Resolutions for 2006

Thou shalt not put senti.Cheap senti or otherwise. Not online, not offline, not phone line.

Thou shalt read more Nabokov. Luminous angels with purple wings, here I come.

Thou shalt fit back into 32". Hello treadmill and sixpacks.

Thou shalt write and publish. Poetry/ prose/ even letters to editor should do.But do.

Thou shalt get 700+ in GMAT. All else be damned.

Er...Thou shalt write GMAT and not postpone it.

Thou shalt move to Bangalore/Chennai. Even though one will miss the sunsets and the fishing nets.

Thou shalt carpe the diem, festina lente and in vino find the veritas.

Thou shalt not practice fake Latin or write bad blogs for timepass.

GANJA is the new TURTLE!

GANJA TURTLE - THE TRUTH BEHIND THE LEGEND

Let me put an end to all this speculation about my blog name. Obviously am not going to explain this without a fair bit of story telling, so sit a while, have a drink, put on some Floyd and read this...

At school in Madurai, when we weren’t forming gangs to beat up classmates, when we weren’t following pretty girls home, when we weren’t hiding from people who wanted to beat us up, when we weren’t hanging from the footboards of town buses, when we weren’t stealing love letters from classmates' bags, when we weren’t (no, that’s not true, make that "when I wasn’t") trying to somehow crack integration/differentiation fundas and barely pass in HSC math, when we weren’t sharing beer bottles & mutton balls in dark underground bars, when we weren’t bullying weak lady teachers, when we weren’t writing English exams with letter writing sections addressed to Chelsea Clinton, when we weren’t sharing bowls of thickened goats blood after basketball practice & gym, we also QUIZZED.

In high school, along with Pervert by Social Compulsion (PSC) and another guy called Roshan, I was part of the local school quiz team & our ultimate goal was the MADURA COATS INVITATION TROPHY - not without reason - this was hosted by a local school called Vikaasa - the school with the prettiest babes in town. Besides that, this was the only trophy where they had an awesome cash prize of Rs.500 each! So me & Roshan (PSC wasn’t yet part of our quizzing gang) prepared like mad - memorizing capitals, currencies, sobriquets, books and authors, species, animals, historical dates, presidents...we coaxed our parents and teachers to let us prepare during weekends & PT period; Google was non-existent then, so we had to rely on print and print only - I started off from the end of the McMillan encyclopedia and Roshan started working from the front...thus did I learn the meaning of zymurgy and realize that Zenia is a flower (which I proudly recognized years later in the hilly slopes off Peermed). The big day came...and there we were against the strength of the Kendriya Vidyalayas and Bhavans of the world, along with a whole lot of very smart looking students as audience.

Although slightly shaky against these bastions of propriety, we cracked the prelims &  semis and moved on to the finals...against smart tie-laden personalities with funny English accents, we seemed totally outdated...but somehow after connecting Singapore to a stinking flower and pointing out the old name of Tokyo was Edo and explaining why women tennis players skirts were called Jesus Wept, we won! And how! My mom and Dad took that Rs.500 note from my hands and have kept it somewhere safe, till today - first earnings senti.

When we came back, we were local heroes...the Principal- a very distinguished man called Nandakumar (who was used to calling me into his room usually for perusing aloud whether I should be suspended or dismissed from school) this time actually praised us in the school assembly. It almost erased the blot I had earlier earned when he shouted at the same assembly in front of LKG-UKG, 1st to 12th STD students "GJ & RAJKUMAR, GROWN LIKE MULES AND YOU CANT EVEN KEEP QUIET DURING THE FLAG SONG - and boomed at me separately "WITH YOUR FATHER IN THE NAVY, THIS WAS THE LAST THING I EXPECTED!"

Sometime during the MC invitation quiz, we realized that both of us were pretty bad at Indian Music-both filmi & classical (I had brushed up-or so I thought-on Western Music by buying a whole lot of Bon Jovi, Billy Joel, Michael Jackson tapes)...and during our various interactions with PSC, he seemed to know a bit of Indian Classical/Hindi Music. So he became part of the quizzing gang. And from thereon, there was no looking back - right from the Vikaasa Youth Festival to LOSA (Old students association) culfests, we were local studboys.

One of my favourite showdown moments was - LOSA 94 or 95, I think - As usual it was, Us vs Vikaasa-final round...Vikaasa team consisting of Mr.American accent + PY fair babe with Sanskrit sounding name + geek looking Northie - all with mini clouds of perfumes floating around their heads...us - slightly sweaty students of varying heights in tight bluechecked uniforms...a lil background check on the quizmaster had revealed the fact that he loved a particular type of round as the final round - asks you to choose a topic and then he asks for "ANY TEN" somethings related to that...so we thought that if we said American politics the only choice this guy would have would be to ask us for names of 10 American presidents - so Yours Truly had memorized the names of American Presidents - from George Washington to about Chester Arthur...so the moment came and he asked us exactly what we wanted him to ask and  phat phat phat - I shot out the names of the 1st ten and asked him if he wanted ten more...I know, a bit of arrogance...but hey, those were the days when I was made of light - if you cut me I would shine! (Na, not mine, Billy Collins' line).

Next was Vikaasa & we all know what Amaerican-accented perfume cloud floating Indian boy will choose as his topic - Wastarn Meesic! Having apparently waded through the kilos of MJ/ Aerosmith/ Beatles musikassettes at home to reach this quiz, what else would he ask? And what was he waiting for? TEN GRAMMY WINNERS?-he could reel that out in 5 secs...TEN OST ARTISTES? 7 secs...TEN AFRO-AMERICAN ARTISTES? TEN BOY BANDS? You could see that puppy like eagerness in his face..."Give me my juicy question! Give me!" his face said...and that’s when the clouds parted and a light from heaven seemed to shine down on the quizmaster and suddenly he looked even more wise, revere-able and Moses-like...like the Matrix, where everything happens in slow-mo time-slices, the quizmaster turned around in a measured masterly movement and faced the Vikaasa team – giving them the grimmest look he could muster, he said "GIVE ME THE NAMES OF 10 WESTERN CLASSICAL COMPOSERS"

The uniform next expression on the Vikaasa teams faces, in all its yummy memory can be expressed exactly in the Tamil phrase- The "Inji Thinna Korangu" look. Translation being: The look of a monkey that wanted something sugary to eat, found something and biting it, realizes that it is ginger...time stood still as they looked at each other, at us and then at the audience...

And slowly they started off “Beethoven, Mozart, Vivaldi.... er.... Tchaikovsy.... Andrew Lloyd Webber...Phillips?…and faltered off! And that’s when the audience got to its feet and roared their throats off (we were on home ground)! We had won again!

After schooldays, we parted – me, due to er…familial compulsions, went on to do my B.Com at a local college, PSC went to do his integrated MCA at Madurai Univ, Roshan went on to Anna Univ for his Engg...after joining college, I was looking around for a quizzing partner when I chanced upon a fat, seemingly slightly intelligent "Arunthur Dent" (he was in the top 5 in his class)...those days he used to swing to "Backstreets Back, AWRIGHT" and his home was the local lunch get-together place for us all, conveniently located next to Bhaikadai, local sherbet + vada +cigarette shop, which again was conveniently located next to Lady Doak College – our sistah institution...he wasn’t yet the heavy metal loving slim boy karate kid nerd that he now makes himself out to be;-)

With a fair application of thought, we concluded that since technically American College came under the Madurai University jurisdiction, we could join up with PSC and technically call ourselves the Univ team...This was one of the best times of my culfest life - FESTEMBER @ REC Trichy, Cascall, Harmony, PECOFES, JIPMER, IIT-M,Fisheries Institute, Kovilpatti - we went everywhere where there was even a remote possibility of a quiz being organized- in T-shirts, dirty jeans and Hawaii slippers (Arunther Dent was the decent exception). Along with this, me and PSC also got into crosswords/ JAM/ Dumb Charades/Creative Writing...our culfest to culfest existence was what made life in Madurai barely tolerable during those years...each fest had its share of local heroes and invariably we would turn out to be the wild card entry from “Madurai-Jeez, wheres that??!!?” that walked away with the prizes! (ok…maybe only some of them ;-)

Sometimes in the middle of all this we started attending open quizzes...like the Landmark quiz (we never even got into the finals), the Odyssey quiz and the LIMCA quiz-in this, we got short-listed and got to travel to Chennai for the finals-staying at a 3 star hotel for the 1st time in our lives was awesome-Arunthur Dent was jumping up and down when he saw the two TVs in the room and was so excited that he applied moisturizer to his head thinking it was shampoo. It took us approx. 2 hours to convince him that NO, HE WOULD NOT LOSE ALL HIS HAIR AND WOULD HE PLEASE CHANGE FROM A SHORT WRAPAROUND TOWEL AROUND HIS BODY INSTEAD OF POPPING OUT OF THE BATHROOM AND ASKING WEIRD QNS AFTER DOING WEIRD THINGS! (Maybe slightly exaggerated! ;-)

We managed to beat teams from Bangalore and Chennai to reach the finals and were up against the quiz-lords of the metros - IIT/IIM/MCC/BISHOP COTTON/ LOYOLA...one team (IIT?) broke away right from the beginning and raced ahead...us and Loyola, I think, were tightly tied for the 2nd place- and there was no 3rd prize...after 3 rounds of tiebreakers, we were still tied and tension ran taut in the room -it was then that a question involving Io & Ganymede happened – and try as we might, we couldn’t narrow down - all of us had totally different answers, so we decided to wild guess and alas, we went wrong! To this day, Arunther claims that he had said Jupiter, but we tend not to believe him – he’s like that only.  And thus ended yet another long tension fraught adventure. But this time in failure.

And finally......yeah…finally, coming to the point, the fallout of these open quizzes was that you needed to have a different sounding team name...like say "I, Iyer, Iyengar" or "Morons of the Nth order"...After several rounds of brainstorming, we could think of only one group of weird creatures similar to us  - the "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles"...while we could claim to be "TEENAGE" (without doubt) "MUTANT"(something that both our parents and the Bhaikadai gang would swear over to), "TURTLES" (it was doubted several times over whether we belonged to the human species - with a name like PSC, you can understand right?),  "NINJA" was a thing that stuck like a fish bone in the throat...try as we might, we just could not find any connection between us and NINJAs (despite…ahem...my Karate brown belt!) and unfortunately all of us were quizzers in the purist traditions - unless we found a decent connect with NINJA, we wouldn’t touch the name with a quiz-pole.

Which is when I got to thinking about typical personal characteristics of each of us - not finding anything noteworthy, my lightning fast mind moved on to college/city references... During the 60s/70s, The American College was reputed to be a hotbed of rebellion-wild western music echoing Morrison and Hendrix, anti-war movements, strong causes, passionate arguments that divided the entire college on philosophical lines - these were the stories that were passed on to us about our now watered down alma-mater...and the fuel behind these fires was allegedly blessed Ganja - legend has it that the hostel students of Dudley Hall lovingly cultivated ganja plants in their gardens and actually cured and smoked them-a lovely self sustaining model of economic viability!

This really struck a chord or rather several wild riffs in us - that otherwise unkempt, wild eyed, acid rock loving, dirty hostel students could so dedicatedly bring themselves to do something as neat& basic as ganja cultivation - ensuring that wee green saplings got adequate sunshine, water, making sure no weeds grew nearby...it really seemed so delightfully incongruous! Esp. given that people like me/ PSC etc (sons of respectable university professors) now had turned wild and wanton somewhere in our quest for truth, justice, beauty and beer...

And Voila – the TEENAGE MUTANT GANJA TURTLES were born!

2 wild quizyears later, after Arunther Dent left for his MCA, TMGT became Perverts By Social Compulsions (a name coined by PSC obviously)...but since “TMGT" was a personal brainchild, I still love that name...I can’t call myself teenage anymore (especially when the kids are calling me “Uncle”) and neither am I still a mutant species - these days am as propah as a starched shirt, dimple-tied, power-pointed, mobile wielding corporate specimen can get- a shadow of my college self - as irritatingly human as one can get.

But yes, deep inside, the GANJA TURTLE lurks!

AMEN!

UPDATE ON GMAT PREP

UPDATE ON GMAT PREP
Down with a throat infection so am downing some antibiotics everyday and falling asleep as soon as I start to prepare everyday. Somewhere deep inside, I appreciate myself for making a noble albeit useless gesture. The show must go on... even if I do fall asleep, let it not be said that I didn’t try!

WHERE AM I?
After my last KAP test (where I scored 540), I had to attend a couple of interviews at B’lore, which meant almost no prep happened for the last 1 week. Now am back clocking approx. 40 problems a day - on various subjects from Reading Comprehension to Math to Data Sufficiency. But somewhere there’s this feeling of unease - that am not focusing on where am going wrong...let me try and summarize again:

WHAT AM I DOING RIGHT?
1. Getting English-SC/ARC/CR mostly right.
2. Finishing well within time in the above sections
3. Doing well in the AWA section

WHAT I CAN DO BETTER?
1. Take more time on each SC/RC/CR problem and double check answers.
2. Create and follow structure/process for dealing with Eng section

WHAT AM I DOING WRONG?
1. Not finding where am going wrong on the "Two planes/trains/ people approaching each other" problems (sorry, but to admit that am weak at time/rate/speed problems would be too much - i get some of them right ;-)
2. Quite unsure of number properties problem
3. Unable to time and finish problems-esp Math
4. Getting distracted with SMS etc during practice sessions
5. Starting practice too late after office and sleeping off in between problems (ahem it happens, re ;-)

WHAT AM I NOT DOING AT ALL?
1. Managing practice sessions within time limits - only Maths.
2. Taking stamina sessions - cracking 80 odd problems in one go
3. Checking GMAT forums for tougher problems
4. Not reviewing wrong problems seriously
5. Not identifying weak areas and working on them.

Have about 7 weeks to go before GMAT; this weekend will sit and work out a solid schedule for at least 2 hours prep and 1hour review everyday.

• Need to crack this SOB!


• Must crack 720+!


• Must go to Tuck!

20 YEARS OF BARKS AND BITES!

Although it is not World Animals Day, I wish to commemorate this otherwise boring day to the various animals that I have shared my life, love, bites, balloons and brother with...we moved into the University quarters in December 1985 and the 20th anniversary of this occasion deserves a commemorative post – here’s to all the other species who shared L4 staff quarters with us!

DAAG #1 - Lucky
We called him Lucky because our auto almost ran over him in Madurai but didn’t. Dad immediately picked him up and we took him home. My brother and Lucky grew up together-it was damn cute to see both of them-running around, curled up in bed, sharing biscuits. Although only a mongrel, Lucky grew up to be a partner in entertainment - some games that us evil boys played were to pin a hairpin on the tail and watch him go round and round.... another was to put a rubber band around his ears and confuse him- that an evil spirit was holding back his years.... Lucky was quite tolerant of all this and never bit any of us...The University quarters was ideal for him - long winding paths with trees, peacocks and every other thingamajig - it was a miracle that Lucky didnt get bitten by a scorpion or a snake during those early years - given that the area was called Nagamalai - every other stone concealed a scorpion and there were hajaar snakes all around. All of us shared and survived brawls, beatings and bones. Lucky grew old and died and is now buried under the biggest of the 5 mango trees around our house. A lot more interesting thigs happened but somehow my memory clouds over -a discussion with bro and mum should set things right.

DAAG#2 - Brownie
Not very imaginatively named but then that was Brownie for you- she had such a sleek brown coat that we couldnt have named her anything else...Brownie was another paavam mongrel brought in by my paavam younger brother. Brownie was a she and was a very loving she....Dad had this thing about discipline - every puppy that entered L4 Staff quarters was taught the importance of discipline from a very early age. And how - beatings without mercy until a tired, exhausted all pissed out Brownie finally extended a paw to SHAKE HANDS. But despite all this, Brownie was a free spirit - every now and then, she would slip her collar and roam around the quarters with us boys chasing us down on cycles and Dad on his Chetak, finally cornering her around some thorny bush...after various curses and screams, Brownie would get thoroughly beaten up and spoken to about the value of DISCIPLINE. Often at night, some of Brownie's suitors would vist her and we would spot them kissing her through the wire fence - Dad took this as seriously as he would someone trying to make out with his daughter and would carefully aim and shoot at the Roadside Romeo Gang with his airgun...not that it hurt them too much-what can 5mm soft lead pellets do against raging hormones...not that it kept them away...one of Brownies dalliances resulted in 4 pups...each one totally different!
Thus were Michael Jackson & Doberman born. It was a bit too difficult to keep up wth 3 dogs esp for a working woman like mom, considering that Dad was going to be on ship 8-9 months of the year. So after about 3 months, Dad as usual took the tough decision (and absolved us of guilt and further caretaking responsibility) of leaving Brownie so that we could take proper care of the pups. I still remember the day we went to leave Brownie about 12 km away from home...she totally trusted us and I was holding her in the backseat of the scooter. Finally we dropped her off and Dad accelerated away...man, did she run....like some greyhound or stallion with ears straightened out, she ran full speed behind us for about 3 kms and finally dropped off...then in the distance, she slowed down ...my eyes were flowing, so everything still seems blurred. Even now.

DAAGS#3/4 - Michael Jackson/ Doberman:
Michael Jackson - Named because he was black and white and also because I thought naming him Michael Jackson was one way to get the better of a singer I never could understand in those days.
Doberman - because if we couldnt buy a pedigree dog, atleast we could name a mongrel that.
Grew up under the same disciplinary clouds and learnt to shake hands at the tender age of 3 months. Although mostly embarrassing, being the only owner of scooter+sidecar had its rare plus points - unlimited no of dogs/ kids/ general mish mash could be bundled together into one shakily cohesive riding mass and put into loud motion. Michael Jackson and Doberman loved fitting into the sidecar and during vacations 3 shouting boys, 1 screaming girl and 2 funny looking dogs could be seen screeching up and down the quiet roads of the University campus.
Dad being very fond of seafood bought lots of crabs and prawns and insisted that MJ & Doberman be fed the vitalizing leftovers - unfortunately MJ developed some infection after eating crab shells and died soon after- he was around 4 years.
Doberman barked on for another year until Dad returned from ship and decided that me and bro should start contributing to the family by starting a rabbit business - and although we strongly insisted that Doberman was gentle enough, Dad somehow felt that she would be a danger to the rabbits - She was Dad's favourite and he still did that- a tough man, my Dad. Amidst many protests and cries, Doberman was taken to be abandoned under the pretext that she was big enough to manage for herself. This time around, I remember refusing to  go along and do the abandon act.

SQUIRREL#1-ANIL KAPOOR
Sometime while we were chasing around Doberman & MJ, some squirrels decided to make their home in various lofts in our rooms - given that we lived (and still do) at the base of a hill, there were many trees all around the house - so squirrels had free access to various rooms. It was thus that we found lots and lots of squirrel nests every time we climbed into the lofts/ upper shelves. One nice summer afternoon we heard a thump and lots of squeals - rushing into the hall, we found a fallen squirrel nest. Put together with bits of cloth, coconut fibre and bits of sofa sponge, it seemed like the softest bed in the world. Inside were 3 pink baby squirrels-their eyes weren’t even open yet and they looked miserably unhealthy. Mom, in her usual hustle bustle manner, quickly arranged a shoebox with holes (my mom firmly believes that all living things require a "well ventilated room" to live in). Initially they refused to do anything except squeal a lot...we realized that two of the squirrels were male and one was female...It became quite embarrassing when the female of the species in her hungry quest chanced upon the male organ and started sucking it...ugh, we thought and tried to keep them away from each other - but no one could put up with their high pitched squealing when separated, so we had to ...er...unite them again...as was expected, the boy didn’t survive the onslaught of Evil Eve and died shortly. A week later despite a different diet of milk etc, the female also died - we gave them proper Christian burials with plastic shrouds, deep graves and sufficient mumbo jumbo prayers...am sure there’s a moral in there somewhere ;-) By this time, we had found out that we could feed them by wetting the edge of a wispy cotton saree in milk. Later we graduated to filling up ink feeders with milk. However with two down and one to go, we decided to name the survivor - and we named him Anil Kapur (Anil is the Tamil word for squirrel). Anil Kapur became a stud in the house!  Despite various innovative feeding technologies and wildcats around the house, he survived and graduated to idlies, cream cakes and almonds. Imagine a squirrel walking around on tiptoes- for the 1st 4 months, thats how Anil Kapur walked around...on his tiny tiptoes. A severely friendly character, he was extremely portable - fitting into caps, pockets and cloth bags...for quite some time, he was the resident alarm clock - mum, when she wanted us up at 7am, unleashed him and he gradually explored our ears, nibbled at our necks, ran across our backs until we woke up...sometimes when there was a loud noise, he rushed into our palms and cradled their - small heart beating very fast and later slowly peeked out to check if the world was safer yet. Anil Kapur gradually grew up into a full fledged hero and started exploring the wilds behind our house- he occasionally came back for idlis and chocolate, but was last seen flirting with a demure female squirrel in the green dales at the edge of our universe.

FURTHER UPDATES OVER THE WEEKEND ON...
RABBIT#1-JACKISTAN
RABBIT#2/3/4-INKY/ PINKY/ PONKY
RABBITS# 4/5/6/7/8
MYNAH#1
CURRENT DAWG #5- BLACKIE ALIAS RAMASAMY

TRIPPING - KERALA STYLE!

Lazy as usual…so posting something I wrote about a year back after going to the Pooram (temple festival) at the Tripunithra temple. Unwillingly dragged off by an over-enthued roomie, I later ended up spending the entire night there and returned back to my flat at 4am…mind still resounding from the sounds and the furies whipped up as the night unfolded. Originally had named this in a minimalist fashion “Old man to young boy”, but later my ego took over for want of a creative, “funny” title. As is apparent, I am not as funny as I think am.

I didn’t want to make it mushy-mushy at the end…but sometimes you don’t make the end, it makes you ;-)


HOW TO TRIP AT THE TRIPUNITHRA TEMPLE FESTIVAL(

Walk slowly in, past a half-demolished arch
that once was heaven's gate,
taking in deep whiffs of elephant dung,
lime-soda and the masses.
This evening and the lighted night to come
must be done slowly,
imbibed in, like a rare wine,
salvaged from a shipwreck in the Atlantic,
to be seen, stirred, smelled,
Let it seep slowly through all the senses,
into every dark corner of your mind.

Walk slowly in, dont miss a thing,
it is essential that you do not
miss even the small sleeping figures
of resting elephant-men,
lying beneath the grey mountainous figures
of fifteen majestic pachyderms,
this is their day out, decorated as they are
with chrome & gold,
coloured plastic paper and small umbrellas,
its all about symbolism.
Maybe the seven on each side are jealous,
to only stand and wait,
beside the alpha-animal, the 8th elephant,
the bearer of a Golden god,
and so deserves a bigger umbrella, more colourful paper
and generally better things in life.

If you had come there earlier, perhaps
you would not have missed
these gentle giants extending a foot,
for their mahouts to hold their trunk
and jump on for the ride of the evening.
not very unlike a dog offering a handshake,
friendly, final acceptance.
If you had come earlier,
you would not have missed this.

But you still have time
to see, feel and maybe get dripped upon,
with hot oil by the many six-footed candelabra
that wiry old men carry with Christ's ease
and light the temple's world,
burning torches towering high,
but not so high as any of the 15 elephants.
This being the era of affectations,
of artificial light, sound and thunder
you think that the strobes and speakers would
somehow overshadow these antiquated bearers,
not so, not so,
these men seem to stand out, seem to burn
with the vigour of a lamp in its last minutes.
But do not get mesmerized,
by the burning of the candles,
or the bearing of the bearers,
this is the side show.

That was a sideshow,
but the Carnatic concert in a dark long hall
with a holy-ash smeared singer,
a man with an upturned pot, a Ghatam,
and a small mridangam player,
is most definitely not a sideshow.
Since you are late, you will miss
the frenzied competition between
the Ghatam and the mridangam,
these men do it with utter ease,
as if to play were to breathe,
reflexes born of a million hours' practice,
But you are late and have missed this,
so try to elbow your way into the front
and get a glimpse of the ecstatic singer,
as he launches into the final stage
of a performance closer to his heart
than all than those done in the big cities,
for this is his temple, his town,his own.
Listen carefully for you might miss
the lowermost note of the sonograph
that his voice flows down to,
before reaching a crashing crescendo,
as he smiles at his brothers-in-arms,
some understanding, some heavenly concord,
some magic seems to bind them
in a way you simply would not understand
unless you have seen them caught,
immersed & finally engulfed,
in the rhythm of one equal music.
John Donne's words, not mine.

But you cannot risk missing
what the French would call
the tour-de-force, a beginning
of the end of all ends,
the panchavadyam,
music of three drums,
clashing cymbals,
and shining horns,
music that whirls your mind
into thoughtless throbbing,
music that seems to resonate
from times older than mankind itself,
music that seems to evolve
from the centre of your gut,
and slowly flows through
the corridors of the temple,
music that seems to make
the warm yellow lamps flicker and
frenzied sweat from ebony skin glitter.

You cannot risk missing this,
so go in advance, well in advance
so that you can stand before the God,
well before the God's bearer,
the gold & grey mammoths,
and the dripping oil of the warriors of light.
Stand well in advance and safely bask
in the noisy glory
that temples and men's belief can evoke.

As you stand so,
doubtless you will be distracted,
being the hot-blooded young man you are,
I know you will be...
by the whitesaree clad,genteel girls
sometimes looking back at you,
with such boldness,
as even your girl back home wouldnt.
At your age, boy, it would seem
that a challenge has been thrown,
perhaps a call for a duel,
and an invitation to meet your destiny,
If you feel so, if your head reels,
and your skin flushes, rest easy, boy.
Rest easy for it is not you or them,
it is the crackling hypnotic air,
the air that lilts
with the blowing of the ancient horns,
the air that pulses
with the beat of the drums,
the air that sparkles
with the fire of the torches,
the air that resounds
of bygone aeons,
with only this day and time left,
to deliver us ,if only briefly,
back to our confused, entangled roots.

But if you must be distracted by the women,
be distracted in their entirety,
by their gold entwined sarees,
by their sandal dotted foreheads,
by their lush black hair,
by their small bare feet,
Be distracted by the ones who look back at you,
and the ones who coyly turn away.

Be distracted by the royals,
who shun the common & bare ground,
and stand and sway a floor above,
watching the rest of humanity,
15 elephants and one golden god,
from lofty imperial heights.

Be distracted as I was every year,
by a serene, smiling princess,
some vestige of nobility,
a reminder of the royal past,
caught, framed and enshrined,
in my mind,
at this meeting,
this meeting of all the ancient arts,
this meeting - the Pooram.

Be distracted as I was,
for all the 3 years that we were there,
and looked at each other,
swaying gently to the hypnotic waves,
that the panchavadyam washes you with,
as we looked and looked,
not a word spoken, the glance unbroken.
Be distracted and give yourself wholly
to the girl you are distracted by,
your eyes, ears, skin, everything
tingling with a heightened madness,
that you can experience only in the magic
that is the temple festival of Tripunithra.

The Ecstasy & The Agony...

Here’s a genuine GMAT posting after a long time – over the last 2 weeks, have been at prep on and off because of work pressure etc. However just realized that almost half of my prep time is over and got to get serious.

So planned for an overdrive over this weekend (home-going plans cancelled due to floods in TN) and took both the Powerprep full length exams on Saturday. Got reasonably sexy scores-690/ 720….the metaphoric equivalents of say a bikini (but not a wet bikini – that’s 750+.)

Floated around on Cloud 7.5 for quite some time, messaging all and sundry about a fundu score etc –esp. since the Powerprep is supposed to be the closest indicator of the actual score…however just had a nagging suspicion that this might be because I have covered quite a lot of the OG (some questions being common to the OG & Powerprep).

So in a fit of masochistic enthusiasm … after the usual appams & stew @ Coffee Beanz…after the usual Mass with usual staring at local beauties (there’s one particular girl who’s caught my eye, lately)…after the usual “Hey God, tell me what the hell is going on”…I took my 1st KAPLAN CAT!

Maybe it was something in the stew…
Maybe He got offended at too much of staring during His time…
Maybe Kaplan likes to psych students with ultra tough stuff (just the way IMS does for CAT)
Maybe it just wasn’t my bloody day

Ended up with a paltry sickening 540 – UGH is not the word!

So after generally wandering all over Cochin, here I am back at my system trying to pin down where the &*$%^ I went wrong…

And until I find that out, no more updates on theatre, on how my HR guys found out my blog site or on the latest book I read…Amen to a noble resolution, Ganja Turtle!

Summary of scores till date
Kaplan Diagnostic (wimp test) – 650/ Q-39/v-42
Powerprep 1 – 690/Q-41/V-39
Powerprep 2 – 720/Q-47/V-41
Kaplan CAT1 – 540/ 28/30

Well, if nothing else have been shaken awaken by this score…okie, gotto go now and find out who hit me/ from where/ why/ how did it happen! Bhai,bhai.

Dear XXXXX

(Too lazy, so posting a long letter to a friend instead of a fresh post – if frustrated, do feel free to splatter me with cream cakes- am hungry)

Dear XXXX,
How are you? I thought I would break the stalemate of "will she mail, will i mail" by nobly venturing forth. But before I update you on the many inanities that mark the milestones of my life, let me admit that I didnt know Haruki Murakami was a she? Are you sure? I remember seeing an album cover of a Japanese man in one of those melancholic covers that mark out such novels in the windows of airport bookstores.
Maybe it was Ishiguro.
Maybe it was a mistake.
Maybe I was drunk.
Now now, before I follow the examples of lonely Tamil women in strange quasi-Mexican land who love to lie on the beach of dusk as waves of self-pity wash over them, let me come to the main subject of this mail - which again is not much in the greater scheme of things but still does matter to us - you and me. (LOL - love rambling like this)
 
The truly important and self centred existence of Ganja Turtle continues in full blast as always. Rather predictably but still with enough splashes of random happenings to make it an interesting subject for a once-in-a-month mail. Any more frequent and then we would have to fall into a routine of "I woke up in the morning, brushed my teeth and dragged myself to and back from office and yeah...I also ate lunch" We dont want that, do we.
 
In this illustrious company that I work for, we are short of cash for everyday operations. While this paucity makes for some very interesting anecdotes for the app essays of various B-schools, the everyday reality of this phenomenon SUCKs. No new laptops, no canteens, the A/C conks out every 2 days and what start out as "Mega advertising campaigns" (inevitably ushered into MS PPT at beginning of the month reviews) are eventually watered down to two small palm size advts in dailies which no-one reads - these poor darlings- them that have issued from the font of my ad agencies creative bowels and so look suitably dirty & clutttered - have to fight for space amidst bigger blacker & whiter brothers promoting a wide range of products and services aimed at the discerning Mallu customer...from hair replanting options that exponentially increase your chances of a job in the Gulf (and therefore aptly named GULF GATE HAIR TRANSPLANTING SOLUTIONS)...to FINAL SOLUTION FOR PILES, HYDROCELE & AIDs...yes, beloved comrades who purport to offer the modern day endlosung-final solution- that Hitler aggressively promoted for the Jewish masses now available in Kerala, customized for your particular malady and if not by too far, designed to send you to kingdom come, just after you shell out sufficient moolah to pay the white and gold clad women who in "traditional Kerala" ways welcome you to the ADVANCED AYURVEDIC CENTRE FOR TREATMENT OF PILES.
 
I am trying very hard to focus on GMAT prep in the light of such continuing developments that challenge my daily existence in many humourous and life threatening ways like say "How many times can you not pick up the phone of a vendor to whom you owe 3 crores before he turns up with 5 dark fat lungi-clad men at the office? How many times can you crash down your backend pricing platform and deny a customer promotional offers that you have aggressively promoted through 5 SMSs to the same sleepily delighted customer at at various times between 11pm and 5am? After an irate & suposedly loyal customer of 5 years breaks through the mentally erected pretty barriers at the office reception, fights his way past the hordes of cust-support executives and reaches the office of your super-HEAD BIG BOSS MAN and smashes his phone to smithreens despite carpeted interiors, do you
1.Help him to gather the pieces of his phone and enquire in a gentle non-threatening voice if he has the Nokia warranty card with him?
2. Whisper in his ear that the police are on the way and try not to get into his way when he looks like hes about to make a leap for the BOSS MANs throat?
3. Look terribly sad while handing over a tissue when he breaks down and crying, starts to gather the pieces of his phone?
Confronting such utterly deviant risky choices liven up existence and almost make me forget about the vagaries of working in a cash strapped organization...at least until I get a credit card bill for 25k and remember that this respectable company still owes me around 40k in pending claims. You ask me, why do I still work here - witness firsthand, woman - the thrills of living on the financial edge!
 
My GMAT prep continues...ahem...it does...when am not drunk, not flirting, not staring at trains leaving the railway station overlooking my balcony or not taking in the perfect oval sunset over the Vembanad backwaters...yeah, it does. Truth be told, after a days work of screaming, spreadsheeting and making BIG, motivating "Yo man! Go man!" statements on ppt presentations, coming back home to arrange Tom, Daisy, Jim and Luke around a round table and making sure Tom and Daisy don’t get too close is NOT absolutely exciting. NEITHER is exploring the many reasons for the migration of farmers from the mid-West in the USA circa 1960. However certain actions I have mastered by now can lighten up the mood like... taking a sip of chill Appy, a stroll to the balcony where one sees the mosquito repelling mist rolling into a warm Cochin night, taking a decision about whether to feel (1) Happy about two resting camels that were brought here to be slaughtered but now are giving rides to children after their slaughter was banned by the Mayor  (2) Sad that the traders are most likely to take them to the Malabar (reliably reported by the Express) where in all probability a bunch of hungry heartless carnivorous morons are planning to eat camel biriyani...these draw the mind away into a small cubicle of happiness away from the vast ugliness of perverse convoluted data sufficiency questions that evil GMAC has devised for entering an Ivy league MBA.
 
However of late, I had written two full length practice tests and scored 650 & 690 in Kaplan and Powerprep respectively. Am informed with great confidence by a Mallu brother that these are wommale (rowkuthaka slang for "severely") decent scores - thank you, Nair, for that confidence. Suspicions that I had about your moral capacity to return my Amazon ordered, dollar costing KAP800 book stand dispelled, until they regroup again to form that dark cloud that has always hung around your oiled head (all the more so after you gave KK a Pink Floyd album during your now-infamous Mahabs trip).
 
A thankful amen to
these scores...these harbingers of hope, money and Tuck/ Duke.
to the generosity of my bosses who keep the net & coffee machine turned on during weekends.
to the unknown American voice that always said "YOO HOO" after I scored a right answer in the KAPLAN prep CD. 
to this woman whos receiving such a long mail that seems to be turnig into a spaced out version of an Oscar acceptance speech.
 
Apart from this daily drudgery of finding the nth root of an integer 10k+i and other such adrenalin boosting activities, I have joined a theatre group...to catalogue the roller coaster ride of this theatre venture would take too long...suffice to say we started off with an adaptation of Hamlet, offended certain feminine sensibilities who initially discovered "gender biases" in our script which were later extended into the original Shakespearean "Hamlet", dropped out certain elements who insisted on not turning up for practice, mixed in a scene from Mamootys "CBI" film series with recurring humour about dummies which till date, I have not understood (probably explained by the fact that I havent seen any of those humourous movies), dropped the "Hamlet" idea altogether in order to salvage the cast who were on the verge of backing out in consideration of aforementioned sensibilities, moved on to "THE DEAR DEPARTED" with some gay jokes and eating bananas...HUMOUR, you must understand, is essential to theatre. By now you must have come to a realization that when I say "Suffice to say" you should pick up a coupla beers, the latest IKEA catalogue and settle down while waiting for me to finish. Our production goes onstage on Dec 17th at the XXX which also supports us by supplying cookies @ Rs.10/bite and coffee/tea @ Rs.50 per cup.
 
This apart what else am I upto - you might be delighted to hear that I have also started writing in a blog...acceding to this uber mode of metrosexual self expression was quite easy considering that my delusions, of acquainting myself with beautiful, intellectual women from (preferably) metro-India who gape at the amazing flow of my prose and poetry, persists. Also cunningly hidden amidst these layers, are the hope that they will be astounded by my ambitions to get into an Ivy league B-school. "Wow" is expected reaction but not too many times, please. I prefer more direct cuddles. Danks you.
 
This blog which initially started off with lofty ambitions of recording my GMAT progress has somewhat veered off from original aims...er....yeah somewhat. I advertise my poetry fishing for free compliments as well as generally rave eagerly inviting and dispensing advice to fellow bloggers who include a pretty (Hope, Carl Sandburg says, is a tattered flag fluttering in the breeze) Bangalore babe called silvereen who raves quite funnily about generally everything, an ex-college-mate called Arunthur Dent (I admit not terribly creative, but ahem, let us applaud him for trying) who displays his sense of classic Tamil humour, a fellow MBA applicant called MaelstromX and also some on/off peoples who still deserve an honourable mention for making "comments" on my blog. You would be surprised at how long I can survive on such comments even if they aren’t compliments. Must be something to do with my subconscious cravings for roots/identity/a sense of belonging and similar things in OB that Naga ma'am tried very hard to teach us. A pity, that class.
 
Went to good old Chennai last week for an old flame-now friend's marriage and got all choked up. Ugh, you say? Ugh, I echo. Not my style, I know, I know...my style would have been to waft into the scene with a neat gift, congratulate the groom for having bagged the most beautiful woman in the world and flirt around with the bridesmaids before doing that nifty dance number that has everyone dancing in sync with me. Scene ends with melancholy look of bride staring at me thinking "What a guy, how well he doesn’t show it" and me looking back with my eyes saying "Cool, babe, will keep the show going". Unfortunately as they told me at IIM-B at a recent training programme, there is a very large gap between "I am" and "I want to be". Gap analysis at this inappropriate juncture in time resulted in choking up and walking out of the marriage hall. But not before cute gesture of giving a cute Indian toy (three wooden ducks tied in a string in descending order of size) to the girls niece - all of 6 years,damn cute-called Gulika. Just couldn’t help it! Jeez, you says. Style, I says...yeah, I know...quite sad,na - what I have evolved into-mushy metrosexual male capable of displaying emotions on his sleeve and yeah moisturizer too ;-)
 
As is becoming evident, the truly self-centred existence of the author continues well into this nice Sunday where I got to see pretty Anglo_indian women singing quite well "Ave Maria" at the Infant Jesus church..post which some hot appams + veg stew @ Cofee Beanz gathered me into the momentum required to write such a long mail to you...so there.
 
And where were you? What have u been upto? What happened to LSAT? What happened to your apps? Status? Work? Books? Music? Movies? My looking-in-the-mirror existence at times is briefly broken when I deem it fit to consider how my fellow bums might be going about their Sunday mornings across the oceans...and hence this stream of questions. Now that this altruistic break is done with, let me get back to the most important issue of the day - If xy=1, then 2(x+y)^2/ 2(x-y)^2=? Such is the rich variety of life.
 
Have a lovely weekend, XXXX and remember you owe me an equally long reply.

Love & longing - Circa 2000 years ago

Me has a very strong connect with the historical/ cultural myths surrounding the place I was born – Madurai.  2000 years ago, this city was the epicenter of all that Tamil Nadu was famous for – huge temples, amazing literature, brave warriors.

When I was going through this book called “The Circle of Six Seasons”, I was reading some of the poetry of these ancient men/ women and the sheer intensity of the imagery blew me away! Within the tight conventions of Sangam poetry, (which dictated not only grammar but also the kind of flower, the type of feeling, the terrain, the season etc which have to be used in conjunction with each other) these guys have woven some poetic magic!

Have posted two examples below – a pity I don’t exactly understand old Tamil to read the originals.


#1
You long for a journey
across the bleached desert
in the hottest month.

But is this wealth that you go to make
better than seeing the smile
of the first born son
of the woman who lives to love you,
O Lord of the land of tall mountains?

- Ainkurunuru 309

Liked this one because it asks the same questions that I have (or rather every generation since then has) been asking – Is it worth it? This pursuit of mammon at the cost of things far more precious? Also liked the phrase “the woman who lives to love you” – although not my kind of a woman, really liked the phrase. Weird? Am.

#2
They say his path
through the harsh desert
is full of hills
where the swift winds
blow hot & strong
through the branches
of the sirissa tree
rattling its dry nuts
in their rotten pods.

He must hate that space between my breasts.

- Kuruntokai 29

Liked this one for the amazing contrast - between the utterly harsh terrain and the softness/peace of the space between her breasts!

And also like it because I don’t understand it fully – just can’t resist a sense of mystery, I guess. After a journey of a hundred harsh miles, returning home to a woman and “the space between her breasts” must be the most serene of feelings for a man. However the lady feels otherwise?! She seems to think that her man prefers to battle the elements and is very much at home amidst the dry desert and the swirling winds – therefore he must hate coming to her and to her very intimate space.

That’s the way I read it – maybe am wrong – when Freud didn’t understand what women want, who am I? ;-)

One Book, Me Like

For a difference, thought I would post something about a book I like.

The Name of the Rose – Umberto Eco
Intro
An erudite medieval murder mystery that meanders into history, philosophy and theology (Phew, 6 retypes to get that one phrase). A medieval priest investigates a series of bizarre murders in a world struggling out of the Dark middle ages into the dawn of rational enlightenment a la Bacon.

Vs The Da Vinci Code
Of late, I have had too many people gushing to me on the oooohs and aaahs that “The Da Vinci Code” holds…Have been telling all of them that – hey, this was done a long time back with a much stronger plot (not consisting of handsome Harvard men, petite French woman and flights of fancy across the Atlantic–eeks) by Umberto Eco.

Smart Dan Brown
But I guess something in the human mind seeks and is satisfied by an element of fantasy; of “larger than life”ism (ugh phrase, right); of handsome American hero vs. phenomenal odds and winning -The Da Vinci Code has exactly this “James Bond”esque unreal feel about it that makes it sensationalist and I guess, popular too (What a fall, my countrymen! ;-( - a fact/ fad that Dan Brown has ultra-capitalized on, I suppose.  
Fortunately, Eco doesn’t seem to have pandered to so many popularist urges in his book  (well…maybe he did feel a teeny weeny urge, cause he signed off film rights for the book and some sad AH made it into a film that’s a mere shadow of the books magnificence)

What TNOTR is also about…
Never mind that, coming to the point, reading The Name of the Rose can give you some fantastic insights into:

• What beauty really is


• What is God all about and is religion worth it


• Regular/ Religious Life in medieval ages


• Debate & an intro to the art of rhetoric


• Art appreciation


• What an educated professor do on a weekend that can earn him millions? (Hic)

Ye venerable blogger stumbleth to a conclusion…
In conclusion, the question “Why read a book?” is what should be asked. If a book is to be read to afford the reader a temporary flight of fancy, a hard-on or a chance to join a breathless race against a world-wide conspiracy – yes, that’s what authors like Harold Robbins/ Mills & Boons/ Ludlum thrive on. And hey, after a 12-hour day, I love my Calvin & Hobbes and want to hug my Dilbert collection. But this is time-pass stuff - treating books as substitutes for bike rides, Hindi films or watching kites.

For serious reading (uh oh…which may be defined as mind expanding encounters without the aid of grass ;-) I personally admire books that leaves me with more questions than answers; books that leads me to the middle of a dark forest and challenge me to work my way out; books that disturb set beliefs and go against general theories; books that unearth weird facts, string them up and present an alternate perspective; books that force me to construct a new process for something as basic as thinking…which I must admit is what the Da Vinci code has done to teeming millions across the world…however having been already weaned on The Name of the Rose, I find it a let-down…in terms of facts, style, plot and construct.

Alternatively it can be argued that it depends on the reader to glean such nuggets of facts/ ideas/ encounters from a book and start off his own journey a la Ulysses – ‘To Strive, to seek, to find and not to yield”. And some of us do this for e.g.   For me, finding Heidegger living on the edge of Sean Dillon’s mind was quite a surprise in Alistair McLean. However instead of pleasant divertissements like these which place the onus on the reader, a book like TNOTR which firmly blocks the reader’s path and dares him/her understand before he/she proceeds would do the world much more good. And yeah, I also support world peace and universal harmony.

Forget all this, just read the book…;-)

Playing "Dead"

Yeah, am bad at puns and I know it shows. In the last two practice sessions, notre honeurement le Directeur gave us mini-plays to perform.

Feeling more than a bit lazy during practice, I “volunteered” to play the corpse (in a play that’s Sethuramiyer meets Hamlet). Cool, you say? No, not at all…

Cons of being a dead body in an amateur play

• You don’t get to see the play (Considering the amount of “tease” material it generates for drunken times, this is a real loss)


• You can’t slap leave alone scratch when there’s a fly pitter-pattering along your ear lobe or an ant taking nibbles outa your thigh.


• Vengeance is not mine – any &#%&# can kick you, say u stink and comment on your polka-dotted shirt and you have to act the “I am in the Happy Hunting Grounds beyond such earthly nonsense” thing…instead of snapping back like say “At least am not shaped like a polka dot, you fat jerk”


• So called “Sethuramiyer” in an attempt to do ultra-justice to his role can peek into your nose, lift up your shirt (to reveal 6 pack abs-sigh, I wish), mess up your “set wet” hairdo and you still need to pretend that everything’s cool – continue with the “ am just another dead body all in his day’s work” thingy


• Given the rare circumstance of a pretty babe in the play, you can’t stare at her or do, say a jiggly-wiggly, with her…while Sethuramiyer, Tom, Dick and Chacko can. Ye gwads!

After hours of fasting accompanied by solitary and focused thought considering all of the above points, I have decided that I am not going to be a dead body any longer. But before that, astonished reader, I sense you asking that million $ question “Hamlet meets Sethruramiyer CBI?!?!?!”

Thank you for allowing me the pleasure to state “Sorry, reader, this is not my play”. It’s his.

PS: Before he gets offended, let me say ha ha, dear diro, just kidding. Ha ha…see – am a laughing-ha ha –don’t screw up my role-ha ha!