VKN

Generational

2011-06-20T22:41:00.001-07:00

Few weeks back my seven year old and I went to a classical tabla performance. Before the concert the artist talked about his late father. He talked about his humble upbringing in a dusty village in Maharashtra. He recalled his father taking him to classical music conerts in Bombay - an overnight trip which they could barely afford. These concerts mostly extended late into the night, and they often missed the last train they needed to catch to get back home. At the train station his father scrambled the last remaining coins from his pocket to buy his son a meal while he remained hungry. Then they would both huddle together and sleep on the railway platform waiting for the train next morning.

While he remembered his late father his eyes welled, his lips quivered, and his voice cracked with emotion. Overwhelmed by memories he paused a moment, held his composure, and started the performance.

On our way back home that day, my son and I were talking about the performance. Sriram liked everything about the concert. He loved the front row seats, enjoyed all the numbers, was happy to see his friends there. But there was one question that still lingered in his mind.
"Why did he weep before the concert when he talked about his dad ?"

A plumbing issue

2010-05-04T21:48:00.000-07:00

I visited my cute doctor two weeks ago with a clogged plumbing. He asked me to drink a lot of water, eat fiberous fruits - prunes, papayas, take whole grains, exercise etc. I tried these natural laxatives but that didn't fix my system.

Later that week he prescriebed a medicine, which I took for couple of days. That didn't work either.

So I checked back with him yesterday and he prescribed an industrial strength pill. I took 3 of those babies yesterday and nothing happened. I took one more today morning. No effect what so ever.

Frustrated, I popped a 6 of them around noon. It worked ! My plumbing is no longer clogged. Infact I am looking for a cork now.

On Assignment

2009-11-05T16:13:00.000-08:00

A friend asked Swamiji and I if we could take some photographs for a his relative's graduation. We agreed, and he took us to meet with the family.

We reached their home promptly at the agreed upon time. A man answered the door. He was a petite, bald, seemingly dignified gentle man who appeared insecure and vulnerable. He ushered us in and called out for his wife. There emerged, in a flowing red dress, a haughty plump stuck-up women with lovely brown skin and a pair of haunting eyes. Unlike her husband she appeared dominating and needy.

She greeted us warmly and then quickly got down to business.

"I heard good things about you guys". She said.

Swamiji smiled and gave me his dirty looks.

"Well, how much do you charge?" She asked

"We dont need money" Swamiji was eager.

"Free?"

"Yeah. We do it as a hobby"

"No no no. You must be paid" - She said.

That sounded reasonable to me.

She explained at length about her daughter's graduation ceremony, parts of which didnt even register with us because she was wearing a red dress which had a plunging neckline AND the lady was unduly blessed.

Anyways a week later Swamiji and I went to event. The daughter was an absolutely beautiful 20 year old. She was literally breathtaking. She was so stunning that Swamiji told her mother that she is going to have to beat horny boys away with a stick if she is not doing it already.

It was a wonderful event. We stayed around for the party. We had lot of food and tranquilizer. For all the fun and fair we got paid a princely sum of $250 too.

Questions

2009-04-16T11:49:00.000-07:00

Last evening Sriram and I went to a store and he took me to the kids section where he showed me a police car that he wanted to buy for his birthday.

"Can we buy it now?" he asked.

"No", I said. "Your birthday is in June"

"But what if it is all gone by then?"

"Dont worry. They will restock it"

"What is restock" he enquired

I began explaining to him at length about about retail business, how they place order from manufacturers ,how goods are delivered - when he stopped me abruptly and said - "You mean they will put more of it"?

Yes ! I thought to myself. That is what restocking is!

After we got back home, he asked me, "Daddy, where does light come from?". I told him it comes from things like fire, sun etc.

"How do fire have light?" he asked.

I tried explaining him about the concept of energy, but he did not buy my bullshit.

"You want something to drink?" I asked.

"Yes. I'm thirsty!"

I gave him a glass of milk, which he drank and slipped under his blanket on the sofa. Within no time he was deep alseep.

Feels like he was born yesterday. But the kid has grown up.

SNC Lavlin Scandal

2009-02-09T21:55:00.000-08:00

An interesting slide deck covering the inside scoop of the brewing SNC Lavlin controversy

Ref: http://snclavalin.blogspot.com/

I Love this response

2008-09-19T18:47:00.000-07:00

I love this guy's response to the Palin interview. Hilarious.

Sarah Palin

2008-09-15T21:55:00.000-07:00

Since 2006 I have been a big fan of Joe Biden. Well, He ran and he lost and he is back as Obama's running mate. But in the last few weeks he and even Obama have been completely eclipsed by the media phenomenon called Sarah Palin. In my opinion Sarah Palin is nothing but a street smart politician. Comparing Palin to Biden would be akin to comparing Pinaray Vijayan to Karl Marx. Nonethless I am fascinated by the buzz she has generated and the fan base she now has. I am particularly fascinated by the fact that her fan base continues to grow despite what she really is, or how prepared she is to be a VP.

Following is an OpEd from NYTimes written by the famous conservative (yes! conservative) author David Brooks.

What is prudence? It is the ability to grasp the unique pattern of a specific situation. It is the ability to absorb the vast flow of information and still discern the essential current of events — the things that go together and the things that will never go together. It is the ability to engage in complex deliberations and feel which arguments have the most weight.

How is prudence acquired? Through experience. The prudent leader possesses a repertoire of events, through personal involvement or the study of history, and can apply those models to current circumstances to judge what is important and what is not, who can be persuaded and who can’t, what has worked and what hasn’t.

Experienced leaders can certainly blunder if their minds have rigidified (see: Rumsfeld, Donald), but the records of leaders without long experience and prudence is not good. As George Will pointed out, the founders used the word “experience” 91 times in the Federalist Papers. Democracy is not average people selecting average leaders. It is average people with the wisdom to select the best prepared.

Sarah Palin has many virtues. If you wanted someone to destroy a corrupt establishment, she’d be your woman. But the constructive act of governance is another matter. She has not been engaged in national issues, does not have a repertoire of historic patterns and, like President Bush, she seems to compensate for her lack of experience with brashness and excessive decisiveness.

Here is a clip from her ABC news interview:

Do you still think she is better than Joe Biden ?

Seven Seas Cod Liver Oil

2008-09-13T18:52:00.000-07:00

Remember Seven Seas cod liver oil? It was considered a tonic back when I was a child. My mother use to force it on me and my brother when we were young. We were supposed to chew it down and not swallow it. The experience wasn't pleasant. It tasted like unholy shit. Besides it made me belch, and every time I belched it smelled like unholy shit. Looking back, I think what my mother did to us amounted to child abuse.

Something happened two days back that took me back to those days. I visited a friend who just came back from a trip to Moscow. She proudly served me a spoonful of caviar that she had brought back from Russia. I've heard of caviar and seen it on TV as an expensive delicacy. I took the small spoonful into my mouth. It tasted a bit salty at first but as I chewed on it the taste turned woody and then smoky and to something that is beyond description. For it was the most foul tasting thing I have ever put on my palette. Not only did it taste horrible, an hour later the delicacy too me to the bathroom. There I went like a goose for three full minutes. That evening's vodka punctuated with occasional caviar berries.

It is two days since, and I am still goosing uncontrollably. Every time I goose it stinks unholy - And that ladies and gentleman reminds me of Seven Seas oil.

Nekkid Wimmen

2008-07-23T11:14:00.000-07:00

I went to Berkeley to meet a friend today. He picked me up at the BART (train) station and drove to the UC Berkley campus. On our way he warned me about a group of nekkid wimmen activists walking picket lines outside the university. I was thrilled, for I have never seen or heard or imagined anything like this.

We parked our car near his dorm and walked up to the area to take a glimpse of the heavenly vision. Being short I had to step up on the side walk and peek through a sizable crowd that had already formed there. There it was! A pack of ugly old fat wimmen with pink hair, sagging udders and pestiferous shapeless bodies walking around in a circle yelling profanity for all I care. It was disgusting. It was the most nauseating thing I have seen in a long time.

Although an ophidiphobic (snakes really creep me out), I can sleep in a box with a dozen snakes if worse comes to worst. But a pack of feral wimmen... that's a different story.

Zimbabwe

2008-06-24T15:14:00.000-07:00

Robert Mugabe proclaims that "only God" can remove him from office, as Zimbabwe's opposition leader Morgan Tsvangirai pulled out of next week's runoff election and sought refuge in the Dutch embassy. Mugabe declared that "The MDC will never be allowed to rule this country - never ever"

All this while the overwhelming majority of Zimbabwe’s population is starving, and while murder, torture, and rape continue. Farms in this erstwhile bread basket of Africa are gutted. Economy is in shambles with 100000% plus inflation. Unemployment is hovering above 80%. Average lifespan is less than 27 years. There is ban on democratic movements and media. Elections are rigged and people are slaughtered like animals.

Where is the United Nations? Why the government of US or UK along with some regional powers isn’t orchestrating a covert assassination? Why isn't he dragged off and shot. The old man must be put out of his miseries.

Speeding Ticket

2008-06-11T16:13:00.000-07:00

My manager bought a new car and decided to take me and another colleague for lunch. The lady likes to talk, and she likes to look at you when she talks. She does that even when she is driving a goddamn car.

On our way to lunch we were on the highway and as usual she was preaching about something pontifical cruising at 80 mph on a 55 mph stretch. A cop who was lurking behind the bush with a radar gun took notice. The officer turned on his boom, roared out from behind the bushes in hot pursuit and pulled us over.

She was served one ticket each for speeding, driving with out a license, taking an automobile on road with an expired sticker, and failure to maintain a single lane.

That was the most I have seen. And that was 20 points well deserved.

Fresh Watermelon

2008-04-23T16:52:00.000-07:00

I met a pretentious yuppy of an Indian guy at Swamiji's place a few days back. The guy demanded bottled water and refused to drink what he called "dirty municipal tap water". Pests like these deserves to be dragged off and shot. Poor Swamiji had to haul the moron to buy bothal water. I still drink water straight from the well or from a garden hose. You don't die from that.

Last week my doctor showed me photographs of the scars from my surgery. It didn't look bad. Not bad at all. I think my surgeon is a fine cutter. I have to give him credit for a job well done.

I picked a watermelon from a local farm last week. I handed three one dollar bills to the farmer's soiled hand. He seemed happy and it felt good. The melon was ripe, red and sweet, and to savor it fresh in the farm was heavenly. Life offers some simple pleasures and this was one of those.

Booby Trap

2008-04-17T14:24:00.000-07:00

Last night, as usual I woke up to take a leak. I don't need to have the lights on for this ceremony. I could make it from the bed to the bathroom in the dark.I've made this trip hundreds of times. Besides, it is always a good idea to reduce your carbon footprint :)

So I got off my bed, came out the room, through the corridor, past the stairs, past my son's room and DANG!! My feet got into a strange booby trap. Next thing I heard was a loud, I mean LOUD, sound of someone cracking a ripe coconut.

When I got back to my senses, I felt sore in my face and salty in my mouth. My head was spinning and ears ringing. I reached down for the booby trap and felt a bicycle handle. The leg got stuck on my son's cycle, which he left laying outside his room!

Bees were still buzzing inside my head and it was stinging like hell. No one responded to my call for help. ~~Talk about modern day wives!~~ So I crawled to the bathroom myself and turned on the lights. Holy Gavasakar !! I had a giant cricket ball for my lips and had blood all over the mouth. I washed up the mess and examined the damage. It wasn't pretty.Strangely didn't feel the need to take a piss anymore. I think I pissed on that damn cycle.

I don't feel that good today. The bleeding is gone , and so is the pain. But I still have a cricket ball for my lips.

PhD While You Wait

2008-04-16T10:47:00.000-07:00

Today is the first warm day of spring, and I am back from hiatus. It's been so long since I logged on to write some thing that I found dust and cobwebs and that musty odor of sentimental affection as soon as I logged in. I had to waste a perfect half hour weeding through the comments and deleting spam-slammers from my blog.

Talking about spammers, if you can manage to turn off that decency-control in your mind, some of 'em are really fun to read.

"Hidden cam video of Barnyard sex"

"Black lesbian sex," - HHWWHAT??? Black lesbian wimmen don't have sex with barnyard animals? What a racist spammer.

"50c Viagra" - If you're an old horny guy like Swamiji, and you hook up with a black lesbian, you better buy this stuff to be competitive against the barnyard animals.

"The Complete King James version" - You ought to buy two of these collectibles, signed by Dr.King himself

"PhD While You Wait" - With $99.99 a piece I bought five of those. I now have PhDs in Catholicism, African-American Studies, Disgruntled home owner Studies, and Basket-Weaving for black teenage lesbians. With these I think I'm bound to go far in this world.

If you notice carefully, what these spam-slammers are saying is nothing less than what some of our politicians say every day. Vote for Hillary! Stop Global Warming. Elect Hillary to turn around the economy! To me the spammers sound less ridiculous

Hillary Clinton

2008-04-15T12:50:00.000-07:00

I shamelessly stole this joke from here. This is funny.

Hillary Clinton goes to a primary school in New York to talk about the world. After her talk she offers question time.

One little boy puts up his hand. The Senator asks him what his name is.

"Kenneth."

"And what is your question, Kenneth?"

"I have three questions: First - whatever happened to your medical health care plan? Second - why would you run for President after your husband shamed the office? And, Third - whatever happened to all those things you took when you left the White House?"

Just then the bell rings for recess. Hillary Clinton informs the kiddies that they will continue after recess. When they resume Hillary says, "Okay where were we? Oh, that's right, question time. Who has a question?"

A different little boy puts his hand up; Hillary points him out and asks him what his name is.

"Larry."

"And what is your question, Larry?"

"I have five questions: First - whatever happened to your medical health care plan? Second - why would you run for President after your husband shamed the office? Third - whatever happened to all those things you took when you left the White House? Fourth - why did the recess bell go off 20 minutes early? And, Fifth - what happened to Kenneth?

Edu De Toilette

2007-06-19T00:03:00.000-07:00

I had the misfortune today of visiting my friend at his exchange lodge. As soon as he opened the door I was overwhelmed by the putrid smell of decaying socks– A smell that any one who has stood outside the entrance to our computer lab in engineering college back home would be familiar with. It is a stench so impossible that it will make your eyes watery. It is a fragrance so powerful that anyone in its vicinity seven days after the socks has been removed could be knocked unconscious. It reeks of rotten rat diarrhea that was passed through the digestive tract of a water buffalo with irritable bowel syndrome.

Back home in college, shoes were not allowed inside our labs, so students were forced to leave their sweaty, stinky shoes outside at the entrance. These wonderful bouquets open up, permeating the air with one of the most disgusting fumes ever to assault your olfactory organs.

The only reason why I think our computer labs never had an incident of computer virus or worms was because I honestly don’t think those buggers can survive in that environment.

Driving with cell phones

2007-06-17T22:26:00.000-07:00

Last week I was almost hit by a woman changing lanes while balancing a cell phone between her ear and shoulder. When I horned at her, she looked at me all flamed up and gave me the finger.

Today I came very close to hitting another woman on a bike. She was going on the bike lane and suddenly swerved in into my lane as if something suddenly darted in front of her. I stepped on my breaks as hard as I could and came to a screeching halt barely a foot from her. Damn! That was very close . I could smell the tires smoking.

This idiot too was talking on a cell phone during the attempted suicide, and she too gave me the finger sign.

I will give these wimmen some more time and they'll probably cause a ten car pile up and give everyone the finger while they send an SMS with the other. Dumb idiots!

Waxing nostalgia

2007-06-15T14:46:00.000-07:00

Here is my achamma (grandmother), waxing nostalgic today:

"Those days nobody had jobs. I walked 20 miles everyday to do menial jobs. I weaved baskets, knitted nets, carried fire wood, and came home with rice and tapioca. On good days I could buy fish. It was tough, but we lived through it, we didn't have a radio or news paper or telivision. We grew almost everything we had to have. I had a herd of good laying hens. I collected eggs and traded them for cloths and salt and oil and other stuff that I couldn't grow myself. We didn't have much, but we never went hungry."

I love that woman. They dont make wimmen like that no more.

Major Major

2007-04-24T17:22:00.000-07:00

Rated R - Adult content, reader discretion adviced.

Last night, my friend was complaining about his neighbors. He is unable to sleep at night, thanks to the couple who moved in recently to the apartment right next to his. He regularly hear them screaming and groaning and thumping their bed against his wall in the middle of the night.

That reminded me of a camp we attended in Allahabad. We were in an Army base and were housed in barracks along with kids from around the country, around 50 of us. The barrack besides ours was occupied by our commanding officer, a stout, horny, rough looking army Major who might have been in his mid 40s.

After a long hot uneventful summer day, we had just gone to bed. I was so tired that I slept the moment I hit bed. Around midnight, I was awakened by the sounds of screaming ghosts. Alarmed I jumped and sat up right on my bed, so did my friend Satheesh who was sleeping next to me. Next thing we noticed the whole barrack is awake. First we thought somebody was crying and wondered if we needed to run out to help them, but as we listened more carefully we understood that no rescue mission was necessary. We were hearing the sounds of an enthusiastic woman having a wonderful time! “aaah…. aaaah…saaab… dheere se jaaneman …oooooh …Uff!”. This was accompanied by the rhythmic sound of a steel bed squeaking. The sound effects went on for a while before the commanding officer finally groaned “uhhhh mazza aaya ” and fired his ceremonial last shot. Then things became quite for a while.

I looked at Sathish. He looked at me. We smiled. We couldn’t believe what we had just witnessed – Remember we were just 17 years old then! Soon Sathish, being the funny bastard he is, opened the window and started clapping. I couldn't resist and followed suit. Soon the entire dorm was giving a standing ovation. We were applauding and cheering a job well done.

I think I should advice my friend to do the same and acknowledge his neighbors for their next show.

Photos

2007-04-16T21:23:00.000-07:00

Posted some photos at Orkut.
Here is the link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/97559381@N00/show/

Been busy

2007-03-29T12:29:00.000-07:00

I am here. Been busy busy busy. Work, school, skunk works, family, soccer… tired – but I am here.

A gazillion little rocks are strewn all around my room. I don’t know what is it about my kid. Where ever he goes, he seems to attract rocks destined to be brought back and scattered in my room. They arrive in truck loads in his shoes, socks, in pockets, and some even confined in the inner sanctum of his tiny underwear.

Talking about rocks, I am assaulted by bitter sweet memories of my own school days when my brother and I did the same thing - except that we brought home beach sand instead of rocks. Our school was beside St Andrews beach where we dug holes and buried our bare toes in the soft, damp, loose sand. We escavated ruins of ancient sea life and unearthed seashells and other nautical treasures. My son is doing the same thing. Only thing is he dont have a brother to collect rocks with him. I think I need to fix that.

It is a shame that Cricket fans are burning shops and brushing tar. These lunatics need treatment. Like swamiji said, it is time we treated cricket no better than Kabbadi or Kho Kho.

A colleague of mine came by to invite me for his wedding. He is marrying the daughter of an ex minister in AP. He was happy that he is getting 7 rice mills, one engineering college, one dental college, one mineral water bottling plant, several medical stores in Hyderabad, flats, farm houses, half of west Godavari district, and one butt ugly wife. I did not know what to tell him - whether he had been blessed or extremely unlucky.

When I see “experts” like Ann Coulter serving liturgical sermons on Fox network I can understand why more than 30% of Americans believe that the war in Iraq is going well. Ann Coulter should be led away to somewhere quiet, where uniformed staff make sure that she take her medication every day and change her diapers as needed.

Scents

2007-03-09T17:01:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was video-chatting with my parents. Sriram, my 4 year old, was sitting next to me. I asked my father if he could small Sriram’s hair.

“Yes” – he said.

“No, Achachan!” my boy said “You can’t smell me”

Then he explained to us that Achachan is sitting in India and he can only see and hear ‘mon’ but not smell him.

Later he came up to me and asked if Achachan could INFACT smell his hair. I said ‘may be’.
“Can daddy smell me?”

“Yes” I said

“Can you smell me when I go to school?”

“Yes I could just close my eyes and still smell you as if you were here”

That IS true. I can smell him even when if he is not around. Ramu bears the scent of almond baby oil and pears soap. He smells of dirt and water color, played with enthusiastically. His hair smells like sweat, full of innocence and pure of caffeine or cholesterol. To me he smells of nothing but pure love I have ever known.

Of all the five senses, I think olfactory is the one that is directly wired to the brain. The presence of some scents can snap you right back to a time and place in your life where memories are alive and vivid.

Strong smell of wild trees takes me back to a trip we made to Kudajadri from college. I smell sour curd and my grand father comes to mind. I can SEE him feeding me rice mixed with curd. Thick buttery curd dripped from his hand. There are certain smells that I associate with my Amma. The smell of petrol reminds me of my friends Sujith and Jacob. And so does the smell of beer. Certain cells in my olfactory are plugged directly into my memory.

For me, memories of home is triggered by the smell of cattle and hay and goats and chicken manure. Scent of ripe mangos and guava and tamarind and jackfruit and rotten coconut leafs and the smell of dust that rises when my aunt sweeps the front porch with a broomstick. I can't say all of those were pleasant, but it is firmly lodged in my memory. Once upon a time, that was how my home smelled like, and I can still smell it.

Punjabi Aunty

2007-02-26T15:22:00.000-08:00

I work for a technology company. One day, at work, I met this fat Punjabi aunty, like the ones womanning counters in Indian grocery stores. She was decorated with giggly smiles, gaudy salwar kameez, gold jewellery and a pair of white Wal Mart tennis shoes. I wondered what a grocery store clerk was doing in a technology company. Perhaps a caterer? A female security guard? Inter-site shuttle driver? I couldn’t figure out.

I became curiouser and curiouser as I kept seeing her in the office. My curiosity peaked one day when I saw her at a technical review meeting!

Time went by. George Bush was elected President. There was Iraq war. I fell in love with Elizabeth Kuruvilla. My wife found out about my infidelity.

And then one day, I met the above mentioned aunty at Carnegie Mellon. She had come there to attend an MBA info session! She did not look like a college graduate, let alone someone aspiring to do an MBA. I played it cool for a little bit then I went over and casually struck up a conversation with her. Her name was Daljeet kaur , and I was surprised that her English was fluent and impeccable.

We introduced each other and I desperately wanted to impress her with my Carnegie Mellon credentials. I told her I was doing my masters at CMU, and asked where she did her BACHELORS.
“Delhi” – she said
“Delhi Universiy?” I asked
“No, IIT Delhi”
“uh” I almost let out a wild bestial howl. Embarrassed, I excused myself and quickly ran to the bathroom to check if I accidentally shat my pants.

Later at the info session, I came to know that she did her masters in Electrical Engineering from Stanford!

Time went by. George Bush was elected for another team. War continued to be waged in Iraq. Elizabeth Kuruvilla left me for my friend Rassul Pookkutty.

I met Daljeet at our company cafeteria. She smiled and came up to me. I stuttered and asked if she got into CMU.
“Yes, she said. But I chose Sloan instead.”
“MIT Sloan?”
“Yes” she confirmed.

This time I really had to excuse myself.

Love

2007-02-16T00:22:00.000-08:00

I wanted to write about love on this Valentines Day.

I remember visiting my friend Sanjay once. As I stepped into his home, his dad was asleep on the floor. He had a news paper spread out on his chest. There was a glistening channel of pan-parag concoction that ran from his mouth. It emptied onto a temporary reservoir on his hairy chest, and then flowed effortlessly through his arm pits to form a swamp of gourmet guacamole on the dusty mosaic floor. He was snoring heavily, which provided the perfect ambiance and drama to the wonderful scene. I first thought that he was drunk. Later I realized that he in fact WAS drunk.

Sanjay was in their kitchen helping his Amma, who was doing Amma-esque things with a pissed-off look on her face. Later as she was serving us lunch Sanjay looked at his sleeping dad and asked:
"Amma, why did you marry him?”
She did not say anything.
“Did you ever want to just leave him?" he asked.
"Yes, I do!" She replied. “He doesn't do anything but drink and sleep. He drives me crazy sometimes. But he is a loving man and I love him too."

A year after we left school, Sanjany’s dad had liver cirrhosis and passed away. His mother could not bear his loss. Three months later she died broken-hearted.

It was a sad story, but they were a lucky couple for what they had between them was pure unadulterated love.

Happy Valentine's Day everybody.

Trees

2007-02-08T14:51:00.000-08:00

I am saddened that my good friend at work has decided to leave. I am more saddened that he is taking away his collection of bonsai trees. I am sure they’ll miss me too coz I fed them with out fail for the last three years.

I happen to like trees, especially tropical trees like the ones we have in Kerala. Who can NOT like tamarind trees? Have you ever watched a tamarind tree go to sleep at night, and then awake the next morning? I think that's an amazing sight. All the tiny leaves curl up when the sun goes down; then, they spread out again the next morning when they feel the sunshine. That is one incredible sight.

I like jack fruit trees, too, specially the ones dressed in pepper vines. We had a big jack fruit tree on our front yard complete with pepper drapes, ants, squirrels and countless bird’s nests. It had branches bend all the way to the ground making little leafy tents for us to play under.

As a kid I liked mango trees, for it had green sour mangos, and also because they were fun to climb on. A good mango tree will be ant-free and will have stumps that make it easy to climb. You can walk along those stumps without holding onto anything. Just keep your balance. We had a mango tree that had limbs larger than 2 meter in diameter.

Acacia and Mangium didn't arrive in Kerala until late 1980s when the Bishop of Trivandrum brought them from Australia. Mangium in the late 80s generated more hype than ‘techno city’ does today. Thinking it might make good investment people cut down their coconut trees and planted these exotic flora- those brainless fools. Not only did they turn out to be worthless, they threw out more goddamn pollen than any other tree I've ever seen, and that yellow dust raises hell with my allergies. They didn’t even make good cow fodder. Even goats won’t eat it, and you know goats – they eat ANYTHING.

Cashew was another genuine tree. It is one tree that will grow in any kind of soil. There were some wonderful cashew trees in my school. I think they were special varieties from Africa that produced extraordinarily fleshy fruits. They tasted different, and made better raw material for the underground alcohol breweries we had in school. Except for their nuts and alcohol they aren’t worth diddly-squat.

That brings me to the trivia question. Do you know the connection between home brew and torch battery? Do you know why Eveready battery was considered the best by 'experts'?

Today

2007-02-02T13:28:00.000-08:00

When I stepped out today morning I saw a woman walking a dog that was uglier than me. The woman was okay. She wasn't bad looking. But that was one mean ugly dog.
I ate the best lemon pickle I've ever tasted. It burned my stomach for more than an hour. But Damn! That was good. I will have another spoonful for dinner and will cool it down with a glass of fresh curd.
A friend has been encouraging me to go for an 'Art of Living' class. I checked with my colleague if he would be interested to go with me to an ‘AOL’ session today. What he told me in response ws the best philosophical sermon I have heard in a long time

He said:
"Ravi Shankar, Hari Shankar, Baba Shankar.. or any Shankar...
If you have all your marbles with you, then you DO NOT need any one to tell you how to live! Yes, a good lecture about life can be enlightening, but not for such tickets and definitely not when followers act like ticket scalpers pimping tickets!

Life is pretty simple - You are born, you have some happy moments, you have sad moments, you grow old, you die! End of story."

I guess I will have to go alone.

News read by

2007-01-29T16:44:00.000-08:00

Remember Geethanjali Ayer? I interviewed someone last week who reminded me of Geethanjali Ayer. That set off an avalanche of wistful nostalgia.

“This is ole India radio. The news read by Geethanjali Ayer”
“This is ole India radio. The news read by Lotika Ratnam”

Then there was television! Here are some of my favorite news casters from old times.

Rini Simon was one of the best, later changed her name to Rini Khanna. She could have gotten married or the opposite.

Neetu Ravindran had the best accent of all. Free flowing, polished, st xaviers , colonial. She grew a fascinating mole on her nose too. Anyone who listened to her will fall in love with desi accent.

Komal GB Singh My childhood fantasies about older wimmen revolved around the lovely Komal GB Singh. I loved watching her read, but I seldom listened to her.

My brother and I would stay up late to watch the best news program of all “The World this week”. It was 10 years ahead of its times - with its stunning title jingles to the way they presented world stories. Remember Appan Menon reporting from Golan heights? Man that guy was fantastic. Even the international advertisements were refreshing. Cathey Pacific, MasterCard, JCT Fabrics, Gillette.

There were more - Tejeshwar Singh, Minu, Usha Albuquerque, Sunit Tandon, Sukanya and the unknown poor souls who were made to read Parliament news.

Of all of them, Neetu Ravindran was my favorite. Who was yours ?

Good bye Mr.Buchwald

2007-01-18T22:32:00.000-08:00

While in school, there were days when the only thing I went to library for was to read ‘The Hindu’. I went to read the last page where Art Buchwald had his regular column. It was a pleasant ritual. It took me some time to get hooked to his style of satire. But once I got the taste, I was an addict. The man was brilliant, and never disappointed me. Mr.Buchwald’s column was the greatest social service N Ram had done to us.

Today I heard on radio that Art Buchwald passed away. I went online and saw this self obituary on New York times “Hi, I am Art Buchwalt and I just died”.

For all those great columns you gave us, Good bye Mr.Buchwald, Good bye.

Despite what you think

2007-01-17T23:14:00.002-08:00

Despite what you think you know, I have some news for you:

*Not all Indians in US are gas station owners. Some of them run 7-11 stores too.

*In real life the Hindi actor with a 9mm hand-gun is NOT going to win a shootout against six guys with machine guns, no matter how much muscle he's got. He's gonna look like swiss-cheese in real life.

*Not all school teachers look like Bhanu Priya or Julia Roberts. Lorry drivers dont look like Anil Kapoor either.

*If Larry King is a serious journalist, I'm a jet pilot. The only person I can think of with less talent is my neighbors' wife who still hasn't figured out how to put off her car alarm.

*If you think James Bond is an arrogant bastard and a sexist womanizer who look relaxed in his adventures, wait till you see our poor man's Amitab Bachan - Jitendra.

So what is the moral of the story?

Mustang V-8

2007-01-09T16:05:00.001-08:00

My colleague let me drive his new Mustang which has a soup-ed up V-8 with enough power to fling you through the window if you are not tethered to the seat upon take off. I really enjoyed the drive, specially using the clutch and stirring the gear box by hand. I believe that real driving must involve 'clutching' and 'gearing'. Auto transmission is for wimmen. Putting an auto transmission on a baby like Mustang would be like chopping the nuts off a very horny camel. The animal may look the same, but his Arab master is going to be one unhappy customer.

Talking about automatic transmission, most of us learned to drive on an Ambassador, with stick shift. It is a skill that once you learn you will never forget. But many people around here have never driven a vehicle with manual transmission. You give them a REAL car with gear shift and a clutch and they are screwed.

That brings me to the question, Do you prefer stick-shift or automatic ?

iPhone

2007-01-09T16:03:00.000-08:00

Steve Jobs stole the thunder today at CES2007 announcing the much awaited iPhone. I just looked up the gadget on apple’s website. Hoochie mama !! It looks so sleek and pretty that it sure is going to be a fashion. I don’t understand what is it about Steve Jobs that make these cool products look so tempting. If I were Narayana Murthy, I would hire the kid.

God's own son

2007-01-03T10:01:00.002-08:00

If you thought that God is spending all his precious time talking to K Karunakaran, think again. Pat Robertson announced yesterday that he too is talking to God. He says, Lord told him that there is going to be a massive terrorist attack in US towards the end of 2007. “No, it isn’t nuclear, coz God didn’t say it’s going to be nuclear”

Considering the special relationship Pat has with the almighty God, I wonder what else God told him. So I am going to subscribe to his cable television show where he appears occasionally to share messages he receives from God with his audience. The only thing I want to know from God is about my prospects of buying a home here. So Patji, if you are still hearing voices ask God whether the real estate market in the Bay Area will bust big time anytime soon. I am tired of the speculation. I would like to know the truth from The Supreme Authority himself.

2007

2006-12-31T23:38:00.000-08:00

I quit making New Year's Resolutions long ago. Before then, I would make resolutions, convince myself that I would keep them, and then break every damned one, usually before the end of January.That usually was a waste of time and a blow to my self-esteem. So I figured out that I was better off NOT making any resolutions. But, I have changed my mind this year. Here are my resolutions for 2007:
1) I will stop going to ice cream socials and lunch and learn sessions at work.
2) I will stop buying technical books in 2007. I have more of those than I need or read already.
3) I will continue to blog.
4) I'm gonna plant more hibiscus and make sure they all root and grow and bloom well. I will take lots of pictures of it too. I threw that one in there just to take the pressure off of keeping ALL my resolutions.
5) I'm going back to New York and live with my buddies from school, at least twice in 2007. Those 4 days I spend with them were my best in 06.
Those should be no problem to keep.

Happy new year to all of you.

Tip

2006-12-28T14:22:00.000-08:00

I believe that a tip is a reward for a job well done. Usually I tip generously at restaurants, barber shops etc. These guys work hard and they depend on tips to make both ends meet. Some of them are paid below the federal minimum wage. So if they treat ME well, I treat THEM well.

My usual rule is 15 to 20%. The highest I have gone is once in Chennai, I tipped a taxi driver Rs5000. He was with me for 2 full days and I was well taken care of. The guy was so nice that he even refused to accept the tip. But I gave it to him anyway. Before you think that I am benevolent, I must tell you that I got that promptly reimbursed by my company.

Sometimes I use ‘offensive tips’ to insult people who deserve it. If I have a snarling, rude, inattentive waiter, I purposely leave a few pennies on a $30 tab. I don’t shove them, but I must let them know what I thought of their PMS behavior.

That is exactly what happened to a taxi driver in Las Vegas. He was rude, and acted like a drunken asshole. The mean bastid was using cuss words in the traffic – remember I was with my wife and kid. And since traffic was heavy, he dropped us off two blocks away from our destination and wanted us to walk to our hotel.

The meter showed $7.20, and I gave him that . While I was about to walk, the junkie got out of the cab and asked “Where is my teep”? I checked my pocket and gave him 3 cents. You should have seen the expression on his face. That was 3 cents of insult well spend.

Viva Las Vegas

2006-12-27T13:41:00.000-08:00

Notes from Vegas.

DAY 1

Wow, I’m finally here. And it only took me twelve hours to get from San Jose to Las Vegas. And no, I’m not bitter, not at all. I thought when I agreed with Travelocity to take a U.S.Airways flight, I’d be getting a decent airline.
The limo ride from the airport to hotel was fun. Although the bastid cheated me the ride was cool. The funny Iranian driver who "loves Indeeyan people", "loves Indeeyan food - curry, dal, nan", "love Indeeyan music - I have a collection, I just can't find it now" - even gave us a little guided tour of the city. We could have taken a taxi and paid 10 bucks, but the extra 25 was for the limousine experience. Or I would like to comfort myself that way.

DAY 2

The only thing in Las Vegas that gave me the real kicks was the 'tomb of King Tut' at Lexor. I have seen that National Geographic documentary a dozen times in which Howard Carter leads you through the narrow hole with nothing but a candle and discovers "wonderful things!” If you ever go to Vegas, don’t miss this one, and make sure you take the time to listen to the complete audio.

Almost everybody I talked to suggested that we eat a buffet in Vegas. Although I try to stay away from big meals, my wife insisted that we try one. So I did. The food was exquisite. The fried beans and baby back ribs was delicious. It was so delectable that my stomach started puffing up as if I was suddenly becoming pregnant. Soon I started having hot flashes and broke out in a sweat. Fancy fire works began exactly at 11 PM and lasted the whole night - I don’t want to go into the gory details of what happened next, because it is a story I prefer not to tell. I am never going to eat a buffet ever again.
I saw an advertisement for a $6K bath. It goes something like this. Beautiful nekkid wimmen will anoint you with scented oils. Then they will bathe you in rose water and rub you with rose petals and sandal wood paste, all done in a candle lit shrine with soothing music and Vedic hymns. The ad also features Pamela Anderson, who will bathe a lucky few on New Year’s Eve. I don’t know why someone would throw away money on such foolish pursuits.

DAY 3

I am going to gamble tonight..

DAY 4

I had so much fun losing money in the casino last night that I reloaded from an ATM and wasted MORE before I finally gave up. I take comfort in the fact that I was playing with four other idiots at the table and they all got screwed, too.
After loosing all that money, I am sorta feeling home sick. So I´m leaving tomorrow. I need to go home and heal up for a while before I come back again. And I WILL be back. This is a beautiful place.

DAY 5

I made it back home in one piece last night. The plane trip was a fitting finale to the adventure. It was one bumpy ride that will put the roads in Trivandrum to shame. Luckily everything arrived intact. I went straight to bed and slept for 11 hours last night.

Elections

2006-12-21T13:20:00.000-08:00

Earlier this year the terrorist organization Hamas scored a stunning victory in the first ever democratic elections in Palestine. Now, less than a year later president Mahmud Abbas has decided to call for new elections ~~under pressure from~~ with the backing of the United States. United States, with the noble intention of spread democracy in the Middle East, likes to see their men elected in Palestine. Ladies and gentleman, now that’s what I call democracy!

Back in the US, things are getting warmed up for the 2008 elections. While Mrs.Clinton is lining up her supporters and donors, Barak Obama is clearly emerging as Clinton alternative #1. I don’t think Mrs.Clinton is going to win even the primary and I believe Obama has all the potential to become the Colin Powell for Democrats. But the true presidential material for the democrats is Sen. Joseph Biden. I hope he will run.

Talking about elections, Time magazine elected ‘You’ as the Person of the year. That was a cheesy decision. Their finalists were not impressive to begin with. I suspect they chose the founders of YouTube, and then they decided that their success was largely the result of the millions of users out there.

But anyways, congratulations to all you YouTubers, bloggers and citizen journalists out there. We are now in the league of JFK, MLK, Einstein and Gandhi.

Karunakaran

2006-12-11T22:55:00.000-08:00

I have always liked Karunakaran. I believe he was a real politician and not a huckster like his nemesis Mr.Antony and so many others in this line of business. He also makes me want to read Malayalam news papers daily. The genius in him constantly provides fodder to our wonderful journalists to keep things exiting.

But I think it is time for him to hang up his robe and retire. He has been slowly loosing his senses since he lost his chair in ‘95. I don’t know what his grand plan is. What ever it be, he is turning himself to nothing but a petty, spiteful, vindictive old fart. Of late he has started exhibiting symptoms of schizophrenia and is badly in need of professional care.

It's time for the old man to sit down and shut up while he still have some respect.

Last Week

2006-12-04T18:46:00.000-08:00

Last week was a good week, bad week.

The week started off bad …
1. I got screwed by the virus from hell. Cold. I still haven’t recovered fully.

2. I almost killed my new hibiscus plants too. They were flowering prolifically the week I brought them home. After a week in my custody, they suddenly stopped producing. I gave them a week, and then took matters into my own hands. I tilled the two pots, doused them with a spoonful of chemical fertilizer, and soaked the stubborn plants with water. The next morning I woke up and saw the small plant dead, and the big other one frail, dried up and ready to give up.

Then slowly turned hopeful…

1. After three days of intense soil change, watering and resuscitation and the big plant survived. Today morning I saw a small sprout in the baby plant. I think he will survive too.

And ended on a good note ….

1. I saw the movie ‘Class mates’, a malayalam movie worth watching in a long- long while.

2. Read ‘The old man and the sea’. I think it is a piece of Hemmingway’s finest work. I am left wondering what it must be like to catch a big marlin.

Crown Victoria

2006-12-01T11:40:00.000-08:00

I have nothing better to do right now, sitting here in this meeting, except to sit here and enjoy the Crown Victoria parked outside.

The damn thing looks like a police car! I think people like driving it around because everybody thinks it's a police car and they get that respect. Ford should have named it differently – Like Hulk Hogan or Sakthiman or Abdullah– something masculine.

Parked next to him is a Volkswagen beetle. I don’t think an yellow bug coming down the street will strike the same fear. She doesn’t earn the same respect. But she sure looks cute. Hulk Hogan likes her.

Now if you will excuse me I have to get back to the meeting.

Noise Pollution

2006-11-29T22:08:00.000-08:00

Last night it was the neighbor’s dog. Son of a bitch kept barking till morning. Don’t get me wrong, I love dogs. But last night it was beyond my level of tolerance.

Today evening it is car alarm. It has been going off at regular intervals. A few minutes back I went out to get my mails and found the culprit. The very same neighbor whose dog entertained me last night!

She is attempting to make some repairs on her car which is setting off the godamn alarm! The dumb woman doesn’t know how to shut it off. She tried every thing she could. Turning the lights on and off, playing with the wipers, slamming the doors, talking a cell phone call, doing all kinds of stupid things.

I think both this mad woman and the guy who invented car alarms should be dragged off and forced to watch a Malayalam TV serial.

I recommend that she throw away that stupid alarm. You know what she needs? Her dog!! That mean son of a bitch. She should paint his sorry hair black, so nothing but his callous eyes show up at might. Keep him a little hungry and tether it to her car.

See if anybody dare steal that car then.

Nuggets

2006-11-17T16:12:00.000-08:00

I visited swamiji yesterday. He talked about kissing. The most sensuous thing he said is kissing a woman on her neck and nibbling her ear lobes. If a woman allows you to kiss her neck - he said - she is showing a form of trust and an indication of surrender. He finds that combination highly erotic. The man is all fucked-up from the surgery, but I see his point.

Are you one of those people who would read ANYTHING in the bathroom? I am. I would even pick up trash from the receptacle and read it. When the trash is empty, I read shampoo bottles and toothpaste tubes.

The hardest book to read for me is James Joyce’s Ulysses. This is one sucker I tried to lay my hands on several times. I plan to keep a copy of it in my bathroom. I am sure I will finish it in several sittings.

These days eggs come cleansed, pasteurized, inspected and laser inscribed. I even saw eggs at Trader Joes that had advertisements printed on it. Back home our hens laid eggs that are not pasteurized, cleansed or clinically tested. But they sure made some delicious bulls-eye.

I once aspired to become a gardener. Me and my brother planted rows upon rows of exotic plants. We ceremoniously pulled them out each morning to see if they rooted. Later on I DID become good at gardening. At one point we had around 1000 orchids and more than a dozen different types of bananas. It is pure pleasure watching a seed sprout, form leaves, grow tall and green. I love doing that. That is exactly what I intend to do with the pair of hibiscus plants that I bought last week.

Beautiful song

2006-11-16T23:39:00.000-08:00

Smooth divorce

2006-11-14T00:03:00.000-08:00

We decided to part ways. She was with me for 8 long years, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, in joy and in sorrow.

Our life was tumultuous and often times stormy, but I swear by God that I never cheated on her. I can’t claim complete innocence either. I am guilty of dreaming about a certain someone else in her position. And I think she was fully aware of it too. She doesn’t have to read my blog, she should have gotten enough clues noticing me drooling and salivating at traffic stops and parking lots.

I told her yesterday that we should separate, that we shouldn’t live together anymore. It was a strange goodbye. We hugged. We kissed. And both of us started crying, right there in the rain. I wiped the tears off her cheeks with the back of my hand and said “Don’t hate me. I don’t mean to hurt you. I still love you”.

It was an emotional farewell. I went back to my room and cried for a long time. Now my lustful heart beats for a new car to replace her.

Cold

2006-11-12T10:59:00.000-08:00

It is only November and it already is freaking COLD. I fear turning on electric heat because it almost burned down the whole house once. Besides Sriram has a skin condition that reacts badly to heat.

It is noon and the room is like an icebox. The warmest spot in this house must be the refrigerator. This morning ramuji rao's mother tried to give him a bath. He kept kicking and pushing and crying the entire time. It was no fun for the kid. As soon as she let him go, he came running out of the bathroom, all wet and naked, with goose bumps all over his body. His nimble body hair stood up right like tiny little needles. "Daddy, It’s COLD," he cried. I grabbed him in a big hug. He snuggled up tight against me and I felt him shiver in my arms. He stood there and cozied up for a while and said “daddy, your tummy is warm”.

In response goose bumps sprouted all over MY body! I have never felt better in a long time as I did right then.

Can you help me?

2006-11-02T13:05:00.000-08:00

I shamelessly stole this from here

The newspaper had a contest for the wackiest web addresses. Here are some:

Who Represents?, a database for agencies to the rich and famous: www.whorepresents.com

Experts Exchange, a knowledge base where programmers can exchange advice and views: www.expertsexchange.com

Looking for a pen? Look no further than Pen Island: www.penisland.net

Need a therapist? www.therapistfinder.com

Mole Station Native Nursery, based in New South Wales: www.molestationnursery.com

New to Milan and you need electric light? Why not sign up on-line with Power-Gen? www.powergenitalia.com

I couldn’t figure out what is whacky about these web addresses. I may be color blind, may be you can help me?

Good Luck Swami

2006-10-26T22:48:00.000-07:00

Looks like Berkeley Beedi is taking its toll on Swami. He called me today morning on his way to the hospital and said he was having some knife work done. He didn’t elaborate, so I don’t know what happened to him. I need to call his old lady to get the entire scoop.

Surgery is the last thing I want to be done on my body. You get cut, spend a couple of hours all dizzy in a recovery room, piss in a bottle, and end up sleeping in a hall sprayed with tincture iodine air freshener. If you are lucky, you get ~~touched and squeezed~~ nursed by a good looking ~~babe~~ nurse.

Swami will do OK. He is too mean to die, so I am not worried about THAT happening. But that knife thing isn’t going to be fun. But if he die... well, I'm gonna make a move for his book collection and that shiny black Mont Blanc pen of his. I will leave it up to his Nigerian neighbor, to take care of his old lady. He has always liked her. Someone needs to console her in her grief and I can't think of a better person to do it than that big behemoth of an Afro brotha. Well that should make my dear friend think twice about dying, won't it?

Anyways, Good luck buddy. If you need any help from me have a nice nurse call me.

Health Conscious

2006-10-23T23:54:00.000-07:00

I was catching up on some blog reading. This one reminds me of a dinner with Swamiji at a restaurant recently. Swamiji, being a walking chimney, was profusely inhaling his favorite beedies when a fat female came up to him, and requested he stop creating tantric patterns of smoke.

Nothing chaps me worse than to have some fat glutton complain about second-hand cigarette smoke in a restaurant while she is eating enough food to feed an entire village. THAT'S a really health-conscious person right there, wearing a size 72 waist pants.

Story not over – Later from the parking lot, Om Swami ran back to the restaurant and retrieved the half burned cigarette he had to abandon there. As soon as he got back inside the car, he lit it up, inhaled a big puff, and shouted – “Second hand smoke, my aching ass”.

Question

2006-10-23T10:29:00.000-07:00

Okay, here is a queschen.. This is not a trick question, just a standard ethics question.

You see six men at work on a railway track. And you see a train approaching, and since the workers have their back turned towards the oncoming train the poor guys have no sense of the impending danger. You see a leaver. You can pull the leaver to divert the train to another track, where there is another worker who will obviously die. What would you do?
a. Do nothing
b. Pull the leaver and save six people at the expense of one

Here is another situation:
You see six men at work on a railway track. And you see a train approaching them, and since they have their back turned towards the oncoming train the poor guys have no sense of the impending danger. Now instead of the leaver, you see a fat guy. You could push the guy on to the track and block the train and save the six men (let us assume that theoretical possibility). What would you do?
a. Do nothing
b. Kill the fat guy to save the six people

Award Films

2006-10-13T12:23:00.000-07:00

I saw the movie Vanaprastham. Shaji N Karun lost his knack of telling a good story. A good story must have a beginning, a captivating story line and a great ending. Vanaprastham, to me, did not have any of it.

One of the best storytellers I have ever met was my school mate Roy Mathews. He was NOT a studious guy. Nobody has ever seen him read any books, but he could tell stories which could fill several. His stories had a solid beginning, a gripping story line and a whoop-ass ending. He never dragged on to lengthen a story; neither did he finish in a hurry. He allowed his story to flow, and in the process had an army of friends glued to his dorm bed, for hours on end.

I don’t know where Roy Mathew is today, but I am sure, he will make one hell of a movie maker.

The best films I saw in Malayalam were either from Padmarajan or Hariharan or Bharathan. The worst were those movies which open with a man walking from the left side of the screen, and three hours later I wake up and see the helpless guy still walking to reach the right side of the screen. Or movies, where the plot calls for characters to silently look at each other with a deadpan nonchalance, and where the “story line” is constantly invaded by squeaking crickets and lines of ants. I don't understand why they win awards though. To me, the whole logic seem reversed.

For all the award movie makers, let me give you a sound piece of advice. Learn to tell a good story and shut up when you're finished.

PS: I did like some ‘movies’ like Shaji N Karun’s Piravi and Adoor’s Mathilukal, Vidheyan.

Quotes of the day

2006-10-12T00:51:00.000-07:00

Quotes of the day
"If someone did cover something up, then they should not continue to have their jobs."
- Speaker Dennis Hastert

"I don’t think people should use religious extremism to gain political mileage."
- President George Bush (At today's press briefing)

Kiran Desai
Heard last night on NPR’s BBC news, about the Booker prize. Just read 2-3 pages of The Inheritance of Loss on Amazon (“Amazon Surprise Me”). Good stuff !! Here are some excerpts.

The more pampered you are the more pampered you will be the more presents you receive the more presents you will get the more presents you receive the more you are admired the more you will be admired the more you are admired the more presents you will get the more pampered you will be—

Desis against Pakis
“Pigs pigs, sons of pigs, sooar ka baccha.” Biju shouted.
“Uloo ka patha, son of an owl, low-down son-of-a-bitch Indian.”
They drew the lines at crucial junctures. They threw cannonball cabbages at each other.

Nobel Prize

2006-10-09T22:08:00.000-07:00

So far it’s been a clean sweep for USA. Of the four categories announced all four went to uncle sam. And three of those went to scientists from the Bay Area. (Two from Stanford, and one from Berkeley). That is mighty impressive! The literature price will be announced on Thursday, and peace on Friday. I hope they will not give it away to another ~~inept figure head~~ diplomat like Kofi Annan or to a ~~murderer~~ freedom fighter like ~~cobra head~~ Arafat.

I dont think it is going to be a clean sweep for US. It is very unlikely that an American will be named winner in either of these categories. Unless they pick George Bush and Michael Moore for literature and peace respectively.

Elizabeth kuruvilla strikes again!!!

2006-10-08T21:32:00.000-07:00

Today around 6:04 in the morning, Elizabeth Kuruvilla stuck again. My spousal unit was asleep. So I could engage Ms.Kuruvilla in a long discrete conversation and I even managed to record it. Just in case she abandons me, worn out from love and desire, I wanted to have the taste of her in my ears. Check out this sound bite, take a listen.

WARNING - [Cut paste the following URL to your browser. Clicking may not work]
http://ekuruvilla.tripod.com/5.wav
http://ekuruvilla.tripod.com/6.wav

For those who don’t know Elizabeth Kuruvilla, here is a backgrounder.

Chikungunya

2006-10-05T15:02:00.000-07:00

Down in Kerala, we grow mosquitoes the size of jumbo shrimps. They are specially trained to draw a pint of blood out of you in one sitting. It doesn’t matter what time of day it is - they attack 24-7. You are not safe, now matter what you do or wear. They can bite right through your Levis jeans; They laugh at your ‘Good-Night mats’ and ‘aama mark’ repellents. Those crap doesn't work. NOTHING DOES.

Few years ago my friend Sanjay and I visited another friend in Kochi. His place was a command central for mosquitoes. We provided an appetizing buffet for his “pets”. We must have lost a few gallons of blood that night to the mosquitoes, all of which probably flew off and died of alcohol poisoning. Sanjay had mosquito bites all over his body. Two weeks later those bites looked as if someone had burned him with a cigarette butt all over his body. The amount of mosquitoes we saw in Kochi was mind boggling; I was very alarmed that people were not doing anything to stop an impending epidemic.

The danger is no longer impending. IT IS HERE !!!. Chikungunya is spreading, assuming massive epidemic proportions. This is just a harbinger to much worse things to come. Mosquitoes are flying hypodermic needles capable of giving you fatal diseases such as malaria, chikungunya and if you so desire - a pair of giant glowing testicles.

Why this sudden raise in mosquito population in the last 15 years? My answer is:

Rubber plantation. I know for sure that pervasive rubber plantation is one reason. You step into a rubber estate and you will be swamped by mosquitoes.
Filling wet lands and farms for housing and perennial crops is another . Land fills cut off running water streams. This creates pockets of stagnant water bodies where mosquitoes live, thrive and reproduce.

Government and Individuals MUST take steps to reduce the mosquito population, and we MUST DO IT NOW, or we risk ourselves being eaten alive by the predator.

Fair and balanced

2006-10-02T16:21:00.000-07:00

I saw the much celebrated Bill Clinton interview on Fox news yesterday, and I was appalled by what I saw. I was appalled at the “unvarnished truth” that was pouring from the ~~spiteful, mango-faced, pissy little pretty suite~~ fox reporter. It was a set-up, and I think Mr.Clinton did a good job holding his ground and speaking his side. Well, may be he could have gone easy on his references to the Richard Clarke book; nevertheless he did well.

This is a country where journalists like Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward raised the bar for journalistic excellence when they brought down a presidency (for the right reasons). American journalists should be proud of what they did. But that was 30 years ago. Today the standards of journalism seem to have changed, with the likes of Fox news shamelessly imitating Trotsky's Pravda. Fox news is nothing but “Mouthpiece journalism” at its best (or worst?).

Why is Fox news popular? People are too damn stupid to understand the news all by themselves based on the available facts. This is where Fox news comes to your help. They “interpret” the news for you, and make sure you don’t miss the point – much like what Deshabhimani does for our uneducated comrades in Kerala.

So if you are the most dense, ignorant, obtuse, dumbass and you want your lie-of-the day, tune in to Fox news. It is always FAIR and BALANCED.

PS: Here is the interview (There is a video link in the story)

Rain

2006-09-30T00:19:00.000-07:00

As of now, it is two minutes past mid night, and it is drizzling outside. I can see dusts of rain against my window. I am going to step out for a while….

12:10 .. still drizzling. There is a gentle blow of wind… so gentle that I can stay here and sleep as this sweet breeze drifts through and tickles my neighbor’s wind chimes. This is a precious moment. I hope it lasts till morning.

I want to close my eyes and soak up the heavenly…… Damn it, I am writing like an emotionally deranged seventeen year old girl - and I am NOT liking it. So mother nature, do me a favor. Piss all over me.

Why do wimmen wear bindi?

2006-09-28T16:10:00.000-07:00

For centuries, Indian wimmen have worn bindi, a red spot, on their foreheads. Although researchers believe that it has something to do with our religion, why wimmen indulge in forehead decoration is still a mystery.

Listen to Jignesh patel, a ~~7-11 owner~~ self made entrepreneur here in the valley:
“See in Gujarati community here, when women get married; she brings with her a dowry. On her wedding night, the husband scratches off the red dot to see if he won a convenience store, a gas station, a donut shop, or a motel!”

OBL dead again ?

2006-09-26T21:13:00.001-07:00

There is news that Osama Bin Laden is dead. I think he has been dead for a long time now. The guy is a publicity hog. He likes seeing himself on camera too much. I don’t think he could have laid low and stayed out the limelight this long.

Imagine for a second that he is NOT dead. I bet that the poor sucker probably wishes he were dead. Think about it, Osama was like a God man for his followers. Kinda like Chandra swami, but sort of skinny and with a better beard. He thundered threats and promised to kill the infidels. Look at poor Osama now. He is not seen for a while now. Most of his die hard followers are dead. Those alive are in jail wearing panties in their heads. His organization is becoming more like the West Indies cricket team.

I think the bastard is dead. Osma bin Laden, Osama bin fucked, Osama bin dead.

PS: I posted this couple of days ago, and then withdrew it thinking it may be offensive to some readers. On second thought, I don’t think it is offensive. The guy is a mass murderer, not a saint.

Al Gore

2006-09-18T15:29:00.000-07:00

Today, Former Vice President Al Gore gave a major speech on global warming at NYU law. Notably, he called for an immediate freeze on CO2 emissions:

"For the last fourteen years, I have advocated the elimination of all payroll taxes — including those for social security and unemployment compensation — and the replacement of that revenue in the form of pollution taxes — principally on CO2. The overall level of taxation would remain exactly the same. It would be, in other words, a revenue neutral tax swap. But, instead of discouraging businesses from hiring more employees, it would discourage business from producing more pollution."

In my my humble opinion, the guy is a crazed, evangelical doomsday-preacher. But I liked this idea.

Rajanikanth Movies, slice of real life.

2006-09-16T00:45:00.000-07:00

Things I learned from Rajanikanth movies

* Good men always carry a pair of sun glasses and an 8mm pistol in their pocket.

* ALL wimmen feel horny and flock skinny, dark, 65 year old men (think Rejjani) who carry a pair of sun glasses and a 8mm pistol in their pocket.

* If you carry a pair of sun glasses and a 8mm pistol in your pocket, you can fly.( I don’t understand why NBA players don’t do that)

* Good guys always get wounded in the left shoulder or the leg.

* ALL time bombs tick down to about two seconds and wait for the hero to figure out which wire to cut and disarm it.

* You MUST always carry a few spare pieces of high powered hand grenade in your pocket.

* Wimmen MUST always get caught in gun battle and damn near get killed and then crawl through a sewer and emerge in sprawling kancheepuram sarees and manicured nails. Their hair usually doesn't look too bad, either.

There you have it. Rajanikanth Movies, slice of real life.

Hell on earth

2006-09-10T20:20:00.000-07:00

Swamiji's idea of hell on earth is a one hour trip to China town in a Chinese tour bus playing Chinese music, nibbling Chinese food. A Cantonese woman shared seats with Om swami. She had cow breath, and belched often. He reached China town and there were more cows. Young ones and older ones. Elderly cows belched obnoxiously with appreciable quantities of readily combustible hydrocarbons, the likes of which can contribute to global warming.

Swamiji just called me for a ride back home. I need to stop blogging, and go rescue my friend.

I almost killed myself

2006-09-07T13:28:00.000-07:00

I almost killed myself last night. I went to bed around 10. It was cold, so the heater was on. In no time, I was dead asleep. At some unknown hour I woke up to an eerie querulous hissing noise. The room was hot like an oven; I was sweating profusely (and was a wee bit under cooked for a full tandoori). I looked around and took no time to locate where that hissing sound was coming from. It was the spiraled coils on the room heater that was red hot and sizzling. Wow ! That was a close call. Few more minutes, and I could have made it to the oddly enough columns.

All that heat made me thirsty, so I walked to the kitchen in search of water. After quenching my thirst, I looked in my refrigerator to find something to eat. I opened the freezer first, and didn't find anything interesting there, so I opened the bottom door and stuck my head in. It was cold, and boy! It felt GOOOOD. I stayed there with my cheek resting on a half cut watermelon. Slowly the overpowering smell of the sweet melon made me hungry like hell. So I grabbed it, pulled my head out, straightened up and…..baaaam! I damn near killed myself when my head hit the open freezer door.

When I came back to my senses, I was laying on the floor covered in splattered watermelon; my head resting on garbage from the knocked over garbage can. Above me I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a bend freezer door hanging on the only remaining hinge. And on my side stood a pair of bewildered wide open eyes which I recognized belonged to my wife. She looked at me like I was an intruder with six heads, like I was some one she did not know or recognize or had any sympathy for. It was not the baking nor the banging that killed me. It was those looks, and the act of agression that followed. THAT nearly took my life.

Onam with comrade Yeltsin

2006-09-05T13:34:00.000-07:00

Comrade Yeltsin was with me yesterday for Onam. After the feast he wanted to go down to Achaayan’s liquor store in Sunnyvale to buy a bottle of vodka. Above all that fried ‘netholi’ (anchovy), and paayasam, and lemon pickles the bastid still had room for some ‘dessert’. I felt bad for not stocking up for my friend. I have a duty to do that. That was a serious criminal lapse for which I must be dragged off and shot.

We did go to Achaayan’s liquor store in the evening. Yeltsin bought a long bottle of Gray Goose vodka, and a bottle of sweet smelling bourbon. The sucker hid the goose under his jacket and held on to it like a kid on piece of treasured candy. The goose was just for him. The holy water saw no other lip than his.

Don’t ask me why his father (and my teacher), Madhavan Pillai sir, named his son Yeltsin. Nothing could have been more appropriate.

Happy Onam

2006-09-04T21:52:00.000-07:00

Happy Onam folks! I just got back to my PC after two weeks of hectic, frenetic and backbreaking ~~laziness~~ activity. The three-year-old part time sweet boy, part time monster gave me a crazed look today morning when I told him I am staying home for Onam.

A lot has transpired in the last few days.

Pluto, the once planetary prince has lost it’s status and was relegated to planet non grata. So is PJ Joseph. The prince of Thodupuzha, Xaviar of the poor and messiah of the high range planters was forced out. The ex-minister continues to churn out theories, hypothesis and scientific facts to prove his innocence.

Kofi Annan is touring Lebanon on a pompous speech-giving mission. Where was Mr.UN Secretary General few days ago when Israel was dropping cluster bombs and daisy cutters on civilian targets?

The story of the Comair jet that crashed trying to fly from a short runway was scary, really scary. A similar accident happened few years ago at Taipei when a Singapore airlines Jumbo crashed trying to take off from a runway that was under construction. Cant traffic lights be installed on the ground so the pilots can see, or appoint a live person to check if pilots are driving on the right side of the road.

The Steve Irwin tragedy was a real shock today morning. I was addicted to Animal Planet and National Geographic channel. I use to religiously watch his crock hunter show. It is really ironic that of all the dangerous animals he bumped into, it was a simple fish that got him. But the man died doing something that he loved and enjoyed. Poor guy. He will be missed.

I am not gone folks

2006-08-30T14:23:00.000-07:00

I am not gone folks. I got a bit diverted temporarily, and in that process had a minor breakdown. I checked myself in to a mechanic. I might need a long over due oil change, a new pair of clutch, minor electrical works and if I have some money left over a set of new tires – hopefully the old legendary MRF Nylon grip, the ones with muscle.

I must go now. Be back soon.

When Harry met cockroach

2006-08-23T17:16:00.000-07:00

The Joseph story is deja vu. My friend Sujith and Jacob may remember this. Few years ago, a few of us friends went to a movie from college. Half way into the second half, there were some minor skirmishes near where our friend Harry (fake name) sat, which soon developed into a major melee. There was pushing and shouting and beating and next thing I know I was sitting in fetal position in the back seat of Jacob’s Ambassador car cruising away from the theater at 80 kmph. There was an eerie silence in the car. I had to wait till the following morning to know what had happened.

Harry was sitting behind two girls. While the girls were immersed watching the movie, Harry was feeling their plump buttocks with his bare toes. Girls begged him to stop, Harry played deaf. The girls exchanged seats. Harry exchanged legs. One of the girls tried to hit him (remember the skirmishes?), Harry happily rejoiced. Finally tired and hurt the girls called in their brothers.

The next morning, the brothers showed up with an army of thugs and gathered around Harry’s room. After some tense moments the hostel elders managed to sent them away. That evening after the smoke cleared, and the dust settled we asked Harry why he did what he did. With a cute smile he explained his innocence which I remember vividly to this day : “Eda, athu njaan oru pattaye kollan nokkiyathu alley” (I was trying to kill a cockroach).

Joseph of Thodupuzha

2006-08-23T17:02:00.000-07:00

Here is a clipping from today's malayalam newspaper.

I would like to believe Joseph here, simply because of the laws of physics and aeronautical nuances involved. Think about it; the plane was flying 45 degree inclined, there was a heavy gravitational pull from the front seat, the pilot had just turned off the lights which rendered the cabin a romantic candle lit ambiance, it was slightly misty outside, there was an inviting scent of Channel#5 imperial perfume in the first class section. In that moment of acquiescence and transcendence there might have been a gentle touch, a soft stroke of passion, a cute wink, a soft peck, Gggrrrrrrrr.

You can’t blame the minister for that.

Try this

2006-08-18T19:43:00.000-07:00

I went to bed at 2AM last night, thanks to the boat load of assignments due on 28th. Around 3:00 I woke up because the little guy was twitching and rolling in his sleep next to me. He was running a feeble temperature from his vaccination shot yesterday. I watched him in the moonlight that seeped in through the partially open shades . God! for all the hell he gives me, the kid looked so innocent. I resisted my temptation to reach out and wake him up. He twitched and moaned and breathed heavily. I wondered who he was fighting in his sleep!

Suddenly he murmured something indistinctly, and sat upright with his little dreamy eyes wide open.

I rubbed his hairs and asked “Bad dream?”

He looked at me and said "No" and paused and continued “Daddy I want to do something”

“It is 3 O’clock at night. Sleepy time. Go back to sleep”
“No, I want to do something” he said.
I noticed his lips dry, and asked if he wanted some water.
“Yes” he nodded
I gave him a sip of water. “Thank you daddy” he said, and promptly went back to sleep. But I didn’t. I sat by his side and watched him sleep in the moonlight that was still seeping in through the window.

Go watch your little ~~monster~~ child sleep. It is the most wonderful experience you will ever have. The more you watch the more wonderful it gets, to a point that it becomes almost heavenly. Look at a sleeping child, and you will know what I am saying. Try it!

Google Earth and Jayalalitha’s ass

2006-08-17T13:37:00.000-07:00

Just noticed the new Google Earth update. Hey, there is my home! In the teeming metropolis of Thonnakkal, Trivandrum. Notice that? We are protected from Osama bin Laden by the great Arabian sea on the west, Western Ghats to the east, LTTE on the south and by the royal state of Quilon to the north. I can also see Mr.VS Achuthanandan ruling our state with unbridled animosity from his own Comrades

Good news from Afghanistan. A project is underway in Bamyan Afghanistan, to put back together from the rubbles the giant statue of Buddha that was destroyed by the crazed animals called Talibans. The part that I loved most is the fact that the project is initiated by the local people

After I tore my shoulder muscles lifting weights, my doctor advised me not to lift heavy weights. After a 6 months hiatus I am back in the weight lifting circuit. Today morning I stacked up 4 (small) plates and was bench pressing while two scar-faced north Indian looking guys gave me a ridiculing look. Hugely hurt and embarrassed I stopped 'pressing benches', stepped aside and hit the showers. While I was about to exit the gym I saw one of them at the weights, straining, trying to lift a mother load of stacked up steel plates. I sincerely hope that he strain hard enough and stain his underwear. I hope he wet his bed tonight too.

Yesterday I came down with some severe allergy. My nostrils swelled up like Jayalalitha’s ass. I called my smart and handsome doctor to get an appointment. The assistant to my smart and handsome doctor informed me that he is booked up and the earliest appointment she can work me in is on Sept 6th (that is 3 weeks away). This is the same practitioner who told me to apply Tiger balm when I went to him with a torn shoulder muscle six months ago. I took her offer and am really looking forward to seeing my smart and handsome on Sept 6th. Till then, I hope Jayalalitha’s ass will stay put and not flare up further and kill me.

Bread, Butter, Milk, Omlette

2006-08-15T23:39:00.000-07:00

I have not been spending much time with Sriram these days. So while his mother was away I decided to take him out for some serious male bonding. During our rendezvous I tell him stories – little things, like things that happened to me, or people I know or lessons I learned etc. Today I decided to tell him the things I learned from my high school physics teacher.

Vasudevan sir was one of my favorite teachers in school. I still remember his strong hands and broad shoulders. There are rumors abound that he could tear a 200 page book by half, tear the halves again, stack up the pieces and tear it one more time – with his bare hands. He was tough like a block of steel. Nevertheless his heart was full of love and kindness for us. The lesson that I told Sriram, which I learned from him was this –
It is okay to make mistakes, so long as you admit those, and only a fool would repeat his mistakes.
Lesson number 2 –
Trust everyone, until they give you a reason not to trust them.

There is a very funny story that I remember about him. It was Vasudevan sir’s routine to randomly pick someone and ask questions on topics taught the previous day. If you failed his quiz he would ridicule you by asking questions such as:
“Oh you forgot to learn. But did you forget to eat last night?”
“Did you forget to finish your beef curry yesterday?”
“Did you eat kaala kolambu?”
That was his way of punishing us. Poor kids, we could do nothing but hang our heads in shame.

One time we had a new Punjabi girl, our headmaster’s daughter, who joined our class. This headmaster was a Major in the Army. So the daughter naturally was quite sophisticated. The girl was a tiny bit too mature for her age (literally and figuratively).I would be withholding sensitive information if I don’t tell you that she was sweet, bubbly, enthusiastic, talkative and had all the positive qualities one would expect from a army major’s daughter from Punjab.

It was her second day in class. As usual Vasudevan sir got into his quizzing mood. After finishing with the usual suspects he turns to the new girl.
“What is refraction?” he caught her off guard.
“I don’t know sir” she said sincerely.
“What is angle of incidence“
“I don’t know sir” she admitted shamelessly.
One could tell that Vasudevan sir was really irritated with her ‘coolness’ and by the tone of her ‘defiance’. The class went silent. We were all on the edge of our wooden chairs eagerly waiting to witness what happened next. I saw my friend Jaipaul secretly rubbing his finger nails hoping for the plot to thicken. It was time for her to be asked if she ate “Kaala Kolambu” and that – ladies and gentleman- is exactly what happened.
Vasudevan sir took a step towards her and asked:
“Did you eat beef last night?”
“No sir” She said
“Do you know if you ate breakfast today morning” He asked
“Yes sir, I ate breakfast today”
“Do you know what you ate for breakfast today”
Clearly unaware of the sarcasm the girl answered in queens Punjabi accent.
“Breeeead, Butteeeeer, Meeelk, Omleeette”
Vasudevan sir stopped for a fraction, and then burst into a fit of laughter.

A middle east peace proposal

2006-08-11T16:55:00.000-07:00

The Israel-Palestine issue is entangled in a never ending cycle of aggression and violence. While violence takes birth from despair and sadness, aggression has its roots deeply entrenched in fear and uncertainty. Suicide bombers killing Israeli civilians and Israeli bombers killing Muslim civilians will only add to more despair, sadness, fear and uncertainty – which is what got them into this madness to begin with.

To achieve a lasting peace, one must solve the underlying issues. The people of Palestine must be able to leave a decent life one filled with hope for their children and respect for their society and way of living. The people of Israel must be able to live with out uncertainty and fear. A day must dawn when they can send their children with out fearing people wearing Reebok jackets with wires hanging out.

With that in mind here is a crazy proposal.

United Nations, Oil rich Arab states and Western nations must help build schools, hospitals, roads, public utility systems and institutions of higher learning that will completely change the lives of Palestinians. Children should learn so they will have a bright tomorrow.

Multinational Corporations must setup small factories in Palestine, so people can work there. Imagine GE making light bulbs, Nokia making hand sets, Rubbermaid making plastic ware and Pfiser making cold medicine in that small region. This will create a vibrant economy and provide a decent livelihood for these people.

One of the key issues driving Israeli aggression is that of demography. Jews should come to grip with the fact that one day they WILL be minorities in their Israel. Their only alternative is to get on the good foot and do the bad thing. Jack up your production lines, produce more Jews. Other than that do what ever is it that you do to and continue to innovate, do business and win Nobel prices.

Palestinians must stop support for terrorism. Don’t get carried away by propaganda. Give the warlords and terrorists a chance to reform. If they don’t heed, drag them off and shoot.

I saved the best for the last - The center piece of my proposal is this - Time of India and Malayala Manorama should start a join venture in middle east, so young men don’t have to blow themselves up for the virgins.

Joyful Three Days

2006-08-07T16:24:00.000-07:00

I had the most joyful days in my recent history last week. I was in New York to visit a couple of friends from School. It was 16 years since we met. We were wondering how we would recognize each other. We all exchanged photos and decided that in the worst case we would walk around Penn station with our birth marks exposed. I have a nice mole on my buttocks, so I was all exited about the proposal.

The three days was the most fun I had in a long, long, long time. In all the three days, I hardly slept for over 3 hours each day for we had sixteen years of catching up to do. But still, when I came back home I felt light and refreshed, like I was just back from a vacation to India. There is something about your childhood friends that is soothing and refreshing that you just can’t replace.

(Sankari, my friend Sukesh’s daughter was too ready to pose for me)

I was solo on this trip, so I had some good convincing to do to my bitter half. I told her that man is essentially a hunter and hunting solo is a natural male behavior that needs to be encouraged. A night out hanging out with other hunters and staying “hydrated” can foster a more peaceful and relaxing atmosphere at home. Nothing can rekindle a relationship better than the male animal being away for a while. It is also a great time to clean the house too.

Iqlas

2006-08-05T22:57:00.000-07:00

My good friend Iqlas just published his first book – “Avan Ibilees”. It is a collection of eight short stories. Iqlas has been writing stories in prominent magazines like Kala Kaumudi, Malayalam and Mathrubhumi for a while now. His book is available at Puzha.com. I wish Iqlas all the best in his literary career and one day hope to see him win the Jnaanapeedom.

I must shamelessly ask him for a free lunch for the publicity. May be I should tell him about the new ‘Crazy Buffet’ place where I heard they serve frog legs and lobsters. Mmhh.. Next week is the mini marathon. So that wont be bad for a post marathon lunch.

Hindolam

2006-08-04T22:39:00.000-07:00

Here is a beautiful rendition of Padmanapha Pahi by the great great TN Seshagopalan.
http://swathithirunal.in/htmlfile/217.htm

Here is the same by Neyyattingkara Vasudevan
http://www.musicindiaonline.com/p/x/I4K2YQqXOt.As1NMvHdW/

Could'nt resist posting this.

Her Highness

2006-08-03T16:43:00.000-07:00

The other day I noticed a shiny Porsche GT2 on my rear view mirror. It was a topless convertible on oversized Michelin tires. I noticed it because the car was approaching like a rocket behind me, with a nice jet trail and all. I thought the guy driving that must either be Mel Gibson (drunk and doped up) or a silicon valley CEO driving his wife to an emergency room.

I stopped at the next red light when the rocket came to a screeching halt right adjacent to me, smoking the tires and all. You could cut the smoke with a pairing knife. I strained my neck and took a peek through the clouds. I couldn’t believe what I saw.
It was not Mel Gibson.
It was not a CEO driving his wife to a labor room.
It was a woman.
A young woman.
A young Indian woman.
A young south Indian woman.
A young south Indian woman in silk burgundy saree, gold ear rings and a blindingly shiny diamond nose stud. She looked too stunning to be piloting a GT2.

I got carried away and started salivating all over the steering wheel. I don’t know how she found out that I was looking, but she DID find out that I was looking. She turned and looked at me like I was a minor jerko and gave me THAT SMILE. I felt like a fool. I turned blue and the light turned green. By the time I stepped on my accelerator the GT2 disappeared like a bullet.
I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it.

I only hope it was her highness Srinija Srinivasan. Or I be damned.

Daal, Global Warming

2006-07-31T13:31:00.000-07:00

If you are from the great country called India, you know what Daal is. While moguls created Daal Fry in northern India scientists invented Sambar in the south! For me a perfect meal would be chappathi served with a large bowl of Daal with a spoonful of butter dancing on top of it and a generous portion of fresh sliced tomatoes.

Unfortunately, Daal is in short supply this year. Indian stores are selling daal at ridiculous prices. There is an unofficial rationing in place too. I asked the owner of a shop about the shortage and he blamed it on global warming. There was an unusually dry summer in India that dried up tender seedlings last year. As summer eased up and farmers began replanting, global warming brought with her a bout of severe monsoon that flooded their crops. By the time Monsoon let up, it was too late. As a result Daal is in short supply. Indian government rightly banned all exports to ensure the country had enough to feel her citizens first.

I heard daal has reached $6 per pound! Ask our desi store owners about Global Warming and they will happily ask for some next year too.

Achamma

2006-07-25T16:03:00.000-07:00

I remember listening to my grandmother tell stories about her childhood. She was about 55 at the time, but she was really OLD to me. She recalled vividly the long trips she took EVERYDAY from Kulathoor to Sanghumukham walking barefoot along those rusty railway tracks. On each one of those trips there happened something interesting that she saved in her memory to later serve up to her story hungry grandchildren. Every story she told me and my brother took place somewhere along those pilgrimage she took daily. I always envied the memories she had.

I was talking to her yesterday. We talked for a few minutes. Then she handed the phone to my uncle and asked him “Eda ithu Indira aaNoda ?” (Was that Indira?).

Oh God!
Time is stealing her of her memory. It is barely a year since I met her. She was sharp and running around like a twenty year old. When I left she held me tight in a big hug. I felt the warmth of her big belly, but her tears were warmer. Age is slowly catching up and taking its toll. What an irony for a woman who had a treasure trove of memories etched in her mind.

But achamma is also a very luck woman. She survived small pox; gave birth and raised seven children; gave and received the purest of love from twice as many grand children. She is always surrounded by loved ones. She always lived in her own home, slept in her own bed, ate from her own kitchen, and has an army at her disposal to do for her what ever she can’t do herself. I only wish everybody could be that fortunate.

Sankaran Namboothiri, Sabarimala

2006-07-24T16:41:00.000-07:00

Sankaran Namboothiri
A friend gifted me 3 CDs of Sankaran Namboothiri. I spend the better part of yesterday listening to the CDs. It was pure bliss. Especially the Swathi Thirunal Krithis. The guy is a genius.

It was a blistering 110 degrees outside, thanks to the heat wave that hit most of the west coast. But I enjoyed the coolness and serenity of a moon lit February night, sitting by the temple, listening to a nice kacheri. It felt GOOD. The only thing missing was freshly roasted ‘naadan’ peanuts wrapped in a news paper cones.

Sabarimala
I have been wondering all along, how a 30 year old fully figured actress could enter the sanctum sanctorum of Sabarimala temple and touch the idol. Now I get it. What a shame! What an embarrassing situation for the priest of Sabarimala temple to find himself in! I hope the folks who took the picture know about the photo sharing services on the Internet.

Killing a friend

2006-07-24T16:11:00.000-07:00

A friend visited me this weekend after a long, long time. Before I move into the main story I must tell you that he hasn’t changed a bit since the last time we met 15 years ago. Same old personality; same old physique. Perhaps he has become a little chubbier and slightly taller, but his warm smile is still flowered with the same old enthusiasm. Sriram was gracious enough to give his room to our guest for a day. While he was having a shower, I walked in to the room and saw his stuff spread all around the bed. In the chaos was an old copy of ‘The Story of a Shipwrecked Sailor’. I picked it up and causally turned the soiled front jacket. Man! I couldn’t believe what I saw! Hand written autograph by the great author himself – Gabriel Garcia Marquez! I turned the next page, and there was a hand drawn smiley face with one more signature!

At that instant I became unbearably green with envy. I wanted that book, and wanted it badly. I knew he would just laugh at me if I ask him. So I thought about killing him. I like my friend a lot, but I have other friends too. But this book - this is one of a kind. I planned to press a pillow down on his face while he slept. Then I could drag him along the trail and toss him to the Lick Mill Creek, which runs right behind our home. He could spend the rest of the night there while the crocodiles worked overtime on his sorry ass.

So I lay in wait last evening. After dinner, he was watching ‘The flight of the phoenix’ on my sofa, and I was keeping an eager eye on him to doze off. It was 11:30 and he exhibited no desire to sleep. It was 12:30 and still the guy was sipping beer and watching TV. I dont remember when I slept off, but I woke up today morning on the sofa still holding the pillow that I wanted to press down on him. I guess either he got lucky or the crocodies were terribily unlucky. Because he was still sitting there with my son watching Elmo!

He got away this time. But if he ever comes back to my house with that book, he may be more difficult to locate than Sukumara Kurup, once I'm through with him.

Barber, Recipe

2006-07-19T18:00:00.000-07:00

The hunt for a cheap barber landed me in the hands of a brilliant Iranian barber – or is it barbress – or lady barbini. Anyway, she impressed me as an excellent story teller. In twenty minutes I had my hair clipped and I learned all about her, her country, her profession and her family. She had me spell bound as she detailed her escape from Iran. I was also scared, because while she narrated the stroy she would get enraged and arch back, kick on the hairy floor and swing the scissors right around my face. It was scary, It was also awe inspiring like watching Saving Private Ryan.

The woman was nice to me. She tried ‘restyling’ the remaining hair to cover up my balding top. Unsuccessful, she enlightened me on how the miracle of Rogaine could change my life for ever. I liked her. It was every penny worth the twelve dollars. I think I ought to have my hair cut more frequently.

The Iranian lady barber also shared her favorite Persian Lamb Fry recipe. It involves first injecting cubes of tender lamb meat with frozen butter sticks. Then you marinate it with special spices and melted butter. Then you suffocate the sucker in a plastic wrap with even more butter before you chill it in the fridge. Once chilled it is deep fried in Butter or lard. There you have it. Quintuple bypass surgery ready to go.

Prayer of St.Francis

2006-07-19T00:12:00.000-07:00

I have a time machine. Whenever I want to go back to being a 12 year old Cadet, I just have to recite this prayer of St.Francis. I instantly find myself in the school auditorium, tranquilized by the cooing of wood-pigeons and the prayer of St.Francis.

Lord,

make me an instrument of Your peace.

Where there is hatred,let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,grant that I may not so much seekto be consoled as to console;

to be understood as to understand;

to be loved as to love;

for it is in givingthat we receive;

it is in pardoningthat we are pardoned;

and it is in dyingthat we are born to eternal life.

Bookmark this page, Read this aloud when you feel the urge for a Prozac.

Almost hit by lightning

2006-07-15T19:16:00.000-07:00

I was talking to my parents today morning and could hear heavy rain slapping down on the ground. They said it had been raining like that for the last few days. Half way through our conversation there was a shuddering sound and the phone line snapped. I tried calling them back, but I couldn’t. I don’t know yet what happened, but that reminded me of a somber afternoon few years back.

There is a clay mine at one end of our village; the place is a lightning magnet. You could see helpless victims everywhere; Dead trees standing burned from head to root, trees with trunks split vertically, and scores of black charred stumps that were once happy coconut trees.

The area surrounding the mines is open and kids regularly played cricket there. It was an early evening around 15 years ago. Sky was dull, overcast and appeared to break any moment. I was playing cricket with my friends. The other team was bowled out and it was our turn to bat next. During the break we slipped behind the privacy of the wilderness to take a piss. There must have been around 10 of us, all lined up in unison. I unzipped my pants, tossed out my hose and began pumping. I don’t know what I drank, but I pissed like a horse. We were competing as to who could piss the farthest when…

TTAAAAAANNNGGGG…

A bolt of lightning touched down right before us. It was like a bomb going off (Although I have never seen that happen). The humongous bluish-yellow glow blinded me for quite some time and the deafening bang ringed in my ears for two full days. We all ran like little wild pigs. The next thing I know I was standing near a cowshed, immersed knee deep in moist cow dung, my hose still out in the open, and pants completely drenched in piss. There was a strange smell in the air, like the scent of new aluminum utensils. I reached down to zip up and saw hairs on both my hands standing up like bristles, like the mane of a lion! Static electricity in its purest form! The bristles stay put like that for a long time.

Later that evening I went back there to reclaim our cricket gear. The place still smelled like aluminum. Two tall coconut trees were burning, very close to where we were. It was mere miracle we were not hit. Most of the kids were on bare foot. I was connected to the ground at that time by a trail of urine sample. I was lucky that my crown jewels didn’t get fried or dropped off. Thank goodness, you don’t get spare parts for those.

I never told this to anyone, for fear that it would reach Amma and I will forever be banned from playing cricket.

Where is my government

2006-07-15T17:29:00.000-07:00

A must read analysis by Pradeep Nair.
http://bpradeepnair.blogspot.com/2006/07/where-is-my-government_15.html

Surprise! Mumbai blasts had cross-border support

2006-07-14T23:22:00.000-07:00

There are all the signs of a brewing war in Middle East. Lebanon is being cut into pieces. Gaza, which is already crippled, is being pounded out of existence. Civilian facilities and infrastructure like power stations, water tanks, roads, airport etc are bombed to rubbles. Innocent people are dying. It is sad in a way that civilians are being targeted.

But Israel’s position is also clearly understandable. What else can they do when the enemy does not have a face? What else can they do when the enemy is an (extremist) ideology and not a nation or its army?

While Israel is standing up to terror, our prime ministta Dr.Manmohan Singh made a statement today from under Soniaji Gandhi’s skirt – “Mumbai blasts had cross-border support”. Oh! What a surprise. Is that our response? When are we going to have leaders with testicular fortitude? I only hope that our leaders stop their messianic rhetoric and fire up those beer-bellied colonels into action.

The Mozart of Madras

2006-07-13T19:02:00.000-07:00

I got a call from my manager today reminding me about an all-important meeting I was supposed to attend. I looked at my watch and it was already too late. I ran to my car and drove like a maniac. I tried to stay calm, but it is hard when you are this late to a meeting this important. In the car the current affairs program ‘World’ was playing. Just as I reached my destination the anchor started this story on India. Then the hit song “chinna chinna asai” began playing. Wow! I looked at my watch and though about the meeting.

Screw the meeting. I sat and listened to the whole thing.

Here it is:

http://stream.publicbroadcasting.net/production/mp3/national/local-national-520403.mp3

Italy Campioni!

2006-07-09T23:17:00.000-07:00

I am not a foot ball fan at all. But man, what a game! I think Marco Materazzi also deserved a red card. He must have said something real nasty for Zidane to head-butt him. It was funny listening to commentators on ABC. There they were, Italy and France playing soccer in Germany. And here was ABC soccer specialists trying to please their American audience. “Berlin - This is where USA won the Olympics in 1936. This is where Jesse Owens won 4 gold medals. France just scored a goal. Jesse Owens was born in Oakville, Alabama. The AMERICAN surprised many by winning not one by 4 gold medals. Coming back to the game, Zidane scored the first score for France. Italy 0 France 1. Owens was cheered enthusiastically by 110,000 people in Berlin's Olympic Stadium and later ordinary Germans sought his autograph when they saw him in the streets."

Vegetarian

2006-07-07T16:57:00.000-07:00

I am not a vegetarian. There were many occasions when I tried to become one but failed for lack of discipline. That’s only if I DECIDE to become a vegetarian. So long as I don’t decide to become a vegetarian I can go on and on for long periods of time, with out ever eating or craving for fish or meat.

Two days back I read about cholesterol and heart diseases and DECIDED to become a vegetarian. Immediately I wanted to eat fish. Soon an inviting aroma of home made chicken curry bothered my nostrils from no where. I got all misty and salivating. But I trained my mind to be disciplined. I am a strict vegetarian for the last 3 days. It has mostly been rice, cabbage and ladies finger and it was good.

Today I went out to have ‘veggie burger’ from McDonalds. But the pretty picture there of grilled patty smothered in melted cheese brought me to my knees. The arousing aroma of the actual thing knocked me over. I ended up eating a double beef whopper- a stacked mountain of meat cheese and more cheese, an extra large order of French fries and an industrial size drink. I can feel all that grease and fat and cholesterol cruising though my veins. I got into my car and let out a wild Tarzan scream. ...grgrgrrrruuuuhhhhh.... - Boy! Did it feel GOOOD.

A tale of two pots

2006-07-03T12:47:00.000-07:00

I received this from a friend today. Man, What a story!

An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a polewhich she carried across her neck.One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water. At the end of the long walk from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full. For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do.

After 2 years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream. "I am ashamed of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house."
The old woman smiled, "Did you notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you water them.For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house."

Taking care of business

2006-06-30T16:30:00.000-07:00

Kids have an amazing ability to see things that others don’t see. Just a couple of days back Sriramji spotted a weird looking insect below his toy box. I couldn’t really figure out what it was, but it did look mean and vicious. We lifted the box up and he spotted two more. The boy jumped up and down and shouted in sheer delight -“daddy look, look” – he said and reached down to pick one sucker up by its neck. I had to struggle to restrain him. “No” I told him “I will take care of that, that’s daddy’s business”

I moved him to a safe distance and quickly stepped into action. The insect trio looked at me viciously through their nickel colored eyes. It was intimidating. I reached for a can of pest repellent spray and doused them with a healthy doze. They seemed unmoved! In fact the enemy drew close to each other, slapped a high five and burst into a fit of insane laughter. I refused to accept defeat and sprayed them my wife’s perfume which is capable of knocking pretty much anything in the vicinity unconscious, but that didn’t help either. I grew impatient. I was beginning to feel sick in my mind. So I took a heavy frying pan, slipped it into a plastic shopping bag and smashed the buggers flat with it. Instant insect chutney! Man I felt so mean.

Kids have an amazing ability to remember things too. Today morning Sriramji picked up a fight with his mother. I heard him crying and soon saw him running to the kitchen nekkid. From there he emerged with a frying pan in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. Still crying and profusely dispensing from his little nose, he handed the weapon to me and pointing to the adversary said “amma shouting mon. Take care business daddy”

Dammit! I felt terrible. I think I inadvertently taught him a bad lesson. I had to give him a big baby lecture to undo the damage I did. But I am very relieved that he did not take care of the business himself.

Criminals

2006-06-29T12:34:00.000-07:00

After reading this blog I have a two point program to put an end to Bandh, Harthaals and general strikes.

1. Media should stop reporting calls for Bandh and Harthaals. Unless people are aware of this alternate lifestyle choice, they are not going to sit at home and watch those wasted TV serials.

2. Local party goondas with obsessive antisocial personality disorders (like stoning vehicles and attacking shops) should be dragged off and shot. These are the bastards who make Bandhs a success.

In the interest of reducing raising crimes these days we must consider putting a 3 strike law in place to ensure that habitual crooks, thieves, party goondas, mobsters, pimps and hustlers will be locked up for ever. You do a crime - you go to jail. You do it again; you will be forced to take a pilgrimage to Kakkayam police camp or Fort police station. (All male criminals must also undergo a week of mandatory psycho-therapy where they are locked up and made to watch Malayalam TV serials.) If they survive the treatment and crime again they must be locked up permanently with no possibility of a parole. An inter state prisoner exchange program should be established. Prisoners from Kerala should never go to a prison in Kerala. They must be sent to jails in Bihar or Rajasthan or some other northern state where the natives despise Malayalees, so they can’t get cozy with their patrons and enjoy benifits like scotch whisky, fried sardines and frequent conjugal visits.

Football

2006-06-23T06:50:00.000-07:00

This is football season. I must admit shamefully that I am not watching the world cup. Firstly the 3 year old TV mechanic did something smart to the TV, that it speaks only in Spanish now. Secondly, I don’t know much about football, except the good memories of playing football in school and our great football coach Unni Sir.

Unni Sir was a damn good coach. He dressed only in white shorts and white T-shirts. He coached us in shorts, came to the mess hall in shorts and I bet he even bathed and slept in those same old shorts. When he did not wear shorts, he wore a white pant and a white full sleeved shirt. He really knew how to motivate us, and that made us give him our 110%. He took special care of us kids, like arranging us special food – always something extra and nutritious than what other kids were served. An extra egg, or a tall glass of undiluted Milma milk, or an additional robesta banana. He walked around the mess hall and made sure his boys ate well. I was not a football maniac, I sneaked into his coaching team just for the extra ration.

Every morning started off with a few laps across the ground. We had to run like fire crackers, for if we came last he made us run penalty laps. We sweated like we were dipped in water and gasped like a fish out of water. Still, after the big laps we had to run the little ones – the short 50m sprints. We, the little Ben Jonsons, ran till we collapsed and died. Then there was stretching and flexing and strength training before the real coaching begins. Unni sir was as strict with the game as he was with the warm-up. If you ever fumbled with the ball or not follow his rules, you are doomed to a week of running. You ran till your legs wore out, then you ran more till the sun went down. If you did not dribble correctly, you had to do front rolls and get a migraine in your little kiddy head. There was punishment for everything – For wrong passes, for a missed ball, for wrong kicks– there were punishments for everything.

Although most of us did not get into the school team, we learned a lot from that experience. If you could do a week of practice in those dusty desert grounds, ignoring the scorching sun that tortured and baked your backs - you know you could do anything you set your mind to. Later in life that toughness never fails you. My football coaching taught me to realize what I am able to do, and what I an unable to do. It taught me to overcome fear, pain and fatigue, it taught us all to be modest and humble.

I have a few injuries from those days – specially my screwed up knees – that haunts me to this day. Nevertheless, Football as coached by our great Unni Sir, taught me great lessons in life.

Trout Hemingway

2006-06-19T19:03:00.000-07:00

I thought luck was a product of brilliance and hard work. That is until I met this guy. He is a gentle soft-spoken Kannadiga with a calm demeanor and plenty of good luck. He worked in a small firm during the mid 90s when that firm was acquired by Cisco. Although that made him rich by a couple of millions, he loved the quiet of a small company. So he waited just long enough to vest his options out before joining another startup. As luck (or bad luck) would have it, that startup was also acquired by Cisco. Burdened with a few more millions in his bank, and unable to cope with big company politics, he quit again and joined yet another small company, only to be acquired again by the mother ship. Tired and fed up of money accumulating in his bank account, the guy seems to have quit quitting and appears resigned to his fate.

There are some people who are born lucky. You thrown them into a dirty ditch and they will come out with gold watches in each hand.

Ate some good fresh trout this weekend from a restaurant called the 'Fish Market'. The dish was called 'Trout Hemingway'. Nice and rich, baked with butter, bread crumbs and all. Being very hungry I finished it in no time; Little did I know that Trout Hemingway was supposed to be eaten in short discrete sentences.

The Indian grandfather was pushing his grandkid in a stroller at Safeway. Looking at his face I could pretty much guess his name - It cannot have been anything else but Venkataraman or Swaminathan. He had three fat stripes of vibhoothi on his forehead, and a bouquet of long inflexible gray hair decorating each of his ear lobe. He was wearing a khakhi summer shorts and an oversized Hawaii shirt, which stood out as minor but high visibility blemishes in his otherwise beautifully designed south Indian landscape.

Have anyone told you something with this disclosure - “You are the only one I have told this to. Don’t tell anyone”. Few days later another mutual friend or relative will pull you to a corner and bite your ear “Did you hear about so and so… BTW don’t tell this to anyone. He told me not to tell anyone. You are the only one I am telling this”. Then you meet a total stranger while taking a leak at a movie theater, and you discover that you both know the other person; then he looks around like a kid sneaking candy and gently asks you “Did you hear about him? …. BTW please don’t tell anyone. I am telling you because it’s you”.

Sugar "Cane"

2006-06-16T16:23:00.000-07:00

Here is the sugarcane story I wanted to write yesterday.

Abdul Samad was my good friend and roommate while I was in Thrissur briefly. Since his dad passed away, he was raised mostly by his tough disciplinarian mother who wanted him to be as meticulous and thorough as her. Even after his body showed clear signs of burgeoning adolescence she would shout at him for the smallest mistakes he made, and whacked his skinny ass when he misbehaved. But the genius worked meticulously and thoroughly to be quite the opposite of what his mother wanted him to be.

He took me home one day, and on our way to Wadakanchery, his home town, he warned me one last time about his hot tempered stickler mother. When we reached home, I found stacks of sugarcane all over the place. He explained to me that they had a small sugarcane farm and they sold the produce to a local co-operative run by a Brahmin priest they called ‘Saanthi’ (priest). As we entered the verandah his mother came out to greet us. She was a sweet, kind woman quite contrary to the mental image I had formed of her. She laughed like wind-chimes and talked like a drill sergeant. But she was loving and affectionate and seemed to enjoy my company.

The next morning, after a solid breakfast complete with pathiri, mutton curry and a tall glass of buffalo milk (mixed with the sweetest sugarcane juice I ever had), Samad and I sat down to watch a cricket match. A moment later his mother called out to him and asked him to deliver some sugarcane stacks to the co-operative, since the saanthi who usually came to pick those up could not make his rounds that day. Samad, fully immersed in the match did not hear what she said. She waited for a minute and then came into the room turned off the TV and shouted at him like a feverish subaidar . I was stunned. After she left, he looked at me embarrassed, and then as if nothing had happened turned the TV on. She shouted from the kitchen once again at my friend who was still watching TV completely oblivious of his responsibility.
“I will go in a minute” he replied - which turned out to be the wrong thing to say to her at that time. She stormed into the room, pulled out a sugar cane stick from the stack and swung a nice square drive that landed neatly near his biceps. He let out a weird cry, and shot up like a spring. “GO RIGHT NOW” she ordered, drawing back for another drive. Poor guy, he turned off the TV, picked up the stack, loaded in his bicycle and disappeared in no time, only leaving a cloud of frightened dust behind him.

I was scared stiff. I feared that she would take aim at me next. But instead she looked at me affectionately and said “kutti kandoloo” (“son, you can watch”). When Samad came back home he had a nice pink welt on his arm from the batting, which looked like the co-operative saanthi’s trademark vibhoothi that he always smeared in his arms.
“Umma” he called his mother “Look at my hand, you made me a saanthi (priest)” .
“Yes” she shouted between the clatter in her kitchen. ”Don’t think you are too smart. If you ignore me ever again, I will promote you to a mel-saathi(senior priest)”

She meant that, too.

Exhausted

2006-06-14T22:40:00.000-07:00

2 PM.
I am exhausted. Terribly exhausted. It’s been a while since I exercised and suddenly today afternoon I ran to train for the Big Sur half marathon. I ran okay till the 12 mile marker. Then my muscles began rebelling. My legs began to quiver. There was a weird sensation that started in my knee, climbed up through my thighs and instigated a stiff uncomfortable cramp in my stomach. My chest began to move into my stomach and started jingling rhythmically. I had to slow down. Then I walked. Walked a little more before I crawled, and finally passing out. I think someone carried me across the finish line.

When I woke up an hour ago I am at home in bed, with a leg hoisted up from my hip on the head board. There is a nauseating odor of Iodex and Bengay. I am very thirsty, but too tired to get up and walk to the kitchen.

5 PM.
I still feel very thirsty sore and wasted. I was planning to write about a sugarcane incident today. But right now I am worse off than sugarcane refuse, extracted of all its juices. Have you seen one of those mean juice-wallas, the ones who would put sugarcane through a juice extractor over and over each time tightening the gears till the last atom of the last drop is squeezed out? He would torture the poor thing so badly that one would feel guilty to drink its juice. Right now I fell like a sugarcane that had been through the hands of once such juice masters.

10 PM.
This is getting worse. My son is sitting on my leg trying to unscrew it, but I don’t feel a thing. What is bothering me is the idiot who is testing his car alarm outside. It went off at least 10 times in the last 10 minutes. I hope I get better by tomorrow, so I can fire one of those hell fire missiles at that idiot and his alarm.

Women - now and then

2006-06-12T22:57:00.000-07:00

I was in my office today evening scrambling to go pick up my son from his daycare when a colleague ran up to my cube hissing and panting and shaking. She was visibly terrified and looking for help. In the spurt of the moment, for no apparent reason, I somehow assumed that a disgruntled former employee was inside the building chasing her down with a Kalashnikov. She looked so scared and clueless that for a flash moment I panicked myself, and began to crawl under my desk. Then as if being poked with an invisible needle of shame, I felt the need to at least fake some chivalry. After all, what are the chances of any women, let alone a beautiful semi blond co-worker coming to me begging for help. I felt a sudden inrush of testosterone. I collected myself, pulled out a thick power cord dangling from above my desk, and jumped out in to the line of fire ready to strangle the disgruntled former employee with a Kalashnikov. Seeing my strange kalari-payattu pose, she looked at me, with a dirty hesitating glance of pleading and repugnance.

It turned out that she had a cockroach in her cubicle. She is not alone, most women these days are afraid of anything but their husbands. My wife will collapse in a jiffy at the sight of a cat, specially those black ones with shiny green eyes. I had a friend whose bitter half almost called 911 one day, to report a spider. I wish my grandmother could come and teach these women what courage is. Man, is she a strong woman?

Flashback.

I may be 10 years old, at my grandmothers’ home for my summer vacation. She is quite old and almost half blind with a pretty thick pair of soda glasses. Her backyard had dense vegetation mostly from arrow roots (koova) and tapioca plants. One day, we were playing inside; when we heard a loud shrill. She was in the back yard harvesting arrow-roots when a big snake lashed at her from between the plants. The poor snake must have been out of it’s mind or new to the area, for it was certain he didn’t know my achamma well. Man, she crushed it’s head with a log of fire wood. The loud sound we heard was the snake screaming "Yentammooooo". Achamma called out to my uncle to bury the perpetrator. My uncle looked at the corpse and shouted “Amma, that’s a ‘chena-thandan’!!! It could have killed you.”

“Don’t worry, It wont kill you NOW!." Achamma replied in a serious tone. For a quick moment she looked more mean that the mean snake itself. That was how old women were like; I think that is how women were meant to be.

Old Songs

2006-06-11T22:32:00.000-07:00

We were raised in a fairly poor home, but my parents made sure we were watered, fed and clothed decently. We never had TVs or anything until long later. We had an old National radio, which was a lot like today’s TV, with news, songs, drama, and comedy – not to mention the assortment of commercials from Colgate tooth powder to Family planning. All India Radio had programs that catered to people of all class. There was “vayalum veedum” for farmers, “kambola nilavara bulletin” for Wall Street enthusiasts and copra wholesalers, “bala lokam” for kids, “yuva vaani” for youths, and “kandathum kettathum” for housewives youth and the jobless alike. My favorite was the music programs – “Chalachithra Gaanangal”. There was a one hour encore presentation every Sunday at 1 PM, called Ranjini that featured popular film songs. I associated “Ranjini” with the smell of fish curry made with sour mango, because being weekends Amma always made lunch around that time, with fish curry and sour mangos.

There are a few songs that still give me goose bumps, no matter how often I listen to them. “Innum Ente Kannu neeril…” and “Kannay Kalai Maaney…” by Yesudas are two of them. Every time I listen to these songs, my eyes tear up. The music just goes straight into my heart. I don’t know what is special about those old songs. I don’t know if it is the earthy lyrics or the simple music. But it sure sang directly to my soul.

Click the links to listen:

Innum Ente Kannu neeril

Kannay Kalai Maaney

Downtown

2006-06-09T19:35:00.000-07:00

I was in downtown today to visit the IRS office. IRS is out to get me, they sucked a good percentage of my pay check last year and it looks like that didn’t satisfy their rapacious appetite. The IRS auditors believe that I did not report a certain 320 dollars and 21 cents profit I made from the sale of a certain EBAY stock. So they sent me a warrent that I owe them a total of $9160 and 16 cents. They are after me viciously. I think I am screwed. Rape seems inevitable at this point, so I will as well lay back and enjoy.

Here are some scenes from downtown.

I see two drug addicts at the train station, a fat black man and a skinny white woman. Let me call them Jessie Jackson and Cindy Crawford. They are connected at their lips by the power and beauty of French kiss. They strike a pose which make them appear suspended in mid air and arrested in the stillness and tranquil of eternal love. They occasionally detach themselves from the grip of emotional paralysis to enjoy a puff of smoke.

I see two other bums right opposite to me . The woman is leaning on the man on his seemingly flabby but somewhat buoyant and uncompromising chest. She is sobbing. She is also munching from a bag of cholesterol free nacho cheese Doritos. Her sobbing has left two independent trails of slimy thick mucus on his bare chest. One terminated at his wrinkled right nipple, while the other took a slight deviation, maneuvered a hair-pin bend at the suburbs of his beer belly and disappeared into his navel base.

The girl in tight jeans and tight tanks is undoubtedly a candidate for the Guinness book of world records. She will have no rivals in the tightest dress category. Looks like she put on the tiny dress when she was barely 6 and had been growing inside it ever since. Her furious, vigorous, hyperactive body grew over the confines, over flew the limits and continues it’s uncompromising obdurate growth. The specimen is now on display in front of Old Joe’s deli near downtown station.

There is a guy on skateboard wearing a muscle-T. He is skating the length and breadth of the light rail station, clearly aggravated by the monotony waiting for a train. He has a tattoo on his left biceps. In fact he has a couple of tattoos on his left biceps. No, he has a couple of tattoos on both his biceps. No, he has a few tattoos. In fact he has quite a lot of tattoos. In fact he is covered in tattoos head to toe. I think he even has tattoos in his soul.

I never knew the meaning of the word downtown till recently. During my first year in college, I had a friend who was very well exposed and spoke quite decent English. But I was very embarrassed to ask him the meaning of a seemingly ordinary word. So I plotted some ingenious ways to garner this information from him with out ever having to embarrass myself by asking him directly. When he says something like : “They have good Biriyani at Bimbis restaurant”, I would pretend uninterested and as if to engage him casually, I would ask him with a burst of fake enthusiasm “Oh! You mean in downtown huh?” That way I could figure out from him if Bimbis was in fact in Downtown Ernakulam, and if so I hoped to figure out from the geography of the place what “downtown” meant.

From beedies to Cuban

2006-06-08T23:50:00.000-07:00

Abdul Rahman Khadir was born to poverty. He was his bappa’s companion and shadow. His baappa use to send him to buy cheap home made beedies from labba kakka’s shop. He stole a beedie or two and smoked secretly. By the age of 11 he was an avid smoker. Soon he distinguished himself as an avid drinker too. His father’s other woman and local shack Maggie Sarada poured him her home made concoction. Soon he found a job in Chalai market in the city. He bought himself Kaja beedi and genuine arrack. He volunteered his time to be a professional thug for a well known politician. This connection took him to Bombay. When he was on vacations he came regularly to my uncle’s shop to buy Gold Flakes and club soda. It was only a matter of time, before he went to gulf. He walked around with a pack of Marlboro and a whiff of Eau De Toilette. Johny Walker was his new found taste. He opened a modest electronics shop in Dubai and as luck would have it, tasted the sweet nicotine of success. He ordered the finest boxed cigars from Cuba and sipped the best of single malt from Scotland. His empire grew. He owns a chain of electronics stores in Dubai, Bahrain and Quatar. He is retired now and back in our village leading a dream life, addicted to home made beedies and illicit local brew.

A father is raising his son. Trying to refine him to be benevolent and kind like Gandhi, think like Isaac Newton, write like Charles Dickens, speak like Winston Churchill, succeed in life like Bill Gates and be modest and humble like Jesus Christ. He pushes him to be the best human being in the whole world. But Goddammit! He doesn’t realize that the son is a teeny tiny little kid running around in his cute little size-2 underwear, crushing a pappadam his mother gave him all over the room. Father wants to achieve what he couldn’t, living the life he didn’t, through the life of his son. I am myself guilty of that crime.

The wife is trying to clean up the pappadam mess. Literally on a war footing, she is now on a tug or war with the stubborn vacuum cleaner. The machine refuses to pick up the little pieces of crumbled pappadam. She is cursing, kicking and abusing it as if it is her husband. She seems to be giving up. The machine is running full power - she is gently squatting down, picking up the pieces bit by bit and feeding it to the vacuum cleaner. Now if you would excuse me I would like to go to the patio and get a good laugh.

Déjà vu

2006-06-07T23:23:00.000-07:00

Mr.VS Achuthanandan reminds me of his predecessor Antony. Antony was as honest and straight forward as they come. I would like to think that VS is a bird of the same feather. From the jubilation and drama that followed his victory last month, it was evident that people really liked him and had very high expectations of him. But sadly, less than a month since he took office, it appears to be Déjà vu all over again.

If poor Antony had poor old Karunakaran as his detractor, VS now has Pinaray Vijayan biting his behind. Pinaray is proving himself to be more venomous and ugly than the famously venomous and ugly Karunakaran. Ladies man Kunjali Marikkar is replaced by the alleged VIP Kodiyeri Marakkar. Mr.Crook PJ Joseph is KM Mani and TM Jacob rolled into one and multiplied by Balakrishnapillai. Under congress party Kerala was a green, serene and dusty little state where good hard-working middle class people like pimps, prostitutes and perverts thrived. VS’s Kerala is ushering in new brand of skilled workers - hustlers, gangsters and goondas. The very comrades who opposed karimanal, smart city and express highway are the new evangelists for karimanal, smart city and express highway. It is fun to watch the whole drama playing out.

Pinarayi Vijayan is a damned fool who doesn’t learn from history. Voters are smart these days, very smart. They screwed the painful benighted bums like Karunakaran, Murali, TM Jacob and Balakrishna Pillai and put them out of their own miseries. Pinarayi Vijayan is either blind or an idiot to ignore this. He is competing to be the most excruciatingly painful bum of all . If I were him I would think differently. VS is 92 years old or something. This is pretty much the kid’s final game. As the top guy in the ruling party, I will swindle and steal as much as possible. I would rent a few jumbo sized bank lockers at the union bank of Switzerland. I would order a tunnel to be constructed from Trivandrum, via Cochin refineries, via Bombay high, via Persian Gulf via Caspian sea to secret bank accounts in Moscow. I will insert my cronies into important positions. I will praise VS, for if VS is perceived to be doing well I am the next chief ministta. I will dress up as Robert Frost and write poetries about VS.

Our CM is like aging wine

He is my bro oh! He is mine

Like old smelly cheese

like a pan of old grease

I am cute and young

Although Loose is my tongue

I think that this old mare

Do still have some flair

I will pick up Karunakaran, his son and their concubines, expose them, bring these terrorists to light and jail them. I will pick up the alleged serial rapist Mr.Kutti and parade him neykkid. The entire Malabar will for ever vote communist. That is what I would do if I were Vijayan. If Pinarayi does this, trust me, he will be a hero and guaranteed to be the Chief Minister for the next 50 years.

I doubt he will listen to my advice, so I have advice for Kissinger Chandy. Eat well, exercise, get good rest, get your regular colonoscopy, and make sure you don’t get a freaking heart attack, get that nice daughter of yours married off to a nice kid. Just lie low. Don’t do anything stupid. You will win the next one.

Swatting flies, Killing snakes

2006-06-05T22:31:00.000-07:00

I visited a friend at his sprawling new nearly a million dollar home, this weekend. Beautiful home! It was neat, it was orderly and it was impeccable. I envy him for his lavish home and more so for keeping it tidy. We were eating lunch when a pesky little fruit fly sneaked in. The maid, a somewhat husky red-headed Mexican woman, was summoned for a bug busting mission. She stepped into the room, looked around to locate the antagonist, and then with the grace and dexterity of a professional killer tiptoed silently towards the beast. What followed was a gory saga of unspeakable brutality. She swatted the fly and the fly swat her back, she chased the insect and the insect chased her back, she showered Hispanic abuses at it and the fly hissed back at her in perfect Buckingham accent. There was swatting, beating, shooting, booing, mooning, hacking - it was likes a scene from one of those Dracula movies, dreadful, bloody and shocking. After five minutes of intense gun fight, the badly battered women succumbed. Later my friend explained to me how these little rascals are making him sick. “They bring in bacteria and germs” he said. “I have pest control, but they just keep coming”

I smiled and thought of my childhood home. My home was a fruit fly command central. We were blessed with an abundance of fruit bearing trees, like jack fruits, mangos, guava, pappaya, banana and gooey cocoa. Fruits were so abundant that no body cared to pick those. Squirrels, crows and little birds feasted on them. Like poor old men, ripe, miserable and half eaten they fell and rotted. Flies swamped the area. There were enough flies to form a CITU local committee. Big flies, little flies, fat flies, skinny flies, happy flies, jealous flies, fly that sang songs, flies that had MBA degrees, and they came in all types and denomination. Then around the time when schools reopened, it rained and the flies would all die down.

But rains brought in tadpoles instead. My aunt, who was only a few years older than I was, had a theory about tadpoles; she believed they came from clouds. "Black clouds are pregnent clouds"
she would say "they are pregnant with black tadpoles". Rain water collected around coconut trees, where happy tadpole families took refuge. Within a few days the happy little tadpoles became happy little frogs and happy little frogs became happy big frogs. They invaded our homes, in ones, in twos, and then in whole battalions. But soon they would all disappear as well, with the tapering monsoon. Then it was the time for the millipedes, which reigned supreme well past our Onam vacation. We always had guests that kept us exited.

Snakes were the most prevalent of all. It seems to me that our village nurtured more snakes than the entire Amazon basin. Those paddy fields and the surrounding marshes were snake havens. Specially ‘neerkoli’ and ‘chera’. Even the most concentrated and relentless Endo Sulfan treatment by local peasants like Raman Pillai did not pollute them out of their sanctuaries. But it did kill his buffalos and eventually killed him too. Killing snakes was a macho thing, especially for young men. It was a festival of sort. Young men armed with ‘madals’ (coconut leaf-stems) would surround the reptiles. They poked into holes, smoked them out and boxed in the helpless creature. They would stone and beat the snake into submission. Dead and mutilated it was left there for display. The whole village would gather around it. Men, women, children, everyone. Young girls timidly laid their wistful wiggly eyes upon young men - with enthusiasm – with interest. Young men gloated in approval and with a heavenly sense of accomplishment ‘exchanged eyes’ with their secret admirers. They formed un-spoken bonds. They established invisible tiny chords of ephemeral village love.

I have only beaten a snake once, and that too a dead one. It was fun; adventure – I felt the gallantry of killing a predator, a sense accomplishment like a roman gladiator, an immense gratification of walking around like a macho boy. I was too young to generate any “eye tracking’ attention, nevertheless it was fun and amusing. It was more amusing and adventurous than watching a husky Mexican maid swat a fruit fly.

Spam

2006-06-04T17:53:00.000-07:00

Spammers have been harpooning me relentlessly, flooding my email accounts with all kinds of advertisements. I receive financial deals from relatives of dead African dictators, free palm smart-phones, prizes from online lotteries, zero percent mortgages promises (yes ZERO percent) etc. They even figured out that I have erectile dysfunction and offered me free Viagra and a weapon enhancement surgery. The association of retired bolshevik whores of Moscow were kind enough to offer me physical therapy after the surgery. Once Steve Jobs wrote to me and begged to accept a free iPod. On another occation an agent for The Alfred Nobel foundation, disguised as a Swedish barber, wrote to me that he could arrange a Nobel price for me in exchange for my friend’s email addresses.

Just like most of you, I spend a good half hour every day weeding through my inbox locating genuine emails. Lately, among these junk, I am noticing a spammer inundating me with ads for mangos! “Mangopeti - Alphonso Mangoes - Door Delivered”. Yes,Mangos! Not Viagra not Ephedra not H-51 Hoodia or one of those free molly maid services – Mangos! Delicious, juicy mangos hand picked from the finest orchards in Ratnagiri. I have been deleting these e-mails and marking those as spam. But I am beginning to wonder if I should open it, open it just a little bit so I can see what is written inside.

I love mangos. But I have never eaten a real Alphonso Mango. The nearest I have gotten to is the so called Alphonso mango pulp we get in Indian stores, which my friend from Bombay says is nothing like the real one. Pulp is only like Jithendra; poor man's Amithab Bachan; not the real deal. I would kill to eat a slam dung, honest to goodness Alphonse Kannathaanam. So I am wondering, may be this is my chance, my god given opportunity to savor the real one. Perhaps I should open it and see what MangoPeti is about. Unlike those online poker gigs or date-a-russian-hooker numbers or Paris Hilton with barnyard animal videos this is something that is worth checking out.

May be I should open it.

PS: If I were Pat Robertson I would have even wondered if God himself wrote this e-mail.