Stomachfull

(Written on 15th October 2005. Time 0800 hours)

Yesterday night I ate, no holds barred and no bars held. Hot rice, sambhar, potato curry and a very-tasty coconut condiment I never before ate in my life. The result was an inflated stomach and a deflated state of easiness.

I felt miserable. The thought of the very coconut condiment I devoured minutes before was repulsive. I sought nearly all ways of tummy reduction. Maybe the only solution I haven’t thought of was going to one of the ‘tummy-reducing-hair loss-preventing-weight-losing’ courses for a quick-fix ‘stomach reducer’. Incidentally, the print ads of these so-called ‘beauty clinics’ always amuse me. They show, a man or a woman, before and after the treatment. The ‘beforebeing’ is usually fat or bald and the ‘afterbeing’ slimmer (oh! not slim as ash or deepti bhatnagar) and hairy (I am tempted to use the word ‘hairier’, but lets spare the linguists). I often see a happy, content ‘beforebeing’ and an uncomfortable, ‘conscious-of-his-existence’ ‘afterbeing’. Makes me derive a thesis that people, if left to themselves, never prefer ways to look younger or thinner or beautiful, but it is only when their friends/relatives/peers/family torture them making fun of their visual handicaps, that they turn to these promise-sellers.

Coming back to my own stomach, passing time and the ensuing digestion brought me relief. Nature has a way of curing any excess. I felt the same elation as watching wheat disappear into the pounding machine at the flour mill, grains by grains from the bottom till there is wheat no more and flour aplenty.

The tummy tale is not without its philosophical significance for me. I learnt that an ‘overdose of things’ is not palatable. Metaphorically, it could be food, happiness, comfort, pleasure, wealth, fame, ego or misery, pain, greed. Everything in proper proportions, spells the effect of magic potions.

Think.

Practise the art of ‘self-restraint’. Gandhiji said the same thing. My friend Pyro also has his life motto summarized in a couple of words ‘Live Light’.

---- Shyam Kurni

Quit India

(8th August 2005. I reached office and thought "I will write something on Quit India today". The below musing ensued.)

The phrase ‘Quit India’ rings bells of patriotism, khadi-clad leaders, valiant common people standing against the tyrant lathi of the gorewala (‘the englishman’) and much more. While all this is pertinent to think of, today being 8th of August, as a little knowledge of history seems to claim that it was on 8th August 1942 that the famous ‘Quit India’ movement is held. Who knows, maybe the next Aamir Khan starrer would be titled ‘Quit India’.

Today morning, in one of those jingoistic pangs, I felt sorry that I was not born during the ‘dependent’ times of Indian history. That I was not alive when the historic ‘Quit India’ movement was going on. But having reflected a little, I am reminded that maybe I am not completely cheated by the unexplained vagaries of the space-time continuum.

Even today, there is an ongoing ‘Quit India’ movement happening. But the interesting fact is that, this time around, it is not an Indian who is shouting ‘Quit India’ but it is the gorewala. Sounds Strange? The English shouting “Quit India”, today, in 2005? “You must be out of your mind”, you may say. Not quite.

If you happen to follow the trends of global business process outsourcing (aka BPO) industry, and if you are smart enough, you must have figured the missing piece of this puzzle by now. Otherwise, let me make the effort to explain.

In the recent times, opposition to outsourcing to emerging countries like India, Brazil, Russia and China has become fierce in the major outsourcer countries (read US, UK and much of Europe). The proximate reason offered is the ‘loss of jobs domestically’. So, if a UK corporation plans to outsource call center activities to a Hyderabad backyard start-up, rest assured, it will receive a lot of flak from the trade unions and the self-proclaimed national interest groups.

The list of UK companies that have become the target of ‘Quit India’ movement recently is long. Banks, Manufacturing majors, Telecom companies all have had their share of the “Save UK Jobs” headlines. And all said and done, the list will grow in the future. What it means to India is a debate outside the scope of this article.

Looks like the English can never run away from the ‘Quit India’ slogan whether it is 1942 or 2005. But let us hope that it does not quit India as it did in 1947.

- Shyam Kurni

Am I proud to be an Indian?

(Somebody sent out a mail asking to state 5 things that I like about India and 5 things I hate. In reply I drafted 3 each. Written in mail on 10th August 2005)


Anyway... Three things I like about India

1. First and foremost, the name. We might have heard of it lots of times, but try this. Close your eyes. Say the word 'India' slowly a couple of times and judge whether you like the sound or not. For starters, compare with names like pakisthan, Mozambique, Mali and Chad.

2. The Diversity. Makes a very good study and documentary.

3. The Juggernaut size. I remember a recent forward of a gaint gaint gaint earthmover machine. Any huge thing or a miniature that is functioning well is a good reason to be awed. We are growing, what is it? the fourth largest economy in the world. A well-oiled machine.

Three things I hate about India

1. Dispossession of Ancient knowledge and wisdom: Somewhere along the line, we have left and lost all that was painstakingly garnered over the centuries by our ancestors. Be it Science, Spirituality, Religion or even for that matter Kama Sutra. We are now nothing but a copycat nation. There are few original instances, I mean.

2. People's behavior: I am not an enemy of humanity. But Indian people suck. Consider the civilized, posh, well-dressed white-collar employee meeting with a chota accident on a road. And 100% of times, he will join a no-brainer fight with the other guy in the middle of the road. It doesnt matter who is wrong and who is right. We just have to fight. Indians may be innately good, great, but what they do is pathetic.

3. Indian politics and my helplessness currently to do nothing about it

Galli Cricket

(Written on October 2, 2005 sitting over my IV floor balcony)

Of the many unpredictable events in the natural world, the starting and ending of ‘galli cricket’ (‘galli’ in local language means a street) would rank high.

Especially, the ending could be brought upon by a multitude of factors. Some technically correct factors like bad light or a broken bat, but there could be seemingly silly reasons like the owner of the bat is called by his (In these parts, only boys play cricket) mom or dad for a ridicule thereby ending the match or that the ball is hit straight into a coconut tree’s branches by the team’s fattest guy.

Well the coconut fiasco is not borrowed from any book or a movie, but happened today in my galli, in its premier afternoon event, the ‘galli cricket’

The fat guy wearing thickset glasses is the hitter. Incidentally, he is also the most garrulous of the lot, sincerely doling out cricket gyan, trivia and threat in proportions.

At the time that I am writing this line, the galli team is still trying to salvage the ball from the tree. If I analyze the differing incentives of these kids in trying their might to regain the ball, I make out the following:

The guy who hit it has to somehow retrieve it, or else, he will be forced to pay for the ball. Of course, once he pays, he automatically gets all legal ownership rights on this particular ball in the coconut tree domain, so much so that, at a later time, after many days, if the ball falls from the tree, this guy will still be the rightful owner.

The team bowling when the ball is hit into the tree: In my case, it so happened that the fat guy is in the team batting first. So, the other team is still due to bat. So, fetching the ball is paramount. Accounting for all the time lost in unsuccessful attempts and the final successful attempt, they will certainly appeal that the fat guy’s team abruptly close their innings (‘Declare your innings’ will be their formal appeal, btw) and let them start batting. See, I told you, there could be lots of reasons to stop a galli match, these reasons apply equally shamelessly to ending one team’s innings

Through all this drama, the batting team (yes, the fat guy’s team) is ambiguously interested. Guys in the fattie’s team, who batted and got out before the ball made its journey to the final coconut frontier, have no interest whatsoever. They will, of course, join the match, in case the ball is repossessed. They adopt an air of stoicism and relaxed detachment from the whole drama. In case the ball is not extracted, they bleat their luck in having batted before the ball is lost. And the guys who are supposed to bat after the fattie (the fat guy will be unanimously declared to be out for this innings if the ball is regained. Justice is meted out in a galli cricket setting unsparingly and immediately) are doubly interested in fishing the ball and also, claiming their eligibility to bat immediately, once the ball is safe back with them. Quick Learners, these bunch!

All the analysis aside, the guys at last count (when I finish writing this) have not yet got ball. The cricket is over for today, but the hopeful stares at the tree continue, longing for the unmerciful wind (nothing short of a gale would help, I surmise).

Wait! Somebody brought another ball. But the fat guy is persona non grata. The politics of galli cricket reemerge. I have a valuable insight, “Galli cricket is more of politics and fighting than it is cricket. But it is certainly great.” Wanna bet?

Friendship Day - My first poem

(I wrote this extempore poem on 5th August 2005. Friendship day was on 7th August 2005)

And so
lamented D-day
"bombing no more we should say"

And so
cried, V-day
"victory comes when numerous dead lay"

And so
if we had our way,
we would rather be "Friendship Day"

A fresher welcome speech

{I wrote this for a friend who wanted a welcome speech. He was a sophomore and the event was a fresher's party in college WRITTEN sometime in 2003

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I would like to raise a toast to all the new faces in here. New faces that we don’t know till now but would wish to know. The same new faces that once belonged to us an year ago. The same new faces that, over ashort period of time, will no more be, 'NEW' faces. But faces they are now to us, and yes ‘new’ faces.

Well, I speak on behalf of all the second year students here. Just a few lines of how we all feel at this juncture. Here I go.

Newness or novelty has been intriguing and fascinating to man since the Neanderthal times. Novelty for us is excitement and exuberance, surprise and science, cheerfulness and joy, hope and happiness, boldness and buoyancy, positive ness and passion. But men as we all are, novelty to us also means risk, unfamiliarity, uncertainty, fear, doubt and disturbance.

In the same token, the old and the established stands for ‘the familiar and comfortable’, ‘knowledgeable and therefore able’, ‘mature and therefore trustworthy’,‘rugged and therefore reliable.’ But all this goes with accusations of ‘stagnation and staleness’,‘out-of-date and outmoded ness’ and ‘the slow and the stumped'.

What I wish to express using all the ‘adjectives’that I used is that these new faces in here, our juniors for the coming year, represent to us the same hope and challenge as new players in a cricket team or new twists in a good story. And we, as seniors,should ideally be the matured bunch, a bunch of guys and gals they could trust and depend upon.

Together, we can make a terrific team. You, a brand new Ferrari and we, the sparking black, Ford Model T.

So, I, on behalf of all the ‘old’ faces here, welcome the new faces with open hands, open minds and above all, OPEN HEARTS.

Thank You.

The Mullaikodi Search

When you do not know of something, but have heard that that ‘thing’ can do wonders, you naturally expect the ‘thing’ to be supernatural, a remedy for all problems and a ‘do-it-all’. This is what exactly my mother made me realize today morning. The ‘thing’ in question is the Internet.

Her wish was simple. I had recently got installed, a connection through cable on my PC. Costs me mighty 400 a month. All she wanted me to do was to help her find her long lost eighth class school friend named Mullaikodi. She wanted to speak with her. Chat that is.

All simple wishes are simple only in their statements. The solutions often do not exist, or if they do, are nearly superhuman. It would take us the entire magic potion as in Asterix comics to execute such wishes. And sometimes, even this potion would fail, as I have a premonition now, in realizing my mother’s wish.

For all that I know and guess, Mullaikodi would have been married in Tirukkatipally (That is the town where my mother studied with her), with kids and happily playing the role of an ever-anxious grandmother. To expect her to have any iota of cilliteracy is but expecting to find the proverbial needle in a haystack.

There could, however, be a solution to this. I only hope, that, when I take my mother to a tour of South India (on pilgrimage, of course), and to tirukkatipally, we would find Mullaikodi on some local enquiry.
All that we brag about Internet is very dependent on both parties on both ends coming to it. Otherwise, it is as useless as - I am still thinking of the most useless thing in the world - I got it.. it is as useless as a ‘mind which cannot recall, on the fly, what actually is the most useless thing in the world.’

Written on 29th May 2005

Wait or my God will shoot !

It was Sunday evening and instead of staying indoors and watching the regulation Telugu movie, I happened to sit on the wall of my balcony and quite comfortably too. Although the width of the wall does not allow for great coziness, my small bum would help me. One of the very few advantages of being skinny… I guess. It doesn’t matter how narrow is the passage or how small a chair... you can just pass through or sit on…

Another reason that I sat outdoors in spite of my regular habit was the weather. It rained kittens and puppies the afternoon. Nature’s audiovisual department so was busy. I could hear thunder and see lightning. I don’t have much to write on thunder as it has become commonplace now with my mother shouting most of the time in house and so has become a household commodity. But lightning was still a relative rarity. It looked as if the flashbulb of nature’s Kodak was being used. Or as my mom would say it was gods from above… and with all due respects to some of the feminists it was both gods and goddesses from above… But gods are different, aren’t they… keeping the tradition that they are inapproachable, inaccessible and undecipherable and therefore be feared, respected… they shot our photographs from above when we least expect them… so when the flash bulb flashes, I was not ready... no body else was. And my mom would make a grimace and say I am a bad photographer when I do that to her… so in the same respect god is also a bad photographer… he doesn’t say 1-2-3-ready when he shoots stills… but it is said that good photography entails that “the shot” does not know that he is being shot… so what comes out of this is that god is a bad photographer (as my mom would say) but practices good photography. Paradox of sorts… but enough of chaos that my mom could not possibly understand and that makes god godlier for her…
And an even more bigger paradox is that I had to see a tamil devi movie when I get back indoor (ok... I only had to listen to it)

Written on 6th April 2003

The grossest misuse of superlatives

Is it only me or is it everybody else, that normally, speak in superlatives only these days?

The adjectives have never had it so good. If you do not get a hint of what I wrote so far, just remember the number of times, in the recent past, you have yourself said, or heard somebody else say, words like “Amazing”, “Awesome”, “Terrific”, “Great”, “ Pathetic”, “ Terrible”. In a world where relative comparison has lost all sense of magnitude, if you like something, it turns out to be amazingly “Amazing” at all times and invariably “Gross” or “Pathetic” vice versa.

Superlatives are cool today. Rest assured, they will become cooler and coolest in the future. Using comparative or simple, on the other hand, are being thought of as “commonplace” and uncool. Uncool, but, doesn’t mean hot. Being hot is again, cool man. I do not quite understand this paradox, but who cares! To be cool, one creates paradoxes, not understand paradoxes.

Being branded ‘uncool’ (I repeat, not to be confused with ‘hot’) is the ultimate means of discrimination possible. Come to think of it. Discrimination based on race, color, gender and nationality is all-bygone. The new ‘cool’ way of building walls between people is by using the ‘cool’ factor. I reckon, this discrimination will only get more torturous in the days to come. And using simple forms of adjectives is damn uncool, beware!

Let me hypothesize my theory.

Scenario 1 [Reality: The party was really great.]

X: “How was the party last night?”
A: “Amazing. Just Great”

Scenario 2 [Reality: No booze for the first half an hour, but better ‘DJ’ing later]

X: “How was the party last night?”
A: “Amazing. Just Great” (If your inclination to music is relatively, more than booze)A: “Pathetic. It sucked” (If your inclination to booze is relatively, more than music)

Scenario 3 [The party was really bad. No booze at all. Pretty Sorry ‘DJ’ing]

X: “How was the party last night?”
A: “Pathetic. It sucked"

Scenario 2 is what I build my theory on. Most responses would be in the way that A has responded. There will be exceptions, of course. There will be a set of people, the bunch of objectivists, lets call them A¢, who still answer X’s question like, “It was a good party”, or “The party yesterday was worse than the one I went to the last time around, spare the good ‘DJ’ing”. How would X, in turn, respond to such an answer? In most cases, X would say, “Oh! OK”.

On the other hand, usage of superlatives creates a perception that one has a strong opinion based on the underlying event. That one does not possess second-rate opinions. That one is intelligent enough to express his feelings in as little as one word.

Who would not want to be cool? Of course, some objectivists don’t. But, some of these earlier objectivists would defect into the cool spectrum and every other party, for the rest of their lives, is either “Amazing” or “Pathetic” to them.

If you, as a reader, is of the opinion that my observation about the increasingly ‘cool’ use of superlatives is not accurate, then in all probability, you are an objectivist - an A¢. And you’ve two roads in front of you. One is to stay an A¢ and face responses like “oh!” “Ok” “Great” “Pathetic” (In the future, X’s response to your own objective reply would turn to a single superlative, because he will be one of the cool bunch then.) The other is to take the ‘amazing’ road to use (misuse, rather) the most stupendous or grossest superlatives in your conversations, to vie for the “I am the Coolest” title.

Rate this Observation Article by Shyam:
Pathetic *Amazing ***** (Terms and conditions: The author reserves the right to throw any other rating into his ultra cool ‘dustbin’)