him B. The conversation veered towards mobile phone, Nokia N70, since the cute face was toying with it. Before I forget the details of the conversation, let me pen it down...

A: Which cell is that?

B: N72..

A: How much do you use it?

B: what??

A: How much of it do you use? Are you well-versed with all the applications that this box comes with? I have come to hear that it the closest to a computer.

B: Ya, I have used as a modem to connect to the net, to read pdfs, word documents, listen to music, PDA, take pictures, of course. But it is pathetically slow. This is the major problem. Not that only my handset crawls, but all the N70 boxes are sluggish.

A: Is it cos of the memory?

B: I dont know. Not pretty sure of that. Actually, I can install my own applications on this, MSword, Powerpoint, Excel, etc. The OS is not symbian, this is another contributing factor for its slow response time. Though Sony ericsson is fast, you can only install applications from a custom menu. In N70 it is awesome, it is custom. It also needs an anti-virus and a fire wall since you can connect to the net so easily with this.

Me: When will oranjebaan arrive? Why is the bus chugging along like a rope train in Ooty? Kabhie hum raste ko, aur uske haath mein rahe N70 ko dekhate... Hmmmmmmmm...

A: Nokia is coming up with an application that can sync with google..

B: Nokia?????? . With my current phone, I can sync my email contacts with any mail server. Pull down all my contact lists, calender, even read my personal messages from my mail accounts... Awesome it is. I wonder how many contacts he has? You know, I have tried reading pdf docs on this. We have to scroll left and right to read a line completely. Mess it is. I could however view power point ppts on this.

Me: Yaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwnnnnnn..

A: Now that the iphone is here, i wonder how long will N series hold the center stage. The Nseries is not acceptable for executives, nor is the iphone. Nseries is the "thing" for them.

B: Of course, even the blackberry.

A: The blackberry has a problem. The executives need a keyboard. I do not think it is handy with a joy stick. Anyways, ipods and executives do not look good, you know, not an executive match. Did you see the rush for the iphone in the US? Sold out on the debut itself.

B: Hmmm.. yes. I did. And you know regarding the iphone.....

And then Oranjebaan arrived and I got out.

Marriage! I do

In micronomics, politics, science there is a concept called bandawagon effect. In totality, it essentially means that, "people often do (or believe) things because many other people do (or believe) the same. The effect is often pejoratively referred to as herding instinct, particularly as applied to adolescents. Without examining the merits of the particular thing, people tend to 'follow the crowd'. The bandwagon effect is the reason for the bandwagon fallacy's success."

Having said this, can we question ourselves if the same theory can be extended to explain certain man-employed institutions, one among them being marriage. In recent times (not that i have seen many other times), this is more than evident in my immediate surroundings. Yesterday X got married. Y is getting engaged soon, so will Z. Then the A, B , C follow.

There are certain beliefs that I hold dear, fast and hard. There is a certain quantum of learning that one must do alone, without the supportive comfort of a crutch. We have begun living, or rather surviving, a life where we can dare to make mistakes and win our own wars, lose a few battles, or as in my case, losing many battles miserably - jarring and ignoble defeats...


I wonder what is that prompts us to say "Ok, Let me give it a try, sorry, not 'it', but 'him/her'". I know, actually knew, a guy who has seen 55 gals. I have written about this specimen in one of my other blogs. How many is the right number? What are you trying to guage here? Is it your level of patience? Or do you keep looking until the futility of the pursuit numbs your senses so as to daze you into accepting anyone out of sheer defeat. Or, Do you succumb to the unsettling fact that your never-reducing age will soon reflect on your face too?


Well, well, well... how many is the right number.. 'One, two, three... remember there is no limit to counting'... Hail mary, mother of God, Is it even possible! Meeting a couple or more of guys/gals may not necessarily help you decide on the criteria that you expect in your guy/gal, but certainly will help you decide what you "DONT WANT". Isn't this more important? This may received as negative perception. Why look at the thorns when there is the rose!!! Motherhood statements galore...


When I questioned my senior colleague, who recently said, "I do", why he married the one he did? His answer was pretty simple. "We struck a chord"... Were you playing guitar?? I asked a similar question to another friend, her answer was slightly on the conservative side. We spoke for 8 hours and then I knew it had to be him and ME... This reminds me of honey came in and she caught me red-handed. blah blah blah... It wasn't me. I like this song.

Lastly, saying "I do" is not difficult. As long as one does not wake up one fine morning and bawl,
"What the hell did I do"
"Why did I do"
"How did I do"

At the end of the spate of questions, you may not have the answer to the most simplest of all, "When did I do"... you would love to forget the day you said, 'I do'.

Saturday at the Museumplein

Sitting on a wooden bench in the heart of amsterdam - Museumplein, I was savoring the sight of the quiet activity of the city laid out in front of me, served by providence, in the form of men, women, babies and dogs. The usual chaos of the tourist and trippers was missing. It felt more tranquil and earthly, very much unlike the accepted and conventional amsterdam, a much appreciated change for me. Running my life for the 10th straight month in the free-amsterdam, I still have not cultivated my liking for the palpable and vibrant cacophony of this city. The hypnotic attraction of the city has not allured my psyche.

On your left, you will see an exceptional view of the museumplein, flanked by 4 musuems of the city, the rijks, van gogh, diamond and another one. Well, you can see only the Rijks if you look hard and straight. This is how the square looked like on saturday, sedate, unadorned and mortal. I preferred this Amsterdam to the one that gave a psychedelic sense of well-being to all.

It was clothed in a blanket of quiescence and low clouds . I was looking forward to this saturday. The weather department had predicted sun and shine today. As I pulled the hood of my wind-cheater over my head, it reaffirmed my belief that one cannot get fired for being wrong, if you worked in a meterological department. The entire week had passed by under gloom and rain. Saturday was no better.

As my eyes luxuriated in the quotidian activity of the hour, I could not help but spend some minutes longer at the canines and kids around. These 2 sights necessiated me to muse over the similarities between kids and hounds.

The man tossed the frisbees in the air, the tykes running behind the game with thier eyes pointed skywards and retrieving it, but refusing to hand it back to their owners, wanting to relish the feeling of biting into the tattered rubber, a bit longer. The men awarding their animals with a rub on thier back, a hug, or a another throw of a frisbee. This cycle continued even after I forcefully moved my eyes away from the play. Kids clothed in colorful and lively looking jackets running around trying to keep off from rolling on the grass. The kid was accompanied by a man with rather harsh looks, but who softened to tenderness when he glanced at the kid playing around.

Between both the men, if there was one thing that was common other than the gender was the look of harshness in their eyes, a feeling of discomfort came over me when I looked at them individually, keeping the kid and the dog at a safe distance. But in tandem with the accompaniments, my feeling towards them underwent a drastic metamorphoses. They looked human, loved and approachable.

Dogs and Kids are similar. Hope moms and dads wont crush me for this. I though I should write this down this today. Both the entities here brought out the humane chacteristics in us. They loved us unconditionally. When we got back home, either to the dog or the kid, it was pretty immaterial where we came from, or what we are. The fact that we are home was enough. The kid squealing in delight, waiting to be picked up and the dog barking in acknowledgement, waiting for a rub.

How impossible it is for us grown-ups to be this absolute and unadulterated. We may tend to ignore the extra and unwanted fittings that exist in the people we love. Kids and dogs do not ignore, because they cannot understand. They cannot calculate. We analyse each other. Kids and dogs cannot. We can never harbor such unblemised feelings for each other.

Wish I was a kid all my life. I did not say "dog" because an idiom - dog's life means an unhappy life, hard plight! I would not mind being that either as long as we do not attribute figurative meaning to it!

No Title

From Paris hilton being freed from jail or from where ever, Shahrukh Khan goes "fair", To Aditya and Ranis marriage ooops, engagement .... news is being rolled out like a old restaurant trying to woo its customers by naming their dishes after cartoon characters.... Mickey Minny spicey kebab to Donald duck soup... Do you need think any iota of intelligence is needed to decipher the idosy behind this? If you answer a No, then you belong to a normal human race.. Welcome to my abode.

Malaika Arora is staged as a fashion diva!! woooo... this must be the next best think to "nothing". Once in a while I prefer to watch and read such news that I DO NOT need to know. Actually it makes me feel(ya rite) intelligent and sensible. When my morale is down, when I feel like there is no place for me even at the bottom of the black sea(or you can name any other), when I feel like a ISO 27000 (or wahtever, I heard this is latest that has been dished out by them )certified worthless Homo Sapien, such news peps me up, albeit for a few minutes.... Today, not that I my psyche is strangled by any such harrowing (d)emotions, I opened IBN live to read up lines, before sleep pulls the warm covers over me!! Basically, I wanted to feel dulled so that I can feel my eyes heavy with boredom.

Coming back to Madam M (woooooo Casino Royale.. James bond, I liked the current bond as well, a bond with a heart and no gadgets!! Wish he could use his heart like used his devices.... Dil ke hazaaar tukde kar ke, ek ek ko chun ke marega... Yuck, how crass can I get???Sleep here I come), she is the 'new makeover guru'... Well, yes make-over!!

Some cute lass asks her, "Could you please give our viewers some style tips?"
Madam M: "Tips for the monsooon... giggles!! Gee Geee Geeeigles "
How inelegant. M continues after some pouting, "Keep it short.. just to the ankle". Well, when it rains, even my grandmom tucks the ends of saree in, so that it lifts up till the ankle, my mommmy darling does it too, my brother does it too, not his sareeof course but his pair of chinos... Wow, I come from a real stylish family. It took me 24 years and 2 months to realise this. Thanks M.

Accenture dressing policy says, When we say keep it short, we are referring to meetings and presentations, not skirts! Wow.....

The aim of this blog was for me get bored and lug myself to sleep. Am bored of writing on Madam M and her KISS(Keep It Super Short ideas) . Mission accomplished.

Applying weight...

Supervisors are funny. They know they are important, we all know that they are very important.... Well.. :-) Lets leave the game of importance to the ones who believe in them.
Yesterday, I was sprinting down to the 4th floor. I heard a manager barking to the team at the coffee vending machine. Hmmmm, did I say coffee vending machine, yes, we have these fancy coffee makers that encourage us to use caffeine as a means to sustain our rapidly failing metabolic system.. to possibly contain our atrophy to doom. Coming back to the manager, he said, "We need to press them for it, yes, put pressure on them to comply, there is not way this cannot be done". The team nodding their sagging heads in mute agreement.. You know straight from the horses mouth to the fatigued psyche of the team members. With each sentence, the nodding un unision increased, until it reached a frenzied pace and all I all that my retina could reflect is a 5 heads moving in tandem with each other. It seemed like they had had a bout of hypnopaedic session the night before. I looked at them in absolute surprise. I had a mind to ask the guys, what they wanted to push. The sentences continued to be volleyed at a rate of 1 per coffee sip, each one with renewed vigor.. "How can they do this", "Does the IT know about it", "How is that we were not informed"(ya rite.. you are the LORD OF THE RINGS and your team members are the 7 dwarfs!! Self importance... is a funny thing), " I am going to approach the management with this issue", Go on, the management is only there to solve your problems. But the catcher was, ' We must apply weight on them '.. Ya rite, you and your team should go and sit on them...They will definitely buckle under pressure!!

Fate and I

Have you ever tried to solve a problem that you don’t understand?
Try it.This will freak you out totally. I nearly feel like being pushed from a cliff from a deathly height of 8848 metre, with a cushion on the earth. And my dead body lands with a thud on the bed of sponge!

How can I solve a cobol error when I don’t know the C of the cobol. I am big time bulshitting myself here. Feel like a ISO certified moron.

Did some one ask me why was I doing it??

It all began this morning, when a certain cobol job was not updating a value in a sql table. The job owner says the table does not exist and sends a mail with this conclusion to everyone with a copy to their dogs also. It scared the day lights out of me. Not the fact that it was CCed to half the world, but because if the table did not exist then we are doomed and there is no place even at the bottom of the dead sea for us. I had a good mind to tell him, “You retard, why do you conclude such incongruous impossibilities ”.

As far as I am concerned, diplomacy is not exactly saying what you want to say.. Keeping this in mind, I asked my C-coleagues regarding the problem. Collected the information, well.. for me, it is data. I needed to communicate this problem to the right person and also sound “intelligent” in the process. I mean No.. ahhh’s… errrr’s allowed!! I felt like kicking myself in the posterior, and keep a straight face while doing this as well.. !@#$ %^&$..

I dialled the number of the DBA. All the 3 DBAs have the same name. It was immaterial who answered the call. After the initial formalities, I slided straight down into my grave. After what seemed like an exchange of nothingness, I hung up. I am not into mainframes to understand his questions. Felt like a dunce. I had no clue. But after 3 such chances which I had given to make a fool of myself, I managed to convey to him what the problem was. I could feel him precariously balancing at the edge of his patience limit, during each of these conversations. I dont know if the problem is solved. I do not what happened later.

This interaction added weight to my belief, "Fate never throws something at you which you cannot handle". Though you make a fool of yourself in the process, you gain enough.. Whenever I thought, I was on the verge of drowing, I felt my inherent boyancy pushing me up to the surface. This was one such. We are never prepared for anything, but fate does not toss it at you if you are not inherently fabricated with the potential to handle it. Well, I made a fool of myself in the course, but when I retrospect, I cannot but smile at my conversation with the DBA.

Ipod and brothers.

Returning from Amsterdam to his home in the northern vale of India, my friend wanted to buy an apple ipod-nano 30 GB-239 euros, for his brother. Pottering around in the Media market, he was deliberating whether he must buy the expensive gadget for his brother or settle for a decent 1GB ipod. I agreed with the hodgepodge of thoughts that were following him everywhere. It felt like a hovering thought bubble on his head. I am a witness to the clash that was ensuing between his providence and the urge to pamper his brother. The latter made home with the trophy by conquering rational thinking.

How I then wished that I all my thoughts could be automatically be transferred to my system. Like a wire that could transfer all my e-thoughts to my laptop in my bedroom, or to my blogspace.

I found it incredibly unbecoming of my friend to feed his MBA pursuing brother's wish to flaunt the newly-acquired ghetto blaster in front of his friends.

Let me jot down what my mind could decipher from the wide display of the beat boxes. The Apple ipods are available are in 5 vibrant colors, in the memory capacity of 1, 2, 4, 8, 30 and 80 GB. The cost ranging from $79 to $349. The storage capacity of songs spanning from 500 to 20,000 songs.

The younger brother wanted to flaunt the new thing in front of all his friends. You know the peer approval things that most of the college-going 20 somethings that blindly strive for. I could imagine the , "Kya mast cheez hain yaar", reponses from the younger brother's freinds. The wide beam of happinyness that would swell the younger brother's psyche.

20,000 songs??? 80 GB?? You got to be kidding. I have a feeling that we are grossly overdoing many things be. Do we listen to all these 20,000 songs. Ok, we may not store 20K songs, but even photo graphs, documents, movies, etc. 80GB? Do you want to sit inside the gizmo? Well, maybe i am terribly old-fashioned in this regard. I know, I know... I maybe sounding like my mother, or maybe your mother. Yes, I am already aged in my capacity to accept things.

I do not how fabulous a gift technology is. I do not understand the joy of having more for less, in these aspects. I am not a gizmo freak. I would be very happy with a 1GB player.
I think every second humans develop certain wants that superpass the ones that they originally possessed. From acquiring a new cell phone each month, to a new watch each time they chance their eyes on. The bottom line is there is no difference between needs, wants and wishes.

Coming back to the episode, my other friend challenged me that all college going guys are the same. They would easily succumb to peer pressure. They love to fluant it, if they have it. All guys love attention that these exorbiantly priced things can attract. Well, well, well... All guys are mostly the same, but I was not sure if they are the same in all respects. I dialled my brother's cell phone number. Let me call him by his initials. DD.. He is also in college, studying to attain his bachelor's degree in engineering. I ran him through the range of the ipods available, and asked him what he wants.

Me: Which one do you want? From 1 GB to 80 GB...
DD: 80 GB. You got to be kidding gal.
DD: How many songs can a 1 GB hold?
Me: Hmmm.. 250.
DD: Get me a GB. That is more than enough. I can always sync my ipod.

Hail to sanity and my brother.

Calvinism

We get to hear these unalloyed truths from Calvin. Some of my favorite

"I'M SIGNIFICANT!...screamed the dust speck."-Calvin

"There's more to this world than just people, you know."-Hobbes

"I'd hate to have a kid like me."-Calvin

"I hate to think that all my current experiences will someday become stories with no point."-Calvin

"Girls are like slugs - they probably serve some purpose, but it's hard to imagine what."-Calvin

"Do you hate being a girl? What's it like? Is it like being a bug?I imagine bugs and girls have a dim perception that nature played a cruel trick on them, but they lack the intelligence to comrehend the magnitude of it."-Calvin


"In my opinion, we don't devote nearly enough scientific research to finding a cure for jerks."-Calvin

"You know how people are. They only recognize greatness when some authority confirms it."-Calvin

Hmmm, sigh...

Less:Lesser:Least is as to Mouth:ears:Brain

Galileo proposed the geo-centric model. Each of us have our own 'me' centric model. Galileo was unncessarily declared as a heretic for it.

Whoever said time heals was gifted with a very bad memory.

Fate never throws anything at you, which you cannot handle.

Except death, you can survive anything.

Men and marriage!

"God help the man who won't marry until he finds a perfect woman, and God help him still more if he finds her"

Marriages may be well made in heaven, the man and wife brought together at a matrominal website, their relationship solemnised in a church and consumated behind closed doors, They are definitely broken on this earth, very much in public.

When Newton said, "Every action has an equal and opposite reaction", he was possible referring to the reason behind me writing this blog. :-). All thanks to my Swedish colleague who asked me a question, "Can Indian men choose not to marry at all?". Good quesion.. isn't it? Well, all good questions have no answer.

On a very normal day , the daily dose of conversation was chugging along at snail's pace over the lunch table. As is the practise, we Indians and the dutch colleagues would be enjoying ( enjoying.. ahem... almost. I would not suggest the name of our caterer for the party at your place.) the delicatessen together. My swedish colleague asked me if Indian men (I vividly remember he asked me only about men and not women) opt not to marry at all. He questioned me on the right of Indian men to exercise their choice in a sane mind and not as a victim of circumstances viz troubled childhood, divorced parents, impotency, etc. I was not sure why he had picked me up to shot to this question at. Well, I do not look like a connoisseur on the art and science of Indian marriages, I have never been married, I am not advocate of bachelorhood err spinsterhood, I am not a product of an estranged couple (Well, my parents celebrated their 25th wedding aniversary on the 2nd of May), I am not a from-the-roof-top screaming anti-marriage feminist. I think it was the proximity... I was sitting right next to him.

The question was bolt from the blue. I began cautiously. I kept chewing on at the cutlet, pretending to be contemplating an answer, cleared my throat in as if I am on the way to deliver a rhetoric.. Let me confess, actually, I was only buying time.

Even if men choose not to get married, there are factors that may not allow them to exercise this right. Being a country, where social norms dictate ones life to a large extent, where family plays a major role in the key decisions. These decisions can range from personal, financial, marital to filial, etc.Which man can stand for long the lamenting mother, the quiet father ( Quiet, because the mother does all the talking), the inquisitive realtives, etc, etc, etc. It was hard for me to believe any man to be let without being forced into a wedLOCK, unless until he publicly proclaimed that he was queer, leading to the family severing its ties with him. In fact I thought all good men are married, or become good after getting married, which ever occurred first. So, is it the family pressure that forced a man to get married?

One of my acquaintances(Hmmm, he was a friend once upon a not so long time ago) had seen 55 girls. Not "see" as in dating, but formal girl-seeing ceremony. I must apologise here, as I am not really sure on the name given to this "boy - see - girl" ritual. Well, he had seen 55 girls before he decided on one recently. Phew, I know what you are thinking, "55 gals! Holy ghost! What was so different between them?".

Anyways, He had a huge list of qualities that he was looking for in his to-be wife. I am not sure if has a prized catch now. Or maybe it is just his age that was ticking faster than the fossil on his wrist. He was 28 going on 29 this July. So was it the ticking age that was his achilles heels? Did he realise that 56th one was the same as the 2nd or 34th and that he had been utterly duh in trying to find the difference between them?

He once complained to me that, most of his friends are already married, settled with kids and wife in tow. He visited his friend in amsterdam recently. Now this hunk was his peer. The friend guy was married, boasted of a handsome salary and a face, a cute princess and a queen at home, a couple of trips to the US of A. To make it more envious he may even own house in mumbai! His life seemed perfect, like a picture to be framed in a gold rimmed holder. For my friend, this life seemed secure and content. So, is it the peer stigma attached to an unmarried male that lead him to decide on the 56th lady as his wife?

Recently I read an article on the WebMD website on "Age Raises Infertility Risk in Men, Too", which boke the myth that men could father children as easily at 78 as they could at 18. As men age, so do their milt. Perhaps he realised that he cannot walk around like he did when he was 18. The article proved with statistics that, as men age, the probality of his offspring being born with autism, down's syndrome, schizophrenia increases. Maybe he read this article? Whatever the reason, he said, "I do". So do we attribute this as the reason for him to marry?

These are few of the reasons that I volleyd at my colleague.There are many other inherent, sustained and proven determinants, namely, the need for a man to have a wife, his intention to bear his children in a secure, stable environment within the confines of a marriage, the man-women union that forms the basis for the generations to come, the life-long companionship that one strives for, the strong need for a man to be wanted and loved, the happiness that he drives from his own family, etc. I have not dwelled upon these.

As a last note, one recent study of 17 developed nations found that "married persons have a significantly higher level of happiness than persons who are not married,". Maybe he read this article as well.

Poignancy in words - One of my favorite paragraphs

You are free to imagine the events preceeding this mail. I have also taken the liberty to conceive the occurences leading to this mail. Picked it somewhere in the world wide web.

You are the master of objectivity. Your mail spoke about every'thing' and some'things'. If you did not get what I mean here, read your mail again... you spoke without a subject and referred to things.

Life would be simpler, if we were as inanimate as the 'things' you spoke about in your mail. As a reminder, we are speaking of humans and their emotions here.

It is very difficult when I wake up each morning and I have my feelings staring at me in the face, waiting to be acknowledged or done away with. In as much as I try to get them away from me, they are a stuck with me. Instead of running away, I deem it healthy to acknowledge them.

Whoever said, 'Time heals', was gifted with a bad memory. A calvinistic view indeed. To my chagrin, I am not gifted.

I do not want to be assosiated with you for life. Somethings, in life, are not meant to be. (Am glad about this).
But It is about what i feel for you. This is what I am wrangling with.

You mentioned that we must move to a different plane of seeing each other. I do not believe in changing angles, with the same rate that one changes skirts! Maybe, the degree of what I feel towards you may wane away with time (hope the big ben moves faster), but the quintessence remains.

Though the visible symptoms of pain today wil be replaced by something else of tomorrow, the dent cannot be mended. From what I know, guys cannot understand abstractness. Let me state an allegory for your soul.

Read on.. If you get a chance, watch the meteor impact on national geographic. Observe how the meteor impacts the earth by surprise and melts away without a hitch or a remorse, leaving the terrestrial body to grapple with the tangible after-effects. Yes, the earth should have had a shield.. Well, it did not. "I" did not. Blame the earth for its vulnerability.

I cannot pretend on what I feel. I cannot do as you do. Maybe I am wrong here. It is just another event in your life. You know (you do not know this either), I miss you so very terribly. Reality lies beyond the ordinary world of protagonists. With the escapist/defeatist attitude that 'one' adopts, they will never garner the courage to get to know this, neither reality nor how much I miss you. While reading your mail, I may even sob in tears because of the melancholy of nonsensical circumstances that I have put myself into... Well, I think you just smiled.

You are the third guy in my life.. from whom I am hearing the following sentences (Yes, I am dissecting your mail)

1. I would definitley want to be someone whom you can count on in life .
2. I always wish you well and look at it as a privelege to have been associated with you in the past and hope to be in the future too.

I see them as la personification of 'The cliches of their life'.

Regarding the mature decision that you want me to take, that will decide how we will see each other in a longer term.. I am not in a state of mind to do anything akin to that. Pain always searches a reason to attribute the inherent wretchedness of itself. It can metamorphose into hatred, pity, sheer indifference. These results depend on the intensity of the woe. Anyways, none of the 3 results translate into any palpable association between us. You know (I know you don't, as you do not read philosophy), In Kafka's story, a person metamorphoses into a bug. And I prefer the third result - indifference.

We think and feel simultaneously. Now when I grasp the absurd particularities by "thinking" and the catastrophes of the protagonist(read me) by "feeling" , I realise that my energy is directed towards an unworthy entity.

Vist to the British embassy

Among my top 100 many complaints in life, the one that riles me up each day when I wake up in the morning is this, "During the day, we keep ourselves busy with many(seemingly fructuous activities), the day passes by me at the rate of the movement of an extra lazy sloth. However, when i wake up in the morning, I feel the moment I wake up and the moment i had fallen asleep, is the just a few seconds apart. The effective distance between these 2 second is the time that I consumed before I fell asleep...". Why is this?

On one such mornings I woke up, having hardly slept the previous night. I had to visit the UK embassy for an appearance to get the British visa stamped in my 'Oh , so new passport'. I will be travelling to city that where Leadenhall street exists. All this hardly seemed to excite me. The moment I stepped out at 7.00 am in the morning, I wondered which seemed worse, my mood, weather or.. well... my mood again. The walk to the metro took me exactly 8 minutes.. felt like a lifetime in reverse gear. The ride to the visa cell was as event less as the sleepless night was. Nothing extraordinary. I had to change to another tram at Leidsaplein, a locality in the heart of amsterdam. Amsterdam did not seem very inviting in the wee hours of the morning. A rather quite beginning to another day. Ladies with and without husbands, ladies with and without dogs were making the rounds of a local park. I am not sure why I am writing dogs and husbands in the same breath.

As I waited for the next tram, tram 2 to nieuw sloten to take me to Emmastraat, my mind stopped thinking. Someone had once told me, 'try keeping your mind idle..'. They had challenged me with such gutso, that I had believed them to true. However, at that moment in time(wish I had noted it down), I realised that, I had not been using my mind at all. I was in a state of prolonged hibernation. Maybe this is how a computer feels when someone sets it an hibernation mode and prevents it from using its microprocessor. But here, it was an involuntary action. As the tram arrived, the dutch guy on the wheel, seemed so content with his job. Doing the same rounds everyday, day after day. The tram seemed like it had been borrowed from the past. Not the bright blue interiors, but a dull green. This added to the woes that I had deeply buried myself into. I had ridden a tram in Basel with the same green color. Felt like a flash from the immediate past. As i tried to make myself comfortable in the comfortable seat of the tram, I was scared that I would fall asleep. I tried reading the faces of the co-travellers. I could fathom nothing.

Emmastraat held its place in a beautiful and scenic surroundings. A huge lake, fallen leaves, a green creeper hugging a tree, the branches of the tree forming a hallow over the lake... pristine and virginal sight for the eye to behold. If I was a poetess, I would pen verses after verses on this feast to the eye. But I had to find the embassy. I looked around to ask someone. Not a soul in the distance of a few feet. I dismissed the thought of asking someone, and started walking in a direction. It did not matter whether it was right or otherwise. Lost in nothingness, I chugged along the well kept path, lined by immaculately maintained garden on one side and Renaults, Nissans, BMWs, merces, Peugeots on the other. Tiny drops of rain that had kissed the leaves all night were glistening in the morning light.

I checked the address on the slip of paper I had written it on, koningslaan 44. Ok, I had to find the 44th house. I could see the union jack waving in the zephyr. 2 guards at the entrance, were at the gate. I checked the address. I need to sit somewhere and sleep. Walked to the end of the street. On my left was a huge opening. Men, women and children in dozens were driving in from the gate to the enclosure. I turned over and sprinted in the opposite direction. Amsterdam domestic localities are bound to have parks dotting the area. I sat down at one such. Wanted to fall asleep on the bench. The thoughts kept wandering. I re-lived my life since last October 28th. Seemed like yesterday. But so much had happened, to have changed my life, at least at the surface. I was lost in the past, when my present jolted me out of my reverie. It was time to walk back to the embassy. 8.45 am. My appointment was at 9.00 am. As I walked in the direction of the cell, I spotted an Indian walking in the parallel lane. Another tourist to the queen's haunt, I thought. As the seconds wore on, I stood in the queue to gain entry into the cell. I had thought that the 2 security personnel were British. They spoke queens English with me, but conversed in dutch with each other.

The edifice of the embassy was impressive as any building in Europe can be. The imposing structure of the building on the exterior was a let down, once I could run my eyes in the interior. A narrow staircase led me to the mezzanine. 2 innocuous looking counters greeted me. As I made my way to the waiting room, I scanned the room, with the intent of making myself comfortable in the surroundings. As, i sat down on cold seats, flattenning my heavy jacket under me, I wondered when the number beeper would show 92. I was not alone in the waiting lounge. A musalman lady in a pair of crocodile skin shoes, an Indian olding on to C n A carry bag, a south asian - rather indonesian lady, and a Indian looking, but Indonesian man sat around me in a quiet distance. They kept me company with sheer aloofness. When ever I glanced over to look at the lady in crocodile skin shoes, she gave me a warm smile... I wondered whether she was trying to reassure me or herself. Within minutes the room was filled with people of varying sizes, shapes and color. A stout man in a pair of baggies, a thin lean mean looking guy, a family - husband, wife and too pretty, but restless kids. Now when I write this blog, I wonder what mended my lousy mood that day. I think it was the Young kid, a boy barely in his 5th year on earth. He kept glancing at me repeatedly... I could not help but smile at him. His face broke into a naughty grin, as though he was caught in an act of stealing cookies when his mama was asleep. This exchange of smiles and giggles continued for the next 15 minutes, till my number was beeped. I was in much spirits now, than i was, when i first got in there. The kid had helped me smile.

As I walked over to the counter, I pulled out my document from the folder. As I handed them over to him for scrutiny, I felt like was sinking into a labyrinth. I was not sure if i why I was travelling to London. Tourism? Friends? To meet Sir? or plain just like that, what the heck?Before I could reach a consensus on the reason, the embassy personnel asked me to place my left hand at the finger print scanning machine. He asked me apply force to the scanner. My hand started shivering. I was scared that the crowd me could see it. The shaking stopped when I pressed my other hand. The process ended faster than it had begun. I was asked me to wait for my passport. As I went back to my seat, hunger pangs kept me busy. Within 15 minutes, I was out of the embassy. The return seemed brighter than the journey to the embassy. It was nearly 9.45 am. Within 45 minutes I was taking the spiral staircase to the 5th floor. The day had begun.

Kya love story hain.

My friend decided that all of team must go and watch the movie, 'Kya love story hain'. The reason the wise chap gave was, You have to watch her movie. Who is she?? What is her name??.. let me think, Hmmmm the lady with a constant smile, a pout, a la Sadhna style coiffure, pretty much swollen cheeks and a ludicrous looking anatomy....

My memory fails me once again. I give up. I do not get her name. Now, I am not able to recall her name... and my one wise friend, decides for all of us that, "we must watch her movie". Ok. We all agree. If you think, we had no choice, you are not right. But you are absolutely right, to the core of being awarded the nobel 'judging' prize. (Ahem.. If there is one).

So a troop of beaten technical geeks(not sure if we are one, but it sounds cool), board the metro 54 to reach the almost deserted bijlmer station, walk up the bend to enter the pathe, present our 'unlimited' movie pass to the terribly-bored lady at the counter. I thought her looks said, 'Oh, you guys are back'. You see it was my guilt speaking, as I managed to watch a movie on each day, when the Islamic brethren held their weekly congregational prayer - Jumu'a. I am referring to a Friday.

Popcorn and dubbel friss are a must as a run up to the movie. After some jabbing at the stairs of the well-lit movie theatre, we enter the 'show' room. This heralds the death of sanity and the birth of palpable senselessness, which grows over the next 150 minutes.

The appearance of the name 'Lovely Singh', hits me terrible hard. The movie has been directed by a sardar/ni. I am not sure. As the staleness enfolds on the screen, I see realisations being pushed out from a 9 month old womb. The bearer of the womb feels no pain... I am referring to Lovely singh. I feel tortured at the sight.

The movie is tepid and graceless. The corniest of the lot. As I squirm at my seat, alternating my attention between the huge screen in the movie hall and small dial of the fossil on my wrist.. the unfolding of the crass reminds me of an anaemic model walking down a ramp in spain and collapsing dead.

The movie is string of un-deserved and 'un-worthiness'... Pathe deserves better movies. Tushhar kapoor does not deserve to be in movies. The voluptuous female form is not worth either of the 'tight jawed males'. I deserve better value for my money. And my wise friend deserves to be trashed.

PEP

Let me keep the expansion of PEP to the more creative minds. Or maybe, I can feed your imagination a little:

Python enchancement project... Ahem
Politically exposed Person.. tut tut
People Exposing Power... this is the crudest of all.

Well, it is the name of the project which I work in. It is enchancement project. For a kind of person that I am, this suits me to the hilt. Kind of person that i am... "I like to break away from the shackles of monotony, repetitiveness induces the feelings of mild angst, I get bored of events at a rate of my pulse"..

But in PEP, nothing is stable or constant. Planning is a loss of electricity, as we make use of computers running microsoft excel(thank you Bill clinton - Ooops Gates) to record what ever we have discussed in the electrically heated meeting rooms. We jam the company mail server by sending mails to the offshore communicating them of the plans, discuss endlessly of the possible back-up plans that one may need ICE (not Inter city express that gallops to Germany, but In Case of Emergency) , ... We squabble over the cable phone lines to the offshore.. cos we have only a single line to connect us to the land that harbored the indus valley civilization, decide on who will be at the forefront of the firing line on the D day, discuss with all the xternal interface teams what needs to be done, blame the 'other' team for the goof ups made, diligently follow the CYA principle(Cover You @$$) ..... but nothing materialises at the end of the tunnel. Given a brief description of what we do with each other and of the planning that we have made.... At the end of the day, nothing works as we thought as it may! There cannot be a sane explanation to the unreasonable events that we encounter.

Think of a possible event: Someone with a foresight, decides that this patch will be implemented to the production system on a particular date. Now we do not refer to any almanac to fix this date. There is ALWAYS a rational explanation to why the patch could not be implemented. The show stopper is always a legitimate cover story. Hmmm...

The functioning of the PEP can be ascribed to the Garbage Can Model. Courtesy - wikipedia. As a tangential thought, I wonder when google will make a bid to buy wikipedia.

And this uncertain madness suits me like a well made cat suit. I wake up in the morning and sprint to the workplace, with the list of actions that I may(not Will) complete... each day i follow the same pattern... and I never get bored. Amen