Read this.
It is quite interesting how the Pakistani media attributes every single civilian murder in Kashmir to the Indian Army, isn't it? Do we want peace with these people? Too bad we can't move away, isn't it?
Tuesday, December 31, 2002
Sunday, December 29, 2002
I do not understand what is it with Indians, there seems to be this pressing need for guys to "prove" their bravery and courage via violence. This seems more prominent in the north, where hunting for 'pleasure' is still prevalent, even though it crosses the legal line. Poaching is rampant in the south, but it is always a matter of business, hardly ever sport, at least to my knowledge.
I read The germination of insecurity and I was a little miffed. It would be absurd to assume that Savarkar had nothing to do with the Gandhi assassination. After all, he is supposed to have said, "Zaa, Yashasvi houun yaa" [Go, and return successful]. But this ad hominem that his ideology is flawed because he did not take to arms is totally uncalled for. Sun Tsu said, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. In my opinion, Gandhi's ideals, though commendable, led to actions akin to a child's tantrum. One thing that Gandhi forgot was that the British weren't our parents. India, when the British left, after all the ballyhoo, was largely jettisoned. It wasn't like Nehru releasing a bird into the air [I always remember Nehru in that scene, setting a dove free], it was more like the British leaving us behind on a marooned island because they could not afford us on the ship anymore.
I find nothing unjustified about the want to carve out a nationalistic hindu state a la what israel did with judaism. A 27% muslim population let to the creation of Pakistan. If, god forbid, 73% of the population had been muslim, I doubt if we would have a democratic republic on our hands. One look at Pakistan and Bangladesh, both of who started off with 25-30% Hindu populations, and have now reduced the figures to 1.5% and 9% respectively, that too, in just 5 decades, gives us a glimpse of what is growing in India's womb.
People say that Hindus in India are victims of insecurity, which is created by and fed upon as well by the Hindu Nazi. But is this insecurity unjustified? Apart for some metropolitan areas, in most of India, the Muslim community chooses to be segregated, some choose to take spouses from Pakistan. These are just some of the reasons why a Hindu in India might feel that a Muslim in India is not different from a Muslim in Pakistan. An average Tamil Muslim is closer to a Tamil Hindu rather than a Pakistani Muslim., or so I have been told by friends from Chennai. This closeness disappears as one travels northward, finally culminating in Kashmir where many Muslims do not associate with Hindus as Indians at all. One might observe that the Hindu-Muslim friction is lesser in South India than in the North, but then again, Hindutva does not have a presence in the South, so we have insufficient paramters to reach a conclusion. Any inputs?
I read The germination of insecurity and I was a little miffed. It would be absurd to assume that Savarkar had nothing to do with the Gandhi assassination. After all, he is supposed to have said, "Zaa, Yashasvi houun yaa" [Go, and return successful]. But this ad hominem that his ideology is flawed because he did not take to arms is totally uncalled for. Sun Tsu said, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. In my opinion, Gandhi's ideals, though commendable, led to actions akin to a child's tantrum. One thing that Gandhi forgot was that the British weren't our parents. India, when the British left, after all the ballyhoo, was largely jettisoned. It wasn't like Nehru releasing a bird into the air [I always remember Nehru in that scene, setting a dove free], it was more like the British leaving us behind on a marooned island because they could not afford us on the ship anymore.
I find nothing unjustified about the want to carve out a nationalistic hindu state a la what israel did with judaism. A 27% muslim population let to the creation of Pakistan. If, god forbid, 73% of the population had been muslim, I doubt if we would have a democratic republic on our hands. One look at Pakistan and Bangladesh, both of who started off with 25-30% Hindu populations, and have now reduced the figures to 1.5% and 9% respectively, that too, in just 5 decades, gives us a glimpse of what is growing in India's womb.
People say that Hindus in India are victims of insecurity, which is created by and fed upon as well by the Hindu Nazi. But is this insecurity unjustified? Apart for some metropolitan areas, in most of India, the Muslim community chooses to be segregated, some choose to take spouses from Pakistan. These are just some of the reasons why a Hindu in India might feel that a Muslim in India is not different from a Muslim in Pakistan. An average Tamil Muslim is closer to a Tamil Hindu rather than a Pakistani Muslim., or so I have been told by friends from Chennai. This closeness disappears as one travels northward, finally culminating in Kashmir where many Muslims do not associate with Hindus as Indians at all. One might observe that the Hindu-Muslim friction is lesser in South India than in the North, but then again, Hindutva does not have a presence in the South, so we have insufficient paramters to reach a conclusion. Any inputs?
Thursday, December 26, 2002
Togadia and Asghar Ali Engineer both made statements about a civil war recently. I believe talks of a civil war on anything but religious grounds are highly exaggerated.
i must first extend my congratulations to Togadia for being a liberal amongst his flock. At least he considers the Muslims to be our own for it to be a civil war. Good.
I once read some SS propaganda that proclaimed, "Indian Muslims must differentiate themselves from Pakistani Muslims. Otherwise all that separates them is a passport". Given that India and Pakistan are at loggerheads, this insecurity is understandable, if not justifiable.
The civil war will begin when the irrationality of the Hindu Nazi leads to pre-emptive strikes against Muslims who 'might' be traitors. To take a leaf from Germany's book, there were very few Germans who wanted to do to the Jews what the Nazi did, when they had given the power to the Nazi, there was little they could do.
The only way to stop the Hindu Nazi is not secularism, but an enlightened Hindutva. India is a Hindu nation, has been, will be. Even at the height of Mughal supremacy, the chants of the Vedas were loud and clear. No one can deny the Hindus in India that. But it is another matter altogether to assume that Hinduism will unite India. One would be making the same mistake that Iqbal made when he said Islam would unite Pakistan.
i must first extend my congratulations to Togadia for being a liberal amongst his flock. At least he considers the Muslims to be our own for it to be a civil war. Good.
I once read some SS propaganda that proclaimed, "Indian Muslims must differentiate themselves from Pakistani Muslims. Otherwise all that separates them is a passport". Given that India and Pakistan are at loggerheads, this insecurity is understandable, if not justifiable.
The civil war will begin when the irrationality of the Hindu Nazi leads to pre-emptive strikes against Muslims who 'might' be traitors. To take a leaf from Germany's book, there were very few Germans who wanted to do to the Jews what the Nazi did, when they had given the power to the Nazi, there was little they could do.
The only way to stop the Hindu Nazi is not secularism, but an enlightened Hindutva. India is a Hindu nation, has been, will be. Even at the height of Mughal supremacy, the chants of the Vedas were loud and clear. No one can deny the Hindus in India that. But it is another matter altogether to assume that Hinduism will unite India. One would be making the same mistake that Iqbal made when he said Islam would unite Pakistan.
Monday, December 23, 2002
I shouldn't have come to Rivendell.
Galadriel always is upgrading and maintaining her zany network. It seems the elves have a penchant for online gaming. Nevertheless, the network was pulled down for the past two days. Looks like Santa had to send some of his elves over to help these guys get their network up and running.
I got a serious jolt today morning, but I guess I will recover.
My boss has called me for some kind of intern reunion. Now, the place is 90 minutes away from Rivendell, and I am in two minds if I should go or not. He has just had a baby, so I guess I will go. Arwen flew into a frenzy last night, when I said I thought Galadriel looked fetching in that gown she was wearing. Arwen shouldn't get all insecure. I mean, I hung around with Eowyn and nothing happened right? [hehe]
The days are getting colder, looks like Sauron wants us all to purchase his woollen sweaters. I wouldn't really mind giving the fellow some business, but it seems like Elrond, who knows the guy first hand, has other ideas. All the elven women are busy knitting these days. They look cute, knitting with their pointy ears, but the clacking of the needles is getting to my head. I tried playing Soul Sitar so that I could drown it in the groovy beat, but groove doesn't quite appeal to elven ears, and all it took was one 'I'll take the network down again' look from Galadriel for me to shut the sitar melodies down.
It is fifty and three clicks from mid-day, and I must leave now for the boss's party at Tanah Merah. The journey will not be easy, but I, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, will ride the snake of lightening and the big magic cart with wheels which pushes itself to get there and give my best wishes to him. May the spirits of our ancestors light my way. All orcs that I shall encounter on the way, I shall decimate without warning, for orc are vermin, not of this earth, and they can never be trusted. Or I might just give them a slight nod and say "Sunny day, isn't it?" Don't let your sword handle you, Gandalf says. He is a wise man, indeed.
Galadriel always is upgrading and maintaining her zany network. It seems the elves have a penchant for online gaming. Nevertheless, the network was pulled down for the past two days. Looks like Santa had to send some of his elves over to help these guys get their network up and running.
I got a serious jolt today morning, but I guess I will recover.
My boss has called me for some kind of intern reunion. Now, the place is 90 minutes away from Rivendell, and I am in two minds if I should go or not. He has just had a baby, so I guess I will go. Arwen flew into a frenzy last night, when I said I thought Galadriel looked fetching in that gown she was wearing. Arwen shouldn't get all insecure. I mean, I hung around with Eowyn and nothing happened right? [hehe]
The days are getting colder, looks like Sauron wants us all to purchase his woollen sweaters. I wouldn't really mind giving the fellow some business, but it seems like Elrond, who knows the guy first hand, has other ideas. All the elven women are busy knitting these days. They look cute, knitting with their pointy ears, but the clacking of the needles is getting to my head. I tried playing Soul Sitar so that I could drown it in the groovy beat, but groove doesn't quite appeal to elven ears, and all it took was one 'I'll take the network down again' look from Galadriel for me to shut the sitar melodies down.
It is fifty and three clicks from mid-day, and I must leave now for the boss's party at Tanah Merah. The journey will not be easy, but I, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, will ride the snake of lightening and the big magic cart with wheels which pushes itself to get there and give my best wishes to him. May the spirits of our ancestors light my way. All orcs that I shall encounter on the way, I shall decimate without warning, for orc are vermin, not of this earth, and they can never be trusted. Or I might just give them a slight nod and say "Sunny day, isn't it?" Don't let your sword handle you, Gandalf says. He is a wise man, indeed.
Friday, December 20, 2002
Ouch.
My head hurts. The last thing i remember is that dastardly orc and his monstrous mongrel charging down on me. These orcs, they aren't as tough as they look, I tell you, but they are crafty bastards. I mean rascals. I fought off the orc, but my long flowing dress got stuck in the saddle and the bloody mutt took me along with it when it went over the cliff.
Note: Wear loose clothes with caution. A Levis and a Lacoste should do.
I dreamt Arwen was kissing me. We had this talk about her leaving Middle Earth. Maybe it was because I am hanging out too much with Legolas these days. Nah, I am a hunk with a two day stubble. Elven or human, no woman can resist my charms. But it wasn't Arwen, really. It was my tawny steed, trying to give me CPR. Thooack! Sputter...There is a deep gash on my right shoulder. Hmm..these elvish women can be really feisty. No, wait, that was just a dream. This must have been that mutated mongrel. Atleast I am alive. Take me to where Legolas is, horsey. I mean, I don't specifically want to meet him. Don't look at me like that, dumb animal, I am straighter than Legolas can shoot an arrow! Damn!
Note: Go pub crawling and arm wrestling with Gimli this weekend.
Ah, Helm's deep. I shall finally see Legolas and Eowyn again. I mean, Eowyn and Legolas. No, just Eowyn. There she is. What did I tell you. All I have to do is give that Don Juan look and they will be eating out of my hands. Can't these orcs live in peace? Gandalf told me of another realm called Iraq where a great war is being fought. But I have travelled all over Middle Earth, and have seen no such thing. But Gandlaf the White is truly wise, and I trust his word. Why can't these orcs go there? There's Legolas. Don't look at him. Focus on Gimli but don't make it too obvious. Theoden's making a big ruckus, he seems to have lost his favourite back-scratcher. An itchy back can be fatal in war, I have learnt, many greater men have fallen to prickly heat.
Note: Run down to nearest Fairprice and get a Shower to Shower.
Eowyn's a nice girl. Just that she is a bit aggressive. No, not where it matters. She is the kind that slams you in the back when you are pondering over the meaning of life. But those freckles make her look cute, so I guess I'll forgive this transgression. Does Gimli wear the same dress day in day out? I have never seen him take a bath. Scruffy looking, if you ask me. On the other hand, Legolas seems to have an infinite supply of dresses that look alike and appear unisexual. Thats it! That's why I am obsessed with Legolas! He reminds me so much of Arwen! Phew! For a moment....
Note: Buy Legolas a pair of Levis and a Lacoste as soon as we get back to Rohan.
It will be a matter of hours before the Urukhai get here. Maybe I'll ask Eowyn to wake me up when they do. Maybe if I pretend to be unconscious, she might use CPR...hee..
My head hurts. The last thing i remember is that dastardly orc and his monstrous mongrel charging down on me. These orcs, they aren't as tough as they look, I tell you, but they are crafty bastards. I mean rascals. I fought off the orc, but my long flowing dress got stuck in the saddle and the bloody mutt took me along with it when it went over the cliff.
Note: Wear loose clothes with caution. A Levis and a Lacoste should do.
I dreamt Arwen was kissing me. We had this talk about her leaving Middle Earth. Maybe it was because I am hanging out too much with Legolas these days. Nah, I am a hunk with a two day stubble. Elven or human, no woman can resist my charms. But it wasn't Arwen, really. It was my tawny steed, trying to give me CPR. Thooack! Sputter...There is a deep gash on my right shoulder. Hmm..these elvish women can be really feisty. No, wait, that was just a dream. This must have been that mutated mongrel. Atleast I am alive. Take me to where Legolas is, horsey. I mean, I don't specifically want to meet him. Don't look at me like that, dumb animal, I am straighter than Legolas can shoot an arrow! Damn!
Note: Go pub crawling and arm wrestling with Gimli this weekend.
Ah, Helm's deep. I shall finally see Legolas and Eowyn again. I mean, Eowyn and Legolas. No, just Eowyn. There she is. What did I tell you. All I have to do is give that Don Juan look and they will be eating out of my hands. Can't these orcs live in peace? Gandalf told me of another realm called Iraq where a great war is being fought. But I have travelled all over Middle Earth, and have seen no such thing. But Gandlaf the White is truly wise, and I trust his word. Why can't these orcs go there? There's Legolas. Don't look at him. Focus on Gimli but don't make it too obvious. Theoden's making a big ruckus, he seems to have lost his favourite back-scratcher. An itchy back can be fatal in war, I have learnt, many greater men have fallen to prickly heat.
Note: Run down to nearest Fairprice and get a Shower to Shower.
Eowyn's a nice girl. Just that she is a bit aggressive. No, not where it matters. She is the kind that slams you in the back when you are pondering over the meaning of life. But those freckles make her look cute, so I guess I'll forgive this transgression. Does Gimli wear the same dress day in day out? I have never seen him take a bath. Scruffy looking, if you ask me. On the other hand, Legolas seems to have an infinite supply of dresses that look alike and appear unisexual. Thats it! That's why I am obsessed with Legolas! He reminds me so much of Arwen! Phew! For a moment....
Note: Buy Legolas a pair of Levis and a Lacoste as soon as we get back to Rohan.
It will be a matter of hours before the Urukhai get here. Maybe I'll ask Eowyn to wake me up when they do. Maybe if I pretend to be unconscious, she might use CPR...hee..
Thursday, December 19, 2002
Athaato pj-aananda
A cat and a dog meet each other.
Dog- Fine morning, madame. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Swaraj Pawl, industrialist and entrepreneur. I must say, charmed, charmed I am by your beauty and grace.
Cat- Your fame precedes you, good Sir. I am but a model for photographers and such. They call me Cindy Clawford, but you must call me Cindy, i insist.
It evoked laughter, there is no punchline, no logic, yet.
A cat and a dog meet each other.
Dog- Fine morning, madame. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Swaraj Pawl, industrialist and entrepreneur. I must say, charmed, charmed I am by your beauty and grace.
Cat- Your fame precedes you, good Sir. I am but a model for photographers and such. They call me Cindy Clawford, but you must call me Cindy, i insist.
It evoked laughter, there is no punchline, no logic, yet.
My friend, Atif, a.k.a. Mullah, bought the tickets with his credit card, online.Arun, a.k.a. Jhumri, went to Mustafa to wrap up his �going-back-to-India� shopping. Atif picked a taxi with a driver who spoke no English. How wonderful. End result: We entered the movie hall 10 minutes late. There was a recap, so we didn�t miss anything.
My friend, Rohan Ranadive, was with us. So whenever there was a reference to Rohan in the movie, we snickered. The best was when Aragorn calls out to the riders of Rohan, Jhumri said, �Bhai ke aadmi hai, sambhal ke�
Gollum�s schizophrenia evoked some giggles from the girls in the audience, but I saw the daily conflict we all face, just exacerbated into an outspoken duel. More about the girls in the audience, they seemed to totally love Frodo. Looks like the age of the �man� has passed, it looks like curly haired boys with pale faces devoid of hair are the rage now. But it won�t last, Gangs of New York will usher in another fad. What struck me was the way Frodo stood up for Gollum and believed in him when Sam doubted and abused him.
Theoden�s silliness in not listening to Gandalf and making a stand at Rohan leads to the disappearance of Aragorn, much to the despair of Eowyn. There was this dreamy sequence where one almost at first thinks that Aragorn is hallucinating, but has actually formed some emotional bond with Aravan, who is emotionally distressed as well, as Elrond tries to convince her to forget Aragorn. I really liked this scene. Someone quipped, �The name is Gorn, Aragorn� and a Chinese girl from the front row turned around and gave us a dirty look.
While Pippin and Merry make friends with the Ents, trying to convince them that Saruman is evil, Legolas and co. try to help Theoden prepare for the Uruk-hai attack. Saruman raises an army of ten thousand Uruk-hai to take Helm�s deep. With only three hundred men in the garrison, Theoden seems in despair, but Aragorn�s arrival and the reinforcements from Rivendell sent after Elrond has a vision of Galadriel seem to raise some spirits.
There, in Gondor, Frodo is forced to betray Gollum to save his life, which makes Gollum�s schizophrenia relapse. The weight of the ring starts showing on Frodo. Sam gives him a Gandalfesque pep talk and they convince Faramir to let them go. There, as the Ents attack Saruman for destroying their forests with great effect, our heroes at Helm�s deep are outnumbered. I thought the battle was unrealistically shoddy. given the rest of the movie was brilliant.
Just as the Uruk-hai seem to be overthrowing the keep, who comes to the rescue but Gandalf who goads Hallifax onto a horde of Uruk-hai pikemen. The final battle scene was too Bollywoody for my taste. Have you seen Braveheart? In the battle of Stirling, the Scots used wooden pikes to great effect against English skirmishers, mounted chargers, that is. The Uruk-hai pikes were longer and made of metal, yet they meekly parted as Gandalf and his company charged down the hill. Apart from this mess up, the movie was beautiful. It was worth the money I spent on the cab and the movie ticket. Recommended.
Wednesday, December 18, 2002
 |
� | Are kaay caalale aahe? What is going on here? I mean, agreed that one would want more people to be vegetarian and all, but sinking this low to attract people of the feminine persuasion [pardon this usage] to vegetarianism is a new high. Outrageous, I say, simply outrageous. I also wish to clarify that my switch [or rather, return] to vegetarianism since January this year was not triggered by any such advertising. I also wish to reiterate what I have said previously on someone's blog, Indian marketing, indeed, is superlative. |
| Jules Winnfield in Pulp Fiction: "Well, if you like hamburgers give 'em a try sometime. Me, I can't usually eat 'em 'cause my girlfriend's a vegetarian. Which more or less makes me a vegetarian, but I sure love the taste of a good burger" |
Save me!
I mean, the profile starts off quite well, with information that can be cross referenced and all, but it ends abruptly, quite abruptly. Reminds me of the Southpark episode where Eric Cartman decides that the local Catholic church was sinful and decides to start his own, with an ulterior motive of making one million dollars, of course.
The Pakistanis believed that Islam would bring unity and stability to Pakistan. Then in 1971, Bangladesh broke away. Soon after, there was a secessionist revolt in Baluchistan which was 'crushed' by the army. Today, religion has made the country anything but stable.
Hindu fundies took the house by storm, nay, they blew the roof off and sent commandoes in, crushing all resistance. Immediately riots broke out all over the state. Casualties suffered by the Hindu fundie camp? The 60 Godhra dead, including women and children. I could evaluate a conspiracy theory that accused Modi of engineering the Godhra train massacre, but I dismissed the theory of the American bombing of the WTC, so I will this one too.
Something tells me that proponents of a nuclear war with Pakistan and a Muslim holocaust are not going to give up that easily. Not after carnage has been rewarded with electoral success.
I mean, the profile starts off quite well, with information that can be cross referenced and all, but it ends abruptly, quite abruptly. Reminds me of the Southpark episode where Eric Cartman decides that the local Catholic church was sinful and decides to start his own, with an ulterior motive of making one million dollars, of course.
The Pakistanis believed that Islam would bring unity and stability to Pakistan. Then in 1971, Bangladesh broke away. Soon after, there was a secessionist revolt in Baluchistan which was 'crushed' by the army. Today, religion has made the country anything but stable.
Hindu fundies took the house by storm, nay, they blew the roof off and sent commandoes in, crushing all resistance. Immediately riots broke out all over the state. Casualties suffered by the Hindu fundie camp? The 60 Godhra dead, including women and children. I could evaluate a conspiracy theory that accused Modi of engineering the Godhra train massacre, but I dismissed the theory of the American bombing of the WTC, so I will this one too.
Something tells me that proponents of a nuclear war with Pakistan and a Muslim holocaust are not going to give up that easily. Not after carnage has been rewarded with electoral success.
Tuesday, December 17, 2002
Monday, December 16, 2002
-reproduced from my current read-
Ibn Battuta, a fourteenth century Muslim traveler who wanted to viist all the Muslim territories in the world, spent about seven years in Muslim India from about 1335. As a traveler he depended on the bounty of the various despots whose lands he visited. He knew the form; he knew how to give gifts to het bigger ones in return. He gave the local governor of Sindh a white slave, a horse, some raisins and almonds.
-break-
In India he constantly talks about slaves and slave girls; he says at one place that he can't travel without them. Slaves are part of the view. In Aden, he had seen slaves used as draught animals, he records it as a novelty, not as an impropriety. For a few months, and as a courtesy to him as a visitor, he was granted the revenues of a village in this Bahawalpur area by a local official. He made five thousand dinars. The dinars didn't fall out of the sky; they would have come from the fields and the serfs who worked them. They are the people never mentioned by Ibn Battuta, but always present.
-end-
the passage does not talk about Ibn Battuta, it talks about how such exploitation of serfs still goes on in rural Pakistan.
Ibn Battuta, a fourteenth century Muslim traveler who wanted to viist all the Muslim territories in the world, spent about seven years in Muslim India from about 1335. As a traveler he depended on the bounty of the various despots whose lands he visited. He knew the form; he knew how to give gifts to het bigger ones in return. He gave the local governor of Sindh a white slave, a horse, some raisins and almonds.
-break-
In India he constantly talks about slaves and slave girls; he says at one place that he can't travel without them. Slaves are part of the view. In Aden, he had seen slaves used as draught animals, he records it as a novelty, not as an impropriety. For a few months, and as a courtesy to him as a visitor, he was granted the revenues of a village in this Bahawalpur area by a local official. He made five thousand dinars. The dinars didn't fall out of the sky; they would have come from the fields and the serfs who worked them. They are the people never mentioned by Ibn Battuta, but always present.
-end-
the passage does not talk about Ibn Battuta, it talks about how such exploitation of serfs still goes on in rural Pakistan.
Friday, December 13, 2002
Tuesday, December 10, 2002
I wanted to be free
from mine, from me.
Genius insights matched,
I became non-attached.
I was happy, free and wild,
it was beautiful for a while,
till i fell in love, madly,
with non-attachment, sadly.
It rose in my veins like
an addiction that could strike
fear into my bravest moods
whom no benevolence could soothe.
It rent my heart, hopeless
and bleeding, without a trace
of love, for it was irrelevant
to bear this tender brunt.
The tenderness and frustration
was painful. All said and done,
I could still feel and desire
though my red eyes grew drier.
It is humourous, even farcical
that non-attachment, though an article
of moral succour, adheres to morals
that unfortunately lead to quarrels.
from mine, from me.
Genius insights matched,
I became non-attached.
I was happy, free and wild,
it was beautiful for a while,
till i fell in love, madly,
with non-attachment, sadly.
It rose in my veins like
an addiction that could strike
fear into my bravest moods
whom no benevolence could soothe.
It rent my heart, hopeless
and bleeding, without a trace
of love, for it was irrelevant
to bear this tender brunt.
The tenderness and frustration
was painful. All said and done,
I could still feel and desire
though my red eyes grew drier.
It is humourous, even farcical
that non-attachment, though an article
of moral succour, adheres to morals
that unfortunately lead to quarrels.
Monday, December 09, 2002
-- Rawalpindi, Pakistan --
Karim - Abbujaan, Are we going to fight the Hindus?
Abbu - I don't know, it's all in his hands. Don't you have homework?
Karim - Latif is saying that there is going to be a war.
Abbu - Sometimes we have to fight a war to overcome evil, son.
Karim - Are Hindus evil?
Abbu - No, they are not. But they don't believe in our way of life.
They believe in other things, things that we know are wrong.
Karim - Why can't we teach the Hindus the right things?
Abbu - We tried to, they wouldn't listen. They don't believe in an
Islamic God, that is why our Prime Minister decided to found an Islamic
state.
Karim - What is an Islamic state, Abbujaan?
Abbu - Where the most righteous man is the ruler, and as in the
glorious days of Islam, leads his people in prayer.
Karim - Is the General the most righteous man in Pakistan, Abbu?
Abbu - I don't know, Karim, I hope so. I sincerely hope so.
-- Chaul, India --
Prasad - Baba, I have finished my homework. Can you teach me to ride
the scooter now?
Baba - Raja, I am reading the newspaper, we will ride it later.
Prasad - What is so important in the newspaper? Let's go.
Baba - That Bukhari has said something anti-national again. Damn these
rascals! Why can't they just go to Pakistan?
Prasad - Why can't the police do anything? Is Bukhari a powerful man?
Baba - He is a Muslim, that's why. A Muslim can do what he wants. Our
secular government fears to antagonise everyone but Hindus. That's why
I tell you, study! Study hard, and go to America. There is nothing here.
Prasad - Our President is also a Muslim, no?
Baba - Just in name, just in name. If it weren't for the Brahmin who
schooled him, it wouldn't have amounted to anything. You give me a
Muslim..., no, an Arab child to bring up and then see what a fine
specimen I make out of him.
Prasad - So Bukhari is bad not because he is a Muslim but because he
doesn't have a proper childhood?
Baba - No, Prasad. It is difficult to explain. Religion is a medicine,
you take a spoonful of it every now and then. If you get addicted to
it, you can destroy your life.
Prasad - I don't understand. Let that Bukhari go into a ditch. Teach me
to ride!
Baba - Ok, Prasad, ok...
Karim - Abbujaan, Are we going to fight the Hindus?
Abbu - I don't know, it's all in his hands. Don't you have homework?
Karim - Latif is saying that there is going to be a war.
Abbu - Sometimes we have to fight a war to overcome evil, son.
Karim - Are Hindus evil?
Abbu - No, they are not. But they don't believe in our way of life.
They believe in other things, things that we know are wrong.
Karim - Why can't we teach the Hindus the right things?
Abbu - We tried to, they wouldn't listen. They don't believe in an
Islamic God, that is why our Prime Minister decided to found an Islamic
state.
Karim - What is an Islamic state, Abbujaan?
Abbu - Where the most righteous man is the ruler, and as in the
glorious days of Islam, leads his people in prayer.
Karim - Is the General the most righteous man in Pakistan, Abbu?
Abbu - I don't know, Karim, I hope so. I sincerely hope so.
-- Chaul, India --
Prasad - Baba, I have finished my homework. Can you teach me to ride
the scooter now?
Baba - Raja, I am reading the newspaper, we will ride it later.
Prasad - What is so important in the newspaper? Let's go.
Baba - That Bukhari has said something anti-national again. Damn these
rascals! Why can't they just go to Pakistan?
Prasad - Why can't the police do anything? Is Bukhari a powerful man?
Baba - He is a Muslim, that's why. A Muslim can do what he wants. Our
secular government fears to antagonise everyone but Hindus. That's why
I tell you, study! Study hard, and go to America. There is nothing here.
Prasad - Our President is also a Muslim, no?
Baba - Just in name, just in name. If it weren't for the Brahmin who
schooled him, it wouldn't have amounted to anything. You give me a
Muslim..., no, an Arab child to bring up and then see what a fine
specimen I make out of him.
Prasad - So Bukhari is bad not because he is a Muslim but because he
doesn't have a proper childhood?
Baba - No, Prasad. It is difficult to explain. Religion is a medicine,
you take a spoonful of it every now and then. If you get addicted to
it, you can destroy your life.
Prasad - I don't understand. Let that Bukhari go into a ditch. Teach me
to ride!
Baba - Ok, Prasad, ok...
Friday, December 06, 2002
Cricket class
The following imaginary class room incident is inspired from a similar story written by Pu La Deshpande about Indian political leaders.
All the kids are making lot of noise. Of course it would be wrong to say that everyone is making noise. Sachin, who is sitting on the first bench, is very quiet as usual. Only 2 minutes are left for Sir to arrive.
At sharp 9, John sir enters the class. Everyone takes their places. "Good morning, everybody" Sir says. "Good morning, Sir" everyone says, every one except Harbhajan, that is. He is still struggling with his English, so he says, "Sat sri akaal Sirji".
"Ok, today we are going to learn about team spirit" John sir says. "Who is Tim's preet?" Well, it is Harbhajan again! Sir many a time felt that Harbhajan should have completed his English classes before joining this course. In fact, sometime he felt like himself joining Punjabi classes, so that he could communicate with Bhaji!!
"Beta, it is not Tim's preet. It is team spirit." he says, trying to control his frustration. "Ok boys, so let's learn something about team spirit.
Hey, Parthiv! How many times have I told you not to put your thumb in your mouth. Now you are big boys. So act your age. And how will you keep wickets if you put your thumb in your mouth?"
Parthiv doesn't pay any attention.
"PARTHIV!!" sir shouts.
"Parthiv, don't suck on your thumb." Sachin says in his gentle voice.
Parthiv immidiately takes the thumb out and says, "I will always listen to you, Sachin dada. You are my role model." Sachin gives him a TVS Victor smile.
"Grrrrrr.... I am the only DADA in this team! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" Sourav dada shouts from the last bench?
"Boys, boys, don't fight. Today we are going to learn about team spirit. Harbhajan! Why are you slapping Rahul?"
"Sir, he called me 'Sardar'"
"But you are a Sardar, right?"
"Sir, but he said I can bowl well only at 12 o'clock, and that since 12 o'clock is lunch time, I will never bowl well", Bhaji says angrily.
"Rahul, I always thought you were a quiet guy like Sachin", Sir says.
"But Sir, he calls me 'tortoise' because I score slowly."
"But, they all call u 'The Wall' for your perfect defence, right? You should be proud of it."
"I was Sir, but now I am not, because they sing a song, 'Rahul Dravid - The Wall, Can't hit a single ball'."
"Sourav, you are the captain of the side, you should make sure that boys don't fight with each other."
"I tried, but they don't listen to me. Some of them still listen to Sachin only" Sourav says dejectedly.
"Guys, no more fights. So we are going to learn about team spirit. Team spirit is - playing for the team and not for oneself. Can anyone give me one example of team spirit?"
Everybody remains silent and as usual starts looking down and fidgeting.
"Ok, Nehra, give me a good example of team spirit."
"Sir.. I don't know any. But I know a good example of lack of team spirit."
"Ok, ok, tell me that"
"When Sourav comes near his hundred, he forgets the team's requirement and plays slowly. That is a good example of lack of team spirit."
The whole class laughs.
"Grrrr.... In the next match Ajit will play in your place and you will be the water boy", roars Sourav.
"This type of fighting is not good for our team. Anil, you are a senior member of the side. You should take care of the boys.
ANIL!!! Why are you looking at the board? Look at me!"
Some children say "dhaapnya, dhaapnya". Everyone laughs.
"Sir, I forgot my lenses today."
"So you should always keep your specs with you."
"But sir, then these people call me 'dhaapnya'. Now I wear lenses, so I am not dhaapnya, right?"
"Is it? Then why do you call me 'zaadya' even though I have lost my weight" said angry Dinesh Mongia.
Now Ajit bemoans, "You call me 'bumper lottery', why?"
Nehra quips, "It's not us; it's the batsmen who see you that way." The class snickers, Ajit's red ears turn redder still.
Dinesh defends himself "I said that because you called me 'Navjot Singh Sidhu' when I said something without thinking."
"Enough of this!" says frustrated John Wright. "Guys, one thing we have learnt today and that is - there is no team spirit in our side. By the way, no matter what happens, you should not call anyone 'Navjot Singh Sidhu'. That hurts. Now we have learned what team spirit is not. Let us now see what team spirit is."
"Sir I have a shooting for TVS Victor" Sachin says.
"And I have to go for Pepsi" says Sehwag.
"Hero Honda for me" adds Sourav.
"Jam jam Jammy" quips Rahul.
One by one every one leaves the classroom.
Only Sir John and Parthiv Patel are left. Parthiv is waiting for his mom to pick him up. He still has his thumb in his mouth. Sir has anyway given up on this side. "Parthiv, I am going to the teacher's room. Don't go anywhere. Your mom will come in a few minutes. And don't leave your water bottle behind like last time."
Dejected, Sir John goes to the teachers' room, calls the peon and tells him to bring a VRS form!
The following imaginary class room incident is inspired from a similar story written by Pu La Deshpande about Indian political leaders.
All the kids are making lot of noise. Of course it would be wrong to say that everyone is making noise. Sachin, who is sitting on the first bench, is very quiet as usual. Only 2 minutes are left for Sir to arrive.
At sharp 9, John sir enters the class. Everyone takes their places. "Good morning, everybody" Sir says. "Good morning, Sir" everyone says, every one except Harbhajan, that is. He is still struggling with his English, so he says, "Sat sri akaal Sirji".
"Ok, today we are going to learn about team spirit" John sir says. "Who is Tim's preet?" Well, it is Harbhajan again! Sir many a time felt that Harbhajan should have completed his English classes before joining this course. In fact, sometime he felt like himself joining Punjabi classes, so that he could communicate with Bhaji!!
"Beta, it is not Tim's preet. It is team spirit." he says, trying to control his frustration. "Ok boys, so let's learn something about team spirit.
Hey, Parthiv! How many times have I told you not to put your thumb in your mouth. Now you are big boys. So act your age. And how will you keep wickets if you put your thumb in your mouth?"
Parthiv doesn't pay any attention.
"PARTHIV!!" sir shouts.
"Parthiv, don't suck on your thumb." Sachin says in his gentle voice.
Parthiv immidiately takes the thumb out and says, "I will always listen to you, Sachin dada. You are my role model." Sachin gives him a TVS Victor smile.
"Grrrrrr.... I am the only DADA in this team! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" Sourav dada shouts from the last bench?
"Boys, boys, don't fight. Today we are going to learn about team spirit. Harbhajan! Why are you slapping Rahul?"
"Sir, he called me 'Sardar'"
"But you are a Sardar, right?"
"Sir, but he said I can bowl well only at 12 o'clock, and that since 12 o'clock is lunch time, I will never bowl well", Bhaji says angrily.
"Rahul, I always thought you were a quiet guy like Sachin", Sir says.
"But Sir, he calls me 'tortoise' because I score slowly."
"But, they all call u 'The Wall' for your perfect defence, right? You should be proud of it."
"I was Sir, but now I am not, because they sing a song, 'Rahul Dravid - The Wall, Can't hit a single ball'."
"Sourav, you are the captain of the side, you should make sure that boys don't fight with each other."
"I tried, but they don't listen to me. Some of them still listen to Sachin only" Sourav says dejectedly.
"Guys, no more fights. So we are going to learn about team spirit. Team spirit is - playing for the team and not for oneself. Can anyone give me one example of team spirit?"
Everybody remains silent and as usual starts looking down and fidgeting.
"Ok, Nehra, give me a good example of team spirit."
"Sir.. I don't know any. But I know a good example of lack of team spirit."
"Ok, ok, tell me that"
"When Sourav comes near his hundred, he forgets the team's requirement and plays slowly. That is a good example of lack of team spirit."
The whole class laughs.
"Grrrr.... In the next match Ajit will play in your place and you will be the water boy", roars Sourav.
"This type of fighting is not good for our team. Anil, you are a senior member of the side. You should take care of the boys.
ANIL!!! Why are you looking at the board? Look at me!"
Some children say "dhaapnya, dhaapnya". Everyone laughs.
"Sir, I forgot my lenses today."
"So you should always keep your specs with you."
"But sir, then these people call me 'dhaapnya'. Now I wear lenses, so I am not dhaapnya, right?"
"Is it? Then why do you call me 'zaadya' even though I have lost my weight" said angry Dinesh Mongia.
Now Ajit bemoans, "You call me 'bumper lottery', why?"
Nehra quips, "It's not us; it's the batsmen who see you that way." The class snickers, Ajit's red ears turn redder still.
Dinesh defends himself "I said that because you called me 'Navjot Singh Sidhu' when I said something without thinking."
"Enough of this!" says frustrated John Wright. "Guys, one thing we have learnt today and that is - there is no team spirit in our side. By the way, no matter what happens, you should not call anyone 'Navjot Singh Sidhu'. That hurts. Now we have learned what team spirit is not. Let us now see what team spirit is."
"Sir I have a shooting for TVS Victor" Sachin says.
"And I have to go for Pepsi" says Sehwag.
"Hero Honda for me" adds Sourav.
"Jam jam Jammy" quips Rahul.
One by one every one leaves the classroom.
Only Sir John and Parthiv Patel are left. Parthiv is waiting for his mom to pick him up. He still has his thumb in his mouth. Sir has anyway given up on this side. "Parthiv, I am going to the teacher's room. Don't go anywhere. Your mom will come in a few minutes. And don't leave your water bottle behind like last time."
Dejected, Sir John goes to the teachers' room, calls the peon and tells him to bring a VRS form!
The gods are angry with me, again.
I usually call out to them, praise them, and propitiate them, asking for forgiveness for my misgivings and shortcomings. I usually do this after I take a bath, whatever time of day it might be. This is important, because I have broken free of the natural urge to sleep when the moon ascends and bathe and break fast when the sun rises. I haven't placated them in the last two days, though.
'Why?', one might ask. It's Voyager, I was so involved in watching as many episodes of it as I could, I forgot my prime duty to the divine. I pay the price now. I realise the futility of human existence now. I realise the insignificance of my rantings now. Gone, gone is the ego that I am this and that. Partly responsible for it is the virulent outbreak of the Third Person Syndrome that Satyen was cursed with by the Snow Goddess of Princeton, but even if it weren't for that, this day would have befallen me.
How the planets would move into position at this precise moment, only providence can tell. But all those who don't believe that the Gods connive and deal retribution for laxness, do so now! Today was Id-ul-Fitr, a public holiday. Knowing that all offices would be closed, my network went down at precisely 1800 hours yesterday, 30 minutes after the administrator's office had closed. I shrugged. Fine, I'll survive a day without the network, without the internet, without my mail, without my blog. I couldn't. So I rushed to Cyph's room and used his computer.
I should have sunk to my knees and realised that the sequence of events that the Gods had set into motion would cascade into something massive. But I didn't. I kept watching Voyager, doing the very same thing that had distracted me from my duties, being bewitched by Kate Mulgrew and her smile, munching on Mister Potato Crisps, wild garlic flavour. I returned to my room, and it is then that the gravity of the situation dawned upon me. I was homeless, penniless and without a fresh shirt on my back. My room mate had locked the room and gone to Orchard, my own set of keys has been missing for quite a while, and the Hall Office where from I could procure a third set was closed on account of the Id. I was trapped.
A quick call to my room mate revealed that he wasn't going to return till 0100 on saturday. Now it is 0410 on saturday, and he yet hasn't returned. He had better be attacked by the transvestites who frequent Orchard Road after dark or something, otherwise I am going to be really mad. I bunked in Cyph's room yesterday night and the whole day today. I need a bath, a change of clothes, and a mobile phone charge-up. I have suffered enough, I believe. I beseech thee, ye Gods, make my room mate return on the wings of the wind, with the shining key to the room in his hand, I wish to sleep in my own warm bed with my pillows.
Warning: Esoterica. If you haven't seen Raiders of the Lost Ark, do not proceed. For those who have, you know better than to get yourselves vapourised, don't you?
Anyway, in the programme, Discovery of India [yeah, the one where Roshan Seth hammed as Nehru], you must have heard the Hiranyagarbha Sukta in the theme, albeit everything but the first line is merely a Hindi translation. I reproduce the first line here, in English.
Hiranyagarbha, in the beginning, He was the one lord of all that was, and that which was born,
He upheld the earth and the heavens, what God should we adore with our offerings?
I never really understood the meaning of this verse, since the hymn is directed to 'What?', as if 'What?' is a God!
But then, this other verse made things clearer. It's the last verse in the Naasadiya Suukta:
He, from whom this creation has arisen, did he create it or did he not?
He, who presides over the deepest stretches of space, must surely know it, or perhaps he does not.
Dear Werner, where is the electron? I suddenly find myself at peace.
I usually call out to them, praise them, and propitiate them, asking for forgiveness for my misgivings and shortcomings. I usually do this after I take a bath, whatever time of day it might be. This is important, because I have broken free of the natural urge to sleep when the moon ascends and bathe and break fast when the sun rises. I haven't placated them in the last two days, though.
'Why?', one might ask. It's Voyager, I was so involved in watching as many episodes of it as I could, I forgot my prime duty to the divine. I pay the price now. I realise the futility of human existence now. I realise the insignificance of my rantings now. Gone, gone is the ego that I am this and that. Partly responsible for it is the virulent outbreak of the Third Person Syndrome that Satyen was cursed with by the Snow Goddess of Princeton, but even if it weren't for that, this day would have befallen me.
How the planets would move into position at this precise moment, only providence can tell. But all those who don't believe that the Gods connive and deal retribution for laxness, do so now! Today was Id-ul-Fitr, a public holiday. Knowing that all offices would be closed, my network went down at precisely 1800 hours yesterday, 30 minutes after the administrator's office had closed. I shrugged. Fine, I'll survive a day without the network, without the internet, without my mail, without my blog. I couldn't. So I rushed to Cyph's room and used his computer.
I should have sunk to my knees and realised that the sequence of events that the Gods had set into motion would cascade into something massive. But I didn't. I kept watching Voyager, doing the very same thing that had distracted me from my duties, being bewitched by Kate Mulgrew and her smile, munching on Mister Potato Crisps, wild garlic flavour. I returned to my room, and it is then that the gravity of the situation dawned upon me. I was homeless, penniless and without a fresh shirt on my back. My room mate had locked the room and gone to Orchard, my own set of keys has been missing for quite a while, and the Hall Office where from I could procure a third set was closed on account of the Id. I was trapped.
A quick call to my room mate revealed that he wasn't going to return till 0100 on saturday. Now it is 0410 on saturday, and he yet hasn't returned. He had better be attacked by the transvestites who frequent Orchard Road after dark or something, otherwise I am going to be really mad. I bunked in Cyph's room yesterday night and the whole day today. I need a bath, a change of clothes, and a mobile phone charge-up. I have suffered enough, I believe. I beseech thee, ye Gods, make my room mate return on the wings of the wind, with the shining key to the room in his hand, I wish to sleep in my own warm bed with my pillows.
Warning: Esoterica. If you haven't seen Raiders of the Lost Ark, do not proceed. For those who have, you know better than to get yourselves vapourised, don't you?
Anyway, in the programme, Discovery of India [yeah, the one where Roshan Seth hammed as Nehru], you must have heard the Hiranyagarbha Sukta in the theme, albeit everything but the first line is merely a Hindi translation. I reproduce the first line here, in English.
Hiranyagarbha, in the beginning, He was the one lord of all that was, and that which was born,
He upheld the earth and the heavens, what God should we adore with our offerings?
I never really understood the meaning of this verse, since the hymn is directed to 'What?', as if 'What?' is a God!
But then, this other verse made things clearer. It's the last verse in the Naasadiya Suukta:
He, from whom this creation has arisen, did he create it or did he not?
He, who presides over the deepest stretches of space, must surely know it, or perhaps he does not.
Dear Werner, where is the electron? I suddenly find myself at peace.
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
Running the risk of sounding juvenile, I have to do this since I am bound to do so by the rules of the game.
I SIMPLY ADORE SHUCHITA.
Personally, I myself would have found a subtler and refined way to express my adoration for the person in question and so would like to apologise for this crudeness that has been forced upon me. You can visit her blog here. She is a voracious reader and a prolific blogger, and I am sure you will enjoy your visit.
Had a good breakfast after many days today.
I have been sleeping too late to wake up in time for breakfast, and have been sleeping too early to have breakfast and then retire. The crows were cawing when Cyph called me, and so I decided to go and shut them up with some toast and sweet tea, Indian style. When I dropped at Cyph's room, Baj was there too. It seems that they had been listening to left-wing propaganda all night. Hmm, I rubbed my two day stubble, sleep deprivation plus commie eloquence is a potent combination. Baj was totally sold on to deconstructing America by empowering the common American man.
I believe more and more people are starting to dislike the American imperialist ideal. My opportunism keeps me moving from one pan to the other, though I seriously believe that America has no business over how elections in Iraq are held. Baj, still red, was expounding a communist missionary model to spread camaraderie amongst Americans like Christianity spread. I raised a valid point, Jesus was impaled to the cross, not a kind of death I want to have. Nor some toxic injection, nor some sparky chair. I still haven't decided how I want to die. I hope I will have enough time to plan for that later. Anyway, how much sense does it make to plan for something that is not in your control anyway?
Dropping the morbid subject, I discovered today that there exist something like half-boiled eggs, two of which Baj wolfed down like the weasels on Animal Planet. So did Cyph, but he did it in a much dignified manner. The mood was still red, with Cyph's ardent love for Hitler and the Nazi flashing in between. It was quite good morning enterntainment, a commie and a nazi arguing about what system was best for India while I munched on a toast, laced with butter patiently, like a guy in a ration queue in an Indian metropolis. I couldn't take the 'kill all those not in the interest of the nation' rant that Cyph tugs when he imagines himself comandeering an SS Waffen division in Riga, Latvia. Almost a hundred thousand people of the Mosaic persuasion perished there., I am told.
Athata Baudhika! I cried in my mind, and I jumped into the debate. I had had a very fruitful discussion with Gaurav on the same topic a while ago, which helped me reaffirm and readjust my stand on many an issue. Cyph is an ardent Nazi, believing that people of a country should be the same race, the same religion, the same culture and speak the same language. Cyph, maybe he forgot that Baj is a Tambram. It is not for nothing that it sounds like a missile, Baj was on him like a Dane with a massive snout, tearing him to shreds. We all trooped back, Cyph still shouting "Zeig Heil!" in his head.
My meeting with Ivan was quite fruitful for him, since I gave him a lot of information about Hinduism. I am a trifle ashamed to admit this, but after my jab at Singaporeans yesterday, I was totally clobbered today when Ivan asked me what dvaita and advaita was, and what was the difference between Hinduism and Buddhism. That is more than most Hindus know, even those whose first name is Advait. I'll eat my hat if he wants me to. It wasn't fruitful for me, apart from the banana milkshake I had in between. After grilling me for 4 hours, the chap finally let me go, having written more than 12 pages about Hindu history, it's decimation, it's role in the Indian Independence, the threat of Hindu fascism, and what the world could learn from the Hindu religion. He is going to mail me a copy of his report, so that I can read what the Christians and the Muslims he interviewed said.
Let's see it's 2047, and more than 12 hours since I have had any food. I am hungry, but I am too lazy to go to JP and eat at moshi moshi Mos Burger again. I think I am in love with Kathryn Jeanway, I can't explain it, but I think it's the hair. I know she is 40 years old [Voyager was shot in 1995], but woman in uniform and woman in command, I am selling out lock, stock and barrel here to go and join the army, or in this case, the Starfleet Academy.
This is Captain Onkar Joshi of the Federation Starship Durvasus.....nyah...not quite as impressive :(
I have been sleeping too late to wake up in time for breakfast, and have been sleeping too early to have breakfast and then retire. The crows were cawing when Cyph called me, and so I decided to go and shut them up with some toast and sweet tea, Indian style. When I dropped at Cyph's room, Baj was there too. It seems that they had been listening to left-wing propaganda all night. Hmm, I rubbed my two day stubble, sleep deprivation plus commie eloquence is a potent combination. Baj was totally sold on to deconstructing America by empowering the common American man.
I believe more and more people are starting to dislike the American imperialist ideal. My opportunism keeps me moving from one pan to the other, though I seriously believe that America has no business over how elections in Iraq are held. Baj, still red, was expounding a communist missionary model to spread camaraderie amongst Americans like Christianity spread. I raised a valid point, Jesus was impaled to the cross, not a kind of death I want to have. Nor some toxic injection, nor some sparky chair. I still haven't decided how I want to die. I hope I will have enough time to plan for that later. Anyway, how much sense does it make to plan for something that is not in your control anyway?
Dropping the morbid subject, I discovered today that there exist something like half-boiled eggs, two of which Baj wolfed down like the weasels on Animal Planet. So did Cyph, but he did it in a much dignified manner. The mood was still red, with Cyph's ardent love for Hitler and the Nazi flashing in between. It was quite good morning enterntainment, a commie and a nazi arguing about what system was best for India while I munched on a toast, laced with butter patiently, like a guy in a ration queue in an Indian metropolis. I couldn't take the 'kill all those not in the interest of the nation' rant that Cyph tugs when he imagines himself comandeering an SS Waffen division in Riga, Latvia. Almost a hundred thousand people of the Mosaic persuasion perished there., I am told.
Athata Baudhika! I cried in my mind, and I jumped into the debate. I had had a very fruitful discussion with Gaurav on the same topic a while ago, which helped me reaffirm and readjust my stand on many an issue. Cyph is an ardent Nazi, believing that people of a country should be the same race, the same religion, the same culture and speak the same language. Cyph, maybe he forgot that Baj is a Tambram. It is not for nothing that it sounds like a missile, Baj was on him like a Dane with a massive snout, tearing him to shreds. We all trooped back, Cyph still shouting "Zeig Heil!" in his head.
My meeting with Ivan was quite fruitful for him, since I gave him a lot of information about Hinduism. I am a trifle ashamed to admit this, but after my jab at Singaporeans yesterday, I was totally clobbered today when Ivan asked me what dvaita and advaita was, and what was the difference between Hinduism and Buddhism. That is more than most Hindus know, even those whose first name is Advait. I'll eat my hat if he wants me to. It wasn't fruitful for me, apart from the banana milkshake I had in between. After grilling me for 4 hours, the chap finally let me go, having written more than 12 pages about Hindu history, it's decimation, it's role in the Indian Independence, the threat of Hindu fascism, and what the world could learn from the Hindu religion. He is going to mail me a copy of his report, so that I can read what the Christians and the Muslims he interviewed said.
Let's see it's 2047, and more than 12 hours since I have had any food. I am hungry, but I am too lazy to go to JP and eat at moshi moshi Mos Burger again. I think I am in love with Kathryn Jeanway, I can't explain it, but I think it's the hair. I know she is 40 years old [Voyager was shot in 1995], but woman in uniform and woman in command, I am selling out lock, stock and barrel here to go and join the army, or in this case, the Starfleet Academy.
This is Captain Onkar Joshi of the Federation Starship Durvasus.....nyah...not quite as impressive :(
Tuesday, December 03, 2002
I know what my obituary is going to say if I die anytime soon:
"May he find in death the peace he never found in life."
My life is like a very bad channel, lots of static. I know Germans who know noise as the disturbance in a channel, but not as an audible menace. Lucky them. Not really, I am sure they have a German word for undesirable sounds. I really need some peace. Not peace of mind, that I can never get. I need general peace. I live 50 metres away from the Pan-Island Expressway, and it's tragic to say the least. In consolation, there is a very nice garden between the Expressway and my hostel and there are lovely songbirds chirping there in the morning.
Singaporeans, many of them are very superficial. Not that it is bad all the time, but when some guy who decides to buy a motorbike that causes more noise pollution than it does air pollution and run it down the Expressway to work everyday, it is something that you just cannot live with. Yet I do, rather, I have to.
I am meeting a local Singaporean for lunch tomorrow. It's a guy, named Ivan. He is not Slavic, many Chinese people here have names that just are not common in their country and culture. I wouldn't observe this as a trait of the Chinese, because there are Robin Dhamankars and Healthy Shahs and Roger Guptes in Mumbai itself. Nevertheless, I prefer an Ivan to a Zhou Hanfeng, it's easier to store in my database that is not phonetically compatible with Chinese names.
Today, Baj, Cyph and I went to Mos Burger again. Maybe it is Cyph and my Nihonophilia, or maybe it is because Baja needed something new to eat, but we really are digging this joint. The best part of it all is that they have a vegetarian burger, so I don't have to get puzzled looks from people like I do when I ask people to cook my spaghetti without the chicken and give me tomato puree instead of the usual beef sauce. I tell them I am a Hindu, but then they tell me Hindus can eat meat, which is true. I have tried telling people that I am a monk, but then they look at you even more weirdly, which is quite funny. So I just tell them, forget it man, don't ask questions, no meat, no seafood, just vegetables and fruits.
It seems that Cyph and I really enjoy making Singaporean jaws drop to the ground. Though there have been people like Gotam and Prabs who told some local girls that they had three wives back home, we stick to more plausible lies to extract fun out of taking these nice people for a spin. Like telling people that Indians getting IT training since primary school being the reason why Indian IT professionals are so good. One female in Temasek Polytechnic I know once explaimed in a Communications class that she was the heir apparent of a small princely state near Nepal. Her tutor, some Aussie who knew better, decided to play along, this female was suddenly bombarded with questions so as to how her kingdom was run, and whether she lived in a palace and what not. Poor thing, she had a hard time removing the dunce cap that she had put on her classmates' collective head.
It can be offensive sometime, though. Cyph gets it all the time. I mean, ok, he is a little too fair even for a chitpavan, but I mean, there is no universal law that Indians have to be tanned, is there? So when Cyph writes nationality Indian, some morons ask him if he is British. As if that wasn't impolite enough, some folks refuse to accept him as being Indian. I mean, Cyph tells me that some New Yorkers thought that he looked more Greek than Indian too, but I guess they put it across lot better. "Woa, you can't be Indian! lah" is something no Indian wants to hear. Rohan and I have experienced this. The director of Procurement and Logistics attended a dinner for interns and he says, "Are you Pakistani? We have an office in Karachi.." and I am like, "Oye! Bacche ki jaan lega kya?" Rohan told me that someone mistook him for a Bangladeshi and that was the most embarrassing moment of his life.
People attach a sense of pride and belonging to the places they have been born and brought up in. Some people change these loyalties as they forge relationships with new places. Some people are too nomadic to be from one single place. But the last two are the ones who suffer from massive identity crises, from what I have observed. A Bengali friend who never lived in Bengal and can hardly read or write Bengali is reading all the Bengali authors she can, in English, though. All my friends, Chinese, Indonesian, the various Indian communities seem to feel a need to reach out to their roots, not that they are far away. People try to be American in Mumbai, but once they are out of Mumbai, most of them wouldn't hear a word against Mumbai. The need to be a Mumbaikar, or Marathi or Indian arises acutely when one is out of Mumbai, Maharashtra or India, it seems. Maybe the need to live arises only when one is dead. But unlike a plane ticket back home, there is nothing here. I guess I will look for peace while I yet live. Maybe I will retire early and move to Tibet or Ladakh. Maybe I will buy land in Thal and set up a mango farm. Life is a cruel paradoxical sequence. To get peace one has to endure noise. To get relief one has to endure pain. Why?
"May he find in death the peace he never found in life."
My life is like a very bad channel, lots of static. I know Germans who know noise as the disturbance in a channel, but not as an audible menace. Lucky them. Not really, I am sure they have a German word for undesirable sounds. I really need some peace. Not peace of mind, that I can never get. I need general peace. I live 50 metres away from the Pan-Island Expressway, and it's tragic to say the least. In consolation, there is a very nice garden between the Expressway and my hostel and there are lovely songbirds chirping there in the morning.
Singaporeans, many of them are very superficial. Not that it is bad all the time, but when some guy who decides to buy a motorbike that causes more noise pollution than it does air pollution and run it down the Expressway to work everyday, it is something that you just cannot live with. Yet I do, rather, I have to.
I am meeting a local Singaporean for lunch tomorrow. It's a guy, named Ivan. He is not Slavic, many Chinese people here have names that just are not common in their country and culture. I wouldn't observe this as a trait of the Chinese, because there are Robin Dhamankars and Healthy Shahs and Roger Guptes in Mumbai itself. Nevertheless, I prefer an Ivan to a Zhou Hanfeng, it's easier to store in my database that is not phonetically compatible with Chinese names.
Today, Baj, Cyph and I went to Mos Burger again. Maybe it is Cyph and my Nihonophilia, or maybe it is because Baja needed something new to eat, but we really are digging this joint. The best part of it all is that they have a vegetarian burger, so I don't have to get puzzled looks from people like I do when I ask people to cook my spaghetti without the chicken and give me tomato puree instead of the usual beef sauce. I tell them I am a Hindu, but then they tell me Hindus can eat meat, which is true. I have tried telling people that I am a monk, but then they look at you even more weirdly, which is quite funny. So I just tell them, forget it man, don't ask questions, no meat, no seafood, just vegetables and fruits.
It seems that Cyph and I really enjoy making Singaporean jaws drop to the ground. Though there have been people like Gotam and Prabs who told some local girls that they had three wives back home, we stick to more plausible lies to extract fun out of taking these nice people for a spin. Like telling people that Indians getting IT training since primary school being the reason why Indian IT professionals are so good. One female in Temasek Polytechnic I know once explaimed in a Communications class that she was the heir apparent of a small princely state near Nepal. Her tutor, some Aussie who knew better, decided to play along, this female was suddenly bombarded with questions so as to how her kingdom was run, and whether she lived in a palace and what not. Poor thing, she had a hard time removing the dunce cap that she had put on her classmates' collective head.
It can be offensive sometime, though. Cyph gets it all the time. I mean, ok, he is a little too fair even for a chitpavan, but I mean, there is no universal law that Indians have to be tanned, is there? So when Cyph writes nationality Indian, some morons ask him if he is British. As if that wasn't impolite enough, some folks refuse to accept him as being Indian. I mean, Cyph tells me that some New Yorkers thought that he looked more Greek than Indian too, but I guess they put it across lot better. "Woa, you can't be Indian! lah" is something no Indian wants to hear. Rohan and I have experienced this. The director of Procurement and Logistics attended a dinner for interns and he says, "Are you Pakistani? We have an office in Karachi.." and I am like, "Oye! Bacche ki jaan lega kya?" Rohan told me that someone mistook him for a Bangladeshi and that was the most embarrassing moment of his life.
People attach a sense of pride and belonging to the places they have been born and brought up in. Some people change these loyalties as they forge relationships with new places. Some people are too nomadic to be from one single place. But the last two are the ones who suffer from massive identity crises, from what I have observed. A Bengali friend who never lived in Bengal and can hardly read or write Bengali is reading all the Bengali authors she can, in English, though. All my friends, Chinese, Indonesian, the various Indian communities seem to feel a need to reach out to their roots, not that they are far away. People try to be American in Mumbai, but once they are out of Mumbai, most of them wouldn't hear a word against Mumbai. The need to be a Mumbaikar, or Marathi or Indian arises acutely when one is out of Mumbai, Maharashtra or India, it seems. Maybe the need to live arises only when one is dead. But unlike a plane ticket back home, there is nothing here. I guess I will look for peace while I yet live. Maybe I will retire early and move to Tibet or Ladakh. Maybe I will buy land in Thal and set up a mango farm. Life is a cruel paradoxical sequence. To get peace one has to endure noise. To get relief one has to endure pain. Why?
This happened last year, sometime in December, when I had gone back home for the holidays.
I had gone to Thal for some Dattatreya celebrations because some famous kirtankar was going to come and sing bhajans [devotional songs] at night, so my nana[maternal grandfather] and his nephew wanted to go, especially since they were friends of this guy's father's. Anyway, after the kirtan [a music narration extolling someone's greatness] was over at around 2 am, the guy left, and the loudspeakers were playing general purpose bhakti songs about Dattatreya, usually sung by the Mangeshkar sisters and it was pretty good, till about 3 am when some idiot decided to play Gadar at full blast.
Now, I like 'Mai nikla, gaddi leke' and all, but for god's sake, it was Dattatreya's birthday, it was 3 am, they should atleast have some taqaza-e-waqt? But these people were the folks who had made the arrangements and all, so my kaku-aaji[grandaunt, she lived next door] was like, 'zaunde re, karun de maja tyana' [forget it, let them have fun]. It just went to show that even chitpavans are tolerant people. But my civic sense was tingled, so I went around knocking on doors in the neighbourhood. So Sadu Ranade and his son, old man Khanderkar and his grandson Pappu, and some other folks from the gurav-aali went and put an end to the nuisance. it was quite helpful, taking some folks from the gurav-aali that is, as it turned out that some of them were the fathers of the boys who were playing the music.
By the time it was all over, it was 4 am, and I had lost sleep, so I decided to go to the Sai-Ganesh temple on the way to the beach, and then onto the beach itself. The stars from the beachside in an indian village are beautiful, and the sunrise is breathtaking. The reason why I went because I love the way to the beach, the path, it is flanked by bakuli flowers on both sides. My Kaku-aaji warns us that bakuli flowers attract snakes, but I have never seen a snake there. Maybe it is just the rumour that there are ghosts by the seaside that scares the old woman. My grandfather's eldest brother apparently conversed with a ghost on of his morning walks to the seashore, but I think it's another old wives' tale. I left for Mumbai that very day, so I didn't actually meet Pappu and ask him if his old man had a good night's sleep, but I am sure he did.
Oh, take me away to the country, again...
I had gone to Thal for some Dattatreya celebrations because some famous kirtankar was going to come and sing bhajans [devotional songs] at night, so my nana[maternal grandfather] and his nephew wanted to go, especially since they were friends of this guy's father's. Anyway, after the kirtan [a music narration extolling someone's greatness] was over at around 2 am, the guy left, and the loudspeakers were playing general purpose bhakti songs about Dattatreya, usually sung by the Mangeshkar sisters and it was pretty good, till about 3 am when some idiot decided to play Gadar at full blast.
Now, I like 'Mai nikla, gaddi leke' and all, but for god's sake, it was Dattatreya's birthday, it was 3 am, they should atleast have some taqaza-e-waqt? But these people were the folks who had made the arrangements and all, so my kaku-aaji[grandaunt, she lived next door] was like, 'zaunde re, karun de maja tyana' [forget it, let them have fun]. It just went to show that even chitpavans are tolerant people. But my civic sense was tingled, so I went around knocking on doors in the neighbourhood. So Sadu Ranade and his son, old man Khanderkar and his grandson Pappu, and some other folks from the gurav-aali went and put an end to the nuisance. it was quite helpful, taking some folks from the gurav-aali that is, as it turned out that some of them were the fathers of the boys who were playing the music.
By the time it was all over, it was 4 am, and I had lost sleep, so I decided to go to the Sai-Ganesh temple on the way to the beach, and then onto the beach itself. The stars from the beachside in an indian village are beautiful, and the sunrise is breathtaking. The reason why I went because I love the way to the beach, the path, it is flanked by bakuli flowers on both sides. My Kaku-aaji warns us that bakuli flowers attract snakes, but I have never seen a snake there. Maybe it is just the rumour that there are ghosts by the seaside that scares the old woman. My grandfather's eldest brother apparently conversed with a ghost on of his morning walks to the seashore, but I think it's another old wives' tale. I left for Mumbai that very day, so I didn't actually meet Pappu and ask him if his old man had a good night's sleep, but I am sure he did.
Oh, take me away to the country, again...
Sunday, December 01, 2002
i am an idiot.
i have the best friend in the world, and yet i persist, unknowingly, to hurt her with my actions and words.
since i was not aware of these things, i used to wonder why it seemed that my friendship was faltering.
i even let the crazy thought enter my mind that she might be at fault.
of course, now i see the light and the folly of my ways.
i make this pledge public so that it may be known that i am not a person as evil as i have been potraying myself.
it is also public so that fear of public shame might keep me from straying from the path of friendship again.
since i am shameless, it defeats the purpose somehow, but nevertheless, some shred of shame left in me might as yet yank me back to my responsibilities as a friend.
i reiterate my solemn pledge to try and be worthy of the grace and benevolence that has been my lot ever since i had the companionship of this person, something that i have come to take for granted, unfortunately. i plead for wisdom and foresight to ensure I never again will let this happen.
onkar.
i have the best friend in the world, and yet i persist, unknowingly, to hurt her with my actions and words.
since i was not aware of these things, i used to wonder why it seemed that my friendship was faltering.
i even let the crazy thought enter my mind that she might be at fault.
of course, now i see the light and the folly of my ways.
i make this pledge public so that it may be known that i am not a person as evil as i have been potraying myself.
it is also public so that fear of public shame might keep me from straying from the path of friendship again.
since i am shameless, it defeats the purpose somehow, but nevertheless, some shred of shame left in me might as yet yank me back to my responsibilities as a friend.
i reiterate my solemn pledge to try and be worthy of the grace and benevolence that has been my lot ever since i had the companionship of this person, something that i have come to take for granted, unfortunately. i plead for wisdom and foresight to ensure I never again will let this happen.
onkar.
Saturday, November 30, 2002
Chakotay: Was I particularly naive, Tuvok? How come all you spies pulled the wool over my eyes?
Tuvok: Humans rely on feelings and instincts to make decisions.
Chakotay: Did you notice anything suspicious about Ceska?
Tuvok: No, commander. I am afraid Ensign Ceska pulled the wool over my eyes as well.
Chakotay: Thank you. I feel much better.
Tuvok: Curious...
Chakotay: What?
Tuvok: ...that my failure added to yours should make you feel better.
Chakotay: Misery loves company, Tuvok. See you on the bridge.
Tuvok: Humans rely on feelings and instincts to make decisions.
Chakotay: Did you notice anything suspicious about Ceska?
Tuvok: No, commander. I am afraid Ensign Ceska pulled the wool over my eyes as well.
Chakotay: Thank you. I feel much better.
Tuvok: Curious...
Chakotay: What?
Tuvok: ...that my failure added to yours should make you feel better.
Chakotay: Misery loves company, Tuvok. See you on the bridge.
Friday, November 29, 2002
Thursday, November 28, 2002
Tuesday, November 26, 2002
Yesterday evening can be divided into two, no, three parts.
Scene one
Cyph and I were having dinner in canteen one, and we saw this German guy sitting across. Now, he was one of our friend, Sid's colleagues, but neither of us knew his name, so i ate my porridge [i seem to be hooked on to it, it's the closest thing to mau bhat 5000 km from home] and Cyph ate his burger. I saw G2's [German Guy] eyes tracing something, and like a true blue Mumbaikar trained in the art of video coach reconnaissance, I turned around slightly, and there was this really good looking CFC girl [Chinese from China] standing right behind us. Now this is rare, because the Ministry of Education's scholarship officer does not allow any girl who looks better than her into Singapore. G2 saw this and he gave me a sheepish grin. So walked over and started talking. I always like talking to European people, makes you feel good about your English.
I don't know why, if GG was interesting [in a naya bakra kind of way] or something, but we ended up talking to him for 2 hours. He talks a lot like Borat in Ali G's shows, if you have seen any of them. The talk was mostly about beer in Germany and in the ASEAN region, about how his mother is strict, and how he worked in a youth hostel for 2 years. Cyph invited him to his room, I don't know why he does that...{brr..} but G2 thankfully declined politely and lumbered off.
Scene two
Abbs was sitting in Cyph's room, typing something on his computer. Cyph's roomie is in India, so his computer has been turned into a game server, chiefly for playing Red Alert and Need for Speed. I unlocked the Diablo yesterday, my baby from NFS 4, and made the cops cry. There is a better Lamborghini out there, which they give the cops [!], but nostalgia prevailed. After the race, we listened to Mumbaikar, Punekar aani Nagpurkar again. PuLa is funny even the nth time. I had a roomie who listened to PuLa and giggled himself to sleep.
Scene three
I talked to Nishi till my phone batter drained about the .NET competition that we are participating in. I think we have too ambitious a plan to finish in 4 weeks, especially when there are other commitments. Sid walked past me, and then entered Cyph's room. We came to know the G2 was named George later. By the time I entered the room, Abbs and Sid were in the middle of an argument about the Indian Medical System and how it sucks. Now, Abbs's dad is a surgeon, and Sid's had a thyroid operation, so both of them considered themselves well informed about anything medical. I tried to give a statistical twist to the argument and succeeded. Within minutes there were figures, assumptions, hypotheses flying here and there. Then Cyph quipped, 33 million American's don't have health insurance. He had googled it from somewhere. Eventually, Abbs asked for Sid's email address, promising to show him with proof that he was wrong. I suggested we leg it to 7 11. So we did. There the issue shifted to Buddhdeb Bhattacharya and how West Bengal was going the China way. Finally, Abbs reiterating his frustration at not getting into VJTI comps because of the girls quota and the reserved castes quota, but I tired of it all, and sleepy. They headed back to fight the Americans; I headed back, fighting sleep, to my bed.
Scene one
Cyph and I were having dinner in canteen one, and we saw this German guy sitting across. Now, he was one of our friend, Sid's colleagues, but neither of us knew his name, so i ate my porridge [i seem to be hooked on to it, it's the closest thing to mau bhat 5000 km from home] and Cyph ate his burger. I saw G2's [German Guy] eyes tracing something, and like a true blue Mumbaikar trained in the art of video coach reconnaissance, I turned around slightly, and there was this really good looking CFC girl [Chinese from China] standing right behind us. Now this is rare, because the Ministry of Education's scholarship officer does not allow any girl who looks better than her into Singapore. G2 saw this and he gave me a sheepish grin. So walked over and started talking. I always like talking to European people, makes you feel good about your English.
I don't know why, if GG was interesting [in a naya bakra kind of way] or something, but we ended up talking to him for 2 hours. He talks a lot like Borat in Ali G's shows, if you have seen any of them. The talk was mostly about beer in Germany and in the ASEAN region, about how his mother is strict, and how he worked in a youth hostel for 2 years. Cyph invited him to his room, I don't know why he does that...{brr..} but G2 thankfully declined politely and lumbered off.
Scene two
Abbs was sitting in Cyph's room, typing something on his computer. Cyph's roomie is in India, so his computer has been turned into a game server, chiefly for playing Red Alert and Need for Speed. I unlocked the Diablo yesterday, my baby from NFS 4, and made the cops cry. There is a better Lamborghini out there, which they give the cops [!], but nostalgia prevailed. After the race, we listened to Mumbaikar, Punekar aani Nagpurkar again. PuLa is funny even the nth time. I had a roomie who listened to PuLa and giggled himself to sleep.
Scene three
I talked to Nishi till my phone batter drained about the .NET competition that we are participating in. I think we have too ambitious a plan to finish in 4 weeks, especially when there are other commitments. Sid walked past me, and then entered Cyph's room. We came to know the G2 was named George later. By the time I entered the room, Abbs and Sid were in the middle of an argument about the Indian Medical System and how it sucks. Now, Abbs's dad is a surgeon, and Sid's had a thyroid operation, so both of them considered themselves well informed about anything medical. I tried to give a statistical twist to the argument and succeeded. Within minutes there were figures, assumptions, hypotheses flying here and there. Then Cyph quipped, 33 million American's don't have health insurance. He had googled it from somewhere. Eventually, Abbs asked for Sid's email address, promising to show him with proof that he was wrong. I suggested we leg it to 7 11. So we did. There the issue shifted to Buddhdeb Bhattacharya and how West Bengal was going the China way. Finally, Abbs reiterating his frustration at not getting into VJTI comps because of the girls quota and the reserved castes quota, but I tired of it all, and sleepy. They headed back to fight the Americans; I headed back, fighting sleep, to my bed.
Monday, November 25, 2002
भाईलोक,
अपुन को unicode मे देवनागरी लिखने का software मिल गयेलाय। अभी आख्खा time अपुन देवनागरी मेईच लिखेगा। साला, अपुन का motherscript हे ये, क्या? अंग्रेज़ लोक सोचा होएगा की सब keyboard को अंग्रेज़ी बना डालेगा तो फ़िर indian लोक को computer use करनेको नही होएगा और वो लोग फ़िर से आख्खा world पे राज कर सकेगा। लेकिन कोई bond भाई ने अंग्रेज़ लोक का plan चौपट कियेलाय।
एकदम first-class software बनाएलाय yudit बोलके, वो install करेगा तो unicode मे देवनगरी तो क्या तमिळ, कन्नड, बंगाली बोलेगा तो आख्खा indian और foreign का भाषा लिखनेको होताय। साला, अब तक font download करनेको पडता था हिन्दी मे page पढने का वास्ते, लेकिन अब सिर्फ़ लिखने का वास्ते एक "रघु" करके font download करना मंगताय। उस्का बाद देखो भाईलोक अपुन कैसा without mistake लिखरेलाय हिन्दी फाड फाड के। और best बोलेगा तो क्या है मालूम?। लगता हे की ये font कोई मराठी भाई बनायेलाय, कायको मालूम? यार, 'ळ' हे ना? उपर से ज्ञनेश्वर लिखनेका होएगा तो अंग्रेज़ी मे dny type करनेको पडताय।
दरनेका नै, अपुन का ये हिन्दी मे पैला और आख्री blog हे। यार, बोलेगातो ये special देवनागरी मे लिखनेको solid कंटाला आरेलाय।
अपुन को unicode मे देवनागरी लिखने का software मिल गयेलाय। अभी आख्खा time अपुन देवनागरी मेईच लिखेगा। साला, अपुन का motherscript हे ये, क्या? अंग्रेज़ लोक सोचा होएगा की सब keyboard को अंग्रेज़ी बना डालेगा तो फ़िर indian लोक को computer use करनेको नही होएगा और वो लोग फ़िर से आख्खा world पे राज कर सकेगा। लेकिन कोई bond भाई ने अंग्रेज़ लोक का plan चौपट कियेलाय।
एकदम first-class software बनाएलाय yudit बोलके, वो install करेगा तो unicode मे देवनगरी तो क्या तमिळ, कन्नड, बंगाली बोलेगा तो आख्खा indian और foreign का भाषा लिखनेको होताय। साला, अब तक font download करनेको पडता था हिन्दी मे page पढने का वास्ते, लेकिन अब सिर्फ़ लिखने का वास्ते एक "रघु" करके font download करना मंगताय। उस्का बाद देखो भाईलोक अपुन कैसा without mistake लिखरेलाय हिन्दी फाड फाड के। और best बोलेगा तो क्या है मालूम?। लगता हे की ये font कोई मराठी भाई बनायेलाय, कायको मालूम? यार, 'ळ' हे ना? उपर से ज्ञनेश्वर लिखनेका होएगा तो अंग्रेज़ी मे dny type करनेको पडताय।
दरनेका नै, अपुन का ये हिन्दी मे पैला और आख्री blog हे। यार, बोलेगातो ये special देवनागरी मे लिखनेको solid कंटाला आरेलाय।
Sunday, November 24, 2002
Why is it that a girl's room is always tidier than a guy's room?
This is without exception to race, regional affiliation, age, other factors. One might wonder that since Singapore is a very clean country, a Singaporean guys room might be tidier than an Indian girl's room. No, no way. Yes, his room is tidier than an Indian guy's room, but it is really hard to say that a Singaporean girl's room is tidier than an Indian girl's room.
It appears to me to be an universal axiom that girls are tidier than guys. And it is not so that my room is untidy, you wouldn't find much dust, but here is a description of how messy it is from left to right.
I will divide it into three zones left to right- left, desk and right, and two zones front to back, front and back.
left back - bed, with two pillows and a bolster thrown awry, a blanket, unfolded. near the left foot of bed, there is a pile of clothes that have been freshly washed, and await folding and filing, hooked to the wall above, a speaker.
left front - an easy chair given to me by Stanimir Milenkovic, an affable Croat who found it impractical to haul the easy chair back to Darmstadt, Germany. Some formal clothes, an iron, and a pillow lie neatly on that easy chair. I don't remember the last time I used that easy chair. A folded cat'ai [sewn reed carpet] lies near the chair. 2 packs of maggi lie under the easy chair.
desk back - some cups that i use for holding pens, glue, stapler and other stationery, an empty box that held moon cakes, a small teddy that I got from a dot com, lying on his back, a Marathi dictionary that covers the teddy's face, an Apple CD holder on top of that book, an Emacs hand book on top of the cd holder, a Skippy jar, a spool of 20 CDs, my monitor, on top of the monitor lie a speaker and a camera, in front of the monitor lies a networking book, to the right of the monitor lie a maggi vessel [washed], a can of powdered cocoa, brut deodorant, jovan musk deodorant, a stack of Beatles CDs, an empty box that held cakalis once, a learn Chinese quick book, a sachet of maggi soup, the thinking buddha that i found on the road, 20 AAA sized batteries [for the camera], a bottle of septillin [for my cough], my Lycos cup of hot water, my medicine box, innumerable books and notes, the images and idols of some Hindu gods, my phone book, some more medicines, a box of pot-pourri, the shelf above the desk has many folders, books and CDs, also a trophy, the wall above the desk has an Indian flag.
desk front - my chair, my computer casing, another monitor for me to watch movies while lying on the bed, another chair with wheels that has my bag, a pair of shorts and a shirt lying on it, a 5-litre can of detergent, two plastic buckets, almost full of clothes.
right back - my flight suitcase [empty] my casing box, filled with useless stuff that I'll throw away when i move, some bus plates that i stole, my monitor box, another speaker.
right back - a toiletry cabinet, another medicine cabinet, and a drawer for old books. a wardrobe, where dried, folded clothes are filed. the top of the wardrobe also serves as a food cabinet, on top of the wardrobe are a badminton and a squash racquet, a pearl jam poster, and two books about human anatomy and cars. an umbrella hangs from the wardrobe door.
as postscript i had to add another section,
the floor - it has some bits of paper, an handkerchief, a bottle of Lavenus shampoo that seems to have fallen of the toiletry cabinet, an empty bottle of coke, and a Starhub bill.
Apart from that, there is not a single spec of dust. so why do girls put those cute things on the wall, sayings by Vivekananda, Australian aboriginal paintings, photos of their families [enlarged], a rug on the floor, things like these? and tell you what, I feel these unnecessary things cause a lot of confusion.
Ask a girl for some glue, and she will fumble. I'll go, desk front, left, cup no 3, and voila there it is! keeping only what you need makes life so much easier....alas....
This is without exception to race, regional affiliation, age, other factors. One might wonder that since Singapore is a very clean country, a Singaporean guys room might be tidier than an Indian girl's room. No, no way. Yes, his room is tidier than an Indian guy's room, but it is really hard to say that a Singaporean girl's room is tidier than an Indian girl's room.
It appears to me to be an universal axiom that girls are tidier than guys. And it is not so that my room is untidy, you wouldn't find much dust, but here is a description of how messy it is from left to right.
I will divide it into three zones left to right- left, desk and right, and two zones front to back, front and back.
left back - bed, with two pillows and a bolster thrown awry, a blanket, unfolded. near the left foot of bed, there is a pile of clothes that have been freshly washed, and await folding and filing, hooked to the wall above, a speaker.
left front - an easy chair given to me by Stanimir Milenkovic, an affable Croat who found it impractical to haul the easy chair back to Darmstadt, Germany. Some formal clothes, an iron, and a pillow lie neatly on that easy chair. I don't remember the last time I used that easy chair. A folded cat'ai [sewn reed carpet] lies near the chair. 2 packs of maggi lie under the easy chair.
desk back - some cups that i use for holding pens, glue, stapler and other stationery, an empty box that held moon cakes, a small teddy that I got from a dot com, lying on his back, a Marathi dictionary that covers the teddy's face, an Apple CD holder on top of that book, an Emacs hand book on top of the cd holder, a Skippy jar, a spool of 20 CDs, my monitor, on top of the monitor lie a speaker and a camera, in front of the monitor lies a networking book, to the right of the monitor lie a maggi vessel [washed], a can of powdered cocoa, brut deodorant, jovan musk deodorant, a stack of Beatles CDs, an empty box that held cakalis once, a learn Chinese quick book, a sachet of maggi soup, the thinking buddha that i found on the road, 20 AAA sized batteries [for the camera], a bottle of septillin [for my cough], my Lycos cup of hot water, my medicine box, innumerable books and notes, the images and idols of some Hindu gods, my phone book, some more medicines, a box of pot-pourri, the shelf above the desk has many folders, books and CDs, also a trophy, the wall above the desk has an Indian flag.
desk front - my chair, my computer casing, another monitor for me to watch movies while lying on the bed, another chair with wheels that has my bag, a pair of shorts and a shirt lying on it, a 5-litre can of detergent, two plastic buckets, almost full of clothes.
right back - my flight suitcase [empty] my casing box, filled with useless stuff that I'll throw away when i move, some bus plates that i stole, my monitor box, another speaker.
right back - a toiletry cabinet, another medicine cabinet, and a drawer for old books. a wardrobe, where dried, folded clothes are filed. the top of the wardrobe also serves as a food cabinet, on top of the wardrobe are a badminton and a squash racquet, a pearl jam poster, and two books about human anatomy and cars. an umbrella hangs from the wardrobe door.
as postscript i had to add another section,
the floor - it has some bits of paper, an handkerchief, a bottle of Lavenus shampoo that seems to have fallen of the toiletry cabinet, an empty bottle of coke, and a Starhub bill.
Apart from that, there is not a single spec of dust. so why do girls put those cute things on the wall, sayings by Vivekananda, Australian aboriginal paintings, photos of their families [enlarged], a rug on the floor, things like these? and tell you what, I feel these unnecessary things cause a lot of confusion.
Ask a girl for some glue, and she will fumble. I'll go, desk front, left, cup no 3, and voila there it is! keeping only what you need makes life so much easier....alas....
Revenge is sweet. That was the bottom-line of this movie about the Nazi SS who escaped trial in Nuremburg forming an organisation to give the other Nazi SS cover and new identities.
Kowing that it would not be possible to bring him to justice legally, would you risk life and limb to kill a man who you know murdered your father?
A young blonde, blue-eyed freelance journalist, Peter Miller, discovers the diary of a dead old Jew, Saloman Tauber, who commits suicide, thanks to his friends in the police. In the diary, Miller reads of a cold-blooded SS commandant captain Eduard Roschmann, who had cruelly murdered one hundred thousand Jews in Riga, Latvia and was in hiding.
When he starts his investigation, he receives warnings, and they seem to be getting more and more life threatening. But he pushes on, getting help from Simon Wiesenthal and other people who are working for the Israeli intelligence to finally track Eduard Roschmnann down Finally, Miller meets Roschmann where he confronts him with the murder of his father who was a corporal in the Germany army, but not in the SS, and kills him.
I had read the book before, and frankly, the movie does no justice to the book, which is written by, no prizes for guessing, Frederick Forsyth. The book,The Odessa File, is un-putdown-able, and followed byThe Fist of God, makes the the best double digest ever.
I hate this part of the Indian psyche.
A subhashita read-
"Whatever wealth, little or a lot, is written in one's fate, he will get that even in a desert. He will not get more even if he goes to the magical mountain Meru".
"Hence, do not lament your poverty. A pot can take the same amount of water, whether it goes to the well or to the sea".
This seems to be the sole reason why Indians aren't interested in improving their lot. There was a song as late as 1999 that made it to the top in the Indian pop charts
Bathe in the Ganga, apply a vermilion mark on your forehead [do what you want]
What is written in your fate cannot be avoided even if you try.
And then we wonder why the nation does not progress. Agreed that these thoughts prevent the poor from suffering from wants they are not likely to achieve, and might end up in them doing things that are illegal, but then there have to be positive influences that tell a person that no matter what his current position, he is going to do well in the future if he applies himself. I know of one-
"In the end, efforts yield [even] God."
A subhashita read-
"Whatever wealth, little or a lot, is written in one's fate, he will get that even in a desert. He will not get more even if he goes to the magical mountain Meru".
"Hence, do not lament your poverty. A pot can take the same amount of water, whether it goes to the well or to the sea".
This seems to be the sole reason why Indians aren't interested in improving their lot. There was a song as late as 1999 that made it to the top in the Indian pop charts
Bathe in the Ganga, apply a vermilion mark on your forehead [do what you want]
What is written in your fate cannot be avoided even if you try.
And then we wonder why the nation does not progress. Agreed that these thoughts prevent the poor from suffering from wants they are not likely to achieve, and might end up in them doing things that are illegal, but then there have to be positive influences that tell a person that no matter what his current position, he is going to do well in the future if he applies himself. I know of one-
"In the end, efforts yield [even] God."
Friday, November 22, 2002
I have been blessed with a very vivid imagination. As a result of this, gross descriptions really make me barf. But there are good sides to it too. I can picturise people in far off lands doing their mundane chores, some with gaiety, some with wrinkles on their forehead.
As I read Sonal's post today evening after dinner, visions of home haunted me awhile and refused to go away. It's as if I can see the whole world sitting at my desk. It's a very very freaky feeling. I can imagine Baja sitting on Akki's comp, his tongue darting out of his wide mouth as he tries to evade the cops in the Need for Speed: Hot Pursuit 2 game. I am an ace at avoiding and evading things [I am the NTU Indian champ for pod racing], naturally, and will now go there to rub the good old salt in. It feels good to be good.
I can imagine Aai at the granite cooking platform, taking the sizzling bhaji off the gas. I can imagine my sister sitting on the bed, a pillow on her lap, reading her zoology book, and practising amphibious cross section diagrams, almost burying her face in the notebook she is drawing in. Aai says it's going to spoil her eyes. She is going to look weird, a little like Elaine from Seinfeld if she gets those spectacles.
Dad has to be in the living room, checking out the newspaper, its a daily ritual before dinner. I've tried interesting him in watching BBC, but it seems that there is some pleasure in reading the news, as if the written word was somehow more meaningful than the spoken word. Maybe it is.
My friends must be out on Mithagar/Navghar road, for the daily evening walk. The real reason behind these pradakshinas around South-east Mulund [Look at the top right of the map] is ornithological. Sometimes it is also to gobble a couple of Balu's tasy vadapavs. Mac, friend in VJTI, is a major novice at ornithology, and usually makes the quarry aware that it is being spotted. There are some of them like that here too. Fortunately, travelling in Mumbai local trains' video coaches for two years, 5 days a week makes you an expert in the art of ornithography. Unfortunately, seems that ornithographers from Delhi aren't that discreet, and we have had trouble with that in the past.
Freud would have loved to have me as a patient. :P
As I read Sonal's post today evening after dinner, visions of home haunted me awhile and refused to go away. It's as if I can see the whole world sitting at my desk. It's a very very freaky feeling. I can imagine Baja sitting on Akki's comp, his tongue darting out of his wide mouth as he tries to evade the cops in the Need for Speed: Hot Pursuit 2 game. I am an ace at avoiding and evading things [I am the NTU Indian champ for pod racing], naturally, and will now go there to rub the good old salt in. It feels good to be good.
I can imagine Aai at the granite cooking platform, taking the sizzling bhaji off the gas. I can imagine my sister sitting on the bed, a pillow on her lap, reading her zoology book, and practising amphibious cross section diagrams, almost burying her face in the notebook she is drawing in. Aai says it's going to spoil her eyes. She is going to look weird, a little like Elaine from Seinfeld if she gets those spectacles.
Dad has to be in the living room, checking out the newspaper, its a daily ritual before dinner. I've tried interesting him in watching BBC, but it seems that there is some pleasure in reading the news, as if the written word was somehow more meaningful than the spoken word. Maybe it is.
My friends must be out on Mithagar/Navghar road, for the daily evening walk. The real reason behind these pradakshinas around South-east Mulund [Look at the top right of the map] is ornithological. Sometimes it is also to gobble a couple of Balu's tasy vadapavs. Mac, friend in VJTI, is a major novice at ornithology, and usually makes the quarry aware that it is being spotted. There are some of them like that here too. Fortunately, travelling in Mumbai local trains' video coaches for two years, 5 days a week makes you an expert in the art of ornithography. Unfortunately, seems that ornithographers from Delhi aren't that discreet, and we have had trouble with that in the past.
Freud would have loved to have me as a patient. :P
Thursday, November 21, 2002
Today is a glorious day, I have faced the irritating laryngeal bacteria and won. Nevertheless, I decided to eat porridge today, and a very nice chinese lady was gracious enough to make vegetarian porridge for me. To my great surprise, it cost very less too, and was delectable.
I came across this very interesting article by Alok Rai, the grandson of 'the' Munshi Premchand. He appears to be a Marxist, and has some articles on the CPIM website under the culture section. He talks about the Hindi and the Urdu languages, and argues how they have been used to deepen the Hindu-Muslim divide. It's listed in the links for today on the right. We talked briefly about it at dinner.
How is it so that a person who plays a sport well in real life sucks at its computer version? We were trying out Cricket 2002 at Cyph's place, and it's darn stupid. In real life, when you bat, the ball comes towards you. On the other hand, on the computer the ball goes away from you. Maybe it's just sour grapes, or maybe it really is weird to imagine you are the guy wearing the helmet wielding a bat when you are really just clacking at the keyboard.
I guess that's how an armyman will feel when he plays Unreal Tournament with a mouse and keyboard. How sad, no? Maybe computers should control our lives less. Why should children play cricket on computers? It just doesn't make sense to me. The whole idea of it. I can understand F1 2002 or strategy games like Red Alert, but field/court games like Cricket, Football or Basketball should be kept off the computer.
What say?
I came across this very interesting article by Alok Rai, the grandson of 'the' Munshi Premchand. He appears to be a Marxist, and has some articles on the CPIM website under the culture section. He talks about the Hindi and the Urdu languages, and argues how they have been used to deepen the Hindu-Muslim divide. It's listed in the links for today on the right. We talked briefly about it at dinner.
How is it so that a person who plays a sport well in real life sucks at its computer version? We were trying out Cricket 2002 at Cyph's place, and it's darn stupid. In real life, when you bat, the ball comes towards you. On the other hand, on the computer the ball goes away from you. Maybe it's just sour grapes, or maybe it really is weird to imagine you are the guy wearing the helmet wielding a bat when you are really just clacking at the keyboard.
I guess that's how an armyman will feel when he plays Unreal Tournament with a mouse and keyboard. How sad, no? Maybe computers should control our lives less. Why should children play cricket on computers? It just doesn't make sense to me. The whole idea of it. I can understand F1 2002 or strategy games like Red Alert, but field/court games like Cricket, Football or Basketball should be kept off the computer.
What say?
Wednesday, November 20, 2002
Musharraf says he didn't succumb to Indian pressure
K J M Varma in IslamabadI hate this man's guts, but I have more respect for him that I have for Subtle Bihari Vajpayee.
Asserting that he would continue to play his role as the country's president despite stiff opposition from mainstream political and religious parties, General Pervez Musharraf on Wednesday said one of the main achievements of his government was its success in withstanding pressure from India.
One of my all time favourite ghazals:
Bhogale ze du:khkha tyaalaa sukha mhan'aave laagale
evad'he mii bhogale kii maza hasaave laagale.
T'hevale aajanma dol'e aapale mii korad'e
pan'a dujaanchyaa aasavaanii maza bhizaave laagale
Bhogale ze du:khkha tyaalaa sukha mhan'aave laagale
evad'he mii bhogale kii maza hasaave laagale.
T'hevale aajanma dol'e aapale mii korad'e
pan'a dujaanchyaa aasavaanii maza bhizaave laagale
Sorrow that I have borne, I have to call it joy;
So much have I suffered that all I can do is laugh now.
All my life, I kept my eyes dry
but I got drenched with the tears of others.
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