Mars is closer to the earth and bad things are a happening. The blast, the deteriorating economy and a cancelled trip to a paradise island, or so they tell me.

Well, it all began this Monday when I was told that I was to go to Indonesia to revamp a network there. Well, I have been fascinated by Indonesia ever since after Alit was my room-mate, and was/ am looking forward to the trip.

Now, the very next day, it so turned out that most of the chaos was caused by a burnt out modem, which I realised after talking to one of the engineers there over the phone. We despatched a new v.92 USR modem and peace was soon restored. So my trip was postponed to the next week, since the revamp could wait a while, and there were things in Singapore that needed attending to.

But then again, fate had other plans. In the wee hours of yesterday dawn, what do I receive but an sms saying that I was to leave today at any cost with some equipment that would be delivered today morning. After what was a long day at work followed frentic packing, among other things.

Impaled, thats appropriate, for what happened to me when I reached office today, toothpaste and undergarments in a green airbag that has been my short journey companion for many a year now. it's the south african green, not the paki green, and I kinda like that bag. The cruel twist of fate and the juxtaposition of all the mean bullying planets in the sky shook hands to screw me yet again. The equipment had not arrived and I was offered the bait of taking a taxi to the terminal on the morn of tomorrow, which I had no choice but to accept, pretty much like people accept gloomy skies.

Maybe a trip to the temple or some repetitive chanting of the Gan'apati Atharvashirsha tonight will ensure me being on that boat when the clock strikes eight tomorrow.

Just when I thought I was out, they pulled me back in.

This is to reply Ashwin and Prashant. You see, the outer matrix theory is not made up because the outer matrix is designed to fulfill a shortcoming of the inner matrix. Causality, again.

You see, the same concept applies for the Hindu idea of the Brahman. Hmmm....

Answering Srijith

1# Is the "Architect" a software or a real person? The Oracle is supposedly a code, but how about the architect?
2# In one of the best shots in Reloaded, Neo battles Agent Smith and his "meeees". Why the hell did Neo not just fly away? Surya, my better half, reasons that maybe Neo thought that his newly acquired powers could outwit Smith. But too many mees changed the thinking. Another of Surya's explanation is that Neo does not get enough time during the fight to do what I call the "I-have-constipation" flying sequence.
3# The Architect says that Neo is not a messiah and that The One does not bring deliverance, but rather was an anomaly that keeps on upsetting the otherwise perfectly balanced equation. Was that anomaly created on purpose by the guy who freed the first human from the Matrix (remember Matrix 1?) or was it a bye-product?
4# Supposedly the Zion has been destroyed 6 times thanks to The One choosing to keep the Matrix alive due to the humans being plugged to the Matrix. If so, why does the Architect allow The One to choose more guys to rebuild the Zion again?
5# In the end, we are told that the machines attacked again and destroyed the defense. The question is who all were destroyed? The first line of defense or the whole of Zion? (except for the sole survivor)

1] the nature of the architect.
- we cannot say. at the end of reloaded, neo takes out the sentinels pretty much the same way he takes out the bullets in the matrix. now, this suggests the existence of the very reality being a simulation in itself, like a dream within a dream. meaning, everyone is still connected to the outer matrix, and whatever they think is known to whoever is controlling the outer matrix. that is where the oracles 'illusion of choice' comes in.

2] neo and smiths
- this is a trivial question. if you ask these questions, then you can ask, why did miguel andolini de corleone not convert all his dirty businesses into legal ones like he had promised his wife kay, whom he loved so much so as not to get her bumped off even though she was giving him hell about his activities? and if he did love her that much, why did he marry appollonia in sicily? you can nitpick at every great movie that is made. but i digress. let me provide the trivial answer. neo did not fly away so that we could see him fighting dozens of agent smiths.

3] the anomaly
- did god create this world on purpose? or is it just a by-product of some action of his, one that he may not even be conscious of? another hindu-zen idea in the matrix. we are here. how? why? we don't know. but we are here.

digression: morpheus's speech at zion reminded me a koan from 7 years in tibet. worrying is of no use. if something can be done, then do it, don't worry about it. if something cannot be done, then worrying is not going to help anyway. therefore, the wise man does not worry. exactly what morpheus does. whatever can be done to stop the machines is being done. apart from that, nothing can be done. so enjoy. and how!

4] rebuilding zion
- it seems that the architect says that the destruction and resurrection of zion is needed to maintain the stability of the matrix and protect the human race. that would mean that zion and the matrix are connected in a way. but they 'really' aren't, are they? that would mean that there is a higher level of control, again pointing to a second outer matrix.

5] what remains?
- we don't know. i think zion is not destroyed, just by link's facial expression. he has a wife down there whom he has promised to see again. he would be devastated if zion was destroyed. he isn't. then again, he might be in shock. the world massacre is used fast and loose in the ending dialogues. also i couldn't catch some of the dialogues because the bloody audience was murmuring.

would someone like to sponsor my ticket for a better understanding of the matrix?

There is something about having just the right amount of alcohol that makes you sleep like a baby and awaken as fresh as a lily.

Before anyone can go AA on my ass, let me remind you folks that it was my first SNB in a loong loooong time...Maybe Cypher remembers the days when Singh, Sendu, Srivats and I used to sit and bash the churlish church going junta that food-courted after their saturday mass. It was a veritable fashion parade of sorts, I mean, accurate to the last detail, even gender identification could be ascertained only on visual and auditory input receipt, because all of them would be talking like middle-aged housewives.

The following poem was written for yours truly in compense for a story. Needless to say, I am gratified nevertheless. [the title is mine, i hope Sukanya doesn't mind]

The song of a story yet untold

O whence do I write an adventurous and wonderful story?
A tale so engaging, that entices your memory.
A story unlike any, I promise it will be
Of when the stars broke the rules and darkness met the sea.

Intrigue, tingle and enchantment
Three ingredients and more
Eager eyes will be tempted
To unfold the mystery of my lore

A story is what but a mirror
To the skeleton of my musings
Scratching the skin of my passion
A thin thread beholds every trial, every terror.

Invisible is the nature of our bond
For you relish the magic of my wand
When the light permeates into you
My story will have served its purpose too.

-- Sukanya Verma

France Preseren: Slovenian Poet.

Check out the sanskrutic playfulness he displays in the Wreath of Sonnets.
The Oral rendition is also quite impressive.

On a tangent, bhailog, meri ye pad'h ke fat'reliye...sorry people who don't speak mumbaiyya, there are no other words...

In other trivialities, I crossed the 4,000 mark in the helicopter game. Calling all "maai kaa laal's" to come and try their hand at the game.

Maybe India could take a page from RMS's book when thinking of military alliances with the USA.

uniquecyberprincess: Hi... you there?
Yahoo! Messenger: onkar_joshi may be offline. If so, the message will still be sent and they will see it next time they log in. (07/05/2003 09:15)
onkar: hello
uniquecyberprincess: hold on aa minute. be right back
onkar: how are you?
uniquecyberprincess: ok im back. sorry about that. still theree ?
onkar: yes i am, do i know you?
uniquecyberprincess: a/s/l (age sex location)? lemme look at your profile
uniquecyberprincess: im 27/f/los angles
uniquecyberprincess: so what have you been up to onkar?
onkar: nothing much, working.
onkar: what are you upto?
uniquecyberprincess: cool. i was just hangin out watching ttv. i was getting kinda horny
uniquecyberprincess: feel like a little cyber fun with me ? please please...
uniquecyberprincess: was that a yes?
onkar: hmm?let's see
uniquecyberprincess: ill jusst take that as a yes
onkar: haha..
[this is the point where i was convinced, this is a bot. now, the aim was to find out the depth of its response stack]
uniquecyberprincess: tell me what you want me to do with you will i slip out of my panties
onkar: so, los angeles is in spain or something? the name sounds spanish.
uniquecyberprincess: oh yeah babe.. dont stop. while i slide my hand <- censored ->
onkar: namaskar, mumbai doordarshan var aaple saharsha svagat aahe.
uniquecyberprincess: oh it feels so good. Im holding your <- censored ->, my hiny red fingernails dig <- censored ->, while my full, soft lips <- censored ->
uniquecyberprincess: open my website so you can look at mme while im <- censored ->. use the link in my profile!
uniquecyberprincess: what do you tink of my pics?
onkar: you're a bot.
uniquecyberprincess: shit the phone. dont stop <- censored ->. hold on...
onkar: : haha
uniquecyberprincess: sorry, I have to ake this call, probly take bout five minutes. If you want, come to my page and lets finish this. I have my cam on there cyberfungirls dot com look for lisa
onkar: wow.
onkar: whoa, you had me till the a/s/l part...
onkar: why am i typing this even?

note: The underlined statements were test statements.

Now, for the serious stuff.

Eliza is the chatbot that is embedded in EMACS, yeah, thats the EMACS shrink. It's not very advanced, though. It's kinda easy to make out that Eliza is not a human. But there are other people who have a keeda and do stuff like this...

Jenny18 - A Cybersex Bot Implemented in Eliza

Start, a kickass bot programmed by the MIT AI Lab of RMS fame.

There is a exhaustive list of chatterbots at the Turing Test page.

Anyone[read: NTU junta] interested in this and having any bright ideas, contacte moi.

Someone help me out here

The whole "Justice will be served" ideologue doesn't work if you let the criminals go scot-free once they say they are ready to talk.
They might pucker up all they want, that does not mean you kiss and make up.

Iff the Indian government believes that the Pakistani administration is responsible for the murder of many thousand Indians in the Kashmir at the hands of Islamic terrorists, then talks are out of the question until and unless some heads in the Pakistani Armed Forces and Inter-Services Intelligence roll.

Unless that happens, peace is out of the question, so what to talk of cricket. Jagmohan Dalmiya is an Indian later, and a BCCI President first. Slimy fellow.

Baja's muktäphal's

Godse and Godbole mean the same thing, sweet talkers, it's just that the Godses are a lot more anglicised.

5 And 1/2 Cms Of Tranquility! or [Oh, I miss her so!]

Smoking is injurious to physical health...

No smoke without fire, a soul inscribed
Ignorant of an existence that prescribed,
A pinch of enlightenment as it fumed
With a spark and not a flame that illumed!

Nicotine flattered my lungs, eyeing my soul,
Wholly defeated, the self surrendered all and whole,
The body coughed and splattered as it imbibed
Salvation in a form never before described.

Atoned the sins of man, the sweet son of God,
Embracing death rests on the cross, the lord.
Burning itself to a stub, freeing man from guilt,
Illustrates the same divine trait on which it's built.

Swirling in a mire of transitional existence,
The mind transcended beyond, while the bulk offered resistance,
Dragging the detached spirit back to its very mortal regard
That the individual had, embarked on this journey, to discard.

Ravishankar Sundararaman

Shanti's "Dancing with dogs" carries a blogpost about, guess who? Me!

And this is what she wrote....
"I don't know if I am supposed to be flattered or completely disgusted with this little creep's obsession with me - What the heck is his problem? I am not a celebrity - I am not a paid columnist. I am just writing whatever I feel like in my own little corner and as a rule, I never stoop to attacking personally, other bloggers. This on the other hand, is getting really ridiculous and nutso. Stop the crap, Onkar and just live your own life!"

This shows three things:
1 - She visits my blog, and does not comment! So's who's the voyeuristic creep, then?
2 - She does not understand the three words, "freedom of speech" [in my own personal space too]
3 - She thinks just because she is not a celebrity or a columnist, she shouldn't have to face scrutiny in a public domain. [Yea, right!]

Words of advice:
1 - Don't visit my blog.
2 - Learn the difference between the US Constitution and the USS Constitution.
3 - Maintain a private journal.

Surely, every good thing has its drawbacks, and even if Shanti doesn't heed to the advice above, I'll take in in my stride, life's like that.

Mirza Ghalib comes to mind:
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Qaasid ke aate aate, ik aur khat likh rakhoon
Main jaantaa hoon wo kyaa likhenge, jawaab mein.

Kab say hoon, kyaa bataaoon, jahaan-e-kharaab mein?
Shab haaye hijr ko bhi rakhoon gar hisaab mein.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

In this case, though, the hijr is more than welcome!

As far as stopping the crap is concerned:
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
'Ghaalib' chhutee sharaab, par abh bhee kabhee kabhee
peetaa hoon roz-e-abr shab-e-maahtaab mein.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

How appropriate can a poem be? Wah Mirza wah! Kya Khoob!

ps: If you are serious about stopping the crap, though, I know of someone whom you can consult. According to the Kumar conjecture, this person is singularly responsible for controlling the amount of crap in the Universe.

This is what we were talking about, Cypher. This sickens me.

I am totally OK with beating the drum of Indian greatness when it matters, but tomorrow if people like Shanti do something that wins them recognition, I am not going to prance around like a gazelle.

Not for me, the victory dance of having secured the post of the whitie lapdog. You know what I mean? I look down on all these bastards who are sucking up to America just to further their own lot in life, scumbags.

Jay Mahaaraas't'ra!

My home state is 42 years old today, politically. Cheers to all Mahaaraas't'rians!

I am writing this with a sticker on the right side of my chest, indicating my name and temperature [36.4 degree celcius]. I accompanied Abhay to one of the mandatory temperature testing centres, 23 of which have been put up all around NTU to screen students before they go in for their examinations. Do I feel like a school kid just about to go for a picnic or what? Sheesh...

Praful Bidwai is being another dove here.
I mean, I can understand the desire to live in relative peace and harmony, but you see, the very constitution of Pakistan is proof of it's contra-Indian nature. This whole exercise in peace is going to end up in us ceding claim over PoK, mark my words.

This SARS thing is getting really FARSical, it seems a Kolkatan family refused to take in a family member diagnosed to NOT have SARS unless the Insti. of Virology, Pune certified it. I am sure there is a Puneri out there who is saying, "Baghaa! aamchaa shivaay tyaanchi kaadi dekhil halu naahi shakat kashi te pahaa."

Hehe...

I had slipped into the quagmire some days ago on account of this brilliant serial named CSI. Having finished the hitherto downloaded episodes, it was imperative that I get back into the good-Onkar-who-lives-in-the-day skin. For those who like the good-Onkar-who-lives-in-the-night more, don't lose heart, I'll do it once a week on the weekends, though I've been told that the latter version seems to be more contemplative and argumentative.

Nevertheless, after a series of machinations that lasted over a couple of days that were completely unproductive thanks to my religious involvements. I finally had a Debian distribution running on my box. FATWAI [for all those who are interested], I still am trying to install Gnome2.2, but the unfulfilled deps are giving me pangaa. I am currently running window maker instead of Kde3.1 because it looks too Macintoshy, and it's kinda heavy too. It's almost as if stuff's loading frame by frame.

So, the sinning stomach has to be fed, or to use a better allegory, the food sacrifice has to be arranged for. Not to mention the serious issues that are going to crop up in the next few months. Yesterday, I was on a roll, I guess. Calling back home just to talk to my sister is something I had never done before, but yesterday my mother was literally shouting "Grow up, Onkar, how can you chit-chat on an IDD?" from the other end. The zen koan, "Take matters of great importance lightly, take matters of little importance seriously" is to be understood, not followed, I know, but sometimes it's doing silly things like these that make all the difference.

Mars, the planet, is on the Singaporean zenith these days in the early mornings. I am planning to put up a small chart of visibles on my blog soon. Now, the poser of the day. Yesterday night, whilst sipping coke with Baja, we unanimously arrived at the decision that all relationships initiated by males are a manifestation of an oedipus complex that the guy is socially incapable of showing. In other words, a man likes a woman because she reminds him of his mother. This would explain why in numerous indian serials, a guy is completely baffled so as to how his mother and wife have different opinions about something! This would also mean that the wife initially plays second fiddle to the mother, but soon supercedes her since she is able to provide some things that the mother cannot. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but when I went upstairs to watch an episode of Scrubs before hitting the sack, Dr Cox told JD why he and Jordan got divorced. "You marry a woman like your mother and then you realise how much you hate your mother..."

Brr...Baja's words rang in my head, "Marriage is the absolute end, man, eternal damnation..."

This has to be a personal record.

"Earliest good deed of the day" @ 6:12 a.m.

Man, I feel so good!

ps: Now don't ask what this good deed was, 'cause I am not telling.

In War and Peace, Patwardhan attempts to understand the socio-cultural milieu of the tense relations between India and Pakistan resulting from the weapons testing of May of 1998.

More movies like these, please, rather than the "I want to do this" and "This has never been done before" trash that Bollywood keeps spitting at us.

What the fuck?! I started compiling Qt more than 2 hours ago, and it's still compiling. Agar aisaa hi hotaa rahaa to me apne liquid mosfet widgets kaise install karungaa?

Dumping astrologers, Indian couples rush to match genes

Fear of genetic disease is forcing traditional south Indian couples to abandon astrologers and knock at doctors' doors to sift through family history and match their genes.

Old news, I know, but still interesting. What is more interesting is this...Jews!

Yeah, screw you, mr. Gupta and your "I want to bring sex out of the closet". My arse.

How many of you people thought that sexuality in Kaante was required, even appropriate? I mean, how was it different from the rest of the crap that Bollywood churns out with alarming alacrity? For God's sake, even the token skimpily clad firang blonde dancers were there, along with exotic dancer Malaika Arora...yea, exotic dancer indeed, she couldn't even do the pole routine half as well as the sidey firangs did. Maybe the firangs worked there as exotic dancers, maybe they didn't.

Why do Indian portals give these people a megaphone? I mean, we like you guys, we trust your judgement, just give us the reviews, just give us the glamour dolls and the hunks [not for me] and we'll be more than happy. I mean, I guess I speak for everyone when I say that most producers and directors don't deserve any footage, especially so in Bollywood where these folks don't have the professionalism of their western counterparts. I mean, at least we have some actors and actresses who are worth their salt. But for all this talk of I wanna do this and I wanna do that, come on, how hackneyed is this line, "I wanna bring sex out of the closet"?

It's the last thing I needed at 0657. Maybe I should go to bed. Maybe I should watch another episode of CSI. Just keep Jorja Fox smiling, and you've got me as a fan...*grin*

Who are you? I really wanna know...

ps: This is not about the SGT fiasco. It's the title song of CSI

Here are my debian installation notes:
knoppix xserver=XFree86 xmodule=fbdev
[had to do this because my GeForce wouldn't get detected]
sudo /usr/local/bin/knx-install
[thanks to Klaus Knopper for this...even though it ended up in me having a German KDE distro]

adding the following to apt-conf
Acquire::http::Proxy "http://proxy.ntu.edu.sg:8080";

apt-get update
apt-get dist-upgrade -u
[this is currently in progress...gotta love apt-get. there is this new prog called aptitude, it's like a nextgen apt, going to give it a spin, ashwin, i know you have a deb install]
apt-get install fam msttcorefonts
apt-get -t experimental install gnome2

[4:59 am]
i have given up trying to install gnome. i have the applications, but it seems that instead of getting gnome 2.2, i am getting ximian-gnome from apt-get...which i don't really want..

Thanks to Suku, for sending me this article:

Shun non-Marät'hi vendors, urges Raj Thackeray

You see, Mr. T'häkre, I, as a Marät'hi, don't know where Marät'hi vendors are. I mean, vendors are vendors. Most people don't bother to know their sub-nationality; that is, Vad'äpäv in Hindi, Marät'hi, English, Gujrathi is called Vad'äpäv, so I don't know if those guys are Marät'hi or not.

As a Marät'hi nationalist, though, I think you have a good idea there. And every good idea warrants action. so this is what you do.

Break the city of Mumbai into Kshetras, Päd'äs, and Väd'äs.

Now, each Väd'ä has to have atleast one Marät'hi hotel, one Marät'hi hairdresser, one Marät'hi milkman, one Marät'hi greengrocer, so on and so forth, basically ensure that every Marät'hi man in every Väd'ä does not have to travel a lot to get his Marät'hi stuff.

Every Päd'ä has to have Marät'hi Saunskar Kendras [Masanke], Marät'hi Rangäyatans and Marät'hi Bhäshägun'avardhan Kendras [Mabhäke]. Purchases from Marät'hi vendors will get people coupons to get discounts on tickets to the Rangäyatans. There would be special rickshaws driven by Marät'hi drivers that would give a discount to Marät'hi travellers when they wanted to go to the Rangäyatans. While they are at it, could they move one air conditioning unit from Gad'kari to Kälidäs? Agreed that the former is in T'hän'e, but it is too cold, while the latter is too hot.

Every Kshetra has to have a Marät'hi smarak to some Maratha hero, other than the Chhatrapati, I mean, the Chhatrapati is eating footage like Amitabh Bachchan. There were other heroes in Maratha history, let them be glorified as well. Well, then there should be inter-kshetra spardhas, to make sure Marät'hi people keep fit, healthy, and smart. Also, there should be marriage bureaus in each kshetra to ensure that Marät'hi people get married to Marät'hi people only, thereby furthering the Mahäräsht'ra Dharma. Since there are around 3 million Marät'hi people in Mumbai, lets not worry about depleting the genepool just as yet.

All this can be financed by Mrs T'häkre's Hindi movies, Michael Jackson shows and other such gala events that have nothing to do with Marät'hi culture, but are essential since they bring in a lot of dough. Hypocrisy is best served naked.

I am mailing this to shivsena@shivsena.org as well, anonymously, of course. I have relatives who are active members of the Sthäniya Lokädhikär Samiti, don't want my father to be unduly embarrassed in front of people whom he doesn't think much of.

Rajasthan government moves to stop RSS.

The RSS is a non-profit organisation for social development. The Rajasthan government; will they do next? Disallow laughter clubs to be held in gardens?

Though I am displeased with the RSS too. How are trishuls better as a defence weapon as compared to swords? No, wait a minute. How is distributing trishuls facilitating social development? I mean, look how Americans are armed to the teeth, and their kids go around killing one another. We don't want that in our country, now, do we?

a picture speaks a thousand words

Say US decision-makers, "The Indian military is feeling its weakness especially after witnessing the US capabilities in Afghanistan. Indian air power and C2 (Command and Control) are so limited that the Indian Air Force was surprised by capabilities that the US military takes for granted, such as airlift capacity."

There is more to the American argument, "The Indians are unhappy with the quality of the Russian equipment and have experienced problems in their deal with Israel and France. The United States is the preferred alternative."

Yesterday: Target next: Indian military bases
Today: What does the Indian military want?
Tomorrow: 'Indians cannot think strategically'

No foreign forces in my land. No American tells me where I can and can not go in my country.

Bottomline: No bases.
Solution: We develop our own technology. We have waited so far, we shall wait longer.

You shall see, just you wait.

I saw The Cell yesterday. I DID NOT see it for Jennifer Lopez. I saw it because I heard it was about psychology. *evil grin*

Anyway, though there are others who were hugely dissatisfied with the movie, I beg to differ. The movie had a powerful story, O.K. performance, amazing imagery and best of all, a robust two-way client server demonstration. [non-techies, /ignore]

Jenny was cute in the movie, I liked her eyes; I had never noticed her eyes in all the music videos of her that I had seen before for two obvious reasons, these videos keep zooming and moving about crazily, for starts, and secondly, well...it's kinda obvious.

So she plays this shrink who is working with a little catatonic boy and the method she is using has to show some sign of success in 6 months or lose funds, kinda like Contact..... [why, oh, why, are all radical procedures so cash-strapped?]

....and Bingo! A psycho who likes to drown his female victims and then turn them into dolls is captured, but his brain has shut down because of some viral infection that had caused him to be this monster. But wait a minute, he still has a victim and unless Jenny can extract the info from his mind, she is going to die by an intricate automated system that turns the cage that she is captured like a rat in into a watery grave.

The film unfolds as Jenny and the cool dude from FBI get into the psycho's mind and retrieve the location of the girl. But Jenny sees the child in the psycho, who is terrorised by the demon that drove him to kill all these women, and throwing all caution to the winds, saves the child in an emotionally charged and dramatic climax. [Women do have a weak spot for kids, don't they? Even if they aren't real!]

All in all, I liked the movie. Incidentally, some of the people who condemned the movie comdemn The Matrix as well. Draw your own conclusions.

Ok, ok, I did see it for Jennifer Lopez...but now I see her in a different light. I'll end it here, going any further may result in me getting the FIMS. [Foot In Mouth Syndrome]

Well, Squawkbox gave me some trouble, so I am oscillating to Haloscan, till it gives me trouble that is. Kindly adjust.

Onkar.

ps: I have a good mind to go back to livejournal, but I like my template...

Vinay Reddy, you have fallen from grace.

Where We come from, there is a saying, You don't refuse people water.
Alcohol in France is cheaper than water.
Therefore, You don't refuse people the good stuff. [especially if you have given them your word.]
Dhikkar!

We are hurt, really.

Onkar, Cypher, Ankit, Akshay.

D'ä D'ä Sardär! - Warning! Sardär joke for engineers!

Prepared by: Santä Singh
Approved by: Bantä Singh

1. All pipe is to be made of a long hole surrounded by metal or plastic centred around the hole.
2. All pipe is to be hollow throughout the entire length - do not use holes of different length to the pipe.
3. The ID (Inside Diameter) of all pipe must not exceed the OD (Outside Diameter) - otherwise the hole will be on the outside.
4. All pipe is to be supplied with nothing in the hole, so that water, steam or other stuff can be put inside at a later date.
5. All pipe should be supplied without rust; this can be more readily applied at the job site.
NOTE: Some vendors are now able to supply pre-rusted pipe. If available in your area, this product is recommended, as it will save a great deal of time at the job site.
6. All pipe over 500ft (150m) in length should have the words "LONG PIPE" clearly painted on each side at the end, so that the contractor knows it's a long pipe.
7. Pipe over 2 miles (3.2km) in length must also have the words "LONG PIPE" painted in the middle, so the contractor will not have to walk the entire length of the pipe to determine whether or not it is a long pipe or a short pipe.
8. All pipe over 6ft (1.83m) in diameter must have the words "LARGE PIPE" painted on it, so the contractor will not mistake it for small pipe.
9. Flanges must be used on all pipe. Flanges must have holes for bolts, quite separate from the big hole in the middle.
10. When ordering 90 or 30 degree elbows, be sure to specify left-hand or right-hand, otherwise you will end up going the wrong way.
11. Be sure to specify to your vendor whether you want level, uphill or downhill pipe. If you use downhill pipe for going uphill, the water will flow the wrong way.
12. All couplings should have either right-hand or left-hand threads, but do not mix the threads otherwise, as the coupling is being screwed on one pipe, it is being unscrewed from the other.
13. All pipe shorter than 1/8in (3mm) are very uneconomical in use, requiring many joints. They are generally known as washers.
14. Joints in pipe for piping water must be water-tight. Those in pipe for compressed air, however, need only be air-tight.
15. Lengths of pipe may be welded or soldered together. This method is not recommended for concrete or earthenware pipe.
16. Other commodities are often confused with pipe. These include: conduit, tube, tunnel and drain. Use only genuine pipe.

The day Sanskr^t saved Hinduism
or
Onkar's Sanskr^t proselytisation programme

first ächärya: Soham.

second ächärya: No, Däsoham.

first ächärya: No! Soham.

second ächärya [with passion]: No! Däsoham!

first ächärya [with passion]: No! Soham!

[Looking at each other, as if incredulous so as to what they are doing]

both [smiling]: Sadäsoham.

[english]

[16:34]

It's raining murderously here in Singapore. It's as if Zeus, Thor and Indra have decided to have some target practice with lightening bolts on the same day and at the same place. The visibility is 100 metres, I am staying indoors.

Mumbait mhan'e garam have cä märä,
Yethe paavase ad'akalä jiv bichaarä...
Chär väzuna gele, kashäya pyälä
dise nä kut'he, thambav re shakrä
tuzhä vidyut märä, ek kat'ing märun yeto. [english]

For some hare-brained reason, blogger is giving me träs when posting this. This has happened to me before, not blogger giving me träs, but I praying to the rain god and the rain stopping.

[16:55]

Abhay and I walk out in lovely weather, wet, yet not humid, sunny, yet not blistering; one of those perfect weather types. I had my vad'äs and tea, and I sent a silent prayer heavenwards.

Kashäya durlabh asale tuzalä shakrä
zarihi, upakrut keles mazala tu devä.
Yeil mazavar yada prasanga yadnyacä,
pran'a karato mii svähin kund'äta ek pyälä chahäcä. [english]

This is what I dreamt last night

Miguel Hidalgo had just arrived in Damascus, from where he was driven to a small building where a printing and dying firm was located. His job was weird, or so he thought. He had to teach some men how to be Latino in the United States of America.

When he entered the class, he got a surprise. Were it not for the uniforms, he wouldn't have been able to say that his class was not what it looked like. Here were 150 guys who looked more Latin American than he did, he thought. The Arab instructor guffawed.
"Mr. Hidalgo, why are you surprised? The Latin Americans, or the Hispanics, as the Americans refer to you, like the Arabs, are a varied race of people. The plastic surgeons who worked on President Hussein's clones found this a triviality, only some superficial changes. You have to teach these men the language, the customs, the behaviour of the Latin Americans in the United States of America."

A year later, 150 men entered America on various Central and South American passports, all within the space of 15 days, from different points in the southern states, happening to be visiting relatives, working for American companies, or just looking after some business interests. They all had something in common; each of them carried equipment that would be used in assembling crude nuclear devices.

Three months later, as the newly elected Iraqi government was being sworn in, 10 nuclear devices went off in 8 major American cities. Downtown Manhattan was decimated, so was the White House and the Pentagon. The command structure had been devastated; there was widespread paranoia and looting. Unofficial sources put the death toll at an estimated 1.3 million.

In not so far away Havana, two old men were reclining in easy chairs, smoking their cigars.
"I said they should have gone for North Korea first, didn't I?" the older man mused.
"You never do your dirty work yourself, do you?" the younger man with a bushy moustache asked.
The old man just chuckled and shrugged. He raised his glass, "Here's to you, Salvatore Hernandez, and to the grand opening of Havana cigars in Miami next month. I hope there isn't going to be a change of plans."
The younger man raised his as well, "Holocaust or no holocaust, a smoker has to smoke?and a ruler has to rule."

They both laughed heartily.

[Please tolerate the joke. It's the pictures that are funny. Click on them to enlarge]

An aircraft is about to crash. There are five passengers on board, but unfortunately only 4 parachutes.
The first passenger says "I'm Shaquille O'Neill, the best NBA basketball player. The Lakers need me; it would be unfair to them if I died". So he takes the first parachute and jumps.

The second passenger, Hillary Clinton, says "I am the wife of the former President of the United States. I am also the most dedicated woman in the world, a Senator in New York and America's potential future President. She takes one of the parachutes and jumps.

The third passenger, George W. Bush, says "I am the President of the United States of America. I have a huge responsibility in world politics. And apart from that, I am the most intelligent President in the history of the country and I have a responsibility to my people not to die". So he takes a parachute and jumps.

The fourth passenger, the Pope, says to the fifth passenger, a ten year Old schoolboy "I am already old. I have already lived my life, as good person and a priest I will give you the last parachute". The boy replies "No problem, there is also a parachute for you. America's most intelligent President has taken my schoolbag..." ;-)

I was watching Contact, when the phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Hello Onkar?" a woman's voice, with the r rolled nicely.
"Yes, Hello, May I know who's speaking", half knowing who it was.
"Valeria!"
"Whoa!" I jumped out of my chair!

It's always good when a good friend calls you up. It's not so good when you don't speak the same language. Trying to simplify sentences over an IDD is not only time consuming, it's a trifle frustrating. But regardless of how meaningful or insightful the conversation is, it is always good to hear from a friend. I've had the opportunity to call some of my friends up when they least expected it, and the surprise in their voice is worth the call.

"Ok, I am going to my work now. Where are you?"
"It is night here. I am at a friend's place."
"Ok, I talk to you later. Bye bye!"
"Ok."
"Buenos dias!"

Back to Jodie Foster in outer space. I hope a certain fellow lives up to his word of delivering the good stuff before his trip to the Eiffel Tower, nahi to....#_#

[rant]

From Sunset to Sunset.

The clime was wet, dark and mysterious;
I had a skimpy dinner of eggs and yoghurt,
Surprisingly content, even full, I trudged
to Cypher's room, relaxed, without effort.
I had whiled away the sultry afternoon
on a Forest Whitaker thriller, 'Phone Booth',
in Anirudh's Hall 6 room, munching chips
with abandon; though, with an eye astute.
Ankit called, he had downloaded a movie
starring Diaz Cameron and Pacino Alfred.
Now, i like them both, for different reasons
though, obviously, so watch it with him I did.
A mama's boy, driven by passion, tried
to make it big in a white man's world;
breaking the rules, facing the rap, to show
that he wasn't just another black stud.
An aging warhorse trying to find his
just place in the fast-changing herd,
A rookie manager, very particular about
what she could and couldn't afford.
By the time the movie ended I had
worked up an appetite and a headache,
A team, nay, gang of eleven uncouth
"heroes" had ruined my night in their wake.
The walk to seven-eleven was uninteresting
at best, eating the same veggie pizza bar
for the umpteenth time, made me angry at
the choices, or the lack thereof, given me so far.
By the time Hall 6 showed up in it's spartan
splendour, my head was split into two in pain.
I vowed on my favourite elephantine god
Ganesha to get some work done, but in vain.
The morning was benevolent, or was it?
I know not, for I slept like a baby till after noon.
My efforts at diplomacy had backlashed;
Maybe I was caustic, maybe I spoke too soon.
There was work to be done, so I worked.
The light of the goddess of Labour, lets call
her Karmani, shone over my head, as I did
the needful, quite a lot of it, but not all.
Tomorrow shall be a better day; more peace
shall be made, I hope, for unless the goddesses
descend from the heavens, we shall languish;
morose, wretched, till they pardon our excesses.

PS: Totally unrelated, but here's the question, anyway. Someone called me racist today; well, what do you know? Is saying "I find it easier to mix with Indians with whom share a cultural bond" being racist? I mean, I know, I am not in line for Mr. Congeniality or anything, but I sincerely believe someone is pulling the wool over my eyes here. What do you say?
I have been called racist thrice in the last two weeks. I'm not! I'm not racist! Ok, maybe I am, just a leetil.
Lekin yaar chamdi ka rang nahi dekhte ham, chai ke mehek bakhub ho to fir race-vace ko maro goli, ama mia, chai piyo, adrak vali.

This post is dedicated to Sukanya. Thanks Suku, for writing about something that made something from the recesses of my mind come to the fore.

How I overcame my fear of crows

As a kid, the crow, and especially the raven; they were the birds I feared the most. I had read a Bohemian tale where a witch had a raven and the raven spied for her, informing her of the hero's whereabouts. So whenever a crow or a raven came near me, I could imagine a witch spying on me from the raven's eye. Needless to say, I used to shoo the birds away. This lasted till one day during my summer vacations, I went to live with my grandparents in Paral.

Nana [my maternal grandfather] is an early riser, and always has been. I used to sleep early, lulled by my Aaji's haripaat'h. She used to sing it before going to bed, and by the time she was done, everyone but she would be asleep, it was that beautiful, and she sang it beautifully. It is something about her that I will never forget. A sunray filtered through the netted window and woke me up. There was a murder outside, circling the balcony, and there my Nana stood, clad in his pyjamas and his zanva with 9 threads, which indicated that he was the head of the family. I had no zanva, which indicated my status as 'kid'. But what I saw made me shrink back in fear.

He was the reason the murder was there; he was feeding them kneaded wheat dough. There was a crow on his arm, and one on his shoulder! I was incredulous. I called out to him, "Nana!" All he did was looked at me and grinned wide. "Are ye ithe, gammat dakhavto tula." He said, beckoning me. I barely inched from my place. I could imagine the evil hag spying on my Nana. He made a small ball of the dough, about the size of a bearing and tossed it up into the air. The crow on his arm lifted off and caught it in his beak! As a kid, any animal that could perform tricks was cool, and so the fear of the crow subsided a little. I took a few more steps closer to him. "Nana, tyala majhya hatavar basva na?" I stuck out my arm, but he shook his head, as if he spoke for them. I looked at the crow on his arm. It was looking at me intently, all right. What it was thinking, I wondered.

He handed me the ball of dough. "Lahan gole karun thev kadevar". I obliged him by making small balls of the dough and keeping them on the parapet. The crows weren't very trusting. One of them danced down the parapet and picked one up, then another. By now, I was enjoying this exercise, but the crow always kept a distance. It used to always be 4 or 5 balls behind me, and appeared to maintain that distance deliberately. So I stopped. So did it. I looked at Nana and chuckled. The crow then pretended that I did not exist there and ate the 4 balls, just like that.

Now that I think of it, the crow wasn't afraid of me, but may be he sensed my fear, and kept his distance lest I act upon my fear and attack him first. If so be the case, the crow would be smarter than a particular person I know who attacks other people impulsively. Not beating around the bush, the crow then looked me straight in the eye and cawed. It knew I had more dough, and it wanted more. So I made a small ball and tossed it in the air. He flew! He actually did a half jump-half flight and caught it. The evil witch had been erased from my mind. I was all for crows now. Alas, it was no use. My mother awoke soon after and scolded Nana for spoiling me and exposing me to wild creatures. He did not argue.

My mom feeds crows polis ever since Aaji passed away, because they say that crows are like the messengers to the other world or something. I never repeated the exercise again, however. Maybe the next time I go to Paral, I will.

And that is why the crow is my favourite bird.

ps: I am so homesick right about now...

Uruk Hai⁽¹⁾ defends Logic

Gajanana⁽²⁾, what's happening to the smart people?

We were watching 'Maria, Maria' by Santana, and there were a lot of black dudes dancing in the video.

Discussion:

They: Black guys are better dancers.

I: Yea, because they practice a lot, I guess.

They: No, black people as such have a sense of rhythm, naturally.

I: Yea, but that's because they practice. Becuase they grow up in an environment where they get time to practice, because they grow up in an environment where dancing isn't considered a waste of time, because they grow up in an environment where they express themselves through dance. An Indian guy who grows up in a similiar environment and practices his moves will move around pretty well as well.

They: No, no. I know an African guy who hadn't danced much, and whom everyone thought was like a lame dancer...but once day he danced like a god and all the chicks were bowled over.

I: I never said that people cannot be good dancers instinctively. All I am saying is that this trait will not be restricted to blacks.

But They just wouldn't accept that. Maybe it was because They wanted to claim superiority to the blacks in other fields, like intelligence, creativity, may be? They gave me example after example of black celebrities who were good dancers and non-black celebrities who were lousy dancers, some who had been to discotheques in the USA telling me how dance floors were totally dominated by black guys.They then went into statistics, giving me numerical examples about how Jews were better bankers, Blacks better runners, Indians better IT professionals and so on.

As if that wasn't enough, They started talking about how Brahmins⁽³⁾ were smarter, and at this point in time, I was chuckling, while they gave me figures of the number of Brahmins in NTU as proof of Brahmins being smarter. And all the time, the voices were getting louder and the body language, more aggressive. One of Them stood up and all, in an unconscious effort to intimidate me.

Now this was getting to be like being locked up in a room with a megaphone-weilding Goebbels, so I shut my ears and did what I do many a times when I am in an argument.

Cut to Thought Experiment:

Ashwin is 18 years old. He has just scored 95.33 on his HSC, and he is generally happy with himself. All those hours of slogging in the night have paid off. He can see his mother smiling, red faced in relief. As a Brahman [tathakathit⁽⁴⁾] it was quite imperative for him to score high. He was feeling really proud of himself, looking at his hard earned marks on his sheet. His friend, Atul walks up; he is an OBC⁽⁴⁾ [tathakathit], and asks,
"How much did you score?"
Pat came the answer, "95.33, man. You?"
He shrugs and replies, "92.5. Good marks man, but then again, Brahmins are smarter..."
Ashwin looks at him, incredulous, "Dude, I slogged my butt off on this one. Don't you say to my face that these marks are because I was born with some smart gene, ok?"

Cut back to Discussion.

By saying that black guys are better dancers naturally, you are depriving the black dudes of the hours of practice that they put into devising new moves that rock. By saying that Indians are naturally better at mathematics, you deny them the glory of the logical mind that they mould over the years of learning various theorems and co-relating them. By saying that black people are naturally better runners you are discounting the many gruelling workouts that one has had on the track.

By attributing anything to a person's affiliation to a racial, national or religious demographic you are insulting the person's efforts, creativity and his individuality. You are belittling his achievements as something that had to be expected in lieu of the person being from a particular racial, national or religious background.

I found that offensive. They said that they would be fine with a person saying that they were good at computers because they were Indians, as opposed to because they had taken more interest in computers at a younger age and had shown a voracious appetite for technical manuals. Shame, shame.

Glossary :

(1) Uruk Hai - Militant Orcs in JRRT's novels, a slur that a close friend has coined, dedicated to the alleged Puneri⁽⁶⁾ in me, I suppose.
(2) Gajanan - Elephant-headed Hindu God, considered smartest amongst all the gods. [larger brain-body size ratio]
(3) Brahmin - Priestly class in the Hindu caste system, claimed blest with superior intellect sans proof.
(4) tathakathit - Literally, "So called".
(5) OBC - Other Backward Castes, I would say they lay in the twilight zone of the elites and the commoners of the classical Hindu society.
(6) Puneri - A person who calls Pune home, and home, Pune. I don't, it's a misnomer.

People, people...

I know you will hate me and all for this, but I have been a crafty brouny and have tricked blogger into redirecting it to my netfirms site. Therefore, you may use http://onkar.blogspot.com to access my website again.

Before you all start celebrating as such, let me remind you that you'll have to tolerate a itsy delay of about half a second if you access the blogspot site. If time is money for you, access the netfirms site directly.

Onkar

These crazy American signs that the government is using to tell people what to do in cases of terrorist attacks are more likely to confuse people than to prepare them: I am posting some of my favourite ones.

If you are sprayed with an unknown substance, stand and think about it instead of seeing a doctor.

If you spot a terrorist arrow, pin it against the wall with your shoulder.

If a door is closed, karate chop it open.

If you lose a contact lens during a chemical attack, roll on the ground and cry like a baby.

Use your flashlight to lift the walls right off of you!

--== Jagjit Singh and�Abhijeet met Deputy Prime Minister L K Advani�on April 3 to demand�the government ban Pakistani singers from performing in India. ==--

All right! This is just the beginning. The idea is to bring Pakistan to its knees by encouraging countries to isolate Pakistan by taking a "with us-against us" stance a la U.S.A. and Israel. The dual-citizenship programme should be initiated soon, hopefully.

I must admire this gesture. My heart is with the Iraqis here. I hope for an American victory, but not without a huge loss of life and morale. Maybe it is time the Americans won a war on blood and guts, like men. Like men.

We argued about this before,
and the story is thus told;
when a gaggle in hall five
is just unwilling to fold
up.

Talks of topics versatile
amongst peals of joyous mirth;
as young men in the prime of
youth recognise they're worth-
less

as conversationalists when
they seriously want to be,
that the concept of the idle
poor had just passed completely
by me.

We talked about casual sex,
lascivious, in the near Indian
future, and how these changes
in society weren't of sudden
nature.

Of the presence of God supreme;
it was a dicey pulp, because
having your cake and wanting
to bite more than you could
gulp

is just ungentlemanly, I say;
sitting on the fence is just
being indecisive; that's costly
today. But matter's could be worse
than

one thinks, for hypocrisy is
the sister of indecision
and follows him 'ever he goes.
Though it gives for fun
and games,

it never makes for serious stuff.
So my friend, be just and fair,
make up your mind, crystal clear.
If you believe, then have no fear,
for

He provides. Else if you don't,
then denounce it, here, now,
lest you wish to come to the party
with karmic baggage in tow.
Do you?

The final score didn't matter,
actually no one knew, but flying
around and chewing gum was too
much ass-work to do for a thing
inanimate.

Bushy: Well, Condy, it seems like I've done what my old man didn't have the gall to do.
Condy: Well, there remains the issue of humanitarian aid and restructuring Iraq.
Bushy: Make sure all the contracts go to the American companies.
Condy: No, we are talking about the humanitarian aid that is flowing in freely from other countries. The Iraqis are pissed because we are not able to safeguard the supplies, and they are being looted by thugs and like.
Bushy: Damn those British, why did they have to play football and lose, that too to a local team? Aren't we much better at football; I didn't even know the British started playing football.
Condy: Well, Bushy we'll leave that for some other time. I'll tell Tony not to let his boys lose face in wake of Baghdad still not being in our control.
Bushy: Good night, Condy.
Condy: Sweet dreams, Bushy.

Please sir, go home, before you cause any more damage to us, and embarrassment to yourself. Oh, wait, you come from a culture devoid of shame. Anyway, spare us the pain. This is not an Iraqi sentiment, by the way.

It was morning. The foliage around dhanvantari hospital made it inconspicuous to the outside world. As the first rays of gold filtered through the netted windows, an old body on the rickety cot stirred. He called for water in a weak voice, but the nurse at this small town government hospital was too overworked to attend to patients that weren't in any real danger at a moment's notice. He swallowed a generous lump of saliva and looked up at the ceiling. He could not move. He had not been restrained; it was just that his lower spine was severely crushed. He did not know that, though, he was drugged, and the pain did not register.

He looked at the flies dancing overhead, and he wept. His daughter was driving him back from a concert, it had been great. His daughter, the light of his life, she was following in his footsteps, on her way to be recognised, just like her father. She was his life. Now he did not know if he would play again. That was not his worry, though. His daughter, his Anu, she was his only worry. She had her life ahead of her, and she was well on her way to make it.

A small woman tip-toed silently through the door "Anu, where is she?", he asked. She did not pay attention to him, busily writing on a pad. "Where is my daughter?!" he raised his voice, flailing his arms. "You must be still, sir, you are not fully recovered yet." she proceeded to undress him, sponging his torso. "How did I get here? What happened?" he asked, politely, smiling at the woman with his grey eyes, with all his geriatric congeniality. She smiled back. She was a middle aged woman, married, he could tell, from the mangalsutra, with sharp features and a dark complexion. She would have been quite fetching in her days, he imagined, and smiled to himself, but his thoughts were disturbed by her narrative.

"....and she admitted you yesterday night. She said she was your daughter. There are many car accidents these days. People are always in a hurry to get somewhere, and all these zippy imported cars. There was another accident yesterday night, not far from here, poor girl; she did not get help on time. The doctor said that the cause of death was loss of blood. What a beautiful girl, wearing a nice white salwar. What a nice car she was driving, a lovely red Opel with...."

He did not wait for her to finish. He was choking on his tongue, his throat was so dry. It was his girl, it was his red Opel, he screamed, but the nurse calmed him, "sir, sir" she said, "you must relax, it must have been another crash, your daughter brought you here. How can she be dead?" she tried to rub his forehead to calm him, but he kept shuddering, "my daughter...white..white salwar...red car.." she rang for the doctor. He was babbling incoherently, his eyes covered with tears, by the time the doctor arrived with two ward boys. He was sedated, and the nurse went to the next ward. It was too much of a co-incidence, she thought.

Hours passed.

A small figure with wiry hair and a black dress entered the hospital silently. She smiled at the nurse. The nurse smiled back, but she had her apprehensions now. Coming to think of it, the poor dead girl looked more like the old man's daughter than this Christian looking girl. She followed her to the old mans room and strained her ears hard.

"Hello daddy."
There was long silence.
"You are not my daughter."
"That is what you have always thought, haven't you?" she could sense some anger in the girl's voice.
"What are you talking about?" the old man's voice was incredulous.
"I am talking about the little girl whose father you could never be, neither did you want to. I am Sue's daughter."
"Oh heavens...where's Anu?"
"She's dead." the nurse gulped. The old man was right. She felt miserable for him.
"You let her die, didn't you? You..." she could distinctively hear him sobbing now, but she was too afraid to enter, the silence was frightening.
"I wondered about why my daddy left me alone when I was a child. I always waited for him to come, but he never did. I must go now. You should rest. I brought your guitar, it survived the crash, miraculously. Mother always said that you loved it like your own child."

As she heard sharp footsteps walking towards the door, the nurse pretended to be reading a chart as the girl walked out of the room. Her bosom was heaving, her eyes were moist, but she was smiling, a smile that made the nurse feel a deathly chill at the end of her spine. Not having the heart to face the old man, she took the rest of the day off, delegating her duties to the student intern from the city, who were working there as part of their course.

When she returned to the hospital, a pall of gloom had cast over the entire building. The coroner's van was standing outside. A man had committed suicide. The cause of death was loss of blood. She did not have to ask.

Who the hell are they to question our policies?

Or is this just the first step in 'making' India party to having U.S. troops on Indian soil to fight Islamic terrorism? Those who read Miss Bhosle's powerful article might have switched sides* based on the Savarkarian principle that she so simplistically expounds, but I personally feel that no one is India's friend right now. So our bumbling grey-haired and dove-brained politicians have to be cynical about every hand of friendship that the U.S.A. extends.

Suffice to say, we simply CANNOT afford to have a Congress led coalition at the centre, however screwed up the BJP and its allies may be. As the Chinese say, we live in interesting times.

*this is because according to pea-brained bush, if you are not with him, you are against him.....

Lyki Aprilli [April Wolves]

[Scene One: Cypher's room. Ojay is on Mave's comp. Cypher is on his, with his monitor-mouse-monitor thing going. Charit barges in.]

Charit: Man, I totally buggered Vinay. He did not read the whole article.

Cypher: So he still thinks that the Indians are getting the World Cup? LOL.

Ojay: Let's start a SARS scare. Tell people that 4 guys in hall 5 were diagnosed.

Cypher: Yes, yes! You can tell people I have SARS.

[Onkar proceeds to tell Ipsh that Cypher is suffering from SARS. Ipsh is too dazed/drugged/tired/psyched to answer. She mumbles something]

Charit: I am sms-ing the Dude, Photon and Mave. [does so. Ojay's phone rings.]

Ojay: Yea, Dude. It's true man, he was puking and all, and had a fever. I am at the MC. I am not sure it's SARS yet, but the doctor has asked all the people who were in close contact with him to report to the MC, just in case.

Charit: Mave has replied with a "Fuck you", No reply from Photon, must be sleeping.

Ojay: Dude seems to have bought it. [Charit's phone rings]

Charit: Yeah, Dude. Of course it's not an April Fool's trick. Would I joke about something this serious. Ok, come over to the MC.

[Ojay chats with Vinay on MSN, laying the plan down. Mave walks in. The plan is explained to him. Phone rings again.]

Ojay: Yes, Dude. I am in the MC, I was chatting to Vinay from the computer room. Anyway, I'll keep you posted. They are asking all kinds of questions.

[Mave's phone rings]

Mave: Yes, Dude, Ojay called me. I am in my lab, but I am heading to the MC soon. Meet you there.

[Vinay rushes in]

Vinay: Oh, mother! He is totally buying it! He is talking about life and shit, man. Ojay, he is pretty shaken up. He is going to the MC with his passport and visa.

Ojay [grinning]: I guess we better tell him. I am calling him in another five minutes.

Mave: No, man. Let him go to the MC.

Cypher[nodding]: Let him go to the MC. [Ojay's phone rings]

Ojay: Dude, Cypher is out. He is negative. We are negative as well. No need to worry. Take it easy. [Cypher and Mave jeering noiselessly.]

Cypher: Why did you tell him? You spoilt everything.

Ojay: Come on, man. We can't take it too far.

[Cypher's phone rings, but he ignores it. Pretends to be Vinay, talks to Dude, asks him to come to the canteen.

Scene two: At the canteen, the Dude is literally crying in relief.]

Ojay: Shit, man. My heart was in my throat all the time Cypher was in the examination room. I started feeling the symptoms that weren't there. Scary man...

Dude: Yea, I guess. I am sure you were more shit scared than I was.

[The topic shifts to ghost stories, and people depart amiably]

Vinay: You should have told him.

Ojay: The crisis is over, the prank isn't.

Vinay: As you wish.

[In the evening, the Dude blogged about his near-death experience. Vinay adapted it for the masses and published it on his own blog.]

[Scene three: People are in the middle of watching 'The Animal House'. Dude barges in, hammers Cypher, Ojay, Vinay and Mave]

Dude: You jobless bastards! I have learnt my lesson! I am never going to trust anyone again.

Ojay: Dude, moral of the story, relax.

Vinay: Yeah, Dude, exam tension makes your brain work slow.

Dude: Fuck, man, I am an idiot.

Mave: No man, anyone could have been had. If Ojay had told me in person, I would have bought it.

Dude: Where is that bastard Charit? I am going to kill him.

Mave: Yeah. I got it when he smsed me. You don't report SARS cases by sms, you call!

Ojay: We were planning to screw Jat real professionally, but it had too much overhead.

Cypher: I am not going through all this shit just to screw someone.

Dude: Whatever guys, lets watch the movie.

[Everyone stares at the monitor. The curtain falls.]

--== Next, we will have how Photon was had. Check soon! ==--

the sadist in me

you think you choose
me? you'd be amused
to know how desperately
i cling to you.

i, who verily enjoy as
your soul writhes
in agony, your heart burns
in despair.

to the hymn of pain
i dance, wild, insane,
drunk, oblivious that
you is me.

yet, somewhere within
lies a voice free of sin,
that shames me so into
a guilt unknown.

a grim battle wages
between the the adages
of morality and the exacting
primal painlust.

but beware of me, for
i bring to you dark,
disturbing forebodings
of schizophrenia.

Ekla Chalo Re [Walk alone]

If they answer not to thy call walk alone,
If they are afraid and cower mutely facing the wall,
O thou of evil luck,
open thy mind and speak out alone.
If they turn away, and desert you when crossing the wilderness,
O thou of evil luck,
trample the thorns under thy tread,
and along the blood-lined track travel alone.
If they do not hold up the light when the night is troubled with storm,
O thou of evil luck,
with the thunder flame of pain ignite thy own heart
and let it burn alone.

[rant]

This is one of my favourite poems by Rabindranath Tagore [Ravindranath Thakur to those who read his works in Marathi and Hindi]. This poem is dedicated to all those people who are trying to conform to something or the other, to those who have tried and failed, and to those who have succeeded and are living in denial, suppressing their spirit.

This is too hilarious! I mean, these people didn't have to bother, Dubya takes his own ass without having to try. The female combing his hair episode was just too good. What's next, lipstick?

Look at this! Look at this! Why are Americans like this? Optimus Prime? What kind of name is that? Ok, I sympathise with this guy, his dad passed away and all, and the toy filled a void in his life and all. So how about going around taking care of children who have only one parent left? How's that for satisfaction that other kids might not have to suffer what he suffered? Changing your name to something like Optimus Prime is just stupid. And the damned general congratulates him...great...no wonder these people are shooting each other down in Iraq, they are STUPID!

Another thing, people who are thinking of totally depending on Salam's blog after Iraq TV was taken down today might want to take it with a pinch of salt. This fellow does have a point here, but I still have my doubts. Salam blogging from Iraq is something like the king singing 'Aapada Rajya Pada' [Calamity has befallen the throne].

The Bush administration is expected to ask Congress for $74.7bn (�47.5bn) to pay for the war. (the BBC)

Paying for the Iraq war Military operations: $44bn Call up of reserves: $10bn Munitions: $6.5bn Reconstruction: $1.7bn Humanitarian aid: $500m FBI: $500m Coast Guard: $1.5bn Afghanistan aid: $400m Aid to Israel: $10bn Aid to Jordan, Egypt: $1bn each source: OMB, Congress

(@) I think Mr. Bush should ask his "daddie" if he wants a blank cheque, umm? (@) Also, don't you think giving Israel $10 bil is little steep? (@) The government's budgetary deficit already stands at $300 bil, sans any war expenditure. (@) Why is the US sprnding so much? The annual returns from the oil in Iraq are $25 bil

Now, investment recovery in 4 years? If I was a heartless venture capitalist, I would invest in this with my eyes closed. Bastards.

I was talking to an American friend of mine and she was all like we are a democracy, we have free press.

Well free press, my ass!

Donald Rumsfeld pressured the CNN into not displaying images of captured US PoWs.

Now I quote,

"It was a powerful insight into the enormous sway that the Bush Administration and the Pentagon exert over the media's war coverage. All stations that morning were in intense competition for Mr Rumsfeld and other major figures to appear.

Before the capture of the POWs, the media had little hesitation in running graphic pictures of surrendering, captured, dead or dying Iraqi soldiers, usually accompanied by US statements that large numbers of Iraqi troops were unwilling to fight for Saddam Hussein.

But the censorship of the POWs highlighted starkly what is and is not acceptable news on the war.

Virtually uncovered in the media are Iraqi civilian casualties. While all the networks ran the "shock and awe" bombing of Baghdad, scant coverage was given to the wounded. This was despite public statements from the International Red Cross giving figures for the injured.

And while Al-Jazeera has cameras in Basra where Iraqi casualties are more apparent, little of this footage is seen in the US.
The US networks run acres of material from "embedded" correspondents on ships as they fire off Tomahawks, from air bases waving off fighters, and from infantry forces firing off artillery. But there is little commentary or discussion of what happens when this ordinance hits."

Shame on you, Mr. Rumsfeld! Shame on your, Mr. Bush!

Another site suffers American censorship...
Kevin Sites, the CNN's correspondent in Iraq's personal blog has been suspended.

All Mumbaikars who had no idea what Hutatma Chowk is all about, please read this and smile in content, since the people you elected are just like you, they don't care.

I was quite happy that someone was making a movie about Mahadji Shinde, but I did not know this. Found it when I was checking up some info on the movie.

Does anyone know who this Balaji Natu was? Or is this Dhakt'e Peshwe Bajirao? Do any Punekars know?

Bloody, we Indians are so misinformed, I am sure most Mumbaikars think that Hutatma Chowk is some freedom struggle monument, and they are up-to-date with what Washington did after the win at Topeka, Kansas.

I am filled with general shame towards the so-called educated Indian elite, at how they know nothing about places and people 1000 kilometres from where they live, but know everything about America.

I spit in their general direction.

went to rohan's house to see the final.
there was a gaggle of chigs there. now, i've always have had a 'hello-bye' relationship with the chigs, save a few good ones, but what some of them did today was unpardonable.

sin 1
zahir had just gone for 15 in his first. srinath had beet thwacked in his first too. cypher said that now sourav would call in nehra. so this chig says, "vo bhi pitega. fir harbu ko lao. vo pitega, fir kumble ko lao."

mera matha t'hanka

go. leave. unless you have explicit support for india, leave. he shut up. i appreciate people who accept their mistakes.

but there were others who took up his cause.

sin 2
"why can't i be patriotic without having to support the indian team?"

"the same way you can't be a promiscuous virgin or a peace-loving terrorist.", i retorted. cricket is a matter of pride for india, hence, having accepted this statement, you should support the indian team only.

i thought that would be the end of it. but no. there was this bastard who was cheering everytime gilchrist hit a boundary and ooh-ing in apparent despair when the ball was intercepted on other occasions. As such, we were tolerating him.

sin 3
Then he said, "Nehra ko kutte ki tarah dhone vaale hai", we were all like, "saale mooh band rakh".

as the saying goes, though, the shameless are always happy. so he countered, "is my saying going to change anything?" what a lousy bastard. obviously it won't. but then again, calling a person names does not make her so, but it does infuriate her, does it not? i had the pressing urge to belt out some choice abuses addressing his family just to make my point, but i held my peace.

in the end, though, the negative energy in the room was just too much for anything. i am with my brothers and sisters in this time of grief. this calls for revenge, primal and exact.

Coca-Cola, Pepsi pull out ads from news channels (ET)
NEW DELHI: Two of the biggest Indian advertisers, Coca-Cola and Pepsi, have pulled out their ads of all news channels around the world, including India. These two mega-advertisers are not willing to associate their brands with something as sensitive as a war.

Australia declareds Waugh on India (Forward)

"Let those who have no weapons suffer sorrow."
                                                                                 (R'cha Veda 4:5:14.)

yachchhatu indra vajrantava sanghaaya shva bhaaratasya
naashyatu varun'a sarvaashaa asmaakam anaaryavairiin'aam
gatisantum kaapi vipadasu sarvadevaa sanghasya sarvadaa
pratixan'am pratinimesham pratilavam prativedham pratitrutim.

do not ask for translations.

ps: I guess you can get away with murder if you write it in sanskrit. ^_!

Looks like Saddam is winning the air war without having to do anything. :D

the Dude adds:
                        In the hindsight of what he posted on his blog, this news is almost hilarious.

my best friend just stabbed me in the back. beware, world, for now nothing is certain....

sanskr'tabhas'ayaam sahajasanvaadam

easy conversations in a refined language.

how human are soldiers?

Sukanya sent me this nice article that took the focus totally off the war ahead and concentrated on the minute worries that the soldiers try to think about so that the impending war doesn't psyche them. Regiment rivalries, camaraderie, a sense of family and belonging in the armed forces, competing with allied forces, and so on.

These make the soldiers almost look like they are having fun on the beach, playing volleyball in the sand. Makes people forget the grim reality of war and look at other things that the army brings. It's an opiate, really. In stark contrast, Japanese Samurai meditated on the thought of death in battle everyday, accepting it as an eventuality, so that when it came, they would be prepared for it.

Now, I know it sounds stupid, but I think the Japanese had a point there. Saddam is fighting with children as young as 10 years old on his side, reminiscent of the Hitlerjugend, when 14 year old children manned anti-air guns in Berlin. The allies at that time did not know that they were shooting at children. Today, pictures of tots with Kalashnikovs are splashed over the papers in Singapore.

Will the GIs kill children? i don't know. They will have to, because the poor little kid has had his childhood fantasy come terrifyingly true. He has the chance to be a hero, though unsung. People, the war has begun. Scenes of unprecedented human suffering are bound to appear on media, after all, that's how these people make their living. Watch Discovery instead. Advaita advices taking matters of great importance that you have no control over as lightly as possible.

Thanks, Suku. It made me reflect on a while on our own jawans in the valley. Now I imagine them enjoying a joke, teasing a newly married comrade about his wife, telling stories from their villages. Maybe it isn't all that bad for them. [sigh...who am i kidding?]

I had this conversation with the Dude two days back, and I decided to post it then but hadn't found time. Anyway, it was Tarang, and NTU was taking on NUS in a cultural. Now this cultural is a purely Chennai funda wherein different different institutions compete for honour in creative, artistic fields. NTU thrashed NUS in all but the Western Music event where Levee lead singer Rajesh, formerly Taklya, stole the show with 'Highway to Hell', quite well deserved.

NTU had won both the Dance competition and the Indian Music competition, but a considerable number of Indians in the audience were ruffled, disgruntled. The dance was performed for a Tamil song, and all the three songs in the Indian music section were Tamil. Nevertheless, I was happy that NTU had won and NUS folks with their "We are so cool and sexy" attitudes had been put down. It's that tribal. Last year there was almost a catfight after NUS won the Dance competition and the NUS lead dancer went onstage and mocked the NTU dance. It was later that the Dude told me that someone had passed some comment to the effect, "Mein yahan Indian cultural programme dekhne aya tha. Ye kya bakwas baja rahen hain yeh log?"

Mera matha thanka.

The Dude was trying to justify the remark by saying that cultural demographics in NTU were quite different from those in Delhi or elsewhere in North India, and hence some people did not feel at home. In my opinion, however, people from South India have to face a different cultural demographic in NTU than they are used to in Chennai or most other places in South India. The fact was that no one wanted to go and practice singing a Hindi or a Punjabi song and hence there weren't any Hindi songs sung. I mean, NUS had a Tamil song and a lovely Hindi jugalbandi which was quite enjoyed by the crowd but was not very popular with the judges. So the question to be raised is, is the adoption of North Indian culture as the (un)official culture of India causing an aversion in North Indians towards other cultures, even cultures from other parts of India?

An interesting thought experiment came about as a result of the discussion. There are many Scandinavian students in NTU. Norwegians mostly. I wagered the Dude that one of the people who had passed the comment was more likely to go to a Norwegian cultural programme than go to an Indian cultural programme which would be dominated by non-Hindi songs. The Dude agreed with me.

Do you agree with me? Are there people around you too who are like this?

"Do you know there are kids in Ethiopia who don't get even one meal?". Be grateful.

O Lotus eyed one, I wish to drink some water.
If you will give it, I do not want it from you;
But if you will not, then I shall drink it.

This modified haiku is what you could call an Indian koan. It also has a casteist undertone when translated into Sanskrit. Somethings are both ugly and beautiful. It just depends on how you look at it, or in this case, how you break the sandhi.

For Yazad, the Sanskr't version.

paan'iyam paatumichchhaami tvatta: kamalalochane.
yadi daasyasi nechchhaami na daasyasi pibaamyaham..

Glossary:

paan'iyam: water
paatum: to drink
ichchhaami: i wish
tvat: from you
kamala: lotus
lochana: eye
yadi: if
daasyasi: (you) will give
daasi: servant woman
asi: is/are
na: no
pibaami: drink
aham: I

'... I want you to fight Nazism without arms. I would like you to lay down the arms you have as being useless for saving you or humanity. You will invite Herr Hitler and Signor Mussolini to take what they want of the countries you call your possessions. Let them take possession of your beautiful island, with your many beautiful buildings. You will give all these but neither your souls, nor your minds. If these gentlemen choose to occupy your homes, you will vacate them. If they do not give you free passage out, you will allow yourself, man, woman and child, to be slaughtered, but you will refuse to owe allegiance to them... I am telling His Excellency the Viceroy that my services are at the disposal of His Majesty's Government, should they consider them of any practical use in advancing the object of my appeal.'

(Stanley Wolpert's Jinnah of Pakistan, pp. 187-188 as cited on page 144 of Chapter I of Constitutional Law of India, Supplement to Third Edition, 1988, written and published by H M Seervai, a giant in the field of constitutional history.)

What a bastard.

Some wise people has been sending me some lame email about how we Indians focus more on our cricketers than we do on our soldiers. I have already talked about that with Ravina, and you may ask her if you have any doubts.

Here's an idle thought. Why DON'T all these people who forwarded me the email go and join the army? That way, there will be less spam in my inbox and more security for India and everyone will be happy.

Over to you now, Soapbox fella.

ps: This applies equally for desktop warriors and desktop doves. Please don't start a war on my blog.
About the Ravina thing, you might have to scroll a little hither-tither to get to it.

This article tries to show that globalisation is going to hit Americans harder, because they are going to lose their jobs to the Indians and the Chinese. Well, maybe, but then, are we really gaining in this transaction?

I am sure these American companies do not give a damn about the Indian work ethic, Indian cultural values that might and should be upheld by Indian companies. Globalisation is going to be a lot like the British conquest of India. Using Indian manpower to drive Indian enterprises out of business.

But I am not an economist, and my analogy might be wrong. So correct me if you have a logical way of doing so. :)

You learn new words everyday. But how many of them are in a URL?

Main Entry: in ter sti tial

Pronunciation: "in-t&r-'sti-sh&l

Function: adjective

Date: 1646

1 : relating to or situated in the

interstices

2 a : situated within but not restricted to or characteristic of a
particular organ or tissue -- used especially of fibrous tissue b :
affecting the interstitial tissues of an organ or part

3 : being or relating to a crystalline compound in which usually
small atoms or ions of a nonmetal occupy holes between the larger metal atoms or
ions in the crystal lattice

- in ter sti tial ly
/-sh&-lE/ adverb

Statutory warning: This may ruin your day. If you haven't been born, brought up, or lived in Mumbai, the following might be a little hard to follow. I'll put up an Onkar's 'Mumbaiya for dummies' up soon.

Julie aur Sulie do bhain lok rehtai, bolegato, ekdam judva. Lekin dono me solid fark rehtai.
Julie, bole to, ekdam smart, chikna, jhakas, ta-pao type rehtai. Lekin, Sulie ekdam fulltoo lukkha.

Ab kya malum, bachpan se na, Sulie na, vo kya boltai, ekdam stubborn rehtai, bole to, ziddi.
To Julie ko jo mangtai, vo-ich Sulie ko bhi mangtai. Julie ko doll mila to Sulie ko bhi mangta. Julie ko bangle mila to Sulie ko bhi mangta. To vo lok ka ais aur bapus kaisa to karke double double kharidta hoenga.
Aisa karte karte bees saal guzr gaya.

Dono ladki lok ekdam jawan vagaira huela tha. To vo lok ka bapus bola, tum lok ka shadi banaenga. To Julie top ka maal bolke uska shadi karodpati businessman se banaya. Lekin sala jo koi bhi Sulie ko dekhne ata tha, Sulie usko line dene ka chhodke hool derela tha. Finally, ek fatichar funtoosh lukkha usko pasant pad gaya aur vo do lok shadi banaya.

Ab shadi ka baad, Julie frdige leta hai baap. To Sulie ko bhi mangta. Vo pati ko boltai. Pati bechara garib, lekin sala biwi banaya to thoda load leneko pad-ing sochke vo kharid letai.
Agla mahina, Julie ka rais pati uska vaste air-condition latai. Ab Sulie ko bhi apna magaj-thanda karneka rehtai. To vo apna pati to nag kartai. Pati ka para chadh jatai, lekin kya karega, vo udhar nikal ke air-condition latai.
Ab, bole to, Julie maaldaar rehtai to usko koi panga nahi hotai. Vo agla mahina car kharid letai, ekdam jhakas Marsidis Benj, bole to. Sulie bhi zidd kartai. Pati ka bheja out, lekin sala karega kya, world cup chalu hai, aur Sulie TV ka remote chhupa ke rakhelai. To vo apna gaav ka zamin bech dal ke ekdam top ka Marsidis modal kharid letai. Sulie ka Tilaknagar mai kya vatt badhtai boss....
Lekin apna Julie koi halka pelwan nai na, vo agla mahina gadi bech ke luxury bus kharida. To Sulie ko bhi mangtai. Pati ka mendu solid bhadak jatai to vo boltai, 'Abe e item, dimaag ka dahi mat bana, bahut ho gaya tera natakbaji. Abhi apun tera ek nahi sunega. Apun dost ka ghar jarelai World Cup dekhneko.' Aisa bolke vo udhar se kalti.
Ab Sulie kya karega, apna car bech ke aur vo paisa ko dagina bech ke add karke vo bhi luxury bus kharid letai.

Ab bhailok dhyan deo, climax a relai. To ek din Julie aur Sulie apna apna bus mei picnic ko jatai, garden mei baith ke bahut gappa tappa martai. Ab evening huela to vo lok apna apna bus ko jatai aur dekhtai to kya!!!
Ai chya gaavat! Sala dono bus mei steering wheel gayab, seat gayab, gearbox gayab, sab kuch gayab!!!
To apna ankh se aasu poch ke Sulie Julie ko kuch to boltai.

Ab ekdam simple Koshchan: Sulie Julie ko kya boltai?





"NA KUCH TERE BUS MEI, JULIE, NA KUCH MERE BUS MEI..."

Ok, now that I have ruined your day, my work here is done....

Inspired by a mail I got yesterday: :P

BBC: 1st March, 2003

Rawalpindi express derailed by act of God
- 11 dead, {fubar}
- 140 million injured

Millions advance Diwali celebrations
In a completely unrelated incident, 1 billion people celebrated the festival of Diwali, which signifies the victory of good over evil, almost 8 months earlier this year, today. Pundits believe that a divine surge of cosmic energy had changed the planetary positions, shifting the Hindu calendar. The surge is believed to have originated in the Southern Hemisphere, which is strange, since God has always loved the Northern Hemisphere more for some reason.....{ever observed that?}

Have you ever wanted to send someone a greeting card and never could really find the words you wanted in any of the greeting cards that infest the internet?

It has happened with me quite many times. But that is not what confounds me. What vexes me more is that there are some people who are able to find the most precise message on a card from one of the more obscure greeting card sites, as if these greeting cards were waiting to be found by them.

Now, Sukanya and I, the other day, were talking about something. About friendship and and about different adages about friendship were really true and all. Quite an interesting conversation. The very next day, there is a card in my inbox, talking about the same values that we had talked about the day before!

Now, either I am a Hallmark person, in which case I seriously need to head for the mountains, although there are no mountains in Singapore; or Sukanya has a secret tie-up with some online greeting card makers [quite possible, given that many of her articles are online] in which case, a select few people are going to get cards as they want them to be as well; and lastly, and quite incredulously, it just might be that people don't look for cards, cards look for people, and they don't want to be sent by just anyone to just about anyone.

Hmmm...seems like a good story for an animated movie about greeting cards. Disney, Pixar, are you listening?