It’s a feeling of frustration and relief at the same time. Being as optimistic as I normally am about the world in general, and more so about the evolving tastes of dishes at eateries near (and far too) me, I found myself taking a rather one sided all-doom-and-gloom approach to the newly refurbished Central Tiffin Room. (Check the post below)
Here’s the good news guys: It’s the same. I’m even inclined to think that the dosa is better. Never mind the hike in prices, but full credit to the guys who’ve redone the place. The outside board looks catchy, modern and homely at the same time. This time around they’ve displayed 'C.T.R' in brackets below the obscure name of ‘Shri Sagar’. Once you step in, you can see that the ambiance has been recreated very subtly while retaining the antique smell of the place. The new set of plates and the waiters’ uniforms actually blends effortlessly even with the attractive, and importantly, legible menu board (not card). The hand wash area has been redone totally, and is a lot cleaner now. They still continue to scribble the total amount on that tiny bit of paper. Right, some things never change.
However, the back end operations seems to have slackened a wee bit too much. They’re keeping people waiting for longer lengths of time than before at the table before the food can be served. Have that solved and you have a reason to come Malleswaram once again.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
The nightmare has come true
Holy Kaw! They’re renovating CTR.
Think of it. They’ll put air-conditioners, set up comfortable chairs and replace the newspaper tear offs with paper napkins (gosh!). They’ll start printing the bills instead of handwriting them; the waiters will get new uniforms and the manager will get a buzzer at his table instead of the bell. And since the new setting is so mod, they’ll bring down the 100 year old grandpa clock and put up Westend’s latest model in it’s place.
They’ll get ceramic plates and glass tumblers, and start serving sambar even without asking for it. They’ll start handing out menu cards. Still worse, they’ll run home deliveries. They’ll put a first floor that serves Chinese and Thai food. They’ll launch www.centraltiffinroom.com and nail the coffin.
In short, ladies and gentlemen, they’ll kill the dosa. They will.
(If you’re wondering what that was all about, let me explain. CTR, or Central Tiffin Room in 7th Cross Malleswaram Bangalore makes the best dosas on the face of the planet. It’s a popular joint for the traditionally old setting that it has always had. I wonder if the owners understand that the taste of the dosa is what it is because of the setting that it is served in. Jacks are renovating the place.)
Think of it. They’ll put air-conditioners, set up comfortable chairs and replace the newspaper tear offs with paper napkins (gosh!). They’ll start printing the bills instead of handwriting them; the waiters will get new uniforms and the manager will get a buzzer at his table instead of the bell. And since the new setting is so mod, they’ll bring down the 100 year old grandpa clock and put up Westend’s latest model in it’s place.
They’ll get ceramic plates and glass tumblers, and start serving sambar even without asking for it. They’ll start handing out menu cards. Still worse, they’ll run home deliveries. They’ll put a first floor that serves Chinese and Thai food. They’ll launch www.centraltiffinroom.com and nail the coffin.
In short, ladies and gentlemen, they’ll kill the dosa. They will.
(If you’re wondering what that was all about, let me explain. CTR, or Central Tiffin Room in 7th Cross Malleswaram Bangalore makes the best dosas on the face of the planet. It’s a popular joint for the traditionally old setting that it has always had. I wonder if the owners understand that the taste of the dosa is what it is because of the setting that it is served in. Jacks are renovating the place.)
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Barter in the blood
I get these quotes for the day on my i-google homepage. Helen Keller is on today saying “College isn't the place to go for ideas.” All the due respect to the great woman, but I can’t seem to agree with that statement.
To the vast majority, college appears to be a collection of people who can be classified as the haves and the have nots. And I’m talking strictly brains here. You have those who have brains, and you have those who don’t. Or atleast that is the popular belief. The dogma persists that a nerd is brainy and the guy with gelled hair and torn jeans is thought to be sans the gray matter. Or the girl with the skin huggin' outfits. But we’ll get to that in a minute.
I’m doing the 3rd reading of a classic book written by Dr. Charles Schwab called The Magic of Thinking Big. Chapter 5 – 'How to think and dream creatively' outlines the meaning of the word creative thinking. He says in this chapter that when the word 'creative' or 'creativity' is brought to the forefront, most people think of the inventors and artists of the world. The author clarifies here that creativity includes even the smallest of things: like a person managing to live inside his/her budget, or a teacher who gets her students to do what they aren’t ready to or any of that stuff. All of that counts as creativity too.
If you aren’t familiar with the two halves of the brain, fyi the left side does the logical reasoning and the right side is responsible for the creative side of things. And so, going back to the case of the nerd and the non-nerd, the former might have a highly developed left sided brain, while the non-nerd might have a superior right sided brain. That doesn’t really make one better than the other, does it? But yea, our big bad black society likes to put labels on people.
I’ll prove it to you.
While I was in Engineering College at NIT Hamirpur until last May, we ran a bi-annual quiz called The Big Quiz. This was a major event for all the quizzers on the campus; the prizes were usually attractive and there was a rolling trophy attached to it as well. As organizers, we seldom expected the beer guzzling, late night-partying, movie watching crowds to show up at the quiz. We were mostly right. But there was this one guy who did all the ‘wrong’ things in life and he’d show up at these quizzes and would be seated in the audience. He would answer nearly 60 to 70 percent of the questions that were passed to the audience. And every time he got one right, the quiz master threw him a Perk or a Munch. By the end of the quiz, this guy would have collected close to 5 or 6 of these chocolates. He’d then leave the venue and make his way to the little chaachu’s dhukaan. He’d hand in the 5 chocolates to chachu and get a packet of Kings in exchange for it.
I think smoking is bad, but come on; that barter was some creativity from a right-brained torn-jeans beer guzzling dude.
To the vast majority, college appears to be a collection of people who can be classified as the haves and the have nots. And I’m talking strictly brains here. You have those who have brains, and you have those who don’t. Or atleast that is the popular belief. The dogma persists that a nerd is brainy and the guy with gelled hair and torn jeans is thought to be sans the gray matter. Or the girl with the skin huggin' outfits. But we’ll get to that in a minute.
I’m doing the 3rd reading of a classic book written by Dr. Charles Schwab called The Magic of Thinking Big. Chapter 5 – 'How to think and dream creatively' outlines the meaning of the word creative thinking. He says in this chapter that when the word 'creative' or 'creativity' is brought to the forefront, most people think of the inventors and artists of the world. The author clarifies here that creativity includes even the smallest of things: like a person managing to live inside his/her budget, or a teacher who gets her students to do what they aren’t ready to or any of that stuff. All of that counts as creativity too.
If you aren’t familiar with the two halves of the brain, fyi the left side does the logical reasoning and the right side is responsible for the creative side of things. And so, going back to the case of the nerd and the non-nerd, the former might have a highly developed left sided brain, while the non-nerd might have a superior right sided brain. That doesn’t really make one better than the other, does it? But yea, our big bad black society likes to put labels on people.
I’ll prove it to you.
While I was in Engineering College at NIT Hamirpur until last May, we ran a bi-annual quiz called The Big Quiz. This was a major event for all the quizzers on the campus; the prizes were usually attractive and there was a rolling trophy attached to it as well. As organizers, we seldom expected the beer guzzling, late night-partying, movie watching crowds to show up at the quiz. We were mostly right. But there was this one guy who did all the ‘wrong’ things in life and he’d show up at these quizzes and would be seated in the audience. He would answer nearly 60 to 70 percent of the questions that were passed to the audience. And every time he got one right, the quiz master threw him a Perk or a Munch. By the end of the quiz, this guy would have collected close to 5 or 6 of these chocolates. He’d then leave the venue and make his way to the little chaachu’s dhukaan. He’d hand in the 5 chocolates to chachu and get a packet of Kings in exchange for it.
I think smoking is bad, but come on; that barter was some creativity from a right-brained torn-jeans beer guzzling dude.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Hump ahead
From the previous post, Anoop’s comment with the phrase ‘Hump ahead' was just too tempting to my vanity of thought that it had to find its way into the title of this post. We all know what it means: the first meaning to do with road safety and the second being a teenage vernacular to imply that there are 'exciting' times ahead. But I thought I’d draw back my focus and of those who’d be interested towards the third meaning of hump ahead.
But before that, here’s a category-A recommendation. If you’re interested in reading a small story, I have one just for you. My good friend Narayanswamy has authored a story called The chicken that never crossed the road. Any aspiring writer can take away several key elements from this story – just in the way the simple idea is narrated and how it strikes a chord with the reader. Good job, Dobby!
In playing the devil's advocate, I have taken hump ahead to reflect on some of the flaws in the cigarette snipper that were overlooked at the time of design. This is based on feedback I’ve been getting from a couple of smokers; and it’s meaningful enough that I share it with you.
Here are the points in no particular order of importance:
1) There’s always the cigar cutter. They come small and handy. Big deal if they’re meant for cigars. I’m sure the cigarettes won’t mind it.
2) For someone trying to quit smoking, he needs to_feel_the_pain of throwing away half a cigarette. That’ll remind him that he’s throwing away money and hence stands a far better chance to quit smoking out of guilt (but not all cases, of course)than by snipping and saving for an hour later.
3) A smoker friend demonstrated that you can actually put off the burning end by crushing it against a wall without damaging the remaining portion. That was some ignorance on the inventor’s part!
4) Competitive products like nicotine gum, nicotine sticks and so on make more sense than a snipper and lighter with petrol tank in your pocket.
You’re welcome to append to this list. But I’m not sure if anyone’s got the time and mind space to pick faults with a cigarette snipper that'll never see the light of the day.
But before that, here’s a category-A recommendation. If you’re interested in reading a small story, I have one just for you. My good friend Narayanswamy has authored a story called The chicken that never crossed the road. Any aspiring writer can take away several key elements from this story – just in the way the simple idea is narrated and how it strikes a chord with the reader. Good job, Dobby!
In playing the devil's advocate, I have taken hump ahead to reflect on some of the flaws in the cigarette snipper that were overlooked at the time of design. This is based on feedback I’ve been getting from a couple of smokers; and it’s meaningful enough that I share it with you.
Here are the points in no particular order of importance:
1) There’s always the cigar cutter. They come small and handy. Big deal if they’re meant for cigars. I’m sure the cigarettes won’t mind it.
2) For someone trying to quit smoking, he needs to_feel_the_pain of throwing away half a cigarette. That’ll remind him that he’s throwing away money and hence stands a far better chance to quit smoking out of guilt (but not all cases, of course)than by snipping and saving for an hour later.
3) A smoker friend demonstrated that you can actually put off the burning end by crushing it against a wall without damaging the remaining portion. That was some ignorance on the inventor’s part!
4) Competitive products like nicotine gum, nicotine sticks and so on make more sense than a snipper and lighter with petrol tank in your pocket.
You’re welcome to append to this list. But I’m not sure if anyone’s got the time and mind space to pick faults with a cigarette snipper that'll never see the light of the day.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Step aside chicken (It's now time for the cow to cross the road)
National Law School Bangalore’s annual rock show Strawberry Fields happened yesterday. I believe the whole show was put together in a relatively short period of time, and what should have happened in the month of January happened in November. A pretty good show given this fact!
The contest round wasn’t all that fun: very few good bands and a hoard of mediocre stuff. Parikrama’s segment was what everyone was there for. This certainly wasn’t one of their better days – Smoke on the water or Highway to Hell or even The Trooper wasn’t really at their usual best, but hey, they got energy man! (If you’re brushing shoulders with Iron Maiden every now and then, why wouldn’t you have energy?) And the crowds loved it.
While driving to Strawberry Fields last evening, we were talking about the ‘any minute now’ Indian Formula 1 GP. We were joking about how there will be humps and potholes on the track to give the race an Indian flavor. Maybe there’ll be cattle crossing the track. Alonso would probably have to pause and honk for the cows to get out of the way. Take it further from there.
But in all of this humour lies an opportunity for advertising and eyeball grabbing. Think of it. A cow is crossing the track. Chances are the cameras will draw away their focus from the pole position driver and focus on the cow instead. I mean, in a sport as exciting as F-1, in how many races would you find a cow half way down the 3rd corner? Not many, in my diagnosis. So the cameras would stay focused on the cow until the marshals took it out. They’d be playing re-runs of the clip on the after-race shows on all the sports channels. Times NOW would put it on breaking news, and the news reader would scream her throat hoarse talking about the cow in the race. And since Times NOW played it, every other son and his mother who owns a news channel would play it several times too. Think about the front page of all the dailies on Monday morning. Or if not the front page, at least the sports section. Not to forget the youtube videos. And the facebook community of ‘I love the cow that crossed the track’.
As the brand manager of a company, this cow would be worth more to me than the brand power of David Beckham, Brad Pitt, Tiger Woods and Shah Rukh Khan all rolled into one package. I’d be looking to get my company’s logo emblazoned in big bold font on the cow’s back and adding some serious equity to my brand value.
Now tell me, do you need an MBA to come up with this? I don’t think so.
The contest round wasn’t all that fun: very few good bands and a hoard of mediocre stuff. Parikrama’s segment was what everyone was there for. This certainly wasn’t one of their better days – Smoke on the water or Highway to Hell or even The Trooper wasn’t really at their usual best, but hey, they got energy man! (If you’re brushing shoulders with Iron Maiden every now and then, why wouldn’t you have energy?) And the crowds loved it.
While driving to Strawberry Fields last evening, we were talking about the ‘any minute now’ Indian Formula 1 GP. We were joking about how there will be humps and potholes on the track to give the race an Indian flavor. Maybe there’ll be cattle crossing the track. Alonso would probably have to pause and honk for the cows to get out of the way. Take it further from there.
But in all of this humour lies an opportunity for advertising and eyeball grabbing. Think of it. A cow is crossing the track. Chances are the cameras will draw away their focus from the pole position driver and focus on the cow instead. I mean, in a sport as exciting as F-1, in how many races would you find a cow half way down the 3rd corner? Not many, in my diagnosis. So the cameras would stay focused on the cow until the marshals took it out. They’d be playing re-runs of the clip on the after-race shows on all the sports channels. Times NOW would put it on breaking news, and the news reader would scream her throat hoarse talking about the cow in the race. And since Times NOW played it, every other son and his mother who owns a news channel would play it several times too. Think about the front page of all the dailies on Monday morning. Or if not the front page, at least the sports section. Not to forget the youtube videos. And the facebook community of ‘I love the cow that crossed the track’.
As the brand manager of a company, this cow would be worth more to me than the brand power of David Beckham, Brad Pitt, Tiger Woods and Shah Rukh Khan all rolled into one package. I’d be looking to get my company’s logo emblazoned in big bold font on the cow’s back and adding some serious equity to my brand value.
Now tell me, do you need an MBA to come up with this? I don’t think so.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
To help you quit smoking
Since moving back to my lovely hometown of Bangalore, I’ve seen myself making several dozen trips to Hallimanne on a weekly basis for the legendary coffee they serve. Off late, we’ve (Anoop included) cut our coffee intake by half. So instead of buying a cup of coffee each, we just buy one and split it. Here’s the funny thing: the feel-good-factor (FGF) after half a cup is the same as that after one full cup. When I buy one full cup of coffee, the caffeine addiction part is satisfied in the first couple of sips, and then I’m just drinking the rest to finish it off.
If you’re a smoker, I’m sure the same analogy extends to you as well with respect to nicotine. The first couple of drags sends in the buzz, and then you’re just finishing off what’s remaining, right? If you think about it, cigarettes which are half the length as the ones currently available in the market would be good enough for the average smoker to satisfy his one time nicotine cravings. Hence, if you smoke 5 stubs a day, only about 2 to 2 and half of those are actually satisfying your urge while the remaining is merely accelerating the lung damage.
So here’s something I’ve been thinking about. It’s called a Cigarette Snipper. The idea is that of a device which lets you snip off the ashes and the burning edge and retains the remaining un-burnt part. So, you may now smoke the same cigarette in two sittings (or standings or which ever way you like it).
Let’s say that the average smoker finishes a cigarette in about 10 drags. Using the cigarette snipper, he ‘cuts off’ the fire after 5 drags and saves the remaining for the next smoke.
About the device:
Look at the image here.
The device has three main parts: The Snipper compartment contains the snipper which could effectively be a small pair of scissors, or a set of blades aligned to face each other. The Cigarette Holder is where you store the remaining portion that you haven’t smoked. There’s provision for a lighter to make the whole deal seem complete.
You could even get a key ring fitted at one of the ends, and have cool colors and graphics on it so you’re convinced that as someone trying to quit to smoking, such a device will never embarrass you when you pull it out the next time you’re at a party.
Send me e-mail to order your personalized patent-pending Cigarette Snipper today.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Rerun
Anyone that has ever written so much as a leave letter tends to go back and read what they've written.
You kept reminding me about a post that I put up in my first days of blogging in mid-2007. So I did go back and read it; and like anything old, this one too still smells fresh!
Here's Gooble-de-gook revisited:
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 en queued five of your favorite 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 blond. 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.
You kept reminding me about a post that I put up in my first days of blogging in mid-2007. So I did go back and read it; and like anything old, this one too still smells fresh!
Here's Gooble-de-gook revisited:
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 en queued five of your favorite 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 blond. 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.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Wikitheria
A couple of years ago, my good friend and namesake Arjun Shankar had coined the term wikitheria: a condition by which a person knows it all because he (she) has been spending too much time on wikipedia. This term sprung out of necessity since we had this particular someone in our hostel who knew all about guitar harmonics and how the C-chord synced in with the G-minor (or what ever) but had never held a guitar even once.
Most objects around us have a theoretical side to them as well as a practical side. It’s good to know all about the anti-oxidants and vitamins that an apple contains; still better to preach that one a day keeps the doctor away. Right, but how about actually DOING it? I mean, eating an apple a day continuously say for a whole month and realizing it’s benefits before barking theory.
In its pure sense, wikitheria is not a bad thing. It’s just what it is. I’m not opposed to being a walking encyclopedia. But the prophecy of preaching prophecies when one has no idea how it’s applied sure is turning off. I have been watching a fabulous video about legends from the sporting world: my daily dose of motivation. One of the featured champions is the Olympic Gold medal gymnast Nadia Comaneci, originator of the ‘perfect 10’. The video mentions that this girl put in 16 hours of practice and spent 4 hours learning theory each day.
How many people do we know who fit into the mould all f**t and no sh**? And how many of us are amongst them?
Time for a change. My apologies.
Most objects around us have a theoretical side to them as well as a practical side. It’s good to know all about the anti-oxidants and vitamins that an apple contains; still better to preach that one a day keeps the doctor away. Right, but how about actually DOING it? I mean, eating an apple a day continuously say for a whole month and realizing it’s benefits before barking theory.
In its pure sense, wikitheria is not a bad thing. It’s just what it is. I’m not opposed to being a walking encyclopedia. But the prophecy of preaching prophecies when one has no idea how it’s applied sure is turning off. I have been watching a fabulous video about legends from the sporting world: my daily dose of motivation. One of the featured champions is the Olympic Gold medal gymnast Nadia Comaneci, originator of the ‘perfect 10’. The video mentions that this girl put in 16 hours of practice and spent 4 hours learning theory each day.
How many people do we know who fit into the mould all f**t and no sh**? And how many of us are amongst them?
Time for a change. My apologies.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Searching within Confined Spaces
This is a guest blog from Shweta. I tried highlighting your name and attaching your blog's URL to it, but sadly you refuse to keep one! But for you're 25th b'day, this is the least i can do :-)
This one's called Searching within Confined Spaces
For sometime, I knew I had misplaced something. I didn’t exactly know how or when or what exactly I had misplaced. I was sure it wasn’t an old diary or a faded photo album either. All I knew that that it was somewhere waiting to be rediscovered in my room.
Take a quick peek into my room. This room will tell you nothing about me. Usual bare essentials of a table, chair, phone, lights, ceiling fan, an a/c, a clock, bed stacked with pillows, couple of open book racks and a closed wardrobe exists. Yet, everything in this room will tell you about me. I’m a modern day minimalist. I claim to be organized. To tell you the truth, in this tribe of 'minimalist', we are trained to shove all 'unwanted' things into lofts placed close to the ceiling. So, I thought that this confined space high above may get me to the stuff that I had misplaced.
Perched on a ladder and armed with a duster, I decided to examine this mysterious corner of my room. Out came the rightful occupants i.e. some sleepy and annoyed cockroaches. A little further, was a mass of odds and ends either waiting be disposed, sold, scrapped or just waiting for something. Yep… Dog-eared books, accounts ledger notebooks, School and College annual year books were all stacked. I'm sure I had good reason for retaining some question papers, rusted geometry boxes with cracked protractors and Reynolds pens with no refills. My erstwhile favorite 28 inch faded Lee jeans was sitting pretty in between this mess. I seem to have an amazing collection of R.D. Burman cassettes that I had wanted to convert into CDs. Oh, of course… school bags, college t-shirts, ties, belts, bags, cheap jewelry, friendship bands, key chains, study guides, old photo albums, some signed t-shirts, a tennis racquet, a dice…too many things…
My attention soon went toward a Philips music cardboard box. I opened that to find a box full of old greeting cards that I had received and treasured carefully over the last two decades without allowing my parents to throw it. The variety of shapes, sizes, and colors of greeting cards across occasions were amazing.
In that heady jumble, out came cards in no particular order. I found cards received on birthdays gone by, on getting my first period, on wishes for exams to be written, congratulatory cards on surviving exams written, becoming a teen, on completing my teen-hood, on recovery wishes for some sickness or the other. I even found couple of cards that was sent only because some one remembered me! In between card covers bearing foreign stamps, I found the first ever valentine card received by me. Out came a crumpled disjointed heart shaped piece of paper. It had the golden words “If roses are meant to be red, and violets are meant to be blue...' Now, the sad part is, the other part of the heart seems to have disappeared under the weight of time and other cards. I searched hard for the missing piece of paper. It was of no use. I tried hard remembering who the sender was...I'm sorry. I just couldn’t.
Yet, I smiled. I discovered what I was in search of… MEMORIES...amazing ones...In these greeting cards, I found trails of time celebrating some of the best and the worst moments gone by. Over the years, each card had some kind of personal note that acknowledged the trials and tribulations in my life time from various well wishers. In this confined space, did my search end...In these greeting cards, did I find what I craved for…Memories that made me realize that my 25th year of existence on planet Earth has not been all that uneventful… It’s been good…Damn good! Happy Birthday to me!
This one's called Searching within Confined Spaces
For sometime, I knew I had misplaced something. I didn’t exactly know how or when or what exactly I had misplaced. I was sure it wasn’t an old diary or a faded photo album either. All I knew that that it was somewhere waiting to be rediscovered in my room.
Take a quick peek into my room. This room will tell you nothing about me. Usual bare essentials of a table, chair, phone, lights, ceiling fan, an a/c, a clock, bed stacked with pillows, couple of open book racks and a closed wardrobe exists. Yet, everything in this room will tell you about me. I’m a modern day minimalist. I claim to be organized. To tell you the truth, in this tribe of 'minimalist', we are trained to shove all 'unwanted' things into lofts placed close to the ceiling. So, I thought that this confined space high above may get me to the stuff that I had misplaced.
Perched on a ladder and armed with a duster, I decided to examine this mysterious corner of my room. Out came the rightful occupants i.e. some sleepy and annoyed cockroaches. A little further, was a mass of odds and ends either waiting be disposed, sold, scrapped or just waiting for something. Yep… Dog-eared books, accounts ledger notebooks, School and College annual year books were all stacked. I'm sure I had good reason for retaining some question papers, rusted geometry boxes with cracked protractors and Reynolds pens with no refills. My erstwhile favorite 28 inch faded Lee jeans was sitting pretty in between this mess. I seem to have an amazing collection of R.D. Burman cassettes that I had wanted to convert into CDs. Oh, of course… school bags, college t-shirts, ties, belts, bags, cheap jewelry, friendship bands, key chains, study guides, old photo albums, some signed t-shirts, a tennis racquet, a dice…too many things…
My attention soon went toward a Philips music cardboard box. I opened that to find a box full of old greeting cards that I had received and treasured carefully over the last two decades without allowing my parents to throw it. The variety of shapes, sizes, and colors of greeting cards across occasions were amazing.
In that heady jumble, out came cards in no particular order. I found cards received on birthdays gone by, on getting my first period, on wishes for exams to be written, congratulatory cards on surviving exams written, becoming a teen, on completing my teen-hood, on recovery wishes for some sickness or the other. I even found couple of cards that was sent only because some one remembered me! In between card covers bearing foreign stamps, I found the first ever valentine card received by me. Out came a crumpled disjointed heart shaped piece of paper. It had the golden words “If roses are meant to be red, and violets are meant to be blue...' Now, the sad part is, the other part of the heart seems to have disappeared under the weight of time and other cards. I searched hard for the missing piece of paper. It was of no use. I tried hard remembering who the sender was...I'm sorry. I just couldn’t.
Yet, I smiled. I discovered what I was in search of… MEMORIES...amazing ones...In these greeting cards, I found trails of time celebrating some of the best and the worst moments gone by. Over the years, each card had some kind of personal note that acknowledged the trials and tribulations in my life time from various well wishers. In this confined space, did my search end...In these greeting cards, did I find what I craved for…Memories that made me realize that my 25th year of existence on planet Earth has not been all that uneventful… It’s been good…Damn good! Happy Birthday to me!
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
The biggest landmine in sports
Argentina just squeaked into the last flight leaving to South Africa for the 2010 World Cup. Phew, what a relief!
The curse and blessing of the Argentinean team has been its coach, El Diego. A blessing for obvious reasons and a curse because it has now been laid out bare to the world that a good player need not always be a good coach. In fact, some the best coaches in the world in sports were seldom good players. Alex Ferguson and Arsene Wenger had forgettable football careers as players. Jean Todt peaked as co-driver in his racing days, never really achieving anything significant during his stint as a (co)driver. On the other side of the spectrum are cases of players-par-excellence turned coaches-par-nightmare: Kapil Dev, Alain Prost, and Diego Maradona until recently to name a few.
To succeed as a player requires a different skill set than it does to succeed as a coach. For long, I often wondered that if Sachin was the best batsman in the world, why was Anshuman Gaekwad his coach? I had never even heard of Gaekwad’s batting prowess. Or why did a Tiger Woods or a Roger Federer need a coach? Being a coach means bringing out the best in a player, or a team. That often involves placing belief, trust and transferring motivation and bringing about the discipline to develop the ‘balls’ to go out there and succeed. These things need a third party to be involved even with the best players on earth. The lack of understanding of this concept is probably the biggest landmine in all of sports.
Up on skimming through a couple of books recently, my friend noticed that baseball and basketball coaches in the US were well respected, often quoted and remembered even after their prime years. Similar was the case with European football coaches. Maybe in India, we should start doing the same too. Our coaches (only the deserving ones), in any sport, need to be recognized way beyond what they get in the deal now. And we may just have solved one of the problems in the eternal question: “Why can’t a nation of a billion bring home a few Olympic Golds.”
The curse and blessing of the Argentinean team has been its coach, El Diego. A blessing for obvious reasons and a curse because it has now been laid out bare to the world that a good player need not always be a good coach. In fact, some the best coaches in the world in sports were seldom good players. Alex Ferguson and Arsene Wenger had forgettable football careers as players. Jean Todt peaked as co-driver in his racing days, never really achieving anything significant during his stint as a (co)driver. On the other side of the spectrum are cases of players-par-excellence turned coaches-par-nightmare: Kapil Dev, Alain Prost, and Diego Maradona until recently to name a few.
To succeed as a player requires a different skill set than it does to succeed as a coach. For long, I often wondered that if Sachin was the best batsman in the world, why was Anshuman Gaekwad his coach? I had never even heard of Gaekwad’s batting prowess. Or why did a Tiger Woods or a Roger Federer need a coach? Being a coach means bringing out the best in a player, or a team. That often involves placing belief, trust and transferring motivation and bringing about the discipline to develop the ‘balls’ to go out there and succeed. These things need a third party to be involved even with the best players on earth. The lack of understanding of this concept is probably the biggest landmine in all of sports.
Up on skimming through a couple of books recently, my friend noticed that baseball and basketball coaches in the US were well respected, often quoted and remembered even after their prime years. Similar was the case with European football coaches. Maybe in India, we should start doing the same too. Our coaches (only the deserving ones), in any sport, need to be recognized way beyond what they get in the deal now. And we may just have solved one of the problems in the eternal question: “Why can’t a nation of a billion bring home a few Olympic Golds.”
Sunday, October 4, 2009
And then, you have these…
Here are two tales that I think you ought to know :-
How do you bring down the roof of a pub?
My friend was out with 5 other guys one evening in a pub in Mumbai. The evening was great with the music, the drinks and the crowd, until this lady walked in. She was extremely gorgeous, and carried the air around her that made many heads turn around. As she settled down on a stool at the bar, my friend and his pals couldn’t hold back from remarking to each other about the beautiful thing that had just walked in. One of them came up with the idea to pen some lines on a paper napkin and have it handed to this lady through the waiter.
The lines were well thought out and written out on a tissue. The waiter was called. The guys handed him the paper napkin, and along with a tip of Rs 30 asked the waiter to hand the message to the girl on the stool.
The waiter walked up to the girl. The guys held their breath eagerly at the table watching while the waiter approached the girl. He handed the paper to her while pointing that it came from the table ‘over there’. And then, he handed her the 30 rupees. He didn’t know it was his tip. He had assumed that the money was a part of the package.
I was told by my friend that the girl stormed to their table and yelled at them. It must have been loud, I guess.
How to make your way to the front of a concert crowd?
I think this idea, which comes from another friend, is pretty cool. This guy finds himself at the back of the crowd at an Iron Maiden concert. So how does he go to the front? He taught me a two step process that is worth sharing.
Firstly, as you start making your way through the initial rows from the back, there’s bound to be resistance from the people from letting you go forward. So, you say to them – “My girlfriend’s in the front”; and they let you move. But after a certain distance of advancing, the crowds become less forgiving and that line doesn’t work any longer. So here’s where step two comes in. You say to them - “My boyfriend’s in the front”; and they let you move.
He tells me they always oblige. Try it and tell me how it goes.
How do you bring down the roof of a pub?
My friend was out with 5 other guys one evening in a pub in Mumbai. The evening was great with the music, the drinks and the crowd, until this lady walked in. She was extremely gorgeous, and carried the air around her that made many heads turn around. As she settled down on a stool at the bar, my friend and his pals couldn’t hold back from remarking to each other about the beautiful thing that had just walked in. One of them came up with the idea to pen some lines on a paper napkin and have it handed to this lady through the waiter.
The lines were well thought out and written out on a tissue. The waiter was called. The guys handed him the paper napkin, and along with a tip of Rs 30 asked the waiter to hand the message to the girl on the stool.
The waiter walked up to the girl. The guys held their breath eagerly at the table watching while the waiter approached the girl. He handed the paper to her while pointing that it came from the table ‘over there’. And then, he handed her the 30 rupees. He didn’t know it was his tip. He had assumed that the money was a part of the package.
I was told by my friend that the girl stormed to their table and yelled at them. It must have been loud, I guess.
How to make your way to the front of a concert crowd?
I think this idea, which comes from another friend, is pretty cool. This guy finds himself at the back of the crowd at an Iron Maiden concert. So how does he go to the front? He taught me a two step process that is worth sharing.
Firstly, as you start making your way through the initial rows from the back, there’s bound to be resistance from the people from letting you go forward. So, you say to them – “My girlfriend’s in the front”; and they let you move. But after a certain distance of advancing, the crowds become less forgiving and that line doesn’t work any longer. So here’s where step two comes in. You say to them - “My boyfriend’s in the front”; and they let you move.
He tells me they always oblige. Try it and tell me how it goes.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
The world map
NASA’s Terra spacecraft has come out with a map showing the elevation of almost all the places on earth. Scientists believe that this is the most complete map of the world till date.
Check here.
There is something fascinating about the word map. We had a wall hanging of a giant world map at home when I was in primary and middle school. A world map on your wall is a great investment. Compared to a globe, the map is better in the sense that you get a single snapshot of the whole world in one view (unlike in a globe where you get to see only a portion)*.
Most of us have never been to a world map after we left school. I suggest you try it out: get out an atlas or google for a high resolution picture of the political map of the world and study it. It can be a very consuming activity.
*Footnote: List the differences between a map and a globe.
Check here.
There is something fascinating about the word map. We had a wall hanging of a giant world map at home when I was in primary and middle school. A world map on your wall is a great investment. Compared to a globe, the map is better in the sense that you get a single snapshot of the whole world in one view (unlike in a globe where you get to see only a portion)*.
Most of us have never been to a world map after we left school. I suggest you try it out: get out an atlas or google for a high resolution picture of the political map of the world and study it. It can be a very consuming activity.
*Footnote: List the differences between a map and a globe.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
A world of spiraling success
The chance of a third world war breaking out is remote. Read The World is Flat if you want to be convinced about this fact. Despite the supposed bad times that we are in economically, when you take account of the things around and as you zoom out, it is in fact not very hard to believe that the world as a whole is spawning on a path of self development. Technology is getting more sophisticated and life is in a way getting more comfortable, but the one thing that hasn’t changed is the human emotions and the way the mind works.
Our discussion here is about the domino effect that is created by the company a person keeps. By company, we imply those thoughts that fill a person’s mind in a given day. Like the saying goes- if you want to fly with the eagles, you’ve got to stop pecking with the hens. Who we hang around with and who we listen to is far too consequential that most of us hardly pay attention. One of the principles of personal success in any field as history has shown is to surround oneself with successful people. Group dynamics automatically ensures that an individual performs at a level close to that of his high performing peers.
Tracing back a well known fact, it is estimated that 1% of the world’s population controls close to 96% of the wealth on earth. Why is that we don’t have more than 1% doing this? The answer is association. If I could have a daily access to what is running though the head of Barrack Obama, or Roger Federer, I would be better positioned to think along the same lines and react like they would in circumstances. Association leads to a change in thinking, be it positive or negative. And what drives those thoughts is inspiration. If you got to spend a couple of minutes with a person you admire, you might probably come back feeling better. You would probably choose your actions differently from there on based on the inspiration you received from the person and not from the information you received in the form of advice.
Twitter, social networks, blogs and so on; the internet has put the 99% of the population in direct access with the 1%. There’s more unfiltered information coming though between the two camps that was unseen and unheard till recently. For instance, I can now follow my idol Shashi Tharoor and get into his mind through his tweets. Or I can understand at closer quarters what Aamir Khan is thinking through his blog. That inspiration drives the future. As more people start acting on that inspiration, and as success begins to breed success, it is but inevitable that we’ll see more wealth creators coming out. By the turn of 2050, that 1% could possibly become2%. In this way, the world has set itself up for a self perpetuating ride towards a brighter future thanks to the internet.
Our discussion here is about the domino effect that is created by the company a person keeps. By company, we imply those thoughts that fill a person’s mind in a given day. Like the saying goes- if you want to fly with the eagles, you’ve got to stop pecking with the hens. Who we hang around with and who we listen to is far too consequential that most of us hardly pay attention. One of the principles of personal success in any field as history has shown is to surround oneself with successful people. Group dynamics automatically ensures that an individual performs at a level close to that of his high performing peers.
Tracing back a well known fact, it is estimated that 1% of the world’s population controls close to 96% of the wealth on earth. Why is that we don’t have more than 1% doing this? The answer is association. If I could have a daily access to what is running though the head of Barrack Obama, or Roger Federer, I would be better positioned to think along the same lines and react like they would in circumstances. Association leads to a change in thinking, be it positive or negative. And what drives those thoughts is inspiration. If you got to spend a couple of minutes with a person you admire, you might probably come back feeling better. You would probably choose your actions differently from there on based on the inspiration you received from the person and not from the information you received in the form of advice.
Twitter, social networks, blogs and so on; the internet has put the 99% of the population in direct access with the 1%. There’s more unfiltered information coming though between the two camps that was unseen and unheard till recently. For instance, I can now follow my idol Shashi Tharoor and get into his mind through his tweets. Or I can understand at closer quarters what Aamir Khan is thinking through his blog. That inspiration drives the future. As more people start acting on that inspiration, and as success begins to breed success, it is but inevitable that we’ll see more wealth creators coming out. By the turn of 2050, that 1% could possibly become2%. In this way, the world has set itself up for a self perpetuating ride towards a brighter future thanks to the internet.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
A Home University
We are 5 of us living in an apartment in Chennai. After some tiring days of searching for houses that were more than just a hole-in-the-wall, we found a reasonably big and comfortable place to stay in Srinagar Colony, very close to Great Lakes Institute of Management. You must visit Srinagar Colony the next time you are in Chennai. This residential area is cut off from the hustle of the fast paced life of the city. The colony is typified with a temple and a banyan tree, and an upscale crowd that goes on jogs each morning in their Nike cut offs. Unlike us bachelors, the families around us are well settled and quite well-off. We are glad to be living next door to some influential names in south Indian cinema, theater, academia and politics.
Many of these families have kids that are growing up, in the age group of 12 to 21. Like any parent, the average parent in Srinagar colony would want their kid to excel in studies and in certain extra curricular activities as well. But the well-to-do families would also be willing to pay just as much a price for it too, for they understand that it isn’t wise to nickel dime good coaching. So Kashe and I got talking about setting up a Home University for these kids. Here’s the crux of the idea:
Like I said before, we are 5 of us living in 2 bedroom house. Now each of us is good in certain areas. For instance, one of us can speak and write Hindi very well. One other person is good at yoga and stretching exercises. Another one is good at cooking. Like this, by combining the areas of expertise of 5 of us, there is roughly about 15 areas that we could teach kids aged 12+. Classes would start every morning at 6. The yoga teacher would handle the yoga classes in the hall. The cooking classes would go on simultaneously in the kitchen. Math and French would be taught in each of the rooms respectively. Here’s the tentative list of subjects our home university is offering currently:
1) Hindi – Read, write and speak
2) Physics, Chemistry and Maths
3) Programming in C, C++ and Java
4) Basic Lessons in Salsa
5) Cooking
6) Basic Housekeeping for guys
7) Pranayam, Yoga and light exercises
8) Football
9) Riding geared bikes (only for valid license holders)
10) English – Write and speak fluently
11) Handling household electrical appliances
12) French – Read, write and speak (on Sundays only, special visiting faculty)
13) Western Vocals
14) Time Management
15) Geography
If you’d like to excel in any of the areas specified here, contact the marketing executive that is me. We can work out a package for you.
We are still working on a name for our home university. But we do have a punch line for the time being: “One school. Many skills”
Many of these families have kids that are growing up, in the age group of 12 to 21. Like any parent, the average parent in Srinagar colony would want their kid to excel in studies and in certain extra curricular activities as well. But the well-to-do families would also be willing to pay just as much a price for it too, for they understand that it isn’t wise to nickel dime good coaching. So Kashe and I got talking about setting up a Home University for these kids. Here’s the crux of the idea:
Like I said before, we are 5 of us living in 2 bedroom house. Now each of us is good in certain areas. For instance, one of us can speak and write Hindi very well. One other person is good at yoga and stretching exercises. Another one is good at cooking. Like this, by combining the areas of expertise of 5 of us, there is roughly about 15 areas that we could teach kids aged 12+. Classes would start every morning at 6. The yoga teacher would handle the yoga classes in the hall. The cooking classes would go on simultaneously in the kitchen. Math and French would be taught in each of the rooms respectively. Here’s the tentative list of subjects our home university is offering currently:
1) Hindi – Read, write and speak
2) Physics, Chemistry and Maths
3) Programming in C, C++ and Java
4) Basic Lessons in Salsa
5) Cooking
6) Basic Housekeeping for guys
7) Pranayam, Yoga and light exercises
8) Football
9) Riding geared bikes (only for valid license holders)
10) English – Write and speak fluently
11) Handling household electrical appliances
12) French – Read, write and speak (on Sundays only, special visiting faculty)
13) Western Vocals
14) Time Management
15) Geography
If you’d like to excel in any of the areas specified here, contact the marketing executive that is me. We can work out a package for you.
We are still working on a name for our home university. But we do have a punch line for the time being: “One school. Many skills”
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
The calf syndrome
Thanks Ramya for the engaging conversation last evening. I’m sure Accenture wouldn’t be too pleased to read this! But nonetheless, you won yourself a surprise gift for the surprise idea.
I’m looking for the answer that settles this question once and for all: what is the right age to enter the workforce?
If that question is leading you to think in the direction of child labor, pause. What’s running through my head after close to a year in the corporate world is more or less what almost every other kid of my age is thinking, which is: work life sucks. I want to go back to college.
Let’s call this the calf syndrome. If you’ve seen a new born calf, you’ll know that anytime it tries to stand on its fours, the legs slip away in the opposite directions and give way. The calf lands with a thud and stays comfortable sitting. Until the legs stiffen up and get strong, the calf cannot do much but to stand and fall again.
The first year (at least) out of college into the workplace is like that in my opinion. You are trying to find your feet. Suddenly, the world looks bigger and more unforgiving than you initially anticipated. You come to realize that the kid in class who told you that rules are meant to be broken wasn’t quite right, after all. You get your Form 16 and you have no clue what it even means. All of a sudden, that thing called independence is no-where to be seen. For those of you still in college, you’ve been warned.
You know where I’m going with this. Close your eyes for a moment to all those souls who are crying to get back to college.
I’m reminded of an old joke that did the rounds: What’s common to an engineering college and a public toilet? Answer: The ones outside want to get in and the ones inside want to get out.
You can substitute ‘engineering college’ in that joke with ‘corporate’. And if you’re a fan of Shawshank Redemption, the calf syndrome lasts till you get institutionalized. How long would that be?
Depends.
I’m looking for the answer that settles this question once and for all: what is the right age to enter the workforce?
If that question is leading you to think in the direction of child labor, pause. What’s running through my head after close to a year in the corporate world is more or less what almost every other kid of my age is thinking, which is: work life sucks. I want to go back to college.
Let’s call this the calf syndrome. If you’ve seen a new born calf, you’ll know that anytime it tries to stand on its fours, the legs slip away in the opposite directions and give way. The calf lands with a thud and stays comfortable sitting. Until the legs stiffen up and get strong, the calf cannot do much but to stand and fall again.
The first year (at least) out of college into the workplace is like that in my opinion. You are trying to find your feet. Suddenly, the world looks bigger and more unforgiving than you initially anticipated. You come to realize that the kid in class who told you that rules are meant to be broken wasn’t quite right, after all. You get your Form 16 and you have no clue what it even means. All of a sudden, that thing called independence is no-where to be seen. For those of you still in college, you’ve been warned.
You know where I’m going with this. Close your eyes for a moment to all those souls who are crying to get back to college.
I’m reminded of an old joke that did the rounds: What’s common to an engineering college and a public toilet? Answer: The ones outside want to get in and the ones inside want to get out.
You can substitute ‘engineering college’ in that joke with ‘corporate’. And if you’re a fan of Shawshank Redemption, the calf syndrome lasts till you get institutionalized. How long would that be?
Depends.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Always grateful, but never enough
My Principal in high school taught us chemistry. Besides the Aufbau principle of how electrons fill into the atomic sub-shells, I remember one other thing she told us. It was on our graduation day and I quote her “The purpose of an education is not to compete with the other person; but rather, it is about competing with oneself”. How boring and clichéd is that statement? Very.
But how important and significant is it? Very.
In his blog, my friend Sumeet talks about an inner struggle. He describes his constant search for perfection in anything he does, or in anything he seeks. A part of the brain is constantly scanning and probing around to show each of us why that guy or girl is better than us. Sumeet goes on to describe how we live our lives by measuring ourselves with our peers. Or what the world popularly knows as keeping-up-with-the-Joneses. A key takeaway from his article for me was the line “i myself think of many things i have not and i am not. it brings a feeling of discontentment towards quality of life in me …”. This line packs in everything that I was looking to tell my audience on this blog.
Society teaches us to operate from a win-lose paradigm - that in order for me to win, someone needs to lose; that there are only so many seats available and there are more people in the race than there are seats available. In a nut shell, we are told from day one that there is a ‘lack of’ resources in this world. Stats are all over the place showing how only a fraction of the people who appear for the IIT/IIM entrance exams clear them. A kid comes home from school with the report card, and the mother asks “How much did Karthik get? How much did Richa get?” The kid must have got 4th rank, while Karthik and Richa stood 1st and 2nd respectively. The mother doesn’t appreciate the fact that her kid outperformed 35 others in class. She instead chooses to focus on the fact that her kid lags behind 3 others. So there on, the kid is constantly operating from a feeling of ‘not enough’. And this remains until the ‘not enough’ becomes a part of the gene. That kid could be you. That kid could be me. This is the kid that moves through life with a sense of zero accomplishment even when that may not be the case.
How is this problem fixed?
I heard this somewhere and it made sense to me. This is not about thinking positive. It is about working with a sense of gratitude; and gratitude is a word I go back to very often. That is to say you are thankful for whatever you have now, but we just can’t stagnate here. Always grateful, but never enough.
“Fantastic that I outperformed 35 others in class. Superb! But how can I get to number 1?”
And mom, when the child falls, you don’t shoot the shoot the wounded.
But how important and significant is it? Very.
In his blog, my friend Sumeet talks about an inner struggle. He describes his constant search for perfection in anything he does, or in anything he seeks. A part of the brain is constantly scanning and probing around to show each of us why that guy or girl is better than us. Sumeet goes on to describe how we live our lives by measuring ourselves with our peers. Or what the world popularly knows as keeping-up-with-the-Joneses. A key takeaway from his article for me was the line “i myself think of many things i have not and i am not. it brings a feeling of discontentment towards quality of life in me …”. This line packs in everything that I was looking to tell my audience on this blog.
Society teaches us to operate from a win-lose paradigm - that in order for me to win, someone needs to lose; that there are only so many seats available and there are more people in the race than there are seats available. In a nut shell, we are told from day one that there is a ‘lack of’ resources in this world. Stats are all over the place showing how only a fraction of the people who appear for the IIT/IIM entrance exams clear them. A kid comes home from school with the report card, and the mother asks “How much did Karthik get? How much did Richa get?” The kid must have got 4th rank, while Karthik and Richa stood 1st and 2nd respectively. The mother doesn’t appreciate the fact that her kid outperformed 35 others in class. She instead chooses to focus on the fact that her kid lags behind 3 others. So there on, the kid is constantly operating from a feeling of ‘not enough’. And this remains until the ‘not enough’ becomes a part of the gene. That kid could be you. That kid could be me. This is the kid that moves through life with a sense of zero accomplishment even when that may not be the case.
How is this problem fixed?
I heard this somewhere and it made sense to me. This is not about thinking positive. It is about working with a sense of gratitude; and gratitude is a word I go back to very often. That is to say you are thankful for whatever you have now, but we just can’t stagnate here. Always grateful, but never enough.
“Fantastic that I outperformed 35 others in class. Superb! But how can I get to number 1?”
And mom, when the child falls, you don’t shoot the shoot the wounded.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Malleswaram on a Platter - P2
This is the second part of the series that brings to you the best eateries in and around Malleswaram, Bangalore.
Check here for Part 1.
6) Halli Mane: Opened in 2003 in 3rd cross on Sampige Road in the same place where the legendary Planters’ Coffee Home once stood. The ancient restaurant closed down soon after Amrith Café opened across the street. A couple of years later, Halli Mane (meaning Rural Restaurant) opened with all its marketing paraphernalia and in a few months brought Amrith to it’s knees. This place is best known for some classic Karnataka delicacies like akki roti, raagi roti and raagi mudhe. The bonda soup started out very promisingly but has dropped down a couple of notches in recent times. But you really want to go here only for one thing: coffee. That’s it.
7) Juice Kade at IISC Gymkhana: Extremely popular with the folks inside IISc, obviously. It is located at the foot of the yellow overhead bridge on the road connecting Malleswaram to Yeshwantpur, inside the IISc compound. Entry is through any of the IISc gates. Every single juice is shockingly tasty and is prepared under hygienic conditions. The milk shakes are a bit disappointing though. But the low prices of the stuff here is worth making the trip for. Here’s what you do: get a glass of juice and climb the steps of the yellow bridge. Walk up to the middle of the connecting platform. Look below as the buses, cars and tempos zip by beneath your feet and freak yourself out.
8) Iyengar’s Bakery: While ‘Iyengar’s Bakery’ need not necessarily refer to any one particular bakery, the place of interest here is the one adjacent to Asha Food Camp on 11th Cross Malleswaram. It’s not uncommon to see a string of Iyengar's Bakeries around the city and this often leads the newcomer into believing that a certain ambitious entrepreneur with a second name ‘Iyengar’ started a franchise business of bakeries around Bangalore. That’s not quite true. The Iyengar's bakery in Malleswaram may be completely unrelated to the one in Basavangudi or to the one in Banaswadi.
Coming back to our place on 11th cross, there’s whole lot of things the guys excels at making- dilpasand, khara bun, honey cake and benne biscuit to name a few. But your trip to the bakery has been futile if you didn’t add rusk to your basket. 250 grams, 25 bucks: that’s all it takes to rock-n-roll. Plus filter coffee from Cothas for the rusk to bathe in.
9) Cothas Coffee: Located on Sampige Road opposite to the bus stand on 10th Cross is the headquarters of Cothas Coffee, the authentic and original south Indian coffee. Other coffee brands can take a shower. You want to ask the shop keeper for the Home Blend variety. If I’m not wrong, it’s 20% chicory.
10) Bhagyalakshmi Ghulkand: (Credit: Narayanaswamy). One-of-a-kind store that sells all the varities of ghulkand. Ghulkand is a sweet item made from extracts of rose petals and is eaten with butter. Yum! This little store is located at Malleswaram circle at the junction of the underpass (what was earlier the traffic signal, for those of you who haven’t been here in some time). Ask for the dry fruits with ice cream version of gulkand. Good stuff. And then, pack some for home because you’ll need it.
(to be continued)
Check here for Part 1.
6) Halli Mane: Opened in 2003 in 3rd cross on Sampige Road in the same place where the legendary Planters’ Coffee Home once stood. The ancient restaurant closed down soon after Amrith Café opened across the street. A couple of years later, Halli Mane (meaning Rural Restaurant) opened with all its marketing paraphernalia and in a few months brought Amrith to it’s knees. This place is best known for some classic Karnataka delicacies like akki roti, raagi roti and raagi mudhe. The bonda soup started out very promisingly but has dropped down a couple of notches in recent times. But you really want to go here only for one thing: coffee. That’s it.
7) Juice Kade at IISC Gymkhana: Extremely popular with the folks inside IISc, obviously. It is located at the foot of the yellow overhead bridge on the road connecting Malleswaram to Yeshwantpur, inside the IISc compound. Entry is through any of the IISc gates. Every single juice is shockingly tasty and is prepared under hygienic conditions. The milk shakes are a bit disappointing though. But the low prices of the stuff here is worth making the trip for. Here’s what you do: get a glass of juice and climb the steps of the yellow bridge. Walk up to the middle of the connecting platform. Look below as the buses, cars and tempos zip by beneath your feet and freak yourself out.
8) Iyengar’s Bakery: While ‘Iyengar’s Bakery’ need not necessarily refer to any one particular bakery, the place of interest here is the one adjacent to Asha Food Camp on 11th Cross Malleswaram. It’s not uncommon to see a string of Iyengar's Bakeries around the city and this often leads the newcomer into believing that a certain ambitious entrepreneur with a second name ‘Iyengar’ started a franchise business of bakeries around Bangalore. That’s not quite true. The Iyengar's bakery in Malleswaram may be completely unrelated to the one in Basavangudi or to the one in Banaswadi.
Coming back to our place on 11th cross, there’s whole lot of things the guys excels at making- dilpasand, khara bun, honey cake and benne biscuit to name a few. But your trip to the bakery has been futile if you didn’t add rusk to your basket. 250 grams, 25 bucks: that’s all it takes to rock-n-roll. Plus filter coffee from Cothas for the rusk to bathe in.
9) Cothas Coffee: Located on Sampige Road opposite to the bus stand on 10th Cross is the headquarters of Cothas Coffee, the authentic and original south Indian coffee. Other coffee brands can take a shower. You want to ask the shop keeper for the Home Blend variety. If I’m not wrong, it’s 20% chicory.
10) Bhagyalakshmi Ghulkand: (Credit: Narayanaswamy). One-of-a-kind store that sells all the varities of ghulkand. Ghulkand is a sweet item made from extracts of rose petals and is eaten with butter. Yum! This little store is located at Malleswaram circle at the junction of the underpass (what was earlier the traffic signal, for those of you who haven’t been here in some time). Ask for the dry fruits with ice cream version of gulkand. Good stuff. And then, pack some for home because you’ll need it.
(to be continued)
Monday, June 8, 2009
It’s all in the blood
While Malleswaram sits still on a platter, here’s a small diversion before we get back to eateries that serve good food and don’t rip people off.
The theme for today’s post is about habits – specifically those that have come down the family tree because no one really bothered to stop and ask why. My grandmother, like grandparents of many of us, grew up in some pretty tough times. It was just around the time of independence and growing up on a very limited income was a challenge. Money and resources around the house in general were mostly in a shortfall. This meant that every food item or every piece of clothing had to be utilized sparingly and to the fullest extent possible.
Such was the case when the household bought milk each morning. Grandma would transfer the milk to a vessel on the stove, and the one containing the milk initially was washed well with a small quantity of water and later poured into the second vessel containing the remaining milk. This was done to ensure that not a drop of milk was wasted. Time went by and the state milk corporation started delivering milk in packets of half liter and one liter. With Grandma, the same steps applied for the plastic packets. Cut, pour, rinse and pour. But there was an additional step this time. The packet would be washed thoroughly once again with water, and the water would be allowed to drain by the kitchen sink. The inside of the cover would dry in a few hours and the now redundant milk packet would go into a big yellow plastic bag along with milk packets from the previous weeks. This collection of milk packets went on for a month or two till the big yellow bag could hold no more. Grandpa would then dispose them off to the paperwala in exchange for 2 bucks.
This practice is prevalent in many south Indian households. Watching this in action, my mother sub consciously grew habituated to cleaning milk covers and collecting them. Years rolled on and the family finances stabilized to the point where drops of milk could be deemed insignificant to the monthly budget. But the habit stayed in the blood. We lived in a fabulous neighborhood, would eat out at fine restaurants, wore good clothes and even bought a PC when PCs at home were uncommon. Yet, my mother continued to clean and dry milk covers and collected them in exchange for 10 bucks from the paperwala: not because she wanted the 10 bucks, but because she was so programmed to what her mother did that she continued to do it without once stopping and questioning the relevance of the practice in present day.
I learnt the same from my mother in my early teens. I would cut open the packet of milk, pour it, rinse the cover, pour it again, clean it, dry it and stack it. It was in the DNA. Until one day in high school, I went to a friend’s house. His mother was not at home. We decided to whip up a yummy chocolate milk shake on that summer noon. My friend opened the fridge in the kitchen and got out the packet of milk. He poured the contents into a vessel. And right there before my eyes, he threw the cover in the dustbin. I almost had a heart attack at that young age. I guess his great grand parents were well to do.
The theme for today’s post is about habits – specifically those that have come down the family tree because no one really bothered to stop and ask why. My grandmother, like grandparents of many of us, grew up in some pretty tough times. It was just around the time of independence and growing up on a very limited income was a challenge. Money and resources around the house in general were mostly in a shortfall. This meant that every food item or every piece of clothing had to be utilized sparingly and to the fullest extent possible.
Such was the case when the household bought milk each morning. Grandma would transfer the milk to a vessel on the stove, and the one containing the milk initially was washed well with a small quantity of water and later poured into the second vessel containing the remaining milk. This was done to ensure that not a drop of milk was wasted. Time went by and the state milk corporation started delivering milk in packets of half liter and one liter. With Grandma, the same steps applied for the plastic packets. Cut, pour, rinse and pour. But there was an additional step this time. The packet would be washed thoroughly once again with water, and the water would be allowed to drain by the kitchen sink. The inside of the cover would dry in a few hours and the now redundant milk packet would go into a big yellow plastic bag along with milk packets from the previous weeks. This collection of milk packets went on for a month or two till the big yellow bag could hold no more. Grandpa would then dispose them off to the paperwala in exchange for 2 bucks.
This practice is prevalent in many south Indian households. Watching this in action, my mother sub consciously grew habituated to cleaning milk covers and collecting them. Years rolled on and the family finances stabilized to the point where drops of milk could be deemed insignificant to the monthly budget. But the habit stayed in the blood. We lived in a fabulous neighborhood, would eat out at fine restaurants, wore good clothes and even bought a PC when PCs at home were uncommon. Yet, my mother continued to clean and dry milk covers and collected them in exchange for 10 bucks from the paperwala: not because she wanted the 10 bucks, but because she was so programmed to what her mother did that she continued to do it without once stopping and questioning the relevance of the practice in present day.
I learnt the same from my mother in my early teens. I would cut open the packet of milk, pour it, rinse the cover, pour it again, clean it, dry it and stack it. It was in the DNA. Until one day in high school, I went to a friend’s house. His mother was not at home. We decided to whip up a yummy chocolate milk shake on that summer noon. My friend opened the fridge in the kitchen and got out the packet of milk. He poured the contents into a vessel. And right there before my eyes, he threw the cover in the dustbin. I almost had a heart attack at that young age. I guess his great grand parents were well to do.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Malleswaram on a Platter: P1
Everyone’s got to do their bit for the community. As a resident of Malleswaram, a brahminical south Indian neighborhood in Bangalore, for close to 18 years now, I do state with certain confidence that this is the place you ought to stop by for good food, street side markets and 30% offs on garments at Mummy Daddy’s.
I’m not much of a foodie, but here’s a list on some of the best eateries that you must visit in and around Malleswaram (in no particular order). Big thanks to Grandpa, Anoop, Navneet, Satya and Anu for all the visits.
1)CTR: Stands for Central Tiffin Room, though you’re not going to find that name displayed anywhere. The board at the entrance above the little green door opposite Malleswaram Association says Sri Sagar, and it’s here you’ll get to taste the Oscar award winning benne masale dose. The owner of the restaurant once worked as a waiter here, or at least that’s the popular belief. They don’t serve sambar until you ask for it. The big grandpa clock is said to be more than a hundred years old. Make sure you go here on an empty stomach. The best time to get here is on weekdays around 4 pm when it’s least crowded. This funny little place attracts page 3 socialites and paatis alike.
2)Janata: On the street parallel to CTR in 8th Cross Malleswaram Market is Hotel Janata. A household name in the locality, this restaurant is best known for its vade and sambar. The tea is also amongst the best you can taste around the city. Visit anytime other than Saturday evenings when the crowd usually spills on to the sidewalk.
3)Veena Stores: There’s a fan following on Orkut for Veena Stores. It’s a one of a kind place where steaming hot idlis are sold across the counter, and a little crowd is always gathered on the pavement on 15th Cross Margosa next to the MRF showroom. Get here early in the morning around 7:30 a.m after a brisk walk around 4th main to avoid crowds. This place is all about the chutney.
4)Adigas: This is the new baby on the block. Just up the street from Veena Stores across Sampige road is the relatively big Adigas Sampige. The coming of this restaurant proved beyond doubt that Bangaloreans are born foodies. Just when everyone thought that the eatery business in Malleswaram was saturated, Adigas came along and proved that there’s still plenty of room at the top. No dish that is worthy of exceptional praise, but the juice stall is alright.
5)The push cart guy on 11th Cross: The guy rocks! He is your master chef with his chaat on wheels in 11th cross Malleswaram. He usually stands in front of Visu Consultant/ Way to wealth. The place is not very crowded, but the stuff is good. Must try: Dahi Puri.
(to be continued)
I’m not much of a foodie, but here’s a list on some of the best eateries that you must visit in and around Malleswaram (in no particular order). Big thanks to Grandpa, Anoop, Navneet, Satya and Anu for all the visits.
1)CTR: Stands for Central Tiffin Room, though you’re not going to find that name displayed anywhere. The board at the entrance above the little green door opposite Malleswaram Association says Sri Sagar, and it’s here you’ll get to taste the Oscar award winning benne masale dose. The owner of the restaurant once worked as a waiter here, or at least that’s the popular belief. They don’t serve sambar until you ask for it. The big grandpa clock is said to be more than a hundred years old. Make sure you go here on an empty stomach. The best time to get here is on weekdays around 4 pm when it’s least crowded. This funny little place attracts page 3 socialites and paatis alike.
2)Janata: On the street parallel to CTR in 8th Cross Malleswaram Market is Hotel Janata. A household name in the locality, this restaurant is best known for its vade and sambar. The tea is also amongst the best you can taste around the city. Visit anytime other than Saturday evenings when the crowd usually spills on to the sidewalk.
3)Veena Stores: There’s a fan following on Orkut for Veena Stores. It’s a one of a kind place where steaming hot idlis are sold across the counter, and a little crowd is always gathered on the pavement on 15th Cross Margosa next to the MRF showroom. Get here early in the morning around 7:30 a.m after a brisk walk around 4th main to avoid crowds. This place is all about the chutney.
4)Adigas: This is the new baby on the block. Just up the street from Veena Stores across Sampige road is the relatively big Adigas Sampige. The coming of this restaurant proved beyond doubt that Bangaloreans are born foodies. Just when everyone thought that the eatery business in Malleswaram was saturated, Adigas came along and proved that there’s still plenty of room at the top. No dish that is worthy of exceptional praise, but the juice stall is alright.
5)The push cart guy on 11th Cross: The guy rocks! He is your master chef with his chaat on wheels in 11th cross Malleswaram. He usually stands in front of Visu Consultant/ Way to wealth. The place is not very crowded, but the stuff is good. Must try: Dahi Puri.
(to be continued)
Friday, May 22, 2009
What Barney Stinson forgot to add
“What’s that box for?”
“I’ve decided to start collecting cigarette boxes.”
“But why?”
“Generally, man. I’ve got five of them – 555, Marlboro, Surya, Navy Cut and B&H.”
“So, new hobby?”
“Yea. Timepass.”
---
“How have you been doing? How was the vacation?”
“It was great. I was in Delhi most of the time.”
“What did you for two months?”
“Lazing around, catching up with friends and shopping.”
“Nice!”
“What’s your roommate been up to?”
“Nothing much, except starting a collection of cigarette boxes.”
“Hehe!”
---
“How is she?”
“Normal only.”
“What did she say?”
“She asked how you were doing.”
“And ..”
“I said you just got back; and that you had started collecting cigarette boxes.”
“You told her that?”
“Yes. What’s wrong with that?”
“Did she tell you that her roomie collects panty hoses?”
“No. Why would she tell me something like that?”
“Then why would you tell her something about my cigarette boxes?”
---
What Barney Stinson forgot to add: guy talk should never leave guys.
“I’ve decided to start collecting cigarette boxes.”
“But why?”
“Generally, man. I’ve got five of them – 555, Marlboro, Surya, Navy Cut and B&H.”
“So, new hobby?”
“Yea. Timepass.”
---
“How have you been doing? How was the vacation?”
“It was great. I was in Delhi most of the time.”
“What did you for two months?”
“Lazing around, catching up with friends and shopping.”
“Nice!”
“What’s your roommate been up to?”
“Nothing much, except starting a collection of cigarette boxes.”
“Hehe!”
---
“How is she?”
“Normal only.”
“What did she say?”
“She asked how you were doing.”
“And ..”
“I said you just got back; and that you had started collecting cigarette boxes.”
“You told her that?”
“Yes. What’s wrong with that?”
“Did she tell you that her roomie collects panty hoses?”
“No. Why would she tell me something like that?”
“Then why would you tell her something about my cigarette boxes?”
---
What Barney Stinson forgot to add: guy talk should never leave guys.
Monday, May 18, 2009
When is it too late?
I read a joke once in which a gorgeous woman on a stroll notices a guy seated on a park bench. He looks old but fit. The woman is intrigued by the man’s appearance and decides to find out more. She sits beside him on the bench and asks him what the secret to his good looks are at such an old age. The man starts off by telling her that he spent most of his life consuming junk food and alcohol. He tells her that he smoked a packet of cigarettes everyday, and regularly visited brothels. He never exercised and in a nut shell, led an erratic life. The woman is surprised as this was certainly not what she expected to hear. But nonetheless, she continues and asks him how old he his.
Bang comes the reply: “Twenty seven.”
I found the joke funny and sad at the same time. We all have our moments in time when we wake up one fine morning and realize we are 23 years old (like I will be tomorrow) and haven’t really done much all these years. A sense of panic sets in at times and we ‘decide’ to do more with our lives. But a few days later, there’s a visitor at the door. His name is laziness. He’s been with you before and you recognize each other all to well. He wants to move in with you this time. Most would oblige and let the visitor in. Time goes by and soon you realize that he’s been sapping you of energy. It’s time to drive him out. Many others would let him be their guest for as long as he chooses.
At 19, I expected to be much further ahead by this time than where I am right now. Maybe that thought occurs to you sometimes. But what’s going to make the difference is the answer to this question: “What then?” It’s unreasonable to think that it’s too late.
I’m working with a book called Word Power made easy by Norman Lewis. The author makes it explicitly clear in the introductory chapters that it’s never too late to increase one’s vocabulary. I think you can take that thought and broaden it out to other areas as well. I have friends who are 28 that think they’re getting old. Still worse; there are 24 year olds that think it’s too late. On the other hand, I know of a 61 year old who’s been looking forward to going to the Oktoberfest in Munich.
The human body is designed to function well for a period of 120 years with all the right kind of care and nutrition. Take your current age and subtract it from 120. Maybe that should give you an idea if you are interested.
Bang comes the reply: “Twenty seven.”
I found the joke funny and sad at the same time. We all have our moments in time when we wake up one fine morning and realize we are 23 years old (like I will be tomorrow) and haven’t really done much all these years. A sense of panic sets in at times and we ‘decide’ to do more with our lives. But a few days later, there’s a visitor at the door. His name is laziness. He’s been with you before and you recognize each other all to well. He wants to move in with you this time. Most would oblige and let the visitor in. Time goes by and soon you realize that he’s been sapping you of energy. It’s time to drive him out. Many others would let him be their guest for as long as he chooses.
At 19, I expected to be much further ahead by this time than where I am right now. Maybe that thought occurs to you sometimes. But what’s going to make the difference is the answer to this question: “What then?” It’s unreasonable to think that it’s too late.
I’m working with a book called Word Power made easy by Norman Lewis. The author makes it explicitly clear in the introductory chapters that it’s never too late to increase one’s vocabulary. I think you can take that thought and broaden it out to other areas as well. I have friends who are 28 that think they’re getting old. Still worse; there are 24 year olds that think it’s too late. On the other hand, I know of a 61 year old who’s been looking forward to going to the Oktoberfest in Munich.
The human body is designed to function well for a period of 120 years with all the right kind of care and nutrition. Take your current age and subtract it from 120. Maybe that should give you an idea if you are interested.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
The Lord was in town
Yes, he was!
Lord Jeffery Archer met fans and followers at Landmark, Nungambakkam on 11th May 2009 at 7 pm. Chennai was the first stop of the 5 city India tour of his book release “Paths of Glory”. The evening started with the Man outlining the tale of the book. He went to share the story behind the story and the entire behind-the-scenes effort that went into bringing out Paths of Glory.
This was followed by a short story that he shared from his upcoming collection of short stories "And thereby hangs a tale". Questions and Answers were next. Like only Chennai can do it, the well read audience came out with some fabulous questions. Lord Jeff provided valuable insights into what goes into writing a book. For instance, Paths of Glory is a 140,000 words novel. It was completed in 1000 hours and it took him reviewing 17 drafts before the publishers snatched it away from him. Archer’s writing routine goes like this – he writes during the following time slots in a day: 6 am to 8 am; 8 to 10; 12 noon to 2 pm; 4-6 and 8 to 10 pm. It takes close to a year before the book can hit the shelves. Not surprisingly, he doesn’t suffer from Writer’s bloc. Sometimes, it just takes fours days of walking to get the plot right. Like with playing a violin, painting and dancing, he believes that writing a book is a God given talent too. He rarely knows the ending of a novel when he begins writing one. “The story takes its own course along the way, and the writer must follow that. One should never stick to a rigid structure”, he said.
His favorite writer is R.K. Narayan who he believes had the double bonus of being able to tell a good story in an excellent way. Most other writers write observations, he remarked. A good story necessarily has a good beginning, a middle and all of this leading up to an ending.
The evening concluded with a long round of book signing. He’s promised to be back in India next year.
You can catch up with Lord Jeffery Archer on his blog:
http://www.jeffreyarchers.blogspot.com/
Lord Jeffery Archer met fans and followers at Landmark, Nungambakkam on 11th May 2009 at 7 pm. Chennai was the first stop of the 5 city India tour of his book release “Paths of Glory”. The evening started with the Man outlining the tale of the book. He went to share the story behind the story and the entire behind-the-scenes effort that went into bringing out Paths of Glory.
This was followed by a short story that he shared from his upcoming collection of short stories "And thereby hangs a tale". Questions and Answers were next. Like only Chennai can do it, the well read audience came out with some fabulous questions. Lord Jeff provided valuable insights into what goes into writing a book. For instance, Paths of Glory is a 140,000 words novel. It was completed in 1000 hours and it took him reviewing 17 drafts before the publishers snatched it away from him. Archer’s writing routine goes like this – he writes during the following time slots in a day: 6 am to 8 am; 8 to 10; 12 noon to 2 pm; 4-6 and 8 to 10 pm. It takes close to a year before the book can hit the shelves. Not surprisingly, he doesn’t suffer from Writer’s bloc. Sometimes, it just takes fours days of walking to get the plot right. Like with playing a violin, painting and dancing, he believes that writing a book is a God given talent too. He rarely knows the ending of a novel when he begins writing one. “The story takes its own course along the way, and the writer must follow that. One should never stick to a rigid structure”, he said.
His favorite writer is R.K. Narayan who he believes had the double bonus of being able to tell a good story in an excellent way. Most other writers write observations, he remarked. A good story necessarily has a good beginning, a middle and all of this leading up to an ending.
The evening concluded with a long round of book signing. He’s promised to be back in India next year.
You can catch up with Lord Jeffery Archer on his blog:
http://www.jeffreyarchers.blogspot.com/
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Grub and tunes for the road
Did you know they have golf carts at the Infosys Training Center in Mysore? Anoop tells me it’s meant for use only for the top guys. The rest have to walk or use cycles. Similarly, IIT Madras has these battery run shuttle buses for commuting inside their beautiful campus. Such environment friendly transportation should be made a norm across other campuses as well.
Talking of buses, I was in one traveling overnight from Bangalore to Chennai earlier this week. If you’ve been on an overnight bus journey across cities, you know these guys stop at roadside dhabas. Over the last couple of years as Pratik and I made several trips across Delhi, Haryana, Punjab and Himachal, and even as recent trips in the south have shown there are a couple of observations I wish to share. Number one: almost without exception, the food served at these dhabas is miserable. Yet, the chai kicks ass. The food not only tastes bad, it looks scary as well. I mean, go to the dhabha (it’s a big one where all the buses halt) on the GT Karnal Highway between Karnal and Panipat in Haryana and check out the bread pakoras for yourself. On this bus ride between Bangalore and Chennai, the driver pulled over at this place. We don’t call them dhabas here in the south. At 2:40 am, I got out of the bus and found the guy behind a counter slicing watermelons and fixing an assortment of fruits. I bought it; it had been more than 5 hours since dinner. Here’s what I mean when I say the stuff you get is weird: the guy had taken the word assortment to a new level and had included cucumbers along with papaya, watermelon, pine apple and grapes in the salad. Yew! I bought 2 plates to amuse myself.
And the other given at these highway stopovers - they play obnoxious music really loud. As you sleepwalk out of the bus, the blast of incoherent music being played at illegal decibel levels comes as a jolt. Try it sometime.
And those golf carts at Infosys - they can be used by the other non-top employees too. But just not always. It’s for them to transport the luggage from the living quarters to the main gate up on getting the pink slip.
Talking of buses, I was in one traveling overnight from Bangalore to Chennai earlier this week. If you’ve been on an overnight bus journey across cities, you know these guys stop at roadside dhabas. Over the last couple of years as Pratik and I made several trips across Delhi, Haryana, Punjab and Himachal, and even as recent trips in the south have shown there are a couple of observations I wish to share. Number one: almost without exception, the food served at these dhabas is miserable. Yet, the chai kicks ass. The food not only tastes bad, it looks scary as well. I mean, go to the dhabha (it’s a big one where all the buses halt) on the GT Karnal Highway between Karnal and Panipat in Haryana and check out the bread pakoras for yourself. On this bus ride between Bangalore and Chennai, the driver pulled over at this place. We don’t call them dhabas here in the south. At 2:40 am, I got out of the bus and found the guy behind a counter slicing watermelons and fixing an assortment of fruits. I bought it; it had been more than 5 hours since dinner. Here’s what I mean when I say the stuff you get is weird: the guy had taken the word assortment to a new level and had included cucumbers along with papaya, watermelon, pine apple and grapes in the salad. Yew! I bought 2 plates to amuse myself.
And the other given at these highway stopovers - they play obnoxious music really loud. As you sleepwalk out of the bus, the blast of incoherent music being played at illegal decibel levels comes as a jolt. Try it sometime.
And those golf carts at Infosys - they can be used by the other non-top employees too. But just not always. It’s for them to transport the luggage from the living quarters to the main gate up on getting the pink slip.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
How coconut sellers can improve customer satisfaction
I’m told being underweight is just as bad as being overweight. I’m not too sure about that, but since the last week I’m on a programme to add some “good fat”. This constitutes proper eating habits, good sleep, exercise and nutrition supplementation. One of the requirements is to take tender coconut water daily. If you’ve had tender coconut water in the south, you’ll know that the coconut seller can tell the quality of the content inside just by looking at the physical characteristics of the green coconut. I don’t understand how they do it. After you finish drinking the water, the guy typically splits open the hollow coconut and scoops the ripe tender pulp that can be eaten. But if you don’t really like the pulp, you can ask for a coconut that is rich in water only without much of the pulp content. And the seller, like I mentioned, should be able to spot the one from the pile that suits your requirements.
I figured that the guy who sells these tender coconuts near my workplace is a bit of a novice. On one occasion, I asked for something with a lot of water and almost no pulp. He did give me ‘something’: turns out it was exactly the way I didn’t want it – very little water and thick layer of fruit. I got thinking of designing a machine that would not rely on the judgment of a human, but would rather go the old fashioned industrial way. It’s a scanner like something used to check baggage at airports. The farmer is the target customer here. Every coconut plucked from the tree is put through this scanning machine, and comes out on the other side with a blue stamp mark of the percentage content by weight of water and pulp.
Talk of a better way coconut sellers can improve customer satisfaction. If you're in the tender coconut business, I'd like to get to know you better.
I figured that the guy who sells these tender coconuts near my workplace is a bit of a novice. On one occasion, I asked for something with a lot of water and almost no pulp. He did give me ‘something’: turns out it was exactly the way I didn’t want it – very little water and thick layer of fruit. I got thinking of designing a machine that would not rely on the judgment of a human, but would rather go the old fashioned industrial way. It’s a scanner like something used to check baggage at airports. The farmer is the target customer here. Every coconut plucked from the tree is put through this scanning machine, and comes out on the other side with a blue stamp mark of the percentage content by weight of water and pulp.
Talk of a better way coconut sellers can improve customer satisfaction. If you're in the tender coconut business, I'd like to get to know you better.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
The cycle of music
The cycle of music is a popularly observed phenomenon in urban India. It is something that most of us are familiar with, but only did not realize that we knew it. Let me fill you in.
The cycle of music documents the variation in the interest in a particular type of music that the average kid goes through in his years. We all start off the same way: listening to our first beats, rhythms and lyrics in our mother tongue because that’s what mom and dad played on the music system every morning. Maybe you watched Doordarshan on weekends, and got hooked on to Hindi music. Or maybe it was that North Indian neighbor that played tracks from Mohra that got you hooked to Philips Top 10. And do not discount Rangoli on Sunday mornings. We all grew up to the tunes from Roja, didn’t we?
Years passed, and one day you were playing with an older friend in his house, and you noticed the cassette cover of Aqua on his desk. He played it on the speakers to show you that kind of music you ought to be listening to. You loved the tune of Barbie Girl. You took the tape home, slid it into your deck and played Dr. Jones loud enough to herald the arrival of English music into your life. And thus began a long journey into the world pop music. This was it – the years passed with Boyzone, Spice Girls, Vengaboys, Backstreet Boys and Aron Carter. You looked around at your classmates with head held high like they were losers listening to Hindi music. What era were they in, to get a high out of Yash Raj’s Movie Tracks? Pop music was the way of life. You had arrived.
The years went, and Enrique Iglesias, Michael Jackson, Peter Andre and Ricky Martin had their time with you. Gradually Bryan Adams came, and you moved to the next step. And now suddenly, Backstreet Boys was for sissies. Bon Jovi, U2, Queen you started moving up the music ladder on band at a time. Bohemian Rhapsody was the new favourite. In the teenage years, rock defined you very existence. The progress from pop to pop-rock took a while. The move from pop-rock to rock to metal was much faster. This was when you tore the life out of anyone listening to pop music.
“Blue and West Life need to go kill themselves.”
Before you knew it, Metallica and Iron Maiden were the new Gods. Pink Floyd and Aerosmith had no equal. You woke up each morning thanking the heavens for sending the electric guitars and the double bass to earth. This was the real you – with the screaming face of Eddy on your chest saying “Dance of Death”. The peak had arrived. A few maniacs had tried to over do things and had fallen off on the other side: they tried death metal and gothic stuff.
Like all things, this pattern changes too. We grow and mature like we should. Today, we open Winamp and enqueue Backstreet Boys and Westlife and Enrique. Pop music doesn’t seem so bad now. You can give these guys some credit atleast, even thought they all look gay and stand in a straight line to sing the song. Hindi music is getting better and better as we are seeing lesser and lesser of Anu Malik. But the day you’ve arrived is when open your CD tray and slide a music CD of your regional language, so that your kids may re-live the cycle of music.
The cycle of music documents the variation in the interest in a particular type of music that the average kid goes through in his years. We all start off the same way: listening to our first beats, rhythms and lyrics in our mother tongue because that’s what mom and dad played on the music system every morning. Maybe you watched Doordarshan on weekends, and got hooked on to Hindi music. Or maybe it was that North Indian neighbor that played tracks from Mohra that got you hooked to Philips Top 10. And do not discount Rangoli on Sunday mornings. We all grew up to the tunes from Roja, didn’t we?
Years passed, and one day you were playing with an older friend in his house, and you noticed the cassette cover of Aqua on his desk. He played it on the speakers to show you that kind of music you ought to be listening to. You loved the tune of Barbie Girl. You took the tape home, slid it into your deck and played Dr. Jones loud enough to herald the arrival of English music into your life. And thus began a long journey into the world pop music. This was it – the years passed with Boyzone, Spice Girls, Vengaboys, Backstreet Boys and Aron Carter. You looked around at your classmates with head held high like they were losers listening to Hindi music. What era were they in, to get a high out of Yash Raj’s Movie Tracks? Pop music was the way of life. You had arrived.
The years went, and Enrique Iglesias, Michael Jackson, Peter Andre and Ricky Martin had their time with you. Gradually Bryan Adams came, and you moved to the next step. And now suddenly, Backstreet Boys was for sissies. Bon Jovi, U2, Queen you started moving up the music ladder on band at a time. Bohemian Rhapsody was the new favourite. In the teenage years, rock defined you very existence. The progress from pop to pop-rock took a while. The move from pop-rock to rock to metal was much faster. This was when you tore the life out of anyone listening to pop music.
“Blue and West Life need to go kill themselves.”
Before you knew it, Metallica and Iron Maiden were the new Gods. Pink Floyd and Aerosmith had no equal. You woke up each morning thanking the heavens for sending the electric guitars and the double bass to earth. This was the real you – with the screaming face of Eddy on your chest saying “Dance of Death”. The peak had arrived. A few maniacs had tried to over do things and had fallen off on the other side: they tried death metal and gothic stuff.
Like all things, this pattern changes too. We grow and mature like we should. Today, we open Winamp and enqueue Backstreet Boys and Westlife and Enrique. Pop music doesn’t seem so bad now. You can give these guys some credit atleast, even thought they all look gay and stand in a straight line to sing the song. Hindi music is getting better and better as we are seeing lesser and lesser of Anu Malik. But the day you’ve arrived is when open your CD tray and slide a music CD of your regional language, so that your kids may re-live the cycle of music.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Brad Pitt and I share a special bond
Greetings Arjun's readers! I come in peace.
My name is Sridevi and I will be guest posting here today. Arjun and I have been friends for a long time now. But that's not what I am here to talk about today.
Wait a minute, what was I planning to talk about today?!!
(frustrated expression)
Sorry friends, you see, since last couple of weeks, I have been working on a paper on Sanitation, so that all that comes to my mind when I try to think up a decent blog posts is toilets, water supply and proper waste disposal.
Anyway, to distract you from the beautiful images and thoughts that I just inserted in your head, I will talk about Brad Pitt for a brief moment.
(If you have already read my blog, then you have been clearly forewarned that I usually lead you into believing that my post is about others and finally it ends up being about me, because it is fun to be self-centered)
I assume that all of you have seen that particular episode in Friends where Brad Pitt makes a guest appearance. Therefore, I also assume you found it especially entertaining that his character in that episode hated Rachel (played by his then wife - Jennifer Aniston), to the extent of taking revenge by starting an I-hate-Rachel Club that spread rumors about her.
Well, neither am I a female Brad Pitt, nor is the object of my wrath even remotely like Jennifer Aniston, but I too dislike (to the point of hate) a woman and have already proceeded with my path of revenge!
(witch-like cackles in the background)
So until last month, I used to take a daily bus pass of Rs. 30/- on my way to work, which lets me board how many ever buses I want for that particular day. It is a convenient system for those who cover long distances daily.
Cast: Me, Evil Woman who sells daily passes, Random people nearby
Me (thrusting 3 bunched up 10 rupee notes into her hand): "One pass"
(Me slightly distracted by the disgusting kid trying to wipe his snot on the person near him, meanwhile sees out of the corner of the eye that Evil Woman dropped a note deftly into her shoulder money bag)
(Me also slightly impressed at her precision of throwing the money correctly into her bag, without letting it flutter down to the ground)
Evil Woman: "You have given me only 20 rupees, the pass costs 30"
Me (completely shocked): "But you just threw a note into your bag"
Evil Woman (obviously well experienced in handling these situations): "What? Why would I do that?"
Me (in my head): "Because you can keep the extra money, Evil Woman"
Me (stupidly slow and stubborn): "But I saw you do it"
Evil Woman (opens her bag to reveal a pile of 10 rupee notes and hastily shuts it before I could look clearly): "See, I didn't throw your money in the bag!"
Me (clearly not Sherlock Holmes): "But.....but...."
Evil Woman (loudly to other people nearby who couldn't care less as to what she is saying): "She lost her money on the way, and is saying I took it" (fake laugh) "why would I put the money in my bag?"
(Onlookers totally not reacting)
(Me fuming, angry with myself for not being the usually clever person that I am)
(Curtains close)
But the story isn't over yet Evil Woman!
Because now (April 2009), whenever I board your bus, I will give you the cold stare, which you might not understand (remember) why, but will make you lose your sleep at nights.
Now, whenever I board your bus, I will haughtily ignore your requests to buy tickets.
Now, whenever I board your bus, you will no longer be able to cheat me out of 10 rupees.
Because now, I have the power of the monthly pass, that will let me travel in any bus I want for the whole month.
Now I shall no longer carry any money with me, to "lose" it.
And now, there shall be JUSTICE.
(Immature you say? Well, if Brad Pitt can do it, then so can I)
PS: I know I should give her the benefit of doubt, but what are the odds that the moment I happened to IMAGINE that she dropped the note into her bag, she tells me that I have not given her the correct amount??!
My name is Sridevi and I will be guest posting here today. Arjun and I have been friends for a long time now. But that's not what I am here to talk about today.
Wait a minute, what was I planning to talk about today?!!
(frustrated expression)
Sorry friends, you see, since last couple of weeks, I have been working on a paper on Sanitation, so that all that comes to my mind when I try to think up a decent blog posts is toilets, water supply and proper waste disposal.
Anyway, to distract you from the beautiful images and thoughts that I just inserted in your head, I will talk about Brad Pitt for a brief moment.
(If you have already read my blog, then you have been clearly forewarned that I usually lead you into believing that my post is about others and finally it ends up being about me, because it is fun to be self-centered)
I assume that all of you have seen that particular episode in Friends where Brad Pitt makes a guest appearance. Therefore, I also assume you found it especially entertaining that his character in that episode hated Rachel (played by his then wife - Jennifer Aniston), to the extent of taking revenge by starting an I-hate-Rachel Club that spread rumors about her.
Well, neither am I a female Brad Pitt, nor is the object of my wrath even remotely like Jennifer Aniston, but I too dislike (to the point of hate) a woman and have already proceeded with my path of revenge!
(witch-like cackles in the background)
So until last month, I used to take a daily bus pass of Rs. 30/- on my way to work, which lets me board how many ever buses I want for that particular day. It is a convenient system for those who cover long distances daily.
Cast: Me, Evil Woman who sells daily passes, Random people nearby
Me (thrusting 3 bunched up 10 rupee notes into her hand): "One pass"
(Me slightly distracted by the disgusting kid trying to wipe his snot on the person near him, meanwhile sees out of the corner of the eye that Evil Woman dropped a note deftly into her shoulder money bag)
(Me also slightly impressed at her precision of throwing the money correctly into her bag, without letting it flutter down to the ground)
Evil Woman: "You have given me only 20 rupees, the pass costs 30"
Me (completely shocked): "But you just threw a note into your bag"
Evil Woman (obviously well experienced in handling these situations): "What? Why would I do that?"
Me (in my head): "Because you can keep the extra money, Evil Woman"
Me (stupidly slow and stubborn): "But I saw you do it"
Evil Woman (opens her bag to reveal a pile of 10 rupee notes and hastily shuts it before I could look clearly): "See, I didn't throw your money in the bag!"
Me (clearly not Sherlock Holmes): "But.....but...."
Evil Woman (loudly to other people nearby who couldn't care less as to what she is saying): "She lost her money on the way, and is saying I took it" (fake laugh) "why would I put the money in my bag?"
(Onlookers totally not reacting)
(Me fuming, angry with myself for not being the usually clever person that I am)
(Curtains close)
But the story isn't over yet Evil Woman!
Because now (April 2009), whenever I board your bus, I will give you the cold stare, which you might not understand (remember) why, but will make you lose your sleep at nights.
Now, whenever I board your bus, I will haughtily ignore your requests to buy tickets.
Now, whenever I board your bus, you will no longer be able to cheat me out of 10 rupees.
Because now, I have the power of the monthly pass, that will let me travel in any bus I want for the whole month.
Now I shall no longer carry any money with me, to "lose" it.
And now, there shall be JUSTICE.
(Immature you say? Well, if Brad Pitt can do it, then so can I)
PS: I know I should give her the benefit of doubt, but what are the odds that the moment I happened to IMAGINE that she dropped the note into her bag, she tells me that I have not given her the correct amount??!
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Cristina Fernández de Kirchner
Cristina Kirchner is the current President of Argentina. She assumed office in December 2007, taking over from her husband Néstor Kirchner who was President from May 2003 to December 2010. And as the story goes, Cristina won the election by a comfortable margin. That meant, the President on retirement, became the First Gentleman of Argentina.
That’s a real tale. Hillary Clinton almost wrote the same story too, but not quite. So one gets wondering, what’s all this fuss about ‘upliftment’ of women. What’s all the noise of women and emancipation? In India, many women even in senior positions of corporate, academia and politics have an attitude that the men are out to ‘get them’; and in many cases they are. But isn’t it unreasonable to spend your years fighting when instead following successful examples would have made life much easier. It really isn’t a battle of the sexes as many women like to keep it: a fight for you v/s me; good v/s evil; strong v/s weak and the list may go on.
Michelle Obama has begun addressing audiences of women after becoming the first lady, like she did recently in London on the sidelines of G20. Our Indian ladies that are caught up in battle with the courts just for the sake of the fight need to stop and listen to successful women like Michelle, Cristina or Indora Nooyi. Our country would move ahead quicker. The rules of success don’t care if you’re man or woman. They just need to be applied with a purpose at hand.
Hope the ladies in the current elections take a leaf out of the Presidential office in Buenos Aires.
That’s a real tale. Hillary Clinton almost wrote the same story too, but not quite. So one gets wondering, what’s all this fuss about ‘upliftment’ of women. What’s all the noise of women and emancipation? In India, many women even in senior positions of corporate, academia and politics have an attitude that the men are out to ‘get them’; and in many cases they are. But isn’t it unreasonable to spend your years fighting when instead following successful examples would have made life much easier. It really isn’t a battle of the sexes as many women like to keep it: a fight for you v/s me; good v/s evil; strong v/s weak and the list may go on.
Michelle Obama has begun addressing audiences of women after becoming the first lady, like she did recently in London on the sidelines of G20. Our Indian ladies that are caught up in battle with the courts just for the sake of the fight need to stop and listen to successful women like Michelle, Cristina or Indora Nooyi. Our country would move ahead quicker. The rules of success don’t care if you’re man or woman. They just need to be applied with a purpose at hand.
Hope the ladies in the current elections take a leaf out of the Presidential office in Buenos Aires.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
How my SUPW teacher handled this one girl
You’re probably not going to enjoy this tale very much if you didn’t study in SHS.
To appreciate the juice of the following story it would be necessary for you to read A confident lie (2 posts below).
Like I mentioned in there, Mrs. SUPW had a way with dealing with pesky brats. Her way of dealing with girls, however, is yet to find mention in a nationwide publication. Maybe our dumb politicians can learn from her.
Flashback: The year is 1992.
Scene: A classroom on the first floor of SHS. At the entrance to the class is a green metallic board that reads ‘Class1’. The corridor outside overlooks the basketball court. Two rooms away is the BIG BAD PRINCIPAL’S ‘chamber’. Now you know why they’ve installed the bell outside her office.
(Narrator)
The last two periods on Wednesdays was SUPW. I hated it. This one time, the teacher asked us to draw and colour the flag of any country other than India. The really fat girl who sat behind me drew a rectangle and put a circle in the center of the rectangle. She shaded the region inside the rectangle in red leaving the circle to remain white. She wrote ‘Japan’ at the bottom of the sheet and submitted it to Mrs. SUPW. So, as you can see, we were a bunch of bright kids.
Another Wednesday came by. It was SUPW hour and we all sat quietly and painted, with some kids dripping from the nose. It was this one kid’s birthday. She had got Eclairs (remember that toffee?) to distribute. By the time the last period came, the stock of toffees in the box must have reduced. So while the rest of sketched and coloured, Birthday girl took out 2 toffees from the box and walked up to Mrs SUPW’s table.
Birthday Kid (wearing colour clothes, and feeling important): Ratna Miss, it’s my birthday today. (extends the 2 toffees to Ratna Miss)
Ratna Miss (a.k.a Mrs. SUPW): Happy Birthday! But this is bad manners child. Go and put back both these toffees in the choclate box and bring me the box. I’ll take it from there.
Birthday kid returns to desk, puts chocolates back in box, walks back to teacher’s desk. Teacher smiles, shakes hands, wishes and takes 2 toffees. Every other child in class is pissed off because all the kids got only one toffee and the teacher got two.
The teacher has to go to the staff room for a while. She understands that the kids will kick up a ruckus in her absence. So she tells us to stop our work and meditate till she returns. Remember that old trick, fellas?
She leaves; and the 2 toffees are left on the table.
5 minutes later: Mrs. SUPW is back.
Kids are opening their eyes partially to steal glances and see if the teacher is in.
The teacher pretends to look surprised. One of the toffees is missing!
Mrs SUPW: “Who took the toffee from my table?”
Silence.
“I said, who took the toffee from my table?”, louder than the previous time.
Pin drop silence – everyone’s meditating.
Mrs SUPW: “I know who stole the toffee. If that person doesn’t come forward, I will put magic in everybody’s bag. And tonight, the one who stole the toffee will come to my house in their sleep and return it.” (She meant the person would sleep-walk to her house that night and return the toffee because of the 'magic' that she would 'put').
Everyone is shit scared.
And then:
She walks up to a girl in the last bench and puts magic in her bag.
(This girl is existent, if you must know. Revealing her name is not the best thing to do).
To appreciate the juice of the following story it would be necessary for you to read A confident lie (2 posts below).
Like I mentioned in there, Mrs. SUPW had a way with dealing with pesky brats. Her way of dealing with girls, however, is yet to find mention in a nationwide publication. Maybe our dumb politicians can learn from her.
Flashback: The year is 1992.
Scene: A classroom on the first floor of SHS. At the entrance to the class is a green metallic board that reads ‘Class1’. The corridor outside overlooks the basketball court. Two rooms away is the BIG BAD PRINCIPAL’S ‘chamber’. Now you know why they’ve installed the bell outside her office.
(Narrator)
The last two periods on Wednesdays was SUPW. I hated it. This one time, the teacher asked us to draw and colour the flag of any country other than India. The really fat girl who sat behind me drew a rectangle and put a circle in the center of the rectangle. She shaded the region inside the rectangle in red leaving the circle to remain white. She wrote ‘Japan’ at the bottom of the sheet and submitted it to Mrs. SUPW. So, as you can see, we were a bunch of bright kids.
Another Wednesday came by. It was SUPW hour and we all sat quietly and painted, with some kids dripping from the nose. It was this one kid’s birthday. She had got Eclairs (remember that toffee?) to distribute. By the time the last period came, the stock of toffees in the box must have reduced. So while the rest of sketched and coloured, Birthday girl took out 2 toffees from the box and walked up to Mrs SUPW’s table.
Birthday Kid (wearing colour clothes, and feeling important): Ratna Miss, it’s my birthday today. (extends the 2 toffees to Ratna Miss)
Ratna Miss (a.k.a Mrs. SUPW): Happy Birthday! But this is bad manners child. Go and put back both these toffees in the choclate box and bring me the box. I’ll take it from there.
Birthday kid returns to desk, puts chocolates back in box, walks back to teacher’s desk. Teacher smiles, shakes hands, wishes and takes 2 toffees. Every other child in class is pissed off because all the kids got only one toffee and the teacher got two.
The teacher has to go to the staff room for a while. She understands that the kids will kick up a ruckus in her absence. So she tells us to stop our work and meditate till she returns. Remember that old trick, fellas?
She leaves; and the 2 toffees are left on the table.
5 minutes later: Mrs. SUPW is back.
Kids are opening their eyes partially to steal glances and see if the teacher is in.
The teacher pretends to look surprised. One of the toffees is missing!
Mrs SUPW: “Who took the toffee from my table?”
Silence.
“I said, who took the toffee from my table?”, louder than the previous time.
Pin drop silence – everyone’s meditating.
Mrs SUPW: “I know who stole the toffee. If that person doesn’t come forward, I will put magic in everybody’s bag. And tonight, the one who stole the toffee will come to my house in their sleep and return it.” (She meant the person would sleep-walk to her house that night and return the toffee because of the 'magic' that she would 'put').
Everyone is shit scared.
And then:
She walks up to a girl in the last bench and puts magic in her bag.
(This girl is existent, if you must know. Revealing her name is not the best thing to do).
My President and other follies
President Pratibha Patil on Wednesday inaugurated ‘India’s Air Force One’, christened Rajdoot.
http://economictimes.indiatimes.com/articleshow/4343550.cms
And before the tape was cut, there were cries from all over the country questioning the need for this unnecessary luxury at this point in time. Read the comments on the Economic Times article if you want this validated. I think the issue is not so much about luxury or with the plane in itself. My view is that it is more to do with the person who is getting it. I mean, think of it this way: if Dr. APJ were still the Prez, and had he inducted the Rajdoot, do you think there’d be all these comments on the article? No one would have thought it as being unreasonable that the Head of a Country is getting an official plane to match his tag as the first citizen. But when this President does the same thing, it is unreasonable. With all due respect, I don’t think she deserves the plane. And if the debate must really go on, the expense for the Air Force in purchasing a Boeing Business Jet is no where near what all our politicians take home in a year.
As an afterthought, here’s what is unreasonable: The President hardly has powers in India. If at all anything must change, it’s not the plane or the motor car that ferries the President. I think a wider scope of responsibilities and power needs to be instituted for the first citizen. That could reduce some of the roles of the Prime Minister. And if the PM needs a new jet, let’s get it for him or her after the results of the first year in office. Perks tied to performance! Makes sense?
http://economictimes.indiatimes.com/articleshow/4343550.cms
And before the tape was cut, there were cries from all over the country questioning the need for this unnecessary luxury at this point in time. Read the comments on the Economic Times article if you want this validated. I think the issue is not so much about luxury or with the plane in itself. My view is that it is more to do with the person who is getting it. I mean, think of it this way: if Dr. APJ were still the Prez, and had he inducted the Rajdoot, do you think there’d be all these comments on the article? No one would have thought it as being unreasonable that the Head of a Country is getting an official plane to match his tag as the first citizen. But when this President does the same thing, it is unreasonable. With all due respect, I don’t think she deserves the plane. And if the debate must really go on, the expense for the Air Force in purchasing a Boeing Business Jet is no where near what all our politicians take home in a year.
As an afterthought, here’s what is unreasonable: The President hardly has powers in India. If at all anything must change, it’s not the plane or the motor car that ferries the President. I think a wider scope of responsibilities and power needs to be instituted for the first citizen. That could reduce some of the roles of the Prime Minister. And if the PM needs a new jet, let’s get it for him or her after the results of the first year in office. Perks tied to performance! Makes sense?
Thursday, March 26, 2009
A confident lie
School memories have a way of flashing back. I was never really a big fan of school, but I think some days were better than others. Like the day we counted 27 bikes on the road. Here’s what happened:
There was this class once a week called SUPW where you painted and sewed and sketched. For me, being artistically challenged, it was a good distraction that helped me take my mind away from Math, Science and EVS. Mrs. Ratna Patwardan took the class from the time I was in Class 1 till the day I left school in class 10. Only recently, I went back to visit my alma mater. She still teaches SUPW to this day. This was a teacher who had a great sense of humour and a way with handling pesky brats (and the girls too, but more on that some other day).
One day in class 4, Jesu and I sat in the last bench with the window behind us. It was SUPW class, and the Mrs. Ratna had stepped out of the class briefly. The two of stopped our work mid-way (painting a piper, maybe) and started looking outside the window and talking. A minute went by, and the teacher came into the class. And she was not very pleased to see Jesu and me gazing at nature (well, peak hour traffic on Bellary road is about as close to Nature as you can get to in Bangalore). We got our punishment: for the next 10 minutes, we were to count the number of cars, buses, bikes, cycles and birds that we could see from outside the window and go back and report the numbers to her.
I felt smug and self-assured looking out of the window. The rest of the class was painting away. I told Jesu, “We’ll just go and tell her some random numbers. She won’t know it.” I mean, I had read the story where Birbal confidently says that there are one thousand four hundred and thirty three crows in the city.
10 minutes went by in mindless chatting; and then we were summoned to the teacher’s desk.
“So, how many crows did you see?”
“17.”
“Bikes?”
“27. 5 red ones.”
“Maruti cars?”
“11.”
“Buses?”
“6.”
“How many bees did you see?”
I looked confused, and I could see from the corner of my eye, that Jesu was just as perplexed.
“I said “How many bees did you see?””, she said trying to look annoyed. I could see this woman was having fun.
“None, Maam.”
“None?”
“Yes. We didn’t see even one.”
She stood up from her chair, and told us to follow her to the window at the back of the class. The other kids stopped painting and became the audience. We walked to the window.
“So, are you sure that you didn’t see even a single bee.”
I’m a believer in confidence. “Yes, Maam. Not even one.”
And she pointed at the bee hive hanging from the ceiling of the building across the road.
There was this class once a week called SUPW where you painted and sewed and sketched. For me, being artistically challenged, it was a good distraction that helped me take my mind away from Math, Science and EVS. Mrs. Ratna Patwardan took the class from the time I was in Class 1 till the day I left school in class 10. Only recently, I went back to visit my alma mater. She still teaches SUPW to this day. This was a teacher who had a great sense of humour and a way with handling pesky brats (and the girls too, but more on that some other day).
One day in class 4, Jesu and I sat in the last bench with the window behind us. It was SUPW class, and the Mrs. Ratna had stepped out of the class briefly. The two of stopped our work mid-way (painting a piper, maybe) and started looking outside the window and talking. A minute went by, and the teacher came into the class. And she was not very pleased to see Jesu and me gazing at nature (well, peak hour traffic on Bellary road is about as close to Nature as you can get to in Bangalore). We got our punishment: for the next 10 minutes, we were to count the number of cars, buses, bikes, cycles and birds that we could see from outside the window and go back and report the numbers to her.
I felt smug and self-assured looking out of the window. The rest of the class was painting away. I told Jesu, “We’ll just go and tell her some random numbers. She won’t know it.” I mean, I had read the story where Birbal confidently says that there are one thousand four hundred and thirty three crows in the city.
10 minutes went by in mindless chatting; and then we were summoned to the teacher’s desk.
“So, how many crows did you see?”
“17.”
“Bikes?”
“27. 5 red ones.”
“Maruti cars?”
“11.”
“Buses?”
“6.”
“How many bees did you see?”
I looked confused, and I could see from the corner of my eye, that Jesu was just as perplexed.
“I said “How many bees did you see?””, she said trying to look annoyed. I could see this woman was having fun.
“None, Maam.”
“None?”
“Yes. We didn’t see even one.”
She stood up from her chair, and told us to follow her to the window at the back of the class. The other kids stopped painting and became the audience. We walked to the window.
“So, are you sure that you didn’t see even a single bee.”
I’m a believer in confidence. “Yes, Maam. Not even one.”
And she pointed at the bee hive hanging from the ceiling of the building across the road.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Sluts for superlatives
Is the human race done with inventing all that needs to be invented? Marconi, Bell, Wilbur and Orville.. you know where this is headed, right? When was the last time that someone invented something that changed the very DNA of a society? The computer was one. You could say software and internet, but I’m not so sure. Radio, TV, airplanes; when was it last that some one invented something so basic that you could say it was created out of thin air. My friend reckons that everything this society needs has already been invented. We are just working on improvising existing platforms (the mobile phone was a step up from the landline).
Have we well and truly laid the foundations for all the requirements of a social animal? If the answer is a ‘YES’, then the 21st century will turn out to be quite a boring one. We’ll just move from alpha to beta to gama to zeta before the sun eats up the earth (or the Mayan calendar comes true; my money is not here). If the answer to the question is a ‘NO’, then whatever exits around us is one big joke compared to what’s in store. Imagine Rama’s wooden footwear placed alongside Nike’s latest shock absorbing nitro boosting cosmonaut sneakers.
It’s a fair thing to consider. Technology breeds itself and sooner or later we'll be beaming people around the world instead of flying them around in stupid airplanes. But again, that’s a case of extending the frontiers of science. My question is whether there’ll be another Galileo or Copernicus (in this century) who will pull another rabbit out of the hat and not just feed carrots to the ones that are already scurrying around.
Have we well and truly laid the foundations for all the requirements of a social animal? If the answer is a ‘YES’, then the 21st century will turn out to be quite a boring one. We’ll just move from alpha to beta to gama to zeta before the sun eats up the earth (or the Mayan calendar comes true; my money is not here). If the answer to the question is a ‘NO’, then whatever exits around us is one big joke compared to what’s in store. Imagine Rama’s wooden footwear placed alongside Nike’s latest shock absorbing nitro boosting cosmonaut sneakers.
It’s a fair thing to consider. Technology breeds itself and sooner or later we'll be beaming people around the world instead of flying them around in stupid airplanes. But again, that’s a case of extending the frontiers of science. My question is whether there’ll be another Galileo or Copernicus (in this century) who will pull another rabbit out of the hat and not just feed carrots to the ones that are already scurrying around.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Onde usiranthe innu naanu
I’ve been listening to this song at least ten times a day since Thursday.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-f2mRaBRl54
It’s from a Kannada movie called Snehaloka (Universe of Love), starring RamKumar and Anu Prabhakar. For those who don’t understand the language, let me add here that this is a love song (like duh!, who else dances in a forest for no reason?).
My van driver played this song each morning while going to school and I remember enjoying it, humming along from day 4. I was in class 8 then and I didn’t know the name of the song or the movie that it was a part of. And after I stopped going in my Van Driver’s van (no, he wasn’t Dutch), the tune continued to play in my head. It was one of those songs: you know its tune and nothing else. No lyrics, no artist, no movie, no album name. You love the tune and hope that someday someway you’ll get to hear it again.
Yep, this is that song.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-f2mRaBRl54
It’s from a Kannada movie called Snehaloka (Universe of Love), starring RamKumar and Anu Prabhakar. For those who don’t understand the language, let me add here that this is a love song (like duh!, who else dances in a forest for no reason?).
My van driver played this song each morning while going to school and I remember enjoying it, humming along from day 4. I was in class 8 then and I didn’t know the name of the song or the movie that it was a part of. And after I stopped going in my Van Driver’s van (no, he wasn’t Dutch), the tune continued to play in my head. It was one of those songs: you know its tune and nothing else. No lyrics, no artist, no movie, no album name. You love the tune and hope that someday someway you’ll get to hear it again.
Yep, this is that song.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
There was recession in Heaven
Let the scientists figure out how and why dreams occur. I am here to experience them; some will be good, most will not make sense and the odd one or two will send me looking for the water bottle at 3 am. It’s the dreams that have absolutely no logic to the sequence in which they unfold that are the most interesting ones; and I’m sure it’s the same with most people.
I had this one particular dream, back in 2003, which I found so hilarious I began laughing in my sleep and consequentially woke up. It was one of those no-brainer nonsense jokes, but I guess the punch line at the end of the dream was too good that even today, 6 years hence I can recount every detail as it unfolded.
The scene is set in the prayer hall of my school. There isn’t much lighting around in the hall but for what’s filtering through the windows on a cloudy December morning. There’s a stage and I’m standing on it. The hall is empty and spacious with the big wooden door on my far right. There are framed photos of freedom fighters on the walls on my left hand side. At the entrance to the hall near this door is a tripod stand supporting a black coloured board with holes (the kind you would find at the entrances of reception halls with yellow and white letters stuck in it announcing the event details). I see my Head Mistress and my two best friends Satya and Anoop standing in front of the board reading what’s displayed on it. Curious to see it for myself, I get off the stage and walk towards them. As I get around to facing the board, I call out to my friends. They can’t hear me, for they aren’t responding.
Here’s what I see on the board – in big white letters is the word ‘Prayer’. Following this, in smaller letters are four lines of English poetry; the first three ending with commas and the last one with a full stop. I don’t remember what the lines were, but interestingly after the four lines, I see something else. In tiny yellow it says ‘Rs 81’. That’s right, Rupees Eighty One. Anoop is reading out the lines on the board with my Head Mistress and my other friend Satya nodding along approvingly. I’m a mute spectator to all of this. All the while, I’m standing there thinking “What is the ‘Rs 81’ doing there at the bottom? What does it mean?” Soon enough, Anoop completes reading the ‘Prayer’ and looks towards the teacher. She asks him in her bossy commanding voice “What do you think of this prayer?” Without a moment’s hesitation, he replies “It’s good. But why did you have to pay 81 Rupees for this English prayer? You could have bought a cheaper Hindi Prayer for 25 bucks.”
I woke up with spurts of laughter that morning. I’m still trying to figure out what the 81 Rupees was for. Maybe even God wasn’t spared of the 2003 market downturn, and He had to resort to selling copyrights of His prayers to lesser mortals like us. For the record, my school prayer was Gajananam, bhoothaganadhi sevitham ....
I had this one particular dream, back in 2003, which I found so hilarious I began laughing in my sleep and consequentially woke up. It was one of those no-brainer nonsense jokes, but I guess the punch line at the end of the dream was too good that even today, 6 years hence I can recount every detail as it unfolded.
The scene is set in the prayer hall of my school. There isn’t much lighting around in the hall but for what’s filtering through the windows on a cloudy December morning. There’s a stage and I’m standing on it. The hall is empty and spacious with the big wooden door on my far right. There are framed photos of freedom fighters on the walls on my left hand side. At the entrance to the hall near this door is a tripod stand supporting a black coloured board with holes (the kind you would find at the entrances of reception halls with yellow and white letters stuck in it announcing the event details). I see my Head Mistress and my two best friends Satya and Anoop standing in front of the board reading what’s displayed on it. Curious to see it for myself, I get off the stage and walk towards them. As I get around to facing the board, I call out to my friends. They can’t hear me, for they aren’t responding.
Here’s what I see on the board – in big white letters is the word ‘Prayer’. Following this, in smaller letters are four lines of English poetry; the first three ending with commas and the last one with a full stop. I don’t remember what the lines were, but interestingly after the four lines, I see something else. In tiny yellow it says ‘Rs 81’. That’s right, Rupees Eighty One. Anoop is reading out the lines on the board with my Head Mistress and my other friend Satya nodding along approvingly. I’m a mute spectator to all of this. All the while, I’m standing there thinking “What is the ‘Rs 81’ doing there at the bottom? What does it mean?” Soon enough, Anoop completes reading the ‘Prayer’ and looks towards the teacher. She asks him in her bossy commanding voice “What do you think of this prayer?” Without a moment’s hesitation, he replies “It’s good. But why did you have to pay 81 Rupees for this English prayer? You could have bought a cheaper Hindi Prayer for 25 bucks.”
I woke up with spurts of laughter that morning. I’m still trying to figure out what the 81 Rupees was for. Maybe even God wasn’t spared of the 2003 market downturn, and He had to resort to selling copyrights of His prayers to lesser mortals like us. For the record, my school prayer was Gajananam, bhoothaganadhi sevitham ....
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Who needs a life here?
You know what’s funny? It’s the choices we make. I recollect seeing rajmah for the first time in my first week of college in Hamirpur. I’m talking about that reddish brown kidney shaped group of pulses. Gosh, I hated the very sight of it in the mess. Every Tuesday night meant a trip to Ekta café, Tilak, Canteen or anywhere as far away as possible from Rajmah for Narayan , Sagar and I. And on Thursday mornings we had oats and banans for breakfast. I felt like these mess guys really needed a life. Who has oats at 7 am for crying out loud? I always waited to get out of college and get back home to Bangalore where I could have ‘good’ south Indian dosas, idliys and filter coffee for breakfast.
Now that I’ve relocated to Chennai, I must not have any problems with the food here, right? There’s dosas and idlies and pongal and gallons of filter coffee available; I just need to wave my arms to get it. But instead, I choose to have rajmah, black dal, cauliflower and rice for breakfast AND lunch. I prefer oats, banana and milk for dinner. I’m serious. It’s like when you’re growing up in India in your twenties, you’re thinking of blonds and bikinis. And after that second year in Amsterdam in your early thirties, you are thinking of gold and silk saris.
Now that I’ve relocated to Chennai, I must not have any problems with the food here, right? There’s dosas and idlies and pongal and gallons of filter coffee available; I just need to wave my arms to get it. But instead, I choose to have rajmah, black dal, cauliflower and rice for breakfast AND lunch. I prefer oats, banana and milk for dinner. I’m serious. It’s like when you’re growing up in India in your twenties, you’re thinking of blonds and bikinis. And after that second year in Amsterdam in your early thirties, you are thinking of gold and silk saris.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The great big Indian Wedding just got smaller
There’s no denying that love is in the air. Matchmakers are in business. Families are buzzing with excitement this season with someone in it readying to tie the nuptial knot. What is that one thing that, maybe besides organizing logistics for the wedding (and finding a partner) that takes up maximum time? I believe it’s got to be the invitations. House after house: your first cousin’s wife’s third sister’s Labrador will be pissed if he’s not invited in person.
I think I’ve got some news. The times are changing. An average Indian Wedding would have around 500 to 600 guests. But an average wedding in the west would have only a few dozen people. Doesn’t the difference seem striking? May be the roots go back to our ‘joint family’ system, where an average family consisted at least 10 members. So, assuming that the guy’s family and the girl’s family each had 10 people, that makes it 20 in the first circle. These two families had 5 other extended families with an average of 10 in each. That means, about 100 in the second circle. Let us say that each person in the initial 20 knew 20 others (friends, acquaintances etc.) That makes it a straight 400. Btw, these numbers are rather conservative in south India. So, 600 people at a wedding is really no big deal.
You may be going, “What’s the frequency, Kenneth?” I’ll tell you what the frequency is.In twenty years time (at max), Indian weddings will have only a few dozen guests just like their Western counterparts. I got an e-mail invite this morning from a distant friend. Now, I know what that means: I am on her guest list; but I am not worth the pain and trouble of a phone call or a personal invite because we don’t know each other well enough. And so, I won’t show up at the wedding because I know she really doesn’t want me there. Extend this to the hundreds of people that have received her e-mail invite. I’d be shocked if anyone turns up.
In this way, we keep playing this game of invites through e-mails, blogs and worse still, orkut and facebook posts. Slowly, down the line, the numbers at Indian weddings will keep reducing. My generation is far less attached to its second circle of family than my mother’s generation anyways. I have first cousins whose name I don’t know. Extrapolate this over 10, 15 and 20 years. I think my assumption is safe. Weddings will cost far lesser; and we’ll manage to keep the noise out.
I think I’ve got some news. The times are changing. An average Indian Wedding would have around 500 to 600 guests. But an average wedding in the west would have only a few dozen people. Doesn’t the difference seem striking? May be the roots go back to our ‘joint family’ system, where an average family consisted at least 10 members. So, assuming that the guy’s family and the girl’s family each had 10 people, that makes it 20 in the first circle. These two families had 5 other extended families with an average of 10 in each. That means, about 100 in the second circle. Let us say that each person in the initial 20 knew 20 others (friends, acquaintances etc.) That makes it a straight 400. Btw, these numbers are rather conservative in south India. So, 600 people at a wedding is really no big deal.
You may be going, “What’s the frequency, Kenneth?” I’ll tell you what the frequency is.In twenty years time (at max), Indian weddings will have only a few dozen guests just like their Western counterparts. I got an e-mail invite this morning from a distant friend. Now, I know what that means: I am on her guest list; but I am not worth the pain and trouble of a phone call or a personal invite because we don’t know each other well enough. And so, I won’t show up at the wedding because I know she really doesn’t want me there. Extend this to the hundreds of people that have received her e-mail invite. I’d be shocked if anyone turns up.
In this way, we keep playing this game of invites through e-mails, blogs and worse still, orkut and facebook posts. Slowly, down the line, the numbers at Indian weddings will keep reducing. My generation is far less attached to its second circle of family than my mother’s generation anyways. I have first cousins whose name I don’t know. Extrapolate this over 10, 15 and 20 years. I think my assumption is safe. Weddings will cost far lesser; and we’ll manage to keep the noise out.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Why Steve Jobs' $1 salary means little
There’s a table calendar on my colleague’s desk. The month of January has on it the photo of a man with curly, ruffled hair holding up two wall clocks on his shoulders; one clock shows 9 and the other clock shows 5. The punch line reads: “Success cannot come from a 40-hour week”. I love the illustration for the simplicity with which it conveys a very powerful message. Hidden into it is also the idiosyncrasy of being displayed on a guy’s desk who clocks 40 hours per week.
But the elephant in the room is easy to spot. I went up to this guy and asked him how he interpreted the line “Success cannot come from a 40-hour week” He looked at me with a “Duh!” and continued “It could mean one of two things: A) is that success cannot come from putting in just 40 hours per week at my job or, B) I need to be more efficient with the 40 hours that I put in to be more successful.” Maybe that’s how you would interpret it too.
But let me tell you how a man who takes home 1 dollar a year as salary would view the statement. The 40-hour week is representative of a job (or in other words something that the great majority is involved in). To be in position to take home a dollar in pay check, the guy would not have to depend on his pay check for food. And that means, his net worth/ passive stream of income would make his paycheck irrelevant. Again, that implies he keeps his job as head of Apple not because he has to (for Goodness sake), but because he chooses to. As popularly misunderstood, a 1$ paycheck to a CEO of a company who holds equity in it means nothing. However, a CEO with no equity in his company is never going to see a 1$ pay check. He’ll be well taken care off (or at least, that’s how it’s made to look).
A friend said this over lunch: “If you borrow 3 lakhs from a bank, the bank owns you. If you borrow 3 crores from a bank, you own the bank.” I’d say “If your company pays you a 100, 000 a year, the company owns you. If it pays you one dollar a year, you own it.”
Wish you a speedy recovery, Mr. Jobs.
Well Well
Looks like someone seconds my opinion:
http://economictimes.indiatimes.com/Opinion/Davos_goes_nowhere/articleshow/4072530.cms
Happy Day
http://economictimes.indiatimes.com/Opinion/Davos_goes_nowhere/articleshow/4072530.cms
Happy Day
Monday, February 2, 2009
Our Leaders are on Drugs
Davos is over; at least for 2009.
Here
As a by-stander, I am disappointed. Beyond re-iterating the existing gloom and sad stories, I can’t quite see an action plan in place. Platforms for discussions like the prestigious one in Davos tend to pride more on the fact that world leaders, diplomats and religious leaders made an appearance. Little is understood as to why they did it.
The message from the Annual Meeting is that leaders must continue to develop a swift and coordinated policy response to the most serious global recession since the 1930s: global challenges demand global solutions.
Honestly, did we need 4 of the heads of G8 counties to tell us that? What next?
Does the WEF have any follow up programme? How are we doing on the agendas that were set in the WEF 2005 (say) to tackle hunger in Africa? Or trafficking in Cambodia?
The greatest outcome of the Annual Meeting 2009 was that, despite the economic turbulence, people chose to come together in record numbers from industry, government and civil society to reflect on the seriousness of the global challenges we face and to connect and respond to such challenges.
Goodness! Is this the kind of conclusions that you would expect from history makers at a time in history like this?
The bottom line question is: Will the effort that went into staging the WEF this year pull the world out of recession? I doubt so. A lot will be achieved on the periphery.
In case you suspect, I am not a critic of the World Economic Forum. On the contrary, I am a keen follower of the event with the hope that something might get done that could improve the well-being of an old lady in the Andes, or a twenty five year old in the heart of India’s Silicon Valley.
Here
As a by-stander, I am disappointed. Beyond re-iterating the existing gloom and sad stories, I can’t quite see an action plan in place. Platforms for discussions like the prestigious one in Davos tend to pride more on the fact that world leaders, diplomats and religious leaders made an appearance. Little is understood as to why they did it.
The message from the Annual Meeting is that leaders must continue to develop a swift and coordinated policy response to the most serious global recession since the 1930s: global challenges demand global solutions.
Honestly, did we need 4 of the heads of G8 counties to tell us that? What next?
Does the WEF have any follow up programme? How are we doing on the agendas that were set in the WEF 2005 (say) to tackle hunger in Africa? Or trafficking in Cambodia?
The greatest outcome of the Annual Meeting 2009 was that, despite the economic turbulence, people chose to come together in record numbers from industry, government and civil society to reflect on the seriousness of the global challenges we face and to connect and respond to such challenges.
Goodness! Is this the kind of conclusions that you would expect from history makers at a time in history like this?
The bottom line question is: Will the effort that went into staging the WEF this year pull the world out of recession? I doubt so. A lot will be achieved on the periphery.
In case you suspect, I am not a critic of the World Economic Forum. On the contrary, I am a keen follower of the event with the hope that something might get done that could improve the well-being of an old lady in the Andes, or a twenty five year old in the heart of India’s Silicon Valley.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Look who's talking
Crowded lifts are fun. Notice how ten people in a lift will stay perfectly silent; they’ll look up at the display counting the floors, look at their shoes, and look at the walls of the lift. There’s a cold silence and something tells you that everyone inside prefers it that way. Isn’t it funny how people can stand next to each other and go up 23 floors without making an eye contact? And that sight when the floor has ‘arrived’. I’ve noticed how men and women will literally rush out of the lift as soon as it lands, almost like a Ferrari in a pit stop whose crew took a second too much to refuel. Men will steal glances, searching around for the best assets and women will punch away into their cell phones like that’s the last hope for survival.
How do I know this? I ride up and down five floors each day looking at assets. We are men, and that’s how we are wired.
* * *
“I think she should start hanging out with single men more often”, I thought to myself, as I stood in the lift.
Her hands were folded, shoulders slightly stooped and the hair tucked behind the ears suggested that the she had been complimented on her ear rings earlier in the day. Her glance was fixed to the floor and the corner of my eyes was fixed on her.
“But you know girls. They like committed men.” my alter ego said.
“Yeah, but what good is that? If she gave single guys a chance, it would be good for all 4 of us.”, I couldn’t help but think to myself.
“Who four?”
“Herself, that guy, his wife and the single men. It’s such a win-win-win-win situation if she only decides”
The lift reached the ground floor and we all moved out.
* * *
I like Mel Gibson’s movie What Women Want. In the movie, by a stroke of circumstance, he gets the ability to hear what a woman is thinking. I visualize a device that can give each of us the power to do this; and I don’t mean masculine and feminine. I mean everybody can hear what every other person is thinking.
Here’s the catch: This device will work only inside lifts.
I wonder what she must have thought had she heard what I was thinking inside that lift. Probably something like, “Jerk!”
But the device is still an idea. Until lifts are equipped with this ‘thought hearing device’, I still maintain that she needs to give single men a chance.
How do I know this? I ride up and down five floors each day looking at assets. We are men, and that’s how we are wired.
* * *
“I think she should start hanging out with single men more often”, I thought to myself, as I stood in the lift.
Her hands were folded, shoulders slightly stooped and the hair tucked behind the ears suggested that the she had been complimented on her ear rings earlier in the day. Her glance was fixed to the floor and the corner of my eyes was fixed on her.
“But you know girls. They like committed men.” my alter ego said.
“Yeah, but what good is that? If she gave single guys a chance, it would be good for all 4 of us.”, I couldn’t help but think to myself.
“Who four?”
“Herself, that guy, his wife and the single men. It’s such a win-win-win-win situation if she only decides”
The lift reached the ground floor and we all moved out.
* * *
I like Mel Gibson’s movie What Women Want. In the movie, by a stroke of circumstance, he gets the ability to hear what a woman is thinking. I visualize a device that can give each of us the power to do this; and I don’t mean masculine and feminine. I mean everybody can hear what every other person is thinking.
Here’s the catch: This device will work only inside lifts.
I wonder what she must have thought had she heard what I was thinking inside that lift. Probably something like, “Jerk!”
But the device is still an idea. Until lifts are equipped with this ‘thought hearing device’, I still maintain that she needs to give single men a chance.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
WEF kicks off
The 5-day World Economic Forum (WEF) kicks off this evening in Davos, Switzerland. The event is expected to draw 2,500 participants from 96 countries. Participants from around the world include:
• 250 public figures, including 41 heads of state or government, 60 ministers, 30 heads or senior officials of international organizations and 10 ambassadors
• More than 510 participants from civil society, including 50 heads or representatives of non-governmental organizations, 225 media leaders, 215 leaders from academic institutions and think tanks, 10 religious leaders of different faiths and 10 trade union leaders. [Source: www.weforum.org]
The co-chairs of this year’s meet, as in every other year, is a handful of some of the world’s most influential names: Kofi Annan, Stephen Green of HSBC Holdings, Anand Mahindra of Mahindra and Mahindra, Rupert Murdoch of News Corp, Maria Ramos (Transnet Ltd., South Africa), Jeroen van der Veer (Chief o Royal Dutch Shell) and Werner Wenning of Bayer, Germany.
Russian Prime Minister Vladimir Putin is expected to pitch Russia’s Economic Vision at the opening address (00:15, IST) that is expected to set the tone of the debate over the course of the forum. Union Minister of Commerce and Industry Kamal Nath is leading the Indian congregation.
It will be interesting to note how Klaus Schwab’s stage will shape up discussions (and solutions, hopefully). With all the doom and gloom expected for much of 2009, this could very well be a place for the top brass to put matters into perspective. As it is already being said, this is the most important edition of the WEF in forty years.
A familiar face at WEF, Bill Gates, seems absent. The Obama administration is sending only one senior adviser. Another section to watch out this WEF: The Young Global Leaders.
• 250 public figures, including 41 heads of state or government, 60 ministers, 30 heads or senior officials of international organizations and 10 ambassadors
• More than 510 participants from civil society, including 50 heads or representatives of non-governmental organizations, 225 media leaders, 215 leaders from academic institutions and think tanks, 10 religious leaders of different faiths and 10 trade union leaders. [Source: www.weforum.org]
The co-chairs of this year’s meet, as in every other year, is a handful of some of the world’s most influential names: Kofi Annan, Stephen Green of HSBC Holdings, Anand Mahindra of Mahindra and Mahindra, Rupert Murdoch of News Corp, Maria Ramos (Transnet Ltd., South Africa), Jeroen van der Veer (Chief o Royal Dutch Shell) and Werner Wenning of Bayer, Germany.
Russian Prime Minister Vladimir Putin is expected to pitch Russia’s Economic Vision at the opening address (00:15, IST) that is expected to set the tone of the debate over the course of the forum. Union Minister of Commerce and Industry Kamal Nath is leading the Indian congregation.
It will be interesting to note how Klaus Schwab’s stage will shape up discussions (and solutions, hopefully). With all the doom and gloom expected for much of 2009, this could very well be a place for the top brass to put matters into perspective. As it is already being said, this is the most important edition of the WEF in forty years.
A familiar face at WEF, Bill Gates, seems absent. The Obama administration is sending only one senior adviser. Another section to watch out this WEF: The Young Global Leaders.
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