Monday, November 07, 2005

I dream... of a morgue..

Love was blossoming around the dissection table, the pungent fumes of formaline filling the room. A wrinkled corpse was in the center, a bespectacled kid slicing its chest with a shining scalpel out of his new dissection set. “In a straight line from the collar bone to the left nipple, and around it.. That’s your vein there.” The dissection room was silent, as it was supposed to be, and when the anatomy professor spoke, his voice traveled up, hit the ceiling, and came back in an echo. Dreams have a bad sense of timing, so the echo stood out from the original voice, and I heard him twice. Perhaps it was I who heard him best, because the kid who was slicing me seemed to be too engrossed to listen, and the couples in while doctor’s coats were too absorbed in their new found love that for them nothing seemed to matter much. The girl on my left didn’t notice either. She was covering her nose with her perfumed veil, and was trying to think of more pleasant things. Because another look at the black cut on the dark brown blistered skin would make the vomit she was holding back to come out. The professor stole a quick glimpse at the black name plates of the dreamy couple, because it would hurt him much if they passed the anatomy exam.

I was bodiless, but somehow attached to the lifeless, withered body, like a swarm of noisy flies around a blotted corpse. Only there was no noise, only tranquil silence. I was bodiless, so I could travel up people’s nostrils into the darkest corners of their minds, and know their thoughts, and I could see myself without a mirror – I looked ugly.

They had kept me for a whole week in the freezer, along with so many other unwanted bodies, and had given a column on all the local newspapers with a picture of my swollen face, which appeared on corners of the 7th and 8th pages. No one had answered, so they stuck a tube of formaline into my jugular vein, so that I wouldn’t rot from the inside.

“I have a bone set, I have two full skulls, and a whole set of vertebrae. You know, I’m not too proud about the two skulls I have in the iron trunk, but the vertebrae set I have, they get spoilt so soon after the subject’s death. So, it’s a matter of pride to own one whole perfect set.” The spectacled boy explained to his mother. He was proud, and she was prouder.

One of the skulls were mine. One of the mortuary keepers had dug me out from where they buried me, after I was once again declared useless, after they had sliced my insides for the umpteenth time. He was drunk, two cheap quarters of rum had cost him Rs.80, and he had sold the bone set for rs.550 to the excited first year, and he had made a profit of Rs.470.

This is a reconstruction of a dream that I had. After a really long time. It was really detailed -most of this description is original - even the Rs.550, but I have added a little here and there for the sake of continuity. I think I should donate my body. And that is what I am going to do.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

The arm in question is temporarily out of service..

Inconvenience regretted.. (i regret MY inconvenience.. heh heh..)

Monday, October 24, 2005

Of bey blades and shindles

He’s 4 and he goes to prep 2. He says they’re all babies at prep 1. They cant even count – what a shame! He can not only count, but you ask him what comes after 7, and he’ll tell you it’s 8 – in no time. And he can tell the difference between a whisle fart, a truck fart, the knock-knock fart, and a boat fart. Aint that great?

He calls me big brother. There’s no mal translation.. he just calls me big brother, and he has me in his family picture he made in his drawing class. (Now his mom had a great time trying to explain that no, he’s the only son, and that me, I was her cousin, but how can her cousin be his big brother? Well, don’t ask me that, I have no clue myself.. heh heh..)

Amma, when acha comes back, we’ll ask him to get a good job like big brother, and then he’ll have a mala and card like big brother, and he can buy me seventy three bey blades! (You don’t know what a bey blade is, GO PLAY! This one had one hundred and thirty two sophisticated parts that you have to assemble by hand, and once you’re done doing that, he’ll put it on what he calls a shindil (must be a spindle) and says Go beyblade, Go!! Let it RRIP!!!, and it spins like a top for 10 seconds.. and the damned thing costs anything upward of 200 bucks! And is guaranteed to break in 2 days.)

He sleeps on my bed, after he watches cartoon network till 11 in the night and then you have to take him for shoo-shee twice in the night, and he promptly wakes up at 6 in the morning and licks your face! (Trust me, kid-mouths stink no less!)

Once I was reading paper on a Sunday morning, and this dude tells me that girl’s bad!
Aha? Why?
They girls kiss the boys..
And then they take the clothes off..

(Everyone at home turn around and give me that really nasty look.. NO, I am not responsible!! Seriously.. No!)

Now there’s another side to the coin.. you take him out to a shop, and he finds the best girls there, and tell them, hey, I came with my big brother.. He’ll buy me that truck there because he’s got a good job..

The girl looks, smiles.. What a great introduction.. the world’s best pickup line could fail, but not this.. Boy, isnt he a darling!

Saturday, October 22, 2005

The happy post

I’m having a happy day today.. One of those four happy days in a month.
Okay, I get it.. These are different.. these are really happy days..
I don’t need no reason to be happy! Aint that the silliest thing ever said? Why would anyone need a reason to be happy?

A lil less conversayshan/ A lil more aakshaan!
All this aggravation aint satisfaction in me!!
Hold your mouth and open up your heart and maybe satisfy me..
Comeon baby I’m tired of talking!

Hey do you mind turning down the volume, please?
Well, I didn’t mean to be nasty.. I thought everyone liked Elvis..

Sorry Bob, I’m gonna put it on ma headphones. I’m sorry, okay..

Hell, the monsters from outerspace – They’re taking over!!!!!

Friday, October 21, 2005

Camaraderie - ca·ma·ra·de·rie : a spirit of friendly good-fellowship

WARNING: Readers discretion advised. The following matter is of a slightly graphic content, It is advised you ignore this post if you find such matter inappropriate.
The subject matter pertains to recent activity in certain other blogs, and this single post may not present a whole picture.

This is to express solidarity with a fellow blogger who has been crucified at a certain private blog for all the wrong reasons. The poor boy has been mercilessly gang raped (pardon the rather uncouth expression) there not long ago, and I can see he’s all bruised, and he doesn’t like it one bit!

Now I am standing up for this fellow blogger not because we went to school together a lot many years ago, no not one bit out of blogger-blogger love. I just realized, although our views differ a little bit, this one has a point somewhere. That with readership comes social obligation – That although you have your right to free speech – public or private, it becomes your moral responsibility to mean good.

Hell, I have no problem with some female sleeping with 4 different men in a day (hey can I have your number?), everyone has their right to their own personal space (which includes your friends, your prospective boyfriends, but not a blog that gets quite a few hits).. , but blowing your trumpet around about the whole thing in a public space – well, I beg your pardon, but I’d say “What a slut!”.
Naturalmento, senorita…

PS: My real concern however is the fact that you have not at any point mentioned rubber. If the porn movie industry could be so supportive of the cause when the government instructed them to use protection when they went public, don’t you think, senorita it becomes one’s responsibility to mention rubber, at least in a fine print disclaimer?
(I’ve got a twisted red ribbon on my shirt – don’t you see it?)

Thursday, October 20, 2005

I call you '?'.
So when you call, my phone says ' ? calling... '.


Dear faceless,
I suppose you come around here often. I would rather you stand up and identify yourself.. Makes things a lot simpler, both for you and me, you know..

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Update hate-list; insert RAIN

The newest style statement:
3.73 meters of clinical gauze around your left arm.
The more you have blood stains on it, the better..
Hey what happened? They ask..
Hmm… I fell from the bike..
Aw.. how’s the bike? They ask..
The bike’s okay.. Miraculous escape..
(Another reason why I should find myself a girlfriend soon.. I’ll set a reminder…)

Chennai gets rains.. What a nice thing.. But why does Bangalore have to suffer from the darn spillage?
I guess the north-west monsoon’s got to learn to hit targets properly..
The target is Chennai, sucker.. The target isn’t me.. Do you hear that? Do you?

So I get home wet.. totally wet (That includes the dressing which was not supposed to get wet) So what do I have to do? Redress..
TRRRRK.. (that’s the closest verbatim recreation of the sound that issues from pulling at the dressing that’s got biologically glued to white flesh) No I’m not Rambo – The TRRK has to be immediately followed by a really loud AAArrrgh!
Red beads on white flesh.. where’s the aftershave? AAAAAARRGGGGHHHH!
Cotton, betadine, gauze, adhesive tape. Now that’s a work of art – beeeauty!

Does anyone know how to kill rain? Cause I’m gonna take the mfhussain out.. I’ll take him out if I have to do that again tonight!

PS1: Rmu, mnty, vja are not allowed to post any comments which has the any of the words doctor, clinic or screams in it.

PS2: The graphical details of the arm in question are not available at the moment. The snaps will be posted as and when they come in.

Friday, October 14, 2005

Where's that first rung? Where's the damn ladder? Give me my ladder! (Part2)

ATTENTION: This article is not career advice!The author makes no representation or warranties with respect to the contents hereof and shall not be responsible for any loss or damage caused to the audience by the direct or indirect use of this material.

[Scene 1: Wednesday 11 AM, hero still in the pentagonal room, on the phone.]

Tring tring..
(music, Welcome to XYZ press1 press 2, or press 9 to speak to the operator)
Yes Sir?
May I speak to someone in HR please?
This would be regarding?
Hmm.. Well this is business.. Could you connect me to someone there soon, please?
Okay Sir, Please hold on..
Hello, would you be dealing with recruitment?
Oh okay.. if you don’t mind, could you transfer the call to her, then? Oh thank you so much.
Hi, I was wondering if you’d have an opening available for a fresh graduate.. O that’s no problem.. So I’ll call you post lunch, is it?
Okay, can I have the direct line please?
Okay Maya, thank you very much.. I’ll do that..

Hello,… and he would be? Okay, I’ll talk to him then.
Hold on.. [music on IVRS]
… alright, tomorrow then?
Hold on let me take that down. I’ll email it right away..
8.30 AM corporate office.
Thank you very much. Good day!

[Scene 2: Board room, XYZ solutions Pvt. Ltd.
Anxious, spectacled, mustache grown, growing, shaven, genetically absent faces sitting around a long mahogany table with conference equipment.
A particularly obese man in t-shirt near the door with a bunch of freshly Xeroxed sheets tucked under his arm. Puts the stack of paper carefully on the table. Smiles.]

Man: (fundamentally nonsensical speech) .. Now it is most important that you take this with a relaxed mind. Gentlemen, could we do this small exercise before proceeding to the test..
Breathe in.. sloooowly.. [two fat arms going up in the air.. a fat belly getting inflated under the shirt.. sloooowly..]
Now breathe out.. [the arms come down.. the belly deflates… sloooowly.. but doesn’t regain the original size… stops somewhere in between.. the smile appears once again across the face, the terminal ends of a long mouth forming two large blobs of flesh on either side]

Pssst.. man, do you think they’re gonna mark wrong ones negative?
[A nervous, busy head shaking, looking the other way..]
Hey that’s good.. I’ll mark all bs then..
[no response]
30 mins… 50 mins..

Fatman: you have 10 minutes more...

Hey excuse me..
Do you mark wrong answers negative?
Well… I’m not sure.. But I think they do that.. yes.. they do that..
[aside: Oh SHIT!!]

[cuts the bs in a vertical line. Oh shit, I shouldn’t have done that.. DAMN!! Forget it.. next time, maybe]

Fatman: Okay, pencils down please..
Fatman: Hope it went well. Thanks for coming. We’ll give you a call in 2 days..

Moral nugget#1: Do not give up!

Quick inventory check: lots of direct lines to a lot of people.
[end of inventory list]

Tring tring..
Hi this is Bala..
Tring tring..
Hellow, this is Bala.. okay I’ll call you tomorrow then..

Fact: there is something called a threshold. Every individual has one, and if you pester them beyond that, they can do impossible things.. Just to escape the torture!

Scene 3: A table, two big chairs, a grumpy looking man and a not-so-grumpy looking man on the farther side.. a smaller chair, me on this side of it.

We understand you’re a special case, and we don’t know exactly what kind of interview you’re expecting..

Oh well, I am pretty new to this.. I keep myself informed, though.. So if you ask me questions that go deep down on specific things, I may not be able to answer, but I’m a quick learner, I think I can catch up soon.

So why do you say we should hire you?
(oh you don’t want to hear all that crap do you?? Skip.)

Okay, I suppose you know pointers?
mm.. I suppose I do, a little.
So, what are they?
Well, they point to a location in memory.
That’s all I know. I can catch up, however..
Alright, you’ve ever written code?
Yes, I have.. in school we had basic, and in college we had a sem of C.
[A face looking I give up]
Okay.. you’ve worked on windows I suppose?
[vertical nod]
And unix?
[vertical nod]
Can you tell us the difference between the two?
Well, unix doesn’t have as much color as windows..
So unix is like dos, you mean?
No, it’s tougher!
Hmm. Ever heard of muti threaded architecture, network operating system etcetera?
[frantic vertical nod]
That’s what we meant..
We’ll I was being totally superficial..

That’s all I remember.. but I’ll never forget those two faces across the table, and the way looked... That was my interview into that first rung..
And yes, I guess I’ve caught up pretty well… ;-)

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Where's that first rung? Where's the damn ladder? Give me my ladder! (Part1)

ATTENTION: This article is not career advice!
The author makes no representation or warranties with respect to the contents hereof and shall not be responsible for any loss or damage caused to the audience by the direct or indirect use of this material.

Shall we turn back the pages a little?
I said a little, fuzz head, a little means by a small amout. No by a small amount is not page 1. Alright where are we? Hmm life after college will be just fine..

So there I was, I had got my first job, and had lost it already. Having been initiated to a 20k spending and suddenly put on a 0k income is a sad state.. You have to be there to know it.
Well that wasn’t the most tormenting thing at the time, however. Have you noticed how people suddenly seem to get concerned the second Monday you’re there at home? “Son, don’t tell me you lost your job!”. Uncle didn’t your momma teach you that it was a really rude thing to ask somebody? Maybe you’re from a different age – Hell, that explains it - You uncivilized rat!

And so on a Tuesday evening I decided I needed a job. And I needed it soon. But would someone call me and offer me a job? Well I didn’t quite believe that, I guess. Why? I had my own reasons..
a) My previous employer hadn’t given me a pink slip, or a blue, or a green one for that matter. I was waiting for a contract reconsideration, which would mean that well, that I wasn’t fired yet, well, not technically at least..
b) Somebody told me that one-marks-card-per-subject has suddenly got out of fashion – That employers don’t appreciate a 4 inch thick bunch of marks cards anymore. It must be the logistics. They must have run out of space in their filing cabinets! Darn the small filing cabinets!
c) Because there is something called C. And another thing called Java. No this C isn’t A-B-C. I confirmed with him. He said it was different – had something to do with computers. And all this while I thought Java was a motorbike company. Hell, this thing too had something to do with computers and one needed to know at least one of these to get a software job. The goddamn HRs! when will they get some sense in their heads!
d) Because they said 52.17% wasn’t good enough. They needed a minimum of (Okay hold tight) 70% !!! Is that a lunar mission you’re taking me on, mister?

So finally it was upto me. My future was in my hands! My own dirty hands.
And then around 9.30pm lying on the bed in a pentagon shaped room a sinister plan started to take shape in my mind – slowly but steadily. In an hour I knew what I had to do.
So at 11 pm on a fateful Tuesday evening I sat on my computer, jotting down numbers from the A-Z listing of companies on

[next part, next post]

Salvation, Alas!

I guess my who am I series has finally come to a pretty satisfying end.. (which who am I series? Oh I forgot, you guys don’t know.. I’ve been writing this series of five parts. I have not been able to make up my mind whether to post them or not..)
After looking at my who am I questions closely , I found out that almost all questions read by another person would invariably be followed by a “Why the hell don’t you go ahead and do it, then?”.
Yes my good child, the answer lies right there! I am who I am - The procrastinator.

“Never keep away for tomorrow what can be done today!”. “Oh is it so?” I ask.. I hate my brain.!! Guys can you hurry up the research please??
Forget putting away for tomorrow – consider this..
Reader, do you have any idea what it feels like to ride a bike on a busy road on a rainy day at an average speed of 2.6 inches a minute with a hopelessly inflated bladder? FOR ONE WHOLE HOUR!!!
All because I didn’t piss when I should have pissed. After I had finished my breakfast - before I headed for the door , to be precise.

That’s just one procrastinating accident. But if you ask me, everything in my life has suffered from this bad trait of me.. and I don’t think it’s going away.. Guys can you hurry up the research please??

PS: This goes out to all the girls..
“What’s wrong with this guy? Why doesn’t he say it? “
Quit asking yourself that – Now you know why! And the chances are that I never will.

Now you know what you have to do! ;-)

Saturday, October 08, 2005

Ask the doctor - He knows!

This post takes it’s roots from nothing-else-to-doness .. No it’s not joblessness – There is a very definite difference between the two. I am on the job.. otherwise I wouldn’t have been sitting here in the office typing this on a Saturday.

Nah, don’t ask me that question.. What else would I do? I would go out with a friend, of course, have some quality time out! Don’t you give me that questioning look… Haven’t I told you I don’t like questioning looks? If I haven’t, I think it’s time you knew I most definitely don’t! What? Yes Of course I have friends who would skip their weekend shopping to go out on a walk and coffee with me..
Or if no one does, I’ll write a letter to the doctor n the health magazine, and save the columnist some trouble.. at least he’ll be thankful that the had to write one letter less this week!

I am writing this with a burdened heart. I don’t know since when, but I have been having this feeling that I am somehow not normal. I don’t do a lot of things that people around me do, and I feel so strangely left out .
I don’t dream much.. In fact the last time I had a dream possibly was a good 5 months ago. I guess I stopped dreaming the day I made mental note of remembering them - is that a problem doctor, that I don’t dream, and that I almost always wrong my own resolutions?
Doctor, would it be normal for someone not to feel any pain about a dear one’s death, only worry about the people left behind?
Doctor why is that I have a problem letting go of things? Like this woman from so many years ago who keeps popping out of people’s faces at lunchtime, and leaves me thinking about the striking resemblance through my entire lunch; Like my quest for good music, and the way what sounds good one day seems nothing less than tormenting the next.. Doctor, Just why don’t I let go when I should?
Doctor does a set of artificial teeth look as good as the original? I don’t care if I’ll be able to chew with them – I’ll manage with soup.. but they’ll look fine, no? I just have too much reason to believe I’m going to lose quite a few of them soon enough.
Doctor, do they pay you well for imagining that you’re a doctor as well?
Bala Murali

PS: Doctor, I understand if it was just the question, you’d have to read through that whole load of crap, and write a reply too.. As my intention was to save you trouble, I have written the reply as well. You can graduate into the IT age.. The stepping stone to the techie seat.. Ctrl+C , Ctrl+V !!!

Dear Bala,
From what you have written, I think you are going through an identity crisis. Try taking a trip to the Himalayas for a change. If your problems persist, please consult your local psychiatrist.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Another piece from the book - unfinished and unpublished in public interest

Chapter 4 – A walk down the memory lane

A home video of my childhood would give the world an inside view of the population explosion in India. There were people everywhere.. on the beds, on the verandah, under the dining table – just everywhere.

My ancestral house stood tall in a huge compound with no compound walls, except for one in the front. I suppose the only reason it was there was that some wise man (or woman) thought a house needed to have a gate, and for the gate to be there, a wall – it didn’t matter if it was only on one side- was an absolute necessity. The only thing I still can’t comprehend is why the wall was built a good 100 meters from the road, the piece of land between the two overgrown with plants which sprouted and thrived there, only out of sheer negligence (that is where my house was built later on, and we promptly built a wall facing the roads on either side).
The whole day, there would be people moving in and out through this gate, and the non existent walls on the other three sides- sometimes bringing milk and provisions, for miscellaneous labor, or most of the time without any reason. No one would stop anybody from coming in, nor would people on the inside be asked questions about why they were there. Probably that is why when I hear about nations discussing open borders, the first thing that comes to my mind would invariably be my house and it’s imaginary walls.

just a piece of the pie

This miscellaneous labor I mentioned earlier most of the time had something to do with the coconut trees- either watering them from a stiff back hose connected to a makeshift kerosene-powered pump, climbing them to cut down the coconuts, or to tap toddy from the young shoots. I am sure the coconut trees used to share a very intimate relationship with the ponds in the compound as well, for it were these that supplied water to the watering pumps, and these were where the coconut climbers washed themselves and relaxed after a tiring day climbing the trees.

That's where I live now

Apart from the coconut trees, there were so many mango trees, and cashew nut trees, jack fruit trees, and numerous other trees that I don’t know the names of. These fruit bearing and other tees in turn harbored a host of birds, small animals and insects, and they stood there littering the whole place with dry and semi-dry leaves floating down in mini showers every time there was a breeze. There would also be other things falling of the trees at regular intervals which wouldn’t need a breeze to come down, and these most of the time were droppings of the little inhabitants.
Where the trees weren’t, there was fine white sand, and the house took a central position to this piece of land.

It wasn’t huge- just above the average size of homes of the time, with no gaudy appendages to it. I remember it had blue pillars(now they are painted brown), built only to support the roof – there was no artistic reason whatsoever as to why they were there. And it had floors of red, white and black oxide, with signs of little cracks here and there. At any given time, the floor would be covered with a light coat of soft sand which people carried in and out in small installments under their feet every time they transited through the house.
The largest and the most populous was the living room, with an old wooden TV on the farther end, supplemented by a long dining table, and followed by a sudden burst of unorganized chairs and couches of all shapes and sizes.

It is this room that accommodates most of my memories of the period. It would always be full of people, noises, paper and would never be neat.

7 in the evening was when the TV station would start transmission. About half an hour prior to this, the TV would promptly be shifted to the verandah, where all the village folk that had been working in the paddy fields, rearing cattle, spinning out coir ropes or doing nothing at all would be waiting anxiously for the program on black and white birth control, or black and white national integration (It was not until so many years later that Doordarshan started color). The programs would be in Hindi – it could as well have been in French, Latin or Afrikaans – there was not one person in the audience who could figure out Hindi any better.

By the time the TV was shifted back in, the couches would be occupied, and the bedrooms (except for a few which had people with permanent rights to them) would be accommodating at least one person extra than what they were supposed to seat (or lay).
There was one uncle of mine – who was much younger then- that had a very vocal right to the rectangular area under the heavy mahogany dining table, partly because that was only place he could assert his claim, and partly because it was bound never to be taken by anyone else. He would however, more than happily let me sleep with him at times.
Later on after he had graduated to sleeping on one of the beds, he would tell me the same story of the ET more times with the same exaggerated tone more times than what I can remember. The important thing is that I never even once got to the end of the story, because either I would sleep off listening or he would sleep off telling.

I owe a lot to this enormity of the number of faces and voices in my childhood. Thanks to them, I have never got lost in a crowd, or felt threatened by a grim situation - never felt like a fish out of the water – Well, at least not too much, and not too often either.

Friday, September 30, 2005


Back after an extended weekend from home is a pretty sad state, especially when you took a bad bus, sitting next to a badly drunk loser. I wonder when I’ll get to learn to make drunks shut up.. This is one problem I had discovered in myself like 5 years ago, and marked the priority to high – to learn being un-nice to people that are being nice to you , but in a very irritating way - Brother, I need my sleep when I feel like it!

This trip home has made me discover a few other things as well..
a) I tend to swear at the assholes on the road when I’m home, although I almost never do that here in Bangalore
b) I tend to get much more office correspondence when I’m on a holiday than when I am actually in the office
c) Extending a weekend towards the Friday side is a far better idea than extending it both ways.
d) My folks at home have no intention of getting me married. They say they’re not even going to think about it for another couple of years at least.

Back in the office today, I am a pooped man. It’s a half floating, half rolling state of mind, where you feel your chair is actually in the air, and your PC is floating with you maintaining proper elevation at all times. Now thinking about it, I guess the last time I felt something like this was when I ate those two pieces of bhang for the first time, and was waiting for the trip.

I remember all of us sitting in circles in a dimly lit tiny room, windows media player playing some trance number with some weird visualization on the screen. I remember me starting to see the music, blended with the colors coming out of the monitor, flowing around the room. I remember my head growing heavier by the minute, and the rest of the body feeling like a hydrogen balloon. I remember me trying to physically connect with the feeling, trying to bury my head under the pile of pillows, kneeling on the bed with my bottom in the air.

I remember Kurup laughing like a mad man, and the rest of them laughing at the mad man, like other mad men. I remember me (by now a total inverted U) falling towards one side, falling off the bed, after which I don’t remember a thing.
Boy, those first times in college were fun!

Friday, September 16, 2005

Posted by Picasa

To work, Or not to work....

That is truly the most basic question for me these days; and if one looks at the number of times the question has been answered, and maybe make a plot of the outcomes, it can be seen to have a very prominent weight towards the second option namely, not to work. And from this basic question and the implied answer, there are so many child questions that arise like coffee or tea?, blog or not blog?, to go or not to go? and so forth.

The answers for these questions are not always as straight forward as the parent question though. There can be multiple affirmatives for individual questions simultaneously in which case a new question is instantly formed as in the examples below:
· To blog or to chat?
· To blog or coffee or chat ?
· To blog or coffee or chat or browse or read(magazines at the lounge)?
As you may have noticed already, the complexity of the decision making process has a direct dependency on the number of simultaneous affirmative outcomes.

I’m already working on a piece of code to automate this process, using a complex algorithm that weights the options in real time, taking inputs from the system clock, a recursive behavioral history tracking engine, calorie intake monitoring system etc. and thus reduce the load on my brain – I was always bad at making decisions anyway!

You must be thinking that I am pretty jobless – and how true that is.
Here as I sit n this cube farm brimming with typomaniacs (roughly translates to spectacled, multi lingual, overworked ghosts of people typing away frantically on black dell keyboards), - contributing my fair share to the project cost - my manager, and adjacent cubers definitely don’t share that sentiment you just expressed.

I’ll very shortly be publishing my latest book titled ‘Look busy- save your bottoms’.

To include -

  • Look busy in 10 easy steps
  • How to make personal phone calls sound official
  • The beginner’s guide to window tiling (Camouflage – the ultimate vanishing trick for chat screens)
  • The hitchhiker’s guide to having your boss on YOUR leash
  • How to develop a deep voice and 10 easy sound modulation techniques (trust me, this is MOST important)
  • The ultimate index of easy to use jargon (you needn’t even know what they mean to use them!) – comes in an add-on 100 page quick reference booklet

The book includes best tried and tested methods of looking and feeling important, and it could as well become your stepping stone to workplace success!

When I started writing the last book (that was an autobiography) I began with the intention of putting it on the blog as well, but after I read it and found out that some of the content might seem objectionable to a part of my audience - and going by the fact that this is an equal opportunity blog ( meaning I don’t discriminate between my viewers) – I was forced to refrain from going ahead with the original POA.

However after giving it a great deal of thought, I decided that I’ll take off the potential objectionable matter and give you what remains from one chapter.

Anybody that may require a full version may please raise an individual request with your email id, and I’ll get back to you with the e-book version as soon as possible..
Here’s the excerpt:

Chaprter 2 – Yellow flags on a glass boat

So many days have passed since then, in lumps of 365 (even an occasional 366 to avoid the monotony of the whole affair) - them whizzing past leaving no more than a trail like the ones left behind by the red tail lamps on a busy highway in the night.
The plant that I am has grown, suffering frequent transplantations in the process. Some say I’ve grown like a bonsai, but physical magnitudes don’t seem to matter anymore, for the years have passed, and if you cut me through, you’ll see the rings that are years’ gifts. On the outside there are new branches, and a blistered bark, and stumps that were destined to be branches, but pruned prematurely by someone else’s sense of aesthetics.

And the tree now sits in a seat with wheels in a glasshouse which has nothing to do with trapping the greenhouse energy, and nurtured by people for whom plants are way down on their kilometers long list of priorities. Here days are always predictable, for the simple reason that they never change. It is the same air refrigerated to the same temperature everyday, the same artificial lighting, and the same very artificial people.
But it is a small dynamic world, and I never believed this ever with as much conviction as much as I do now, that (contrary to what they used to motivate you with) past is a thing that never dies, and comes back to you when you least expect it, and sometimes with a painful punch packing such a brute force, that you’d wish that it had knocked the wind out of you in the first place.
(that was an addition to make the novel commercially viable.. people who know me please excuse the exaggeration – it is not completely untrue, though)

So there I was on a normal afternoon made out of the standard template – drowsy after a meal, the blue and green screen of code blurring away slowly in front of my eyes. There is a chime, and the bottom corner of my pc screen lets me know I have a mail . I closed outlook, a coffee mug popping out of a corner of my mind.

………….[Read more – post a comment, and raise an individual request!]

Thursday, September 08, 2005

void main{}

(Of Nothingness, with nothingness..)

Of late I have started wondering what it would be like talking, As in talking with no other intention than to talk - Maybe to let out some steam, but not in a directed spout – not pointed at any one, so it wouldn’t serve that purpose either - Pointless blabber with the only point in it being to stay pointless.

Best industries have the best practices, and the best of the best practices says get organized – Classify your data , so that your thinking may be evaluated, approved, and documented so the lower-downs can put reading them on their timesheets, and the higher ups can find the spelling mistakes..
Taking the aforesaid possibility, steam of course has to be classified (unless he’s Achuthanandan’s nephew, that is.. which I don’t think he is) into the ones that fit in the pattern – our pattern, and the ones that do not. What fits our pattern? Not the sort that comes out of the pressure cooker with that low hushed whistle (before you put the weight on it) and not the more noisy and irritated (and/or irritating – depends on your cooking- yes if dal or no if chicken) Shhh… after you put the weight and it had had enough.. They don’t fit in – no Sir!

In both the cases the steam has a purpose and a direction – the purpose being to cook and then the direction being upwards – all steam goes up, but that is a steady viscous speed – un-accelerated velocity – that is acceptable, but when the pressure in the cooker rushes the process, pushing it out, that is an unnatural directed push – wholly, totally unacceptable.
Like your boss asking you to work – wholly, totally unacceptable!

Thanks to all the free time that my job gives me, I have taken to reading – and of all the things in the world, I have taken to reading BLOGS! Until a very short while ago, all reading to me was futile (The fact still remains untouched by and large, but I have discovered in the meanwhile what a great pastime this can be.. writing stuff, and having people to actually read it – amazing!).
Serious fiction to me was useless depression; and all the lousy roantic thrillers make life look too easy and happening, so that amounts to the same thing as well, but of a slightly higher degree.. emotional desperation – total distress!

I have already deleted three whole lines (on MS Word 2003 – would have been two lines on the a fine print paperback, I think) because what I was communicating were my views about certain things – things meaning books and writers - plural, hence things. There would be two deviations from stated objectives – one being that it would be a breach of the original theme of this leaving a void in your brains, like a laxative – it goes in, and it goes out, and washes itself out in the process.. End of procedure- nothing remains, at least what remains would be less that what was already there, and what triggered the process would definitely not remain.. I have been told several times that olive oil taken raw works. Or was it olive oil ? Gramma’s cure – am I giving you an idea? Well I don’t think I am, because you’ll be a fool if you take it.. This was not supposed to give you any information*– remember? (*The book definition of information being data that has been organized and presented in a systematic fashion to clarify the underlying meaning)

I have a cold – contracted while riding on the outer ring road pillion to a friend whose bus was supposed to leave at six. It was a quarter past six already, and we were doing a sixty, and even at that rate, the bus bay was a good quarter of an hour away (provided we don’t fall down and split our heads open in which case it would be different – I have always fancied hanging like the city smog in the air post death, seeing all that is to be seen - distance no bar, engulfing everything, and the time standing still like the republic day tableau..)

Anyway, we were on outer ring road doing a steady sixty, when the rain came down, uninvited and most definitely unappreciated and seeped in through my permeable (instant discovery) jacket forming numerous serpentine streams finding their way past the chest hair..
Who said life was totally unpredictable? The first sneeze and I already knew he was coming – the cold clod Cold (the first two were adjectives and the last cold was a noun). He was waiting inside me like a dry withered seed, waiting for the first drops to comedown, so that he could grow a tiny root, and a tiny shoot.. and grow, against all odds, and become huge. Like them saplings on an unattended moss covered old cracky wall, growing in the crack, growing outside the crack, and finally leaving an enormous crack where the wall once was.

GSP (Something like GDP) This one is called Gross Slimy Product!

That seed of Mr. Cold grew in me, and his shoots emerged through my nostrils – thin watery shoots – watery would be a less than apt description.. It was much more free flowing.. Consistency something like that of alcohol.. Thinner, a lot quicker..
Like time thickened barks, the shoots have now grown thick.. They are so much like automobile grease now.. It has all coagulated into a sticky semisolid mass in the dark depths of my nose.. There is only one word that can describe the feeling in it’s in near wholeness – Irritating!
I cant breathe, worse still I cant smell the smells of the world.. The world therefore is much smaller a place now, There is a hollow now where the smells used to be.. Like a missing piece in a jigsaw puzzle- they never seem to make any sense without the pieces in the centre, and the smells for sure are pieces from somewhere there. It is like MTV when you got a call and the mute button was the minimum courtesy to be applied – it’s so much less than incomplete.

Mr. Smell has died of suffocation, because he tried to swim in that pool, but the pool thickened, like gravy that was put to simmer, and then forgotten... Gravy that has solidified, and got burnt at the edges of the pan.. Mr. Smell died of the state transition of the fluid he was swimming in - and he froze, like the fly in Jurassic park – A sad premature death.
Wonder how long it will be before some nosy scientist finds him, the fly, and builds the monster that once was, back..

(I sigh, blow my nose on the already sticky hanky, and leave.. exeunt Bala, his nose, the slime.)