AKspherical Thoughts®

Faith, Forest and Filth (A Drive to the Shrine)

2010-06-17T09:51:00.000-07:00

This particular post is not intended to outrage religious feelings or any class or group of people. There is no malice in my intentions. All I wish to do is to share my visions to the small group of my readers by celebrating the rights that our democratic constitution grants us.

“Waka Waka” The sweet Shakira sounded again on my mobile. It is the same number that created my hangover more last night, now it’s again interrupting me between the second twist of Baccardi.

“Hello, Da, start to take Vratham (follow certain austerities), we are going to Sabarimala.” squealed my childhood friend - a physician who is going to pursue his super speciality degree.

What the ‘four letter word’? Yes, I also had a vague plan of visiting the second largest pilgrimage centre in the world which has over 50 million devotees visiting every year. But this is cruel.

“It’s ok. 7 days is enough, it’s not the Mandala season, so no need to sob over the 41 days Vratham.”

With half a mind I kept my glass, and poured one last Bacardi before the so called Vratham. Gulped and without touching the hot BFC chicken, announced my holy visit to Sabarimala Shrine chewing some warm groundnuts.

Those 7 days were very hard for me but I fought against my good loving friends, who were wooing me with bottles and freshly prepared cuisines of four-legged and two legged living beings.

Back in Kerala, the rains were pouring like anything, one pot per drop? Whatever! The mode of travel was next on the discussion board and we settled the travel, in my car as the taxis were INR 1500 more when calculated. Though my friend and me were multi-millionaires, we were against wasting money. Dad was in his high mood of tension and even gave me an option of shifting my holy visit to two or three months later. But I didn’t want to lose the precious 7 days of Vratham. He also gave me a PowerPoint presentation describing the pros and cons of using a taxi. The main point which struck me was the wear and tear on the engine if we use our car. We settled with my car and my friend’s driver.

All went well and we had our ‘Kettu-nara’ at a nearby Ayyappa temple on 14.06.2010, 8AM. The atmosphere was as romantic as in the tropical rainforests. I could see the faces of the people who had come to see us off, turn like tomatoes when our drenched buttocks plunghed the cozy back seat of my car. Our journey started with a devotional bajan, “Swamiyee! Sharanam Ayyappa!” around 8.30AM, to the Western Ghat Mountain Ranges of Pathanamthitta District in Kerala.

We reached the foot of the Sabarimala hills around 5.00 in the evening after visiting Chottanikara temple, Vaikkom Mahadeva temple and Ettumannur Mahadeva temple on the way. We also went to the Mosque of Vavar (The Muslim friend of Ayyappa, they say) and could see people worship both, with the same fervour, symbolising Hindu-Muslims unity. The river Pamba, where we had to holy dip ourselves was flowing as if the water molecules were in a race to reach the sea first. We bought a pair of raincoats as the rains were not having any idea to impede. It was a sheer waste, as I tore it with my finger nails while trying to put it on. Three dips in the holy river Pamba, and we started our climb with the Irumudi Kettu on our heads, to the Sabarimala Shrine, situated among 18 hills, covered with thick dense forest and a total distance of 5kms traversing through three high-ceilinged mountains Azhutha, Karimala, Neelimala and varying from 3000 to 6000 feet. The rains was pouring cats and dogs and we had to stop every half hour, as the path was very slippery and we lacked the normal exercise of walking, and here we are talking about climbing.

After around three and a half hours, we stood in front of the last 18 golden steps (Pathinettam padi). Jokes apart, my eyes over flowed with tears and couldn’t speak for some time. The sight evoked a fullthroated refrain “Swamiyee Sharanam Ayyappa” Straight ahead was the image of the Lord, Dharma Sastha resplendent in all his glory. We moved around the temple in a clock-wise direction and came right in front of the shrine. There, sitting in the Yogasana/meditative pose, with a band around his folded legs, a cloth crown on his head, the forefinger of his right hand touching the thumb indicating That Thou Art (Tht Tvam Asi) was the deity. The ‘Dharshanam’ was spectacular and heart-filling. The crowd was pushing us from behind but we got enough time to absorb the positive energy radiating from inside.

We had our own and family member’s offerings in the form of Ghee, Rice, incense sticks, coconuts, money, camphor etc. We offered the ghee from the ghee filled coconuts and it also fused as part of the hundreds of litres that was overflowing from the collecting vessels kept at the corners. We sat there and started to appreciate the temple beauty. Thanks to Dr. Vijay Malaya, the Alcohol king of India, for covering the whole temple roof in gold. As decided before we planned to stay there and headed towards the accommodation office to rent a room, for the night, without touching the wild boars grazing on the ghee smeared coconut pieces here and there. Most of the direction boards were covered with Devosom political posters asking for a serious inquiry into the case of a missing office employee.

We got a room paying 400 Indian Rupees, on the third floor of a newly constructed Guest House. The door opened smoother than the 450 years old Amber Fort of Pink City, Jaipur. We also got two straw mats for 15 rupees plus five rupees caution deposit each. The room gave the impression of a museum preserving the black dhothis and VIP underwears, spreading the nostalgic thoughts of the previous devotees. The walls and floors were perfectly maintained and designed, using natural pan spitting and cigarette buds. The beauty of the room increased when the light, coming from the one and only yellow bulb, reflected on the broken window glass panes on the floor. We both had to unload out our stomachs and we checked out the bathrooms. It was so well maintained, that none of the earlier residues was cleant. The water coming out of the pipes had a great competition with the black filter coffee in colour and Vaseline in viscosity. No prize for those who don’t ask me how I met the nature’s call. UGH!!!!!!

We changed our schedule a little, decided to leave the Sanidanam. We went locking the door behind us, straight to the Accommodation office. I stopped talking about the greatness of the room and the methods to maintain it like that, when I realized the concerned person was looking at a lizard which was about to catch a fly, rather than listening to me. With the caution deposit of 100 INR we started descending. We took our own sweet time in climbing down as we didn’t want a straight flight hurling down towards the car and surprise the driver. We stopped in between as hunger pangs struck. Paratta (kerala porotta) and Kadala (Black Bengal gram) curry. The Kadala was cooked so well that it would bounce 7 times if dropped on a hard floor. We also had a big forest butterfly to eat with us.

On the way up and down we met so many people on the pilgrimage to Sabarimala. Some of those characters are jotted below. No prize for guessing who had more Bhakthi.

· Two persons in their religious ‘attires’ (Designer T-shirts, Shorts, Sneakers and even caps)-branded, munching on big ‘Lays’ packets’. They didn’t even stop in trying the ‘trolleys’. (A chair fastened on two bamboo poles carried by 4 persons to carry old and physically challenged people.)

· A family- A father looking like golf player (the golf club was the only thing missing), the mother chanting ‘yes you can do, only 3 kms more, come on.. yes.. Ahh’ (God knows what she was expecting up there), the two teenagers carrying a PSP and a Discman.

· A person carrying two gas cylinders to the top without any hardships on his face. I could count his ribs. Hope he gets a three figured amount after he delivers it.

· A group with a high-end mobile playing “Uff teri adaa, Uff teri badan, I like the way you move”

· An old man with crunches walking slowly up chanting ‘Swamiyee’ at the top of his voice.

We sat dipping our throbbing feet in the cold Pamba for more than half an hour and came back in the car, back to square one thinking of when the Lord himself will get fed-up sitting at the top. Hope the positive energy would pertain there.

Swamiyee Sharanam Ayyappa.

Tail Piece: Ropeways and Railways to Sabarimala Sanidhanam? Hope they won’t bring the mountains down. The days when a Multiplex will be opened there is not very far.

The Hunt for the Saffron Chaddi

2010-02-13T22:21:00.000-08:00

Statutory Warning!

The characters depicted in this particular blog are the property of aksphere.blogspot.com. These characters and events are fictional and any resemblance to persons living, dead, or fictional or situations past, present, or fictional is purely and completely coincidental or mentally developed by the readers.

Recently, I found myself living next door to ParamShiv-Sena Supremo BALU Thack-curry aka Balusaheb Keshavan Thack-curry and Uddup Thack-curry. We were undergoing a coaching, training on how to start kicking people and burn the Nation. They had a suite; I had a room, as I couldn’t afford those kinds of prices even though I had 854.75 INR. We met only when we were sanctioned out of our luxurious bunkers for our daily classes.

I was about to sign out from my Facebook account when my eyes stuck on a recent status message of a friend, a senior which read “I am a Malayalee and I am not a chauvinist...Inspiration...My name is Khan and I am not a Terrorist” Did he wanted to corroborate that, Chauvinism was there in all Malayalees or Chauvinism is the active one of mallu persona. I believed chauvinism was hidden in the testosterone hormone and it is not a private property of Mallus. I was disturbed from the thought when the accountant asked me to pay the coaching fee.

From the date the founders of the two countries, Mahatma Gandhi and Quaid-i-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah divided the Indian subcontinent on the basis of religion, there had been smoke and fire though they put in the picture not to mix religion with politics. Partition is matured by 62 years. Neither the pressure cooker has switched off, nor has the content cooked fully. Anti-Pakistan feeling in India or anti-India feeling in Pakistan was there, still there and will...

A Chalk hit hard on my forehead.

“Once more you day dream and you are out of the class”. The Trainer growled.

I pretended not to see the Thack-currys mock at me.

"India wants to see itself as a modern economic power. We should give birth to communal conflicts... take the law in your hands and whip up a frenzy by playing on divisive and communal sentiments " The trainer continued and we started to take notes.

An office boy briskly came into the class and conveyed the message that Amitabh Bachchan couldn’t give his talk to the class by audio conference because of no range on his Blackberry as he was on his way to Ahmedabad to show his new movie to Chief Minister Narendra Modi on the Gujarat carnage.

I was a bit proud to get a chance to study with them. Balu Thack-curry in India was like Lashkar-i-Taiba chief Hafiz Sayeed. The only difference I could make out was the sunglasses, Saffron colours, Rudrakshas on one side whereas Plain glasses, white colours and turban on the other. ParamShiv-Sena is one such organisation which feels superior in disseminating the seeds of separation. Its followers are like the Taliban, less violent but equally fanatical.

Balu and Uddup would hang out together in the hall exchanging notes and cell phone numbers of their ‘Sena’ members and important sports and movie stardoms whom they want to kick and punch. As I had no notes or phone numbers worth their great talents, they excluded me from their intimate moments. I had missed the earlier coaching classes and thought that I should find out what had happened in the missed ones. They were wary of this newcomer as they obviously did not recognize me from my photographs. Admittedly, their faces were seen in Newspapers, Magazines, Internet and on TV. Mine were all just in the Orkut and Facebook.

“So guys, tell me what happens in the coaching classes? Does the trainer show you a photograph of a person and teach you when and how to climb on his shoulder and eat the brains and wriggle him with high static electricity?”

“What do you think of us?” They snarled. “We are the Thack-currys. Look at the Rudrakshas, my beard and his Moustache.” I wanted to appreciate that coir beard and the Moustache that looked like a Godzilla had defecated before disappearing into his nose, but kept quiet.

“Ya Balu Baba” Uddup snapped. “Orkut and Facebook may do things for you but does zero for guys like us. We get to see the real stuff. Marathi Manush! We experiment on great personalities to test their self control. Make them nude too, and if we pass we get silky saffron chaddies.”

“What if you don’t pass the test? What if the personalities don’t react?” I asked without a hesitation.

“If they do react, then they are defying the orders of the Sena chief so they would be made to go to Pakistan. If they don't react then they are traitors.” Uddup read from the small note pad where he made important notes. “We will get the chaddis for sure.”

I wanted to take a Xerox of their notes and passing the test would be just cake walk and I dreamt of wearing that silky saffron chaddi.

"This is not Shahrukh, but the Khan in him that's saying all this, Khan – an Indian Muslim – has to move to Pakistan, There will be dire consequences if SRK defies the orders of Balu Baba.” I was turned on by the sweet talk I overheard of Uddup on phone. He was giggling while asking SRK, to apologise for supporting Pakistani cricket players. I came to know that SRK had regretted on Pak player's absence from the Indian Premier League and wished they be in his KKR. I even got goosebumps in my armpits when he meowed to Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar not be an Indian but a Marathi. I wanted to kiss his moustache when he asked to change the colour of his Ferrari from Red to Saffron and change the horse symbol to a ferocious tiger face.

I walked past the swimming pool and saw Balu drying his beard. I hid behind the showering room to hear the notes he was preparing. He was dictating notes to the speech recogniser in his high-end Sony Vaio (written in Marathi); born with Rudraksha garland in his hands he cannot write. But he did not show any bit of pride on that.

“Aussie players should not be allowed to play in Maharashtra.” He snarled like a toy gun.
“The tomatoes and Ladies Finger produced in Maharashtra should be Saffron in colour from March 2010.” I tried my level best to copy the notes as fast as I can but Balu was very fast in speaking.
“How to make Mukesh Ambani drink 3 liters of reliance petrol and eat 3 fried CDMA phones because he quoted that Mumbai belonged to all.”
“How to ban the screening of SRK's newest film, My Name is Khan, in all theatres in Maharashtra.”
“32 ways to tear movie posters and threaten theatre owners.”
“53 different demonstration types outside any houses in Mumbai.”
“101 supremo quotes” (Eg:"2 idiots").
"Sachin’s Ferrari Horse to be changed to a Tiger face.” I was confused whether Balu Mama had copied this from Uddup or viceversa.
“Cows should be given the post of Maharashtra state Animal.”
“Mumbai should be changed to ‘Umbaah’ with respect to the sound of the cows.”

A hand rested on my shoulders.

“Balu Baba! He is overhearing you and copying your notes.”Uddup growled like a gigolo. He took my Play-Boy magazine in which I was scribbling the notes. “He should be tickled or stripped down Balu Baba ?”

“You read too many adult magazines?” Baba asked me. “ I dunno about Uddup but everyone knows am leading a Sages's life, which gives me utmost control. Come on! I will give you a lesson on how to curb the ecstasy feelings using some Rudrakshas and a satin cloth."“No, Thank you Baba. I have to study hard to get the chaddi, The exams are round the corner.” I stood with my dreamy eyes and chewing some finger skins.

Balu Thack-curry studied me while Uddup caressed me up and down, “You sure don’t look like a person to fit this course to me, I mean you are kinda young for the chaddi, it will not fit you, What’s your hobby? Theen pathi?”

“I am a Mallu.”

“Mallu!!!” They both fell on the floor catching each others thighs and tongues, laughing frantically.

Balu Baba being the only one who had seen parts other than Maharashtra on the map of India knew Kerala, the state where I was from. “Times have changed sweetheart. The more terror and hatred and illiteracy you make, the more famous you become, the more people fall on your feet to lick and suck”

I walked toward my bunker passing the office corridors. i was ashamed of the 120% literacy of my state.

With busy schedules filled with training lessons, lectures, practicals, the course days flew smoothly like a cadaver in the holy Ganges.

I came out of the final exam hall. I was devastated. I looked again and again into the question paper. I felt the whole world was crashing upon me. Two salty pearls rolled down from my forehead onto the question.

Time:1 hour 53 Minutes
Max Marks: 100

1. Explain briefly not exceeding 1341 words based on the statement given below. “Is the film industry paying for political party goons in getting some hype for their films?” Explain your views with examples if any.

I am back in Kerala, scribbling on MS Word, FB and Orkut smearing some more coconut oil on my hair thinking of the Chaddi. The Silky Saffron Chaddi.
Poor old Mallu.

Chal...Chayya! Chayya!

2010-01-25T03:46:00.000-08:00

The visual perspective when we are working and when we are not are utterly different. Working and not working should be sorted out as ‘with Job’ and ‘Jobless’ correspondingly, to remove the confusion of people who have a Job but not working.

My friendship with trains started with the local trains in Mumbai. I was not that much into long distance train journeys. You can catch mid-night aircrafts (the Indian ones coming from Sand Dunes in the Middle East to Kerala via Mumbai); when you are drawing a salary.

It was a great experience in understanding and learning by-heart;

-Where to stand to penetrate the IInd class coaches,

-Which door side to descend, How to move inside and outside the train with the mob in 15 seconds,

-How to enter the train without falling between the tracks (Falling on the platform is not considered),

-How to run in the station to catch the particular train, -How to hang on without hitting your head on the electric and signal posts,

-How to keep your eyes off the Shiv Linga of those acting and non-acting ‘Hijdas’,

-How to keep the mind cool while seeing a part of a human body or the whole of it on tracks,

-How to tackle the TTR,

-How to make use of a 3 centimetre square area and stand like a crane,

-How to dodge the pan spitting etcetera, etcetera.

Moving from India’s Functional capital to the IT-City made me closer to my native. I became a frequent traveller to Kerala every weekend. Thanks to the Low Floor Multi Axle Volvos operating. But it didn't take me long in changing to an Ordinary Volvo passenger, then to an A/C Bus, to an Airbus, then to ordinary state permit buses. When that also was making my pockets light, I became a Train ‘ami’. Thanks to the online booking services and offerings (Even a low class Toddy shop has a more user-friendly website.)

The trains are superb than their website. I think only Keralites take ticket; Any type of reservation is enough. A bottle of ‘coloured’ mineral water would help you off. Half Kilo of Onion would also aid you in getting a sleeper from any type of ticket as it costs more than an average bribe. The coaches are so beautiful except they are allergic to water. Carry some newspapers if you are in a non-A/C coach if you don’t want to drench yourself in your sweat or other’s. Be careful if the fan is working as you can get your hair or fingers inside it.

The meal in Southern Railway is a million-dollar business. Please give priority and preference to the chai-wallas waiting outside the urinals, as they have to make tea inside, on time. Carry a stick or at least an Air-gun to shoot the ferocious fish jumping out of fish curries. Don’t panic if you see a family standing up and offering prayers, most of the people give respect to the old chickens in the biriyani.

The urinals should never be washed as everyone love to see the previous meal inside that and vomit. You could be penalized if you use the urinals when the train moving, so use when the train stops at a station. Time moves so fast as you enjoy the daily state meetings of mosquitoes inside. It’s not in the railway dictionary of the workers to wash the compartment floors. Your luck if some beggars singing the latest movie songs do the sweeping.

One station to another, slower than the slowest snail, from there to another;

‘Subh Yathra’

Tail Piece: Kerala is getting a railway coach factory? Great! All the Coaches would go to the North. Good for the Buffalos, Farming tools in the first class, and sacrosanct cows in A/C.

Putrid Fresh Digits

2010-01-09T02:22:00.001-08:00

2010: Happy New Year

Was that something great? Every year the message comes in the form of SMS, Personal mails, Spam mails, Forwards, Attachments; Happy New-Year! Huh! The only thing I noticed or came into my mind was that the last two digits have changed. It struck me hard; I was only considered about the last digit that has to be changed under my sign every year. (I started to sign authentically just Ten years before), now the Zero has to be altered into Numero Uno.

What had happened with the transformation from ’09 to ‘10. Any routine change? Any drastic or dramatic change? The sun rises in the West or the crow grew breasts to feed its siblings? No! The sun comes from the East and the crow carries a dirty earthworm. ’10 never stopped the people to slow down their pace unless it increased a bit. The Psychology of the society hasn't changed much.

The aroma that carried over from the last pages of ’09 was the immorality drama of a politician. The jackals won’t allow a politician to spend a night with his lady cadre, but roar out loud without a proof of a money transfer for sexual pleasure or a live sexual activity show. My Left Foot!

A sharp ultrasonic wave passing through my ears shook me up from all these crap. It was originating from a child who was crying as loud as he can; he might have lost his plastic toy while the vehicle went pass the speed breakers of massive proportions. Forty-five minutes in the bus; from the railway station to my home town, almost fifteen times both the buses have gone past each other on the highway race course. Each of the buses was whooshing past each other barely missing the pedestrians, mo-bikers and even the side mirrors of the cars. They are the Goliaths nick named as LIMITED STOPS. The horns were like twenty trumpets blowing, Aahhh! Kurukshethra War! A lemon played its role by rolling between the legs of the passengers finding its way back to the sack from which it has fallen off.

Except for me it was common and no one was in a panic situation; especially seeing the conductor moving his way through the crowded pathway collecting money and distributing tickets with this saliva smeared fingers. The whistle dangling from his left little finger was talking to the currency notes that where entangled between his forefinger and middle finger. The pen sitting on his right ear made some obnoxious comments too.

Was it a revenge to get more trips after a three day Bus-Strike? Hartals, Bandh, Bus-Strikes... 2010! Giggle! It would not be rude if you whisper “GOD wanted to see Hartals and Strikes, so made PARASHURAM throw his AXE” (...that's what the epics say!)

Thanks to the driver who drove expecting the unexpected, the conductor who whistled the same time your first foot landed on the ground from the foot-board, or the unknown power; Thanks to whoever has the highest vote. I landed on my home town walked towards my house.

Tail Piece: Thank GOD! For the next Ten years I just have to consider only the last digit.
©CopyRight: akthegr8@gmail.com

Superfluous Notion

2010-01-08T04:40:00.000-08:00

Briskly turning the pages of the future, while doing a Mural, I couldn't find anything structured. Even thought of changing my spectacle lenses for a second. Should I bother and scribble out the future plans and prepare a flowchart to follow or break of from the thought. Is the continuous braying of the society to be blamed for making me think of arranging the letters and words on the future pages?
People of the society are not like a two sided coin. They are Eight sided octagonal structures living just to judder their boneless creature a lot, by rubbing and smooching the thirty-two white beautiful fairies.

Hope around 36 Percent of the people who read the blog will have the same experience. The other 61 people think of several things and make themselves and others drag into the black hole of tension and blood pressure.
The rest 3 percent?

Anyway I continued entangling with colours and enjoying some lines and curves and grooves on the canvas.
Just a story before you think about the rest 3 percent! A Story of a Millipede...

He was jovial, tension-free Millipede. He went through creepy woods crushing small dry leaves and petals with its million legs and made friends with all the people whom he came across. He loved each and every spec of his time. He never used up his time thinking on how it could walk or bothered about it. Until one day, when a big black creepy Dung-Beetle rolling a stinky globule of dung asked our Millipede “How can you control and manage to walk with all those Million feet? Don't you find it tough to coordinate the rhythm?” The Dung globule had already gone rolling and vanished in the grassy backyard, while the Millipede was still sitting down, pondering how it could walk, wondering what the beetle had asked, and (for the first time in his life) even worrying a little bit, confused why he never thought that before. From that day on, the centipede couldn't walk anymore, lost all the interest in his life. Now a days he crumples into a ring whenever someone comes to make friends with him.

So you better not think too much if you want to reach or accomplish something. And of course this is a story and with only half the genuineness... Giggle! Giggle! Hey 3 percents, Just to impress the rest of the pack! The Ninety-Seven brains.

Image Courtsey: iastate.edu
©CopyRight: akthegr8@gmail.com

Once upon a Black Horse

2009-08-27T11:53:00.000-07:00

The Kala Ghoda Arts Festival is an annual festival, a vibrant street festival, usually around nine days long, held in late January or early February, in the Kala Ghoda area of South Bombay aka Mumbai. Kala Ghoda is a precinct or district in South Mumbai, and the name means Black Horse. [Kala- Black; Ghoda-Horse]; A reference to a black stone statue of King Edward VII (as the then Prince of Wales) mounted on a horse. Although this statue was removed in 1965 to storehouses of the Bhau Daji Lad Museum (formerly the Victoria & Albert Museum (Mumbai)) in Byculla, Central Mumbai, the name persists. The statue is now in the Jijamata Udyan in Byculla.

I had heard a lot of happenings were occuring in Kala Ghoda but had to miss them till I got a chance; once in three years of my Mumbai life. But it was worth. Every day promises an exciting range of different activities in different field of art. Reaching there was a tiresome job, but my Yamaha; she was great through the snail slow traffic and I read the board saying... My Jaw dropped when I saw the artistic imaginations getting live. Some people even took the event to describe the Dubbawalla’s vehicles. A closer look at them even made more interesting.
A sack full of used shoes. We would give them an obnoxious stare. But these people had the imagination of putting them together.
They even represented the dirtiness of the city with a statue of a mosquito.
They had no reason not to try their hands on a Mercedes bonnet!
...and even on our favorite Amby
I even thought for a second if I should quit smoking.. 
Reaching home I even tried something by my own while describing the scenes to my room-mates.

Courtesy (info): wikipedia
Images: From my Nokia N-73

Bafflement of tounges

2009-05-15T07:47:00.000-07:00

I was staying with my uncle in Mumbai.

One fine morning picked up the landphone...

A cute sound “Hello”, I thought who would be this.. Its soo cute..

“Hello”.... I got up from my day dreams of dating her, took an English (UK) accent “yya”

“mala saka sangla thuka satellite radio dish.. kya sangla.. %*&^..kutla thumee”

I thought she was shaking a vase with some smooth pebbles in it... it took me sometime to recogonise that it was Marathi Language*

My whole UK accent went for a toss, “I English janta hu... hai... ho, You English”

I could imagine her face now. As I was imagining she told something more which i couldn't concentrate. She shot again a ‘Hello’ and my Hindi tounge came out to act and I uttered a simple word “Hah Bolo”. She got fed up or she couldnt have words to describe the reason why she called and said “Hhh....Thankku”

Only thing that hummed in my ears was the sound of the phone disconnected.

Sorry my unknown friend. Or was she was also feeling sorry, I dont think so.

* No hard feelings , they may be thinking of Malayalam (my tounge) the same way.

Tail piece: I am damn sure that she is not stupid as one of the workshop guy whom I consulted with my bike on the way to the office. Told him to check the air in my rear tyre as I was feeling something funny while driving. Cruised pass him hearing the solution, “Petrol tho barabar hai na tank mein”. Even now I bow the head with whole heart respect whenever I pass his edifice.

Deep-rooting '@'

2008-09-11T22:30:00.000-07:00

DIGGING FOR THE ORIGIN OF ‘@’
(It’s not like digging your nose for gold)

How many times you have typed the symbol @ the one just on the numerical key 2. Have you ever thought where it came and why its called at the rate, or is it not called like that?

The now ubiquitous symbol traces its roots to English grocers and accountants who used the symbol to indicate the cost per unit of anything. Outside England it didn’t mean much. And that’s why most non English keyboards don’t have the @ symbol before internet and emails became common.

The Sri-Lankan’s have no particular or official word for that. Moving to Africans where the descendents of the Dutch settlers call it as ‘aapsert’. (They speak Afrikaans). In the native Dutch aapsert means Monkey tail.

In the Middle East, the Arabs continue to remain clueless about what to call it. Some now call it ‘fi’ - a literal translation of ‘at’ in Arabic.

There is another school that refers to the symbol as ‘othon’ which means ear in English.

The Czech refers to @ as ‘zavinac’. In the native Czech it means pickled herring! The Germans chose to go the Afrikaans way and some call it ’afenschwanz’ or monkeys tail. Yet others in Germany call it ‘klammeraffe’ or hanging monkey.

Japanese call it ‘atto maaku’ -the mark.

The Thai call it ‘ai tua yiukyiu’ - literally which means wriggling worm like character.

And atlast not the least the some native Dutch speakers like to call it as ‘apeklootje’ – or a little monkeys testicles.

The three finger salute

2008-09-11T22:20:00.000-07:00

Hi Pals,

Have your computer ever got hung anytime during the life with them, when you are downloading, playing games or even working… ok ok now don’t look at those three small buttons on your keyboard.

Seen this pop up? "Press Ctrl+Alt+Del to restart your computer"

Then you are very much mature to go on reading.

Like the song of Zain Bhikha “Give thanks to Allah!” you can just say once “Give thanks to David J. Bradley”. Yes you can thank him every time a software program locks up and you want to start over, every time you need to change your password or log on or off your computer.

Ya folks, that's the same David Bradley who was the "answer" to Final Jeopardy on an episode of that show's special college edition last fall. It's the same David Bradley who saved Bill Gates' derriere before the Windows operating system became the monster it is today.

Bradley is the man who gave the world "control-alt-delete."

"It was not a memorable event," said Bradley, a longtime IBM employee, speaking of that day in 1980 or '81 when he discovered control-alt-delete. "It wasn't intended as something we were going to tell the customers about," he says. "Then it turned out that this reset was a problem-solver for people who were writing the programs and writing the instruction manuals."

He's much too modest.

Would Alexander Fleming have said, "It wasn't a memorable event," when he discovered penicillin? Would Albert Einstein have said, "I really can't recall when I discovered E=MC squared?"

The original idea was simply to reset early PCs without turning them off. Microsoft adopted control-alt-delete to help ensure people powered down correctly, then to handle "administrative functions" such as the vital "end task" feature for computer software that crashes or otherwise gets stuck.

Bradley chose the control and alt keys because he needed two shift keys to make the operation work, and he chose the delete key because it was on the opposite side of the keyboard. He didn't want people to hit control-alt-delete by accident.

It's more complicated than that, of course, but most people don't have a Ph.D. in electrical engineering from Purdue University, as Bradley does. Bradley, who speaks at universities on IBM's behalf, is on a mission — to encourage more students to go into science and technology. He's aware that much of the growth in college attendance in recent decades is in the humanities.

"I actually have a real job, but I enjoy doing this," Bradley says. "I'm as close as you get to a rock star within IBM."

Bradley originally designed Control-Alt-Escape to trigger a soft reboot, but he found it was too easy to bump the left side of the keyboard and reboot the computer accidentally. He switched the key combination to Control-Alt-Delete, a combination that was impossible to press with just one hand (this is not true of later keyboards, such as the 102-key PC/AT keyboard or the Maltron keyboard). "I may have invented Control-Alt-Delete, but Bill Gates made it famous". He afterwards elaborated that it was made more famous due to Windows NT logon procedures ("Press Ctrl + Alt + Delete to log on").

Have a nice day with those keys! Now back to work folks munching some candy.

As I mature...

2008-08-08T00:39:00.000-07:00

I looked around; several hundred trees have fruited, the birds due to fledging have developed feathers or plumage. I looked at me... yes I am mature, I have developed and reached maturity. I had a thought to jump out of the office cubicle and run down the street naked shouting “Eureka!” which was kiboshed by the enlightenment...I am Anil not Archimedes.

As I mature I've learned so many things and I was thinking how to present them of you. That process of using your mind to consider something carefully a lot requires so much time. I came across a small article somewhere deep down the internet forest. Am presenting it to you.

As I mature…

I’ve learned that no matter how much I care,
some people are just assholes

I’ve learned that you cannot make
someone love you. All you can do is
stalk them and hope they panic and give in.

I’ve learned that it takes years
to build up trust, and it takes
suspicion, not proof, to destroy it.

I’ve learned that you shouldn’t
compare yourself to others- they are
more screwed up than you think.

I’ve learned that you can keep vomiting
long after you think you’re finished.

I've learned that we are responsible
for what we do, unless we are celebrities.

I've learned that regardless of
how hot and steamy a relationship is at
first, the passion fades and there had better
be a lot of money to take its place!

I've learned that 99% of the time when
something isn’t working in your house, one
of the kids did.(may be yours or you are the kid)

And as I mature

I've learned that the people you can care most
about in life are take from you too soon
and all the less important ones just never go away.

Health Consciousness

2008-07-21T02:27:00.000-07:00

"You are the one, and only one who can buy useful things for this house. What is your opinion of buying two more like this?”

Got up hearing this unusual and rare praise my room-mate flung at me… I peeped to know WHAT was that thing that I had bought and he liked and wanted to buy two more?

Only once I looked, and my heart broke… It was that THING which I had bought with an announcement “Now you guys are going to see some changes in me”….My Exercise console (It came with two free dumbbells). He was putting his washed soaking jeans on it for drying, with a free advice “Once in a blue moon at least climb on this; otherwise it will forget its own use.”

What he said is correct, and to be frank, till date I had not had the slightest feeling to climb on to it. Leave that, being little bit health conscious joined a yoga class last January. I came down the stairs with the receipt after paying the bill, and have not crossed that building ever since. There was tension within me till first week of February and it got over after that because the course was only till that date. To overcome that sadness syndrome joined I joined an aerobic class with my friend. He joined and I vaporized and came back to life in front of the T.V.

“I have to change. Something has to be done. Let this exercise console be my friend's drying stand." Usually this resolute adherence to my own ideas or desires will go if I dilly-dally for sometime. But this time it is not going. The very next day I went to Nike showroom and bought the Gym dress codes including a good pair of footwear for a good four digit number. Credit card swiped with a swish! Got a passport size photo, looking as if I was going to kill the cameraman, put all the stuffs into a bag and left for joining a Gym.

The receptionist, a girl, smiled and swiped a nice amount from my card, and I became a privileged member of that fantastic Gym. “When are you going to start”… “From now, this moment” came my reply. She may have thought “Oh this guy has got a great interest and is health conscious.” The truth only I know “If I leave today, I will not see the Gym steps again.” I changed my clothes and viewed myself in the mirror. Va bhai Va! That is what is called a Gym attitude. Now just attack the Gym and do some circus.

There were so many types of machines, and on that people were in different postures. There were people walking, running, lying, sitting, standing, some were even lying like a vampire bat-upside down. Confused on what I should get my hands on first I looked around like a lost puppy. Ahh there……. A HULK! He told he would be my instructor. 6-6.5 feet tall, wearing a T-shirt as if its squeezing him, muscles standing up as if they want to come out-from everywhere, a tattoo which I could not interpret, a hat covering his bald head, and a line beard as if someone has marked with a permanent marker. I was like David in front of Goliath.

First, warm-up. It is so easy, just have to throw your hands and legs here and there, up-down, and up-down. I completed it with easiness and asked “NEXT”? “Thread-mill”. He set the speed and all for me and went away, instructing “you can take rest if you get bored.” “I, who used to walk kilometers to my school, going to get bored on this stupid small piece of walking machine, HUH!” Thinking this I got on the machine and started to walk as if walking on a beach enjoying a nice breeze. Then I realized am not alone, a cute girl on my side is also undertaking this walking punishment. In our talk she told that she wanted to lose 10 kilos. I looked at her………Top to Bottom and thought “she would be invisible if those 10 kilos were gone, for sure. Pffff”! I ignored her. After some time she increased the machine speed and started to run. Will my male ego sleep then? NO! I also increased the speed and started to run like hell. I did not stop with that, again increased, increased and at last I was running with full power and energy as if there was a stray dog running behind me glaring his teeth. I did not fall off with my head banging somewhere only for the sole reason that I got hold of the speed reducing knob. "EVERY DOG HAS ITS DAY" consoling myself, went back to my beach walking speed. Do not ask me if the girl was impressed with my presentation, did not even dare to look at her.

Due to my sincere walking with lots and lots of dedication my throat dried up. To get down and drink some water, someone has to stop this machine. I tried to call my Goliath. Because I did not knew his name I was calling Excuse me! Excuse me! Because of my tiredness my Excuse me was coming out as Kiss me!, Kiss me!. To avoid some slaps I jumped from the machine. Somehow managed to get off that without any bruises I went and found out the Goliaths name- Johnson.

Next was a stick trick. Seen the stick used to beat the carpets, ya same one. He made me keep it behind my neck and then have to keep my hands over it. I came straight and looked at the mirror. Jesus Christ? Somehow with some creaky sounds from my joints and some moaning I completed that set also.

Then I was led to a machine, looks like our cycle. Goliath called it a Stepper. You have to pedal it and seat will go up and down on that. He asked me to do that for 15 minutes and went. First it was fun, like riding a horse. I thought of being Tipu Sultan and made Tak, Tak sounds quietly and rode the horse. Hardly 2 mins, the horse gave an indication that it will not move. I realized with pain that it was not the problem with the stepper. It was because I could not move my legs and pedal it. Somehow frequent visits to the cooler for water I made to sit on top of that and finished the set.

Now the first day functions are getting into its climax. Next program is lifting blocks. Ah! Dumbbells!! I went there as if I was using these from the time I was born. Johnson (the instructor) took two of them and held as two flowers. I also took it as if I was an expert. He lifted the dumbbells straight up. The muscles on the hands of Johnson were dancing. I looked on to mine. They have not heard that name muscle. Not that, the dumbbells in my hand which has to be lifted is remaining down. Made all the nine and extra five more expressions on my face and lifted it, small crackers started bursting inside my head. At last when I felt the whole weight would be gone and I will float inside the Gym like a feather I went and sat on a chair. I wanted to shout “My head is spinning and am fainting”, but no sound was coming. Suddenly I heard a bird calling “John...Ssoon.” I looked around and realized that it was not a bird, but was me who was calling. It was the first time I was calling someone so pathetically. The stars and comets finished their roles inside my head and I got my eye sight back. Johnson was standing with a glass of water. Suddenly from nowhere I got lots of strength, I pushed Mr. Hulk hard out of the way and ran. The marathon ended near the washbasin at the corner. I gave out even the first drop of milk I drank.

Now you may think I have stopped my visit to Gym. No my friends, as long as there is a chair to sit and a washbasin no powers can stop me.

Now the benefits I got from one weeks Gym routine. The muscles (even I did not know that they were in my body) have started to reveal themselves. Whatever small move I make, they give signals. Those signals traveled in all directions, ceased on my tongue, and freed themselves through the mouth transforming into "AAHHHS" and "UOOHHHS". I, who used to roam a lot with friends, stopped all that and am now walking like a robot. Seeking a lot of help from lifts and escalators as hands and legs are not interested to use the stairs. In short there are only two parts which are not affected, the fingers and tongue. To curb the sadness and irritation that others are not working I am making these two work a lot.

Courtsey: A beautiful nice malayalam .pdf file which I came across. My memory is not refreshing to get the author's name. Anyway hats off!
Picture courtesy: 934 Life.

Secret Death

2008-06-23T04:54:00.000-07:00

Have you ever thought of what happens after death…?

Am just jotting out a little of my thesis. During death some reactions involving changes in atoms and molecules occurs in the body….

Explanation of “HOW” will be published after receiving the document granting ME the sole rights of this invention.

The whole energy which is left in the body is utilized. The linear polymer found in the nucleus of a cell and formed from nucleotides and shaped like a double helix (simplify?? Ok call it DNA) breaks down and many of the several substances found in the nuclei of the living cells; consisting of a protein bond to a nucleic acid get into bonds and transforms themselves to highly powerful waveforms which can propagate at high speeds which are invisible and odorless. It breaks the gravitational barrier.

And at the end these would lose their energy and falls of in some hot molten planets/Suns/satellites or some planets having good environmental conditions.

The earlier people - Someone from whom we are descended (but usually more remote than a grandparent) alias Ancestors have given beautiful nice names for all I have described.

The invisible odorless powerful waveforms – ATHMA

The hot molten planets or having good environmental conditions where the final destiny of the wave – NARAG and SWARG respectively.

Relative Intelligence

2008-06-10T02:55:00.000-07:00

This took place in the early days of my transformation from student to an Employee…

Was working in Kolhapur a well known city in Maharashtra (Chicken-Kolhapuri, Padmini Kolhapuri, yes you got it right) --- Very remote but historic place. Most of the places surrounding the town are so rural and not developed… so best for many mechanical and automobile industries to build up with low cheap workers.

During my days over there I met an employee (of course a Mallu)... Started with peru entha (what’s your name?), Veedu evida (Where is your house?) etc etc.. (Keep a point in the mind that He was the only mallu in that huge company for the past 8 years). He talked much about his life and all dwelling with a bit of egoism and frustration and happiness…and in due course he discovered a small lecturer in me to teach him internet. The computer was sitting like a king with a grin among other computers like a Grandfather having a rare retro pocket watch… b’coz only it had the internet facility.)

First step open a new E-mail account (Hip Hip Hooray Yahoo Mail). I demonstrated him how to write, send, and receive mails. The chapter is closed. Our shifts were different so no frequent meetings happened. Weeks passed and once he came searching for me and told that his account is not working.

I asked how his mail usage is going and came to know it was his first attempt. Walking towards the computer,-------- (thinking of the usage of Caps Lock for password, spelling mistakes and also about the “smile” and “Thanks” am gonna get after solving etc etc.) ------- and seeing the screen, I felt to just drop into a fissure below or melt at that point of time. At that same time I got the importance of patience and controlling feelings mixed with crying and screaming. A lightning occurred and had the enlightenment like Gautham Buddha and emptied from there putting all blame to the poor old machine.

He had opened the browser and typed his Password on the ADDRESS BAR and pressed enter... The poor old computer didn't know what was going on and got hanged.

Today after 3 and a half solid years, I don’t know where and what he is.

This is not to hurt anyone’s feelings, but just to shout it loud “HATS OFF TO EINSTEIN.” Foolishness or lack of education is RELATIVE. One who knows to sign his own name is a king infront of thumb pad users.