That Cow ain't no friend of mine

The term "companiable silence" is rarely used in conjunction with me. Men talk with me because my fidgeting makes them nervous and women have discovered that talking to me makes me sometimes take my eyes off their breasts.
The constant talking of course means that a wide array of talk takes place. On my visit to thailand (i find I am starting a lot of my sentences like this these days) I found a lot of women asking me if I really was on a honeymoon. But after that conversation was tough to source. There was this lady from Netherland. All I could ask her was what the hell was the difference between Netherland and Holland? But she did grill me thoroughly. One of her questions was about the Cows.

"Was it true that in India Cows moved around the streets because they were holy?"

I had thought that these questions along with the doubts of indians sitting on elephants were definitively settled by the publication of the article "The Indian woman." in the July 99 edition of Penthouse. But evidently this does not seem to be the case.

The whole thing of course began because of that infernal Tintin comic where we see Captain Haddock sitting on the cow in the middle of the road. That comic has proved to have cause much sorrow to all white people when they have found out that Indian cows don't run. The Indian cows are holy yes. The cow is supposed to have originated from the cosmic churning of the oceans by the Gods and the Asuras. And yes it is of great use to us all. Not only does the COw provide us with milk throughmost of her life, but also gives us the oxen that actually probably does more work and carry more people in India then automobiles. The cow symbolises the Earth. As such she is considered the mother of humanity. Every part of her from the cow dung to her urine is useful. In villages, cowdung mixed with clay gives us tremite-freewalls and burnt on the fire gives us dinner. The term "Go-dhan" means the wealth of cow, is literally that. The number of cows a villager has is his wealth.

The significance of the cow is sometimes lost on city people, but its deeply ingrained in the fabric of Hinduism and the country. In the evenings, when the cows come back in the villages, their dust hangs in the air. This period is called "Go-dhuli". This is an extremely auspicious time. In fact, my wedding took place at go-dhuli at 1919hrs. So you see, the cow is pretty much the best animal you want around on your streets givena choice, but thats not the reason why we don't pounce upon them and turn them to burgers.

"Thats not the reason?"

"No."

"Then what is?"

"Well its like this, Cows are our friends. You don't eat dogs right?"

"No we don't."

"Well, that the reason why we don't do the cows in. Because they are friends."

"Isn't that a hamburger you are having?"

"Well er... yes, but you see, I don't eat beef in India. These Thai cows, they ain't no friends of mine."

The 8 billion strangers inc.

Today caught me unawares sipping filter coffee at Muthu’s. Behind the BDA complex. It was good coffee. The sort of coffee that with the right sprinkling of sunlight brings out the bonhomie towards fellow man & wants to make you pretend to be a secret agent in Russia or something. So Here I was, lost in the golden steam & warm sunlight when a white lady got off a rickshaw. Eyes locked. I smiled, raised glass. She smiled, bowed her head, went on her way.
I took another sip. I though. I took another sip. I simply could not remember when I had last smiled at an Indian woman who I did not know. Now my thought processes are a bit slow, so I allowed it some more time, but I still could not remember the last I had smiled to an stranger. I decided to redress such deficiencies without the least delay. I took another sip.
I spotted a target. She was middle aged, with some sort of a folder held in one her arm while the other one was busy pushing a cellular phone inside one of her facial cavities. Her path would cross less than a meter in front of my chair. Now women know I’m looking at them even when I’m trying not to look at them. I think I have that sort of an unlook. But this woman refused to believe what the corner of her eye told her. She passed less then half a meter ahead of me & I followed her face like I follow the motions of somebody serving me a scoop of ice cream. But she did not turn. There is not much you can smile about that. I took another sip.
I followed faces. Like some fan at Wimbledon. To & fro. To & fro. I followed, cell phones. Astonishing numbers of cell phones walking around these days I tell you. I followed, sunglasses. Tinted to tainted. I followed hair. Tied back to all tied up. I followed hair clips. Strict to strapped. I followed bindi’s. Splayed like stars to starred like the sun. And then she came.
She had flowers in her hair. Jasmine mixed with those red ones. But more of the Jasmines. And less of the red ones. No sun glasses. For some reason you never see Jasmine with sun glasses. Either you have Jasmine, or you have sunglasses. I looked at her eyes. They were looking at mine. Have you ever noticed how eyes focus at ten meters? You see the eyes lost in some internal thought. One blink. And they find you.
I looked down. Noticed a coffee mark on the table. I looked up. The Jasmine were waving goodbye. I looked down. The coffee was finished. The glass empty. It was time to go home.

A post of sadnessness

When I first came to know about the mumbai bomb blasts I was drininkg a chilled bottle of Singha Beer on the beach of the Phi- Phi Island in Thailand. I had logged on the the web to check out a few things and the details hit me. After I had read enough and seen enough, I logged out, went on the beach and began to cry.

There is a ghost haunting me more and more everyday. It is the guilt of inaction. As I read the news daily, I see much of the same thing. If it is not happening in Mumbai, then it is happening in Jammu. Or Imphal. Or Chattisghar. I don't see myself in the foreseeable future to kill someone. Then why would any sane person kill so many people? And sane they must be. How else could a person or persons carry out such an attack. What circumstances would push a person to such an extreme that he would kill others? And what could I have done to pull him back from that point? If the place he grew up in was bad, could i have done anything to make it a better one? If he had no friends as he grew up, could I have not done with another one? Could I have not made even a slight difference that he might have hesitated for another second over that button that blew the bombs?

I read in books that as kids grow up, they hope to make a difference. i don't think I ever did. I think I just wanted to be a fire man or in the navy and live the rest of my life in peace. As I grew up, I convinced myself that doing just that did in fact serve a bigger picture. That doing something just as simple as "your job" meant that you were infact making an impact. That when an software professional churns out a code, he is infact helping and contributing. The fact that the system is not working satisfactorily only means that someone else is not doing his job correctly.

But as time goes by, I am not so sure of myself. If the above case was true, if someone is doing less of a job then should i not be doing more then my job. Of course not. Why should I? But "Could " I not be doing more then my job? Then why am I not? Why this inertia? I think I have the tools for making a contibution. The system that I want to correct must surely have provided me with those tools. I am not very happy with my education. I only finished high school. But I do have more then 10 years of professional experience. Surely that must count in something. I am an ordinary person. I did not fight in the face of adversity to get all of that. The system gave it to me. But then why does this same system encourage me to be inert?

And it is the system that makes me inert. It makes us all inert. Why else do my brother and Sister-in-law, two of the most gifted people I know, not do anything? Why else does my father, a retired air force officer, not do anything? Why else does my cousin, who did his post graduation from IIT, not do anything? Why are bombs explopding? Why are farmers killing themselves? why are people dying of hunger? Why am refusing to do anything about it?

Puja my wife was a bit concerned with my crying. She patted my back and said that she too felt bad about the dead people. I wanted to tell her that I didn't give a rats arse about the dead people. I was crying at my impotency.

A postcard from hell

A few people that do know me, are well aware of my rather irritating habit of sending postcards. The act of receiving postcards inevitable means a trip to the garbage bin. Some like my year old niece Leela, actually eat up my postcards to avoid any nausea to the garbage man.
On my visit to the Hellfire pass memorial yesterday, I came across the postcards that the allied prisoners Of War were allowed to send across to their families. This was an actual postcard send by an allied POW. There were four pieces of paper kept in the display. The first was this postcard.

The second was a letter by the war records dept to the chaps house saying that they had received a letter from the Pvt and that he was in Camp No 2 in Japanese custody.

The third was a letter from the war dept to the family saying that they sincerely regretted to inform them that George had died in Japanese captivity.

The fourth piece was a commendation for George from the australian govt that he died heroically and that his sacrifice would not be forgotten.

As I looked at the postcard, I was simply stunned at the sort of thoughts that must be passing through the person writing and receiving such a card.

I cried.

Dad! Get your own Handle !

Normally I consider myself a normal person. That others disgree with me normally is not my lookout. But that they generally disagree is getting more and more clear to me. After much study of my sorroundings I am getting a clearer picture of why this might be.

Tkae for instance my blog on the purchase of mobile phone purchase , a couple of days later, we find "Velu" commenting,
"very very good . Terrific humor . Rolled around laughing . Velu , you make me laugh .Thanks !"

I am a sucker for compliments, but this has to be against some moral law.

The mystery is somewhat resolved when the other day, on my blog for carrie Velu writes,
"I am the one person to visit velu's blog in the last decade . am extremely interested in every thing he does , you see I happen to be his dad . That is not the only reason , we really like his style of prose !!! Extremely readable , even if we say so !!!!"

Is velu his own dad? Is the dad velu? Is velu and his dad the same person? If so why are they not using different handles?

THE MYSTERY DEEPENS .

The Longtail boat

There is something definitely ingenious about a device that might hide in any of your body cavity and yet be able to transmit audio or video images to the other end of the globe. Images hopefully not of your body cavity. But the fact that these divices exist are great. But Local adaptations technology for daily use always fascinate me. Take for example the humble tractor in India. The tractor has probably been used for ploughing, digging roads, searching for water, as an generator, as a joyride and so many other uses that one actually forgets what the original purpose of that thing might have been.

Out here in Thailand I have been duly impressed by the longtail boat. Granted that my record for being impressed is rather poor. I must admit that I might have been over zelously impressed in the case of the Centiped Necklace, but the longtail boats are impressive on any scale.

These humble boats, are the only means of island hopping in this part of the andamans. You might very well catch a glossy ferry from Phuket to Phi phi, but if you need to even get from the jetty to your resort, you need to get in one of these very uninspiring peices of wood. Uninspiring they might be, but supremely confident the boat boys seem to be. Nothing else could explain the total lack of life vests in these things.

As a man of the sea I actually found these rather neat. You see, the problem that we mariners generally face in while going astern. This is because we invariably lose steering as the propeller turns in reverse. This leads to rather cumbersome engine movements as we try not to bang the ship in one of your pretty houses. But in the case of the longtail boat, the endine, propeller and the rudder are one fused unit. this actually allows excellent steering qualities to the boat as she goes astern. There are actually new design of tugs coming out these days that actually feature this quality. Pretty neat.

And the thing with the accelerator is neat too. You would think that the guy would have his hands full with the full rudder mechanism. But actually, if you look at the accompanying pictures (that felt so cool to say), youll see that they actually hold this thread that controls the fel supply to the engine. so with just a tug of his thumb, this dude can churn out som amazing moves out of the boat.

And nothing beats the feeling of bumping along on the sea with a outboard motor going at full rev and the wooden boards beneath you creaking their protest with every wave. I am not very sure how enjoyable the longtail boats are going to be out in nice weather, but these babies are some neat machines to take out when the weather is acting a bit of a bitch.

Beached off the Riley beach

The thing with going to remote location, is that you have to have good luggage management. If I had not realized this when I went to the Phi Phi Islands, it was definitely impressed on me when I reached the Riley Beach.

Like the Phi Phi Islands, Riley beach boasts of not being connected to any other part of the world by any means other then a boat. It also boasts of having high speed internet and a cable television, but usually these two boasts are not made in the same breath.

We caught the boat from Koh Phi phi in the afternoon. It was probably a good thing that we were leaving. The weather wasn't too good, and by the afternoon, it was pouring steadily. After another eventful loangtail boat ride, we were dropped off at the Jetty. The boat that was to take us to the Riley beach did not really inspire much confidence. It was really a small affair compared to the one that had dropped us at Phi Phi. But with bold leaps we went onboard. Puja's first move onboard was of course to check out puking locations on the vessel. But surprisingly, the boat behaved rather well and to our mutual shock, puja refused to vomit anywhere on the boats corroded surface. Infact we even went off to sleep with the gentle swaying until we were roused by the shouts for the people of Riley beach to get down.

"Getting down" was going to be a problem because on coming overside we were found to be still a few miles off the shore and disembarking in a meter of waves into a long tail boat that seemed to defy Arcemedes. I must confess I am getting to rather like these longtail boats. A most fun ride it was. Until the point that the boat stopped.

The boat stopped about a half mile off the shore because as the boat guy pointed out to me, the water ran out. He had a point there. The bloody beach is so gently sloping that at low tide, the sea recedes way back into the horizon. here I was pointing to my two huge bags (a rucksack and a samsonite) and there was the boat guy generally muttering some thing uncomplimentary.

I faintly remember a samsonite ad where this woman is walking with a nice red colored case in a boardroom meeting while all the men turn around looking at her. I think I'd like to see her beached half a mile off the riley beach in a long tail beach.

The five commandments of purchasing Mobile phones in India

#1 : Barter does exist : Bring all your old cell phones along. Start a charity drive for orphans of kappala & collect old mobilephones in your locality. Phone does not work? No problem. May explode on contact? Even better. Has a nude girl as wall paper? Premium. For every old mobie phone you push across the counter, he will put the price down a couple of thousand. Put across ten & he may even give it to you for free. Put across twenty & he'll surely give you mug-shots of his kids. Take these mug shots back home as living proof of yet more of the kappala orphans.

#2 : A receipt is an insult. : Since all indian establishments are named "Something something AND SONS", by demanding an receipt, you are possibly asking the man for proof of the name of the establishment. Which means you are definitely accusing him of being an Bastard. He will charge you three thousand extra for this. Atleast. This is the prime reason why we Indians keep spitting all the time. When we spit, we are actually remembering the last time some dirty foreigner asked us for a receipt & called us a bastard. Ask him first how much the mobile costs. He will tell you a price. Look meaningfully at him & ask him how much it costs without a receipt. He will look meaningfully at you & tell you another price. Do not look meaningfully at him if you are a woman. If you then look meaningfully at him, he will be only too glad to reduce the price & then at the conclusion of the deal there will be some confusion on the nature of the deal.

#3 : Body is just a vessel for the Soul : Such is our belief. Soul is interchangable. So are mobile phone circuitries. Make sure that the mobile phone he gives you is in a sealed package. Like the hymens of Saudi women, these will not be a sure indication of their virtue. Make sure you open them & check that the serial number on the inside of the phone is the same as that mentioned on the cover.

#4 : No interest is in your interest.: Do not appear interested in the purchase of the mobile phone. Infact pretend to puke at the sight of mobile phones. This will induce the shopkeeper to offer you the phone at a much lesser price then he would a person who really looked like he needed a phone. You might wonder, with what apparent purpose should one enter a mobile phone shop, if one apparently hates the sight of mobile phones. The answer, like all Indian riddles is simple. In all Indian mobile phones, you will find giant pictures of Lord Ganesha or Pamela Anderson. Some shops have both. Enter the shops with the sole apparent purpose of paying obiesence to these curvaceous figures and in between the faked gasps of your retching, casually ask the price of a few mobile phones.

#5: You are an sucker & will get suckered : Do not worry. Do not hate. The seller is just doing his karma. You will get screwed in the deal. That is your karma. we all have a part to play in this world.

Play yours.

Thanks to Carrie

What do you know? Carrie actually put my blog as a link on her blog. This has to be the best day in my blogging life. To Carrie, thank you. I am most honored. Even if you were tweaking around with your HTML settings and all. Thankyou all the same. You are probably one of the two people who saw my blog in the last decade.

to the other chap, if you ever return, please check out the infrequent musings of carrie .

The choice of an honeymoon destination

The thing about making a honeymoon trip to thailand. Its entirely astonishing. People just can't understand why someone would want to drag his new wife to thailand. If sex was the option, then that could have been provided by the hospitable natives in manners as yet unparrelled by any single wife. If solitude was the desired medium, then surely India provided you with enough sites to keep you without social company till you lost all your vestigial organs related with speech. But no. You had to upset the natural order of things and have an honeymoon at Thailand.

The first problem that and Indian couple faces is conversational crisis.

"So have you two decided on a place for Honeymoon?"
"Yeah. We're going to Thailand."
"... Oh!how nice...."
" Yes I suppose it is."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"Have you tried the Paneer Bhurji?"
"Oh yes! I was telling your mother that she just has to teach me..."
And so it goes.

To the few who actually ask me why thailand, I simply tell them that the only other place then bangkok that international flights from Nagpur go to, is Sharjah.

And that was too bloody hot.

The art of disconnecting the phone

I have been accused of a lot of things. Of the other mundane accusations, my friends have accused me of dreaming to take over the world. And my family has repeatedly accused me of doing nothing about that dream. But to that large and distressing list of accusations was added the sad fact I did not know how to disconnect the phone.

This was an understandably troublesome revelation. On first thoughts, I thought that this was a perfect explanation for my large phone bills. On the other hand, it was probably the reason why not many people call me twice. I very probably often say rather uncomplimentary things to people after disconnecting the phone.

But no. My charming accuser was infact accusing me of lacking the etiquette of disconnecting the phone with good manners. Apparently I disconnect the phone abruptly.

I was lost here. How do you possibly disconnect the phone slowly? I apparently just say "Bye" and disconnect the phone.Its not like a train farewell. You can't take people to the phone and then chat for a while with a chai cup talking about the weather. Then you can't amble along slowly with the train-like, gradually going for a jog along the window waving your arms franatically till the train disappears in all the steam, mist and the crowd of people defecating by the tracks. You just can't do that.

While this is a perfectly acceptable means of telecommunication, apparently this is not allowed when I am speaking to "her". To her, we need to end the conversation in a manner befitting the closeness. To make amends with immediate effect, I asked her to disconnect the connection this time. I ofcourse can not reproduce the conversation verbatim (due to threat of castration- which I still hold will be self defeating).

"So then Bye."
"Bye."
"..."
"..."
"Well..."
"Well what?"
"...Er.. Arn't you going to cut the phone?"
"Hmph! you are an idiot. "
CLICK!

I am not really sure if that was a conversation that I was meant to reproduce on the next conversation. These things are always so confusing.

In retort to my train metaphor, she says that even though the telephone disconnections might be more akin to the aeroplane goodbyes, yet the person in the plane ought to feel that someone on the ground might just be waving at the plane in the sky.

Do people wave at your plane?

Ghashiram Kotwal - A Vijay Tendulkar Play

The biggest peril of education is that it teaches you that there is a lot that you don't know. Leaving home at the age of 16 of course had its advantages. I probably know the bathroom proclivities of Jenna Jameson and Chasy Lane like no other in this great world of ours. But I fear that this single minded pursuit of mine has rather blinded myself to the pursuits of the higher arts. The arts in which instead of putting in coins in a slot and waiting for a glass panel to open, you actually get to sit in a chair and clap.

To make amends to that oversight, I picked up "Understanding Drama" as one of my subjects. Of great interest i have found it to be. A pleasant surprise was to find nestled in between Macbeth and Arms and the man was the play Ghashiram Kotwal , by Vijay Tendulkar .

Vijay Tendulakr has written a huge load of literature of which some of his most famous plays are "Sakharam binder" and "Kanyadan". Girish karnard actually commented on his play "Shantata! Court Chalu Ahe!" as "the best play written in the last thousand years". How do you top something like that?

The play Ghashiram Kotwal debated in 1972 and was played at the Bharat Natya Mandir at Pune. It actually ran for 19 performances after which it was banned because it was perceived as Anti-Brahmin and showed Nana Phadnavis (the Prime minister of the Peshwa) in a bad light. Sounds like things haven't changed much since then.

The play revolves around a North Indian Brahmin called Ghasiram who comes to Pune to make his fortune. But is falsely implicated as a thief by the Brahmins and thus decides to make pune a "city fit for dogs". To do that, he rather callously barters his underage daughter Gauri to the lustful Nana Phadnavis, in exchange for becoming the Kotwal of Pune. He then unleashes a reign of terror on the city and its Brahmins. These includes pulling off the nails of people and then chopping off their hands. Pretty gruesome.
Ghasirams downfall begins when gauri goes missing. When he confronts nana about his daughters whereabouts, he comes to know that she passed away when she had gone to the midwife. A distraught Ghasiram then Packs up thirty Brahmins in a cell which results in the death of about twenty of them. When peshwa gets the news of this, the wily politican Nana, dumps the kotwal to the crowd.

Tendulkar has used the "Tamasha" Genre in the play so you have a lot of singing and dancing used here to good effect. For example, we actually have the "abhangas" (devotional songs) mixed in with the "Lavnis" (Love songs). These actually highlight the moral corruption of the Brahmins as they try to hide their lust behind the respectability of religion. The use of the Tamasha also ensures the presence of some colourful language. For example, when they are talking about the barter of Gauri for the kotwal-ship, Nana says,
"You bastard. you have got me stuck in a narrow pass."
to this Ghasiram replies, "Yes the narrow pass of my daughters."

Also the use of the "Sutradhar" or narrator and the human wall of 12 brahmins as a curtain are some very interesting adaptations used for the theater. This actualy means that this play can be performed anywhere from the NCPA in mumbai to the Ram-lila ground in nagpur.

Sadly I have yet to see the play. It is very sad. Hence the use of the word "sadly". I think it is immensely sad that there are so many neat things to do out there and see for ourself that there is no possible way that we could ever do even a minuscule fraction of them. I think there is something poetically sad about that. Why I wonder, do people like Vijay tendulkar not come out of "pop up windows" demanding my credit card information, with the same frequency as Jenna Jameson?

The Correct Spelling Of Sensationalisation

I am extremely sorry. I do not look for sensationalisation. I can't even spell it. But people don't believe me. They allege that for a few lousy clicks, I lace my titles with racy material like, " The milk factories of Netherland" or some such stuff. Very untrue. In fact to refrain all immoral and libidinous (I expect that this word has negative connotations) persons from opening this, I am determined to use a misleading title. But the fact remains, that some of the news most worth listening to seems to be the ones that you don't want your children to listen to.

Speaking of News, Yesterday was a watershed in Indian News History. This is Rakhi Sawant . I know that these pictures tell an otherwise story, but people in India actually have been known to form lines to kiss her. Apparently yesterday somebody did. As I was doing my regular flick through ESPN on Ch 9 to Star Sports on Ch 32, I saw breaking news on Aaj Tak : "Mika Kisses Rakhi Sawant!" I naturally stopped what I was doing, tried to focus on what was going, and resigned myself to a long watch of the News channel.

For some strange reason, while you had captions flying across the screen that "Mika had kissed Rakhi Sawant", on the screen you had Rakhi Sawant who was kissing the weird looking guy, who was later identified as Mika. Now who the hell is Mika? This fact was not touched upon. Evidently I was one of the only people in the world who had to Google to find out, that Mika is actually the brother of the pop singer Daler Mahendi. On the screen, a teary eyed Rakhi gave the teary eyed explanation, " Well I only kissed him on his cheeks, but then he forcibly kissed me on my lips. Look what the conditions of my lips has become." The camera dutifully zooms-in on Rakhi Sawants bountiful lips, that frankly don't look much worse then they always looked.

Remember that zombie movie in which this guy is flicking channels and he keeps seeing zombies in the network and then it all turns out to be true? This was that sort of a twilight zone. I was hoping that either someone would wake me up, or at least someone, even the news reporter would kiss someone else.

But then if wondering if things could get any more extreme, Aaj Tak took us Live to Ms Rakhi. She was standing in a Modestly see-through outfit, mouthing drab statements like, "I look hot in anything. I think I look more hot and sexy in a sari then in a Mini skirt. I am hot sexness godess personified." Sadly She was interrupted in this tirade of her good looks by the Interviewer, as he informed her that her tormentor, the greatly lip attacker, person of unshaven countenance, Mika, was on the line. Rakhi boldly puckers her lips and shouts out "Hello? hello?" On the other side, this voice that assures us that the term "Highly disfigured" can apply to a sound, says, "hello? Hello?"

This goes on for some time. Before the Interviewer tells us that we sadly have to take a break while they restore connection. On the bottom the news ticker keeps telling us other minor news items like people dying, and earthquakes shaking and volcanoes exploding and that usual chatter.

I am sadly not going to tell you how it all ended. I am sure that they are going to make a tear jerker , pressing-your-fingers-in-tension-till-they-turn-white type of movie, and I don't want to be a spoilsport. But the fact is that they did talk and reach a sort of an understanding. I think this is revolutionary. Not only was Aaj Tak reporting the news, but it was also making it and shaping it. Imagine the implications. If only kargil had happened today, Mushy and Atal ji would be slogging it out live on the news shouting at each other.

AtalJi would muster up his breath and shout, "Hello? Hello? Musharaf Ji, you will have to say say sorry. Hello? Hello?"

Token blog for the Indian Postal Service

I have always been a great fan of the Indian Postal service. Probably because I never use them for anything important. But it’s not as if a person like me does too many important things anyway. So I doubt some executive in the “Daak Bhawan” is staying up late at night worried why I haven’t mailed any letter in the past few months.
What actually fascinates me is the sheer vastness of this system. And the fact that it actually works. Did you know that the Postal department has come out with postcards called “Meghdooth postcards”? I think postcards were designed for a very special section of the society. You know people deeply in love with one another, who then had nothing really to say to each other. So naturally postcards were ideal for them.

But somewhere along the line, poor people hijacked the system and started sending these postcards to programs like “Surabhi” or any other TV programs in a Get-Rich-Quick Scheme. This raised the price of the humble postcards. Now the postal department has come up with these Meghdooth Postcards. You can basically use only one side of these postcards. The other side actually has advertisements. These are ideal for the “Soul mates series”. You see, if you select the Advert carefully, then you basically have nothing more to say. And whatever emotions that might be required, may be displayed by the slant of the alphabets in the address.
These postcards sell for 25 paisa. Just imagine, you might be sitting on a bench at Beach No 7, Havelock Island, in the Andamans, and yet for a mere 25 paisa, convey something extremely uncomplimentary about somebody’s sister in Doda district of J& K. Spectacular!
Then there was the post that I already did about the holiest post office in the world. Some amazing people working in the postal Dept.
Today I went to the GPO for my infrequent round of collecting whatever stamps might have come out. Miniature sheets are my new found love. Last year they came out with a stunning miniature sheet of the Dandi march on its 75th anniversary.
There is a scheme out there now by which you can open an account in any GPO in India (with a minimum or Rs 200) and these guys will send to your house once a month, all the stamps that come out. You can even decide on which sort of stuff you want like first day covers, miniature sheets, etc.

Today I got a miniature sheet of a flower called the Kurinji. These are flowers that bloom once in twelve years. Apparently this is the lucky year and they actually came out with a miniature sheet for that.
Extremely cool and exciting it was.
Sometime I’m afraid that absolute strangers will approach me on the road and ask me if living life on the edge like this, all the time, doesn’t wear me off.
Dad of course does not share this wild adulation of mine, but rather tempers it with some sage annual advice about the procedural loopholes to our postman. The postman very patiently (and politely I might add) hears him out before reminding dad that he was actually waiting for the Diwali Baksheesh. So then both go on their ways, eagerly, I’m sure, awaiting their next annual date.

We're keeping the bomb

Today I gave my English exam. Going back to studies after a long hiatus has its own drawbacks. You start viewing your past academics through an extremely red rosy eye-shades. You forget that the main reason that you left studying was because you sucked at it. You convince yourself that you left studies to attain higher goals and to do some other stuff. Then as you are busy attaining higher goals and doing other stuff, you find images of people going off to Goa in an convertible Merc ( Dil Chahata Hai) of generally getting drunk on walls and falling in the water ( Rang de basanti), and the thought creeps in your mind that there might just be some chance that college might be a bit of fun.
Which brings us back, albeit reluctantly, to the English exam. English has sadly become tougher. Not the language, but the language for me. Even facts like “if” English should be written with a capital “E” or a small “e” or “weather” English should be written with a capital “E” or a small “e” and if it is “weather” or “whether” (which is also an spell check option).
So now I am stuck in a college education which refuses to teach me handwriting, basic grammar and spellings, but insists on my explaining Milton with the exquisite grace and eloquence of RK Narayan. I am just not sure who to blame for the whole fiasco.
Back to the English Exam. It wasn’t so bad. But it was way too long for the amount they expected me to write. In one question, those rascals asked me to write a speech on the motion of “India needs to keep the bomb.” Then in the next Question, they ask me to write a speech against the motion. Finally they also ask me to judge the speeches and the deliver the judge’s speech.
Now as the judge, I was pretty impressed by my argument for the bomb. I mean I had made some really soul stirring statements, irrefutable arguments and rhetorical questions into the whole affair. We are talking about a position where we still have an hour left with us. And I must say that inspite of the fact that there was not much time, I did put up a rock solid opposition to the Bomb. Used the logic-chain-argument to some pretty smashing effect if I may bashfully admit.
Judging the whole thing was going to be a bit of a bitch. Especially if you have only tem minutes left and your arse is frozen solid from sitting on the wooden chair in the humid heat for the last three and half hours.
It was finally decided to build the bomb and keep it unassembled. What a crappy sheeskabab. Good thing the judgment was only for 4 marks.