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!)
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Weary
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...
Friday, April 25, 2008
Fear
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.
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.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Movement
Bangalore. Mumbai. And then where? (figuratively speaking)
But its good to be out and about!
But its good to be out and about!
Monday, March 24, 2008
Indescribable
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.
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.
Friday, November 09, 2007
So far away...
'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
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
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Why I am an Outlaw
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.
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.
Friday, April 27, 2007
What a good boy...
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..
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..
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Counter Culture
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.
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.
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