To Be or Not To Be...

Working as a pilot is one of the most enjoyable professions out there. Or so I'm told. Admittedly my flying career is still waiting to take off. Its a work in progress that I’d like to think has a happy ending somewhere not too far into the future. But all this dilly dallying has got me thinking about what I’d do for a living if say one day i develop a fear of heights or i get banned from cockpits across the world for humming 'Final Countdown' very loudly every time we lined up for takeoff!

 My engineering degree seems like a relic from the past now. I'd like to think that i have a better than average understanding of how things work and I’m not allergic to large numbers. So I guess I’d enjoy designing aircraft or cars... or toasters. I could go back to college, finish my MBA and become a financial advisor. That would work. If people ever got around to trusting big banks with their hard earned money ever again! Or I could go into television. But then I'm told that my face is more suited for radio. But that doesn’t work because I’m pretty sure my voice isn’t top dollar material either.

This leaves me with just one thing to do. Write. I love writing. Maybe for a weekly magazine. I've read the best of what my country's top publications have to offer and apart from a few respected columnists the rest are just a bunch of narcissistic pre-schoolers droning on about their 'issues'. Their writing is just so wrong. I'd love a weekly column. I don’t really care if it’s in one of those flyers you see in the bus which people only ever use to wipe that nasty piece of gum from under their shoe. I'd write under a pseudonym. Something like 'The Marauder' or 'Private Eye'. Or 'Thor'. Then I can rant about anything under the sun without having to worry about a brick flying in through my window late at night with a threatening note attached to it.

Or maybe I could write news stories. Maybe even base them on actual facts though I hear that isn’t really a pre-requisite to write for a newspaper these days. Seriously. I don’t claim to be an expert on the universe but I was appalled at all the Grade A manure that filled front pages in the days following the Mangalore Air India crash. Its offensive, the amount of garbage the 'experts' and 'top level sources' can put out there.

But my dream writing job would be to work with one of the biggies in automobile journalism. My love for anything with four wheels is beyond expression really. If I was rich enough I wouldn’t even mind paying them to do their work. I would rate being a reputed automobile journalist right up there with fighter pilots and race car drivers as far as desirable jobs go.

Hmmm... Race car driver. Maybe if I lost a couple of dozen kilos and got in on Mr. Mallya's good side. There is some serious plotting to be done here....

Gobbledygook

We've all had our moments. Those flashes of absolute stupidity when the tongue just bypasses the whole logical thinking process in an attempt to get our thoughts out there. And while the person at the other end of the conversation stares on incredulously, we have nothing to do except hope that there's a meteor headed our way; a large one at that. I don’t know about anybody else out there, but if I had it my way, life would be just as smooth and polished as a James Bond movie.  007 never had a problem with words, whether they were directed at that horribly scarred villain or to Olga Kurylenko in all her glory. Unfortunately, life's a lot more improv. Life can never be scripted like a spy movie in much the same way I can never hope to pull off a suit and tie like Roger Moore or Pierce Brosnan.

I like to think of myself as a person who's extremely careful with the words I throw out there. My whole life revolves around saying all the right things to the people around me. But even I succumb to the pressure at times. I shudder to think about the motor mouths out there. Life must be one never-ending math equation for them. You think you've got it licked when more horrors from your past claims creep out to haunt you.

Then there is the interestingly named phenomenon called gobbledygook. This is when words flowing out of your mouth form totally irrelevant and convoluted sentences. Takes me back to that speech I gave about the Indian independence struggle at an elocution contest in school. This was way back when I was just 12 and still wore my trousers right up to my belly button. This was a big event. We had judges from the student’s chapter of UNESCO! I made a complete fool of myself trying to put together a half decent speech from the notes I had crumpled up in my sweaty palm. Our brave freedom fighters must've been rolling in their graves. My history teacher never looked at me the same again. In fact he seemed like he was ready to throw me in an institution. And not the nice kind. Luckily for me most of my friends had inevitably found something better to do on a Saturday afternoon and I was spared a great deal of mental torture.

Now it’s all well and good when a 12 year old messes up on stage. But it’s a completely different story when a public figure shoots out a brain twister while trying to connect with the common man. There are a lot of hilarious examples online. Here are some,

George W Bush, a lifetime achievement award winner for gobbledygook,

"I know what I believe. I will continue to articulate what I believe and what I believe – I believe what I believe is right."

Boris Johnson,

"I could not fail to disagree with you less."
 

Naomi Campbell,

"I love England, especially the food. There's nothing I like more than a lovely bowl of pasta."

Gordon Brown in a speech,

"ideas which stress the growing importance of international co-operation and new theories of economic sovereignty across a wide range of areas, macro-economics, trade, the environment, the growth of post neo-classical endogenous growth theory and the symbiotic relationships between government and investment in people and infrastructures - a new understanding of how labour markets really work and constructive debate over the meaning and implications of competitiveness at the level of individuals, the firm or the nation and the role of government in fashioning modern industrial policies which focus on nurturing competitiveness."
 

Alicia Silverstone on her (rather aptly named) film, Clueless,

"I think that Clueless was very deep. I think it was deep in the way that it was very light. I think lightness has to come from a very deep place if it's true lightness."

I do sympathise with these people. Because in all seriousness, one can only perform to one's best in situations which tend to test one’s extent of religious and philosophical tolerances as a function of one’s acceptability to society as a whole and to one's peers who are at best locked in an attempt to eradicate one's beliefs and trusts one can only relay a vague sense of hope and optimism in the vein of friendship that one bravely tries to hold on to in these times of trials and tribulations!
Happy Gobbledygook everybody!

Present Tense, Past Perfect - A Stitch in Time

The year was 1997 and I was a far cry away from puberty. Art was a necessary evil seeing as how it comprised of fifteen percent of my final grade. Fifteen percent!! That was insane! Nonetheless I had to enrol in Art class if I wanted to move ahead with half decent grades. The school in all its wisdom offered two choices as far as "art"was concerned. One could either opt for metal embossing or move on to the more girly trade of cross stitching. Of course, I was planning to sign up for the manly trade of metal embossing. But by the time I got my lazy behind over to the workshop, all the places were taken. Which left me in the precarious situation of being the only student left to sign up. And it wasn’t like I even had much of a choice. It was cross stitching or nothing else! So I reluctantly, signed up for the aforementioned course. I proceeded with my head hung low to collect my material for the classes to follow. That’s when things really took a turn for the worse. All the nice designs like the vintage warplane and the classic automobile were already taken. Which left me with the flower and bird design. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I discovered much to my horror, that I was the only male to sign up for the stitching classes. If I had a building tall enough I might have jumped off it at that point. Fortunately for me, all our buildings were at just three storeys at the time. It didn’t seem worth the effort. So I jumped headfirst into the effort of creating a masterpiece. Stitching became my way of life. I spend hours trying to perfect my design. Hours which otherwise could have been spend playing basketball or trying to solve assorted Hardy boys mysteries. In the end, it all amounted to naught. I found out the hard way that girls are indeed much better at working a needle. My canvas ended up looking like a sheep threw up all over it. While all my friends showcased some of the best metal work I'd ever seen. I didn’t win any distinctions that year. I did however move on and vow never to try my hand at stitching again. Until my Trouser button popped off. But that’s another story for another day.

Pep Talk, Anybody?

Excess Handbag(gage)!

You know how that old saying goes. A bird in the hand is worth two in the handbag. Mainly because the ones in the handbag are suffocating under a wide assortment of feminine accessories. Apparently diamonds aren't a girl's best friend. Her handbag is (though a diamond studded strap would be well received I imagine). A second skin of sorts. A place to hide her deepest and darkest fears (and that half eaten rice krispy). A formidable black hole that seems to defy the natural laws of physics governing volume and space.

There is a reason I bring all this up. I was out with a friend at Connaught Place last weekend and she was kind enough to point out that I was a moron for carrying an empty backpack with me. This was just a pre-emptive measure on my side because I wouldn’t want to be caught dead with shopping bags in my hand in case I gave in to some of my more primal instincts and actually decided to buy something. I got right back at her by pointing out that she wasn’t carrying a large lady bag like all the other pretty faces around us. She didn’t seem to be too bothered by the accusation and started discussing the semantics of what constituted a handbag, a purse and a wallet. Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that she was the exception that proved the rule about your average lady about town and the need for her to lug around her life's baggage.

Now I’m not the tidiest of individuals but even I'm taken aback by the chaos that reigns inside a handbag. How someone can retrieve something from that mess is a mystery. It must be some sort of secret mantra passed down along the ages from mother to daughter while we sons and fathers were busy watching reruns on TV. But do you really need all that stuff? How much bigger does fashion dictate these bags get before somebody dislocates a shoulder joint? And don’t even get me started on all the nice things you could have for the price of a designer bag.

 A friend once argued that in an emergency a girl would survive longer because the handbag was like a mini survival kit. Pfft! I'm no expert but I wouldn’t want to place my faith in the nutritional value of lipstick and mascara. The only things of any edible value one might find in a bag would probably be the aforementioned rice krispy, some old breath mints and that really really small bottle of mineral water. And that's not going to get you very far in the wild now, is it?

Having said all of that I do respect the sanctity of the bond between a woman and her handbag. But I have given up trying to understand the rationale behind it. Just another one of life's great mysteries I guess. Like the birth of the universe and that darned chicken who crossed the road.

The snippet below is something I saw online recently that's apparently been doing the rounds for a few years now. I had to post it sometime and it sort of validates my post. It illustrates how the simple act of withdrawing funds from a drive though ATM can be so different for the sexes. It’s funny. Y'know, because it’s true!

MALE PROCEDURE:

1.Drive up to the cash machine.
2.Put down your car window.
3.Insert card into machine and enter PIN.
4.Enter amount of cash required and withdraw.
5.Retrieve card, cash and receipt.
6.Put window up.
7.Drive off.


FEMALE PROCEDURE:

1.Drive up to cash machine.
2.Reverse and back up the required amount to align car window with the machine.
3.Set parking brake, put the window down.
4.Find handbag, remove all contents on to passenger seat to locate card.
5.Tell person on cell phone you will call them back and hang up
6.Attempt to insert card into machine.
7.Open car door to allow easier access to machine due to its excessive distance from the car.
8.Insert card.
9.Re-insert card the right way.
10.Dig through handbag to find diary with your PIN written on the inside back page.
11.Enter PIN.
12.Press cancel and re-enter correct PIN.
13.Enter amount of cash required.
14.Check makeup in rear view mirror.
15.Retrieve cash and receipt.
16.Empty handbag again to locate wallet and place cash inside.
17.Write debit amount in check register and place receipt in back of check book.
18.Re-check makeup.
19.Drive forward 2 feet.
20.Reverse back to cash machine.
21.Retrieve card.
22.Re-empty hand bag, locate card holder, and place card into the slot provided.
23.Give dirty look to irate male driver waiting behind you.
24.Restart stalled engine and pull off.
25.Redial person on cell phone.
26.Drive for 2 to 3 miles.
27.Release Parking Brake.

Sheepless Nights

It was another one of those long nights and my insomnia was getting the better of me. The flashing lights of the alarm clock on the desk did nothing for me. It was getting difficult to take my eyes off of them. I was slowly being drawn into their rhythmic call. Madness beckoned! Intervention came in the form of a strategically placed pillow that blocked out the red glow of insanity. It still did not solve my primary problem though. I was completely awake and aware of the fact that sunrise and another depressing summer day were only a couple of hours away. I had to get some sleep if I was to stay awake in class. I decided to give the sheep-counting business a try. And why not? I'd already tried everything else short of prescription drugs. Here is how that went.

So I close my eyes,
For the task at hand.
This fool proof method,
Involving farmland.

I clear my mind
And fill it with,
A land so green
It felt like a myth.

The sheep they came
All cuddly and white,
Toward the fence
Stretched in-finite.

One glance across
And they all agreed;
The grass over there
Was much greener indeed.

The pioneer was across
In one giant leap
And was soon followed
By the rest of the sheep.

I counted one and two
And three and four
And five and six
And many many more

The going was good
Until the folks
Of New Sheepland
Felt they had enough blokes.

You see, times were hard
And jobs were a-few.
So they put a stop
To immigrants new.

But the good citizens
Of the West Country,
Felt they were wronged
So damn out rightly.

Thus began
The coldest of wars,
Even though both sides
Knew 'twas a farce.

And before you knew it
Someone stepped on a twig
And that’s all that was needed
To launch the first brig.

Battle plans were made
And big guns were drawn;
These crazy sheep
Were no brains and all brawn.

Soon my dreamland
Lost all of its green;
In ruins and smoke
It lay so obscene...

So, once again, my runaway mind has brought about yet another failed attempt at blissful sleep. The sun’s first rays are already lighting up the night sky. I reach out and hit the snooze button before the inevitable cacophony that is my morning alarm, goes off. I hate having to spend another day in class just struggling to stay awake. Damn sheep!

Tomorrow I count kittens!!

Silent Lucidity

The sound of the waves kissing the surf lulled me deeper into the slumber I was in. I heard their voices calling me from afar. But it didn’t make any sense. They weren’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t supposed to be here. And where was 'here' anyway?

"Don’t waste a good day doing what you do best tubby!” said Josh. "Dozing," he added fearing I might not have caught his drift as I stared at him vacantly. He didn’t look very different from the last time I saw him. Which would be about eight years back when we attended university together.

"I know you're getting old. But six in the evening is hardly bedtime," chimed in Nikki. She was walking up to us across the sand. The sand. It had an almost otherworldly quality about it. Texture like silk and white grains so fine they were difficult to get a grip on. I gazed out across the water. The sky was ablaze with the myriad rays of the setting sun. Shades of red, orange, purple and grey filled the evening sky. The whole scene was surreal. The water extended to the horizon where it blended into the fiery sky. There was a gentle sea breeze which whistled through the flora behind us.

"Snap out of it dude!" said Josh as he punched me on my shoulder. "You don’t want to be late for your big shindig tonight."

"Uh-huh. What shindig? How big? And what are you guys even doing here?"

Oh c'mon did you hit the liquor without me?", asked Josh "I know it's your night and all that, but that’s still a cruel thing to do to a good friend."

I chuckled nervously as doubts about my own sanity crept into my head. I turned to Nikki for salvation. But she was ignoring us both, lost in the sunset. I went and sat next to her in the sand as Josh set his tall frame down on a rock beside us.

"Crazy day, eh?” I ventured,  hoping to shed some light on this whole situation. She just nodded and rested her head on my shoulder. There was something magical about the way the dying rays of the sun reflected off her eyes. She'd always been the one who was there for me. That one friend you know who'll come through whatever the odds. I found myself stretching to catch a peek of her hand. No ring. That had to be a good thing. Weird though. She was the very definition of a prize catch. I was snapped out of my reverie by Josh. He was saying something about something that happened sometime today. Apparently we'd gone offroading and he was impressed with my big SUV. I just grunted nonchalantly. I had so many questions.

"So how big exactly is this shindig that you speak of?"

"Did you fall and hit your head on a rock or something? You're acting all strange man. It’s your 30th birthday. Big event. Small guest list. Just the three of us. But we're gonna tear it up!" he shouted enthusiastically. "In fact, I’m going to go over to the beach house and get the grill started up. You two get yourselves there ASAP." He dusted the sand off his shorts and made his way to the house.

The two of us sat in silence as the sun went under and the last of its light held on desperately to the darkening sky. In the twilight glow I saw that Nikki had her eyes closed and was swaying her head to the beat of the waves which had gotten louder by this time. Me, I was lost in my own maze. I was 30? Where did the last few years of my life go? I seemed to be doing ok for myself. The house on the beach, the big car and what I could only assume was a dream job. And while I still didn’t have the washboard abs I’d always wanted, I wasn’t morbidly obese anymore. Those rippling muscles were for over-compensating masochists anyway. Love handles never killed anybody. But back to the problem at hand. How could I have forgotten these past years?

The sky was black now. The stars weren't out tonight. A storm seemed to be building in the distance and the waves were getting louder. The wind picked up suddenly and howled almost mournfully across the sand.

"I think we should go in now.” I ventured "Guess we'll have to strike off barbeque off the menu tonight". I should be happy tonight I thought. After all a guy turns 30 but once in his life.

"Let's get our feet wet before we head back", said Nikki.

"Ummm... I really think we should get back", I said impatiently. Quite pointlessly I realize as she'd already started walking to the water. The waves were really crashing onto the shore now and the storm was almost upon us. The first of the raindrops stung my face as I looked skywards. "Wait up!” I screamed over the thunder and wind. She turned and looked up at me bemused. "How does this end? For us? Why are you here? I really need to know". The thunder rolled on. She smiled and then for the briefest of instants everything seemed to come to a standstill. For that moment it was all clear. But it was over before I could savour it. The thunder was back and the lightning seemed to be tearing the sky asunder. She opened her mouth to speak but her words were drowned in the rhythmic crashing of the waves. Those darned waves. I ran towards her. But before I reached the whole sky opened up in a white hot flash. And the waves got even more persistent in their rhythmic destruction. She was gone.

THUD-THUD!!

I opened my eyes. I was back in my room. Someone was at the door. They were really trying to tear it down. I walked across and opened the door.

"It's the second. You better have the rent today." screamed my landlady.

I gave her my best frown before I shut the door and made my way to the bathroom. But I was happy because for the first time in my life I had hope. I was looking forward to my 30th birthday. The future looked bright. Time to face life again!

Flying for Dummies

"There’s nothing to flying a plane. You pull the stick thingy to go up and you push it forward to go down. Piece of cake. These pilots are nothing but a bunch of glorified bus drivers I tell you"

These were the words of a passenger seated next to me who was obviously well travelled and knowledgeable about everything under the sky. These were also - thankfully - the last words in a long tirade which included gas prices, the Middle East peace process and airline food. All in a drunken stupor courtesy of the free flowing airline red wine. Of course the red wine was put to shame by the shades of red his face developed when I told him that I was a licensed pilot myself. If nothing else it got him to shut up while I caught up on movies that I couldn’t bother spending money on in the theatres. I spaced out in a bit while listening to Natalie Portman extolling the virtues of a pure physical relationship to Aston Kutcher. I got to thinking about how people tend to totally misunderstand flying as a profession. The age old images of flying come to mind - the pilot having an easy job, getting paid by the sack load and generally having nothing better to do than walk around airport terminals with a shapely stewardess on each arm. Allow me to clarify then.

Despite all the funny jokes, Flying is a profession to be taken seriously. Things can go from ho-hum to awww-crap-F%$#-s*^&-OMG in about three seconds or less. Which is why pilots spend a great deal of time and effort (and money!) to achieve proficiency at what they do. If pilot examinations are an indication, pilots today are a heady mix of aviator, navigator, engineer, cartographer, meteorologist, psychologist, regulator, physicist, radio operator and much more with some leadership and people management skills thrown in for good measure! And they can’t just sit on their behinds once initial licensing is complete. Life as a commercial pilot has a steady supply of examinations, check rides, sim evaluations and medicals. All this in addition to everyday life problems associated with working odd hours, being away from home for extended periods and medical layoffs not to mention the general havoc wreaked upon the circadian rhythms.

Flying isn’t just takeoff-autopilot-land. That is just the tip of the cumulonimbus (a little aviation humour there... he he... no? Sigh...). There is a great deal of work involved in each flight. Pilots are human beings too. Not miracle workers. So don’t take out your anger on them the next time your flight gets delayed or you're woken from your slumber because of a little turbulence. Show some appreciation and smile at the flight crew when exiting the aircraft instead of grunting like a Neanderthal. Not too much to ask for, is it? They did get you halfway across the world in one piece.

Present Tense, Past Perfect - Love 101

Women are the root of all evil. Women and money my friend. I’d recalled this line from some movie I’d seen. My 5 year old brain did not see the sense in that when there were a whole host of other problems to worry about like baths and hospital folk with needles. That is until that fateful day when I was left for dead by the girl of my dreams. Actually I don’t really remember my dreams from back then but I can safely assume that she starred in most of them. In fact I don’t really remember anything about her. Let’s just call her Jia for now. 

Jia was the queen of the playground. She looked a stunner in her uniform and tiny matching plastic accessories. Yes, the same grey uniform that made the rest of us look like rejects from a Nazi movie production set. And she had the cutest little ponytail to top it all off. Real cover girl material this.  I had eyes only for her. Well her and that killer rocking horse next to the slides. Not that it really mattered. I had no luck with her (or with that damn horse for that matter!). In fact I'm confident that she wasn’t aware of my existence.

But in that little utopia that was my head, we were the best of friends, the worst enemies and everything else in between. And I was always the perfect gentleman. Letting her have my place in the line for the slides, taking my finger out of my nose when she looked and... well there isn’t much a guy can do for a girl in kindergarten. But it was frustrating not to get any attention from said girl. You hear all that talk about being blinded by love and I was slowly starting to realize the validity of the statement.

Take for instance this one time. It was a hot Saudi summer afternoon. The bell had just gone off and we were shuffling off to our buses to get back home. Jia lived two streets down from my house. This worked out perfectly for me since I got to share a bus ride with her every day. Only today wasn’t like every other day. my parents had moved house over the weekend and in spite of Amma's repeated reminders about switching buses (accompanied by the constant rolling of my eyes at her) I happily followed Jia into her bus with a head full of daydreams and not a clue as to the size of the drama that was about to unfold. The bus ride was pretty standard with me uttering monosyllables and her just nervously playing with her ponytail. I was kind of bummed out when the bus pulled over at my regular stop. She almost seemed relieved (though I’m sure that was just the sun playing tricks with my eyes). I hopped off and walked around the corner. One look at my old building and the daydreams were replaced by a cold sinking fear. I stepped into the building and knocked on the door knowing full well that Amma wouldn’t be there to open the door for me. But a small part of me kept praying that she'd lost her way back from work too. Five minutes later and all hope had vanished. Obviously no one answered the door. So I did what any resourceful 5 year old would do in my place - I cried... and how! Mustering up all possible energy I screamed at the top of my very asthmatic lungs. Soon I’d woken up all the housewives in the building from their afternoon naps. In spite of being on the receiving end of some very angry glares, I was glad because in the crowd were a few familiar faces. Soon I was inside a cool kitchen drinking Sunkist while phone calls were made by responsible adults. And before I knew it I was in my car riding back home and reciting tall tales of my bravery and dishing out advice on how important it was to keep a cool head like I did through tough situations.

Needless to say Jia ceased to become a primary concern for me and I never ever ever mixed up buses again - well, until we shifted houses again anyway. I wonder where she is today and whether she has an inkling about the trauma she caused her boyfriend/stalker in kindergarten.

Poetry in Motion

If this video doesn't move you, I don't want to talk to you again... Ever!!

Songs of Solitude

He stared vacantly at the crowded bus stop a block down the road. Life in this city was indeed the proverbial rat race; and he felt like the lone spectator. He'd already seen his fill and now he just wanted to rest. He was at his regular corner. The increased traffic ensured a steady supply of coins for dinner. He reached across and pulled his dog closer to him trying to leech off as much body heat as he could. He called her Annie for lack of a better name.

November was fast approaching and with it would come the long winter. Winter meant freezing temperatures, wet snow and harsh winds. But he was not too worried. He’d seen many winters and this one would be no different. Closer to Christmas he'd move to the lot near the shopping mall. Christmas shoppers were a mixed blessing. On the one hand, they were a generous lot and Christmas cheer helped to no end. However watching them always tugged at his cold lonely heart. They reached out to memories so distant. Memories of a happy childhood and a loving family back in the country. But they were now lost behind the hazy mist of a lifetime of wrong turns. His glazed eyes cast another glance at the people who seemed to be too busy with their own lives to give him more than a passing glance. The sky rumbled overhead and what was earlier a slight drizzle turned into a heavenly onslaught of tears from above. Annie nudged closer as he pulled the sheets tighter around his torso. It was going to be a long, cold night.

Present Tense, Past Perfect - Genesis

It’s a tale as old as humanity itself. Everyone and their grandmother has a version of it or will have one sometime in their lifetime. But it must be told if we are to move forward in this story that is my life (the seriously abridged version). I'm talking about yet another tale of love. Of falling head over heels into it and of two hearts becoming one and all of that sweet mushy stuff.

Enter the angry young man. The main protagonist of my story hails from a sleepy little village from the state of Kerala (or God's Own Country as the tourism brochures will have you believe) in India. Fresh out of school and in the prime of his youth, no challenge was too big for him. He dreamt big and with the realization that big dreams needed bigger towns, he set off from home into the noise and hustle of a big university town. As a good Indian boy it was only natural that he'd enrol for a professional course. White collar stuff this. Soon he realized that contrary to what he had believed earlier, getting into college was not the hardest part. Rather getting through it would be what kept him up at night. But I digress. As time marches on, our man establishes himself as one of the proverbial 'heroes' of the campus. Studies are weighing down on everyone. But the seniors have the luxury of taking their frustrations out onto the freshers. Indian summer's at it's best and the heat is on. It is into this charged atmosphere that the love interest of our story walks in.

As beautiful as the day is long, she almost immediately caught the fancy of the entire male populace. But funnily enough, this big town girl (also conveniently from Kerala), had eyes only for our hero. As for him, his already sleepless nights became wasted sleepless nights seeing as how he could not keep his mind on his books try as he may. Violins playing, birds chirping and beautiful sunsets became a way of life for him. It was truly love at first sight - and the second and the third, in fact, every time he looked at her, he saw his life as he'd always dreamt it.

Anyway, long story short, they fall madly, deeply in love with each other and get married once they were done with college. After an appropriately long period of time they gave birth to their first son and he was perfect. They showered all their beautiful love on him. In return he obliges them with the customary baby giggles and frowns. Things were starting to look really good for this happy family. And just when it seemed that things could not possibly get any better they were blessed with another amazing baby boy - ME!

Aah... Let the good times roll!!

 

"Writing is 90 percent procrastination: reading magazines, eating cereal out of the box, watching infomercials. It's a matter of doing everything you can to avoid writing, until it is about four in the morning and you reach the point where you have to write."
                                                                              - Paul Rudnick

Present Tense, Past Perfect

Life's been good to me. For the most part anyway. Loving family, food on the table, roof over my head... that kind of stuff. I've been around for a fair bit of time on this planet of ours and like everybody else I too have my bag of memories to look back upon. I've never been any good at bringing the past back to life though. I'd never be that stranger on a bus who told you his story and made your journey so much more beautiful. I couldn't do a punch line well if my life depended on it. My storytelling would probably remind you of that artsy movie you went to, which left you feeling cheated out of your good money and time. Nevertheless, this is my blog. And lately I've had tons of free time with my never-ending string of misfortunes (I like to think of it as God being needed elsewhere right now). So I’ve decided to write about this life of mine, fascinating or stupendously boring as the case may be. What follows is purely a literary exercise for me. Also I’m hoping this will give me some good reading material for when I’m sipping tea on a lazy sunny afternoon in my retirement home up in the mountains. Based on a true but tiresome tale. Any resemblance to actual persons - living or dead - isn't co-incidental at all! Names, however, may be changed in the interest of my safety.

New Year, New Me?

Another new year is upon us. And humanity needs hope if nothing else for this one. I know I do. An optimist would judge 2011 a much better year than old man 2010. But that's a bit premature to say the least seeing as how we're only about two weeks into the year. Our population continues to grow exponentially. Threats of oil starvation continue. Apple still has countless zombies queuing up for their latest mind control device. And Osama Bin Laden continues to evade all the king's horses and all the king's men (or not depending on which school of conspiracy theories you subscribe to). On the bright side our planet's been pretty stable. Global warming is starting to look like an urban legend (C'mon, its -35 degrees outside). Economies are starting to recover slowly but surely. Last week an Indian domestic airline set a new record by ordering 180 jets from Airbus. Not everyone's idea of good news, but it works for me!

Resolutions are everywhere. What's yours? Other than the mandatory weight loss resolution, my list always looked more or less like the inside of an athletic goods store. So if I wasn’t 'just do(ing) it', I was under the impression that 'impossible is nothing'. I can never seem to add anything meaningful to my list. Maybe I should start smoking so I could resolve to give it up. How about smiling more? That sounds doable. And if recent studies are to be believed people who smile more at their workplace are the ones to bag those elusive raises (just don’t try too hard lest you end up in a straitjacket). Or maybe I should read more. I used to be such a bookworm as a kid. But back then I did not have distractions like YouTube and the Sony playstation 3. Travel? I'd need money for that. Which involves getting a job (incidentally the one thing I need the most this year). Or maybe I should just resolve to stick to at least one of my resolutions this year. Time to hit the gym then. Or I could just put on my best smile... Hmm.

The Best Card Trick Ever!!

Shawn Farquhar at his best.