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.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
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.
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