2S
Techie. Writer. Photographer.
Archive for personal
December 22, 2007 at 2:26 pm · Filed under personal
UPDATE: I’m awake and back to blogging. Personal situation under control.
Thank you, lovely sweetheart and her husband in the depths of Malleshwaram, for pulling me out and telling me I can’t stop blogging for nuts. Thanks, even more, for driving up to CCD and sharing the calories off a Chocolate Fantasy with me at midnight on Xmas eve. Couldn’t have asked for more from a friend.
No thanks for getting mushy in my car. Next time, you two better behave, okay?
- - -
I have a few personal situations to deal with, which means I’m off blogging till the end of 2007. Might see the odd contribution on Mutiny, but otherwise, next post’s in 2008.
Until then, happy holidays folks.
December 19, 2007 at 1:01 pm · Filed under personal
Out of bed, and the warm rug no longer protects him from the icebite of a hostile wintery breeze. Shivering and shuddering his way into the day as the sun remains shy at dawn, he realizes the importance of warmth, a blessing disguised – sometimes as affection from a mother’s embrace, or tenderness from a lover’s flesh.
Yet man has the unique distinction of being the only warm-blooded animal to have bitter hailstones flowing through his loathing veins.
Let the frost freeze thy skin and not thy heavenly heart.
December 7, 2007 at 7:42 am · Filed under bangalore, personal
Had been ages since I’d taken an amusement ride. Roller-coasters, fast-springs, rotors, loved them all back in Dubai. Even the weird little ride in Mahabalipuram, where a little boat crawls to an elevated point and then comes crashing down into a pool. Suddenly, you’re all wet, your cellphone shows the wrong service provider, your i-Pod sounds nasal even if Himesh isn’t singing, and you’re in front of a board that reads ‘Funny Thunny‘.
For the lesser privileged folk non-Tamils, Thunny in Tamil translates to water in English. So, before I digress into Tamism, hush. Where were we? Oh, right, amusement rides.
My favorite amongst them, by far, were the bumper cars. Folks warned me to avoid ‘accidents’, but a few minutes in the park with arrogant Arab kids taught me otherwise. My plan was straightforward - crash into every car that didn’t look like an Indian drove it. An Arab was the norm, a Paki was a bonus. So I was a kid, I can be pardoned for being racist, relax. The point I’m driving home is, bumper cars were fun.
And they still are, especially in Bangalore. I can’t tell you guys how much I enjoyed my outing at the amusement rides today. Actually, I can.
For starters, I walked all the way from my office at EGL on Inner Ring Road till the stretch of Airport Road that enters Domlur, a distance of two-odd kilometers. It was cold, it was raining, and I managed it without a jacket or coffee. On the way, I asked several ricks. About six autos shook their heads when they heard me go ‘Chinnappa Gardens’. Like I was asking them to take me to Iraq or something. Three other autos asked for ‘twenty rupees more, saar’ to which I responded with a ‘thank you’ and walked on. Five autos actually had the nerve to go ‘one-and-a-half-saar’, and needless to mention, that didn’t even merit a response from me.
Before one guy, God bless his soul, took pity on me and mercifully jerked his head towards the interior. That’s where the ride began, during which I witnessed the following stunts:
Stunt #1 - Missed-by-a-Whisker - the rickshaw on the left lane, upon seeing a BMTC bus halted at the bus stop ahead, and seeing a Qualis speeding on the right lane, floors the accelerator and screams the three-wheeler past the oh-so-tiny gap between the immobile bus and a Qualis on the far side, approaching at over 60kph. Two seconds later, the rickshaw driver’s state remains unchanged - absolutely unperturbed - while the passenger manages a few million Hail Marys. The driver in the Qualis comes up with an equal number of the choicest of Kannada swear-words including the much-revered and intense T-word which is a direct reference to the rear of the human anatomy.
Stunt #2 - Kiss my ass - the rickshaw, in bumper-to-bumper traffic, attempts to overtake a ABS sedan just ahead, and in the process, does not brake hard enough. The result? A broken tail-light, a scratch on the rick, some paint lost, violence, vulgarity and profanity. And a meter that refuses to pause.
Stunt #3 - Side-scratch - now, this one takes immense skill to execute, but once mastered, is the most useful in terms of inflicting damage and agony. The rickshaw brings himself to a very close position next to a crisp-smelling, fresh-from-the-showroom silver Civic, and stops at the signal. Sedan in question sees the green light, and in enthusiasm, starts moving. Just then, the rick makes that slight change of angle to induce a huge scratch on the Civic. The sedan thinks he’s at fault, but hey, we know better.
Stunt #4 - Break-the-speed-breaker - the rickshaw simply continues speeding upon seeing a speed-breaker. The passenger in the rear jumps as a result of the force from the impact. On the rare occasion when his head doesn’t bang against the rick’s ceiling, he has avoided a shock, and in the process, is in a better state to detect the sharp rise in the fare as a result of that jump. Let’s not even mention the spilt coffee. Most Indians would continue praying in such a situation, although a foreigner might search for the seat belts. Well, dude, we don’t make seat belts in rickshaws. Too bloody bad for you.
Stunt #5 - and this is my personal favorite - the two-wheeler-mimicry - in which case, the rickshaw lives under the dangerous assumption that he is, in fact, a two-wheeler and attempts to fit the vehicle through the most absurd nanometric gaps in traffic. Gaps, which Andrea Stancu on a diet would struggle to fit through.
Seventy rupees, non-inclusive of meals. Nothing better than a few hours at the amusement park on a drizzly Bangalore evening, I tell you. If you’re lucky, you’ll also pick up some crunchy, unwilted Kannada swear-words, including this by richksaw-dude Ajith at a certain Devegowda: to suggest that he isn’t educated enough, when translated, this is how it goes:
He doesn’t have two letters on his ass, and he came to rule the state? Somebody tell him to shut the hole in his rear and go back to eating his spherical finger-millet paste.
Entertainment. Thrill. Guaranteed.
November 23, 2007 at 6:16 am · Filed under personal
<bitching mode='blog'>
It’s official, I am a victim of noise-induced necrosis. But not just ‘any’ noise, nope. I’ve nailed down the issue.
Cellfuckinphones.
Right, so Bangalore is the diverse mix of techies from around Asia, and what not. A great blend of race, religion and culture. Well, big shit, because this means you end up listening to all kinds of ring tones throughout the day. Starting from our very own desi version of the IT industry’s conquerors - the Andhraites - who love to flaunt their telugu capabilities even on the ring tones. We also have the pro-Kannada heroes who can’t have enough of Sonu Nigam crooning Anisuthide Yaako, the likes of which are responsible for Mungaaru Male still being screened at PVR. Interestingly, there are a few wanna-bes - maybe northies - who have this ringtone too, but that’s probably because they’re just lovesick and crazy about some random Bangalore chick.
And then, the Bollywood freaks, which includes this blogger as well. From Gabbar dialogues to Johhny Gaddar, to even Punjabi Bhangra.
Lastly, the lazy jackasses who are oh-so-content with the loudest, most absurd out-of-the-box Nokia ringtone. I mean, how original can you get?
Not that I’m a prophet of workplace etiquette, but the firm I am currently placed at is rather stringent in their policy, to say the least. It’s surprising that some of the staff don’t recognize this and continue to inflict mental agony upon the others.
But this - to some extent - is bearable. What makes me tear my hair apart is the volume. Honestly, you would think some of these guys are actually going deaf, with the kind of volume levels they maintain. Another notch up on the ring tone and the PA system would hang its head in shame. Perhaps they extract pleasure in letting the office city country know that they just received a call.
And there are some guys who literally scream on the phone. In their mother-tongue, which is fine, culture and all that. But the moment you start listening to a dialect, like telephone-tamil - the bullet-like supersonic linguistic capabilities which yours truly doesn’t possess in spite of being an Iyengar, or atleast, a halfengar - you want to stuff cotton into your ears. Telephone-tamil, for the record, is what you hear when you see that random south Indian bloke speaking as if he’s running out of talktime, and screaming as if the phone itself isn’t functional and the guy he’s talking to is about a few hundred meters away.
Like Ranjikanth just turned up as Raikonnen’s navigator or something, and rolled down the window, and started speaking. It’s totally Tam, it’s ridiculously loud, it’s bloody stylish and it’s superfreaking fast.
Now, combine those facts with the immense number of prank telemarketing calls that an average techie receives in a day.
</bitching>
Luckily, we have iPods. Thank God for small mercies.
- - -
O.T.P.S. I’m all for North Indian infiltration and diversity, no big deal, you guys brought Mast Kalandar to town - thanks - but will you guys stop eating out of my plate and atleast leave the Bangalore chicks to me? And yes, although Koramangala is like miles away, I still want to consider it Bangalore, for the women atleast, so hey, that includes the ladies in that bit of the country too.
Go ahead, you guys can infiltrate my city - you’re most welcome.
But, with your own women.
November 22, 2007 at 12:54 am · Filed under bangalore, personal
It was one of those nights where I didn’t feel like being at home. Instead, on the way back, I fabricated an insensitive ‘goodnight’ text and sent it to her, before driving to definitely my most favorite bit of Bangalore.
Cubbon park, for me, holds many special memories. Some bitter, some sweet, some bitter-sweet, and some … er … sexual. But I usually go there late Sunday nights, or on public holidays, just to see Vidhana Soudha illuminated, spectacularly symbolizing the might of the government. I have a special sentimental attachment to the building, and in particular, to the lighting.
And I was in for a surprise when I drove to Vidhana Soudha last night.
First off, why did I go there? Solitude is my best buddy - has always been - and I love to sit across the building, looking at it, and the surroundings, and contemplating my past, present and future. Perhaps it’s a personal thing, but that stretch of the city - for me - is Bangalore. Wide roads, decent traffic, greenery all around, no pungent stink of urine in the air. A very early 90s ‘Karnataka-ish’ feel. Something I might look back, and say, ‘home’.
And you probably know, that for someone who drives through a snail-paced M.G. Road, an erratic Airport Road, a hostile Ring Road and a jam-packed Koramangala - such a sight is rare.
So here I am, the Corsa’s parked on the main road, the parking lights are flickering, Richard Marx has spent about a minute and a half crooning ‘Right Here Waiting For You’, when the lights go on. And this wasn’t a half-lit Sunday midnight special. Nope. This was the full lighting. Every single one out there.
It lasted for less than a minute. Bliss, albeit momentarily.
I might add, I was thinking about myself, another unrecognizable blip on the radar of this state. I’m just another soul amongst the millions in this state. A state that was first orphaned, and now bastardized, without a stable leadership. Devegowda, who swims in a whirlpool of betrayal and yet manages to be the cause of it, has simply ruined any hopes of a stable government in this state. While his ’secular’ initiatives make sense, he’s well on his way to converting Karnataka into a monarchy, where only a Gowda can rule.
It’s horrible, because even when an able leader like M P Prakash attempts to form a government, with the support of the Congress (who is certainly more secular than the BJP), they’re wary of forming a coalition with the likes of HD.
I then tried to recall everything I saw through the day. Beggars on the streets? Rickshaw guys complaining? A cow wagging it’s rear on the center lane of the ring road? An old woman with as many wrinkles as her years, sweeping the streets? A modified Maruti Zen speeding past a signal that was counting down? A deadlock traffic situation between a Qualis and her cousin Innova? The slums, where power and water are as frequent as Halley’s comet?
Now, in the distance, I looked at Vidhana Soudha again. As strong as a fortress it stood, guarding both filth and gems. It was now plunged into darkness. Like the state itself. Like its people. Like … moi.
I then remembered what is inscribed on the entrance of the fortress. “Government Work is God’s Work.”
Well, there’s no government anymore. And the way things are going for my people, I’m wondering if there’s no God anymore either.
And if He is around, He’s left this state ages ago.
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