Saturday, November 11, 2006

A Young Warrior



The Tamils were the perhaps the only spoilsports to the myth of India being a peaceloving country without imperialistic intentions.The Cholas raised their Tiger flag in Ceylon,the islands of Indonesia and all in-between. Although this cannot be termed as a full scale invasion,some Indians did once set out of their land with eyes on the soil of distant foreign lands.

The brutal internecine warfare of the South Indian races - Cheras,Cholas,Pandyas, Pallavas have given rise to countless literary works that celebrate courage, invincibility and dauntlessness.But as someone who's always liked to turn over a rock to see whats on the other side,I found this also....

A Young Warrior
- Ponmutiyar (translated by A. K. Ramanujan)

O heart
sorrowing
for this lad
once scared of a stick
lifted in mock anger
when he refused
a drink of milk,
now
not content with killing
war elephants
with spotted trunks,
this son
of the strong man who fell yesterday
seems unaware of the arrow
in his wound,
his head of hair is plumed
like a horse's,
he has fallen
on his shield,
his beard still soft.


And just a curious fact peeping out from the leaves of history: When is a mistake not a mistake? In language at least, the answer to this question is “When everyone adopts it,” and on rare occasions, “When it's in the dictionary.”

The word internecine presents a case in point. It usually has the meaning “relating to internal struggle,” but in its first recorded use in English, in 1663, it meant “fought to the death.” How it got from one sense to another is an interesting story in the history of English. The Latin source of the word, spelled both internecnus and internecvus, meant “fought to the death, murderous.” It is a derivative of the verb necre, “to kill.” The prefix inter- was here used not in the usual sense “between, mutual” but rather as an intensifier meaning “all the way, to the death.”

This piece of knowledge was unknown to Samuel Johnson, however, when he was working on his great dictionary in the 18th century. He included internecine in his dictionary but misunderstood the prefix and defined the word as “endeavoring mutual destruction.” Johnson was not taken to task for this error. On the contrary, his dictionary was so popular and considered so authoritative that this error became widely adopted as correct usage. The error was further compounded when internecine acquired the sense “relating to internal struggle.” This story thus illustrates how dictionaries are often viewed as providing norms and how the ultimate arbiter in language, even for the dictionary itself, is popular usage.

By this and this only...

...blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment's surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract,
By this, and this only, we have existed,
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms.

- Thomas Stearns Eliot (The Wasteland)

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Once upon a time ago, I had a well nourished tummy...

A long pending tag about an old favourite…mom’s cooking!

Although mom had and still has a full time job, she somehow multi-tasks and remains the world’s best cook…with her birthday coming up next week, this tag seems a fitting salut to the magic of her love and to the 1000s of meals that we were force fed then and miss now.


Mom’s long beans poriyal

Theres some wonderful magic that mom does with plain long beans and tomatoes. A spicy and simple dish, she used to store this in a big bowl when she went out of town for her weekend classes. Weekend meals for me and my bro used to be beans dosa, beans sandwich, rice & beans…and we loved it! (for the first few months atleast)!

Idiyappam+ Maasi or cheeni sambal
First of all the idiyappam…they need to be fine strings –for this you need gadgets with tiny holes and the energy to keep the idiyappam press going on and on and on… When we weren’t messing it up trying to do that, mom did this exceedingly well.
Combo #1 - Maasi sambal
A coconut+lime+powdered dry fish thingy, I could pack in more than 15 idiyappams accompanied with this amazing dish. The only difficult part is scraping the coconut and getting good quality dried fish (without sand)…but its worth it!
Combo #2 - Cheeni sambal
Burnt sugar+lots of cut onions+dry fish powder+lots of simmering= 1 yummy yum yum dish- 1 months stock of which that Dad carried in a steel container when he went off to ship. This can be made very thick and mixed with milk to be diluted if and when more peoples turn up for grub…or if one gets hungrier!
The best part about both these dishes is Mum could somehow always make the usually nasty smell of dried fish disappear in 10 minutes. Some women are amazing!

Sambar of any sort
Sambhars make for wonderful accompaniment for idlis, rice and dosas. And mum knows atleast 3 different sambhars…on top of which, she can make them change taste between morning to evening to night – for idlis, it’s a more watery and spicy sambhar. For rice, she adds whole small onions (me likes crunching them!) and varies combinations with different vegetables like radishes, drumsticks and ladiesfingers. At night for dosas, she adds potatoes which somehow absorb the sambhar’s flavour in less than half an hour.

Tomato/ Onion/ Garlic chutneys
Amazing how mom can whip up any of the above chutneys in all of 5 minutes and still make them so amazingly tasty. I miss them all!

Pepper liver gravy
An old favourite of Dad’s, this is usually made on X’mas or New Year night so that we have some nice n spicy gravy and idlis when we return hungry after midnight mass. But its best the next day morning, seasoned and slightly fermented.

Fish/ crab gravy
Fish gravy is as indispensable during weekends because you can have it with anything –idlis/chapattis/parathas/rice/idlis/dosas- and dad being a fish freak, there was always lots of this at home. Crab gravy was special because it requires a 3 hour, 2 handed lunch to do justice to the juicy meat-there is that magical moment when you manage to cleave your way past the shells and a small white cluster plops into your palm!

Meatball gravy
Theres supposedly a patented family recipe behind this masala – this involves collecting a whole lot of random things, measuring them, and forcing kids to take them to the mill for grinding. But such kids are later mollified by being given “pre-serving samples” of the gravy and patties well before lunch.


Dad’s fish and prawn fry

The kitchen was usually mom’s kingdom…except when Dad was in a fish fry/prawn fry mood. This is not as simple as it seems. Aforementioned little boys are called in from various sleeping/TV-watching/play areas and are forced to help one strong captain with 14 inch biceps. For fish, the process is relatively simple – the fish cleaning water has to be poured from plant to plant so that sometime in the distant future “we can pluck shiny red tomatoes for salad”.
Cleaning prawns is a bit more dirty and complicated, one has to break the shell-then with a small knife, you need to clean it of one dirty strip…and then rinse. Dirty forced labour, but no one ever rescued us…after lunch, we were quite happy to forget such trauma.

After this the captain took over…masala is lovingly created and pushed into slits in the fish’s body…the flame is kept ONLY at simmer (fiddlers with the flame are threatened with various punishments ranging from being hung upside down to permanent exile without monetary support) and some “extra special” pieces are fried in coconut oil. The best fish cleaning volunteer was usually awarded with fried fish eggs in their tiny pouches…because by eating them, “you can get the strength of a hundred fishes”. There usually was a noticeable puffing up of a little chest for about 5 minutes after eating fish eggs.

And now I am hungry!

Sunday, October 08, 2006

Buhlogging & tagging in the free world...

Are you happy/satisfied with your blog, its content and look? Does your family know about your blog?
I do not reminisce about nor rate my blog; it is and I am and we are happy with each other! Hmmm….maybe my brother knows…am sure mom doesnt. Yes, (voice deepens in that earth shaking infidelity revelation hindi movie tone…) let me admit that the fear that Blackie wouldn’t approve has kept me from revealing this dark truth to a darker doggie.

Do you feel embarrassed to let your friends know about your blog or do you consider it a private thing?
It’s a private thing; some of my closest friends know, some acquaintances have found out by accident. But I would rather have a space where I can write without having to appease different personalities or per-ordained cultures. Veritas vos liberabit.

Did blogs cause positive changes in your thoughts?
Yup…other bloggers like Alex have been a source of great inspiration and support. At other times, browsing through favourite blogs like silverine, confused female (whats new!), Arunther Dent have taken my mind off irritating work issues and given me a quiet smile….sometimes too loud a chuckle in office! ;-)

Do you only open the blogs of those who comment on your blog or you love to go and discover more by yourself?
(Guilty look 8-X)…yes, given that work is tight, that’s the normal routine that I follow…but from people like DoZ, I have chanced upon some fantastic blogs like India Uncut, A simple..., falstaff etc…I like to explore and discover…blog-hop, as the lady puts it, but hardly have the time.

What does the visitors counter mean to you? Do you care about putting it in your blog?
I don’t have one and actually it doesn’t matter. I write for myself more than others…its like biking or listening to a favorite song-you love it and you do it; but its also fun when you have a couple of others who understand and can join in.

Did you try to imagine your fellow bloggers and give them real pictures?
Guilty as charged…much as I hate to admit it, I do this…esp. with some wimmens…Hope is a tattered flag and a dream of time, Hope is a heart-spun word, the rainbow, the shadblow in white ;-)

Do you think there is a real benefit for blogging?
I think blogs are like scribble pads, diaries and journals… a vehicle of expression. Some are intensely personal, some are for the world at large, some a combo. Am too lazy on a Sunday morning to think further through this koshtin. Shorryyaawn.

Do you think that bloggers society is isolated from real world or interacts with events?
There is no “bloggers society”…atleast not in India where net penetration is at ridiculous levels. But in times of calamity and tragedy, bloggers seem to react and reach out to help…as do most of us in our real life.

Does criticism annoy you or do you feel it's a normal thing?
Yes, I HAVE A PROBLEM. If you have incisive thoughts about what I have written or have a serious counterpoint, feel free to join the fun and make your point. But sometimes an invisible line is crossed and this irritates me to no extent, makes me curl up my lips and tighten my biceps and reminds me of something I did long long ago as a kid “This is my corner, you like it, you like it. You don’t, go away.” Opinions are welcome , not judgements.

Do you fear some political blogs and avoid them?
Lights, Camera, Action…

“Fear?….ha ha ha…me?… ha ha ha….fear ha ha ha”

Director: That’s enough – CUT!
Sorry...carried away by tamil movie emoshuns!

Did you get shocked by the arrest of some bloggers?
I didn’t even know about it. I heard about Gaurav Sabnis and think hes a stud. Otherwise chill.

Did you think about what will happen to your blog after you die?
No, I don’t. I have enough things to live for and I don’t have the time or inclination to consider death and its effects.

What do you like to hear? What's the song you might like to put a link to in your blog?
I would love to hear a raspy Dylan or Baez in her soprano glory sing Forever Young:

Forever Young
May God bless and keep you always,
May your wishes all come true,
May you always do for others
And let others do for you.
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

May you grow up to be righteous,
May you grow up to be true,
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you.
May you always be courageous,
Stand upright and be strong,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift,
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift.
May your heart always be joyful,
May your song always be sung,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

My musical taste is contextual and very eclectic, to say the least – it varies too much to pinpoint a particular preference.

Friday, September 22, 2006

For Alex, The Rock

I am thinking…I haven’t started work on my apps tonight …Seriously I often think about how I am missing out spending time with my mom, my dog and my home because of work.

I said…
so far, so good, so what.

I want
wine, woman, books, dogs, cottage in the hills, piano lessons and a 200 year old Japanese katana.

I wish I could write prose like Nabokov and poetry like Neruda.

I miss
my father.

I hear the long whistle of the train.

I wonder at life, the universe and everything else.

I regret George W. Bush.

I am the Master of my fate, the Captain of my soul. So help me, God.

I dance...I do? Nah, not my style. I like watching friends dance, though.

I sing
on my bike on the long and winding road.

I cry…no, I don’t.

I am not Elvis Presley, but my hair thinks it is.

I write stuff vaguely resembling poetry.

I confuse, he confuses, they confuse, we confuse, it confuses. Merci Beaucoup.

I need
my family.

I should visit Europe.

I (don’t) finish water in bottles. A strange and useful habit. On long nights, on long waits, on long roads that go on and on and on.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

Waking in the winter wonderland...

Today is one of those lovely days...it has been raining with a steady "kssssssssssssshhhhhhh" sound since I woke up at 6am...and serious slanting rain, splattering into your face when you stand in the balcony...all the world is grey and green and there is no horizon; just a misty sky that becomes a dark green earth...and I just had to whisper "Mother earth, you look beautiful today".

Now lets hope that office doesnt screw it up!

Saturday, September 16, 2006

The View–1 more reason not to leave Kerala (PART 2)

The view from my flat-What at seemed a quiet evening soon became a furious fire…


First signs






Fury





Finale




Embers




Misty Grey & Green Morning After.



Amen and Thank You.

The View–1 more reason not to leave Kerala (PART 1)


The view from my office window.
I can gaze at hours at this serene meditation centre and come away feeling refreshed. When it rains, the pigeons cluck around and after reaching a quick consensus huddle under the eaves. When it doesn’t, bigger males patiently follow roaming females who lead them round and round in circles. Sounds familiar? ;-)



The view as I enter office (a.k.a. “I AM watching”)
Four churches within walking distance and the smell of frankincense and wax wafting through the air every time I come near office. Considering that I spend almost 10-12 hours every day at work , the fact I can drop into a quiet church for a few silent minutes whenever I feel like is a small perk which gives me severe happiness.



The view from my conference room
Students, parties, villagers, women–everybody comes to the Marine Drive to protest, march and create general mayhem. Nothing like a view with barricades, banners and a bunch of cops to break a dull coffee filled meeting. Note the barricades on the wrong road; on seeing the barricade, the students took a quick diversion to the opposite road and the startled police quickly followed suit. Student activism - Malaise? Menace? Must? Great arguments never end in Kerala–they just take a different route.



The view from the boss room
It helps that one has a decent boss. It really really helps that the decent boss has a room with a decent view and decent appetite-a stock of Hersheys and Oreos for those mind-crunching brainstorming sessions. From cruise ships to breaking thunderstorms to oil tankers to noisy tourists to fishermen in catamarans to funny birds with bright green wings, I never get tired of this view. At night the glitter of the harbour, the swaying of the giant cranes and the steady drizzle of the rain make for a wonderful end to the day. Corner room, here I come.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Chicago GSB @ Bangalore

Attended the Chicago GSB reception at Bangalore yesterday. Along with approx. 100 other talented, extraordinary Indians who all want to make it to the Windy City. Amen.

The presentation moved on a semi-formal note; Kurt Olsen (?) the Adcom head introduced himself and a couple of alums and went on to explain about the school.

Main points touted about the school were:
 70 Nobel Prize winners as faculty (tempted to ask how many of them teach but desisted)
 Chicago has the 2nd highest no of Fortune 500 offices next to the Big Apple.
 If you are going to do your 2nd MBA, you need to clearly explain Why.
 Alumni network is very strong and quite dedicated (is what one would assume based on the ppt)
 All the alumni present there had worked for quite some time in the US before applying for Chicago.
 Being in a top school is like getting invited to the dance; what you do at the “recruiting” dance is upto you.
 New Hyde Park centre which is like a giant glass lobby in the middle of the Univ.
 Guaranteed loan without cosignors available for international students.
 TOEFL can be waived for good English speakers.
 Other arbitrary points adding up to saying that you need to spend approx. 50 lakhs for 2 years.

Alumni
 “Cool dude” looking alumni casually mentioned “Started a company in 2000; sold it in 2003; started and operating my 2nd company”…and audience is like “oooooohhh” Am like “Me, I do that every week”.
 Another squeaky voiced current student explained how he is “discovering himself” and learning to do all kinds of dancing over there. Expensive classes, these $100,000 dollar dancing classes.
 Another s/ware techie alum explained how he had come out of the US and was working with HP out of B’lore. Bugger got irritated about how the audience wasn’t sticking to the question format

Grub
 Looked appetizing but I missed it since the bus to Cochin was at 9pm.

Conclusion
 Chicago was in my original list of schools for 1st round applications. Now decision stands firm.

Monday, July 17, 2006

1st Anniversary

Been 1 year since I started blogging, so here we go again…reprint of one of my oldest favourites.

  • This was in response to a British Council competition where one had to create a poem with the following words:

  • Paint/ hue/ Chi-chi/ riff-raff/lava/ jasmine/ dolourous/ gorilla/ sinuous/ whorl/ avant-garde/ mish-mash/ cubicle.

  • Came out better than I thought it would in the half an hour that I took to write it. I hope they appreciate such bursts of creativity at Tuck or Harvard or Wharton ;-)

LAB REPORT 312: SPILT QUICKSILVER.
She was just that type,
Who did not paint her toenails,
Hue her lips,
Shadow her eyes,
But dared you to imagine them
Painted.She was just that type
Who kissed all dogs on the mouth,
All the Jimmys,Chi-Chis,Babus,
Blackies,Manis,Brunos.
All veteran riff-raffs,
Of the mongrel world.
And it was thus that,
An initially enchanted Dr.Seetharaman-Very famous veterinarian,
Her fiancee of 2 months
18 hand-holdings,
3 kisses-2 full,2 halfs(Kisses being what they are,
she was quite precise)
5 hushed dinners,And one Solitaire ring,
Broke off the engagement,
Citing hygienic reasons.

She was just that type,
Who lets you burn
In dark green envy,And then dips in the lava
That you pour forth,
Burns herself,
And so diffusesA smouldering scent so
Unlike the fresh smell of jasmine,or the slightly wet lily after rain.
This was that burnt,sandalwood incense-smell
That promised hidden Garba-grihas
The sanctum sanctorums
Inside her Sanskrit mind,
For those who dared to stroll
Those nether regions,
She offered dark Chidambaram temples With small lamps in damp corners
Where the stone sculptures
Cannot be seen, only felt.
Such were the perceptual promises of
Her sinuous mind.

She was just that type,
Pretended to murmur secret invitations
To your best male friends,
Chaiwallahs, melon-sellers,
And the traffic policemen.
Just to see
That red rage of a matador's muleta
Wave so well on your windy cheeks
Just to hear
That angry Wagner refrain
Dancing in your lighted eyes,
And then when you start to
Silently trade sound for frozen fury,
She would coyly become
Amy,the amazing African gorilla
Who could speak
Over 2000 words
With only her fingertips.
And dolourous eyes.


She was just that type,
Who could and did in a moments glance,
Make mish-mash of your
Carefully rehearsed proposal,
Gleefully unaware that you had
ractised it for 4 hours


In front of the toothpaste stained bathroom mirror.
And so would make you slightly crush that
The outermost-whorl of that
Hidden red rose in your jeans pocket.
Slightly.
And suddenly all the soft pink words
On ribboned paper,
Start sounding silly
For avant-garde Athena,
Who proceeds to explain
The Fibonacci sequence
On a paper napkin,
With vague arrangements of peanuts,
For analogy.


She was just the type,
Who hungrily devours,
All the arguments that
You had carefully stored
In your mind's cubicles.
And proceeds to fill those shelves
With bottled kerosene
Which she can at will
Set afire
By shooting and so shattering.

She was just the type,
That 25 mercuric years
And 30 inches of Levis
Could barely contain with quiet restraint.
And so she jumped
Out of the 6th floor window
On a clear, sunny,
Sky-blue evening of Darjeeling's sunshine,
Twelve months after she said Yes,
Nine months after her father punched me,
Six months after we walked down
A flowery-arched aisle,
She in snowy white, me in Armani blue.
The day those giggly piggy-tailed flower girls
Almost lost our ring.


But in passing mention, I must say that
She was just the type who
Could and did carefully remove that ring,
Posted it,
From a 6th floor room,
On a clear, sunny,
Sky-blue evening of Darjeeling's sunshine.


I am bored; therefore I tag – Silverine/ Alexis/ Tyler Durden/ Mind Curry – to try this out.