Recent happenings in the Mechanical Department at NIT Hamirpur haven't been too pretty (read: the 3 hours of Dynamics of Machinery finals). I wouldn't like to go very deep into the intricacies of the whole matter for privacy's sake, but it is a larger habit at hand that concerns me as a student.
A vast majority of students treat their Profs as enemies. In the early days, I didn't quite subscribe to that train of thought. The education system posed certain demands and teachers were mere messengers executing the task at hand. But what I failed to recognise then was that even this execution was an art form; which is why someone like Dr. Anoop Kumar, Dean, Students' Welfare and Alumni Affairs was so looked up to by his students while some lesser mortals couldn't be cared for any lesser.
Of all the ingredients that makes up one's character, one feature that clearly separates the wheat from the chaff is the ability to think from the other person's shoes. A teacher shouts at a student for being 2 minutes late to class. Question: How many times in the Teacher's student career did he enter his class on time? Teachers talk of copying in examinations as if it were a sinful act of crime. Now, by no means am I suggesting they advocate copying, My argument is very simply that the same people who have been through what we are going through react to similar situations in a way that is totally detached. This is the same way every adolescent thinks that his/her parents were never adolescents. The connection is simply missing. I'm forced to believe that these 'people' who teach me today were never really students at any point of time in their lives. Somehow, they came into this world with a sash that said 'Teacher'.
It is here again that I go into my bag of thoughts and pull out what Dr. Anoop once said, that any position must be treated as position of responsibility, and not as a position of power. Our not-so-democratic education system has still kept the teacher on a higher pedestal of power than the student. And it is a shame to see some people thriving off this power, or simply put, living off the virtue of the students' weakness. Who is teaching and who is learning? Maybe some role reversal could help.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Friday, November 30, 2007
5 women in a man's life - The Fifth
Star Plus makes most of its money because of her. She is what every young bachelor shuns in the name 'fun'. Miles of text in history, literature, law and Bollywood story lines have been dedicated to this woman that each man deems himself worthy of. Lady activists would be thrown out of employment if not for her. Numerous jokes have been written about her, and an equal number have been conceived behind her back.
I am not qualified to qualify the 5th woman in a man's life, notwithstanding that I haven't made the trip there (yet!). But a look around has suggested beyond doubt that the fifth, and in my opinion the most important woman in a man's life is his wife. And here's the golden reason, with a touch of sarcasm: She's the one who wouldn't mind the other 4 women in your life. I'm told you make the 'journey across' with this lady.
So there you go; the 5 women in a man's life. It has been a nice ride full of introspection and some degree of concern(personally) in putting the strings of this series together. Friends have pointed out to me halfway through this series that there were women in their lives that impacted them and were outside the five I mentioned. The whole 5 women deal isn't to provide a concrete structure to one's love life. It is more an equivalent of the Shakespearian stage where each of us plays a part. As it happens, these 5 women featured in the lead roles for different durations in the man's life. Sometimes, like in How I met your mother, it becomes difficult telling the lead role from the supporting cast. Nonetheless, the journey always wins.
Hope I was able to send you down memory lane, even if it was for a fledgling minute. I thank you for taking time off to read my blog. Knowing that this url features on someone's address bar when I'm asleep gives me enough reason to put it up in the first place.
Have a great life!
I am not qualified to qualify the 5th woman in a man's life, notwithstanding that I haven't made the trip there (yet!). But a look around has suggested beyond doubt that the fifth, and in my opinion the most important woman in a man's life is his wife. And here's the golden reason, with a touch of sarcasm: She's the one who wouldn't mind the other 4 women in your life. I'm told you make the 'journey across' with this lady.
So there you go; the 5 women in a man's life. It has been a nice ride full of introspection and some degree of concern(personally) in putting the strings of this series together. Friends have pointed out to me halfway through this series that there were women in their lives that impacted them and were outside the five I mentioned. The whole 5 women deal isn't to provide a concrete structure to one's love life. It is more an equivalent of the Shakespearian stage where each of us plays a part. As it happens, these 5 women featured in the lead roles for different durations in the man's life. Sometimes, like in How I met your mother, it becomes difficult telling the lead role from the supporting cast. Nonetheless, the journey always wins.
Hope I was able to send you down memory lane, even if it was for a fledgling minute. I thank you for taking time off to read my blog. Knowing that this url features on someone's address bar when I'm asleep gives me enough reason to put it up in the first place.
Have a great life!
Monday, November 26, 2007
5 women in a man's life - The Fourth
This is the story of Mickey Mouse and God:
One for all those hey;-)'s that did take them somewhere.
Two for those morning dates when God would play the guitar.
Three for those yummy dishes Mickey Mouse fixed for God and his friends.
Four for the time God was insane enough to turn up stoned at a date.
Five for those bike rides that took them there, there and there.
Six for the old man who coughed.
Seven for their T-shirts that went unnoticed in the crowd.
Eight for being a gentleman.
Nine for the vodka that made it; and the wine that didn't.
Ten for the time God ran like hell.
She's the college sweet-heart who you didn't get enough of.
One for all those hey;-)'s that did take them somewhere.
Two for those morning dates when God would play the guitar.
Three for those yummy dishes Mickey Mouse fixed for God and his friends.
Four for the time God was insane enough to turn up stoned at a date.
Five for those bike rides that took them there, there and there.
Six for the old man who coughed.
Seven for their T-shirts that went unnoticed in the crowd.
Eight for being a gentleman.
Nine for the vodka that made it; and the wine that didn't.
Ten for the time God ran like hell.
She's the college sweet-heart who you didn't get enough of.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
5 women in a man's life - The Third
And somehow these crushes manifest into a like and in between stutters, hi's and blushes, you get her number. The faintest excuse to talk to her will seem totally concrete. And every morning you want to get to school for that 15 minutes short- break where you will take her to a side and kuchi-koo. Making out is not on the agenda. Holding hands behind the basement stairs can seem like paradise as you stand there looking into her eyes, saying nothing.
You want to be at your best in the game during sports hour, for she might be noticing you from the corner of her eye from across the ground where she's playing an excuse for a sport called throw-ball. It's pitiful that you can't ride the same bus back home; the city is too big to live on the same street.
At home, your ears are receptive to every phone call, hoping this one is hers.And when she eventually calls, that assignment you were working on half heartedly becomes the last thing that deserves your attention. Even that yummy Mushroom Roll in the kitchen isn't very attractive. There is a time to eat, a time to work, and a time to sleep. Never a time to talk to her.
She's the high school sweetheart. The one you thought would stay with you forever.
Cheers to this girl who lit the unforgettable fire in you.
You want to be at your best in the game during sports hour, for she might be noticing you from the corner of her eye from across the ground where she's playing an excuse for a sport called throw-ball. It's pitiful that you can't ride the same bus back home; the city is too big to live on the same street.
At home, your ears are receptive to every phone call, hoping this one is hers.And when she eventually calls, that assignment you were working on half heartedly becomes the last thing that deserves your attention. Even that yummy Mushroom Roll in the kitchen isn't very attractive. There is a time to eat, a time to work, and a time to sleep. Never a time to talk to her.
She's the high school sweetheart. The one you thought would stay with you forever.
Cheers to this girl who lit the unforgettable fire in you.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
5 women in a man's life - The Second
Navneet jumped off bus no. 1 at Central. He crossed the road to pick up a packet of Lays. On other days, he would have started walking the long stretch on the side walk running along Sampige Road where Raja Mills once stood (Mantri Greens has taken over today). But tonight was different. He would wait for a blue bus that said 'Infosys' on it. He would wait for the bus to come to a halt.And then she would step outside and start walking on the same side of the road as he was on.
He followed her unassumingly for a couple of steps and then as he came nearer, he took a deep breath and said – “Excuse me”.
Her tired eyes turned around and looked at him. They looked just as beautiful as they had at 645 in the morning.
“My name is Navneet. I wanted to ask you, do you work in Infosys?”. I mean, how lamer could a starter question get? A gorgeous young lady getting off a bus that says 'Infosys' can by no length of imagination be an employee of Wipro. [For the record, this an IT joke. All geeks in the house, laugh.]
“Yeah. I'm a software engineer there. My name is Sumana.”
They talked for the next 3 minutes till she came to a crossing that took her home. She said - “Nice knowing you, Navneet.”
“Hey, same here! Want some chips?”, he said holding out the packet of Lays.
“Uh, no thanks. Good nite!” and she was gone.
-------------
I followed a ritual each morning. As I bathed and stepped into the room to put on my uniform (these are still high school days, mind you), I played Metallica's Turn the page on Winamp. In a rebellious youth's lingo, the song pumped life into an otherwise dull morning. And I would step out into the cool early Bangalore morning that had been holding up a thin blanket of mist. The bus to school stopped 100 meters away from my house. Like any other day, I pondered on what was in store for the coming day. Classes, shitty as usual. Only perhaps Satya's grilled sandwiches to look forward to in Chari Maam's Physics class. And yes, Suchit was supposed to finalise Raceforge's logo that day.
My view of the road was blocked by a stationary auto. I made my way around the auto staring at the crest on my tie. And then I looked up. It was like one of those times when you pour a bucket full of cold water on your body and find yourself gasping for breath. I looked right into her eyes. And they were so attractive that I had to withdraw mine. I walked to my spot and took my place in the bus stop. I was smiling from ear to ear looking the other way. And I would turn towards her and size her up. And what I saw was mind blowing.
Later that day in class, I asked Jesu if he had seen her at the bus stop too. He hadn't. Neither had Satya. I spent 10 whole minutes explaining to Sridevi how this 'bus stop girl' looked.
“The way you're describing, it seems like she's an actress.” Sri said.
“No, she works in Infosys. I saw her getting into the bus.”, i said.
-------------
2 months later, over the legendary coffee in Halli Manne I challenged Navneet to find out her name. And he won the bet. But I didn't lose it. I won it too. I won a memory; a memory of the longest crush I've had on a girl. A girl we called 'Infy'. And i wish her well from here, for only the Good Lord knows where,how and what she is today.
A man pins his first crush solidly to memory. And then for a while, girls come and and go out of his radar. Some catch his attention for a short while and he moves on. Few others stay longer giving him time to fantasise. But only one stays in memory long enough to qualify as a man's longest crush.
Hope you enjoyed meeting the 2nd girl in a man's life. Isn't she still the same as she was when you first saw her?
He followed her unassumingly for a couple of steps and then as he came nearer, he took a deep breath and said – “Excuse me”.
Her tired eyes turned around and looked at him. They looked just as beautiful as they had at 645 in the morning.
“My name is Navneet. I wanted to ask you, do you work in Infosys?”. I mean, how lamer could a starter question get? A gorgeous young lady getting off a bus that says 'Infosys' can by no length of imagination be an employee of Wipro. [For the record, this an IT joke. All geeks in the house, laugh.]
“Yeah. I'm a software engineer there. My name is Sumana.”
They talked for the next 3 minutes till she came to a crossing that took her home. She said - “Nice knowing you, Navneet.”
“Hey, same here! Want some chips?”, he said holding out the packet of Lays.
“Uh, no thanks. Good nite!” and she was gone.
-------------
I followed a ritual each morning. As I bathed and stepped into the room to put on my uniform (these are still high school days, mind you), I played Metallica's Turn the page on Winamp. In a rebellious youth's lingo, the song pumped life into an otherwise dull morning. And I would step out into the cool early Bangalore morning that had been holding up a thin blanket of mist. The bus to school stopped 100 meters away from my house. Like any other day, I pondered on what was in store for the coming day. Classes, shitty as usual. Only perhaps Satya's grilled sandwiches to look forward to in Chari Maam's Physics class. And yes, Suchit was supposed to finalise Raceforge's logo that day.
My view of the road was blocked by a stationary auto. I made my way around the auto staring at the crest on my tie. And then I looked up. It was like one of those times when you pour a bucket full of cold water on your body and find yourself gasping for breath. I looked right into her eyes. And they were so attractive that I had to withdraw mine. I walked to my spot and took my place in the bus stop. I was smiling from ear to ear looking the other way. And I would turn towards her and size her up. And what I saw was mind blowing.
Later that day in class, I asked Jesu if he had seen her at the bus stop too. He hadn't. Neither had Satya. I spent 10 whole minutes explaining to Sridevi how this 'bus stop girl' looked.
“The way you're describing, it seems like she's an actress.” Sri said.
“No, she works in Infosys. I saw her getting into the bus.”, i said.
-------------
2 months later, over the legendary coffee in Halli Manne I challenged Navneet to find out her name. And he won the bet. But I didn't lose it. I won it too. I won a memory; a memory of the longest crush I've had on a girl. A girl we called 'Infy'. And i wish her well from here, for only the Good Lord knows where,how and what she is today.
A man pins his first crush solidly to memory. And then for a while, girls come and and go out of his radar. Some catch his attention for a short while and he moves on. Few others stay longer giving him time to fantasise. But only one stays in memory long enough to qualify as a man's longest crush.
Hope you enjoyed meeting the 2nd girl in a man's life. Isn't she still the same as she was when you first saw her?
5 women in a man's life - The First
In 1997, I made the big crossing from SHS to NJS. If you aren't my friend from either of the two places, here's what they stand for – SHS is Sindhi High School and NJS is National Junior School. After class 5, I was to make the switch, much against my likes.
On the fine 'first morning' at my new school, I walked up 3 floors to class 6 A. I wore a jelly coloured yellow bag, a pair of new denims and a blue T-shirt that my uncle had gifted me for the last b'day. My feet were shaking furiously for this was my first time as a first timer in a new school. As I walked up towards the class, a million thoughts rushed through my head. Who would my friends be? Would they be as good as my old friends? Do the teachers here beat up the kids...?
I turned and faced the class trying to look absolutely unperturbed by the fact that 43 pairs of eyes were fixed on one. And the teacher said - “This is B S Arjun. He's from Sindhi High School.” And I was told to take the last seat in the corner row. As I bent my head and walked towards the benches, I couldn't help looking at a face that sat right there in the first bench. There, right there, was the cutest face I had seen in all my years till then. She had short hair, a little longer than a guy's, fair skin and dark eyes. A mole on her left cheek was the icing on the cake. And as I walked past her, my heart skipped a couple of beats, I went and sat at the end and stared at her back hoping for her to turn around so I could catch a glimpse of her one more time. Just once more.
Mrs. Sharmila was brave enough to trust a nutty lad like me to become the class monitor on day one. If she thought I could, so did I. And that did help me break the ice with Ms. Cute Mole. It took 3 attempts and several blushes after which I shamelessly said - “Hi, what's your name?”
Every man treasures his first crush. Some prefer calling it 'puppy love'. She is the first of the five women in a man's life.
Stay tuned for the next 4. Coming soon, this November.
On the fine 'first morning' at my new school, I walked up 3 floors to class 6 A. I wore a jelly coloured yellow bag, a pair of new denims and a blue T-shirt that my uncle had gifted me for the last b'day. My feet were shaking furiously for this was my first time as a first timer in a new school. As I walked up towards the class, a million thoughts rushed through my head. Who would my friends be? Would they be as good as my old friends? Do the teachers here beat up the kids...?
I turned and faced the class trying to look absolutely unperturbed by the fact that 43 pairs of eyes were fixed on one. And the teacher said - “This is B S Arjun. He's from Sindhi High School.” And I was told to take the last seat in the corner row. As I bent my head and walked towards the benches, I couldn't help looking at a face that sat right there in the first bench. There, right there, was the cutest face I had seen in all my years till then. She had short hair, a little longer than a guy's, fair skin and dark eyes. A mole on her left cheek was the icing on the cake. And as I walked past her, my heart skipped a couple of beats, I went and sat at the end and stared at her back hoping for her to turn around so I could catch a glimpse of her one more time. Just once more.
Mrs. Sharmila was brave enough to trust a nutty lad like me to become the class monitor on day one. If she thought I could, so did I. And that did help me break the ice with Ms. Cute Mole. It took 3 attempts and several blushes after which I shamelessly said - “Hi, what's your name?”
Every man treasures his first crush. Some prefer calling it 'puppy love'. She is the first of the five women in a man's life.
Stay tuned for the next 4. Coming soon, this November.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
A Perfect Circle
11-11-07, 5:45 p.m.
"For the last two hours, one thing has been constant on this desktop. That bearded mo'fucker on the steps there; yeah, he's more jobless than us."
I turn around and through the glass wall I see this guy on the flight of black stairs that connects The Mall to the Ridge.I can see him. He's got his hands on his head and his knees are joined. His head is bowed and is oscillating with a time period just sufficient to cover 27 human footsteps. And from where I'm seated, I can say that his cap is more to conceal the stares rather than to keep his hair in place.
"But he's jobless, dude. I'm writing. You're playing the guitar.He's holding his head."
"I'm dedicating this song to him. Let it be."
When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be
Words of Wisdom: There are two ways to see the world go by. One requires you to check in and out of airports, hail taxis, ride buses, walk where wheels can't tread, cycle around streets that have no name and talk to people stranger than yourself. And here's the other: Sit down by the window side table in Barista Coffee House on the Mall and do nothing besides sipping on a hot latte and watch city beautiful (and I believe that 'beautiful' describes the people living here) as she walks past you.
Twenty four hours earlier
"Your telling me that this store crushed the competition?" Pratik asks looking at Rohit 'Good Host' Kondal.
And we burst out laughing.
"Imagine the competition in that case.", I'm quick to dish out my smart arse comment hoping to put the situation from Funny Gear 3 to Funny Gear 4.
We oscillate The Mall (Solan) a couple of times. No bro, this ain't anything like her cousin Shimla. But yes, every smackin' 'ol ATM is here, trust me.
I'm hungry. I can eat a whole Jumbo Burger. We walk into 7's Cafe. And this is when it dawned on me: this is the best interiors of a restaurant I've seen in the hill state. Probably the first floor at Balajees in Shimla compares distantly.And then maybe the bar at HHH ;).
We order. I didn't, they did.And 15 minutes later, it dawned on me again that I hadn't tasted tastier butter naans before.
She's wearing a pink top and a lovely black pant. I say 'lovely' because it tells me she's 30. But her company suggests she's 40 (I do think of Demi Moore). And as she throws her hair aside and glances towards my table, I figure it all out. She's 20.
We pay the chek. I have eye-balled her one too many times to walk away under a pretence of her absence. I go over and say it all in one breath - "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I think you have great eyes."
She mouths a thank you in between a smile.I flash a thumbs up and send her out of my life by walking away.
That night, we smoked a vanilla cigars over some fine Raffles Whiskey; the English way.
Five hours earlier
Every bus that stops is crowded.
"I aint making a two and a half hours journey to Chandigrah on my feet. I'd rather do it on my arse. And I say you take my word." Some things are best thrust up on others for their own good.
Pratik starts the day on two shots of whiskey. I prefer the conventional soap and hot water.
Ten minutes later, we cross the road. Literally. We decide to head back to Shimla. The chiks are better there, it seems. And besides that, what to do in Chandigarh anyways?
11-11-07, 5:45 p.m.
We pay up and walk out into the cold winter evening. We know why we made this trip. One person was to be healed. And the other guy was running out of ideas for his blog.
We got what we wanted, and so did you.
Travelling heals.
"For the last two hours, one thing has been constant on this desktop. That bearded mo'fucker on the steps there; yeah, he's more jobless than us."
I turn around and through the glass wall I see this guy on the flight of black stairs that connects The Mall to the Ridge.I can see him. He's got his hands on his head and his knees are joined. His head is bowed and is oscillating with a time period just sufficient to cover 27 human footsteps. And from where I'm seated, I can say that his cap is more to conceal the stares rather than to keep his hair in place.
"But he's jobless, dude. I'm writing. You're playing the guitar.He's holding his head."
"I'm dedicating this song to him. Let it be."
When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be
Words of Wisdom: There are two ways to see the world go by. One requires you to check in and out of airports, hail taxis, ride buses, walk where wheels can't tread, cycle around streets that have no name and talk to people stranger than yourself. And here's the other: Sit down by the window side table in Barista Coffee House on the Mall and do nothing besides sipping on a hot latte and watch city beautiful (and I believe that 'beautiful' describes the people living here) as she walks past you.
Twenty four hours earlier
"Your telling me that this store crushed the competition?" Pratik asks looking at Rohit 'Good Host' Kondal.
And we burst out laughing.
"Imagine the competition in that case.", I'm quick to dish out my smart arse comment hoping to put the situation from Funny Gear 3 to Funny Gear 4.
We oscillate The Mall (Solan) a couple of times. No bro, this ain't anything like her cousin Shimla. But yes, every smackin' 'ol ATM is here, trust me.
I'm hungry. I can eat a whole Jumbo Burger. We walk into 7's Cafe. And this is when it dawned on me: this is the best interiors of a restaurant I've seen in the hill state. Probably the first floor at Balajees in Shimla compares distantly.And then maybe the bar at HHH ;).
We order. I didn't, they did.And 15 minutes later, it dawned on me again that I hadn't tasted tastier butter naans before.
She's wearing a pink top and a lovely black pant. I say 'lovely' because it tells me she's 30. But her company suggests she's 40 (I do think of Demi Moore). And as she throws her hair aside and glances towards my table, I figure it all out. She's 20.
We pay the chek. I have eye-balled her one too many times to walk away under a pretence of her absence. I go over and say it all in one breath - "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I think you have great eyes."
She mouths a thank you in between a smile.I flash a thumbs up and send her out of my life by walking away.
That night, we smoked a vanilla cigars over some fine Raffles Whiskey; the English way.
Five hours earlier
Every bus that stops is crowded.
"I aint making a two and a half hours journey to Chandigrah on my feet. I'd rather do it on my arse. And I say you take my word." Some things are best thrust up on others for their own good.
Pratik starts the day on two shots of whiskey. I prefer the conventional soap and hot water.
Ten minutes later, we cross the road. Literally. We decide to head back to Shimla. The chiks are better there, it seems. And besides that, what to do in Chandigarh anyways?
11-11-07, 5:45 p.m.
We pay up and walk out into the cold winter evening. We know why we made this trip. One person was to be healed. And the other guy was running out of ideas for his blog.
We got what we wanted, and so did you.
Travelling heals.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Inside the Moral Kiosk
Inspired over the classic R.E.M hit - Inside the Moral Kiosk
A school for engineers and architects like ours is often times looked at with a pinch of scepticism. Outsiders who aren't familiar with this field of study tend to perceive engineering as one of three things:
a) Opening up the bonnet of a car and staring into the jumble of blocks of metals and wires.
b) Erecting the next longest bridge/ tallest building.
c) Staring at a computer screen typing out characters in a code language inside a glass and steel building.
Classically, we have been looked at as a group of people who can think logically and can tear down any complex problem like Dhoni stepping out to bat in a 20-20 match. And as students of a T-school like NIT-H, it wouldn't be surprising to think that we have 2 left halves of our brains. While some of the above said is true, a lot remains unsaid or falsely assumed. And this is where it be can shown that an A-grader in Circuit Theory can be a good dancer as well.
As an example, we consider the case of three students from the Mechanical Engineering Department. We call them Alpha, Beta and Gamma respectively. Alpha topped his branch in the first year which facilitated him to slide to a branch of his choice. His favourite subject is Thermodynamics and can solve 3rd degree D.Es with ease. Beta is the design guy and has worked on a couple of projects with a reputed Auto house in designing cam shafts. Gamma can look at the production chart of an organisation and can say right away how efficiency can be enhanced by 3%. But here's the other side of the tale: Alpha can play 3 instruments (the guitar, keyboards and drums), Beta is a bass guitarist and a fabulous painter, and Gamma is a flamboyant writer. This is a clear contrast to what others might perceive students of a growing T-school to be like.
At NIT-H, we have come to realise that cultural activities are a necessity that is built into the DNA of our system. Each day, between 8:30 a.m. and 4:45 p.m, we exercise the left half of our brains, And between 4:45 p.m and 8:30 a.m, we exercise the left as well as the right halves. And that makes all the difference in carving out an engineer/architect whose creativity compliments his logic.
A school for engineers and architects like ours is often times looked at with a pinch of scepticism. Outsiders who aren't familiar with this field of study tend to perceive engineering as one of three things:
a) Opening up the bonnet of a car and staring into the jumble of blocks of metals and wires.
b) Erecting the next longest bridge/ tallest building.
c) Staring at a computer screen typing out characters in a code language inside a glass and steel building.
Classically, we have been looked at as a group of people who can think logically and can tear down any complex problem like Dhoni stepping out to bat in a 20-20 match. And as students of a T-school like NIT-H, it wouldn't be surprising to think that we have 2 left halves of our brains. While some of the above said is true, a lot remains unsaid or falsely assumed. And this is where it be can shown that an A-grader in Circuit Theory can be a good dancer as well.
As an example, we consider the case of three students from the Mechanical Engineering Department. We call them Alpha, Beta and Gamma respectively. Alpha topped his branch in the first year which facilitated him to slide to a branch of his choice. His favourite subject is Thermodynamics and can solve 3rd degree D.Es with ease. Beta is the design guy and has worked on a couple of projects with a reputed Auto house in designing cam shafts. Gamma can look at the production chart of an organisation and can say right away how efficiency can be enhanced by 3%. But here's the other side of the tale: Alpha can play 3 instruments (the guitar, keyboards and drums), Beta is a bass guitarist and a fabulous painter, and Gamma is a flamboyant writer. This is a clear contrast to what others might perceive students of a growing T-school to be like.
At NIT-H, we have come to realise that cultural activities are a necessity that is built into the DNA of our system. Each day, between 8:30 a.m. and 4:45 p.m, we exercise the left half of our brains, And between 4:45 p.m and 8:30 a.m, we exercise the left as well as the right halves. And that makes all the difference in carving out an engineer/architect whose creativity compliments his logic.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Beerability and Coffeeness- Part V
In a way, the idea I'm about to discuss here came about thanks to Nitya. When we first exchanged e-mail ids, I asked her if the 'behl' in her id was her second name. And she shocked me a little by saying that she didn't actually have a second name; but she wanted one that wasn't too region specific. Months later at a book store, I came across an interesting title - 'The Art of Tantric Sex' written by a certain Nitya Lacroix. I did suggest the name Lacroix to the first Nitya (though I didn't tell her where it came from :)). I still don't know what she thinks of it.
By saying that Nitya didn't want a region specific surname, she meant (and I like to think so) that she didn't want to be 'rooted' to one place; and that her name should rather symbolise the fact that she belongs to the world rather than to any one particular pocket of it. Globalisation has penetrated from amazon.com to our surnames. Along the way, it has flattened currencies, food, bureaucracy, temperaments, corporations, age and households. A 20 yr old behaving like 30 yr old or vice versa is no longer uncommon. Though that is besides the point, the message here is very simply to think like a citizen of the world.
A person living in Saket, South Delhi can learn a Spanish Dance,pick up Russian and practise Feng Shui by moving inside a radius of 3 Ks from his home. Like wise, someone in Johannesburg, S.A. has tasted idlies with 7 different types of chutney, is a Buddhist and is sold out to Paulo Coelho's philosophy. This is the Global Identity we are looking at. Boundaries dissolving between countries only gives us reason to celebrate and adapt to the change. As for the cynics, I'm told they still believe in a North and a South India.
Inspired by: The King of good times, who knows what thinking global is all about.
By saying that Nitya didn't want a region specific surname, she meant (and I like to think so) that she didn't want to be 'rooted' to one place; and that her name should rather symbolise the fact that she belongs to the world rather than to any one particular pocket of it. Globalisation has penetrated from amazon.com to our surnames. Along the way, it has flattened currencies, food, bureaucracy, temperaments, corporations, age and households. A 20 yr old behaving like 30 yr old or vice versa is no longer uncommon. Though that is besides the point, the message here is very simply to think like a citizen of the world.
A person living in Saket, South Delhi can learn a Spanish Dance,pick up Russian and practise Feng Shui by moving inside a radius of 3 Ks from his home. Like wise, someone in Johannesburg, S.A. has tasted idlies with 7 different types of chutney, is a Buddhist and is sold out to Paulo Coelho's philosophy. This is the Global Identity we are looking at. Boundaries dissolving between countries only gives us reason to celebrate and adapt to the change. As for the cynics, I'm told they still believe in a North and a South India.
Inspired by: The King of good times, who knows what thinking global is all about.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Beerability and Coffeeness- Part IV
Of all the cities in India that I have been to, I can say with very little doubt that Chandigarh is the most gorgeous. Yes, gorgeous! The G-City will leave you mesmerised with a) the planning and layout of the whole place b) the spirit of the Punjabi people c)Mochas, the Coffee Shop at Sector 26 d)sight of some of the most beautiful women in our country and e) The India Coffee House at Sector 17.
In fact there are 2 of them in Sec. 17. But the one near the Wills Life Style store is my choice. And as I munched on idlies(they charge you 'per idly' here; so my friends from the south might find this awkward) and dosa, and later on back to back cups of coffee, I mentioned it to Hworang Tamang(a.k.a The RAT a.k.a Prat the RAT a.k.a Pratik) who was with me about something each of us have. It is true, I like to believe that every one of us carries around ourselves a bubble, or a smoke screen if you might call it that. And we spent the next half hour trying to clear out this smoke screen (pun, absolutely:)).
How would you like to step into the shoes of another person and look at yourself the way he or she see you. And this person who's shoes you would step into shouldn't be a close associate. You know who you are. You know what drives you, what scares you, what attracts you and what repels you. This is the 'real you' that only you and your first circle of people are familiar with. But to a person who observes you from far, this is not what he sees in most cases. You might be the most amicable soul that's living as of today, but somehow because of the way you dress, or address people, or simply carry yourself, the observer might see you as successful but intimidating. And he might even admire you that ways. Or the reverse is totally possible too.
I remember a girl that studied in my high school. She was a year senior to me then and my best friend wanted to get to know her. She was the prettiest of the lot and every guy I had spoken to had fantasised her at some time. But funnily, not one guy had summoned up the courage to go talk to her. I remember sitting down with my friend and telling him that this girl must be like someone who would brush off guys, what with the way she strutted around. I thought that she must be tired of guys staring at her and hearing out to all those compliments from both the sexes. I also told my friend that it would be very bold on his part to just go up and talk to her(he was still a junior, mind you).
And talk, he did. Ask her out, he did. Say yes, she did! As I learnt later on, this girl had the same fears, the same needs and the same hunger for compliments and recognition amongst other things as anybody else. She was so 'normal' that in fact within a week into their relationship, my friend was already playing the 'bigger guy'.But the smoke screen she carried around was so not her and she didn't even know it.
How is your smoke screen today? It is not possible for us to bare it all on the middle of the street and come by as our core self to every Tom and Harry. But it is worth taking the pains to explore your smoke screen; something that everyone other than you yourself can see.
In fact there are 2 of them in Sec. 17. But the one near the Wills Life Style store is my choice. And as I munched on idlies(they charge you 'per idly' here; so my friends from the south might find this awkward) and dosa, and later on back to back cups of coffee, I mentioned it to Hworang Tamang(a.k.a The RAT a.k.a Prat the RAT a.k.a Pratik) who was with me about something each of us have. It is true, I like to believe that every one of us carries around ourselves a bubble, or a smoke screen if you might call it that. And we spent the next half hour trying to clear out this smoke screen (pun, absolutely:)).
How would you like to step into the shoes of another person and look at yourself the way he or she see you. And this person who's shoes you would step into shouldn't be a close associate. You know who you are. You know what drives you, what scares you, what attracts you and what repels you. This is the 'real you' that only you and your first circle of people are familiar with. But to a person who observes you from far, this is not what he sees in most cases. You might be the most amicable soul that's living as of today, but somehow because of the way you dress, or address people, or simply carry yourself, the observer might see you as successful but intimidating. And he might even admire you that ways. Or the reverse is totally possible too.
I remember a girl that studied in my high school. She was a year senior to me then and my best friend wanted to get to know her. She was the prettiest of the lot and every guy I had spoken to had fantasised her at some time. But funnily, not one guy had summoned up the courage to go talk to her. I remember sitting down with my friend and telling him that this girl must be like someone who would brush off guys, what with the way she strutted around. I thought that she must be tired of guys staring at her and hearing out to all those compliments from both the sexes. I also told my friend that it would be very bold on his part to just go up and talk to her(he was still a junior, mind you).
And talk, he did. Ask her out, he did. Say yes, she did! As I learnt later on, this girl had the same fears, the same needs and the same hunger for compliments and recognition amongst other things as anybody else. She was so 'normal' that in fact within a week into their relationship, my friend was already playing the 'bigger guy'.But the smoke screen she carried around was so not her and she didn't even know it.
How is your smoke screen today? It is not possible for us to bare it all on the middle of the street and come by as our core self to every Tom and Harry. But it is worth taking the pains to explore your smoke screen; something that everyone other than you yourself can see.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Beerability and Coffeeness- Part III
I was in Delhi week before last. And as I walked into this book store in CP (book stores btw, are great places to unwind, I discover), my eyes were drawn to a book titled 'It happened in India' by Kishore Biyani, the founder of Pantaloon Retail, the Big Bazaar chain and now chairman of the Future Group. I tucked it in and have been hooked on to it ever since. KB, as Kishore is referred to as, says that his strength lies in understanding the Indian customer. He spends his time in malls and shopping complexes simply observing people and their actions. Occasionally he does walk up to a few and strikes up a conversation with them; all this just to keep in touch with the common man on the street.
This afternoon, I'm sitting with Jogi in the mess. The rotis are taking longer than usual to arrive from the kitchen. Out of the blue, I look at him and shoot - “If there was one thing in life that you could get good at, what would that be?” Jogi, being the thinker he his, takes his time and answers cautiously as if the answer carried 6 marks- “I think it would be at building relationships with people.”
And I think, at that very instant, he nailed it. Often times, we are caught up in a rut chasing money, fame or recognition. All of that is fine, but those things arise out of a more basic soil called human relations. HR practises and marketing classes teach people to be good with people and deal with them professionally. The hospitality industry runs on the simple idea of catering hospitality to people by providing a memorable experience. In every other walk of life, one bumps into people more often than machines, I must presume. Why then, do some people have their way with influencing hundreds of people while on the other hand few others find it hard to get by without being abused behind their backs.
The focus should always be on building relationships with any person that walks into our lives rather than just rattling off pleasantries and coming across as hospitable. Each person that you come across, however arrogant or naive she might be, is there at that instant in our lives for a reason. And that person is there either to give us something, take something from us or lead us on to more people and/or experiences that we can learn from. And it is this foresight that makes it vital for anybody to enhance their people skills, which is a lot more valued (as a personal equity base) than just taking up a 30 day course on learning to speak confidently and shake hands firmly.
Invest your time in people today. The ROI is near infinity, says my coffee mug right here.
This afternoon, I'm sitting with Jogi in the mess. The rotis are taking longer than usual to arrive from the kitchen. Out of the blue, I look at him and shoot - “If there was one thing in life that you could get good at, what would that be?” Jogi, being the thinker he his, takes his time and answers cautiously as if the answer carried 6 marks- “I think it would be at building relationships with people.”
And I think, at that very instant, he nailed it. Often times, we are caught up in a rut chasing money, fame or recognition. All of that is fine, but those things arise out of a more basic soil called human relations. HR practises and marketing classes teach people to be good with people and deal with them professionally. The hospitality industry runs on the simple idea of catering hospitality to people by providing a memorable experience. In every other walk of life, one bumps into people more often than machines, I must presume. Why then, do some people have their way with influencing hundreds of people while on the other hand few others find it hard to get by without being abused behind their backs.
The focus should always be on building relationships with any person that walks into our lives rather than just rattling off pleasantries and coming across as hospitable. Each person that you come across, however arrogant or naive she might be, is there at that instant in our lives for a reason. And that person is there either to give us something, take something from us or lead us on to more people and/or experiences that we can learn from. And it is this foresight that makes it vital for anybody to enhance their people skills, which is a lot more valued (as a personal equity base) than just taking up a 30 day course on learning to speak confidently and shake hands firmly.
Invest your time in people today. The ROI is near infinity, says my coffee mug right here.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Beerability and Coffeeness- Part II
Before I get started again on either beer or coffee, I have a piece of my friend's mind that I ought to share with the reader. He's a Colonel in the army, and a jolly good fella he his. Colonel lives by the side of my insti campus in a cozy little house on a small hillock. A bright red light illuminates the path that leads up to the lawn of his house and also shows the Gypsy in the shelter below.
One winter evening we had called on him. Over drinks he told a lot many things; and as it is said that grey hair does not prove wisdom of the soul, he was testimonial to that cliché that night. Two things stand out neatly in front of me as I key in this text:
1)Always, and ALWAYS reply to a message. A message is never simply a collection of words. There is an emotion behind any message and that emotion needs to be answered to. So Rule number One- even if it is your worst enemy, never leave a message unanswered.
2)In India, do not discuss your drinking habits in public.
These 2 principles have been guideposts for some pretty mundane activity and talks, but it has never the less served as a guidepost that I now believe the reader will find him/her self enriched with.
In Part 1 of this series , I had discussed how exactly I came around to sipping my first coffee; something that I've grown attached to over the passage of years. At this instant, the reader might find it unreasonable that all these bytes of space are being devoted to convey an idea so trivial. But this fades in comparison to what history has to offer. I recollect reading in a small yellow 'Unbelievable facts' book that a King, after spending a night in bed with his lady, devoted 2 entire pages of his journal writing about her bosoms. Talk of being descriptive!
At a wedding party in 2001, my Mom offered me my first sip of beer. Cheers to a lady who's thinking is so forward that I feel like the 'previous generation'. And as Colonel's advice goes, I shall refrain from saying any further.
One winter evening we had called on him. Over drinks he told a lot many things; and as it is said that grey hair does not prove wisdom of the soul, he was testimonial to that cliché that night. Two things stand out neatly in front of me as I key in this text:
1)Always, and ALWAYS reply to a message. A message is never simply a collection of words. There is an emotion behind any message and that emotion needs to be answered to. So Rule number One- even if it is your worst enemy, never leave a message unanswered.
2)In India, do not discuss your drinking habits in public.
These 2 principles have been guideposts for some pretty mundane activity and talks, but it has never the less served as a guidepost that I now believe the reader will find him/her self enriched with.
In Part 1 of this series , I had discussed how exactly I came around to sipping my first coffee; something that I've grown attached to over the passage of years. At this instant, the reader might find it unreasonable that all these bytes of space are being devoted to convey an idea so trivial. But this fades in comparison to what history has to offer. I recollect reading in a small yellow 'Unbelievable facts' book that a King, after spending a night in bed with his lady, devoted 2 entire pages of his journal writing about her bosoms. Talk of being descriptive!
At a wedding party in 2001, my Mom offered me my first sip of beer. Cheers to a lady who's thinking is so forward that I feel like the 'previous generation'. And as Colonel's advice goes, I shall refrain from saying any further.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Beerability and Coffeeness: Part I
Any time that I've walked into a bar or a pub for a beer, I always wind up asking for King Fisher. One my best friends has taught me that the best beer is not KF; it is in fact the South African Castle Lager (though that's very subjective).And at one of our trips to Purple Haze I did make a conscious attempt ordering for Lager. And things worked out fine between us!I say this with a heavy heart though I hate to admit this, but the stark reality is that KF is at no. 2 while Lager is no.1. Why then do i instinctively order for KF?
The answer to that is because of a certain Dr. Vijay Mallya- The King of good times, whose picture inhabits my cupboard door to remind me each morning that good things in life cost money and they are fun. Having said this, I shall embark on a subject very dear to my tongue. To Dr. Mallya, I dedicate this piece. Here is Beerability and Coffeeness: Part I.
One Saturday morning, in the year 1994, I sat down to watch Pinocchio on the morning cartoon shows. It was around 7 o clock. I lived with my grandparents then. My mother lived in another city. And like any other 7 year old, I was given a 'healthy' mug full of Bournvita each morning.But that morning, thank heavens, we were out of Bournvita at home. And I asked Granny if I could try coffee instead. Reluctantly, she served me 'light coffee'. I took my first sip, and felt like I had just met by best friend from a previous life.
We are best of pals today- coffee and I. We hang out a lot together at almost any time of the day. When I moved to the hills three years back, we were briefly separated for a long time (!) And then I knew I couldn't take it any longer without coffee. And so now, at the end of each vacation, my stock of coffee is replenished from namma bengaluru.
to be continued
The answer to that is because of a certain Dr. Vijay Mallya- The King of good times, whose picture inhabits my cupboard door to remind me each morning that good things in life cost money and they are fun. Having said this, I shall embark on a subject very dear to my tongue. To Dr. Mallya, I dedicate this piece. Here is Beerability and Coffeeness: Part I.
One Saturday morning, in the year 1994, I sat down to watch Pinocchio on the morning cartoon shows. It was around 7 o clock. I lived with my grandparents then. My mother lived in another city. And like any other 7 year old, I was given a 'healthy' mug full of Bournvita each morning.But that morning, thank heavens, we were out of Bournvita at home. And I asked Granny if I could try coffee instead. Reluctantly, she served me 'light coffee'. I took my first sip, and felt like I had just met by best friend from a previous life.
We are best of pals today- coffee and I. We hang out a lot together at almost any time of the day. When I moved to the hills three years back, we were briefly separated for a long time (!) And then I knew I couldn't take it any longer without coffee. And so now, at the end of each vacation, my stock of coffee is replenished from namma bengaluru.
to be continued
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Hill'ffair 2007
I'm told this is a fine description. So here goes-
NIT Hamirpur is a gorgeous young woman in her early 20's. Many have spoken about her beauty. Fewer still have written about it. But seeing her up close and personal is the benefit of a handful. Each year,when it gets cold in the hills, the lady suits up, puts on her make up so her fair skin shows the fade blush and she steps out on the street for 3 days. Her grace instantly pulls passers-by to stare at her in awe. She is an enigma; and Hill'fair is the blush on her rosy cheeks.
This November, gravity becomes a myth. Hill'ffair is the annual cultural experience of NIT Hamirpur. This is the melting pot of all action; where art, music, literature,hot coffee, drama, rivalry, fire camps, hot-dogs, tears and a broken guitar string are all very much at home. To say that the open air theatre that houses Hill'ffair is the nucleus of all activity would be an understatement. But this is where that little seed of excitement that was sown months ago blossoms into a beautiful shower.
The clock is ticking away. And soon the young woman will go back to where she came from. Catch her blush before it disappears.
This is an attitude. This is Hill'ffair.
NIT Hamirpur is a gorgeous young woman in her early 20's. Many have spoken about her beauty. Fewer still have written about it. But seeing her up close and personal is the benefit of a handful. Each year,when it gets cold in the hills, the lady suits up, puts on her make up so her fair skin shows the fade blush and she steps out on the street for 3 days. Her grace instantly pulls passers-by to stare at her in awe. She is an enigma; and Hill'fair is the blush on her rosy cheeks.
This November, gravity becomes a myth. Hill'ffair is the annual cultural experience of NIT Hamirpur. This is the melting pot of all action; where art, music, literature,hot coffee, drama, rivalry, fire camps, hot-dogs, tears and a broken guitar string are all very much at home. To say that the open air theatre that houses Hill'ffair is the nucleus of all activity would be an understatement. But this is where that little seed of excitement that was sown months ago blossoms into a beautiful shower.
The clock is ticking away. And soon the young woman will go back to where she came from. Catch her blush before it disappears.
This is an attitude. This is Hill'ffair.
Triangles, chai and biscuits
I have had the good fortune of playing important yet humble roles in many of the insti activities here. Being the head of two student bodies, chief eddy of the college mag, one of the 6 core members of a national level tech fest etcetera might sound impressive. And so it does. But to all this, there's a hidden truth.
This afternoon was our big meeting. The six members of the NIMBUS CORE (the insti's national level tech fest) were meeting at a plush restaurant. Courtesy: Shweta's treat! And so, as we sat there; The Rat, Ntse, Agam, AdiG, Shweta and I, it dawned on me what this meeting really stood for. On the agenda was to discuss the future course of Nimbus. I looked up at the others and said - “Guys, do you realise something? This is a landmark meeting. Say 10 years from now, NIMBUS will be huge. And we can say proudly that we were there when things were taking shape.” We spoke, argued, ridiculed, joked and smiled at those 3 three days in March. And we walked out of that dining hall with a sense of completion.
From here I can tell you one little thing. The cool tags your given in college, like 'Overall coordinator' or 'Secretary' or even 'President' can give you posture for sometime. But ultimately, it all boils down to putting up a show - it's all about arranging for the triangles (those triangular shaped name plates for guests on stage) and chai/samosa/biscuits for the gathering. And if you learn to do this well, you might find your pic in a newspaper like the 6 of us did. Someday.
We had chilly mushrooms in lunch. We also had a good time.
This afternoon was our big meeting. The six members of the NIMBUS CORE (the insti's national level tech fest) were meeting at a plush restaurant. Courtesy: Shweta's treat! And so, as we sat there; The Rat, Ntse, Agam, AdiG, Shweta and I, it dawned on me what this meeting really stood for. On the agenda was to discuss the future course of Nimbus. I looked up at the others and said - “Guys, do you realise something? This is a landmark meeting. Say 10 years from now, NIMBUS will be huge. And we can say proudly that we were there when things were taking shape.” We spoke, argued, ridiculed, joked and smiled at those 3 three days in March. And we walked out of that dining hall with a sense of completion.
From here I can tell you one little thing. The cool tags your given in college, like 'Overall coordinator' or 'Secretary' or even 'President' can give you posture for sometime. But ultimately, it all boils down to putting up a show - it's all about arranging for the triangles (those triangular shaped name plates for guests on stage) and chai/samosa/biscuits for the gathering. And if you learn to do this well, you might find your pic in a newspaper like the 6 of us did. Someday.
We had chilly mushrooms in lunch. We also had a good time.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
SACRED FROGG
In ancient Babylon, there lived a frog. His name was Frogg.
One morning, Frogg hopped all the way from the tree where he lived to a nearby lake for a drink of water. While at the lake, he noticed two other frogs quarrelling. With the intention of diffusing the situation, he hopped up to the fellows and inquired - “What's happening, fellows? Don't you know your not supposed to be quarrelling? This is, after all, the time of the Great Ancient Mesopotamian Civilisation that we are in. Take shame in your act. The King shall not be too pleased to learn this.”
The 2 frogs stopped their fight and looked up at Frogg. One of them was a big guy; he bloated up his throat and blared out - “Shut the hell up, Twinkie. You have no idea what's happening. Go find someone else your size that'll hear out your bullcrap. Maybe you should try the little mouse that lives in that hole there.”, and the fight resumed. Little Frogg was aghast at hearing this. He had always been a frog with a dream. He wanted to make it big in the world; he wanted to bring about change. It hurt him to see his fellow beings squandering away their precious time over petty issues.
Frogg returned back to the tree. He shut his eyes and prayed in silence - “Dear God!I thank you for putting me at this great time in history at a place as divine as Ancient Babylon. I also thank you for giving me the ability to dream big. I wish that my fellow mates could do the same. On their behalf, I ask of you to show them a path in their lives and not let them squander it in meaningless ways. I'm glad that in my hands, you have placed such a bright future.” And he fell asleep.
Months later, Frogg's dream came true. He became the first animal in the world to be dissected and studied in great detail. He was given the name Sacred Frogg after that. Today amongst the frog community, Sacred Frogg is a hero. Nowadays, when a baby frog hops around spelling some mischief, Mama Frog confronts him and says - “Sonny, buck up! You will be like Sacred Frogg one day!”
One morning, Frogg hopped all the way from the tree where he lived to a nearby lake for a drink of water. While at the lake, he noticed two other frogs quarrelling. With the intention of diffusing the situation, he hopped up to the fellows and inquired - “What's happening, fellows? Don't you know your not supposed to be quarrelling? This is, after all, the time of the Great Ancient Mesopotamian Civilisation that we are in. Take shame in your act. The King shall not be too pleased to learn this.”
The 2 frogs stopped their fight and looked up at Frogg. One of them was a big guy; he bloated up his throat and blared out - “Shut the hell up, Twinkie. You have no idea what's happening. Go find someone else your size that'll hear out your bullcrap. Maybe you should try the little mouse that lives in that hole there.”, and the fight resumed. Little Frogg was aghast at hearing this. He had always been a frog with a dream. He wanted to make it big in the world; he wanted to bring about change. It hurt him to see his fellow beings squandering away their precious time over petty issues.
Frogg returned back to the tree. He shut his eyes and prayed in silence - “Dear God!I thank you for putting me at this great time in history at a place as divine as Ancient Babylon. I also thank you for giving me the ability to dream big. I wish that my fellow mates could do the same. On their behalf, I ask of you to show them a path in their lives and not let them squander it in meaningless ways. I'm glad that in my hands, you have placed such a bright future.” And he fell asleep.
Months later, Frogg's dream came true. He became the first animal in the world to be dissected and studied in great detail. He was given the name Sacred Frogg after that. Today amongst the frog community, Sacred Frogg is a hero. Nowadays, when a baby frog hops around spelling some mischief, Mama Frog confronts him and says - “Sonny, buck up! You will be like Sacred Frogg one day!”
Monday, September 3, 2007
CONVERGENCE
I noticed it first when Pratik bought a Pim-Pom lollipop from Uncle ji's dukan. This was a simple and non-threatening dollop of flavoured sugar enclosing a chewing gum, both supported on a thin stick (if you haven't tried the Pim-pom, go do that). This lollipop is testimonial to a whole new wave of societal change that we are at the outset of experiencing. The change that I'm referring to is convergence.
In a layman's language, convergence is the combination of multiple unrelated fields to solve a common purpose. The case of Pimpom can be analysed thus: there are people who like lollipops; and there are people who like chewing gums. If the two products can be combined to give one single product, the target group of customers is simply a little less than the union of the 2 sets of initial customers. Hence, for the manufacturers of Pimpom, the customer base has risen all of a sudden just by placing the gum at the centre of the lollipop.
On a slightly advanced level, convergence shows up with the rise of the Prosumer. Since Adam Smith, economics has always been studied treating the producer and the consumer as separate entities driving the market system. With the onset of the information age (thereby driving the digital revolution and forcing in the cyber world), convergence of the producer and the consumer is starting to show up across various layers of society. In the near future, it will become essential for us to 'produce' a part of what we are to 'consume'. Take the whole concept of a self-service restaurant. A conventional restaurant might make the best noodles in town. But the noodles is not really is the product the restauranter is selling. The restaurant is not in the noodles business; it is in the service business. The guy who makes the noodles and the guy who serves them at the table and gives you the check at the end of the meal are both 'producers' of the service which is being 'consumed' by you and me, the customers.
In a self service restaurant, the definition of service becomes slightly skewed. True, the guy inside still makes the noodles. But the customer is required to walk up to the counter and pick up his order. Effectively, a part of the service production is shifted back to the consumer. As a result the cost that he incur es on the noodles should be lesser than if he were served. Similarly, across every field of the economy today, we see the rise of the prosumer happening. It is only a matter of time before we stop talking about 'production' and 'consumption' as separate terms and start talking of a new converged activity called 'prosumption'. Will supply-demand economics apply to prosumtion? Yes. And no. However, we will need the laws of economics altered to fit this evolving mould.
In academia, our universities run degrees in sciences (BSc), arts (BA), engineering (B.Tech/BE), commerce (B.Com), architecture (B.Arch) and many others. These are field specific. It is expected that an individual completing a B.Com degree will go on to become a banker or a CA and serve his base of clients in that domain. Reading the problem backwards, it is expected that a client(consumer) will go to the banker(producer) for fulfilling his financial services. Or in other words, the consumer is being domain specific and expects the banker to do nothing more than fill out his loan application or manage his assets. But the prosumer of tomorrow is not that domain specific. He would walk up to one single person and expect the latter to fill out his loan application, take his pulse rate and help him find a copy of Don Quixote off the book shelf. This would immediately imply that the latter would have to be educated in multiple disciplines. And this is something that the education system will have to evolve out of need. In the future, we might see a student specialising in accountancy, bio-sciences, literature and cooking - all covered under one degree. We just don't know what we would call such a person. Maybe the degree would be a B.ConS, as in Bachelors in Converging Studies!
In a layman's language, convergence is the combination of multiple unrelated fields to solve a common purpose. The case of Pimpom can be analysed thus: there are people who like lollipops; and there are people who like chewing gums. If the two products can be combined to give one single product, the target group of customers is simply a little less than the union of the 2 sets of initial customers. Hence, for the manufacturers of Pimpom, the customer base has risen all of a sudden just by placing the gum at the centre of the lollipop.
On a slightly advanced level, convergence shows up with the rise of the Prosumer. Since Adam Smith, economics has always been studied treating the producer and the consumer as separate entities driving the market system. With the onset of the information age (thereby driving the digital revolution and forcing in the cyber world), convergence of the producer and the consumer is starting to show up across various layers of society. In the near future, it will become essential for us to 'produce' a part of what we are to 'consume'. Take the whole concept of a self-service restaurant. A conventional restaurant might make the best noodles in town. But the noodles is not really is the product the restauranter is selling. The restaurant is not in the noodles business; it is in the service business. The guy who makes the noodles and the guy who serves them at the table and gives you the check at the end of the meal are both 'producers' of the service which is being 'consumed' by you and me, the customers.
In a self service restaurant, the definition of service becomes slightly skewed. True, the guy inside still makes the noodles. But the customer is required to walk up to the counter and pick up his order. Effectively, a part of the service production is shifted back to the consumer. As a result the cost that he incur es on the noodles should be lesser than if he were served. Similarly, across every field of the economy today, we see the rise of the prosumer happening. It is only a matter of time before we stop talking about 'production' and 'consumption' as separate terms and start talking of a new converged activity called 'prosumption'. Will supply-demand economics apply to prosumtion? Yes. And no. However, we will need the laws of economics altered to fit this evolving mould.
In academia, our universities run degrees in sciences (BSc), arts (BA), engineering (B.Tech/BE), commerce (B.Com), architecture (B.Arch) and many others. These are field specific. It is expected that an individual completing a B.Com degree will go on to become a banker or a CA and serve his base of clients in that domain. Reading the problem backwards, it is expected that a client(consumer) will go to the banker(producer) for fulfilling his financial services. Or in other words, the consumer is being domain specific and expects the banker to do nothing more than fill out his loan application or manage his assets. But the prosumer of tomorrow is not that domain specific. He would walk up to one single person and expect the latter to fill out his loan application, take his pulse rate and help him find a copy of Don Quixote off the book shelf. This would immediately imply that the latter would have to be educated in multiple disciplines. And this is something that the education system will have to evolve out of need. In the future, we might see a student specialising in accountancy, bio-sciences, literature and cooking - all covered under one degree. We just don't know what we would call such a person. Maybe the degree would be a B.ConS, as in Bachelors in Converging Studies!
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Exiled in a resort
In my 3 years in NIT Hamirpur, I've come to learn that there's practically no place like this inside a radius of 5000 kms. There's no place, and I say this with a certain amount of confidence, where one can put out a chair in the balcony of one's room, turn on Brothers in arms, stretch out, sip on hot coffee on a cold November morning and stare at the snow capped peak looking into your face. There's no other place, where you could do what you just did and turned around and found her saying 'hey.. waddap :-)' on gtalk. Or you could bang on the door of your neighbour, and grab him out for a game of tennis.
There is no other place that I know of that will serve pipping hot Maggi at 3 in the morning even when the temperature is 3 degree Celsius. Where could you find a bunch of 20 odd guys sweating after a game of footie at 1 in the night? The benches at the Admin Block Nescafe and the view that overlooks it ; well, whoever said that the best things in life aren't free better eat their words. And I know not of another place that can put up a 3 day Hill'ffair (how aptly named!) that leaves you on a high. And kill me for saying this, but the nearest city is 5 hours away. And I'm glad it is.
To all those people in this lovely paradise - the guys at Nescafe who wont sleep to make sure we do, the chachus in every mess who gladly serve brats like us for half their lives, the gorgeous ladies in PGH who make our trips to juice bar worthwhile, the faculty that wouldn't mind staying for 20 odd years inside these walls so that we may go out to explore many more, the guards at the Gates who really know what drunk fights are, Tilak, Ekta, GTM, the newspaper boy and to every other breathing soul, I salute you for making these years worthwhile. It's a one time experience that's not meant to be repeated. There's too much richness in this campus that after a while, it's not fun anymore. But that's for another post.
There is no other place that I know of that will serve pipping hot Maggi at 3 in the morning even when the temperature is 3 degree Celsius. Where could you find a bunch of 20 odd guys sweating after a game of footie at 1 in the night? The benches at the Admin Block Nescafe and the view that overlooks it ; well, whoever said that the best things in life aren't free better eat their words. And I know not of another place that can put up a 3 day Hill'ffair (how aptly named!) that leaves you on a high. And kill me for saying this, but the nearest city is 5 hours away. And I'm glad it is.
To all those people in this lovely paradise - the guys at Nescafe who wont sleep to make sure we do, the chachus in every mess who gladly serve brats like us for half their lives, the gorgeous ladies in PGH who make our trips to juice bar worthwhile, the faculty that wouldn't mind staying for 20 odd years inside these walls so that we may go out to explore many more, the guards at the Gates who really know what drunk fights are, Tilak, Ekta, GTM, the newspaper boy and to every other breathing soul, I salute you for making these years worthwhile. It's a one time experience that's not meant to be repeated. There's too much richness in this campus that after a while, it's not fun anymore. But that's for another post.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Movement for the abolition of non-sibling Raksha Bandhan
At the very outset I'm making a bold assumption that Raksha Bandhan is the time for brothers to reassure protection for their sisters. And that the rakhi-for chocolate deal is merely ceremonial. And those words 'Happy Rakhi' are like the name card on a gift wrapped: they say just enough.
Is it really so difficult to understand the meaning of the word brother? You see, because over here, I am openly taking after the 'sister's'. Why, in heaven's name, would a girl want to 'make' a brother? If she already has one, good for her! Else sorry, but the chromosomes just didn't make it there! Now, is it humanly acceptable that a girl wants protection (protection from what? Gorillas? or Joey?)and since she doesn't have a brother, she be-brothers a guy for protection's sake? HELL, NO!
Here's a secret, ladies: Guys don't want to have sexy 'sisters'. It's too big a risk to take. And besides, they are thrown right out of the competition (that starts at age 11 and goes on till a 111). The last, and I mean the absolutely last thing that a guy wants to hear from a girl who is not his sister are those very dreaded words : 'Happy Rakhi'.
But just in case, men, if you happen to become an unfortunate victim of the R-disease, here's how you diffuse the situation. When a girl says those words, with no further delay, laugh out loudly. Really really loud. And make her look stupid. Really really stupid. And walk away from there with this parting remark - "You know what, I like to keep my options open."
Please join me in making this operation successful. If this is a cause that you believe in and want to make it work for the benefit of those coming after us, mail me mentioning 'With you' in the subject line. Once sufficient numbers are made, a proposal will be sent to the cabinet for consideration of removal of this social menace; for the abolition of non-sibling Raksha Bandhan.
Is it really so difficult to understand the meaning of the word brother? You see, because over here, I am openly taking after the 'sister's'. Why, in heaven's name, would a girl want to 'make' a brother? If she already has one, good for her! Else sorry, but the chromosomes just didn't make it there! Now, is it humanly acceptable that a girl wants protection (protection from what? Gorillas? or Joey?)and since she doesn't have a brother, she be-brothers a guy for protection's sake? HELL, NO!
Here's a secret, ladies: Guys don't want to have sexy 'sisters'. It's too big a risk to take. And besides, they are thrown right out of the competition (that starts at age 11 and goes on till a 111). The last, and I mean the absolutely last thing that a guy wants to hear from a girl who is not his sister are those very dreaded words : 'Happy Rakhi'.
But just in case, men, if you happen to become an unfortunate victim of the R-disease, here's how you diffuse the situation. When a girl says those words, with no further delay, laugh out loudly. Really really loud. And make her look stupid. Really really stupid. And walk away from there with this parting remark - "You know what, I like to keep my options open."
Please join me in making this operation successful. If this is a cause that you believe in and want to make it work for the benefit of those coming after us, mail me mentioning 'With you' in the subject line. Once sufficient numbers are made, a proposal will be sent to the cabinet for consideration of removal of this social menace; for the abolition of non-sibling Raksha Bandhan.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
An !dea can change your day
It's purely coincidental that Sagar (I prefer referring to him as Psygrr.. the psychotic tigrrr.. lol!) features in this post too.
Minutes
9:30 a.m: We are in the Dynamics of Machinery class- Nagraj's lecture :-). We've been mass bunking classes for the last 3 days in a row. And he's mighty pissed at that.
9:32 a.m: Two minutes after Nagraj's frowning entry into the class, Psygrr's phone rings. The Sweet Child o mine ringtone can be heard from a kilometre. And the 1100 is stuck deep in our man's tight pants; pants that can put Enrique Iglesias to shame. The seconds that follow are nervous. The whole class keeps silent. All eyes are on Psygrr, including Nagraj's. Everyone's watching as Psygrr wrestles his pant pockets to free the phone and turn it off. This is not exactly music to the ears. It is torture to the eyes. Everyone knows that someone can help Psygrr; but no one knows how to. And then the white candy bar pops out. His nervous fingers nimbly shuts out the ringing. He must have felt like a kid in diaper put on a dark stage, and suddenly the spotlight is turned on this little kid and a thousand people in the audience are awestruck.Applause.
9:32:05 a.m: Nagraj is quick to jump in and diffuse this awkward situation. He chooses to send Psygrr and his phone out of the class. Seriously, what is it with this guy getting thrown out every now and then, I wonder?
1: 18 p.m: At the mess table, I ask him cheekily- "So who called at that time?", though my question could have very well been phrased - "Was it your next girlfriend who called then?" But I thought that would be insensitive.
" Cut it called, da. Pain in the ass.", he replies.
"Oh! you mean chuck it called. " I say, laughing my ass off.
Cut it
For the uninformed, here's a brief description of cut it :
Also called chuck it, it is the phone call that one gets from an unknown number. When the call is answered and the receiver says hello!, he's greeted on the other end by a pre-recorded voice(asl: 22, F, who cares) that lacks the basic courtesy of responding to the greeting. She (or it?) yaks on for the next couple of minutes about everything from the latest Bollywood music downloads to mobile dating. The calls from this number are almost always made when the subscriber is in a board meeting/ at a class/driving/ in the bath tub/ making love/about to bungee.
Psygrrr is to be thanked. He observed that these calls were made from one or two numbers consistently. These numbers never changed. So the numbers were saved in his contacts as cut it (and in mine as chuck it). The days of answering these calls and feeling pissed/stupid are over for us. As a matter of fact, these calls are welcome more than ever. Every time cut it calls, the very sight of 'cut it calling' can send you into peels of laughter. Or it could be a source of entertainment for you (thanks to The Rat). Here's how:
STEP 1: cut it calling.
STEP 2: laugh like crazy looking at the cellphone.
STEP 3: phone continues ringing.
STEP 4: gather people around you and make them stand in a circle.
STEP 5: hold out the phone such that everyone standing in the circle can see it.
STEP 6: hit on 'answer' (put on the loudspeaker, if the facility is available).
STEP 7: in unision, shout - "FUCK YOU!", at the phone.
STEP 8: cut the call.
STEP 9:another round of laughter.
STEP 10: wait for 'cut it' to call again.
There you go - 10 easy steps to turn an annoyingly pesky phone call into an entertaining mid-day activity for you and your friends. Go try it. And let me know how well it worked.
Minutes
9:30 a.m: We are in the Dynamics of Machinery class- Nagraj's lecture :-). We've been mass bunking classes for the last 3 days in a row. And he's mighty pissed at that.
9:32 a.m: Two minutes after Nagraj's frowning entry into the class, Psygrr's phone rings. The Sweet Child o mine ringtone can be heard from a kilometre. And the 1100 is stuck deep in our man's tight pants; pants that can put Enrique Iglesias to shame. The seconds that follow are nervous. The whole class keeps silent. All eyes are on Psygrr, including Nagraj's. Everyone's watching as Psygrr wrestles his pant pockets to free the phone and turn it off. This is not exactly music to the ears. It is torture to the eyes. Everyone knows that someone can help Psygrr; but no one knows how to. And then the white candy bar pops out. His nervous fingers nimbly shuts out the ringing. He must have felt like a kid in diaper put on a dark stage, and suddenly the spotlight is turned on this little kid and a thousand people in the audience are awestruck.Applause.
9:32:05 a.m: Nagraj is quick to jump in and diffuse this awkward situation. He chooses to send Psygrr and his phone out of the class. Seriously, what is it with this guy getting thrown out every now and then, I wonder?
1: 18 p.m: At the mess table, I ask him cheekily- "So who called at that time?", though my question could have very well been phrased - "Was it your next girlfriend who called then?" But I thought that would be insensitive.
" Cut it called, da. Pain in the ass.", he replies.
"Oh! you mean chuck it called. " I say, laughing my ass off.
Cut it
For the uninformed, here's a brief description of cut it :
Also called chuck it, it is the phone call that one gets from an unknown number. When the call is answered and the receiver says hello!, he's greeted on the other end by a pre-recorded voice(asl: 22, F, who cares) that lacks the basic courtesy of responding to the greeting. She (or it?) yaks on for the next couple of minutes about everything from the latest Bollywood music downloads to mobile dating. The calls from this number are almost always made when the subscriber is in a board meeting/ at a class/driving/ in the bath tub/ making love/about to bungee.
Psygrrr is to be thanked. He observed that these calls were made from one or two numbers consistently. These numbers never changed. So the numbers were saved in his contacts as cut it (and in mine as chuck it). The days of answering these calls and feeling pissed/stupid are over for us. As a matter of fact, these calls are welcome more than ever. Every time cut it calls, the very sight of 'cut it calling' can send you into peels of laughter. Or it could be a source of entertainment for you (thanks to The Rat). Here's how:
STEP 1: cut it calling.
STEP 2: laugh like crazy looking at the cellphone.
STEP 3: phone continues ringing.
STEP 4: gather people around you and make them stand in a circle.
STEP 5: hold out the phone such that everyone standing in the circle can see it.
STEP 6: hit on 'answer' (put on the loudspeaker, if the facility is available).
STEP 7: in unision, shout - "FUCK YOU!", at the phone.
STEP 8: cut the call.
STEP 9:another round of laughter.
STEP 10: wait for 'cut it' to call again.
There you go - 10 easy steps to turn an annoyingly pesky phone call into an entertaining mid-day activity for you and your friends. Go try it. And let me know how well it worked.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Things that make a difference
I often times wonder why a person would go beyond his comfort zone to get what he wants, if he wants it bad enough. Though this has intrigued me a little in the last few days, it still fails to explain why some people attract certain events in their lives effortlessly, while certain others fail to do so with humongous effort; for what ever reason that might be.
Sunday last, I walked up to room no. AS-15 and knocked hard on the door. It was Sagar's room, my ex-roomie. Satyam computers were coming over to our campus (which is a pick in itself) for recruitment's. Despite knowing that Sagar didn't have the required numbers to make the cut off, I still thought he could give it a shot. The guy opened the door with blood shot eyes. Apparently, as I later heard, he was 'busy' the previous night till 3 ;-).
As he walked towards the hall, he msged in saying 'what's the point..? I don't think there's any use in me going'.. I replied ...' A'ole, just go.. who knows.. something might click'.... and hence, go he did. Never having seen an aptitude test before, he walked into one. With 5 minutes to spare before full time, the Satyam guy threw Sagar out of the exam hall.... for disturbing (if you know what I mean).
The list of qualifiers came. Sagar had made it. He had turned up in a Tee and a pair of denims for the test. And his interview was to start in the next 10 minutes.... I rushed in with his formals. He changed. And went into the interview.
I lay half asleep on my bed. Narayan rushed in shouting - "Oye! Sagar got thru' da!" ... At that instant it seemed like the script of my dream had just changed. But 5 minutes later... as I saw a beaming Sagar kicking his feet and hands in the air.. I knew it was true. And yes.... all of us were sure glad for him. Way too glad.
Despite knowing that he would have to fight it out for getting a placement in this coll. , he had held on to that one thought for long.. And held it strongly. And he got it. There were people there in that test who didn't make it. And I'm told they had better grades than my friend. But that noon, they didn't make it. I think they didn't focus hard enough. And full points to Sagar for doing just that.
Big things in life never walk in with the drums sounding loud and the glitterati all over. They creep in through the door, when you are sleeping. And they creep in because you were expecting it. And you deserve it. And it's the expectancy that makes all the difference.
Congrats, Sagar!
Sunday last, I walked up to room no. AS-15 and knocked hard on the door. It was Sagar's room, my ex-roomie. Satyam computers were coming over to our campus (which is a pick in itself) for recruitment's. Despite knowing that Sagar didn't have the required numbers to make the cut off, I still thought he could give it a shot. The guy opened the door with blood shot eyes. Apparently, as I later heard, he was 'busy' the previous night till 3 ;-).
As he walked towards the hall, he msged in saying 'what's the point..? I don't think there's any use in me going'.. I replied ...' A'ole, just go.. who knows.. something might click'.... and hence, go he did. Never having seen an aptitude test before, he walked into one. With 5 minutes to spare before full time, the Satyam guy threw Sagar out of the exam hall.... for disturbing (if you know what I mean).
The list of qualifiers came. Sagar had made it. He had turned up in a Tee and a pair of denims for the test. And his interview was to start in the next 10 minutes.... I rushed in with his formals. He changed. And went into the interview.
I lay half asleep on my bed. Narayan rushed in shouting - "Oye! Sagar got thru' da!" ... At that instant it seemed like the script of my dream had just changed. But 5 minutes later... as I saw a beaming Sagar kicking his feet and hands in the air.. I knew it was true. And yes.... all of us were sure glad for him. Way too glad.
Despite knowing that he would have to fight it out for getting a placement in this coll. , he had held on to that one thought for long.. And held it strongly. And he got it. There were people there in that test who didn't make it. And I'm told they had better grades than my friend. But that noon, they didn't make it. I think they didn't focus hard enough. And full points to Sagar for doing just that.
Big things in life never walk in with the drums sounding loud and the glitterati all over. They creep in through the door, when you are sleeping. And they creep in because you were expecting it. And you deserve it. And it's the expectancy that makes all the difference.
Congrats, Sagar!
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Understanding Incomes
A sound financial health stems out of knowing the types of incomes and understanding their underlying fundamentals. Every rupee earned falls into one of two income types: active income and passive income. Active income is that for which a person is directly trading his time for. All salaried and self-employed professionals work for active income. When an individual reports to work, he exchanges his time for a certain amount of money as determined by his pay. This is also called earned income. Passive income on the other hand does not require a person's physical presence, but instead arises out of owning tangible assets like property, shares and bank savings or intangible assets (intellectual property). Rental income, dividends, interest on FD’s, royalty money from sales of books or records qualifies as passive income amongst others.
A word that comes with active income is 'instant gratification'. When a person jumps jobs for a higher pay, he sells his time for a higher price to his new employer. The biggest drawback that comes with earned income is that when a person stops working, his income stops. However, this is not true for passive income where the accompanying emotion is 'delayed gratification'. Traditionally, passive income takes time to build up and grows with the growth of the underlying asset class. But since this can take time, the underlying requirement is patience while developing a stream of passive income. The leverage factor is virtually unlimited for a person building passive income, whereas there is very little leverage for a person working for active income as the amount of time in each of our hands is limited.
In today's volatile economy, it is all the more essential for an individual to diversify his income from more than one income stream. Companies today are diversifying beyond their core businesses. If these giant corporations are thinking in terms of diversification, it becomes almost mandatory for a person to diversify his income streams as well. Relying on any one particular source of income is almost too big a risk for a common individual to take. The good news here is that every time active income flows in, there is a choice: either to expense it out directly; or convert it into an asset that can provide passive income at a later date. For instance, if a salaried person were to invest a portion of his income in a well chosen mutual fund on a regular basis, over a period of time he would find this asset block big enough to provide him a separate stream of income. This secondary income would be his passive income that comes in independent of his active income. Active income can be converted into passive income if nurtured and grown carefully.
Every individual can calculate his financial well being by working out his wealth ratio. Wealth ratio is the sum total of active income and passive income divided by a person's total expenses. A wealth ratio of greater than 1 says that an individual's financial situation is sustainable and looks healthy. A ratio of less than 1 indicates living beyond one's means. Another crucial factor is to ensure that passive income is at least as much as the active income. This indicates that if due to any unforeseen incident, an individual is unable to work; his lifestyle is still maintained by the passive income.
With this understanding, it is a matter of choice between having an active income and a passive life, or a passive income and an active life.
A word that comes with active income is 'instant gratification'. When a person jumps jobs for a higher pay, he sells his time for a higher price to his new employer. The biggest drawback that comes with earned income is that when a person stops working, his income stops. However, this is not true for passive income where the accompanying emotion is 'delayed gratification'. Traditionally, passive income takes time to build up and grows with the growth of the underlying asset class. But since this can take time, the underlying requirement is patience while developing a stream of passive income. The leverage factor is virtually unlimited for a person building passive income, whereas there is very little leverage for a person working for active income as the amount of time in each of our hands is limited.
In today's volatile economy, it is all the more essential for an individual to diversify his income from more than one income stream. Companies today are diversifying beyond their core businesses. If these giant corporations are thinking in terms of diversification, it becomes almost mandatory for a person to diversify his income streams as well. Relying on any one particular source of income is almost too big a risk for a common individual to take. The good news here is that every time active income flows in, there is a choice: either to expense it out directly; or convert it into an asset that can provide passive income at a later date. For instance, if a salaried person were to invest a portion of his income in a well chosen mutual fund on a regular basis, over a period of time he would find this asset block big enough to provide him a separate stream of income. This secondary income would be his passive income that comes in independent of his active income. Active income can be converted into passive income if nurtured and grown carefully.
Every individual can calculate his financial well being by working out his wealth ratio. Wealth ratio is the sum total of active income and passive income divided by a person's total expenses. A wealth ratio of greater than 1 says that an individual's financial situation is sustainable and looks healthy. A ratio of less than 1 indicates living beyond one's means. Another crucial factor is to ensure that passive income is at least as much as the active income. This indicates that if due to any unforeseen incident, an individual is unable to work; his lifestyle is still maintained by the passive income.
With this understanding, it is a matter of choice between having an active income and a passive life, or a passive income and an active life.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
IT'S ALL ABOUT THE CHUTNEY.
By 21, I knew that:
1)You mortgaged the first 20 years of your life to your parents and leased out the the next 20 to your boss.
2)Coffee was a must for survival. Then came air and water.
3)A sexy watch was never worn to tell the time.
4)Newspapers carried out printing errors on purpose so that a regret note could be published the following day showcasing their humble 'after all-we-are-human' side.
5)There was no reason to live if you hadn't watched Schindler's List and The Shawshank Redemption.
6)People 'forgot' to remove their airline baggage tags.
7)Tax planning and tax evasion weren't necessarily different.
8)The letters in 'Mother-in-law' could be rearranged to give 'Woman Hitler' and,
9)It was all about the chutney.
A road down the temple side entrance of the famed Indian Institute of Science, Bangalore, led to a little yet well known shop on Margosa road, Malleswaram. The place was well known to make lip-smacking idly-vada. Like everyone else who lived within a 3 kms radius of this little store, I too had stood on the footpath eating off the small stainless steel plate on many occasions. With passage of time, it dawned on me that it was all about the chutney. The soft, white idly and the crisp hole-in-the-middle vada by themselves could do little to tingle the taste buds. But the chutney (which was incapable of independent listing) was the sole reason why this little store's idly-vada was listed on the NASDAQ.
>>
I held the tiny little kaapi lota between my fingers and sipped on the coffee. Hordes of two and four wheelers, buses, auto-rickshaws with state of the art electronic meters, cycles and pedestrians seemed to be in a hurry to get to work. Just then, there was a slight tap on my shoulder. I turned to look. It was Raghv a.k.a Raga, an old neighbour. We had grown up playing cricket in kulla park. He was here with another older looking man.
to be continued...
1)You mortgaged the first 20 years of your life to your parents and leased out the the next 20 to your boss.
2)Coffee was a must for survival. Then came air and water.
3)A sexy watch was never worn to tell the time.
4)Newspapers carried out printing errors on purpose so that a regret note could be published the following day showcasing their humble 'after all-we-are-human' side.
5)There was no reason to live if you hadn't watched Schindler's List and The Shawshank Redemption.
6)People 'forgot' to remove their airline baggage tags.
7)Tax planning and tax evasion weren't necessarily different.
8)The letters in 'Mother-in-law' could be rearranged to give 'Woman Hitler' and,
9)It was all about the chutney.
A road down the temple side entrance of the famed Indian Institute of Science, Bangalore, led to a little yet well known shop on Margosa road, Malleswaram. The place was well known to make lip-smacking idly-vada. Like everyone else who lived within a 3 kms radius of this little store, I too had stood on the footpath eating off the small stainless steel plate on many occasions. With passage of time, it dawned on me that it was all about the chutney. The soft, white idly and the crisp hole-in-the-middle vada by themselves could do little to tingle the taste buds. But the chutney (which was incapable of independent listing) was the sole reason why this little store's idly-vada was listed on the NASDAQ.
>>
I held the tiny little kaapi lota between my fingers and sipped on the coffee. Hordes of two and four wheelers, buses, auto-rickshaws with state of the art electronic meters, cycles and pedestrians seemed to be in a hurry to get to work. Just then, there was a slight tap on my shoulder. I turned to look. It was Raghv a.k.a Raga, an old neighbour. We had grown up playing cricket in kulla park. He was here with another older looking man.
to be continued...
Nuts in an Eggshell
Bill, Larry, Sergey and Murthy are among the few who have exemplified this cult that’s growing at rate faster than the much talked about Indian GDP. Here’s a lighter look at an oft-plagiarized Indian version of the tale.
PROLOGUE:
India’s obsession with degrees is well known the world over. If you were to stand on a street corner and throw a stone, chances are a little over 13.6 (after much calculation) out of 10 that it would hit a person with the letters next to his name. Stats may seldom fail to impress, but how would you possibly break down the ‘technical + business knowledge’ mantra of the new millennium?
An IITian friend of mine openly declares- “I’m technically challenged.” To say the very least, there are plenty of these ‘differently abled’ fish swimming back and forth in the technical pool. But then, the only fish that do swim with the flow of the stream are the dead ones! We have arrived from hiding, the TCs (Technically Challenged) cry out loud. The cult is growing, and a community on the Orkut web site is the proof. The time is probably ripe for the Indian Government to issue licenses to start ‘institutes of technology for the technically challenged’. These institutes would not need labs, obviously. The sole requirements would be classrooms, a few dispersed chalks and yes, MBA aspirants (Beer and Business Administrators alike) to fill up the benches. Like any other disease, TC also comes with its set of symptoms. So who do you think you are?
1)You know the types of brakes, parts of a brake, are a mechanical engineer, the composition of the brake material and the forces acting on the brake pads. But when you sit on a bike, you guess between the front and the rear brakes.
2)You think that The Tower of Hanoi is a tower in Hanoi (Courtesy: Microsoft).
3)As an electrical engineer you can draw and label circuit diagrams faster than current can flow through it. You pick up the phone and call the electrician to fix the geyser.
4)You classify chips as junk food.
Due to constraints in space, we have withheld any further instances. For the complete list of the 4267 disabilities, refer Volumes 3 and 4 of Eggs in a Nutshell.
[In case you answered ‘yes’ to any of the above 4 instances, please make a bold assumption that you could be classified a TC.]
EPILOGUE:
The new age investment banker is truly a jack-of-all-trades. He is not only in the top 2% of the MBA entrance exam crackers; he also features in the top 50% of the engineering entrance exam crackers. A beer guzzling globe trotting fella, he boasts of a 4 yr vacation he took when the wind blew him through the technical course. Sadly so, that didn’t happen in business studies, he admits. While he conditioned himself to talk to lathes and computers while on vacation, what came as a rude awakening was that business required talking to people! Our man can also be seen living in a swanky 3-bed room apartment (fully furnished with an Air Conditioner), wears Jockey inners and Nike outers, owns an American Express and drives around in a Ford. After a couple of years of hard work, the technically baked business pie is ready to lay rubber on the tarmac for the next 35 years. A hop, skip and a jump away to the next big paycheck (with the tax deductions in mind), our man has successfully combined obsolete and irrelevant technical knowledge with business know how. The Great Indian Corporate Czar is in the making (breaking).
Elsewhere, at the Daimler Chrysler headquarters in Germany, a man in his 30s is hard at work on the Merc SL 600. Further insight reveals he is a PhD. in Fuel Injection Systems. “As a PhD, don’t you find it rather bizarre working in a garage”, we ask.
“I wanted to work in this garage. So I had to do a PhD.” he says with a smile, in his
heavy German accent.
(appeared in Srijan 2006, the annual mag of NIT-H)
PROLOGUE:
India’s obsession with degrees is well known the world over. If you were to stand on a street corner and throw a stone, chances are a little over 13.6 (after much calculation) out of 10 that it would hit a person with the letters next to his name. Stats may seldom fail to impress, but how would you possibly break down the ‘technical + business knowledge’ mantra of the new millennium?
An IITian friend of mine openly declares- “I’m technically challenged.” To say the very least, there are plenty of these ‘differently abled’ fish swimming back and forth in the technical pool. But then, the only fish that do swim with the flow of the stream are the dead ones! We have arrived from hiding, the TCs (Technically Challenged) cry out loud. The cult is growing, and a community on the Orkut web site is the proof. The time is probably ripe for the Indian Government to issue licenses to start ‘institutes of technology for the technically challenged’. These institutes would not need labs, obviously. The sole requirements would be classrooms, a few dispersed chalks and yes, MBA aspirants (Beer and Business Administrators alike) to fill up the benches. Like any other disease, TC also comes with its set of symptoms. So who do you think you are?
1)You know the types of brakes, parts of a brake, are a mechanical engineer, the composition of the brake material and the forces acting on the brake pads. But when you sit on a bike, you guess between the front and the rear brakes.
2)You think that The Tower of Hanoi is a tower in Hanoi (Courtesy: Microsoft).
3)As an electrical engineer you can draw and label circuit diagrams faster than current can flow through it. You pick up the phone and call the electrician to fix the geyser.
4)You classify chips as junk food.
Due to constraints in space, we have withheld any further instances. For the complete list of the 4267 disabilities, refer Volumes 3 and 4 of Eggs in a Nutshell.
[In case you answered ‘yes’ to any of the above 4 instances, please make a bold assumption that you could be classified a TC.]
EPILOGUE:
The new age investment banker is truly a jack-of-all-trades. He is not only in the top 2% of the MBA entrance exam crackers; he also features in the top 50% of the engineering entrance exam crackers. A beer guzzling globe trotting fella, he boasts of a 4 yr vacation he took when the wind blew him through the technical course. Sadly so, that didn’t happen in business studies, he admits. While he conditioned himself to talk to lathes and computers while on vacation, what came as a rude awakening was that business required talking to people! Our man can also be seen living in a swanky 3-bed room apartment (fully furnished with an Air Conditioner), wears Jockey inners and Nike outers, owns an American Express and drives around in a Ford. After a couple of years of hard work, the technically baked business pie is ready to lay rubber on the tarmac for the next 35 years. A hop, skip and a jump away to the next big paycheck (with the tax deductions in mind), our man has successfully combined obsolete and irrelevant technical knowledge with business know how. The Great Indian Corporate Czar is in the making (breaking).
Elsewhere, at the Daimler Chrysler headquarters in Germany, a man in his 30s is hard at work on the Merc SL 600. Further insight reveals he is a PhD. in Fuel Injection Systems. “As a PhD, don’t you find it rather bizarre working in a garage”, we ask.
“I wanted to work in this garage. So I had to do a PhD.” he says with a smile, in his
heavy German accent.
(appeared in Srijan 2006, the annual mag of NIT-H)
Molotov Cocktail
For the folks at Manipal;take it away :-)
“Dude, I swear…if Mexico wins today, I’ll give up Vodka.” I said looking up at BD. The guy was hardly listening.
“Fuck you. You’ve been saying that from Kindergarten, arseole.” Lodde shot at me.
“No man. This time, I’m serious. It’s like this umbilical chord that runs through me, Argentina and Vodka. If ‘Tina loses, we all 3 fall.” Evidently, I had been drinking too much.
“Make a cocktail for me, bro.” I asked to no one in particular.
“Yeah, right! How about I make you a Molotov Cocktail to bring you back to your senses?” BD took a good attempt at humour.
“Hey, what’s in a Molotov Cocktail?” I asked very innocently.
“Oh! That would be a mix of, let’s see… 25% beer, 3% milk, and 65% Cerelac and 7% of your intestines.” BD gave an ‘answer’.
“Are you, serious?” now I was playing his game.
“Of course not, you idiot! It’s a home made explosive used to start arson.” Lodde’s IQ ran into the 4 digits when he was not in his senses. But on the flip side, I was too scared to ask what ‘arson’ meant.
It was Tony’s idea to go watch the FIFA World Cup Quarter Finals at his Uncle’s estate house. 6 guys, Kingfisher, football and Vodka are always a package deal: like the 4 legs of a tripod. 23 minutes after kick-off, it was still 0-0. Obviously, the TV was getting out of focus with every passing minute. I looked around for some smokes. Hell, all the packets were empty. Wasn’t that bastard Bogu told to get 6 packs?
I looked around. BD was staring at the fan and smiling at it. In that corner of the mind reserved for girl friends, he was probably making out with her in the loo at Barista.
“Oye, what’s so funny with the fan?” Pavan asked BD.
“I love her man…I fuckin’ love her.” BD looked down and nodded.
“Man, you know this girl for like 2 weeks. You’ve already become her dedicated doormat. I mean she’s walking all over you. And now, you love her? You obviously need more pot to smoke this shit out of your rear.” Pavan said. Lodde was rolling on the floor on hearing this. Pavan continued-“Look at Lodde’s shirt for that matter. What does it say,huh? LOVE-Loss Of Virginity Early in life. Don’t you ever learn anything, man?”
It was all getting too boring for me. I had heard this girlfriend bashing before. And frankly, it sucked. I looked at the TV for some time. The half was almost over.
“Bh-o-ys. Three minutes to go for the half to end. And guess what’s official? I need a Navy Cut RIGHT NOW.” Pavan stood up and made the announcement.
“Your freaking nuts. It’s 1:15 in the morning. The nearest shop is 3 kms away.” Tony screamed back at Pavan.
“I give a shit. I’ll take my bike and go. Wanna come, anyone?”
Since no one seemed too inclined to go, I volunteered.
5 minutes later, we were riding on the kuccha road on a Black Pulsar. As the mud tracks met the tar, I asked Pavan-“Hey, do you think there might be cops on the road?”
“Bollocks. They must be too bombed to be at work now. No worries bro.” Pavan said reassuringly.
At a distance on the road we could vaguely spot a Jeep. It was the cops.
“Man, what if they catch us? Fuck, we even left the bike documents in the house and came. And we are drunk and driving. Shit” I was praying.
And sure enough, they stopped us. One of the constables asked us to pull the bike over to the side of the footpath. The other went inside the jeep, pulled out a walkie-talkie and started mumbling into it. I could see Pavan was feeling nervous here.
“Sir, we have caught them.” The constable was saying into the walkie-talkie. “The bike is also there.”
“What bike? And caught us for what?” I said to Pavan. He knew as much as I. The other constable was looking away from us. Pavan immediately took out his mobile and dialled Lodde’s number.
“Lodde, listen. Cops have caught us. The bike documents are on the fridge. Get them and reach near the Temple Arch soon. Or else we guys are screwed.” Pavan whispered hurriedly.
The constable stood there looking at us. We were too nervous to go up to him and open our alcohol-laden mouths. Nor did he say a word to us. 5 minutes went too slow. Finally, we could see the head light of Bogu’s Black Pulsar. I heaved a sigh of relief. At least the documents had come now. Bogu and Lodde stooped their bike right in front of us, took out the documents from the cover and gave it to Pavan.
Suddenly, the constable who had been on the walkie-talkie walked up to us and produced two handcuffs. And all 4 of us were rounded up.
On the way to the Police Station, sitting at the back of the jeep, I looked at Lodde’s face. He was puzzled way beyond human reason. All they had done was come to the rescue of their friends with some stupid bike documents. And now, all 4 of us were riding to jail. What the hell was going on? The constables wouldn’t answer. The mute dummies just drove.
“Sir, we caught these 4 guys with 2 black Pulsars. It’s definitely somebody amongst them”, the constable told the inspector as he lined us up.
“Tell me who did it and I’ll be nice to you. Mess around with me and you’ll become dog food. Bastards, tell me who did it?” the Inspector thundered at us.
We kept our heads down without understanding what was going on, but knowing for sure that trouble was just around the corner. It seemed like 4 different thieves had broken into a house at the same time.
Mustering all energy I could I looked up at the Inspector and said-“Sir, there’s been a mistake. We haven’t done anything. We are software engineers working at IT Park. We have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Shut up, Son-of-a-bang. Tell me which of you two raped the girl?” the Inspector screamed again.
WHAT?! It was getting crazy. “Sir, we have no idea what you want from us. We don’t know of any rape. We can show our ID cards. There’s obviously been a mistake.” Lodde was pleading.
After some persuasion, he saw light. Pavan called on Tony to get the ID Cards from the estate house.
15 minutes later, a confused Tony walked into the Police station with the ID Cards. We were released from the whole mess. The Inspector apologized to us and explained the whole confusion: earlier that evening, a girl had been raped near the place where we were caught. Eyewitnesses had seen 2 boys speed away on a black Pulsar. Unfortunately, we were also 2 boys on a black Pulsar twice over.
As we were walking away from the craziest experience of our lives towards our bikes, I looked at Pavan and said-“Isn’t it funny? We got caught and had no documents. Then they could have booked us for drunken driving, in which case you would have lost your license. Shit, what a close shave that was!”
Pavan smiled back at me and said, “Do you want to know what a closer shave is?” He took out a packet of grass from his back pocket. My tongue almost fell out.
(appeared in Srijan 2006, the annual magazine of NIT-H)
“Dude, I swear…if Mexico wins today, I’ll give up Vodka.” I said looking up at BD. The guy was hardly listening.
“Fuck you. You’ve been saying that from Kindergarten, arseole.” Lodde shot at me.
“No man. This time, I’m serious. It’s like this umbilical chord that runs through me, Argentina and Vodka. If ‘Tina loses, we all 3 fall.” Evidently, I had been drinking too much.
“Make a cocktail for me, bro.” I asked to no one in particular.
“Yeah, right! How about I make you a Molotov Cocktail to bring you back to your senses?” BD took a good attempt at humour.
“Hey, what’s in a Molotov Cocktail?” I asked very innocently.
“Oh! That would be a mix of, let’s see… 25% beer, 3% milk, and 65% Cerelac and 7% of your intestines.” BD gave an ‘answer’.
“Are you, serious?” now I was playing his game.
“Of course not, you idiot! It’s a home made explosive used to start arson.” Lodde’s IQ ran into the 4 digits when he was not in his senses. But on the flip side, I was too scared to ask what ‘arson’ meant.
It was Tony’s idea to go watch the FIFA World Cup Quarter Finals at his Uncle’s estate house. 6 guys, Kingfisher, football and Vodka are always a package deal: like the 4 legs of a tripod. 23 minutes after kick-off, it was still 0-0. Obviously, the TV was getting out of focus with every passing minute. I looked around for some smokes. Hell, all the packets were empty. Wasn’t that bastard Bogu told to get 6 packs?
I looked around. BD was staring at the fan and smiling at it. In that corner of the mind reserved for girl friends, he was probably making out with her in the loo at Barista.
“Oye, what’s so funny with the fan?” Pavan asked BD.
“I love her man…I fuckin’ love her.” BD looked down and nodded.
“Man, you know this girl for like 2 weeks. You’ve already become her dedicated doormat. I mean she’s walking all over you. And now, you love her? You obviously need more pot to smoke this shit out of your rear.” Pavan said. Lodde was rolling on the floor on hearing this. Pavan continued-“Look at Lodde’s shirt for that matter. What does it say,huh? LOVE-Loss Of Virginity Early in life. Don’t you ever learn anything, man?”
It was all getting too boring for me. I had heard this girlfriend bashing before. And frankly, it sucked. I looked at the TV for some time. The half was almost over.
“Bh-o-ys. Three minutes to go for the half to end. And guess what’s official? I need a Navy Cut RIGHT NOW.” Pavan stood up and made the announcement.
“Your freaking nuts. It’s 1:15 in the morning. The nearest shop is 3 kms away.” Tony screamed back at Pavan.
“I give a shit. I’ll take my bike and go. Wanna come, anyone?”
Since no one seemed too inclined to go, I volunteered.
5 minutes later, we were riding on the kuccha road on a Black Pulsar. As the mud tracks met the tar, I asked Pavan-“Hey, do you think there might be cops on the road?”
“Bollocks. They must be too bombed to be at work now. No worries bro.” Pavan said reassuringly.
At a distance on the road we could vaguely spot a Jeep. It was the cops.
“Man, what if they catch us? Fuck, we even left the bike documents in the house and came. And we are drunk and driving. Shit” I was praying.
And sure enough, they stopped us. One of the constables asked us to pull the bike over to the side of the footpath. The other went inside the jeep, pulled out a walkie-talkie and started mumbling into it. I could see Pavan was feeling nervous here.
“Sir, we have caught them.” The constable was saying into the walkie-talkie. “The bike is also there.”
“What bike? And caught us for what?” I said to Pavan. He knew as much as I. The other constable was looking away from us. Pavan immediately took out his mobile and dialled Lodde’s number.
“Lodde, listen. Cops have caught us. The bike documents are on the fridge. Get them and reach near the Temple Arch soon. Or else we guys are screwed.” Pavan whispered hurriedly.
The constable stood there looking at us. We were too nervous to go up to him and open our alcohol-laden mouths. Nor did he say a word to us. 5 minutes went too slow. Finally, we could see the head light of Bogu’s Black Pulsar. I heaved a sigh of relief. At least the documents had come now. Bogu and Lodde stooped their bike right in front of us, took out the documents from the cover and gave it to Pavan.
Suddenly, the constable who had been on the walkie-talkie walked up to us and produced two handcuffs. And all 4 of us were rounded up.
On the way to the Police Station, sitting at the back of the jeep, I looked at Lodde’s face. He was puzzled way beyond human reason. All they had done was come to the rescue of their friends with some stupid bike documents. And now, all 4 of us were riding to jail. What the hell was going on? The constables wouldn’t answer. The mute dummies just drove.
“Sir, we caught these 4 guys with 2 black Pulsars. It’s definitely somebody amongst them”, the constable told the inspector as he lined us up.
“Tell me who did it and I’ll be nice to you. Mess around with me and you’ll become dog food. Bastards, tell me who did it?” the Inspector thundered at us.
We kept our heads down without understanding what was going on, but knowing for sure that trouble was just around the corner. It seemed like 4 different thieves had broken into a house at the same time.
Mustering all energy I could I looked up at the Inspector and said-“Sir, there’s been a mistake. We haven’t done anything. We are software engineers working at IT Park. We have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Shut up, Son-of-a-bang. Tell me which of you two raped the girl?” the Inspector screamed again.
WHAT?! It was getting crazy. “Sir, we have no idea what you want from us. We don’t know of any rape. We can show our ID cards. There’s obviously been a mistake.” Lodde was pleading.
After some persuasion, he saw light. Pavan called on Tony to get the ID Cards from the estate house.
15 minutes later, a confused Tony walked into the Police station with the ID Cards. We were released from the whole mess. The Inspector apologized to us and explained the whole confusion: earlier that evening, a girl had been raped near the place where we were caught. Eyewitnesses had seen 2 boys speed away on a black Pulsar. Unfortunately, we were also 2 boys on a black Pulsar twice over.
As we were walking away from the craziest experience of our lives towards our bikes, I looked at Pavan and said-“Isn’t it funny? We got caught and had no documents. Then they could have booked us for drunken driving, in which case you would have lost your license. Shit, what a close shave that was!”
Pavan smiled back at me and said, “Do you want to know what a closer shave is?” He took out a packet of grass from his back pocket. My tongue almost fell out.
(appeared in Srijan 2006, the annual magazine of NIT-H)
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Potters on vaccuum cleaners
Once up on a time, there lived a boy wizard named Harry Potter. He had a scar on his forehead and wore round frame glasses. Like other wizards of his age, Potter loved flying on his broomstick. He spent a lot of time in the open fields flying all around the place. He flew into the clouds and out of them. He flew past windows and flag posts. He kept flying on his broomstick.
Soon, Harry Potter decided that he would fly past the the boundaries of Hogwarts, his school, and explore the world. One fine morning, when the sky was blue and the air was crisp, Potter took off from the grounds at Hogwarts towards the morning sky. He was to make his way towards the realms of the new world. “I shall return by dusk” he said to himself while he left, “and I will comeback and tell my friends just how good my new Thunderbolt broomstick is.”
So off he flew, beyond the castle walls and across the Great Lake. As he turned around, he noticed that Hogwarts was a tiny statuette placed in the midst of nature's abundance. As he flew past the picturesque town of Hogsmeade, he knew that the only direction for him to go from here on was forward; there was no looking back.
For hours at a stretch he flew on his broomstick. The wind was in his hair and the world was beneath his feet. He had experienced the joy of flying before, but this time it was different. He felt like a small speck in the ocean of the sky and also like the King of the world at the same time. This inner conflict of feelings drove him to get a little more adventurous. It was past noon and as he sat munching on his jelly sandwich while on his broom, he realised that it was only a few hours to sunset. He should be turning around now, he thought to himself.
“But aren't I supposed to be brave and explore the big world as Professor Dumbledore had always said.” , he thought. After a short tennis match in his head, he decided that he would take a shot at going a little further. But he promised himself that he would return by the following sunset, lest Ron and Hermione got worried and went looking out for him. He flew through the thick fog and braved the cold as he made his way through the night. Nor owls or the OWLS could stop the adventurer in him. And so he flew.
Early next morning, he landed in a little green village. As he walked towards the lake to fill his can, he noticed a man with long white hair standing by the lakeside. He had bushy eyebrows and was dressed in denims and a red Tee that said 'Virgin' on it. He had a strange looking box with a thick black pipe attached to it by his side. Since Harry had been brought up in the muggle world, he was quick to identify this box as a vacuum cleaner. But what was this man doing with a vacuum cleaner on a fine day by the lake side?
“Good day Sir, my name is Harry Potter.”, said Harry as he walked up to the man.
“Good day to you. My name is Richard Branson.”, said the man.
And right there, they sat by the lake side and spoke for hours over donuts, coffee and more jelly sandwiches. Harry explained to Richard how he had wandered away from Hogwarts on his broomstick while setting out to explore the world. Richard meanwhile told Harry that he thought broomsticks were too outdated and slow to travel on. Vacuum cleaners were much faster and convenient, he said.
But Harry argued by saying that broomsticks had always been the traditional mode of flying. They were more affordable. Sir Richard felt that was true but also felt that people wouldn't mind paying for luxury, as flying on vacuum cleaners was a lot less strenuous and a luxurious experience as compared to the raw thrill of a broomstick. And thus, they spoke all day long. Harry was interested in knowing how vacuum cleaners could work in the air. And so he test flew Richard's red vacuum cleaner. And boy! how different to the traditional broomstick was this! Sir Richard flew around on Harry's Thunderbolt for a while, and concluded that it was the most exciting ride he had had after his hot air balloon experience in Africa.
And thus a deal was made. In a style so typical to the Branson stable, Virgin Broomstick was born. And Harry was made the CEO of the company, the youngest CEO in UK. He will be joining in a couple of days, now that he has finished his 7th year at Hogwarts. And as for the vacuum cleaners, Harry has decided to float his start-up along with three of the Weaselys, with Sir Richard Branson holding a 33% stake in the company – Quick Snitch Travels. Will this venture succeed? Stay tuned to this page for cutting-edge updates.
In real life, Vijay Mallya plays the role of Sir Richard Branson in the story; something he is used to. The vacuum cleaner is his pet project- Kingfisher Airlines. Harry Potter's role is played by Capt. Gopinath. Air Deccan is the broomstick. And the rest is yet to come. Will the Kingfisher-Air Deccan deal hold through? Stay tuned to this page for cutting-edge updates.
Soon, Harry Potter decided that he would fly past the the boundaries of Hogwarts, his school, and explore the world. One fine morning, when the sky was blue and the air was crisp, Potter took off from the grounds at Hogwarts towards the morning sky. He was to make his way towards the realms of the new world. “I shall return by dusk” he said to himself while he left, “and I will comeback and tell my friends just how good my new Thunderbolt broomstick is.”
So off he flew, beyond the castle walls and across the Great Lake. As he turned around, he noticed that Hogwarts was a tiny statuette placed in the midst of nature's abundance. As he flew past the picturesque town of Hogsmeade, he knew that the only direction for him to go from here on was forward; there was no looking back.
For hours at a stretch he flew on his broomstick. The wind was in his hair and the world was beneath his feet. He had experienced the joy of flying before, but this time it was different. He felt like a small speck in the ocean of the sky and also like the King of the world at the same time. This inner conflict of feelings drove him to get a little more adventurous. It was past noon and as he sat munching on his jelly sandwich while on his broom, he realised that it was only a few hours to sunset. He should be turning around now, he thought to himself.
“But aren't I supposed to be brave and explore the big world as Professor Dumbledore had always said.” , he thought. After a short tennis match in his head, he decided that he would take a shot at going a little further. But he promised himself that he would return by the following sunset, lest Ron and Hermione got worried and went looking out for him. He flew through the thick fog and braved the cold as he made his way through the night. Nor owls or the OWLS could stop the adventurer in him. And so he flew.
Early next morning, he landed in a little green village. As he walked towards the lake to fill his can, he noticed a man with long white hair standing by the lakeside. He had bushy eyebrows and was dressed in denims and a red Tee that said 'Virgin' on it. He had a strange looking box with a thick black pipe attached to it by his side. Since Harry had been brought up in the muggle world, he was quick to identify this box as a vacuum cleaner. But what was this man doing with a vacuum cleaner on a fine day by the lake side?
“Good day Sir, my name is Harry Potter.”, said Harry as he walked up to the man.
“Good day to you. My name is Richard Branson.”, said the man.
And right there, they sat by the lake side and spoke for hours over donuts, coffee and more jelly sandwiches. Harry explained to Richard how he had wandered away from Hogwarts on his broomstick while setting out to explore the world. Richard meanwhile told Harry that he thought broomsticks were too outdated and slow to travel on. Vacuum cleaners were much faster and convenient, he said.
But Harry argued by saying that broomsticks had always been the traditional mode of flying. They were more affordable. Sir Richard felt that was true but also felt that people wouldn't mind paying for luxury, as flying on vacuum cleaners was a lot less strenuous and a luxurious experience as compared to the raw thrill of a broomstick. And thus, they spoke all day long. Harry was interested in knowing how vacuum cleaners could work in the air. And so he test flew Richard's red vacuum cleaner. And boy! how different to the traditional broomstick was this! Sir Richard flew around on Harry's Thunderbolt for a while, and concluded that it was the most exciting ride he had had after his hot air balloon experience in Africa.
And thus a deal was made. In a style so typical to the Branson stable, Virgin Broomstick was born. And Harry was made the CEO of the company, the youngest CEO in UK. He will be joining in a couple of days, now that he has finished his 7th year at Hogwarts. And as for the vacuum cleaners, Harry has decided to float his start-up along with three of the Weaselys, with Sir Richard Branson holding a 33% stake in the company – Quick Snitch Travels. Will this venture succeed? Stay tuned to this page for cutting-edge updates.
In real life, Vijay Mallya plays the role of Sir Richard Branson in the story; something he is used to. The vacuum cleaner is his pet project- Kingfisher Airlines. Harry Potter's role is played by Capt. Gopinath. Air Deccan is the broomstick. And the rest is yet to come. Will the Kingfisher-Air Deccan deal hold through? Stay tuned to this page for cutting-edge updates.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
@ Infy
June 22nd may be long gone, but a dream did come true on that day. It was on that day when I finally, finally saw my guru Mr. N R Narayana Murthy in the flesh. The occasion was the 26th AGM of Infosys Technologies. Alongside him was seated the man who has brought forth the 'flat world' idea- Mr. Nandan Nilekani. The event was a landmark one for Infy with the CEO baton changing hands from Mr. Nandan to Mr. Kris Gopalkrishnan.
The COO, Mr. Shibulal did his presentation after the ones by the above mentioned gentlemen. CFO, Mr. Balakrishnan.V held the audience's attention at the balance sheets with some very creative slide presentations. With the shuffle-up in management, it reflected very clearly on the company policy, and as Mr. Murthy has always said that the organisation must be professionally run putting share-owners interest ahead of the self.
As in every AGM, the Q & A session always ignites sparks. But with a company like Infy, we expected lesser fire in the line of action. However, as the praises and questions poured in for Mr. Murthy and his team, one particular remark bounced off at a tangent. A gentleman from the audience seemed to take personally the fact that the members on the dias were served water during the course of the meeting while the rest of the audience were left high (the balance sheets were good!) and dry (now you know why the man was annoyed!). He wanted to know if not providing water was some kind of a cost cutting measure adopted by the company!
But amidst all of this, there was a lesson to be learnt. There were really two kinds of people in that gathering that day. One that overlooked all the visionaries and their strategies for providing a profitable future for the share owners, and instead focussed on pettier issues like water/food/clothing. the other group of people would have attended the conference even if it were held in the heart of the Sahara Desert, where food and water are a thing of dreams.
The COO, Mr. Shibulal did his presentation after the ones by the above mentioned gentlemen. CFO, Mr. Balakrishnan.V held the audience's attention at the balance sheets with some very creative slide presentations. With the shuffle-up in management, it reflected very clearly on the company policy, and as Mr. Murthy has always said that the organisation must be professionally run putting share-owners interest ahead of the self.
As in every AGM, the Q & A session always ignites sparks. But with a company like Infy, we expected lesser fire in the line of action. However, as the praises and questions poured in for Mr. Murthy and his team, one particular remark bounced off at a tangent. A gentleman from the audience seemed to take personally the fact that the members on the dias were served water during the course of the meeting while the rest of the audience were left high (the balance sheets were good!) and dry (now you know why the man was annoyed!). He wanted to know if not providing water was some kind of a cost cutting measure adopted by the company!
But amidst all of this, there was a lesson to be learnt. There were really two kinds of people in that gathering that day. One that overlooked all the visionaries and their strategies for providing a profitable future for the share owners, and instead focussed on pettier issues like water/food/clothing. the other group of people would have attended the conference even if it were held in the heart of the Sahara Desert, where food and water are a thing of dreams.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
In the name of God
Politics and religion are two of the most touchy issues one can write about. From ages long gone to eras to come, these two subjects have been fodder for mayhem; even throwing so called 'stable' societies(if they ever existed) completely out of gear.
There is a reason why God is written with a capital G. Whether or not you happen to be believe in Him (notice the capital H), it is undeniable that the Good Lord's (pay attention to the G and the L) name is never taken in vain. At-least not in the land of milk and honey. As I vacation in my home town of Bengaluru (alas!), I just can't seem to ignore the fact that He (the H) is being invoked for everything from driving away way side 'urinators' to making a living. Call it cashing in on fear, guilt or anything that works for you, but it all ultimately boils down to the fact that dropping Names (N is intentionally made capital) works in India.
As I begin walking from 10th cross Malleswaram, a little girl walks up to me with a framed photograph of a God in her hand complete with a little lamp in a plate that's lit in the bright of the day. She's not begging, mind you. She's 'collecting' money. Or that's as lenient as I can be with my judgement. I spare her a buck, in the holy name. 'She's not begging, she's not begging', I keep telling myself after she's gone. At-least the Gods won't be crazy at me. As I walk further down towards 9th cross, I see this: a lady whipping herself while the man with her is dressed as a God and actually has a metal stick pierced through his cheeks playing a distant cousin of the snare drum. Again, they aren't begging.I have not much for them. By the time I am at cross number 5, just when I think He has had it, I spot a bunch of kids dressed as mythical figures from Ramayana making noise as they are going around from shop to shop. At first I'm forced to think that this is a bunch of a fancy dress event escapees. But the coins in their little hands tells me that they are not begging.
I need to pick up groceries that evening. I head to cross 8, Malleswaram's shopping heaven. What I see there takes the wind out of my sails. At regualr spacings on either sides of the road along the footpath are men holding a plate of burning camphor (aarthi) ringing away the bell continuously. While this activity is common in temples, it normally lasts for a couple of minutes at the max. But I stood there watching this go on for a complete 15 minutes, and then I had to force a quit as I could not get myself to watch the show any more. But hey, they weren't begging. It's all in the name of God!
On the 4th cross, a narrow by-lane leads to the bonda angadi from the main road. This was the pee-heaven. This was the Nirmala of Malleswaram. But guess what the BMP did? They swooped in, cleaned the place and to prevent this pee sport from continuing, they put up photos of Gods on tiles along the entire stretch of the street! Call that a smart move. I'm yet to hear of a man who has summoned up enough courage to empty it on that street ever since.
There is a reason why God is written with a capital G. Whether or not you happen to be believe in Him (notice the capital H), it is undeniable that the Good Lord's (pay attention to the G and the L) name is never taken in vain. At-least not in the land of milk and honey. As I vacation in my home town of Bengaluru (alas!), I just can't seem to ignore the fact that He (the H) is being invoked for everything from driving away way side 'urinators' to making a living. Call it cashing in on fear, guilt or anything that works for you, but it all ultimately boils down to the fact that dropping Names (N is intentionally made capital) works in India.
As I begin walking from 10th cross Malleswaram, a little girl walks up to me with a framed photograph of a God in her hand complete with a little lamp in a plate that's lit in the bright of the day. She's not begging, mind you. She's 'collecting' money. Or that's as lenient as I can be with my judgement. I spare her a buck, in the holy name. 'She's not begging, she's not begging', I keep telling myself after she's gone. At-least the Gods won't be crazy at me. As I walk further down towards 9th cross, I see this: a lady whipping herself while the man with her is dressed as a God and actually has a metal stick pierced through his cheeks playing a distant cousin of the snare drum. Again, they aren't begging.I have not much for them. By the time I am at cross number 5, just when I think He has had it, I spot a bunch of kids dressed as mythical figures from Ramayana making noise as they are going around from shop to shop. At first I'm forced to think that this is a bunch of a fancy dress event escapees. But the coins in their little hands tells me that they are not begging.
I need to pick up groceries that evening. I head to cross 8, Malleswaram's shopping heaven. What I see there takes the wind out of my sails. At regualr spacings on either sides of the road along the footpath are men holding a plate of burning camphor (aarthi) ringing away the bell continuously. While this activity is common in temples, it normally lasts for a couple of minutes at the max. But I stood there watching this go on for a complete 15 minutes, and then I had to force a quit as I could not get myself to watch the show any more. But hey, they weren't begging. It's all in the name of God!
On the 4th cross, a narrow by-lane leads to the bonda angadi from the main road. This was the pee-heaven. This was the Nirmala of Malleswaram. But guess what the BMP did? They swooped in, cleaned the place and to prevent this pee sport from continuing, they put up photos of Gods on tiles along the entire stretch of the street! Call that a smart move. I'm yet to hear of a man who has summoned up enough courage to empty it on that street ever since.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Globalisation and its effects on youth.
The big G-word is splashed all over the place today. From front pages of newspapers to the back covers of magazines and everwhere else in between, globalisation occurs as more than a mere definition. It is a way of life. A change so profound that it has come ripping through socieites and uprooted the very basics of hierarchy and timeline and put the whole of the 6.5 billion that walk this planet on a level platform. But all of this was not a big overnight BOOM. It happenend while you were up each morning brushing and sipping on coffee. It was happening while you were hanging out with your girl(boy)friend. It will continue to happen as you trip on chilled beer. If something so earth-shaking is moving about us so stealthily, it is worth a minute of our attention.
From a Pan India point of view we can see globalisation operating on three levels:
Win-win state
Win-lose state
lose-lose state
Or simply put, the three levels or states show the consequces that globalisation has had on India with the rest of the world and vice versa. As of now. with 52% plus Indians in their sunny days, it is but obvious that the youth are very detrimental to the course of the world in the years to come.
1) THE WIN-WIN STATE
In English this is what it means - how has globalisation benefitted both the Indian youth and the world's at large. By wiring the whole world on to the www, we have been able to allow movement of information as freely as words flow out of Prathibha Patil's mouth. So information rests at everyone's fingertips. This has been one of the inherent factors that explains the 5 or 6 figure incomes of the 25 somethings, This has meant that there are more people today than 5 or 10 years ago who can afford a better lifestyle than their parents. As a by product of this we are seeing a boom happening across practically every section in the market, from ayurveda to aviation.
A Kannadiga boy working in Hewellet-Packard marries a Mexican girl. And the marriage ceremony is held in the boy's home town in Karnataka; and the girl changes her name form Jessica to Jaya. This would have been a rosy-walk-in-the-park story straight out of Womens' Era in 1995. But in June 2007, it is a newspaper report splashed on the front page of the Deccan Herald. The moral of this story is that you could make a great friend or even find a partner half way across the world without having to move out of your chair. That's a win-win proposition!
2) THE WIN-LOSE STATE
What has the Indian youth gained at the expense of the world, as a result of globalisation? And what has the World gained at the expense of India?
Since globalisation is itself in its youth, only the first of the two questions can be answered as of this point in time. So what did they lose that we gained? The answer to that question lies in the word 'outsourcing', A word that we have come to like and they have begun to detest.
3) THE LOSE-LOSE STATE
What is the down side of a globalising India? Going the G-way has put considerable sums of money and opportunities in the hands of millions of youngsters. What it has failed to provide however is the education on how to manage all that is earned. And consequently, we hear of stress, burnouts, failed marriages and rich credit card companies.
As the youth continue to march along hand in hand with globalisation today, we can't say with any more certainity about the direction of it's progress as we can about Paris Hilton's next big act for being in the news. But maybe someday, we will hear of Raju's and Rani's Pasta corner, Joe's and Jenny's Dosa camp and Chin Yew's Fish and Curry all lined up next to one another on a street in Cairo!
Arjun.B.S
W: bondasoup.wordpess.com
Monday, June 11, 2007
Gooble-de-gook
You walk into this room. The windows are wide open. The door creaks as it sways back and forth. It’s a summer noon and it’s hot. You wish to ease those nerves. That can only mean one thing - Coldplay. Having enqueued five of your favourite tracks, you put on those headphones. By now the door is shut and the curtains are drawn. Pleasant is always a few minutes away from a summer noon, if you know how to get it.
4 and a half minutes later, it’s Track 2. The first song has driven the anesthetic a little too far. When The Scientist is ‘go’, you are floating. Those aching calf muscles don’t seem to be around anymore. And it starts…
You see a little girl. She’s running in the open. It’s a vast field. And she is running. Draped in a brown skirt and checked uppers, she wears a cap to keep her hair in place. The wind is getting the better of her skirt though. She is 12, you might want to think. Why is she running? Where is she running to?
A hundred meters behind her, at a distance you can see two boys running towards the girl, who, by now you figure out, is running away from the boys. The three of them are happy to be running in the pursuit of whatever it might be. The boys are wearing shorts, btw. And one of them is blonde. The other has a cap. A painter’s cap, you might say (not all painters like to wear them though.) They look 15 years apiece. And they are running, not real hard, but just enough to keep the girl at a flowing river’s width from them. She is finding this to be fun!
There’s a pond there and a towering windmill that stands by it. As she nears the pond, she looks to run harder. She goes inside. The windmill. The boys follow her.
… Could not speak as loud as my heart (faintly, at a distance).
She comes out, as you turn around in your bed. Remember, you are standing in the field. But only this time, she holds a round bottomed bottle in her hand. It has a straight neck at the top. And the cap is fastened tight. Or so you assume. Let’s see. There is scotch in the bottle, you might want to think. And she runs faster than her legs can carry her. And then you see. The girl is being chased by two rather grown up men. They must be 40 apiece. Who are these men? And what would they want from a little girl with a bottle in her hand. And then it strikes you. Where did the two boys go? You cross the pond and go inside the windmill. It’s dark, except for the cone of sunlight that a small window at the top is permitting. You search around the cold place for the two boys. No, they aren’t there. You come out. The field is empty. There is no sign of the girl; or of the boys; or of the men. Something doesn’t seem right of the whole picture. You stop and wonder – “Did the boys become the men?” And before that question can be answered…
It’s Track 3 - Clocks.
[Question: Make sense of this situation]
Gopi Manjuri with doublextra cheese
Here’s a dumb question to start with:
If a man can dress Indian, eat Indian (strictly), has Indian ancestors and an Indian wife, received his primary.edu in India and drives a Maruti on the streets of Bengaluru, he should speak English with an Indian accent.
The above statement is:
True
False
The data provided is insufficient.
The Texas Tragedy
Electronics major Texas Instruments has its headquarters in Dallas, Texas. They have a setup at Bangalore too. A big percentage of the employees working at TI, Bangalore have been to Dallas at some point of time during their career at TI.
Result: They speak with an American accent.
A case: Varadharajan, who’s joined TI last month finds it difficult to follow what his team leader Gopal Swamy Iyer says, because of the latter’s American accent.
A brief history: Gopal Swamy Iyer, on finishing his PUC at Revannasiddhiya Pre-University College went on to do his BE in ECE from the RV College of Engineering on Mysore Road, Bengaluru. After a brief stint with an IT firm, he went to the University of Michigan to pursue a Master of Science in pure electronics. After 3 years at TI, Dallas, Gopal Swamy Iyer was sent back to his native land of India.
//Gopal Iyer has done away with the dispenser in the toilet at his house on KR Road. One can find a roll of tissue instead.
Pseudonyms and Uncles from Scotland
So where does one need to go to get an American accent?
The naive would think the obvious, that Texan accents are picked up in Texas, or a Canadian accent in Toronto or Quebec. But as we are propelled into the Internet age, one can pick up a mid-western American accent sitting in Boreville, Mumbai. Yes, the world is shrinking!
Which brings us to next question- How long does it take to pick up one?
Let’s probe a little further to dig out the answer for this one. A friend’s Uncle lives in Scotland, a land where its natives are known for their distinctive English accent. He migrated to Scotland from India in the early 1970’s when the Beatles were getting big. 35 years hence, every time his family comes on their annual vacation to India, it is said that this man speaks just like any other Indian.
Rajiv (name changed) is an Investment Banker. He works with the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank. Last summer he was sent to Singapore for 4 months on an assignment. Sources close to him say that he came back with an American accent (Wtf?)
Verdict: In the 21st century, one can talk like an American within a few days without as much as having to make trip to the airport.
The New Species
There is no substantial evidence for the need to put on an accent. While victims in the glass and steel buildings might claim that their interaction with global customers requires them to speak like a New Yorker, there is only one thing that can be said- show me a man who cannot follow the Indian accent but can follow the American one, and I’ll free him from paying taxes for the rest of his life.
If the problem can be spelt out clean, so should the solution to tackle it. This is not to help you put a new accent or rid you from the existing one, but more to help you identify yourself and act as personal discretion may permit:
The Localised specie: You are the kind that refuses to shed your regional accent. You go to Canberra and speak English like a Keralite. The plus point would be that it would popularise a local accent in the world market. Trouble: People are laughing behind your ass. There is high risk involved here, but not fatal. Egzamble: Lolla Kutty.
The Globalised specie You go around the world speaking English like an Indian. But in doing so, pay attention that it is can be understood by the listener. Take care to weed out the mother-tongue accent. Example: LN Mittal.
The Super-Globalised specie: Where ever you go, you speak with the accent prevailing in that area. Or in other words, when in Rome, be a Roman. This is extremely challenging, but is possible to achieve. Example: A friend’s 3rd cousin.
The Run down specie: No matter where life takes you, always speak like a Yank. Example: Gopal Swamy Iyer.
If you happen to figure out more forms of species that can co-exist with the above, feel free to mail it to me. I’d be more than glad to append the existing list.
Adios.
P.S: ‘Gopi Manjuri’ is Tamil-English for the Indo-Chinese dish Gobi Manchurian.
Helicopters and Computer-guys Losing it
They might be a $ 4 billion enterprise, but somehow the line doesn’t sell; let alone capture the idea of ‘Technology that touches lives’. Indian companies (barring a handful) have been marked out for their lack of branding; or in simpler words for failing to communicate as to who/what they are or are into. The recent advertisement of HCL shows a ‘computer guy’ dressed in smart casuals (though he does look gay in a tight pink shirt) and loaded with a notebook hiking a ride from an investment banker who happens to be driving in the middle of a desert. To start off, once inside the car, the computer guy appears too cool to move. He takes off his cap, flips open the notebook, and informs the banker in a pseudo-concerned tone - “The stock market just crashed.” The banker is distraught on hearing this. Smugly the HCL guy goes on to brief the IB about how the ATM at the fueling station runs on ‘our technology’. Some distance later, the HCL guy gets off the car and heads towards a helicopter waiting to take him “abroad for a life sciences project”.
By the end of the ad, one is left bewildered and angry with the computer guy and with a sense of pity for the investment banker (who has just hosted a robbery of his self_image).
The HCL guy’s I_am_somehow_superior_to_you attitude makes you want to throw slush at him*; and keep the IB for a pet. And then the line ‘touching lives’ makes you want to throw up.
And as for the $ 4 billion catch-line, there is trouble. A lot many minds seem to think of a billion as being just a little more than a million. With all due respect, a million is not much of a test these days. The enormity that these guys are trying to get us to recognize is not coming through with those very words.
Better luck next time.
*see the bigger picture here.
The Red Rainbow
They’ve launched a ‘let’s get it done’ campaign now. And boy it has worked! From the word ‘go’ the music in the back-ground captures you. The steady and rhythmic beat is well woven into the text and images that flash. With simple words and simpler images (and heart touching, like the little school boy one), the message is sent across loud and clear; that to turn your dreams into realities, you need a partner. And that partner is Citibank.
The ad is convincing enough (at least for me) to bank on them. Kudos, Citi!
Friday, June 1, 2007
The Ceremonial Hi
Hi!
I guess blogging is more than just fun...
A big thanks to Thomas Friedman... ' The world is Flat' for talking(rather writing) about blogs in the book...
Thanks to Anoop for keeping at the guitar(with all the cacophony that my ears can permit) while I occupy the Black Chair at his desktop.
And a bigger thanks to the coffee at Halli Mane's, Bhima's, Anoop's Mom's and my Grandma's for the 'stimulation of curiosity' ... lol!
Read on..
I guess blogging is more than just fun...
A big thanks to Thomas Friedman... ' The world is Flat' for talking(rather writing) about blogs in the book...
Thanks to Anoop for keeping at the guitar(with all the cacophony that my ears can permit) while I occupy the Black Chair at his desktop.
And a bigger thanks to the coffee at Halli Mane's, Bhima's, Anoop's Mom's and my Grandma's for the 'stimulation of curiosity' ... lol!
Read on..
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