A Tale of Two Cities

A busy congested road, and yet vehicles rush by

Lights blinding horns blaring, accidents preventing all try

Of frustrated and tired people, long queues there be

In tempos and trucks and buses and cars, as far the eye can see

In the midst of them all, drives in a car unseen

Windows rolled down, music blaring at volumes obscene

Singing to the beats of the tabla and the dhol

In a punjabi bad-boy ishtyle, listening to Gal mithi mithi bol

An exchange of money, some way ahead takes place

But the cold wind draws in, a chill on the face

So the windows roll up, and volume adjusted so softly down

As a sudden calmness falls, silent lies the town

The track shuffles through, and so plays Walk On

As I move from one city to the next, no longer blares the horn

A track apt, reminding me of all that I leave behind

Soothed are the senses, tranquil now lies the mind

A million different avatars flow, which one is truly mine

Home is where the heart is, that is all there is to pine

And so a daily swing of moods, the toll bridge signifies

Leaving Gurgaon, Welcome Delhi - a tale of two cities to surmise ...

The 'SIN'ister Sisters

As i break the 'blog silence' in almost 10 months, I realize how wasted has this time been in under utilizing the space here. A feeling that sinks in when one realizes he/she has run dry of expressing their thoughts through a creative outlet !

Perhaps one of the few real reasons for picking up this course on Developing your Creative Self here at IIM-A is, as I have come to realize, that hidden desire to reignite a passion for writing which slumbers on.

And so follows a sojourn about the seven follies, sisters in crime, that I have indulged in my desire to be where I stand today, leaving behind some of the better times. I think Acedia will be my biggest concern.

Greed is good and Greed is right,

It cuts through, reinforces, and proves men’s might

Greed for life and Greed for love,

Greed in all its forms spread over a heathen cove

Is it a sign of status or simply a vice of mood,

This constant eating of delicacies and Gluttony of food

Withheld from the needy, rotund bellies bulge

The sin of excess, a temptation to over-indulge

A most potent cause of unhappiness, a harbinger it seems

The want of deep and dark desires in each of our dreams

My sorrow for another man’s good, insatiable none the same

A desire to deprive him of it, Envy – it be thy name

From invidiousness flows anger, an uncontrolled feeling of revenge

Not always external, our own inner demons it may avenge

Transgressions born of vengeance, the sin of Wrath breeds rage

Soothe it, appease it, and overcome it through the patience of a sage

The devil’s workshop it be, they say is an empty mind

To neglect and refuse joy, the sin of Sloth is unique in its kind

A willful refusal to work, an invitation to laze around

Aren’t we mortals through insufficiency of love truly bound

But for love to linger as an excess unrestrained

Adultery to incest, deviant thoughts no longer chained

Luxuria of sexual depravity they called it in times long ago

The sin of lechery, through Lust is how we know

Ultimately, a destroyer of men, a liberator of them all

It is Pride that finally goes before a fall

The sin of hubris, of the seven most vile

Transforming Lucifer to Satan, it makes mere mortals senile

Tabla Beat Science

While for most of us who continue to be mesmerized by the maestro Ustaad Zakir Husaain, it would be absolutely entertaining and a dash of sheer brilliance to listen to him performing with the other giants of the percussion world in a clash of the titans, giving to us some of the best world fusion music.

At times even the blogger fails to capture the music on paper. However a short note copied verbatim.

"Call it an aggregation of some of the best contemporary percussionists: Trilok Gurtu, Zakir Hussain, and Asian Underground star Talvin Singh combine under the sonic washes of producer Bill Laswell to show the possibilities of Indian percussion. It's definitely a beatfest, but one of subtlety, where what is being said isn't as important as the way it's being stated, and the dialogue between hands includes a lot of silences. Gurtu comes from a more jazz tradition, Hussein a classical background, and Singh represents the brash young things of the dance floor. Mostly Laswell leaves it to them to provide the sonic entertainment, which is as it should be with delicate swathes of sound barely intruding, just coloring the proceedings. While it's not for everyone, those who love Indian percussion in all its forms will find this album a complete joy."
--Chris Nickson

In moments like these i am helpless to comment on greatness well beyond my mortal humble self.
So here are a couple of videos that have just raised the bar of instrumental music for me and left me dumbstruck.

Video 1 : Palmistry by Tabla Beat Science




Video 2: Mengedenga by Tabla Beat Science

Toccata & Fugue

When one has had a long break away from writing, when one has turned rusty enough, when one has dried up the thoughts that made life worth enjoying, one often wonders what next to pen down. And often it is the next topic, that next incident, you wish was worth more interesting than the previous one and hence flies by a narrative that was never told, a vision unseen, a voice unheard. It is at times like these that one must find that spark to set things straight, set the wheel of joy into motion.

Strangely enough, for me it happened today. And from the most unexpected sources as well. Of all the weekends i have spent wasting or getting wasted here at wimwi, this one was quite a different experience. I spent almost the entire afternoon and evening listening to (rather more like watching) videos on YouTube. And i probably covered an entire gamut of instrumental music that my heart seem to have yearned for in ages.

It is rather surprising to find myself not falling to sleep listening first to all the jazz of the 40s and 50s and then moving onto my favorites - the string compositions. It was a day of pure ecstasy hearing violin renditions of Bach and Chopin sonatas performed by the Berlin Philharmonic and Vanessa Mae. Aah ! The sounds say it all - a feeling of pain, of pleasure, of joy, of sadness, of longing, of sorrow, of desires, of passion, of fear, of strange whispers ...

But the best probably had been saved for the last. Toccata and Fugue by Johann Sebastian Bach. A mix of haunting notes (remember Addams Family) followed by a high pitch energetic stretch of the chords - covering more than 3 octaves. The sheer pace of the beats, and yet the ever so subtle hand movements. It seems like magic out of thin air. Fresh, pleasant and infused with all the serenity one needs to calm one's mind. And to top it off, the duet between an electric guitar with distortions and a violin.

It just cant help one fall in love all over again. Poetry is good, and ballads even greater. But there is no describing the charm brought on by a piece of well rendered instrumental classic. Close your eyes, and the energy will surround your senses. It takes you to a plain so far away returning seems next to impossible. One simply wishes to stay there forever. All alone, all by oneself - with no soul to break the silence. Just sheer melodious aura and nothing more. Maybe a gentle breeze to carry you on.

I am nearing that state of Tabula Rasa I always wished for. In time i will. There is still a hard path ahead to make peace with my inner self. Till then, it seems like things are not so bad after all. There is still some hope out there - pure, innocent, untouched, uncorrupted, vibrant. Those old memories return. And another phase too shall pass, bringing us closer each day, with Toccata and Fugue and so many more like them to guide us through.

The WhACkiest Week Ever ...

Its been a rollicking fortnight here at WIMWI (Henceforth referred to as IIMA or only A, under the copyright act and citations rule provided by the Chicago guide lines and blah blah).

For those trying to figure out the content of the text above, don't bother. I know nothing of it either. That is the first step to a good report here at A. Know nothing till Friday evening 11pm. And by 12:30pm of the next Saturday, you can become a master at writing reports, providing recommendations and finalizing action plans that major company CEOs and VPs are still at a loss to do.

Welcome to the world of WAC - Written Analysis and Communication - a course taught only in A, and which, as the seniors (henceforth referred to as 'tucchhas') and profs both agree, is what makes us Rated-A.

After a warm welcome to the institute by the tucchhas, in a style that only the best 250 of the country can manage to pull off, the entire last week (or rather it was only just this last week that went by - time sure flies fast) has been a grind. From getting a flavor of "Maniac" (MANAC or Managerial Accounting - now re-christened as FRA or Financial Reporting and Accounting to prevent the use of Maniac) to absorbing Wordworth Poetry and Kabir Dohe in a single class of Statistics, I have realized why they call this place the Mecca.

The professors operate at a level their own. Eccentricity is the name of the game and cold calling is only a glance away. While i am sure to flunk FRA and Stats (i have already screwed my 1st quiz and messed up a 14 mark question out of 40) and Economics is all graphed out with demand curves, I seem to have found a glimmer of hope in Managerial Computing (MC) and a HR based course on Individual Dynamics (ID). Atleast two places i can use my core competencies - Excel reports and Global farts. MC however might be the only place on earth where one is required to write Excel functions in the exam rather than a practical based test.

Which leaves me with the most dreaded course on campus. I met a few alumni of the 1988 batch and they were still terrorized to learn that WAC yet existed. A subject that had made their lives miserable and would do so for 20 more batches to follow.

Now WAC is nothing but discussing a case in class - a group of 80 odd students - listening to them fight over trivialities of the case, providing their thoughts, view points, analysis, ideas, solutions. All we need to do is condense a 3 hour class room discussion into a 1000 word report, in the given style, format, header, footer, spacing, font etc etc. I mean how tough would it be to do that right?

Well for most of us it took up the entire of yesterday night. While I managed to doze off by 2:30am, some of the unfortunate ones managed to look at their beds only at 2:30pm today afternoon.

But the fun part is not as much making the report, as the time when we actually end up submitting it. For decades, there has been a ritual termed as the "WAC Run" that happens in the campus on the first submission Saturday of term 1. In those days of yore, when a single printer existed in the library, imagine the chaos when students were rushing to get prints of a 10 page report, all at the same time in the morning - late and dazed.

At this point in time, it was the seniors who used to be up before us, flogging the paths on both sides with cameras in hand, and snapping away at the lost souls who were dashing to submit the reports before the given deadline.

With technology now offering printers in each dorm (unfortunately half of which did not work today, and we had to visit other dorms), the Run has become more or less non-existent. But hats off to tucchhas of Dorm 10 who came up with innovative ideas to maintain the spirit of things. They had all reports confiscated from the fucchhas early morning, and gave them back only 8 minutes from time. A brisk walk from D10 to the class room would require 7minutes. I needn't say more, do I. The flurry, the rush, the tensed faces. Tucchhas in D14 went a step ahead and locked out the juniors in their own rooms till the last minutes. One of them got scarred enough and tried jumping balconies to get out.

All in all it was brilliant experience - especially when you are on the other side.
But once the surprise quizzes and report submissions were behind us, we had a sumptuous lunch and went out for a movie. Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na is an excellent Romantic Comedy, one of those types i liked watching after a long time and one which i recommend for a one time watch. Our drive to just chill out was so high that despite not getting tickets in the first hall, some of which were going as high as 400 buks (and this is not even in black), we tried our luck at another.

And if that was not enough, the dorm tucchhas treated us to a late night dinner with some Hyderabadi Biryani. When we did come back to the campus, there was a "Ramp" party going on to celebrate the first WAC submission. Yet again, the name originates from the dance party that used to happen near the Harvard Steps before we had an auditorium. Unfortunately when you have 300 'boys' dancing on the floor, it is not quite a dance party you want to be in.

So i decided to round off my day (and night) with an hour of the National Sport of Frisbee in the LKP lawns. The game is definitely hard and not easy to play. If ever the laws of motion dynamics and random entropy were to be tested, this was it. But none-the-less after a strenuous display (where i kept standing at one end of the field, playing the passing game), i just crashed out in my room - but not before writing all these memoirs down.

Surely and by far the Whackiest Week ever here at the Theater of Dreams !

Mea Maxima Culpa

Confíteor Deo omnipoténti et vobis, fratres

quia peccávi nimis

cogitatióne, verbo, ópere, et omissióne:

mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

I confess to almighty God,

and to you, my brothers and sisters,

that I have sinned through my own fault,

in my thoughts and in my words,

in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do;

-- Confiteor, Mass of the Roman Catholic Church

I stand atop the tower of Babel. The air smells so pure. The wind in my face - icy, silken, subtle, strong! I look up at the sky so clear - untouched and serene. I look down at the teeming millions below - faces familiar, faces unknown.

And then i fall. For atonement - of thoughts so vile, leading to words accursed and actions that are doomed. But it is not a confession of deeds i indulge in, rather, i ask for forgiveness of those closest to me. Mea Maxima Culpa - my most grievous fault: Is probably my trust in those i hold most dear, most true, most faithful.

Left in tatters, ruined, soiled, torn apart - shattered is my faith, lost is my confidence. Strong i never was, steely i have now become. Weak i never felt, fragile now stands my mind. Too close i keep those i confide my deepest thoughts to. Narrow i have made my world - the paths that connect are constricted and dark. A new door i open in anticipation; an old door closes behind forever. Is there a way to negotiate this maze - to come out clean, sin ridden.

How does one preserve the sanctity of thoughts. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Who guards the guardians? For when such gloom befalls, it saps you off the positive energy. Vibes of negativity float all around. You become obscured from those around you. Grumpy, jittery, moody. A silhouette, a silent shroud.

It pains you to see your own prejudices and that of others. Sarcasm laced. A feeling of the world conspiring. Of people that manipulate your actions, of their sweet talks to weave you and bind you - the oh so common fly in a spider's web scenario. And yet, and yet. We fall prey. The trap shuts close. Engulfing you. And then you plot your ploy. Your escape and your vengence. It defiles the very action, the very emotion you fought against. You become what others around you were. What others around you are. What others around you will remain to be. You become what you fear most.

The hallowed one in me pleads with that little horned creature. Let it be. Move along. People come and people go. Let not their actions be our judge. Let not the deeds of one govern your deeds for the other. Good advice tells you not to go into a shell and shut yourself up like a clam. But I was always the devil in me. I prefer it that way though. In your world, with no one to hurt you. Always in reticence, stepping out only when required.

Aah! Mea maxima culpa, my most grievous sin. Believing in others as much as i believe in myself. Always trying to be good, trying to be docile, trying to be in harmony. Truth is, it doesn't work. The world is selfish and so must you be. Let that be a sin then if others feel so. At-least I stay true to my inner self. Of all things that matter, it is not a sin I would have to answer for.

Oh! How I Envy thee Faust ...

When I say to the Moment flying: 'Linger a while - thou art so fair!'
Then bind me in your bonds undying, and my final ruin I will bear.

--- The Tragical History of Dr. Faust (Christopher Marlowe)

Bizarre as it may seem and heretic though it may sound, come to think of it, I truly wish to emulate Doctor Faust. For the uninitiated, Dr. Faust or Faustus is the person in literary folklore who sold his soul to the devil in exchange for eternal life.

But legends are based on stories, and some of which are true. The origin of Faust's name and persona remains unclear, though it is widely assumed to be based on the figure of German Dr. Johann Georg Faust (approximately 1480–1540), a dubious magician and alchemist probably from Württemberg, who obtained a degree in divinity from Heidelberg University in 1509. According to one account, Faust's infamy became legendary while he was in prison, where in exchange for wine he "offered to show a chaplain how to remove hair from his face without a razor; the chaplain provided the wine and Faustus provided the chaplain with a salve of arsenic, which removed not only the hair but the flesh".

Without deviating much, let me simply say - how many of us are lucky enough to fall in love, be the one who breaks our beloved's heart, sells his soul to the devil, manages to live a life of longevity albeit one of sadness and remorse, and yet manages to find that one single moment of happiness in the end knowing no happiness truly exists. And despite these horrors and the tragedies, God intervenes and prevents the devil from taking Faust's soul as agreed, because HE recognizes Faust's unending striving.

How easy is it for us to condemn someone today for their sins, knowing not the true nature of the actions involved. All we think about is the fact that Faust sold his soul, without an endeavor to understand why he did the same.

It was not for money, it was not for power, it was not for fame. No it was not even for love. It was simply to attain more knowledge. To attain the zenith of human happiness. Faust knew this would never happen, and hence he was confident of never having to give up his soul. As Goethe showcases in his poetry, even God feels the need to let the man's soul be, for though he has committed the sin of hubris, he has done it for a higher good. For that one moment of happiness, he has decided to forgo his very essence.

Now you would think, why am i blabbering all this. The facts simply are, i have been thinking about a few things this past week, and trying to find that one moment of happiness for myself. Seems to me its a little obscured at the moment. I am becoming unsure and hazy on what construes happiness. Is it the pleasure of achieving some thing great or is it the cherished memories of being with people you like, your friends, your family. Clueless i still am.

As the devil incites Faust - "if you wish to stay in that moment forever, you shall die that very moment". Do i thus wish to achieve that tiny bit of joy to be everlasting. Or am i ready to give it up and move on - seeking more moments of mirth that shall please me just the instant, but never to keep in my thoughts for ever. All good things come to an end. But as the answer came back, it is well so for better things to start anew.

The piper at the gates of dawn - waiting to be led - leading the way.
Oh Faust, shower me with the very knowledge you seek. So that i may be wary when the time comes for me to choose and decide the fate for my own.

Forget Me Not ...

As they stared blankly. in dumb misery deepening as they slowly realized all they had seen and all they had lost, a capricious little breeze, dancing up from the surface of the water, tossed the aspens, shook the dewy roses and blew lightly and caressingly in their faces; and with its soft touch came instant oblivion. For this is the last best gift that the kindly demi- god is careful to bestow on those to whom he has revealed himself in their helping: the gift of forgetfulness. Lest the awful remembrance should remain and grow, and overshadow mirth and pleasure, and the great haunting memory should spoil all the after-lives of little animals helped out of difficulties, in order that they should be happy and lighthearted as before.

--- The Wind in the Willows

Oh what a sweet gift it is. The gift of forgetfulness. To purge thoughts of no use. To wipe away memories no longer dear. To wash away the remembrances no longer worth attaching to.

As Engelbert Humperdinck would put it - "How could you leave without regret? Am I that easy to forget?"

Or is it that we begin to forget some memories because new ones have taken their place. We had nothing against the old ones though. Its just that they faded away into obscurity.

But why would this happen. What would lead someone to churn out the remembrances that one has. Memories are linked to people. Memories are linked to places. Memories are linked to events. You can forget the people, you can forget the places, you can forget the events. But you cannot drive out the abstract emotions that have had a lasting impact on you via them.

People come and people go. They maybe near you, they may be distances apart. They are with you today, and yet years away. The memories you cherish the most are the ones that bring a smile to your face even after ages of their having happened. The sudden warmth you feel, the glow that lightens up your face.

Who would be cruel enough to ignore these. Shun them like pestilences. One man's junk is another man's treasure they say. Apt words. Your golden days can at best be the indifference in the lives of others. What then should one do. Pluck such thoughts off? Or bury them in so deep that they get lost amongst the million other indifferences.

I for one, cannot do either. I wish i could. Revisit the Tabula Rasa as i so want to. But no, I have learnt over time that starting clean is probably not always the correct way out. It maybe the easy path, but then i choose not to take it. As Frost puts its, I took the road less traveled. Beautiful lines:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Face my fears and face my defeats. Face my sufferings and face my pain. This I must do.
To try and remember, to keep thinking, to keep longing, to keep hoping, to keep having the faith, to not give up even if the cause is lost.

The gift of forgetfulness is the easy way out.
But as Frost yet again so serenely puts it as "my best bid for remembrance", i quote one of my favorite passages again.

Whose woods these are I think I know,

His house is in the village, though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lonely, dark, and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Sgt. Pepper Lonely Hearts Club ...

Yeah yeah - that's the name of the number one rock album of all time as mentioned by the Rolling Stones magazine. The first time the Beatles came out with their creative best as a unit. The first time they tried doing something under a nom-de-plume - to NOT be Beatles the performers - but Beatles the next door artists.

Given the debacle i put myself into after the previous write-up, where everybody (except the one intended for) started questioning the mystery shrouding the post, like the Beatles posing as the Sgt. Peppers Club, i decided to clear up some air.

No, this has nothing to do with Hyderabad or Nashik or any other city in the country. And no, this was not the usual pre V-day blues either. I don't suppose you need to have a V-day in order to tell somebody you love them or like them or miss them and on and on. Don't we keep doing that pretty much every day of the year anyways.

(PS - don't brand me a "Tu hi tu Bajrangi Re" for having something against Valentine - beautiful post - must read - especially the "Kya ek ladka aur ladki ..." dialogue from Maine pyaar kiya - suddenly reminds of a "couple" of people i know - in a good way obviously - who am i to presume things and get into the trouble of writing apologies)

To cater to a second niche group that was much interested in the time of the post; well crowds generally pysche me more than being alone. Its all a state of mind rather than the physical being. Ok ok, no more Freudian fart.

Take for example tonight. It truly was a blast. Old happy memories revisited. Rib tickling laughter entwined with Toxic Ninja overdose. On one side you had the eternal chatterboxes, and on the other the GD experts, who like to come in at strategic points, hit a bouncer for a six, and then move back into their shell.

I was in the mood for writing the contents of the previous post for a long time now, but just never found the opportune moment. A few lines "close to my heart".

Come to think of it - do i need to justify what i write or on whom i write. NO i don't.
Read at your leisure, if you will. Appreciate at your leisure, if you will. Scathe at your leisure, if you will.

The keyboard is simply a medium for aerated ideas. Thoughts fizz through ...

What i have realized though over time is - you can be as lonely as you want to be in a crowd, or enjoy the company of good memories locked up by yourself. Its all how you perceive the moment. You could laugh away in front of everybody but still be aloof. Or you could have that pleasant and relaxingly quiet glow that says it all.

I recall a very old story i read by Earl Reed Silvers; the thoughts which i try and capture here in my own poetic essence:

Do you remember, dear, the days so long ago;
the school lab, where over messy experiments, each other we grew to know.
Do you remember, dear, you had just moved to town;
I was a poor dressmaker's son, but you wore a tiara and a gown.

Do you remember, dear, my waking thoughts were mostly of you;
you took me into your crowd, though friends i had so few.
Do you remember, dear, the night i took you to the dance;
and while we danced the last waltz, i confessed my love at this only chance.

Do you remember, dear, the specks of gold in your eyes;
and all the efforts to keep it a secret, with those small true lies.
Do you remember, dear, when society became so disapproving of us;
you took the path to college on the very next bus.

Do you remember, dear, what i whispered to you that day;
that in years to come you must follow what your heart would say.
Do you remember, dear, i asked you to win over your fears;
I kissed you, and you smiled at me through your tears.

Do you remember, dear, those letters of mine you never got;
the ones your mother, seeing you reading, had from then on caught.
Do you remember, dear, your replies to mine were always so short and few;
One week followed another, and i had only my memories of you.

Do you remember, dear, that i worked hard to earn a living of mine;
and through hardships and savings, it all worked out fine.
Do you remember, dear, the years that have gone by, 31 in all;
and we celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary this fall.

Do you remember, dear, that soon after you had college left;
chance it was, that in the corner of an unknown street we again met.
Do you remember, dear, the golden specks were in your eyes again;
reminiscent of that old night you left, us standing a final time in the rain.

Do you remember, dear, standing there in the middle of the street;
those strange words i again began to repeat;
Do you remember, dear, if in years to come i ever walk in through that door ...
forgetting the tears in both our eyes, you kissed me like never before !!!

Alone ...

In days, perhaps even in months, i felt alone today.
Really alone.

"You are so far away from me. So far i just can't see."
Never have i missed you so much. But what have i to remember you by.
Except for those few golden memories my thoughts have captured.

I half cried, i half smiled. Like those cute pink bunny rabbits with long ears.

I know you won't be reading this. But if you do, you already know.
Haven't you heard it all before. The pain, the anguish, the longing.

You have been my bridge over troubled waters. The rock i find an anchor to. I know where to seek solace. Aaah ! That smile :) - the eternal rejuvenatory potion - the one element in my mundane existence that i long for the most.

But my thoughts betray me. Or do they?
Can i ever forget you? Do i want to forget you?
In your happiness lies my salvation, and in mine lies yours.
The ties that bind !

And yet, if for ever in years to come ...

Tribute to the Busby Babes

"Trafford Park, which is just behind us here, is the biggest industrial estate in the city and they work hard, and they work long. On a Saturday, it is up to you to provide a little entertainment for them"

---- Sir Matt Busby

As one of the teeming million fans of the Red Devils, i feel proud to take out time and devote a post in tribute to the greatest team that ever walked the planet 50 years ago.

The darkest day: Feb 6th 1958
February 6th will forever be circled on the calendars of everyone connected with Manchester United. On that day in 1958, the darkest day in United's history, 23 people - including eight players and three members of the club's staff - suffered fatal injuries in the Munich air crash.

Flying back from a European Cup tie against Red Star Belgrade, the team plane stopped in Germany to refuel. The first two attempts to take off from Munich airport were aborted; following a third attempt, the plane crashed.Twenty-two of the people on board died instantly, while Duncan Edwards - one of the eight victims from the team - died 15 days later as a result of the injuries he sustained.

The tragedy is an indelible part of United's history, as is Sir Matt Busby overcoming his injuries to build another great team which won the European Cup 10 years later.
Roger Byrne (28), Eddie Colman (21), Mark Jones (24), David Pegg (22), Tommy Taylor (26), Geoff Bent (25), Liam Whelan (22) and Duncan Edwards (21) all died, along with club secretary Walter Crickmer, trainer Tom Curry and coach Bert Whalley.

Eight journalists died - Alf Clarke, Tom Jackson, Don Davies, George Fellows, Archie Ledbrook, Eric Thompson, Henry Rose, and Frank Swift who was a former Manchester City player. Plane captain Ken Rayment perished, as did Sir Matt's friend Willie Sanitof. Travel agent Bela Miklos and passenger Tom Cable also died.

The Busby Babes as the young team (with an average age of 22) was called, was a highly talented bunch of youngsters that had come through the United junior ranks, coached by the legendary Sir Matt Busby. The team that went on to re-shape United's history over the next few years, rising like a phoenix from the ashes of Old Trafford (bombed by the Nazis), winning 5 consecutive FA Youth Cups.

If not for the tragedy, the juggernauts would have been unstoppable. There was no team unparalleled. And yet, it was the resolve of the 5 survivors led by Sir Busby, to mould a new team, that would go on to win the European Cup within just 10 years.

As Sir Alex Ferguson remarked in the memorium service, he has been at the helm of the club for 21 years now, and has won just the one Champions League. For that United team to win it in such a short span overcoming traversities, is something the entire footballing nation would be proud of. Sir Matt Busby could have retired then, and people would have understood. But even lying severely injured, he felt it his responsibility to all around him to continue and revamp the team.

Yesterday's solidarity shown by all soccer teams, even arch-rivals Manchester City, to pray for the departed and remember their constributions symbolizes the resolute spirit of the Red Devils.

The current United team for their part will come out this weekend against City in a derby match, wearing a one-off 1950's styled uniform, without sponsorship logos, and numbered 1 through 11.

A tribute to those true champions of soccer. Remembered but never forgotten. It makes me Proud to be a United.

Source: The ManUnited official website (http://www.manutd.com/)

U kNOw - What a CATastrophe ...

Three weeks gone since the results of the CAT were declared - three weeks since the dates for 6 interviews and 6 group discussions have been looming over my head - three weeks of staying up late in the night, not because i am studying, but simply because i am hanging out.

Now with a tryst with Lucknow coming up next week, all those nights screaming 'UNO' and 'caught' need to come to a halt. Those random visits to movie halls and tea stalls, the getaways to Khan markets in the middle of the night, the working back after dinner - must take a backseat.

Academics is something, they say, i must know well. If that were the case, pray explain why I hadn't gone about doing an MS. How does one prepare 4 years and 40 core subjects in a span of 4 days.

They argue, you fool. How can you not know GK and current affairs of the entire world. You are after all a global citizen. Yes please, i ask. If my examiner knows the prime minister of Tonga, i will devote my entire life to studying politics and world economy.

Which incidentally brings me to another cheap-skate they want to pull of at my expense. I am a stupid engineer. A computer one at that. Why the deuce would i have the remotest idea of GDP and fiscal deficit, given that i don't even know my own subjects. Tell me those numbers and solve a problem i might. But no, they have to ask me the problem and my opinion. In a country as diverse as India, there are going to be a billion opinions on macro-economy and the budget and the atrocities of the Finance minister. Does my liking or hating the budget going to change my way of living. I am going to pay the tax irrespective of the slab. I can crib about it for hours even if he eases the rates. I am here to learn these things. Knowing them is not getting me the Nobel Prize for sure.

If some gyaan guru from the IIMs reads my blog and decides to not select me, then so be it. Their justification would be that a leader of tomorrow does not express such negative chi. But i am not asking to become a leader. I simply want to be a better manager. And this involves all of Planning, Leading, Organizing and Controlling.

And this whole stupid basis of a GD is beyond me. Obviously, when the great B-schools consider selection or rejection on a GD, then they might be having a very good reason for it. Probably, if i do get to that B-school, i might just figure it out. But today, all i see is a fish-market, with the most vocal trader trying to sell of his rotten stock, while the genuine guy keeps waiting for the correct customer to sell his good quality fish. Ultimately, the entire market closes down and everybody is put out of the misery of the bad smell

Last week i attended this workshop on GD and PI, trying to take away some pointers. I met all kinds of people. Some with "Black Eyes", and some without. What i did see in commonality was the fact that there was always one guy in these group discussions who wanted to start, conclude and keep speaking on for the entire 20 minutes, irrespective of whether he even knew anything on the topic. There were others who did a blitzkrieg attack, annihilated the opponents and went back. There were others like me, the Silent night ghosts. They came, they saw and they went away. Sometimes, they would bring the ball to the ground, and then the rest of the field would play football.

Well amidst all of this what i have learnt is that Simon and Garfunkel still are the best duo around, and listening to them lets me keep my mind of such petty matters. Oh how i missed my long forgotten cassette tape, only to feel rejuvenated again.

So the keyboard stops now. I am homeward bound and feeling groovy. Old friends and bookends have gone by, and even though I might not find Mrs. Robinson, let me search for my Emily, wherever she may be ...

Tabula Rasa

No, i am not referring to a computer game or that disc in town which goes by the same name ...

I fall back to the original Latin - the Unscribed Tabulet.

Tabula Rasa, the clean slate, the origin of the human mind.
What shapes it into what it is? The blank parchment that we are all born with. Is it "Nature" or is it "Nurture" that metamorphosises us into who we are, into what we become.

What the mind thinks must be in it; in the same sense as letters are on a tablet which bears no actual writing -- Aristotle, On the Soul

What is knowledge, if nothing but the truth that we are inclined to believe.
I think now behind this solitude that keeps me behind glass walls, who am i? What is my purpose?

I don't wish to go into this Platonic/Freudean debate.
I simly wonder sometimes, how nice it could be to blank this slate clean of things unwanted, memories undesired, pains conflicting. Reach into the shadowed depths of my heart, my mind, and pluck out those sorrows. Re-write the mind with thoughts cherished.

Speak the truth, and the truth shall set you free. Fear naught but the fear itself.
Do these be but speeches brave? Or are they the very foundations that rest the mind at ease.

The reaction of senses to the external world of objects imprints our minds. That is what imbalances the Tabula Rasa.
Oh! How i wish, how i wish i could sweep the mind of all the dirt that clogs it, and refreshen it - vibrant, joyous, carefree. To relive the childhood, the moments of nascency.

My thoughts no more do me justice. I no longer trust if i hold true to myself, let alone to those i love. I make a prayer to my own heart.

Give me that languid, peaceful space,
where falter not my dreams may;
winds of conceit harden thy brows on face,
let me be pure as i was born, to thee i say.

Bonded by chains, break through them, set upon myself the task, I do, to realign the Tabula Rasa ...

While my guitar gently weeps ...

For the people who were wondering where I was this whole time - in geeky Arnie style i say - Inverse of Asta Lavista Baby - I am back ...

Judging by the pathetic level of PJs i have gone down to, I personaly realize the amount of pressure i have been under lately, and see my pent up thoughts going down a drain.

Back from a week spent in Silent Wilderness.
Thrown right back into the cacophonous populace.

I put up my blog title as my messenger status (without having written about it yet). People asked me the reason behind it - well the obvious reason was the Guitar that i saw hung on my wall with dirt accumulated over the jacket, with no one to care about it - forgotten and lost. I have kind of been feeling the for a few days now. Instances where the wrong items grabbed the wrong attention and the real good stuff - no - the great stuff - got lost in the middle of somewhere !!

Wrong priorities, unhappy endings, feeling of betrayal, lack of trust, loss of passion, overcome by apathy, grumpiness galore, rise of anarchy - the past revisited, the present distorted, the future foreseen.

Been a bit busy with GMAT and stuff - and seriously - the only 4 lettered acronym i can think of for it is PITA. With only a week and half to mug up English, "Lays American Style", it was a hard task unwinding all the basic grammar rules and re-learning English as quite a different language. It was an interesting experience, as all such first-time experiences are. But i would have appreciated it more if it were art-for-arts-sake, and not simply a grading system which judges you based on how well you can correct "me and I". Truly speaking, seriously, would it really - and i mean really - matter to any top-notch university if the sentence articulation was slightly off mark, but conveyed quite fairly the meaning it was constructed to convey.

Given the fast pace of all activities, who is going to stop and think for the next moment if "they did it" or "they had done it". Point is - the job was/had been 'done' - without mattering when in the past it was done. We are no detectives investigating a crime where time line and speech would have (could have?) mattered. Will it ever create a dent in my presentation if did not start my sentences with However, while others may, firstly, summing up !!

Alright - i'll be the first to agree i am not the greatest exponents of the language - but without pride taking a fall, i am not the worst either - written or spoken, English is something i think i can convey my ideas reasonably well in. Fundamentalists might argue that Yoda spoke wrong English - but hey - the French use more of Passive voice and the Germans put their verbs before their subjects - both of which Yoda regularly indulges in. And yet, and yet - we all get what he gibberishly speaks (apart from the whole With-you-may-the-Force-be, My-young-padawan concept - we are not Jedis, right?)

Do the readers feel my anger and frustration is vent upon the GMAT because i scored miserably in test - not really - in fact i did better in the english section than i was doing in any previous practice tests. My score was decent (my personal target was 700+ which i passed comfortably) if not phenomenal, and i am happy with what i got compared to the input i put in. Obviously, since humans are never the content species, they'll always crib if they fall short of the best. What am i to say - I am human too.

And that is the reason i see my guitar gently weep - even though i notice it not, it sees me transforming into something i am not, something i aim to be which i dont want to, struggling against the odds to get even, doing what my heart does not believe in, holding onto things i should let go, and missing those little joys of life that truly matter.

I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
I look at the floor and I see it need sweeping
Still my guitar gently weeps

I don't know why nobody told you
how to unfold you love
I don't know how someone controlled you
they bought and sold you

I look at the world and I notice it's turning
While my guitar gently weeps
With every mistake we must surely be learning
Still my guitar gently weeps

I don't know how you were diverted
you were perverted too
I don't know how you were inverted
no one alerted you

I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
I look at you all
Still my guitar gently weeps ...

(George Harrison)

Silent Ramblings

'Eudosin d'orheon korhuphai te kai pharhagges'
'Prhones te kai charhadrhai.'

ALCMAN. (60 (10),646.)

(The mountain pinnacles slumber; valleys, crags and caves are silent.)

Starting lines of Poe's short story Silence - A Fable. Reminded me of my blog. Its been as quiet and calm out here as the lines suggest. There has been no zing to spice up any reminiscences to mention here as of now. A few people have been wondering where i have disappeared. To them, i say, in the words of Joe Strombel - "Give me a scoop, and i will give you a blog."

Its been boring these past few days. Nothing much has been going around. Almost had a near 'tryst with peanuts' again. Thankfully, recovered quickly with timely medication and a day off from work. Apart from that, the last excitement was in the shape of a lame fresher's party given by the company to welcome new hires. Obviously gone are those days when such parties used to be fun. Now, it was a necessity to get the party 'done and dusted' in order to boost employee morale. Still, I consider it a change for the better given the situation over the past few months. Some nominees have gotten around in trying to address this problem, and events are enroute to see that it gets implemented.

Oh and yeah, given that "the day ended" on 13th Sep in Jeetender 'badminton' style (read as Dhall gaya din ...), we celebrated with a trip to the sparkling vineyards of Spain. And i always thought the men fought in Sparta, while the women led combat in the Amazons.

The most buzzing thing these days is sports - Cricket and T20 - managed to catch Zim 'massacare' the Aussies (though not without some drama) - and then India's late night fight back to win a dramatic match and maintain a 100% world cup record against our neighbours. As Rameez Raja quoted, "Can India-Pakistan matches ever not be without romanticism?"
Champions League is back on track this month on, and i cant wait for Rooney-Ronaldo to return back to Porto and Roma and blast off. ManU are ticking me off by slender goal-margin wins. Its time to cut loose.
TT fever also has gripped the office. With a tourni likely to kick off soon, its time i spent practising getting my smashes on the table rather than at my opponent. It brings a new dimension to 'hitting below the belt' tagline.

I intend to watch 'Memento', considering rave reviews from fellow mates. If it does turn out to be a cult movie as they say it is, i'll be pleased. Anything to break this boredom from silence. And when i say silence, its not as if its got boring and dead all around. Its just about breaking away from the monotony, and trying to do something different, something interesting, something challenging, something exciting, something fruitful. Not all of them together, but probably even one will do.

Till i find a more suitable topic to lambast about, adieos !

Pigs with Rocket Launchers

Felt like taking a break from all the sombre stuff. So here is a post plagiarized (again) from a friend (a college junior and sister-school junior as well), who decided not to put the post up on his blog becuase of acute paranoia. He feels when applying to company for the post of VP/CEO etc, the company might perform background checks like the CIA and rake up demented dirt on him. And all this future planning when he is still in the 3rd year of engineering ...

But since i liked the post, i decided to put it up here with due acknowledgements. Most of it is verbatim, though i have added a couple of sprucers to it on my own. Here goes ...

So I came down to think about it. I do like Pigs. If I could really get down to making a comic with Pigs who had Rocket Launchers.
Characters and props I would need:

1. The SuperPiggy

• Simple Pig from the village.
• Wields a rocket launcher.
• Meets the WisePig who transfers all his wisdom to the SuperPiggy.
• So the SuperPiggy is extremely wise.

2. SuperPiggy's Love

• With beauty that none of the other female pigs posses.
• With a heart so pure.
• Our SuperPiggy is bound to fall for her.

3. An evil Pig

• Thinking up of a name is so tough.
• Suddenly I am filled with a lot of respect for all comic creators around the world.
• Okay I cant really think up of a name, but here s what he'd (or she :D) be like.
• Okay she.
• A female pig who has the power to draw male pigs towards her and brainwash them.
• Her piggish sensuality has left all male pigs wanting more.
• With her super piggy abilities (what evil powers would we like to give her?) and evil heart she has been able to make the biggest Pig army of the world.
• Well every Pigess (I daresay?) has a weakness. I need some help with this point people!

4. So the setup

• Okay how about a Japanese village as the perfect environment?
• We can then teach our pigs all kinds of Japanese "Ninja" Tricks.
• Our SuperPiggy can wear a black band on his forehead and go HAAAOINK! Just like all the ninjas do while fighting.

So now i need to think up details to continue this comic strip like Kekta Kapur continues her serials. My friend tells me people have already started creating the images for the strip. I can see where the TRPs are headed. Obviously we don't expect to do a Calvin and Hobbes. But dear paranoid friend of mine. Even company CEOs read Calvin and Hobbes. If Bill Watterson thought like you did, where would humor go?

A Days of Firsts !!

Today was just one of those days where everything happens for the first time ...

• I drove my car from home to office (a distance of about 75 odd minutes) and then back home as well - all by myself - a feeling of real ecstasy and adrenaline rush - if not for me then for the guys whom i brushed past by :)
• I called up a dear old friend saat samundar paar and talked to her on the phone after 2 years (it was her bday, but no excuses) - it was delightful to hear each others voices after such a hiatus - reminiscent of the good old times
• I watched the cult classic Mithun starrer Gunda with all audio titles in place - last time around i had only caught the video - i was simply stunned by this thunderstrike of a movie - hope to God to give the masses sense enough to appreciate it. The movie is at concept level - a true work of art. I wished for the first time that i get a chance to watch more of such entertaining cinema.
• For the first time on the new project phase there was no call with the client.
• I (my team as well) finished all my work well before delivery time.
• My boss and I had a marathon heart to heart for the first time in two years where lots of feel good things were discussed, but i am still clueless to the actual issue of why I had gone to him in the first place.
• I managed to find a place to stay all by my own enterprising efforts and information gathering.
• I am writing a post with all bullet points for the first time. I am also writing this post without editing it.
  
• Finally, I am tired and sleeping before 12am for the fist time in weeks ...
  

Blog Roaming

June 26, 2007

This is painful. Wanting to blog but nothing to write. The perpetual feeling of wanting to do something because you are bored, but knowing not what to do ...

I indulge myself thus in some blog reading and pitting myself against some "pyscho tests".

Here are the results - very eerie in the sense they do sound true !!

Whats my inner blood type ?

You seem cool and collected, though a bit shy.You are highly driven and a perfectionist, but that's a side you keep to yourself.Creative and artistic, you are a very unique person who doesn't quite fit in.People accept you more than you realize, seeing you as trustworthy and loyal. You are most compatible with: A and AB Famous Type A's: Britney Spears and Hilter. Your Inner Blood Type is Type A

What kind of intelligent am i ?

You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well.An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly.You are also good at remembering information and convicing someone of your point of view.A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary. You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator. Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence

How intuitive are you?

Your intuition is often right, and you use it more than you may realize.Your gut feelings are usually a good guide, but you need more to go on when making a decision.You'll often check to see if the facts back up your feelings.And when your intuition is wrong, you work to improve it for the future. You Are 52% Intuitive

How weird am i ?

You're so weird, you think you're *totally* normal. Right?But you wig out even the biggest of circus freaks! You Are 60% Weird

What kind of mythical creature are you?

Driven and ambitious, you tend to acquire material success easily.You have grand schemes - both for your own life and for changing the whole world.You are a great leader, and you have no problem taking the reigns.However, you aren't all business. You also have great talents for performing and visual arts. You Are a Phoenix

And now i have reached a limit of copy pasting html snippets.

Close out and stimulate my brain, i must, writing a blog before i can think (Yaster Moda from Wart Sauce)

People and their Idiosyncracies

Apr 08, 2007

Proverb: To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism - To steal ideas from many is research ...

/* Spoiler starts */
What i write ahead is actually related to the post topic this time. So if you thought this is arbit stuff, please read on. Title or not, I'll try and keep it random, i swear :-)
/* Spoiler ends*/

PS - i just couldn't resist adding those geeky comment symbols !!

So, since as always i was wondering who or what should be my target today in here, and while talking to a couple of friends whom i met up, i thought why not embarrass them more by writing about them here, especially when they asked me not too. I mean, who would be dumb enough to suggest such an outrageous favor of sorts. I am evil.

First, dear old "white elephant", my last king of "Thailand" (yeah not Scotland). Average age of elephants is 40, but has dropped to 24. Given that your still single past your average age doesn't sound good to my ears. And Dude, whether the name ends in Z or I doesn't matter. Just go for it ... Well the point i had to make here was - U needn't freak out at instances we discussed. We must all live for ourselves to an extent as well. Till what point can we just keep thinking about others and not do the things we want to do with all our hearts and soul into it. And so, i am not editing anything i wrote or write in the future. Learn to accept the facts and deal with it. (I am so going to be sore for all this tomorrow).

Second, someone whose so close to "life" shouldn't shun away from the company they keep - sometimes accepting and mixing work and pleasure is alright. People talk all the time. Stressing yourself based on that is not going to help you or others around you. Uncomfortable or uncanny, situations keep occurring. Try not hiding them. Sometimes choices need to be made. I generally end up being wrong in your case and then listening to loads of left-right thrashing, but its ok. I have learnt to live with that. So must you with my idiosyncrasies and i with yours.

A couple of people more i would have wanted to discuss and probably malign (couldn't think of a better word for them) - but this being a public blog, lets leave it at that.

Damn, such a good day it has been and yet such gloom in my entry - naa - something better needs to be done. I could write a poetry in here but it is of a sombre mood as well. Let me think of something better.

Till then - i contemplate - and so do you ...

When the Stars Go Blue

Apr 07, 2007

My trip to Jaipur got derailed today. Plans never materialized and i decided to keep sleeping. It however gave my mom a little leeway to come after me for not (re)organizing my wardrobe. With summers setting in, winter clothes needed bundling up. So was the need to take a stock of the situation of summer accessories. Fortunately, the pile was big enough to last me this season. Otherwise i would have had to go shirt shopping with mommy dear. I don't really mind that, but why bother. I mean, mom, how does my choice of shirt have anything to do with my coming to a shop with you. You know my size and my style. You like shopping more than i do. Why wouldn't you get me something by yourself and shock me, err... i mean surprise me. As it is, how the shirt looks on me is a perception that other people are going to notice and comment on. Not me myself. Right !!!

Anyways, i ended up watching some soccer and Cheatskies grab vital 3 points with a fluke long ranger. Bad day when that happens because dear "Mannu" (as my mom calls them) generally end up messing theirs, and thus screwing the entire joy out of my as it is morose weekends.

I ended up having a nice sumptuous dinner of Gujarati thali, followed by jalebis.
For the uninitiated, jalebis are the round-round spiral things, that are quite sweet, spoil your teeth, end up coloring your shirt with sugar stains, and are made by frying flour dough in oil. I am not an expert chef like my friend hammy who knows the exact recipe for a dosa (yeah hammy, this is a leaf out of your book), so pardon my facts on jalebi if i got them worng. But most importantly, did i tell you that jalebis are orange in color. I think if i gift a kilo of these "Orange" colored sweeties to my boss Mr. AS, he should definitely be in a mood to promote me. You would ask me what has jalebis got to do with promotion. My reply is nothing. You missed the point if you could not decipher where the stress lay ...

Also, it was interesting to note the varied conceptualizations for my multi colored rage (aka my blog here). From words like jhataak, psychedelic, rave to word processors, all participants in the contest get a free ticket to the Blimagine cup. Keep imagining and blogging.

Ciao for now ...

Oh and for those who have had the nerve and guts to read till this line and are still wondering about what the hell in the whole wide world did the post title refer to with regards to the content in here, well, the answer is - "absolutely nothing". Except for being the title of a song written by Ryan Adams and performed by my darling Andrea and Bono, and being my favorite number, the name serves no other purpose.

Welcome to my world of random blogging :-)