Being spied upon....

My sincere apologies to all those who visit and take a nap while they read this blog.

I have been off blogging for last couple of weeks. I was hiding in my rabbit hole.

No I was not mimicking any Saddam Hussain's capture episode.

For last 2 months I have been observing events that have been happening around me. I have had come to a conclusion that the secret agencies of the world CIA, KGB, MOSSAD even ISI are snooping on me. I don’t know the agencies in Africa but I am so sure that they are also involved. I feel they all have together initiated a Jehad against me. I don’t know for what reason. I haven’t been involved with anything sinister but still they chose to target me. If the Vajpayee government could fool CIA and do a nuclear test, I am sure I can also evade the eagle’s eye.

How do I know that they all are spying on me?

Well I never discuss my personal issues with anybody, anybody. But even then they know of my financial problems. Every day I get tons of mails from unknown people offering me a part of their fortune. How did they get to know that I need what they have? How come the Barclay’s Bank, wherever it is, knows that I need money and sends me mail that I need to give them my bank number identification number so that they can transfer millions in my account?

Did I say millions? Yes I did. How can a bank offer millions to an unknown person, unless the whole act is a concerted show of these intelligence agencies that have each put in a substantial amount to pay for those millions on the platter and for the pay of that guy who sends me those mails?

They are after me, which I can digest, thanks Hajmola, although with great resentment and disbelief. But can one justify that just to pin me down they have gone a killing spree, slaying so many millionaires. Every now and then some millionaire has dies somewhere, and the next of kin wants to disburse, read siphon off, the fortune and needs my help to divert the funds giving my share of 20-30% of the amount. The amount in question is billions of USD, yes USD.

Since I haven’t replied to any of those mails and fall in the trap laid by these nasty people, they have resorted to mental torture to make me com e out of my rabbit hole. I do not and will not. I have come out form my den just to let then know that I am a warrior and will not give in. Even the torture that have befallen upon me won’t weaken me. These people have started a rumor campaign, like the “Get well soon Lucky.” questioning the extent of my masculinity. Trillions of people who I don’t know have been up day in night out to suggest cheap drugs or good one at cheaper rates like Viagra. I want to tell all those people just one thing, “Go and ask you mum and sis”. What do you ask is entirely on you. But to get the right answer one has to ask the question and that is all that I have to say about that

I better finish and go back hiding. It is about time these guys will come and start sniffing the whole network for any sign of me. In the meantime I would invite everybody who been a victim of this organized crime to fight for their right and not give up.

Vahe Guru Ji ka khalsa, Vahe Guru Ji ki fatah.

And the warrior ran straight into the enemy killing them like flies……..

Jara aaankh main bahr lo pani, jara yaad karo kurbani…..

PJs (Poor Jokes)

Did you ever know what is the most difficult part of PJs (poor jokes)?

It is making those PJs and worst making those PJs spontaneously.

Consider this:

My colleague and I were taking the daily stroll after having our lunch and we happened to pass my motorcycle. Looking at the odometer my colleague asks me “Hey, how come you have managed only 14 thousand kilometers in past 2 years, I have done 30 thousand on my car in last 1 year?”

Waiting for my reply he was prepared in defensive stance to take the onslaught.

After some time, pretending to think a lot about the answer, I replied.

“Well, you have 4 wheels on your car and I have only 2!”

“What?”

“Well, you clock four times the distance while I only clock twice!”

And he ran amok into the crowd….

And I was so pleased and happy and all the other in our group had a good hearty laugh.

s(Pee)itting

Ladies before you start reading this post I consider it my duty to warn you that you may not like reading this post. Even if you do you would not be able to appreciate the concerns raised in this post as it is very likely (though I want to write almost certain) you have had not witnessed the act described here.

So here I hit the road…

It has been a mystery for me. No matter how much I try to reason out the reason I fail to come up with a fairly convincing reason to convince myself that I have found a reason for this ‘do this after, before or simultaneously’ behavior.

I have been baffled by the expanse of this behavior and as to how it is common to all men and cuts across all boundaries of type, size, color, caste, wealth, geographical location and any other line of demarcation that I can think of.

I don’t know what is this invisible bond that binds the act of reliving oneself (males of course, I don’t know about ladies) at the urinals and spitting?

Some men start with spitting, some men continue reliving themselves with the act of spitting, and some end with spitting after reliving themselves. Its not that I don’t have any other better work to do while I am relieving myself at the urinals, but just that I kind of feel it be very stupid to stare at the tiles in the front or look down into the urinal. It just feels so disgusting. And to add I don’t like spitting.

Do they feel like they have vanquished an insurmountable opponent? I guess they do so.

The smile, that feeling of joy and pride on their face does kind of reflect that sentiment. And if I may add they spit at their vanquished opponent; like some celebrate their victory, well almost certain victory, before the great war, some celebrate as they fight the war and some after they have had won the war.

“See that’s what you get when you mess with me. Need one more?? Hugh! Spit Spit one more spit. There your go you rotten …”

And some are real funny even when they are at this great holy war. These guys do not give up, ever, on their sense of humor. Even whey they trample their ‘who ever it is’ with the furry of a ravaging river they keep the whole environment cool and friendly by whistling a strange whistle, which goes like “Shoooo….. Shoooo….” What a great way, I admit, to shoo away the unwanted by saying “Shoo… Shoo…”!

I find this very funny, very very funny and very very very funny. So most of the time I kind of smile and others think the same what I have described above. But I don’t spit in or at the urinal.

Statutory Advice: Guys please wash your hands after using the rest rooms.

PS: When I told to my psychiatrist friend about my new post, he very coolly, as a matter of fact said “Telling one’s story as a friend’s story has been an old method of talking about oneself”. And I fell to the ground laughing; rolled on the floor as the spasms in my stomach became unbearable ...

5 Days at office.

A Typical day at office until….

Honey, hurry up and answer the phone.
Honey, hurry up and answer the phone.
Honey, hurry up and answer the phone.
Honey, hurry up and answer the phone.

My mobile phone suddenly chirped. This was my ring tone. The voice is neither of my current or future wife, given that I am single and neither of my girlfriend, I don’t know which one.

Hello!
Good evening Sir! Hmm… Arr… Good Morning Sir!
A Very good morning, may I know who’s on the line?
Is this Mr. Smart Alecky?
Yes. This is he. May I know who is on the line?
Sir, I am calling from XYZ Bank, we are offering a life time free credit card to only a few select of our customers and you have been chosen for the card.

Day 1.

Before you say anything, let me thank you. This is the first call that I have received in last 4 days.
Sir… (Stopped in the middle)
Wait let me finish. Allow me to thank you by treating you with a cup of coffee, for a start, at Barista next to…
Sir, Do you stay somewhere near that Barista?
Yes. Very close. If you want you can also see my house. It’s not huge though, just 4 rooms on some 3000 square foot of space. (Sounding very modest)
Sir, no need for that. Actually we have an office near that. You can go and give your papers at that office.
Yeah so lets meet and you explain me in details all about the card, all hidden charges, all penalties.
Thank you for time sir
So, I’ll expect you at 5:00 pm there, this Saturday.
Click.

Day 2.

I am sorry, but I am not interested.
Sir this card has this advantage, that advantage, no this and no that, extra there and extra here…
Do you guys ever give up? Almost shouting
In a defensive tone Sir, we are doing our job.
Sounding very sad I really pity you guys. You have to do work at office! We usually play golf!
Trying to conceal the embarrassment behind that almost there laughter Thank You Sir
Click.

NOTE: Some really don't understand and straight away hit for the Click.


Day 3.

Sir, based on your good balance in your account we are giving this card free for life time/ so many years, reduced late charges. And the best part is that you can use this card at any merchant location
Wow, that really great. But by the way, what amount you consider as good balance?
Trying to think something I cannot reveal that Sir
The reason why I say this is because if my balance is good then your people are in trouble as then anybody is eligible for your card
What do you mean Sir
Just go and check your record for once, my account balance has never been more than xyz. xyz here is less than even a decent amount with a person who has been bankrupt since the mezozioc era.
Click.

Day 4.

You know this is the fourth time I am being selected for the offer, even though I have refused it all the times.
Amm….
Do you guys have a dictionary?
Yes, why Sir?
Well go and look how many meaning does ‘NO’ have in it. Until the last time I saw it, it always meant only ‘NO’
Click.

Day 5.

Sorry, I am not interested.
Why sir? Do you have any other cards?
Yeah, Citibank, HDFC, SBI, ICICI, Standard Chartered, Manhattan …. (almost all the names I knew other than this bank)
Sir, you can keep the cards from all the banks but not mine almost in tears, if possible the mobile phone would have had become a gargoyle.
Click.


And I wonder why I don’t have a credit card.

Strike, brings the best out of me....

Its not that I am one of those, work till I die kind of workaholics; I really do love to get day off from office but I hate it, loath it when it happens to be on a weekday. And especially if it is because of a strike(bandh) organized by somebody who probably thought there hasn’t been much of rioting on the streets. Why? The reasons are aplenty and listed down below, not necessarily in the order of their priority of being a major contributor to that hate feeling.

1. Office is the place where I get a good delicious food, which of course looses its deliciousness after days of eat-the-same-kinda-food thing. But nevertheless given the fact that it at a subsidized rate of Rs. 6 per meal, unlimited, nobody has any right to complain about the taste. Now if the day off is on weekday I miss my chance to gobble up all that food at those cheap rates. I have to go out and shell a lot more for not that healthy and many times certainly not that much hygienic food. Well you can call me a miser, cheap person but I’d call it as saving for the rainy day. Now if the day off is because of the bandh (strike), then all eateries outside are closed and there’s every chance of people like my starving to death. This is the Amazon rainy day where my savings for the rainy day do not come in handy. Even the pizza huts/corners are closed and there’s no home delivery.
   
   
2. Office is that one place where I meet, greet, grin at, look cocked eyed at so many people. There’s so much to talk about, and so many to talk to. With the day off I miss all those people. The life feels so boring and dull.
   
   
3. Office is that one place where I can surf a lot, till I drop dead or one of the person from IS (Information Support) teams comes saying that I have violated my company’s online surfing policy ‘n’ number of times which is ‘m’ times more than the permissible limits of ‘k’ attempts. But nevertheless I can browse a lot. And not having an internet connection at home make life all the more miserable.
   


4. Office is that place where I can have gallons of tea/coffee. It’s the lifeline of my life at office, or else I be down with the hang-of -left-over of the last drop of coffee I had days ago. At home limited supply of milk makes me feel lethargic and lie all day on the bed.
   
   
5. Office is that one place which allows me for recreation. A non-existent TV and a far from working radio makes that recreation at home almost next to beyond impossible. And especially if you have a college friend, who is as big an ass hole as a mammoth’s asshole (not the mammoth or the mamoth's hole, but the friend, get your context right you dumbo), living in the same building, who wears that my-wife-beat-me-again sorry pathetic, ready to die look whenever I knock at his door just because he knows that invariably I’ll switch on the his TV and his electricity meter somewhere downstairs will board the supersonic or maybe superlight, merry go round, and start spinning as fast as you can say nothing. This also adds to my second point about people. Just for the record this genltemand is a bachelor.
   
   
6. Bandh there’s no newspaper so that I can do that crossword again and again. I do it once with a pencil, erase it and do it again.
   
   
7. And since all the shops are closed because of the bandh, I have to stockpile my packets of cigarettes and of course I always do not stock enough of them.
   
   
8. I have to play that stupid game of ‘Ceasar’ again and again. Sometimes its fun though, to pay the citizens peanuts, 10 denarii per-month of salary and tax them at 30-40 percent of their income. And then hear the people crying out loud. Stop all the farming and hear the lady grunt “There’s no food in the city so I’m on my way 'ome'”, or that cart pusher “Can you spare me a little bread. I haven’t eaten for long”. And then the situation worsens and there are riots in the city and people come out on the roads with torches shouting “Down with the Governor” and I take all my troops there just to kill that one person who most often hides in one of those slums even before my army can say ‘March’. Most of the time its October though.
   
   
9. Worst of all I will have to come on Saturday to compensate for this unwanted middle-of-nowhere holiday. I would, sometimes I do think so, love to do so as Saturday, by the very essence of it being a Saturday is a laidback day, so no problem if anybody catches you snoring while you stare at that monitor, which now shows you screensaver when you thought you were reading a pdf on autoscroll!!
   
   

And finally when I am tired of all the stuff that I did and did not do, I roll myself in the bed thinking about all those beautiful things that never happen to anybody. Well God is not anybody but even then they do not happen to him also.

And by the time you read this line, I have already consumed 2 hours of my productive work time to write this post, proof read it, correct all the typos and post it; and now its time to go home and prepare for that bandh(strike) tomorrow and do what all I wrote above.

Disclaim-ed Post...

Disclaimer: The following post might be offending to those who are better halves, would be better halves, were better halves and want to better halves of somebody. I do not condone and appreciate the behavior mentioned in the post, and is described here for … well you read the post.


I have this new old friend. He’s new because I met him only 3 years back, and he’s old because of all those friends I have had made in these last 3 years he was probably the first.

So this friend of mine got married recently, as recent as 1 year back. Standing at 5 feet mark he’s not that tall, but he compensates for those missing good inches with his ever growing waistline. “Can’t help! She is good at cooking and makes delicious food”, he retorts. Every body who walks by and knows him kind of punches him in the belly and smiles, and some who are funnier, like me, ask “When is the baby due?” A sheepish smile is the short answer to the long question.

But he still clings on to his days of bachelorhood. And the incidents stated are reminiscent of those days.

We often meet at this place; everybody in the world knows that it is a secret place. And so very often we have this beautiful lady visiting this place; and every time my dear friend sees her, the adrenalin shoots up and his want for staying there for long gets longer. A strange happiness results in a picture perfect ear to ear Colgate smile, and even if you do not know, you can be 100 time infinity percent sure that she is somewhere around. This all seems very filmi, especially if you have recently cried over Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gum. And like all filmi heroes, superheroes and always zeros this gentleman has a filmi name ‘Rohit’. Quite filmi !!

So this other day when this filmi Rohit and I were in the secret building waiting for the elevator to come and elevate us to the top floor, this pericardium, the sinoatrial node of his life suddenly appeared on the same floor. A flash of lightening somewhere, and I instantly knew that it was the Colgate smile and that the lady was somewhere near. Waiting for the elevator on the same floor, there were we three and some other don’t cares. The elevator stopped and incidentally it was empty, normally it is never. My friend later told me it was good or else we three would have to split in two and one. No, I didn’t have the guts to ask whether that one was me or somebody else. In the lift this gentleman was in the seventh heaven (maybe even more if somebody can prove that there are more)

With heels of more than what looked like mighty six inches, she stood a little taller than 5 feet 3 inches, give or take. The swelling waistline suddenly reduced and the chest was up and out. Had it been a second more, the ribs would have had opened outward, and the heart would making a 100m sprint for every femto-meter, would have been running around pole-vaulting on the elevator floor.

The door opened and we went to the coffee bar and the lady went the other way. Until this day I probably never knew how much fun it was to walk backwards.

Over the cup of coffee the dam-ned drooling started. Here a confession, actually we both did and it looked like I was still a novice in drooling. I am sure he must have been a US Marine or a secret agent before we met, or in his earlier life. Just one look and so much observed and absorbed! “Did you see …(I cant pen down what he said because I won’t be able to do justice to the words and the intensity of those words, but it was nothing that you may start saying Ahaa... Hmmm…WHAT? Perverts…. ) I’d say he said something about a perfect sine curve and other curves, of the scintillating radiant skin, of the pearly teeth, of the beautiful earring… and I dozed off.

And just then we were interrupted by a third common friend, code named Jassi Jaisi Koi Nahin, who without being told anything he understood what has happened in the immediate past. He laughed until he could laugh no more; pearls of joy rolled down his cheeks. Then we both started hitting him, though not hard, reminding him he is married and its time to let go of those days of bachelorhood.

One last word he said “Beautiful…”, we saw a flash of a fleeting shadow disappearing in that distant door…

PS: When I told to my psychiatrist friend about my new post, he very coolly, as a matter of fact said “Telling one’s story as a friend’s story, has been an old method of talking about oneself”. And I fell to the ground laughing; rolled on the flooe as the spasms in my stomach became unbearable ...

And do not ask me which better half I was referring to.

Insane than insanity.

A Simple question:

How much more insane than insanity can an insane thing be?

Before you start yelling, some laughing maybe guffawing, some gesticulating and nodding their head in disbelief that I have gone mad, let me explain why I ask this question.


There is this religious rule in one of the Islamic countries which says:

“A woman can be held accused of adultery/ infidelity if she cannot produce at
least four males who can testify in the court of law that the woman was
raped.”

I so much want to entire post, filled with exclamation marks. !!!!!!!!!!!

Isn’t this the easiest way to condone the acts of quenching the thirst of sexual pleasures outside the confines of a sacred marriage? And the onus of proving herself innocent is left to hapless woman, who has undergone such a physical and mental torture, a setback to her self esteem, from which there is no coming back. And the conditions of that proof are so such surreal that actually there is no way of the female is proved innocent.

If there was a rape, how can the lady get 4 males, leave alone 1 to testify that she was raped. Even if there were 4 + males in that room where the horrible act happened wouldn’t they be part of the crime, would they say something and put themselves at the guillotine? If not an abettor in the crime then what were they doing there, watching a live porn and self serving?

And when the government kind of tries to do away with this annoying law the religious heads (empty ones I guess) pop up saying that this is blasphemous!

I wouldn’t ever want even my arch nemesis to have a daughter in that land.

Shake-ira in a corporate fest....

Philips Innovation Campus (PIC) completed its ten years in India; and they had a week long celebration, calling it a festival would be just to its scale and grandiosity. The week long of fun ended in a family get together of PICians (that’s how they call themselves) at Palace Grounds, Bangalore.

Under the huge tent had gathered anywhere close to 2000 plus junta. I like a faithful family member of my friend, who incidentally has almost no family here, accompanied him to this get together. It was an incidental advantage that they had high tea and dinner, on the house! Well now you know what holds my faith.

Anyways, the high tea was good, and very high. Pastries, chicken tikka , patties, lukewarm tea and barely hot coffee were available and I had all of them in multiple rounds until my stomach could take no more. Well I actually respected the amount of effort and time they have had put in bringing up the great mix of delicious food and didn’t want any of it to be thrown away, just because it wasn’t finished, so I kept on going.

Apart from arrangements for filling your belly, they had a mix bag of programs. A fashion show of children, children from 8 months to well I better say not. Yes 8 months, and we say ban child labor. Then there was fashion show, which was more like dancing wearing flashy clothes. They ‘danced’ around on Shakira tunes and tunes of other Bollywood croon-ies.

And then comes Javed Jaffery on stage. And this was the best part of the whole gathering, except for that another best, that one lady in that dance in fashion show or fashion show in dance, whatever it was.

He made the people there laugh and I laughed a lot. One of the few stories he said, though not verbatim:

All the big companies, corporate world have become responsive to the plagues of the society, one of them being AIDS. So they have all started manufacturing condoms with own brand name and even the punch line.

Reliance Condoms: Kar lo duniya mutthi main
NIKE Condoms: Just do it
NOKIA Condoms: Connecting people

The best of all:
Hero Honda Condoms: Fill it, shut it, forget it.

Then he invited some of the head honchos on stage for a short game of dumb-charade, which later on drifted to mimicry; they didn’t know much of stuff. Like this gentleman, must be in high position given his bald and shining head marked by stray strands of grey hairs, who didn’t know how to enact his favorite actor. Poor him, either he didn’t have a favorite actor which is bad or else he didn’t know how his favorite actor acted which is worse. The best of this head honchos heading was still to come.

Javed then asked this another gentleman to dance on one of the Shakira songs, to say in Shakira words, around the world on my bouncing butt! So this guy’s humongous butt swayed from side to side, up and down, from here to there. Shakira had a heart attack somewhere. Don’t come saying heart attack can happen only in the heart and not somewhere. This somewhere is for some geographical location. This one nice chap sitting next to the raised platform, in an effort to buttress his boss, or in this burst of Shakira emotions, jumped on the stage with garland of plastic flowers; put the flowers around this dancing Shake-ira, went down on his knees and started a slow motion tribal kneel-down-dance. The more-Shake-ira understood his cue, arched his back and started hopping from one foot onto another as if trying to simultaneously jump and shove his member into this fan’s mouth. It looked so cheap and ghastly on stage, and amusing knowing that one of the artist in this soft late-night-view-type will be one taking you next monthly review meeting!

Bemused, Javed intervened saying “This is not a dance bar, you kneel-down-dance person please get off the stage.” Literally the only thing that he needed was throw some Rs. 10 currency up in the air!

And I was head over heels. The entire row, column of chairs looked askance wondering “Why couldn’t I laugh as loud as him?”

A helluva time. Full time masti, courtesy they damsel in dance-fashion-show and this little-more-Shake-ira.

And Bangalore dies once again ...

September 3, 2006: Bangalore chocked to death once again. On a usual day she normally chokes and has a near death experience, atleast two times a day, for hours in the morning and hours in the evening. A routine thing, to which, the Bangaloreans have got used to and they miss the chocking when it is not there. The city recuperates from the week of chocking and gasping for breath on the weekends and on public holidays. But September 3, 2006 was different. It was a holiday, a Sunday, a laid back day for most. The city, while trying to muster some strength to get over the atrocities done to it the gone week and get ready for the onslaught of the next week, was sloshed in the dirt of Congress’s doing.

The Hunter vali, the ring master, the Chairwoman, the lifeline of the party, the incumbent for the only name that does wonder in Indian Politics, Mrs. Sonia Gandhi, was in the city. And the entire Congress party had like poured into the city to felicitate her home (??) coming, to shout slogans praising her and her efforts to dislodge the so called and so many communal forces, to have done all that has been done, undone, will be done, was/is promised but will not be done and all the other forms of done.

Big, super big, super duper big, cutouts were put, banners were placed everywhere and anywhere. If there’s a place, there’s a banner/cutout. Like it was a crime to leave any space unattended! And so many faces donned those posters. Even some of the congress workers were surprised to find that they had so many buffoons in their party. Why do the toothpaste companies not give them some free tooth-paste? The last thing I want to see is these people wearing a yellow toothed smile! And if the big buffoons are there on the display then how come the ntire entourage of monkeys be left behind? So there were family members, near and distantly distant, first level workers, ward workers, the accountants, the siphon-ers, the sweepers, the filth-doers, the named, the un-named and everybody who has the alphabets C, O, N, G, R, E, S, S in their name.

There were plastic flags dotting the entire length of the medians on all the roads of Bangalore; of course where the armada would zoom past. I so many times feel it is so good that these politicians are not interested in visiting each and every locality of a town; else it would be like “Me in a plastic clad Congress land!”

The newspapers reported that the local politicians had a scuffle over who would share the dais with the Lady. I am now so sure that she smells so good. Which perfume??

Then there were those busses. One after another, bumper to bumper, with people packed in. I don’t know what they were offered, a non-vegetarian meal and Rs.500 or more. I guess not, after all it was not fo(a)rmer PM. Devegowda’s call. But the people seemed to be comfortable in those busses. Maybe they don’t have busses in their village, maybe the busses are rickety shiketty, maybe they don’t have seats, what ever the reason may be. But even these comfortable busses are a pain, and you know where, for the daily traveler. I’d recommend the city transport to increase the number of footboards on these busses and increase their surface area, atleast people will have more space to put their toe on and not try some trapeze-ing on the window/door railings.

So these people on a one day tour to Bangalore had a good time, went sightseeing (yes it was all the gargoyles were operational, all the roads were cleaned and were dressed in a coat of fresh paint), delicious lunch, were even paid for junket. They had great time littering wherever they could, spitting whenever they could, and squatting for the obvious when ever they should. The plastic flags and banners did their part so well, flawless; falling on the roads, being swept away by a light gush of wind, trying on their own to complete the picture by blowing into every nook of the road’s asphalt, tree branches. A complete disaster for the city; a perfect mayhem.

And I witnessed all of this as I stood there watching all this happen, a helpless person, trying to reach his class on time only to be stopped, as the traffic piled up, because somebody important was supposed to take the road sometime in next half hour or the next to next one.

Her emergency supply lines went down. It will take her a long time to come back to normal.

Bangalore died once again, asphyxiated and chocked.

While I tried to kill myself and lit a cigarette …

Orkut Explained

A guy explaining Orkut to his friend:

Dekh mein samjhata hoon Orkut kya hai..jaise bachapan mein dost ki colony mein ja kar wahan ki ladkiyon par line marte the aur woh humari colony ki ladkiyon par

taank jhaank karte the ..bus Orkut ussi ka modern version hai..ek badi si friend list rakho.. teri list mein jo ladkiyan hongi un par mein dorre daloonga aur meri friend list ki ladkiyon par tu dorre dalega :)

Lekin jaise colony mein jane ka bahana chaiye hota tha ki dost rehta hai wahan par..isliye khoob saare dost rakho friend list mein jo use jante hon :)

Hope you did understood..lol Any confustion just shoot your questions :P

Does anybody still have any question??

Multiplexer to De-Multiplexer.

This is a question I always wanted to ask in my Digital Electronics; course at my grad college. I never asked this question though, knowing that it sounded very stupid. Anyways I knew that my lecturer wouldn't have had appreciated a student curious to this insane, blow up devices, level.

So what is a multiplexer?
A simple device, which routes any one of the N inputs to its sole Output line. The selection being done by the signal you feed it on, very aptly called, the Selector Lines.

To make the dump readers understand what it is like, it is like a junction on the road where all except one roads are two-way. Now traffic from which road enters the one-way is determined by the traffic signal, the selector lines.

For the dumber, its like this. You have a house and you need hot water, cold water or no water. So you have three water lines, one carrying hot water, one carrying cold water and one carrying no water. So if you want to get hot or cold or no water (the N =3 inputs lines) in your kitchen tap (the sole output line) you use a switch/level/valve (the selector).

For the dumbest, there's is nothing like Multiplexer, its all my imagination.

What is a demultiplexer?
The reverse, route the sole input to one of the many output lines, using the selector lines to select which output.

Well actually the multiplexer is on a chip, and one chip usually has 3-4 multiplexer depending on how many inputs you have. So you cannot take one multiplexer and tell others "Hey do you see this? This is a multiplexer!"

Coming back to the question, a rather dump one after having given the above examples!!

If we can give signals at input and choose which one to route on the output line, using the selection lines; why can't we give the input on the sole output line, use the selector lines to select which output line and route the signal to the selected line. A decoder!!"

Caution: The term input output lines are relative and to make the statement less convoluted, the input/output lines are used as seen from a multiplexer.

BTW I don't know why the lines are called lines? I guess the trend started because:

• It was easier to print straight lines in the books rather than curves.
• Since, people who taught and people who were taught saw the straight lines, started calling it lines (synonymous with straight lines!!)

A fall lower than the lowest ...

Yesterday there was a news item in the English Daily The Times of India , Bangalore Edition, which made me sad. It read Abu Salem to contest elections from Azamgarh in UP, his home town.

A dreaded gangster abettor in crime, one of those responsible for the Mumbai bomb blasts in early 90s, one who was searched by the Indian Police and Interpol for decades, one for whose extradition the CBI had made elaborate submission in Portugal, one who must be stoned to death publicly, one who should be made to die bit by bit, second by second for the rest many bits of his body and seconds of his life.

And this same person is being invited by a political party to contest elections. One of his relatives, as reported by the daily, said that the clan to which Abu belongs is 20% of the population, a number too high to be ignored by any political party, a number which can turn the fate of the elections.

What has happened to us? What has happened to the democracy for which the freedom fighters gave their life? What happened to the values? What happened to the feeling of doing good for the country?

How low can this democracy bow? Having fallen so low, when will the political parties and the politicians hit hard surface? When the people understand the perils of their actions?

What happened when the infamous Bandit Queen Phoolan Devi was elected as Member of Parliament on a Smajvadi Party Ticket? Was giving her the free ticket to the Parliament a way to assuage what was done to her? Was that a way to legitimate and pardon what she had done, so many killings? I do not condone and say that what was done to her was right, it was a ghastly act, but a tooth for a tooth, an eye for an eye? Instead of hitting the root cause of the problem, the casteism, the politicians just did add fuel to this wildfire.

All this reminds of what Chanakya once did, to kill the tree whose thorn has pierced his foot. Remove the root cause, kill the tree instead of removing the thorns.

We will all, for certain, burn in the heat of this wildfire.

The uncomfortable heat has already started to take its toll.

The good that was bad.... it did no good

Sequel to a previous post:

One of the various rules of the environment, in which I was brought up was, what my grandfather and father always said

Something is not bad only because it does harm, but it can also be bad because it has the capability to do good but does not do good.

A statement so simple but encompasses so much in it. I always used to wonder how so much can be said in so less words.

To apply the same argument, the worst thing to happen to India in general and Bangalore in particular was the Software/IT and ITES industry. Why?

It is simple to understand.

These industries have given the people, and so many of them, most of them young and still in youth of their life, so much power. Power to do so many things! It has given them the global perspective. Given them the opportunity to have a look and feel how good things work. What patterns of courtesy people follow? Many have been able to take first hand experience of the seamless and almost flawless working of the massive systems in so many countries; from things which touch our daily life, as trivial as the order on the roads, the courtesy of the person at the phone to as complex as the running of a district/county.

We talk a lot on daily basis in the confines of our offices, of ‘Best Practices’, of ‘Six Sigma quality’, of ‘Customer Delight’, of ‘Courtesy’ and of so many other good things. We make every effort to follow them, to make sure these learning have effect on out productivity, on our quality, the way we act as brand ambassadors of our company, of our products.

But then….

Why do these great things, good things vanish in thin air the moment we setup outsize the confines of the office? When we are at home, on roads, in malls, at movies?

Why do we drive like maniacs? Why do we honk when there is no need to do so? Why do we litter public places? Why does the phone ring during a movie? Why do people don’t give way to others?

Do we behave like that in the office driveway or home? Do we litter the cubicles in office or our home? Do we keep the phone on ringer at office?

We talk a lot about leading a stress free life, leaving the office at office and take only ‘us’ back home not our office. We probably follow this dictum too ardently to miss the point. We leave everything at office, even the best practices, even the good things that we learn while we are office. We leave all the courtesy, all the mannerism, all the politeness, all the gentleness we imbibe in ourselves at office and home.

Should I complain to his parents?

So this Sunday, we celebrated Ganesh Chaturthi. Everybody was having fun. There was happiness all around. So what does this mean?

a) It gives many, the right to create a make shift pandals on the roads, blocking almost 60% of the road width. But they are aware of their social responsibilities so they always have some people deputed to guide the traffic that Ganesha is sitting here, so you better take the detour.
Its the riders/drivers fault that they chose to take that road, when there are many pot-holed, 1 lane by lanes, that one can take anytime. Traveling on them might be like cycling the pristine by-cycles but that would atleast save some time. And note that only the atheists, the blasphemous would dare to put their time over and above the Lord.

b) It also gives many, the right to use loudspeakers. Blaring music right from the time when the first of the first of the first photons of the sunray beats upon the earth until the time when the last of last of last photons barely manages to skim the earth. Early of the earliest morning to the latest of late evening. So the neighborhood’s sleep goes for a spin. But we are content that atleast they are making the Ganesh happy.

c) Not to miss the gang of kids on the roads. The only homework they then know is of standing on the road in bunches, numbering to a large number, which would put shame to the cumulative strengths of armies and militant organization of the world. Their dictionary is limited to few words, "Donation uncle, Ganesh!". Makes me wonder, do I look that old? One gang after another they pound on the passers-by. You pay them, Rs 10 is not acceptable is a straight reply, if not by will then to save yourself from the school of piranhas nibbling on you piece-meal.

d) Others find it a great way to show to themselves or maybe to others, gossiping is contagious, their religious bent. They visit from many to any pandals. I don't know what they look for blessings, sandals or something else!!

And it makes me wonder, does Ganesh love it when Himesh Reshmiya croons “Aashik banaya Aapne” or does he really feels like dancing when a chart buster of local lingo is blasting from the loudspeakers? Does he really care about those groups dancing on the roads? Does he worry about those people who after putting a hard day at work would like to sleep well? Does he get upset that celebration for some has become a nuisance for many?

What wrong did I do? I wonder. Why I am not allowed to get a good sleep? Why do I have to be stopped at every corner? Why do I have to slow down on my way to office at every nook and corner of the road? Why has begging taken a new guise under the cloak of religious collection?

Is Ganesha punishing me because I don’t remember when was the last time I went to a temple? Is he punishing me because I don’t contribute to those collections? Is he punishing me that I don’t have faith in the people who collect the money? Is he punishing me that my prayers are limited to just half and hour of modest effort a day?

Should I complain to his parents?

And Sambha asked for mercy...

PJ's of all PJ's ...

Gabber: Kitne Aadmi they.

Sambha: Sardar Do,

Gabber: Mujhe ginti nahi aati. Do kitne hotey hain?

Sambha: Sardar Do Ek ke baad aata hai.

Gabber: Aur Do ke pehle?

Sambha: Do ke pehle Ek aata hai.

Gabber: To beech mein kaun aata hai?

Sambha: Beech mein koi nahi aata.

Gabber: To fir Dono ek saath kyon nahi atey?

Sambha: Do Ek ke baad hi aa sakta hai, kyonki Do ek se bada hai.

Gabber: Do ek se bada hai? Kitna bada hai?

Sambha: Do ek se Ek bada hai?

Gabber: Agar Do ek se ek bada hai to ek ek se kitna bada hai?

Sambha: Sardar, Maine tumhara namak khaya hai, mujhe goli mar do

Practice makes man Perfect.... Bangalore??

I was raised in an environment where one amongst the many rules of life were "Practice makes man perfect". I was told that this rule will make me become a better person in all aspects of life, personal, professional and as a part of the "society".

And guess what? As I stand now decades down and beyond the realms of those rules, I find that probably I myself am the only person who knew these golden rules. There are examples aplenty around me. Better person, in all aspects of life, personal, professional and as a part of the "society", all that I became and this came with its own entourage of irritation and frustration.


The one thing that glares right on my face is the surroundings, the things that affect my daily life.

In Part one of this series:

For example:

Take the case of this shit-hole organization people call BMP aka Bangalore Municipal Corporation, and all its offshoots (read CMC etc.) They have been laying the roads, or the contractors have been laying the roads for so many decades. The roads laid afresh and the ones which have a new layer of metal on it, don't in anyway suggest that these people are in this job for so long. Practice makes man perfect!! You ride you bike/drive your card on these and you can feel the road surface as if your surf riding on a wave of metalled road. They are far from even and smooth but atleast better than 0.5-1 foot deep and 2-3 foot long craters for which the euphemism here is "Potholes". Yeah the wiki says that LA is famous for it, doesn't mean we hsould be proud of giving it run for its name.

There are so many flyovers under construction in Bangalore. Under construction, yes well atleast for the last 3-4 years and for will be for the next 2-3 years. Take any flyover, the one at SilkBoard junction, one Jayadeva Hospital; name any and you have many. Most of them have only purpose, to dramatically decrease the transmit time for that junction/crossing. In effect they are just means to dislocate the traffic jam; pick up the traffic jam from this end and dump it on the other. Silk Board, there's traffic jam At Bommnahalli and at Madivala. Jayadeva, there's traffic jam on Bannerghatta Rd. Things were atleast better on Banenrghatta Rd earlier. If not great atleast a bit better!

Take the drains. Every monsoon they de-silt the drain. Every monsoon!! Yes every monsoon. So is there so much of loose soil? No exactly. They de-silt the drain, remove the trash in the drain and dump it next to the drain. So a wild gush of wind blows off some of that silt into that de-silted drain. Come a shower and most of it goes back to its source, the drain.

Pareto Analysis holds well in all the domains. 80% of the problems are due to 20% of the causes. I listed three of those 20%.

I should better leave for home. It takes me 45 mintues to 1 hours to go back home, 13.76 kilometers. Later than now would mean getting stuk in traffic jam for hours and hours.

Thanks for my iPOD I'm still sane and not yet afflicted with road rage.

Hit where it hurts the most...

A forwarded e-mail best served on the platter of public buffet than a personal serviced e-mail ...

The pusillanimous, inept, to be damned in hell Government and the vociferous citizens.
The bombs leaving public in tatters and the country weeping, while the politicians cry about Peace and wot not.
De-weed the garden. Hit the root.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Have a few minutes to read this!!
GOOD MORNING FRIENDS!!!


I am an Indian citizen. One among 1 billion of us. When somebody bombs
us we die. Just like Americans did when the Al Qaeeda drove their
planes into the WTC. Just like Londoners did when terrorists attacked the
city last July.
But while Americans have the right to retaliate and bomb Afghanistan
offt the face of the map because the terrorists HQ was based there, we
Indians have to negotiate, talk, send peace buses, and "build confidence"
with the government across our border - the Pakistanis who are
supporting the terrorists with money and explosives.

The world applauds how resilient we are in the face of our tragedy, how
quickly we go back to "normalcy". Ironically we ourselves applaud our
resilience. The fact is that the world expects us to be less than human
- hey you fella, so what if you lost your colleague, friend, partner,
husband, wife or brother, get on with it old chap, that's it my boy! No
time to mourn. No time to fume and rail at the injustice being meted
out, no time to even call the terrorists the filthiest of names, no time
to give incompetent politicians and policemen, intelligence agencies
and the powers-be a piece of our mind. (Shivraj Patil, our honourable
honourable minister said something to the the effect that we knew that an
attack was planned but we didn't know the time and place. Really! What
did he expect - a phone call from the terrorists giving him the details
of the local trains, timings and compartments in which the explosives
would be kept !)

We also have to prove to the world that we are RESILIENT. Be happy with
Musharraf's "quick condemnation" and go back to the business of dealing
with old betrayers. After all we cannot "change the region's positive
course", as LA Times' editorial put it. So what if a few hundred Indians
die - Indians who are not into big time negotiations. Indians who just
want to earn their
living and return home to their families after a hard day's work.
But well no, Musharraf and his terrorist friends will deny them the
luxury of going back to his family because en route the train blows up!
And our incompetent politicians and policemen will let terrorists do
their horrific jobs and launch a hunt post-facto...
So Bombayites died for a cause: for the peace of the region! As did
Delhi-ites last year before Diwali. As did people in Bangalore when
Pakistan-supported terrorists hit the city. As did Indian tourists who had
gone to Srinagar for a holiday....And as will many many more will
die...Wow, that's some consolation!

If you feel as angry about what's happening to us, please feel free to
pass this on. If your reaction is: "hey nothing is going to change -
this is India," feel free to delete the mail!

I will be proud to call me an Indian if India crushes so called
"foreign powers" like Isreal did, like USA did ....

Blasted Bliss...

So right now as I write this post, I am sitting at Gate 4 of the Tucson's International Airport.
Though my flight is at 3:15 pm I came here early. Well too early at 1:30pm. So what do I do to kill time. Open up my laptop, the one I bought from my own earnings (this is the best of the best part), and connect to the Wi-Fi enabled airport. Start up the Rise of Nations game and listen to the title music, at full volume. The music blasting its way out of the meager earphones. "Lemme out!" Next to me is and empty seat which very efficiently is the place where my can of Soda is drooling. Water dripping from its sides...

Sip of soda.
Scribble some line on this post.
Enjoy the RON music - blast...
Check out the babes in the Airport lounge at Gate 4.

And this one hot female sitting just right opposite to me, is an awesome masterpiece, an epitome of God's craft with beauty. That red hair when she moves them away from here face towards her ears. That glittering white teeth. Those dimpled smiles...

She must be in her early 20s. I can bet a zillion on that.

Man I can wait here, sit and watch here all day long. Years over years ... day after day 24/7 365 days an year.

Two seats left of her is this another lady. I don't feel about her the same way I feel about the angel like sweet lady. And this lady is wearing a handkerchief around her waist. Well you can call it a mini skirt, may be micro skirt but that all would be doing injustice to all these adjectives.

And then she crosses her leg and ....

A whole storm blows over me.

I can see right through the freeway all till the other end of tunnel.
Pun Not intended. Though her thighs are as smooth and even as a freeway which has been smeared with butter.

Drip!... Oh yeah my soda and my post...

Its has been 1 hour 15 minutes like this. My guardian angel is still with me and so is the messenger from satan. Trying to lure my eyes away from my angel inviting to me cheap wordily visual effects and dramatization of those thighs rubbing against each other. I just wonder what she would be like!


Darn that soda...

Too much of that aerated drink and my stomach swells like anything and that my bladder swells like it has elephantiasis. I will have to take a break. Pee or Poo depending upon which one has an urgency to blow up.

PPeoeo.

That's literally what I did, spelt the way I did . Did both simultaneously.

And I come back to see that my fantasy world is in shambles. A city of dream made with labor, where each and every brick smells of the sweat that had gone into making it, lies in ruins.

My angel has gone, the damned satan's messenger vanished. And there's somebody sitting where I has once enjoyed the view of my kingdom.

Anyways it is time to board the flight. Hope I meet the angel and messenger in the aircraft. Three seats in a row.

Left my angel, right the messenger.

Pointless point?

I read this discussion on point on one of my firend's blog. I subscribe to his views but see it in a different perspective.

Any and all points can be fixed point or a floating point.

Consider Case 1:

Our petite point is a fixed point.

The fixed point mathematics say that a point that makes f(x)=x is a fixed point. If this fixed point has dimensions and is pregnent with other points then this argument fails, as then the function will map to many points inside a single point and become a one to many mapping. Since the function f(x) is one-to-one function this cannot be true. Ideally it should not be a mapping, one-to-one or one-to-many or many-to-many as it doesn't map to a smallest unit but a space
consisting of this smallest unit!

Consider Case 2:

Our petite point is a floating point.

Well floating points are just a representation of the real world fixed point in digital world. So the same argument hold here too.

Q.E.D

I always loved to scribble Q.E.D. My Quite Easily Done attempt.

Having confidence is good, but having too much of it is catastrophic. I knew that, and knew that very well. But I learnt it the hard way, though this time it wasn’t catastrophic.

I came to Tucson, Arizona on an official visit for 4 months. Being this guy that I am, crazy about driving, I wanted to get my driving license as soon as possible so that I can hit the road ASAP. My colleague advised me that the written test for the instruction permit is easy and anyone can clear the test. At this point I’d like to say that I have driven car in India and that too in my dad’s absence. He doesn’t really appreciate that we (my brother and me) drive the car as he will loose his authority on the car and will not be able to drive as frequently as he is now. He started driving at the age of 12 and is too good at it, having driven a Premier Padmini from Rajkot to Guahati.

So I took my colleague’s advice and just flipped the pages of the manual provided by the DMV(Motor Vehicle Division) . That was easy: red light, green light, signal and turn all that I already knew. I thanked my colleague for his insight into the test and went ahead with my zeal to get the license. I went to the DMV paid the fee and sat for the test.

While I was waiting I overheard a mom asking question to her kid “What’s the speed limit in Residential areas?” 25 mph, that’s too easy. I thought why is the mother so worried about the test? Anyways I was confident I would pass this test with flying colors. The guy gave his exam and told his mother the news she dreaded and didn’t want to hear. She yelled “You flunked again!” Poor guy I thought, only if the parents could be a little more understanding. This is not the end of life, she shouldn’t shout at the kid like that.

There were 30 Q’s in all. First 20 questions were easy; I had already read the manual. My score was looking good 20 out of 20. Then the downhill journey started.

Q: What’s the alcohol percentage in blood allowed if you are under 21 years of age.
My answer: 0.08% (0.04 % for commercial license)

Wrong! What? The manual said these figures and I knew it. But unfortunately I didn’t know that legally under 21 years of age one is not allowed to drink! How am I supposed to know that? Later I found that this was given in the manual but in last few pages which I did not read.

Q: If the school bus has extended stopped sign then which traffic must stopped.
My answer only the traffic in the same direction should stop.
Wrong. Again! Well actually the traffic in both directions must stop if the roadway is undivided; else if there is physical separation like a median then only the traffic traveling in the same direction must stop.
The question was ambiguous.

Few more silly blunders and I failed the exam. All that I had to do was get 24 correct out of 30. I got only 23 correct. I was surprised and angry at the colleague’s advice.

After a few more days of preparation I went back again to give the test (one is allowed to take the test 3 times for 1 time payment of the fee). This time the line the manual “What is the correct thing to do depends on the situation” and DUI screwed me up.

Q: If there is a car on the on-ramp of the freeway what should you do?
My answer: I thought. Well you must move left one lane, but if it full of traffic and you can’t get in, then slow down. Speeding up might not be always possible and is risky. I got my answer.

Wrong. Move left one lane.

Q: On a freeway what should you do if an emergency vehicle is behind you?
My Answer: Give right of way, stopping might not always be possible. What if you are on the leftmost lane of the freeway, it is possible that you cannot stop and you don’t cut across all the lanes to get off the road on the right.


Wrong. Stop on the side of the road immediately. Aargh! Why do I have to think and give all the reasoning? Why can’t I give just straight simple answers?

Q: What are penalties for excessive DUI?
I don’t know, I just didn’t read that section.

Q: What are the penalties for refusing a DUI test?
I know it is my bad day. Next Question please.

Q: What are the alcohol limits for DUI?
I clicked next! What an idiot I am, I skipped that question. I knew the answer.

I am royally screwed by my reasoning and DUI.

This was the second time that I had failed and that there was only one more chance or else I’ll have to pay the fee once again. This was enough. I was so much pissed off and feeling so low that I can’t explain. I had cleared all my semester exams in my engineering in first attempt. I had cleared all the exams all the way form class 1 to class 12 in first attempt. I had scored well in all the exams in my PG. And where I failed is this stupid written test.

I made my resolve to beat it this time.
I geared myself up with a notepad, a marker, a pen and all the other stationary.
I prepared as I would had prepared for my end-semester in my undergrad. Making notes, revising notes. Drawing pictures to illustrate the concept and what not.

This third time was the last time and I was desperate to get my license and to see the tires hit the road.

30 Questions. Min required: 24 correct.

First 20 questions, all correct. This was a relief. I had to get only 4 more correct to the get the things going.

21st correct
22nd correct
23rd correct
24th correct

The stupid screen then showed the result that I had passed the exam. I so much wanted to break that monitor. I wanted to score 30 out of 30. What if I incorrectly answered the 30th question? I wanted to show that I can get 30 correct. But his was just a machine oblivious of any human emotions it was condemned to do the same this again and again, a monotonic boring ritual.

It was a good feeling to get the license. The very next day I and my group of colleagues planned a trip to Grand Canyon, 688.8 miles round trip. And I drove for approximately 350 miles. It was so much fun.

But I realized it too late that I was too confident of clearing the exam that I flunked it twice. And the brighter side of the experience is that even 2 months after taking the test I still know all the rules and penalties!

BTW, one person who had the most fun out of my experience was my elder brother. He laughed and laughed when I told him the first time that I failed. He just couldn’t believe me. And when I told him that I had failed for the second time, it was too much of a hilarious thing for him. So every now and then he’d taunt me “So how much time do you need to understand this? After all you failed the exam 2 times!”. “Did you get his? I know it is difficult for you, you had to take 3 attempts to understand the DMV manual.” I know this thing between us will remain for a long time.

Grand Canyon snaps

I'm not an Indian!

Yes, I'm not an India, atleast that's what everybody says, even though I live in India, even though I was born in India, even tough I have lived 26 long years of my 26 year long life in India.

Not that I like to sneak away to US of A like those gujjus or punjabi's or those gulti's and hence want to prepare myself to be that way.

BTW all my gulti friends have just one ambition in life, to go an settle in USA. Ask them a question "Why?" It helps you get good girls for wives. It helps you get good dowry. What a gulti if haven't settled in USA. Man! One heck of source for drain, I mean brain drain.

Back to where I started. So why am I not an Indian? Simple, because I do not subscribe to the passions and interests, well actually the primary interest, of any and all Indians. The passion that cuts across all boundaries of caste, wealth, literacy and all the barriers we have for ourselves in here. I am not bitten by that bug. I am not ready to waste my day. I am not a fanatic who can spew statistics to either show how much an ardent follower I am or to show that I am more neck deep into this than any other. This is not my past time and this is not of my liking.

I don’t like to watch cricket.

I don’t like to watch cricket, even if it a one-day against the arch rivals India and Pakistan. I am least interested in cricket. To be true I cannot hold a bat and make an attempt to connect the bat to the ball. I an not interested in fielding. I’m not lazy, I play soccer. I do not like to gather that leather ball, or catch it.
I hate to waste 8 hours of my day watching cricket on TV and rest for whatever is left in that day to give rest to my eyes.

To me cricket is a game in where 22 idiots play and 22 million idiots watch.

So I’m not an Indian.

I still remember those days, when I was a kid. And if you are a kid who has an elder brother who’s crazy about cricket, then your life is doomed.

Summers, month of May. I come back from school, eat my lunch and about to jump into my bed to take that afternoon nap. And bang! Someone threw a ball at me. It hit my forehead and I hear your elder brother scream “Get up lets play cricket” Saying no is not an option. He has a bat in his hand and believe me being beated by a bat is worse than hell. So I reluctantly move on. Go outside the house, its terribly hot.

No No. Don’t even think about batting. It is always the same I have to ball first. Get the elder bro out and then beg for my chance to bat. So I would ball, swinger leg cutter or what ever I used to call them. And I had great stamina in balling. I used to ball for one to one and half hours continuously, while my brother used to have great time polishing his batting skills. By the way the batting end of the wicket was always fixed and was always in the shadow of the house. So I guess it would also be comforting and not traumatizing as balling with the sun shining on my head.

So I would ball for couple of hours. If I was lucky I would get my brother out.

Form here there are so many uncertainties.

- If he agrees that he is out, without saying anything, which was rare, I would get a change to bat for few minutes.

- Most of the time I had to prove to him that he was out and I was my chance to bat. And it was rare that I would win an argument and bat.

- This was the most common. If I bowl him out he used to run after me holding that bat high in the air, like a samurai wielding his sword. He would run after me yelling that how dare I bowl him out. And then I would run anywhere I could shouting for help, crying. And since my brother was more of a sports-person he would out run me corner me. And then whatever happened is history.


I don’t like cricket. I’m not an Indian.

Advice for you Mr. Singh.

So the President of largest democracy decreed, upon recommendation from the party in government adn electio commision, that Jaya Bacchan be suspended from the Raja Sabha as she was holding an office of profit.

So many allegations and deliberations on what is an office of profit and what is not, an office from which one draws/ does not draw salary even though the office pays to other office bearers or same rank... Blah... Blah…

Smajwady Party, particularly Amar Singh came out in the open yelling that there are 44 cases of people holding an office of profit and also being a member of Rajya Sabha/ Lok Sabha. Pardon me Mr. Singh, did you say that others also fall in the same group so this suspension is wrong?

Well since when has being bad been good because the guy next to you is also bad? Maybe you are in politics, so that’s why this weird thing makes sense to you. But to me that’s a chickens way out to saying that ‘Don’t blame me, I'm innocent, others also are too deep in this scam’.

Accept on the face value that crime is a crime and not a good thing just because there are so many criminals.

So Finally ...

So Finally I'm back here.
Last time that I have been off blogging for so long for the first time Or it's the first time that I've been off blogging for the last time. Whatever. Which time it may be. But i'm back.

Last 9-10 months have had been very strenous. With the project complexity rising like the Sensex and the deadlines narrowing down like the summer stream. Life is indeed tough. The pain was equal if not more than the labor pain. The effort none-the-less more.

Jan'06 was spent staying back in office late in the night. Yawing and cursing the bug on which I somehow kept working. In fact I would realize the next day that I was making more mistakes than I was correcting! But the fun of working late was that there was nobody to interrupt you every now and then with thier problems. Not because I don't want to help them or that I am scared that I do not know the solution, but because that a little more effort would have had the solution yelling on their face "Bugger See its me. I'm here. I am the solution to your problem!". Anyways I'm not afraid to admit that I don't know something. In fact I like to hear me say that I don't know something 'cause that makes me think why? And I work upon to make sure that the next time I have something to say on that problem. So much for self praise!

So now when the project neared completon, I thought I can take some time off and rest, but I was shipped off. There again the same thing started all over again except that its a little bit less hectic here!

And you are bang on target. Won yourself jackpot for guessing it right. That's the reason why I'm here with a new post now, which still looks like a disfigured and spaghetti like scribbling on a toilet paper!