Show me how to live

Malayalee Komerade!

2010-09-05T18:51:00.004+05:30

Well.. you need to be a mallu or lived in Kerala to understand this!
(c) Sept 2010

23: Kill a stick?

2010-07-30T19:47:00.001+05:30

If only

2009-08-13T19:39:00.000+05:30

Phase II

2009-06-23T14:04:00.000+05:30

Life begins again in Mumbai. Different in many many ways.

Some facets are captured here: http://twitpic.com/photos/mikeslackenerny

Will blog, will blog...

Random ramble

2009-04-02T10:54:00.005+05:30

I have been reading a lot of new blogs recently which are written by very erudite Indians and other subcontinentals. (Acorn, Chapati Mystery, Sepia Mutiny). These are all very popular blogs and very widely read by the Indian and NRI crowd.

Usually, the comments and discussions on these blogs are excellent, and much better than the original article. From these discussions, one can see that there exists (and I guess has always existed) a set of very well read and well informed Indians who are very articulate and brilliant (and also have a lot of time on their hands to blog so proficiently.)

Many of them are PhDs or experts in their fields, and some one can directly be in awe of.

***

Reading a discussion on Indian politics, and the blindness of the elite to the ground realities (viz. the current election), one can talk about an Indian Narrative or narratives, or the lack of a Grand Unifying Indian Narrative. The asinine terminology "India vs. Bharat" tried to capture this dichotomy.

The elites (if you are reading this, you are one - and so are most of your pals) have one particular understanding of India, Indian History and of the Indian experience (or the Urban experience). This is the India that protests against 50% Reservations and caste politics, the India of the Multiplexes and cable TV. This is the India I know.

In the real India (real in the sense of political power) - caste and community, religion and region matter, and will make or break the powers that be. Many of us may consider the use of caste cards and election time sops as cynical ploys - but the fact is that broadly they work because the vacuum exists for such tactics. A vacuum that most urban elites cannot see as it does not conform to their narrow understanding of how India is or should be.

Rural areas, and different communities of the country have a very different narrative of their lives and existence. These narratives are occasionally captured by some journalists and writers, who understand this dichotomy of narratives and who have a first hand experience of the syncretic nature of the Indian experience.

*****

Let me take an example of a college.

The management has a particular narrative and view of what the college is, what it means to them and where it should be going. The staff of the college has another view as to the colleges existence and purpose, and their role in the same. At the other end from the management are the students - who have their own sense of entitlement and views on running the college. And of course, their own narrative of college life.

There are certain power equations between these entities. The final direction the college does take depends on the balance of power between these entities. Another problem is that it is difficult to form a unifying narrtive in such a syncretic stucture. Maybe only outsider (with his own biases and prejudices) can attempt such a description.

In 1947, India was like an unpoliticised campus. The management had all the power (the elites) and they did what they liked (whether for good or bad) and staff and students followed suit.

By the 1970s, the staff formed unions and taking a united stand, could wrest some of the power from the management. The students (the "teeming millions") watched and slowly attained political enlignement.

By the 1990s, the power balance had started shifting - the elites had lost the grip on power and true democracy meant that even students could vy for control of the college or different parts of it. Different hostels (aka communities) elected different leaders to weild power and control the college.

From the managements (the elite - upper cast, educated, rich, urban, middle class) point of view, they cannot understand what is happening and how to deal with it. The management always thought that they knew what was best for the college (the students' opinions be damned), and now they have these rowdy uncouth kids taking over parts of the college.

From the students point of view - they have finally got power and will no longer have to bear the overlordship of the elites who used to completely ignore them and have little or no understanding of their concerns and issues because they live in their ivory towers. The students have a very different narrative. This is the story of Mayawati and Laloo Yadav.

Democracy means a transfer of power to all, and to the elites it has been a steady erosion of power.

While the majority of students may not have econimic power (yet), the political power they have wrested can either result in a re-distribution of wealth (eg. Reservations in Pvt. Sector) or of the student leaders partaking in the loot with the elites. (aka all your corrupt self serving netas).

What must the elite do?

Open their eyes, and see that there exist multiple alternative narratives of being Indian than what they are used to or comfortable with. This is not going to be easy, and will involve dealing with significant cognitive dissonance.

Accept that democracy will mean a loss of power for the elites, and maybe even a loss of relevance.

Learn to work within the new power structure, or exit the nation so as to be cocooned in the diaspora.

I am sure there must be parallels in history that might tell us how what the future is going to be like for India.

Dee-eep

2009-03-30T11:29:00.001+05:30

These words exist,
because you are reading them.

Iss Baar Nahi

2008-12-02T09:21:00.001+05:30

Iss Baar Nahin

Is baar jab woh choti si bachchi mere paas apni kharonch le kar aayegi
Main usey phoo phoo kar nahin behlaoonga
Panapney doonga uski tees ko
Is baar nahin

Is baar jab main chehron par dard likha dekhoonga
Nahin gaoonga geet peeda bhula dene wale
Dard ko risney doonga,utarney doonga andar gehrey
Is baar nahin

Is baar main na marham lagaoonga
Na hi uthaoonga rui ke phahey
Aur na hi kahoonga ki tum aankein band karlo,gardan udhar kar lo main dawa lagata hoon
Dekhney doonga sabko hum sabko khuley nangey ghaav
Is baar nahin

Is baar jab uljhaney dekhoonga,chatpatahat dekhoonga
Nahin daudoonga uljhee door lapetney
Uljhaney doonga jab tak ulajh sake
Is baar nahin

Is baar karm ka hawala de kar nahin uthaoonga auzaar
Nahin karoonga phir se ek nayee shuruaat
Nahin banoonga misaal ek karmyogi ki
Nahin aaney doonga zindagi ko aasani se patri par
Utarney doonga usey keechad main,tedhey medhey raston pe
Nahin sookhney doonga deewaron par laga khoon
Halka nahin padney doonga uska rang
Is baar nahin banney doonga usey itna laachaar
Ki paan ki peek aur khoon ka fark hi khatm ho jaye
Is baar nahin

Is baar ghawon ko dekhna hai
Gaur se
Thoda lambe wakt tak
Kuch faisley
Aur uskey baad hausley
Kahin toh shuruat karni hi hogi
Is baar yahi tay kiya hai

--- Prasoon Joshi

On Mortality

2008-10-05T22:50:00.002+05:30

There is nothing quite like the feeling of being invincible. Knowing that the world is yours for the taking - one by one easy piece. And there is nothing sadder than losing this feeling - for it leaves you so incomplete, and so defeated.

I want the Groove days back...

Project A - These Days by Nico

2008-10-01T20:37:00.004+05:30

Goal: Come out with a decently listenable mp3.

The song to be Anu Malikified: Nico's These Days from her 1967 album Chelsea Girls.
The song was written by Brian Cale (IIRC), her band mate from the the Velvet Underground. The lyrics are quite desolate, but the music is not. The objective is to come up with a Hindi song (whether as desolate or completely different) to the music/arrangement.

Was trying my hand at this in class today. Was wondering, what would be the Hindi/Hindustani/Urdu equivalent of the phrase "These days" ? Would it be "Yeh din" "Yeh pal" "In din/dino" "Iss samay" or my fav candidate so far "Aaj Kal"? Any help would be appreciated!

The original lyrics are below:

I've been out walking
I don't do too much talking
These days, these days.
These days I seem to think a lot
About the things that I forgot to do
And all the times I had the chance to.

I've stopped my rambling,
I don't do too much gambling
These days, these days.
These days I seem to think about
How all the changes came about my ways
And I wonder if I'll see another highway.

I had a lover,
I don't think I'll risk another
These days, these days.
And if I seem to be afraid
To live the life that I have made in song
It's just that I've been losing so long.
La la la la la, la la.

I've stopped my dreaming,
I won't do too much scheming
These days, these days.
These days I sit on corner stones
And count the time in quarter tones to ten.
Please don't confront me with my failures,
I had not forgotten them.

You can listen to the original song here: www.megaupload.com/?d=ZU4T4R5T

These boots are made for walking...

2008-09-28T16:14:00.002+05:30

Hello blog world. I don't do thee as much as I used to.
***

Drums. And beats. There is something very primal about beats and music - maybe its mathematical. Is the octave scale as obvious as Base 10 or Binary? Is there a pi in music.. our very own 3.141529..... ? Rationals and Irrationals? Real and Complex?

But back to the drums. Beating a stick against a log would have resulted in the world's first drummers.. some thousands of years ago, and the this monkey would have discovered rhythm, and how the brain processes beats, and likes them. Then this snooty pansy would have also discovered scales and thus begot Mozart (and Pussycat Dolls).

***

I am 26 and it feels really old when I think about it, for I's still rather be stuck in the late 90s. Not really. I like where I am.

***

On the other hand, I have fingers.

***

(yes that was a PJ from the late 90s)

***
Revisiting the old you is nice surprise most of the times. One can learn a lot from that that lad. Like scribbling and doodling juvenile on the back of your notebook. And it felt really really good.

***
uh yeah, thats a pic of my shoes in the blog pic above. And I do need to go for that jog.

Being Walter Mitty

2008-06-05T00:40:00.000+05:30

http://www.all-story.com/issues.cgi?action=show_story&story_id=100

Dreaming (and dreaming in a way in which one is a character in some sort of long running motion picture or TV show.. a View-per-will TV show) has always come easy to me. Wonder of wonder that there is a character is literature who's famous (rather, infamous) for the same. I believe there is a little bit of a Walter Mitty in all of us.

Of course, some have a lot more of it than others...

Bade Achchhe Lagte Hain

2008-05-12T00:08:00.002+05:30

One of the loveliest songs I have heard in recent times. Who knew growing old would be so good :)

Marine Drive and a phonecam

2008-05-10T10:27:00.003+05:30

Before my time...

2008-04-26T12:41:00.002+05:30

Was reading about the new microblogging (Twitter) phenom, in which junta may use SMS's to blog.

back in summer 2002, while I was busy creating 'Enter the Freshman', I also got a cell phone and a Dolpin (MTNL) prepaid connection. At that time, the billing facility was extremely screwed and certain Dolphin customers could SMS for free. I was one of these. After exhausting the jokes and other crap from Indiatimes and Rediff (8888 and 7333), I discovered that one could send emails using SMS via the indiatimes gateway. Thus was born my mblog project.

I had coded a scipt that would run on logging into my Aerospace account, scan my mailbox from emails from my number, and paste these to a text file that acted as my blog.

I was searching for how to create a daemon on the Aero server, but lost interest, specially after Dolphin got its billing right.

Maybe the same service exists still, and one can update blogger accounts via email.. and thus the world will always be aware of whatever you want it to be aware of.

Thus, a timepass project of 2002 was the new phenom of 2007. Wah wah!

Now I know what Baird felt like.... (ego to dekho munde da!)

Weary

2008-04-26T10:32:00.003+05:30

Writing short blog posts is symptomatic of a vacuous, malignant weariness that results in trying to graft words with any semblance of coherence. Pitiable. Pitiful. Pitiless. Piti much yeh hi hai...

Fear

2008-04-25T13:52:00.003+05:30

Whenever I hear or read some particular words... Stochastic.. Parametric.. Eigenvalues.. etc, I break into a cold sweat. An engineer by training, I should welcome these like old school friends.

Maybe the analogy tells a lot more than it is meant to. I seldom make the required effort to meet old connections. It is not right to get this annoyed with the interruption in solid routine.

from the Gita...

2008-04-11T00:08:00.001+05:30

Movement

2008-03-27T19:33:00.001+05:30

Bangalore. Mumbai. And then where? (figuratively speaking)

But its good to be out and about!

Indescribable

2008-03-24T00:18:00.006+05:30

There's a sad sort of clanging from the clock in the hall
And the bells in the steeple too
And up in the nursery an absurd little bird
Is popping out to say "cuckoo"

A smörgåsbord of feelings, finally. A pastiche of moments, of images. Exams on the horizons, panic in the air, and creative juices think this is the best time to pump up. Inconsequentialities for the most part, that doesnt stop me from taking air.

And sorrow. Despair in someways, at a time that was almost momentary, and yet could have have been, should have been so much more (My Bad, really!).

Nullness. Dullness.

Legacies worth preserving, but the hills wont remember (though we will remember the hills.. somewhat).

These too shall pass, and all these moments will be lost in time.... like teardrops in the rain.

Adieu PGP10. We shall hunt again in Valhalla.

So far away...

2007-11-09T08:02:00.000+05:30

'Tis the festival of lights
and yet the lights are dim
No cackle of the phooljhari
No rockets in flight

The magic of last year
must wait to be repeated
and yet, I know that if the lamp
is lit, 'tis 'cause of you my dear

Why I am an Outlaw

2007-05-10T08:37:00.000+05:30

The whole system is geared for this. The agents at the RTO, who will do your job for you so that you do (or the cops) don't have to feel uncomfortable about the bribe you will pay. The unfriendly demeanour of the whole RTO set up, the sitting on files, until you pay up. Unless you are connected, no the system is hermetically sealed.

My in-good-shape RX-100 (manf 1991) was taken to the RTO for reregistration, the challan and green tax paid. The agent asked for Rs 600 to get the stamp on my papers. I balked. I had given too much to the system already.

The cops have no conscience. To them I am just another IT asshole who needs to pay so that their measly salary can be augmented. A sort of robin hoodesqe socialism. Rob the richer (if u can afford a bike, u can afford to spread that happiness a bit too, schmuck) and give to the poorer (i.e. self). And as no anomalies are allowed in the system, you have to be corrupt, else the spanner will be thrown in the works well and good for everyone. A sort of enforced peer pressure. Another reason not to take any load on the conscience.

After 3 trips to the RTO, I finally met an vehicle inspector. My papers were in order, my bike in excellent condition. Gave a critical look at the bike.

"You need to put a saree guard. And change the chain sprocket cover, there is some rust on it. And paint the bike again.. look it's chipped here."

The agent had warned me that this would happen. And it did. Every little pretext to stall the stamp.

The cop does not care whether my bike is in good running condition or not. He will pass a crap bike if the bribe is paid. That is how the system is.

There was a story, by Somerset Maugham, in which a criminal is tortured to death by a machine which inscribes with needles on the chest, the crime he commit ed, till the man bled/was mangled to death. The cop in the story always looked for the point at which realisation came to the man, invariably just before his death, as to what the message was.

It was like that at the RTO. I finally saw the message.

Enough of the system! I am now an outlaw. I drive a vehicle with an expired registration.

What a good boy...

2007-04-27T10:11:00.000+05:30

When I was born, they looked at me and said
what a good boy, what a smart boy, what a strong boy.
And when you were born, they looked at you and said,
what a good girl, what a what a smart girl, what a pretty girl.

We've got these chains that hang around our necks,
people want to strangle us with them before we take our first breath.
Afraid of change, afraid of staying the same,
when temptation calls, we just look away.

http://24.244.177.17/hillbaleyradio/What%20A%20Good%20Boy.mp3

What were you thinking Cho? What had happened to you? V-Tech was rage gone awry..

Counter Culture

2007-04-03T20:33:00.000+05:30

As the editor of the non-existant IITB H6 magazine, I always had this fond hope that the rag would take on a life of its own.. something that would survive the earth-shaking passing of the baton.. something the grandkids would see (sniff..)

Some fond hope that... legions of H6 lit secys have passed on without publishing anything worthwhile. So many manifestos.. so many lies, or excuses.

But then you cant blame us. The hostel was always a splintered social unit. Wing vs. Wing, Undergrads vs. the rest, Freshers vs. Seniors, Lit Junta vs. the ..er..philistines. You get the picture. The audience for such a inclusive hostel magazine just did not exist.

The lowest denominator was hostel gossip, but if the editor had to be really clued in to the diffent cliques across different wings/years, and walk on eggshells so to include all. Even hostel sports results would not have interested many, with the obvious cynical realisation about the death or non-existance of the hostel as an institution. The hostel magazine was a non-starter. It took the occasional enthu and genuinely talented editor, like the occasional one from H2 or H4 in the late 90s batches to bring out that gem.

I've talked to Kaps about this, and I remember talking to Chinmay too once about the possibility of starting a rag, something on the lines of Target, or Gentleman. But it has been a fact that the demise of both these excellent magazines, nothing has come up to take the space which these occupied.

That brings into question what this space really is. The national audience is as diverse and fragmented as is the typical hostel crowd. Is there a space for an English language alternative or children's magazine of the quality of Gentleman/Target? It did exist a decade or two ago, but the commercial interests evidently did not think so.

What has changed since the demise of Target? Kids are more tech/net savvy, and more young like adults. They probably take offence at being labeled 'children'. Life in urban landscape has turned topsy-turvy as compared the quiet life of the smaller towns. And there is no Rosalind Wilson to push that vision through. Maybe I need to get in touch with IP. He knew the pulse.

As for a Gentlemanesque publication, the question is moot. There are pretenders (Man's World), but the money follows the bare skin. It will be asking a lot of consumers shell out Rs 50 plus for a quality publication relatively free from the vagaries of commerical interests. A lot depends whether a good mix of writers can be brought together to contribute. A Rajib Sarkar or Sambit Bal will aslo be need to nurture the talent. A tough ask indeed.

Comics in India have a similar fate. Other than the Nagraj and ilk, we've had slim pickings so far. I wonder if this potential, this space, is not just some miasma. A deeper look at this treacherous space is needed to understand whether any ventures here will be worthwhile.

Or maybe one should just leap, damn the looking.

Vada pav No. 2

2007-03-20T15:08:00.000+05:30

Time in Mumbai, can be counted by the number of Vada-Pavs one eats during the stay.

Going down the ramp at the Airport, to the tarmac and mixed-feelings, the hot sun and humid windy air dance around me in a tepid welcome. The Air-India hangar is familiar, and I always see a younger me sitting on the half-built concrete approcah back in summer 2003, mesmerised by the continuous take-offs and landings of the big birds in such close proximity. My own front-row seat to the best show in the world. Not much has changed since.

Bangalore and a disposable income has spolit my thirst for fighting with the autowallahs. I haggle beforehand with one before jumping to go to Ville Parle. And to think that I'd scream bloody murder if they'd ever have shortchanged me on the meter reading back in the glory days. Airport tax, I justify it. Spend that extra rupees 20 on the ground. You've just spent a hundred times as much coming here. Yeah, I've become an old fuddy. Need to throttle up the Bombay cynicism to keep the city from eating me up.

No fear of that. Pushing through a crowded rush-hour second-class compartment on my way to Churchgate, my re-metamorphosis is complete. Complete, with the belligerent, if sheepishly accomodating and happy-go-lucky stare and opportunistic body language. Travelling the local is as all it take to get happily assimilated. The train gently rocks, as I unsubtely goose-step my way to taking up a 'position', where if my luck is good, I can 'convert' to a seat.

The code operates. My air-bag and backpack are an obvious nuiscence in the sardine tin, so I perform the magic act of lifting both bags up in the air, and anonymous arms cleanly deposit the bags on the overhead bins. A 'thanks' is nodded, and an air of general mutual smugness is perceptible. Voila! All we need now is the 'I heart Mumbai' tee-shirts and rumbling Koli drums in the background.

The ubiquitous announcer lady welcomes me to Churchgate, advising me of a possible return train to Borivilli at 1806 hrs from platform No. 1, that stops at all stations. Vada Pav no. 2 is consumed at the Churchgate subway. The taste of Bombay... tantalising.. satisfying.

I guess home is a place that never feels alien. Mumbai is that for me. Unquestioningly accepting all foibles, my eccentric arrival and departure. But then Bangalore is home too. Afterall, home is where the heart is. Two crushed vada-pavs travelled with me.. maybe these can show a lot more that any cell-phone videos can.

Slip Sliding

2007-03-12T16:28:00.001+05:30

(ps: Below is a Copy/paste for Salon.com)

I'm scattered and have no ambition -- what's wrong with me?
I could be an actor or a writer or even a therapist, but nothing seems to be worth all the work and commitment.
By Cary Tennis
Mar. 12, 2007
Dear Reader,
Now, speaking of "should," on to today's puzzling problem, in which "should" plays a prominent role.
Dear Cary,
I am 24 years old and I am tired. Tired of my life and tired of my mind. I am an intelligent guy; I have a degree and should be making more of life. But, to be honest, I don't have a clue what I want. In fact, I almost feel like I don't want anything. Yes, I have the brain to be a successful businessman. I have the creativity to work in TV. I have the understanding of people to work as a therapist of some sort.
Yet, I find myself in debt and working dead-end jobs because nothing appeals enough. For a time I wanted to act, then I wanted to direct. But whatever I choose, I come to a point where I always end up thinking, "Well, there must be more to life than this. I don't wanna train all those years just for that!" So, come on, what the hell's wrong with me?
Actually, I love writing. But there's a problem. I can't find anything to write about. I haven't written in over a year. And nothing much is happening in my life. It sort of stalled a few years ago. My friends are all far away, and home doesn't feel like home anymore. I suppose it never has. I'm still looking for "home," somewhere where I belong. Also, for the last few years I've been dealing with depression (I think -- I never went to a doctor, but I get suicidal thoughts and black thoughts), which partly stemmed from long-term drug problems. I have been clean for a couple of years now.
I also have had difficulty with my sexuality. I am gay and I feel OK about it, yet I never make much attempt to find a guy. In fact, I don't really make much attempt to do anything. Part of me just wants to travel and roam the lands. In fact, more than anything, I'd like to be a writer who earned just enough to get by, just enough to skip town when I chose.
Anyway, What I really wanna know is, why am I so lacking in energy? I have an intense need to do something, a great frustration, but no firepower.
Out of Gas

Dear Out of Gas,
So you think you should be making more of life. Says who?
What authority stands over you and says, "You should be making more of life!"? Whose voice is that? Is it conscience? Is it a legitimate order?
It's true that you may have trouble with your metabolism or the lingering effects of drug abuse, and, as pointed out numerous times, depression is a real but difficult and baffling disease that you may want to look into.
But your question raises something else that has been on my mind lately.
To me you simply sound like the philosophical rebel -- what we term these days a slacker.
And where have all the slackers gone? What happened to their ironic inoculation against the pestilence of certainty, their limp, cunning subversion of jackbooted hoo-ha? Do you not realize that you are a member of the cultural opposition? Who among us does not wrinkle his nose at the air of tawdry fraudulence that surrounds the "riches" the world has to offer? Do you really want these things or do you only think you are supposed to want them?
The philosophical rebel is Bartleby. Whatever we want him to do, he prefers not to -- and with good cause! He rightly disdains the carrying out of duties and chores; he says "I would prefer not" to the undistinguished business of distinguishing himself in an undistinguished field among undistinguished peers; he sees the masses aping the classes, gaping at the Oscars and donning tuxedos to be like the swells and it sickens him ... not because he yearns to change the world but because he wishes fervently to escape its hideous embrace. He hears the speeches of preachers of "Think and Grow Rich" and the jingle-jangle hype of "American Idol," unironic and blind to its own cheap worship, and he is sickened.
Immune to the contagion of striving that infects his peers, to his elders he appears simply ungrateful. He does not want what his fathers created nor what his peers are working for. So yes, the philosophical rebel is an elitist of sorts. He does not want what others want. This angers the strivers. They see him idling on a corner and think: We worked so you could have this! We won the war so you could have this! And look what you do with it! You sneer at it!
But he means them no harm. He only means to be true to himself, to follow his own voice. "You're tearing me apart!" he screams. (A little context for this otherwise baffling cri de coeur can be found here and also in this Salon story on James Dean.) Thus the sons defy the fathers and desert the factory for an urban bohemia, not so much to denounce their fathers' triumphant smokestack striving and to curse their blackening of God's blue skies but merely to be true to themselves. Who among us, in his heart, does not agree with him?
But it makes one wonder: What has happened to the broad cultural idea of the misfit as hero? How is it that you could be a prime example of this important social feature and yet not realize it?
I find this rigid new world baffling; where I come from, the misfit is king. This idea -- that Allen Ginsberg is more important than Alan Greenspan -- is so engulfing, you can't untangle where it came from. It's like religion or a gender, this notion of the outsider hero. (It's as if upon birth the question would be not, Is it a boy or a girl? but, Is it a hipster or a straight?)
So has the fringe been bribed with sandwiches and beer? Or is it just a question of style? I do not know. I just know it's different now. You used to be able to identify a rebel on sight. Now it is harder. As my buddy Andrew O has pointed out, of course, rebellion has been commodified.
So if one can purchase one's rebellion in the correct size at any ... um Paul Frank store (not that I don't love Paul Frank designs more than life itself), it's equally possible that one might be in fact a true rebel without realizing it. Perhaps that makes you the true misfit -- one who does not even recognize it and would disavow it if asked. When asked to consider the useful social role he plays, the philosophical rebel prefers not to.
Or has something happened to the currency of the idea itself of the rebel of conscience, the revolutionary of the soul, the transcendence seeker? Has the fringe been brought to the center and tamed? Is the center finally holding, after a fashion -- held together by thin gold strands of omnipresent representation?
Well, anyway, you are a rebel, that's what you are, that's what I say. You are the solitary man without a country, without a home, wondering what's wrong with you -- because your protest is yet an inchoate thing, innate and unfocused. Your plight is thickened because your context is so thin -- today you're a rebel without a context! Is there still a Greenwich Village to flee to? Is there still a San Francisco where one can rent a cheap room above a bookstore without becoming a real estate agent or a software change agent or an FBI agent?
Of course there is a place for "should." If you've got a job and you're on company time then of course you should be working. And if you're working but not with all your heart, perhaps you could be working better. I'm not for negligence or shoddiness in the important things. If on a dull afternoon I'm producing dull sentence after dull sentence it is not unreasonable to ask if there isn't something I am missing in the air, if a little cappuccino might not brighten up the prose, if I could look a little deeper to see what I'm hiding from myself; when the mind grows dull, a little "should" can focus the mind; it can remind one of the ongoing majesty of muted sunlight warm on the skin; it can remind one to listen more closely to the droning inner voice that at times says things quite amazing if obscure.
But you can certainly go overboard with should. What should be you doing if you are not on the job and have nowhere to be? Should you pick your toenails or eat some lasagna? Should you read an edifying book or stroll through the park? What should you do? What indeed? The conditions of life in the industrialized West are such that broad material disparities exist in the rewards dispensed to workers. Some of the rewards are just and some are random without apparent reason (see "Oprah's Ugly Secret"). You live within this matrix and may wish for it to mean something, and indeed rules can be deduced about how social class and business and government power sometimes coalesce to produce those peculiar beings we know as "American Fascists," but at times, to the individual man caught in the tornado, the only thing it seems to be is random and insane.
That is why the philosophical rebel is so dear to us -- because he alone has the courage to say, "I have no clue what this shit is."
Of what value to society is such a stance? What does he add to the GNP of nations or to the riches of our souls? Most important, he is anathema to hoo-ha -- he does not swallow the Kool-Aid or follow the company line; he does not jump when the Man says jump -- he scarcely moves; he hardly hears the Man; he can hardly even see him; he has to squint. It's his constitution to be cautious and to ask the relevant question Why? Which in our current situation we could use more of -- if we in the West had been more skeptical, if there were among us more bantams in pine woods, we might not be so deep in shit as we are. The philosophical rebel fears not portly Azcan nor his hoos.
Could it be that the voice of what you want is God's voice? Could it be that what you want is what God wants? Could it be that you are eating and sleeping and fucking for God? And if that is God's voice then what is this other voice that would hobble the hipster and tie him down, would frighten him into a frightful day job he half believes in and half detests?
That must be the voice of the devil! Ha ha ha. Fear the devil.
Give yourself a break, my man. If you are depressed and have a drug problem or have a metabolic imbalance, then that's some serious stuff and you need medical care. But if you simply lack ambition, I take my hat off to you. The world is way too full already of overly ambitious fucks elbowing us out of the way on the streetcar.
I take my hat off to you. Give yourself a break. Take another day off.

Aur Sadke Thi Sab Mere Baap Ki

2007-03-06T17:18:00.000+05:30

Dilli (Sung by Rabbi Shergill, OST Delhii Heights) Mp3 link in the title above...

Jaagegi Raat Bhar
Aur Bhaagegi Saath Par
Par Daalegi...Belagaam Khayaalon Ko!
Puchhegi Yeh Sawaal
Aur Maangegi Yeh Hisaab
Na Sunegi...Tere In Jawaabon Ko

Yahaan Hai Ek Nadi
Aur Wahaan Ek Laal Qila
Par Kahaan Hai
Iss Shehar Ka Falsafa

Yahaan Aansu Aur Geet
Aur Jawaani Thi Maine Tere Naam Ki
Kiya Paar Aadhi Raat
Aur Sadke Thi Sab Mere Baap Ki
Aur Main Tha, Tu Thi, Aur Thi Dilli Bass...

Kahin Koyi Ud Rahaa Hai
Kahin Koyi Gir Rahaa Hai
Kahin Koyi Hai Khada... Kagaar Pe

Kahin Koyi Khele Juaa
Aur Kahin Koyi Bane Ghulaam
Aur Kahin Koyi Hain Pada Intzaar Mein

Jab Gaya Kal Main Qutub Minaar
Aur Suna Tha Maine Ailaan
Ki Bani Hai Yahaan Ek Nayi Party
Aawaara Hai Naam
Bhatkana Jiska Vidhaan hai
Fursat Hai Kaam
Kuchh Dhundala Sa Jiska Nishaan Hai
Wahaan Main Tha, Tu Thi, Aur Thi Dilli Bass...

Dekhe Yahaan Kayi...Mausam Badlate Huye
Dekhe Jasbe Kayi..Yahaan Paththar Banate Huye
Kayi Waqt Se Pehle
Sab Aaj Tu Kehle !

Yeah yeah yeah yeah (x2)

Yahaan Aansu Aur Geet
Aur Jawaani Thi Maine Tere Naam Ki
Kiya Paar Aadhi Raat
Aur Sadke Thi Sab Mere Baap Ki
Aur Main Tha, Tu Thi, Aur Thi Dilli Bass...

Aawaara Hai Naam
Bhatkana Apana Vidhaan Hai
Fursat Hai Kaam
Kuchh Dhundala Sa Apana Nishaan Hai
Aur Main Hoon, Tu Hain, Aur Hai Dilli Bass!!!

In search of mediocrity

2007-03-06T15:27:00.000+05:30

The below is an article I had read sometime back in '02 and, for some (maybe glaringly obvious)reason, struck a chord.

Column: In search of mediocrity

By Marc Chun

A COUPLE OF weeks ago at the School of Education convocation, the dean welcomed the new students gathered in Cubberley Auditorium. As is traditional and befitting of such an occasion, he recounted the impressive accomplishments of the school and the faculty, national research centers, appointments in the Department of Education and interesting new course offerings. He then announced that among the new students, the school welcomed doctors, lawyers and artists who have now chosen to pursue degrees in education. Of course, the message was to motivate, congratulate and inspire: excellent people have come to an excellent school to do excellent things.

I, however, heard a slightly different message: "What in the world are you doing here?" Don't get me wrong: I don't begrudge my new classmates in the slightest, but as I am absolutely struggling to finish up my degree, here are folks who already can save lives, fight for justice and make things of beauty, and now on top of that they're going to pick up another degree? The degree I'll be lucky enough to complete?!?

I know I'm not alone in pondering the Admissions Committee scenario. Years ago, somehow my application file was accidentally placed in the wrong pile. No sooner than the "fat letter" was sent inviting me to pursue graduate studies at Stanford did someone notice the error. The school was too embarrassed by their mistake to revoke my admission, so everyone has been engaged in an elaborate cover up worthy of an Oliver Stone feature.

The faculty have kindly allowed me to proceed with my academic work, assuming I am naively unaware of the big snafu. Many students soon grow out of this phase, quickly recognizing their wonderful gifts and their potential, and they realize deep down that they too are excellent and that they really do belong here. I didn't.

It doesn't help that other students in my school are unbelievable teachers, have won prestigious fellowships and have had publishers court them to publish their dissertations (one, in fact, before she had written word one of her tome). Add to that the school's faculty, some of whom finished their own graduate work in three years or less, wrote award-winning theses and crafted cutting-edge research while finishing up their doctoral degrees.

I'm not worthy.

All right, enough self-flagellation. I know I'm no slacker, and I'm no slouch: I can do competent research; I'm a decent teacher, and I come up with relatively interesting ideas. But let's be realistic. If graduate students were TV shows, I'm not the award-winning "ER." I'm not the intellectual "Masterpiece Theater," and I'm not the break-the-mold "X-Files." I'm also not the tragically overlooked "My So-Called Life" or the well-respected "Cosby Show." On the other hand, I'm also not the bizarre "Manimal," or the inane "Nick Freno: Licensed Teacher." I think I'm more like "NewsRadio:" neither ground-breaking nor highly-rated, but basically decent, good-natured and earnest, and just sort of hovering below the radar screen. There's nothing wrong with that, right?

Wrong. I sort of learned that as a Stanford student I should be doing great things. And I wasn't. I went through the requisite excuses and justifications phases: I could've done better work if I didn't have so much to do for my research assistantship. I could've been a better TA if I weren't so stressed about my own classes. I could've come up with a more interesting dissertation if I only read a few more books. I could've had something published if I didn't watch so much TV. (Hey, someone has to watch "Nick Freno.")

Yes, in the beginning there were high expectations. And they begat disappointment, which begat feelings of inadequacy, which begat excuses, which begat fear. You get the picture. But no more! In contrast to the way Kevin Kline's character is publicly outed by Matt Dillon's character in the current film "In and Out," I shall out myself. I am a mediocre student. You see, upon much thought and reflection, I have come to a somewhat acceptable conclusion (note, not an epiphany, not a stupid idea): there's no shame in being mediocre.

There are just so few spots at the top of that bell curve, and it's just so darn nice and roomy way back in the middle. This is not to say that people shouldn't try their hardest; we just shouldn't be ashamed of our most mediocre work.

Mediocre students of Stanford, unite! Let us celebrate our mediocrity! Say it loud, say it proud: we are mediocre! Let the others win the awards and do the tremendous work, and let us feel no remorse and no ill-will.

We shall toast our mediocre accomplishments with Shasta soda; we shall feast at the Olive Garden, and we shall dance to Hootie and the Blowfish. Let us challenge the culture of excellence that oppresses us.

Let us go In Search of Mediocrity. Let us seek the Seven Habits of Highly Mediocre People. Let us watch "Bill and Ted's Most Mediocre Adventure." We're mediocre people coming to an excellent school to do mediocre work. Wrong file in the wrong pile or not - we're here, we're mediocre, get used to it.

Marc Chun is a doctoral student in education. He encourages you to watch "NewsRadio," Tuesday nights at 8:30 p.m. on your local NBC affiliate.

Marc Chun's Opinions appeard in the Stanford Daily from October 1997 to January 1998

The lower rises of the Gaussian curve...

2007-02-16T16:55:00.000+05:30

Not that I remember what a Gaussin curve is. Must mean normal distribution. Saala Gujju, impression jama raha hai.

Anyways, this post is about watching Guru and Salaam-e-Ishq, and finding myself moved (to either extremes)by the latter, and completely untouched by the former.

Why? I think this safely puts me out of the 5% that Saumil has postulated.

Oh well. I guess that rules out the Nobel.

Boiling Blood and Blowing Lids in Delhi

2007-02-16T10:49:00.000+05:30

Had the pleasure of introducing M to the family weekend last in Delhi. Lovely time it was, and, quietly, quite momentous too. A slow motion free fall... And all the better for it.

But, I digress. I am on a self-righteous crib fest.

Nobody likes paying taxes.

And nobody likes paying someone else's!

But this is the stark choice that Delhi traders are throwing to the public.

"This watch strap? Rs 250 only saar... What, you want to pay by Debit Card? Then 16% service tax. For the service of putting the strap on your watch! But if you pay by cash, and dont ask for a bill, then 'service tax' forgivem onlee saar..."

Pretty ingenious. If you pay by card, then the money is traceable, hence 'white' and hence, taxable. So the merchant very nicely throws the burden back to you, to pay his taxes for him. Else pay in cash. Untraceable and black!

Its a petty extortion con. Pay on my terms, or pay my taxes.

Bugger all.

Of cutting corners...

2007-02-16T10:01:00.000+05:30

Come Feb 15 and we have legions of employees standing by the printer, printing fake house rent receipts, medical bills, telephone bills, car-driver salary bills etc., so that they are exempt from more tax.

All look sheepishly at each other, some of the bold ones boldly telling the others about the rouses they have used to save all the money. All looking sheepishly at the others as the printer churns out the fake documents - partners in crime, some more than the others.

And dare anyone comment on this skulldugery, for the pack will gang up on any one stupid or brave enough to point out the truth about "cheating".

"I dont have the bills, but i deserve that exemption anyways...."
"Why shoud the govt. have my money?"
"Who the hell are you to comment?"
"What *your* fucking problem if I do this? Go mind your own fucking business..."
"Who made all these stupid rules anyways? Be a rebel!"

Takes me back several years to Campion, and the rampant cheating that went on there during the assessments and exams. For many, it was a simple question of survival. Maybe I can appreciate that now. A poke in Darwin's eyes. A super-Darwinistic prespective. A higher order than meritocracy. Seldom admitted, but omnipresent. A super-rationalist to the rationalist in the Game of Life. Suddenly, reservation et al makes a lot of sense.

But, the flawed Lahore-Peshawar Theorem prevails. I cannot bring myself to fake my rent receipts.

Not yet anyways.

Game Theory and Group Discussions: The (possible) case for cooperation in GDs

2007-02-01T15:21:00.000+05:30

Hi Folks,I think it is possible (just for academic interest) to model what one should do in a GD so as to maximize chances of getting selected. By building a model, listing rules and assumptions, and specifying variables, one can use game theory to predict probable out comes.Now this is just a germ of an idea, and I request forum members to help build this model.You can suggest different variables, factors etc which can be used to play the game.

Basics: Game theory - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Game Theory and Group Discussions:To get into several MBA institutes in India, a candidate has to go through a charade called a group discussion (GD). It will involve a discussion on an arbitrary topic by a group of competing candidates (8-15) for a limited number of seats, in a limited amount of time.

The objective of the game is for each candidate to score points, sometimes as the expense of other candidates, so as to maximise their own points.There are several such competing groups all over India, and the top ranking individuals most amongst them get to be on the merit list.

Almost everyone wants to be on the merit list (not ALL want to be).All players in all groups start with zero points.

Possible Rules:
1. You get marks if you are heard speaking by the moderator.
2. You get marks if the point heard above has relevant content.
3. You get negative marks if the content is irrelevant.
4. #2 & #3 are linearly multiplied for (say) 5 second stretches.
5. If you are able to hold attention for 30 seconds, you get bonus marks. (for both relevant and irrelevant)
6. If there is a fish-market situation (40% or more of group speaks simultaneously), then the whole group is penalised if order is not restored within 5 seconds.
6.5 If order is restored, then order-restorers get marks.
7. If you are overtly aggressive/offensive (shouting) you get negative marks. You might have to risk aggression to be heard by the speaker.
8. If you do not speak, you get negative marks.
9. If you start the discussion, you get marks.
10. If you start it badly (content and structure), you get negative marks.
11. Positive Marks if you start it well.
12. The chances of a fish-market increase with the increase in number of participants.
13. The chances of a fish-market increase if the topic given is NOT knowledge dependent (i.e. abstract, case-study)
14. A player gets + marks for cutting another speaker successfully, no harm if unsuccessful.
15. If a player can prevent another from cutting him in the middle of the discussion, he gains + points.
16. If 2 or more talkers talk simultaneously, then the one who dominates at the end of 5 seconds gets + marks, but if they are still speaking simultaneously at the end of 10 seconds, both get penalised - marks.
17. If one gives points that help structure the GD, you get bonus + points. You get additional + points if group actually follows the structure you gave.
18. You get + marks for giving time-related summations of the GD.
19. You get + points if you sum up the topic at the end.
20. Every one in the group gets + marks if the GD has a good impression on moderators, - otherwise.

Please suggest other such rules. The quantum of the marks/points can be weighed in later.

A major complication that is necessary for the game is to define the participants (i.e. aggressive/passive/knowledgeable/dumb etc). The personalities can always decide what the best course for a GD should be, or is likely to be.

One can bring in externalities as Oversmart candidates, who are just at GD to have fun, and don't care to maximise their own points, and malicious candidates, who are there to ruin the GD for others.

Thoughts/suggestions please

Propoganda

2007-01-10T11:32:00.000+05:30

The Admin. Dept recently intoduced Green Tea bags in the office pantries, to add to the Starbuckesque choice of teas available - Masala, Cardamom, Regular and Lemon.

On first taste, it reminded me of Beer: Tasted like crap. But then, true to Munshi's acquired taste hypothesis, I've developed a taste for the gutter water. And looking at all the GT propoganda out there (live longer, helps cut down LDLs, anti-oxidants, etc) and the fact that this is the other drink that Japanese live on. (Dont ask #1 for goodness' Sake). This is the turgid liquid they pour in those small cups and drink while saying "Hai!". (Oh wait..)

There.. by drinking GT I am the uber-cool new age hipsters, amongst a sea of chai and latte sipping robots.

Just comleted my 2nd mug this morning, and I see myself appreciating.. almost savoring.. the bland taste (dont worry about the oxymoron there). Just goes to show that one can even get accustomed to consuming piss. (Beer lovely beer).

So, here's to a long healthy Green Tea consuming life (until, of course the ecosystem reached the confluence point and bifurcates off into the crazy post Global Warming phase).

2007-01-05T15:17:00.000+05:30

Oh new year oh new year...

Dawgs

2006-06-06T09:20:00.000+05:30

If I keep dogs,
I'm going to keep two.

So that I can shout out clever names
"Johnny! Walker!"
"Jim! Beam!"
"Black! Dog!"

Or I'll just have one,

and call him Kasrak or Gomes.

2006-06-04T08:16:00.000+05:30

"Tum pyaar bahut karte ho, par tumhein pyaar karna nahi aata"

-M

Office Space

2006-05-31T13:49:00.000+05:30

Before I discovered the Vicks Action 500 to help me with the horrible headache and cold I’d suffered as a result of my topless gallivantings over the weekend, I just had to go take rest. Unable to do any work (don’t laugh), and dog-tired and Mehican-drowsy, I needed 40 or so winks to recover.

Headed straight for the (men’s) sick-room that the cubicle-farm I work for provides for such emergencies. Kicked of the hush-puppies and off to lala land on the nice double bed. Aaahh..

Until, well, some other poor soul comes along, kicks off his huppies and lies down besides me. Really, it is disconcerting to share a bed with a stranger, even if ill. And to hear the door open again and again, probably with half the office checking out which 2/3 sick (sic) folks are getting it on there. So I did the cowardly thing and high-talied it home, where at least I know that no arbitrary person is going to creep in and sleep in my bed while I am there.

(Exception for Goldilocks of course)

The Beer-Belly Speaks

2006-05-29T09:40:00.000+05:30

Ek aur..

2006-05-26T16:12:00.000+05:30

Latte ke bhoot, Cappuccino se nahi maante!

*Thoo*

Ho!

2006-05-25T10:42:00.000+05:30

PJ. Always start with a PJ. Here goes (we'll start with the ever popular light bulb wala):

How many corporates(sic) does it take to change a light bulb?

6.

1 to raise AHD (a cry for help) for task to be done.

1 to raise additional item in time-sheet.

1 to approve additional item in time-sheet.

1 to ask a resource to actually do it.

1 to review that the task it done. (i.e. switch bulb on-and-off)

1 to send take credit for it by emailing senior-er management that work has been done. (or actually, all 6 will do it whether its been done or not)