Dubious Distinction (DD) Award

Guess who is number four on Outlook's DD award? Ouch! Okay, will AC sue Outlook now?

Technorati tags: iipm

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This one is for Arivu and Jaya

�We are offering prayers and gifts to our baby. We lost her to the Tsunami.� Arivu said. I had a lump in my throat. I wanted to ask so many things but I could not. �Where is your home?� Nanda asked. Arivu flashed a wry smile and said, �We are standing on it.� [Read more]

I hope Arivu and Jaya have built a new home. I hope they have a baby now. I hope they have hope now.

Technorati tags: tsunami, Disaster Remembrance Week

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Disaster Remembrance Week

Want to donate? Go right ahead.

Technorati Tag: Disaster Remembrance Week

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Part 2: Stories from Chittoor

Read the earlier episode

I was in 12th standard I guess when this happened. We went for a night show that day. The movie was dubbed from Malayalam to Telugu and was a cop-basher. I slept off a few minutes after the second half started. The lights came on signaling the end of the movie. Ramesh, Imthiyaz, and I stepped out of Raghava, the movie hall. We lit a smoke and shared it. None of the auto guys were ready to ride to our colony. So, Imthy decided to go sleep in his grand ma�s house which was close by. Ramesh and I had no choice but walk home. We walked in the by-lanes to avoid the main road; we did not want to bump into a patrol jeep. Sounds weird I know, but the situation was such that the edgy cops did not lend an ear to logic or reason. Any one found on the roads in the middle of the night was some kind of a suspect for them I guess. I was really psyched back then (even now I guess). So, I used to make it a point to avoid cops in the nights. Ramesh was boring me to death with his concept of love (that the consummation of love is not marriage. It is sacrifice). As I had discussed earlier, it was the season of love in Chittoor. Every guy was in love. Some guys were in love with two or three girls at a time. I used to write love letters for a few guys. They liked my work I guess, for I would not write a line without studying the audience. What does she want to do in life? Who is her favorite actor? Does she wear jeans? Does she talk to boys? Is she outgoing or withdrawn? You know? So, my letters had high success-rates. I know some proactive guys who used to roam around with a bunch of love letters. Only, the name field was empty.  �You never know when love can strike you machaan.� One of the true-blue lover boys justified the template-driven approach. But Ramesh was in a different league you see. He was the �emotional� type. He believed that true love means no touching. No one would argue with that concept in those days. Sex was a bad word. Those prophets that went around preaching that divine love (or pure love) was devoid of physical desires impressed the girls, but not a single girl fell for them. On the other hand, pragmatic guys were surely, but silently making a lot of progress. You know what I am saying? They were �getting some� in other words. Divine love is like communism I guess. It looks beautiful and poignant on paper. But no one wanted it. And people wanted to get some. Let�s exploit the metaphor a bit more: we had a lot of closet capitalists. That said, love was the season, religion, hobby, center of the universe for almost all Chittoor boys during the late eighties and early nineties. Sadly, the girls were smart. They would have none of the bull-crap we wrote in our gripping, moving love letters or proposals. Only one in ten boys got the girl to say yes. So we were a bunch of sad, love-sick boys and we had to support each other. So we had our meetings where we analyzed, cribbed, cried, and blew our noses over how unfair the girl was. How she failed to see the power of true love. How the other day she was caught looking at him in school; that was irrefutable proof that the girl is in love with you: a casual glance. I used to quietly think �If I walk into class with my hair painted brown with Fem, all the girls will look at me�, but I never used to voice it, for it killed the authenticity of the only proof and the only thread of hope for the guy. Ramesh was ten levels higher. He thought he was born to fall in love, much to the grief of his parents and utter delight of the gang. Think about it, if three of us told him �prove us that you really lover her by chopping your left arm?� He would! I mean we got him to cut his forearm with a shaving blade didn�t we?
So, you can imagine my plight as we were walking towards home. Even the street dogs gave us a wide berth, thanks to Ramesh and his incessant love-talk. �Love is the light that leads my ship of life� �She is the oil; I am the wick, in the lamp of life.� �Sacrifice!� And I had heard each and every line at least a 1000 times. He went on and on, sucking on cigarettes like a maniac. Sometimes, the filter of the cigarette would fly into his mouth. He was such a sucker I tell you. So as he paused for breath in Greamspet I quickened my pace. Home was another ten minutes away. My head was reeling as if a million, miniature aircraft were running sorties in my head. And, I saw the stationary Jeep, with red letters �Police� on a white patch, right under the windshield. My hand dove into my trouser pocket and got the movie ticket counterfoil. Ramesh joined me. We did not want to look abnormal. So I urged Ramesh to keep talking. And I pretended that I was talking to, uttering some nonsense. As we were crossing the Jeep, I felt a few pairs of eyes on us. We crossed the Jeep. My heart was banging against my ribcage and beads of sweat trickled down my back, making my shirt stick to my back. We thought we were out of danger. I heaved a sigh of relief just when the voice roared, �Hey, stop there ******ds.� We slammed our brakes. I held the tickets over my head. I wanted to impress upon them that we were moviegoers. An inspector and four cops surrounded us. The constables stood like heroes; legs wide apart, slapping the lathi on their palms.
�Where are you going?� The inspector asked.
�Home, sir. We went for a movie.� I said. Ramesh was too shit scared to talk I guess.
�Why? Can�t you go for the evening show, ******ds?� the cop shouted.
Probably, if you were one of the libertarians you may have told him �That�s my choice. Not yours.� Or, say, �who the ****k are you? My entertainment manager?� But I didn�t utter anything, for I knew they wanted submission and not resistance. I wanted to go home. All intact. And the Bhupathi incident was afresh in my memory, though it had happened a few years back.
�What movie was it?� the inspector persisted.
We told him the movie name. The cops then discussed among themselves about how the movie portrayed cops and about how ***k all the movie was. We just stood there, bathed in sweat, shaky, and desperately in need of a leak and a smoke. Suddenly one of the cops stepped forward, breaking the circle and shouted, �What are you waiting for?�
We were stunned. And I saw the lathi rise and I ran, but not before getting a whack on the back of my right thigh. It hurt like hell. Ramesh, the slow-coach, did not get it. By the time he got the hint, a dozen lathi blows had landed on him. I ran as fast as my legs could carry. I did not stop even when I heard Ramesh screaming from behind me. I knew he too got away, but was a bit late. I reached home and headed for the terrace, where I usually slept because it� never mind. I lit a smoke. My thigh had already swollen. And I cried. Because it was against all that we were taught. Because I did not comprehend why going to a movie is such a crime. I did not meet Ramesh the next day. I bumped into Imthy though and his words said it all about Ramesh�s misery: �Swami, I have been working out and pumping iron. What took me a year, Ramesh did it in a night. He is bloated like mad!� (Note: my colony friends still call me Swami.)
[�Will be continued]

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The best place in America

�The best place in America though is the liquor store. As you waltz into one, mindful of the heavy, unyielding, swing-door thudding against the wall (it never does that's another story), you'll be greeted by a rather sober, bright voice 'how can I help you?' You see this old man, wisdom pouring out through his ears; that's the ear-hair. When it is gray, it makes you look good. He would adjust his old-style horn-rimmed glasses and flash that tobacco-stained smile at you. You'd just mutter 'Rum...', for you are transfixed by the bottomless, bounty that is in front of you. The brash Jack Daniel's. The stately Red Label. The exotic rums from the Caribbean. And oh the wines. Go ahead, and touch that Jack. The ribbed exterior is misleading. What's inside will turn your life into a fluid mess. But then again, we all love to play with fire. We are turned on by the excitement that danger offers. The rush of blood and the hair standing up. The burst of energy from the southern reaches of your spine that explodes through your neck and your ear. I know. Go ahead. Ask him how much the Chianti costs. He will never tell you. 'You like wine?' And you will nod 'yes'. 'Let me show something better.' He will say.
Never fall for it. Don't be fooled by his lazy elegance. He is the master con man. How else can one keep his cool, knowing that his merchandise is obliterating families, giving people courage... To commit suicide that is. Ah. Such is life. To each his own. And all that shit, but don't fall for that blue girl.
You will actually heave a sigh of relief when you step out of that liquor store. The door swings shut. The door-chimes sing a sweet good-bye for a few seconds. And bling! The roar of automobiles speeding on the road invades you�(Excerpt from a mail I wrote to a friend. Friend, hope you won't mind)

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Stories from Chittoor

Cops slapping boys and girls in a park in Meerut might sound amazing to most of you. But given my experiences, it does seem normal to me. It is probably much worse in smaller towns. I grew up in a small town called Chittoor. And here are the stories related to the cops there.
When I was a kid, my uncles used the lines �if you don�t eat we�ll hand over you to the cops� or �the cops are coming, get to bed, now!� Right from when I was a kid, I was scared of the khaki-clad ilk. I used to be scared of watchmen, neighborhood Gurkhas, and of course the cops. When I turned sixteen I�d laughed at my stupidity, �I can�t believe I was scared of cops� I thought they were people of reason. That, they �took care� of only the bad guys. It was the �rebel� in me probably. Also, it was a romantic period in the history of Chittoor I guess. It was probably the Maniratnam movies. Or probably Ramgopal Varma�s debut movie Shiva. We were young and proud; of our long hair; of our �loves�; of our courage� you get the drift?
Let me give you a backgrounder on how Chittoor was back then: there were two or three gangs, loyal to one party or the other. Every other day, some one or the other was murdered. Even the high school elections were conducted with the backing of the so called goondas. One used to think thrice even to question a ten year old boy, for one never knew or was able to forecast the resultant repercussions. Yes, even a ten year old boy. The district administration would slap the section 144 (unlawful assembly) whenever a prominent (notorious?) person was killed or if a gang war broke out.
Once, on a humid, obscenely bright day, the �long bell� (the �go home� bell) started ringing at eleven or so in the morning. We all ran out, thrilled that we could go home so early. However, the thrill lost its fizz when I reached the bus stand. The whole place was cordoned off by cops. Some �prominent� member of a faction was hacked to death. The assailants had used the cover of smoke bombs to execute their mission. I had to walk all the way home that day. Yes, yes I am talking about this small town called Chittoor; go easy on your jaw. Another such incident was when the leader of a gang was hacked to death when he was on his way back from the court. They threw mirchi powder on his face, as he was riding this moped. When he fell down, screaming his lungs off, the assailants emerged from their perch and hacked him to death. The pillion rider was stabbed too, but he managed to run a couple of kilometers, holding his intestines in his hands, and lived to recount the tale. I don�t know if the pillion rider testified. I mean, testify = death in these parts of the world. Note: almost all these killings happen in broad daylight. Don�t ask me where the cops were when the murders happened. They were probably beating boys and girls up in parks and college canteens.
Another incident which springs to my mind is when Anil, BRBK Rao, and I stayed up all night in the Dairy quarters. It was the Shiva Rathiri and people are supposed to stay up all night praying to lord Shiva or singing bhajans in a temple. We decided to have a ball. So we hanged in the quarters. BRBK lived there as his dad used to work for the co-operative Dairy. The quarters had sandal colored two-storey houses, and a small park in the middle of the quarters. There were a couple of swings in the park and we always hanged there. So, that night, after a marathon swing session, we buried our backs in the sand by the main gate. At about 1 a.m. BRBK�s elder brother Bhupathi arrived, clutching a Telugu novel. He just went to the street light by the gate, sat under it and started reading the novel on revolution by the downtrodden.
Suddenly we spotted a couple of night beat cops on their bicycles on the road. They paid no attention to us but only until Anil started screaming �gun gun gun!� They came at us and I was still reeling from the shock. I mean I had never seen a cop so up close. My knees started shaking as I unconsciously got to my feet from the sand and stood in attention. Anil and BRBK were in attention too.
�What the ***k are you doing here at this hour?�  One of the constables growled at me. I could feel his eyes pore through me. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the other cop remove the lathi from the cycle. I was convinced they were going to beat us to death. The crickets paused and restarted their chirping. My tongue was paralyzed. I felt as if my mouth was stuffed with pebbles. �Shiva Rathiri sir�� Anil moaned.
�Shiva Rathiri? Here on the road? Baadakov! I�ll **** your mother� the cop roared. He may deny it today, but I was damn sure that Anil wet his pants. BRBK was quite cool. �We were about to get inside the quarters sir. Sorry, we will go now.� That kind of pacified the cop I guess. He nodded and said �shut the ***k up and get inside. Now!� We were about to cross the gate and get inside when a voice boomed out of no where: �Yemiteee ee anyaayam?� (Telugu for �this is injustice!�). Bhupathi was on his feet, still clutching the novel on revolution. His eyes were glowing with the spirit of the red rebellion. My heart jumped to my throat. The cops, who were about to mount their cycles and go away, stopped and asked all of us to stay in our places. This time they brought their rifles along to intimidate the three class eight boys and a tenth class boy.  I had tears in my eyes. What kind of a fool would argue with night beat cops about civil liberty, equality, and revolution? Bhupathi would.
As the cops started walking towards us, Bhupathi stepped in front of us, as if to shield us from the oppressive, bourgeois forces that were coming at us.
�What the ***k did you say you b****rd, son of a w**re, we will stick this lathi up you�re a** and take it out of your mouth�**** **** **** **** � One of the cops enquired oh-so-gently. I was counting. Only the grand mothers and uncles were left.
�Your days of oppression are numbered. I have the right to stand in front of my home any time I want? Who do you think pays your salaries? It is the taxes that we pay that�yada yada yada� went Bhupathi. The cops would have killed him that night. But the three of us fell on their feet and saved Bhupathy from them.[...to be continued :) I mean for real this time!]

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People attack HP's cab ?

Unconfirmed sources claim that people attacked an HP cab near the Madivala flyover in Bangalore. The driver and a couple of HP BPO employees were injured. Backlash to Pratiba's gruesome murder? While I want the murderer scum to be shot dead or probably stoned to death, I think it is very unfair to target HP employees. I hope this news is not true.

Technorati tags: bangalore

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Indian Blogosphere 2005: The Year That Was

What started as a hobby for a bunch of geeks has now become a powerful, unified voice of the people that matter: the youth of India. The Indian blogger stands guard: coordinating relief efforts and sharing information on disasters; ensuring that the mainstream media takes notice of serious issues like Manjunath's murder and suppression of free speech by Mr. Pony Tail or the Slimes. I wanted to use the title 'Memorable moments' but stopped myself. It is not memorable when hundreds of thousands of people die and we bloggers report about the catastrophe from the forefront. It is not memorable when you have to report the death of an honest, righteous young man at the hands of the corrupt.
Here's a list of the significant moments of the Indian Blogosphere in 2005 (this is a work-in-progress. leave a comment if you want me to add more to this list):

1. The South-east Asian Tsunami: We were there where the mainstream media did not dare to step in.
2. Manjunath: we wake up the mainstream media to this horrible crime. And now, the President assures us that the honest will be protected.
3. Bloggers coordinate relief for the Mumbai deluge.
4. We rise to protect Gaurav and Rashmi. We kick a$$.
5. One of the fake-questions that they wanted the MPs to ask �Is it true that while NRI firms such as India Uncut of USA, Sepia Mutiny of Britain and AnarCap Lib of Netherlands have been allowed to invest in Indian SSIs, the reputed German investment firm Desipundit has been denied permission? If so, the reasons thereof? Is the Union Government of India planning to make automatic the long procedure of permission for SSIs to import new technologies such as Trackbacks, Pingbacks, Blogrolls, Splogs and Hitcounters?� Need I say more? We are a piece of the Indian political history now.
6. Last but not the least, we decide to give the Slimes a hard time after it tries to strong-arm Mediaah. Did we succeed? Ask Google! Update: Slimes rubs the Delhi bloggers on then wrong side. Again.
7. Update:The Rohan Pinto episode is a significant chapter in the history of plagiarism on the web. It highlighted the fact that it is not easy anymore to steal someone's work. Here's Amit's take on the issue. Bloggers caught the MSM stealing reviews and stories. Burp!

Important links:
Tsunami: http://tsunamihelp.blogspot.com

Earthquake Help: http://quakehelp.blogspot.com/

Manjunath's murder: http://manjunathshanmugam.blogspot.com/

Mumbai Rains: http://cloudburstmumbai.blogspot.com/ and http://mumbaihelp.blogspot.com/

IIPM Controversy: http://www.desipundit.com/2005/10/08/lies-damned-lies-and-fake-blogs/

Operation Duryodhana: http://www.cobrapost.com/documents/one.htm

Pradyuman is threatened: http://www.ojr.org/ojr/stories/050315glaser/ and http://mediaah.blogspot.com/2005/03/operation-intimidation-media-biggie.html


Please leave a comment if I had missed out on something.

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Auto Lines - 2

These lines are from the comments from the previous issue. Here goes:

• Love is slow poison.
• Trust a snake, but never trust a girl
• Woman is more dangerous than king cobra
• Jesus is coming soon. he is bringing new kidneys
• Love is mur-dear
• Hi sweety
• Road is not a race course, it is a life course.
• POPO DO
• Read on a mortuary van: "Innaikku naan, naalaikku nee" (Tamil for 'today me, tomorrow you')
• Exodus 33:14

So, you thought you saw an interesting, funny line on an automobile? Pass it on! We'll publish it here in Auto Lines.

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Is your boss a psychopath?

(Via FastCompany):"The standard clinical test for psychopathy, Robert Hare's PCL-R, evaluates 20 personality traits overall, but a subset of eight traits defines what he calls the "corporate psychopath" -- the nonviolent person prone to the "selfish, callous, and remorseless use of others." Does your boss fit the profile? Here's our do-it-yourself quiz drawing on the test manual and Hare's book Without Conscience. (Disclaimer: If you're not a psychologist or psychiatrist, this will be a strictly amateur exercise.) We've used the pronoun "he," but research suggests psychologists have underestimated the psychopathic propensity of women." Take the Quiz: http://www.fastcompany.com/magazine/96/open_boss-quiz.html

Technorati tags: business, corporate, work

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The M.ad Quiz

The Ad Club Bombay's M.Ad Quiz poster reads 'Free Laptops for everyone. Laptop may not necessarily mean 'computer' Ha ha ha!
And this: Free Study Tour To Europe. *Only the study is free. Other costs maybe borne by the candidate!
Check out the event poster!
Ah! Hope Mr.Pony Tail gets the hint!

Technorati tags: iipm

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Bushed!

What does bushed mean? See what the Word Detective says. I propose another definition to the word bushed: being maligned by a conservative madman. Hmmm.

Technorati tags: English. language

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Ozone layer unlikely to recover until 2065

"The ozone hole over Antarctica might persist until 2065, which is two decades longer than predicted, because ozone-destroying chemicals are still being released by developed nations more than a decade after their production and importation was banned."
Read the article on Chicago Tribune
Thanks guys. Thanks USA and all other 'developed' countries. You gave use the two big wars, the holocaust, terrorists, and now the perfect gift: the brunt of Ma nature's fury. How can we ever repay your kindness? And to think that you guys wanted to 'civilize' the third world...
(Hat tip: Shrenink)

Technorati tags: ozone, environment

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How to start your own "Management Institute "

The Torpedo does it again. Hilarious. :-)
Check out the piece.

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Ad agency steals blogger's picture

Workaholiks steals Suyog's photograph. Shame!

Technorati tags: Suyog, copyright, advertising

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Auto Lines 1

The auto-rickshaws, trucks, and cabs in our beloved city carry some wonderful lines. I have decided to blog all lines that capture my fancy.
I am not so creative so I am going to call it Auto Lines. If you have a better title let me know. Here goes:

LOVE IS GUEST. FRIENDSHIP IS BEST.

Noticed it on a rick on Mysore road. ;-)

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