Experience, Memory, Happiness

Recently stumbled upon TED Talk by Dan Kanheman which in a way provided some answers to my musings about memories and in particular my own memories about certain incidents in life. It provides a layman's view of the psychological self and how human happiness is tied to it. 

Kahneman makes a very interesting distinction, that between the experiencing self and the remembering self. There is a self that experiences things at the moment they happen and there is a self that remembers things as they happened after the instant it happened. Simple enough. But the catch is that the remembering self is a cunning b@*%^ and totally fudges all the data collected by the experiencing self. Now this in itself is not a great revelation as cognitive scientists have almost nailed down the effects of learning, reinforcement and reinvention by the brain. But what it exhilirating is the connection Kahneman draws between these two selves and the theory of happiness.

However, with some general observations, I firmly believe a third self, which for the sake of discussion, lets call 'perceived self' exists and has an overbearing influence on the remembering self. its effect on the experiencing self are debatable. The perceived self has been extensively studied (social comparison theory, modified theory of reflected appraisals). But, I find it rather strange - due to lack of any reasoning given for this exclusion - that Kahneman hasn't included the perceived self along with the other two selves in his pursuit of happiness, pun unintended. In layman terms, its the ubiquitos peer pressure at a micro level or general consensus at the macro level. Kahneman's example of the California resident's notion of satisfaction can be largely attributed to this self. It would be interesting to perform a study that evaluates all the three selves akin to the anecdotal colonoscopy study but preferably with much lesser probing, pun intended. That the remembering self has a distinct advantage over the experiencing self in its ability to improvise on a story provides reason enough to suspect the greater role of the perceived self in this improvisation.

Another profound point Kahneman makes is that 'When we think of the future, we dont think it in terms of experiences, but in terms of anticipated memories'. I for one have experienced it and all my thoughts of the future are just flashes of incidents that I anticipate will happen. I strongly doubt whether the brain even has a mechanism to anticipate experiences. When such large quantities of the self depends upon the remembering self, the perceived self takes every opportunity to reshape the remembering self or at the very least to train it to accept only chunks of the experiencing self it deems appropriate. Expectation Maximization at work! Daniel subtly hints at this when he says that the anticipated memories in a way drag the experiencing self to experience things that it had no interest in to begin with. Whether psychologists acknowledge the role of the perceived self on the remembering self and yet group it together as the remembering self or the effect of the perceived self on the study of happiness is uncorrelated to the other two selves is a tad unclear.

On a lighter note, remember Roy Sutherland's TED talk on intangible value the advertisers tend to create? He proposes to make a train journey better not by reducing the travel time but by hiring supermodels to hand out free Chateau Petrus for the duration of the journey and save a couple of billions off the engineering solution to it. If Kahneman has taught us anything, all it takes is supermodels to hand out free Chateau Petrus for the last thirty minutes and knock off another couple of billions off the operational cost. Colonoscopy could be improved too! 

Obsession

At what point does a mere longing become an obsession? Is it when the ego is hurt? And how deep must it hurt to go beyond the realm where you artificially sour the grapes to the realm where you long for them being sour? Every single morning I see it on my way. The moment I catch a glimpse of it, a saddening feel overcomes breaking through the music blaring in my ears. It lingers on. Memories from the not so distant past fill my head and hold a mirror to how miserable failure is. Never have I waited for the summer so much, never so much for the snow to melt.

My dearest Longs Peak, this summer, I will, I will, I surely will ....

A Tale of Three Individuals ....

The three were burning midnight oil. They were desperately looking for solutions for close to six hours now. None were in sight. Each had a grave problem at hand that the outside world had no inkling of.

Siddu's doctors had advised him to lose weight a couple of years ago. He was so busy in his money making projects and squabbles, he paid no attention to it. But now things were turning sour in his marital life too. His wife refused to go out with him until he shed those extra kilos. His grandsons sometimes teasingly said he closely resembled 'Singh' uncle and 'Mallikh' uncle. Siddu sometimes woke up at night from nightmarish visions of this.

Deshu wanted to impress someone. He jogged every morning, tried coloring his hair, having that retro 70s look and a bunch of other antics. However his heavy panting and collapsing due to cramps had not strengthened his case. He always thought of undertaking an adventure and making a solid impression. Alas, his boss was always in Delhi and the burden of managing the zonal office rested with him. If only he could mix work and his personal agenda ...

Shivu had no particular problem of his own. He was a happy man who often tinkered around with the law just for the kicks. He loved hanging out with Siddu and Deshu. Or at least he liked the free beer and late night movies at Siddu's. Rumor was it that he would do anything for a couple of beers and a briefcase that was not necessarily empty.

As he gulped down his fifth beer, Shivu had a brainwave!! The other two unanimously agreed that it was the panacea to all their problems. Shivu too agreed to join them in exchange for a couple of non empty briefcases or empty cheques.

One week later, all three set out on a padayatra from Bangalore to Bellary. A thousand sheep sheepishly followed!

A Case For And Against Evolution.

Twenty years, 365 days a piece, twenty four hours, every second of it. Information, more information, flying across, back and forth, to every terminal, from every terminal. Digits clicking away left, right and centre, eyes scanning across, hands dancing around, a billion lives, hooked on. Searching, like never before, twittering, louder than the loudest twitters. One last chat before crashing, one last ping before sleep. And you wake up and all that remains is this memory.

Vast deserts of naked warriors, savages killing each other, deranged men and women behaving wildly. Dark walls, zombies all around, searching for that special something, your toenails ripped apart. A catastrophe?? No wait, this is a dream. Confirmed, get back to sleep and wake up. You are in the same lounge you last slept, the computer meekly staring at you. Was there a smirk?? Did you miss it? Was your dream better? Yes, in a probabilistic sense.

Evolution, they say takes its toll on many things. What goes unnoticed is the havoc of evolution on a smaller scale, in a smaller time scale. Making egoists out of intellects, drawing out the beasts out of morons. Evolution towards what? Evolution towards self centerism? No, they say its evolution towards better internet usage, or so we are made to believe. But unbeknownst to us, deep down brews a hint of egoistic tendencies. Scares you when you are pulled in the vortex. Scares you when there isn't an escape pre planned. Scares you when it is all not a dream. Yes, you definitely want to get out it. Or do you?

Evolution teaches you to block people on gtalk. Feign not receiving messages and attribute it to connection problems. Evolution coaxes you to hide people on facebook. It often makes you a hero, That DC motor you connected to that old battery, those repeated trips to the electronic hardware store (just because you didnt know what to get the first time), those animated discussions all made you a 'geek' already. Now live up to it, show a moving toy to your friends in the basic sciences, post pictures of it on facebook,  makes you a certified lifetime geek. 

Deny evolution? Wonderful. No way it can explain the moronic youtube comments, comments that are totally unwarranted and uncorrelated to the video at hand. Comments on the anatomy of the scientist's daughter in an otherwise perfectly historical and scientific documentary of a great legend. Trivialities eulogized, mediocrity worshiped. Old hackneyed jokes, the same that appeared in your email for the 23rd time in the last 6 years, the same crushed hand of the baby girl that you will help get operated, the same kid of the parents victim to international terrorism, the same awesome unbelievable photos, the same clandestine 'private' messages that 'you have not answered to' in the past, the same millionaires of the world who went on to Forbes list by forwarding emails from AOL and Microsoft, bothered enough? Only if there was a internet suicide pill, pop one in, and you can never use the net again. They dont make it, do they? Homicide charges are pretty strict they say. No one escapes the law. But the rule doesn't apply to fishes, farms, friends of the day and of course Mystic Meg is definitely above the law! State vs Mystic Meg? Naah, who made these laws anyway?

There is a Nigerian out there waiting to scam you every ten seconds. The eleven digit figure you won in a draw, the dead rich businessman's naive daughter, that little pill that just has you jumping like a horse, all too well documented by Socrates. Plato even had a revised edition. But no, we are not interested, who listens to the Greeks anyway? They speak Greek. The donation of email passwords to those websites never ceases, just when you thought you blocked the last of those sites, comes another one. Javascripts don't have any mercy either. They do awesome stuff alright, make tomatoes fly, wiggle up your screen as if you had weed, gives you cool themes and can even get you to remember that lady you met last night. But didn't anyone tell you it can also take over your profile? Advertise a one night rendezvous with your sibling? If the English were to go on their conquest again, all they'd have to do is ask us to try out a new Javascript, and we'd be all too happy to do that, wont we? Damn you. No, damn you. Yeah! D-A-M-N you. 

[ Author's note: On a completely unrelated note, voice overs are great!. Totally in awe of this aspect of film making. Have your character talk out, talk to you, subjectively, related or random talk. Then you watch the movie from a first person's point of view, blurring the lines between diegesis and non diegesis. You, are the character, makes you think like one. Scorsese, Coens, Soderbergs and to some extent Wes Anderson and Fincher, experts at it. The art of film making is getting more enticing by the day.]

To SIR, with love ...

[Disclaimer: No SIRs were harmed during the making of this blog]

Definition: South Indian Relative (SIR) is a species native to the southern parts of India. Some westward migratory tendencies have been observed but are mostly confined to the young ones. The usual age of a SIR is in the range of 40 years to 60 years with a high variability. The male of the species are characterized by receding hairlines while the females are characterized by extraneous noble metals on their self. Relatively large swarms of SIRs can often be found in group activities common among the species namely weddings, house warming ceremonies and naming ceremonies providing SIR researchers a wonderful opportunity for their study.

SIRs as usual can either be good or bad - The Noble SIR (N-SIR) and the Pesky SIR (P-SIR). The noble variety usually approach your parents with a broad grin on their faces. Quite predictably, they are the rarer species and so has little or no contact with your parents since when you were 60 cm tall. The opening phrase would be 'Elli, Magu barlilwa?' After scratching their generously grey heads, and racking their brains for an excuse (other than 'He hates people, he wont come'), the poor parents would be at loss of words to explain how the magu has grown up and no longer looks forward to buying balloons off the street vendor.

Another equally awkward situation would be when a group of elderly ladies approach you and ask "Neenu 'ivara' maga alwa?" In such situations, the clever victim usually says 'No' and scoots. However in my case, it has never been so. I unwittingly say yes and then wonder with a strange expression on my face as to who was that 'ivaru' she was referring to. Quite obviously I dont want to be someone else's son and so, I ask her upfront. At this point, there are umpteen possibilities -

• She really doesn't know you. Makes some apologies and grants you freedom.
• She really doesn't know you. But in defense of her, you look exactly like this guy and so she thought you were his son.
• She really doesn't know you, but said so just so that you could be asked to get a glass of water or even better, some kaapi from the kitchen two floors down. (Happens a lot in Hassan and surrounding areas, to the best of my experiences)
• She knows you! She tells a lot about how she met your parents in the morning and how good they are. ('Thumba oLLeyavaru') - Thanks for the affirmation!! 
• She knows you! She knows your father! She knows your father's chaddi friends too! You are treated to a long narrative of your father's childhood with the pride glistening in her eyes that she knows your father since the time he was 'shorter' than you.
• She knows you! You don't know who she is! The long process of making her familiar to you with a dozen other names (which obviously you dont know) thrown in and family tree pulled up - the most torturous of them all!

Let's move on. Then there is this 'uncle' who is not so closely related to be called a family member nor is so remotely connected to be a 'far relative'. He smiles, you smile. You notice his kid who's literally pulling his pants down for he wants that third bar of choclate or some fancy toy. The uncle is trying to divert his mind and lo and behold, you walk past! 'Ivanu yaaru gotteno? You know who this is? Ivanu Karthik Anna' You thank heavens that you aren't an uncle yourself yet and smile sheepishly. Thats when you catch the clearly annoyed kid sticking out his tongue at you.

So what about the pesky SIRs? Well, they are pesky. They take an active interest in all that others do, more than those involved themselves. They are probably more interested in your CET rank than you. (the year of CET = Annus horribilis). They actually count the number of Mysore Paks you had at the lunch. They keep a tab of your life more than your mom probably ever did! They dont believe you, why should they? And so they ask you the same question a dozen times, hoping that one of those times, you will give a different answer. Better still, they'll ask the same question to all people connected to you and try to dig out the 'secrets' ala Mr. Holmes.

God forbid, if a SIR's own progeny is within an acceptable age range as yours, you are doomed D-O-O-M-E-D! Now, my friend, your academic competitors are not the nerds in your class, its a subset of all those who attended the wedding reception last Monday night! And so, every prize from a lemon and spoon competition to a frog race and every achievement from being the class 'leeeeeeeader' to ranking first in the entire 3rd standard A section is celebrated upon. It is these kind of people who literally change the world! University of Timbucktoo becomes better than MIT, coding becomes high precision engineering; every frog race is a rat race, Phew!. One special penchant the pesky SIRs of Bangalore have (which I cant come to terms with for another century) is for a certain college in Bangalore run by Di.Ke.Shi. Anyway, Di.Ke.Shi and that special engineering college discussion for another rainy day.

In between the two extremes are the bunch of other SIRs. SIRs who take credit for anything from the greenness of the plantain leaf to the sweets of the coconuts used. SIRs who knew when you were born, that you are gonna be an 'excellent' engineer! SIRs who lecture you on why Digital Signal Processing is bad and why you must study Mechatronics instead (His wife's brother's father-in-law's sister's grandson is studying that - so it must be good) among a host of uncategorizables. Despite all this, time and again all the SIRs congregate, carry through their personal agendas, and yet mingle around and make the event a success. After all, that's life, full of diversities, full of masala. Cheers to the South Indian Relative!

Banashankari, onduvare ticket!

[My first blog post in ages, its an attempt to try my hand at nostalgic writing. This post is a tribute to all those blogs and stories of nostalgia, which when read truly transports you back in time, most notable among them Bengalooru Banter. Heres another comical take on it.]

For the uninitiated, Route No 14 is one of the very few links between the North and South of our famed Bengalooru. I wont go into all the explanation about how people in the North think South is a residential paradise or how the South thinks North is uncultured among other things. Usually operating between Malleswaram in the North to some random location in the South (which the author doesn't know since he never sat through till the end or had no enthu to google too), it made an extended trip from ITI Layout in the North to again the same random location in the south twice in the morning and once in the evening everyday. This they say was to facilitate the employees of AG's office long ago. Its another matter, that no one knows what exactly is AG's office now or what actually happens within the confines of the office [For general information, it is Accountant General's office situated somewhere on Kasturba Road, the same place where the Museum is situated (and no, its not the museum road)], and as with all great things, conspiracy theories abound like the local milkman bribed the BMTC officials to run this service so his kids could attend some random school in Basavangudi, or the area MLA used this to return from Vidhana Soudha when the MLAAD scheme was under scrutiny - although all charges have been unconditionally refuted and no chargesheet filed.

14 is one of the few buses (let me be frank, the only bus) I know in Bangalore that follows a queue system, yes a QUEUE. The bus leaves at 0840 hrs in the morning and one can see a long serpentine queue beginning to form at 0810 itself. As with most other things, I dont see the logic behind standing in a queue for a good 30 mins so that you dont have to stand in the bus for an equal or lesser time. But nonetheless, I have more often than not, stood in the line. And no, this bus is a true showman. He doesn't believe in exposing his body to all the smoke and paan standing there like a fool and expecting people to arrive. He arrives royally at 0830 or 0835, the conductor still cleaning his mouth of the morning breakfast and sipping water. The conductor for many years was a medium built man with a striking resemblance to Kannada actor Ambarish, was replaced for a few years and then he was back all over again.

The earliest ones are AG's office employees who are near their retirement or for that matter anybody whose retirement life is beckoning but they still got to finish up a few years before collecting their pension. They wake up early, eat early and are at the line early, with a newspaper, which is most cases is the orangish brown Economic times or the Hindu, TOI is blasphemous. Passing by the queue, mostly you would see shining bald heads with a briefcase or a bag in one hand, except if you were a regular, in which case, the shining heads would tilt back and grace you by a elegant curve on the lips. The general rule is no one breaks the line, and if you did, thou shalt be charred to death by the disgusted and angry look on their faces (even if looks could not kill). Then, there would be the old ladies who made a dignified walk to the end of the line occasionally stopping to chat with other ladies in the queue (as expected!!) Amidst all this, there would be a drooping Anglo Indian who seemed to be in a world of his own complete with an old European style cap, flannel clothing and total silence.

Amidst all this sepia tone drama, there would be an occasional 'young blood' in the queue. A young girl in her mid twenties who for some 'strange' reason always sat with another young guy of comparable age, an occasional engineer who lost his way, or some PU student from Shady's who had bunked the morning session and wanted to experience some college torture after the breakfast break (which incidentally is where yours truly fits in - and our college started at 7:30 in the morning and we had a breakfast break at 9 - good old days)

Back to sepia, bus is in place, conductor having finished cleaning his mouth, would start his ritual, and that being his first 'trippu' in the morning, the oft heard growl was 'Change illa kanri, change tharakke agalwa?' This was mostly with the people at the end of the line, the early birds were of course regulars and mostly had the exact change down to the last paisa or had passes! Occasionally, someone in the crowd waiting for other buses about 100 ft away would notice a totally empty bus as against the usual filled to triple capacity buses at that hour and would leap into the bus totally ignoring all protocols only to be abused and sent to the end of the line.

All the groundwork done and the last of the passengers boarded, the bus would leave at 0840 hours or at most 0843 hours - amazing time keeping by any Indian standards - initially slow and then picking up pace - as if it was some princely locomotive. The sepia tone generation would still be in their 'economic' times with an occasional political commentary, the color generation trying to strike up conversations and failing most of the time, a few others looking at their watches and repeatedly cursing the organised boarding for their delay, people alighting, new people boarding, and halfway through the trip, the original passengers would've all alighted to make way for a new set of them, a new crowd behavior, a new set of discussions, a new set of purposes. Of course, Route No 14 didn't mind any of these, it was more than happy looking at the stone buildings of IISc, the hustle bustle of Malleswaram, the stagnant traffic of link road, the terrible stink on link road, the distinctive smell at Shivananda, the powerful Vidhana Soudha, the bustling RC College, the overcrowded City Market, Chamrajpet, Ramakrishna Mission, Shanthi Talkies and disappear into the folds of the South.  It was afterall a daily routine, sometimes in sepia, sometimes in color.

Namma Kaayva Kurubarooo , KURUBARU!!! KURUBARU!!! .....

ThaLavoorida kuruba katukanaadare, avana machchigava enu hoLapu, enu jaadoo, enu moha, kaNNu kukki sokkiruva, katthanadake thikkiruva, hogi hogi nekkiruva, naavu neevu avaru ivaru ......... KurigaLu saar .... KurigaLu

[For the non kannada readers - its futile to translate it]

Kuruba - Shepherd

KurigaLu - Sheep

Father Gowda, one day after his son infamously tried sneaking into 10, Janpath in his Merc (of course with a chauffeur) reiterates that the third front is intact. In what has become a repeated political drama in the family, son goes to another outfit, father disowns him, lots of high voltage action, a heart attack, dizziness thrown in, a trip to the hospital Jayadeva (Jayadeva, not Sagar Appollo mind it), mangalya bala of female members of the family invoked, photo op hugs, a few dives to the feet of the patriach and all is well all over again. Whom are they trying to fool? We, the citizens? No we are never fooled, we are educated, we never vote at all you see. 

Somehow the first thought that came to mind seeing this is the wonderful poem KurigaLu saar naavu KurigaLu by Prof. Nissar Ahmed. Written years ago, the song is true to its word, everywhere, everytime, more so in this age of alliances where every Kuruba is invaluable to the Head Kuruba.

Listen to the song (Requires Real Player): KurigaLu (Nisar Ahmed - Mysore Anantswamy)

Credits: www.churumuri.wordpress.com

The Great Indian Coalition Saga

Title:   Indian Political League

Also Known as:   The Great Indian Coalition Saga (Working title, India)

Director:   Multiple

Genre:   Drama, Action, Politics, Comedy, Fiction

Tagline:   150 is the new 272

CBFC Rating:   [A] ,for scenes containing graphic violence, caste, slander and liquor.

Runtime:   Eternity

Company:   Twentyfirst Century - Trapeze Artists Association

A friend recently put up a status messge declaring "I envision a world where all chickens will be free to cross roads without having their motives called into question." Although the chicken has been question for eons, it hasn't ceased to make news time and again amazing me with its sustained interest in crossing roads - one wider than the other. So, I set out asking this question to all our future prime ministers (alright! some may realise this posthumously) - A few in candid interviews on record, a few off record in closed rooms and AC cars. Of course, these are not without my personal political leanings as is explicitly evident.

(Content Advisory: The main protagonist of this piece is the chicken. The chicken is an extremely versatile actor donning different roles in different scenes as the story progresses. So if you are averse to chickens or their very intentions of making news, this isn't for you. Additionally, if you are miles away from the happening political scene in India and its associated concern and responsibilities, this might well not be your plate of chicken)

Behen Maya

During Election time: It was carrying a message of equality from the Dalits to the Brahmins!

All other times: It was carrying some donation for my birthday fund.

Kagodu Thimmappa: Oh was it?? Yaava chicken road cross maadtheeni antha heLaththo, antha chickenna thale kattarisi haakbeku. Adu cross maadodanthe.... naavu nododanthe... hmm

Sycophant R V Deshpande: It's a historic event. It was proclaiming to the world that Rahul visited the state during election campaign. This will be written in golden letters.

ChaluvaLi king Vatal: The EC has no better work than watch chickens ... in other areas, there are elephants crossing the road. Jai Karnataka .... (with violent waving of the hands)

Tamil hero MK: The chicken is my friend. And Im not a terrorist. The chicken is a noble chicken, it must be treated like a king.

Father Gowda: We support all secular chickens. Obviously it was trying a lot to escape from the communal forces. Its a 'tall' chicken now. Only the mangalya bala of the chicken's wife saved it from being run over by a tractor. Get me 10 chickens, I'll show how much control I have over all chickens in the country.

Party Hopper Bangarappa: BJP did not have any chickens once upon a time. Now since the CM's son is contesting, they are forcibly paying the chickens to cross the road.

Beta Dutt: The chicken's father died because of pressure from Congress in the previous century. So it is revolting now. The chicken was also actually tortured eons ago. If I see the chicken anywhere, I'll definitely give it a jaadu ki jhappi and pappi. All credit goes to my brother Amarji.

Chief Mischief Maker Chawla: Just a minute, I want to use the restroom ... (makes a call to 10, Janpath) I think it crossed because Gopalswami ordered it. The other ECs have no role in it.

HDK: Father will decide. Father will decide whether the chicken can cross or not. It also depends whether the chicken is a rural chicken or an urban chicken. But father will decide. Father will decide. Even common man is discussing about this chicken. Father will decide....

The not so High Command: The chicken is does not belong to any party. Its a national chicken. Insult to the national chicken is an insult to the country.

The all knowing Vadra: The chicken definitely has the qualities to cross the road. The chicken is a good blend of of its father and grandmother. Who me?? No, I'll never cross the road. But I know all about road crossing and chickens and I can comment on and on about it at any rally.

Baba Rahul: Empower all chickens to cross the road, we can eliminate butcherism (read terrorism) in 15 minutes. (Personal note: 15 minutes, bah! what 50 years of family rule didnt accomplish)

'Secular' newbie Kalyan: My aim is BJP ka barbaadhi, the chicken's aim is BJP ka barbaadhi, we are friends now. Even I know how to cross the road.

Kingmaker Amar: I dont want to reveal who said this to me. I want to do business with them later. But I know the chicken's name is Maya. See what havoc Mayas are causing in this country. One Maya is spoiling UP, another Maya is crossing the roads everywhere. 

Roller Driver Lalloo: Are chodiye, na chicken hamare party mein hain, na hum chicken ke party mein. Phir bhi, agar mein Home Minister hota tho usi waqt uske chathi par roller chala deta .....

Byre Gowda Junior: The chicken has a MS from US, the chicken has a educated wife from another caste. So the chicken can easily cross the road.

A not so 'humble' NCP man: You see anything cant be said. It all depends on where the chciken was. If it was in Vidharba or Marathwada, it was going to Sharadji's rally. Anywhere else it was running away from the Sainiks. Im pretty sure the chicken wants to see Sharadji as the prime minister.

And so, as we speak, the chicken continues to cross many more roads, many  a heads roll, many a rollers crush, many a thieves are let away by 'independent' investigative agencies and many a 'secular' hypocrites beg for votes. Unmindful of all these, a very small number of chickens - say around 400 million, more than three quarters being educated chickens turn the other way or tend to believe that their President is President Obama. Did someone say elections?? Unheard of in these parts of the world .....

Mystery, thy name is Everything!

Mystery, thy name is Nature! The nature of human mind, the nature of deceit, the nature of love, hate, accomplishment, emptiness shrouded in intricately woven layers of mystery. Love, that becomes a passion, passion, that morphs into obsession, obsession, that transcends into compulsion - insurmountable, leading to a bitter destruction with no imminent gain in sight. A no-man's land in that battle between the mind and the body. The fathomable, the unfathomable - both equally misleading yet dear to them. This is your life, this is their life, its my life - all ending - one minute at a time without individual consent. God likes to watch, or that's what he said. An amusement to Him, a wide screen television with Dolby Digital. Someone was indeed right, He sure is a prankster. Mystery, thy name is God!

You perceive, you perceive not. You believe, you believe not. You do it, you do it not. Did you do it? Or did you intend to do it? Deja vu?? What if you indeed did it but didn't realise? What if your actions pushed an entire parallel universe to destruction? Or what if it saved it? Are you a hero? Are you God? If no, why not? If yes, was it your free will? Or libertarian incompatibilism at action? Prathibhaasika? Vishishtadwaitha? Achintya Bheda Abedha?? Any takers? What if your choice made no difference to the universe, what if it was all written down meticulously for ages to come for dumb actors to enact? It pains to know you - the egoistic you - are just a funny puppet providing amusement. Mystery, thy name is Decision!

Free will. A mirage in the unlimited vastness. The real, the surreal all encompassed in this vastness. Any possibility that a vast universe was created and a bunch of lunatics were given free will? What are the odds? Even if it was true, what can you do with it? Kill the world?? Blast the Mars? And how is that going to affect anything in this ever expanding infinity? Isnt futility the most regular of all exercises?

purnam adah purnam idam
purnat purnam udachyate
purnasya purnam adaya
purnam evavashishyate

The rules of the game are not comprehended, the players are upbeat. But the results are predetermined. There isnt any escape even though infinity is before you. Are there any rules at all? What if the rules were antonymous to everything known? What if the bad guys were enjoying themselves before and after? What if all rewards were reserved for them? Good and bad - the most mystic of them all. Wait! Who told you the rules? Did you hear them fine? Are there any rules at all?? Mystery, thy name is Nihilism!

The truth, the lies and everything in between, carefully concealed, underplayed yet continually at work, unbeknownst to the victim, plotting for a larger scheme of things, a finale that may encompass the infinity, a finale that may be so spectacular (Who doesn't like climaxes, including Him), a finale that may reduce infinity to zero or a finale that may give birth to another episode on the Widescreen. Or does it have a finale? Why should it? Isnt change the single most thing loathed all around. Or does anyone who has seen it all and all the repeat telecasts really care? Mystery, thy name is Universe!

Exams... Ahoy!

A bunch of school kids merrily sitting in a class of a Government High School. A picture that could make any Education Minister swell his chest in pride. But neither are they kids nor are they sitting happily. This picture appeared in todays edition of Deccan Herald shows the first day of 10th grade exam (yes yes, its still SSLC) at Government High School, Gadag. To quote from the paper

Mass copying has been reported in Gadag on Monday, the first day of the SSLC examinations in the State. Photocopies of the ready-made answers to the questions were reportedly supplied to the students two hours prior to the starting of the examinations. And this happened with co-operation from external students. More than two students have been allowed to sit beside each other in a single desk at some centers. Police had a harrowing time controlling the youth who were trying to supply answer chits to their friends. It has also come to light that there is a network which helped to warn the students if a team of supervisors visited the exam centers to curb malpractice inthe examination. Neatly written answer papers were being distributed to the students, by mentioning clearly the question numbers on the answer papers to avoid confusion among the students. Gadag district has secured seventh, third and fourth places in SSLC in the last three years respectively. Hence, a doubt has cropped up here that mass copying maybe the reason for this good results.

Now, this pic throws up a multitude of questions. Why is the last person in the front row peeping into the script of the next? It was reported that ready made answers were supplied to students two hours before the exam. Now this guy either didn't get the answers (which clearly shows the demand-supply imbalance of apriori answer sheets - of course, surplus production is definitely not the answer, for the market would cease to exist once the exam begins - but the best one could do is to meet the demand at least) or he was too lazy to mug through it (in which case, the fault entirely lies with the consumer and the liability of the supplier is nil). Considering the first hypothesis is true, this can also imply a third possibility - of the gross irregularities in the supply chain even when the product was in surplus.

Second, why is the guy in the second row captured in an unusul action? Is he trying to cover his eyes from the bright flash of the camera? (Which tantamounts to disturbing 'innocent' kids grappling with a terrifying examination) Or is he showing his pride in the activities of the room?

Third, why is the fairer sex so silent? There are three hypothesis to this. We reject the first one before stating it! Next, Were they slyly warned of the impending pic by the photographer? (Naari Mukthi Andolan, Where art thou?) Or are they so good at reading things given a couple of hours before the exam?

Jokes aside, Agreed, the lucre of leaked question papers is compelling, but isn't allowing malpractice at this scale right under your nose a disservice to the society?

PS: The chief of some Sena (the very mention of the name is an insult to the God) wants to contest election from Udupi or Chikkodi. This from a man whom I suspect knows not the difference between Kannada and Canada. (This has not any explicit relation to this post, but both underline the sorry state of affairs in two different realms of the society)

A Fresh Debate in Kannada Circles

Reuters February 18,

A new debate has started among the Kannadiga community in US regarding the usage of certain words in Kanglish - the Kannada dialect of English. The debate which has engulfed the entire United States and parts of Canada in a short span is touted to be hotly debated in the coming days. The contention seemed to arise out of the usage of the word 'movieSgaLu'.

According to sources, the purists who are in favor of using 'moviegaLu' contest that the incorrect usage 'movieSgaLu' has within it an inherent grammatical flaw. Their argument that it contains a dual plurality is believed to have no takers among the advocates of the second variant. Hardcore users of 'movieSgaLu' confront that this usage is in sync with the usage back home like 'ThipparahaLLiya TharaleSgaLu' and 'Gendethimmana GirlfriendSgaLu'.

Although an AKKA spokesperson tried to distance the organization from both fragments, attributing the fight to the lack of knowledge of the dialect among the masses, the issue is expected to rock the Sammelana to be held later in the year.

PTI adds from Bruhat Bengalooru,

The Kannada ChaluvaLi Vatal Paksha known for its novel ways of protest is reported to have locked up a donkey and a buffalo within Navrang theatre with non stop screening of Kannada 'movieSgaLu'. He demanded unconditional implementation of the Sarojini Mahishi report and reiterated his commitment to Gadinadu Horata Samithi, although insiders were totally baffled by the relationship of the present crisis to his demands. At the time of going to the press, violent braying of the donkey and silence of the buffalo was heard.

Not to be outdone, the lone legislator from the erstwhile Kannada Nadu Party, Mr. Sankeshwar convened a press meet at the Press Club clarifying his stand on the issue. He said he and the entire VRL staff and commuters were for the usage of 'movieSgaLu'. This event was reportedly sabotaged by KRV activists, Narayana Gowda faction who demanded the reinstatement of 'moviegaLu' in Kanglish dictionary as the proportion of Kannada in it was higher. The senior Gowda taking note of this has written a 'letter' to almost everyone in his address book and has threatened to write another 'letter' to the AKKA president as soon as he gets his postal address. The contents of the letter were not publicised.

Meanwhile, The Kannada Development Authority Chairman 'Mukhyamantri' Chandru demanded a total ban on all uses of Kanglish in general and 'movieSgaLu' and 'moviegaLu' in particular be implemented within a week failing which all office bearers would resign from their posts. The shivers of the US debate and its ramifications in the state were felt in the film industry too. According to Gandhinagara grapevine, producer Venkatesh is considering renaming his production house as 'Kallbandegere ChalanachitragaLu'.

Unconfirmed reports from Mangalore indicate Mr. Muthalik's views on the issue. He is reported to have suggested that all women must be stopped from watching 'moviegaLu' or 'movieSgaLu' as these are against the ancient values of Indian society and any women 'caught'. watching one would be forcefully married to the movie star. The Baikampady police have taken him into preventive custody to ease the volatile situation.

Amidst all the fuss and volatility, the question still remains - 'moviegaLu' or 'movieSgaLu' ?

The Tasteless Coffee ...

He stared at infinity for the fifth time since morning, that had become his routine anyway. The infinity too seemed to beckon him. There seemed to be not much he could do with most parts of his anatomy aching from the previous night's fall than stare at the screen (luckily one doesn't fall on his eyes anytime). How long can a man stare at an uninteresting screen? Out popped a gtalk message with the all too annoying *ping* 'En maadthidyo??' Although tempted to say 'Enilla maga, Yeddi bandidda, byelectionalli win aadre Vidhana Soudhano Vikasa Soudhano decide maadthidvi', he just typed a cursory 'Nothin dude, jus like tat'.

He stepped out of the house hoping some fresh air would lift his spirits only to be greeted by the rickety ambassador being serviced by the pan chewing driver. He couldn't conclude whether the emission was from the car or the driver's ears. A few steps later, he tried calling her, she cut. He tried again, this time the cut was even more spontaneous. He felt like being slapped in the face. Cursing, he slipped the phone into his pocket. He was confused. Was he being cruel to the world or was the world playing games with him? Two lanes passed and he met an old friend, His only mistake was asking casually "How are you?" and she started her story which showed all signs of extending to a mega serial. He frantically began searching for the ";" button but then realized this wasn't the familiar MATLAB environment. She went on and on interspersing with what she assumed were humor. Sometimes he smiled, sometimes he said rofl with a dead pan expression.

Two blocks away there was some commotion. Seizing the opportunity, he sprinted towards it. He quietly went through the outer periphery of the crowd. War cries of "Eno maneli heLbandidya ilwa??", "Nadi stationge *&%*&R$%$%$" were heard. He smirked at them and moved on. The world seemed to be as normal as everyday. The girl at the corner house was strutting on the terrace as usual with her cell. He always wanted to talk to her but every time there came up some situation. Sometimes her father propped out of nowhere, at other times her boyfriend jumped out of the bush. He made a mental note to try his best tomorrow, to atleast speak to her for a couple of minutes. He couldn't afford to not talk to her, he badly needed to know her prepaid rate plan. His calculations always showed her monthly cell expenditure to be around 10k which he assumed was atrocious and thoroughly believed there was some great plan by some small time carrier that had eluded him.

Everything seemed so normal. The milkman's son was as usual chasing his cows on his Pulsar with those huge buckets dangling from the mirror. He had graduated from the squeaking Atlas cycle. The boys playing cricket, the vegetable vendor trying to hide the rotten stuff under the superficially good ones, the local grassroots Congress worker putting up a big poster to wish the local MLA on his birthday, the Panipuriwallah setting up his stall, the street dogs barking at the German Shepherd for invading their territory, the Uncles setting out for their evening walks followed closely by Aunty gangs with their over powdered faces and jet black hairs. - he noticed them all. The strays continued barking oblivious to everything else.

He headed to the Coffee Day. This had become their adda over the past two years. Pleasantries were exchanged and enquiries made over his crestfallen face. He then began to unwrap his woes sipping the frappe on how he had been assigned to rework on someone else's code, how he had to work with variable indexing as weird as main_struct.(itm).tr1.alpha_f0(z, main_struct.(itm).alpha_f1(z*2,1)). They tried consoling him. He was uncontrollable. They offered their support, tried to cheer him up and when nothing worked left but not before offering their condolences. When the last of them had left, he ordered another coffee. Somehow the coffee tasted bitter that day. Maybe it was psychological, maybe Coffee Day had run out of sugar. He stared at infinity and began sipping it.... His cell began vibrating, it was her. He cut the call immediately, without second thoughts .....

Gowda and Sons Insane Ltd.

Dyave Gowda banda ...
Kumarannan thanda ...
Dilliyalli bidda ...
Benglooralli edda .....

Pattabhisheka anthe.... damn...

Ism, Ism, Ism - Egoism, Journalism, 'Assertivism'

Well, well, 3 AM is not exactly the time to get urges. And most importantly its not everyday that you brush your teeth before bed and then get this very strong urge to blog. (No! I wasn't talking about the brushing part - on the contrary, that is fairly regular) But now the freak that I'm turning into, with every imaginable thing looking connected to the Gaussian distribution, this seems perfectly plausible. Yes, the Rockies look Gaussian! And during my long periods of academic inefficiency (read snoring in the class) I've had dreams of me modeling peoples' characteristic tendencies to be Gaussian. I feel the figure is self explanatory. And yeah! I seriously have developed a great admiration for Gauss, for he can withstand the assault of Fourier and still come out unscathed except for a few minor scratches.



Aah! I know I'm very much into the process of reducing my BRP (Blog Rating Point) which is a direct function of comments put in, given the strong correlation of this blog entry to a particular topic in the ensemble of the topics covered as part of my pursuit in obtaining a degree from an alien land. But then, my BRP was never too high, so I can take the liberty to do what I wish without giving a damn to it. Gone are the days my friends, when yours truly succumbed to the lures of favoritism. This is the age of revolutionary journalism. Never mind, that was my alter ego speaking.

So where am I headed?? Nowhere!! Everyone else is headed somewhere. I'm just where I am probably waiting for a race that hunts for a guy who hasn't moved an inch. Naked race in the middle of civilization, someone getting 'elected' for a change (No, no comments about that, I've fought enough and moreover I'm not worried about my BRP. Heck! my blog doesn't even have a Page Rank), greats retreating and retiring, cases of pot calling the kettle black (or more aptly the keeper's gloves calling the bat black), and yes you guessed it right..... The Chinese.... invading the US of A. After all these you expect me to have pleasant views on this spherical congregate of soil and liquid water revolving on a particularly hot mass of fusion process gone awry and cleverly named 'The' Sun. No, no, noooo, I cant do much about others, but I wont let the invasion happen until there hath a brain in my head and of course a scalpel in my hand. (Alter ego again!)

On a positive note, a certain Mr. I'm Great whom I thoroughly hate for bringing misery upon another country is stepping down, a wonderful language has got its due after a long time, The Big Bang Theory is perhaps the best comedy series since the Blackadder series ended - dont even bother mentioning about a few 'friends' jumping around (Im already having strong influences of Sheldon..... meeeeeeeeeooooooooooooom.. I'm the Doppler Effect... haha), Chetan Bhagat is writing as good as ever (I somehow fall in love with his heroines every time - there's something about their description - from the cute nose to the pinkiness of their rooms to the rebellious behavior), they still use 'Liquid Oil' to fry veg burgers (for those whoo don't know, ASK) and there, I've got some reasons to cheer about.

Summarizing, the author strongly feels you've got some excess time on your hands to have read thus far and it wouldn't be a pain to drop in a few comments with the sole goal of increasing my BRP. (Shameless! That was the Alter Ego with the scalpel again!)

And now off to some peaceful sleep with Gaussian dreams .....

Life - Here and There - And nothing in between

Well I haven't been serious enough, in my blog, in my life and probably all the probabilities occurring in my life are the probabilistic results of highly improbable events leading to the remote probability of my life being wrecked, probably beyond repair. Not again. Every time I sit down to blog, I try not to sound funny or act sarcastic (ample proof of which is present in the opening paragraph of most of my earlier blogs) but somehow midway I get back to my old sarcastic self. Nevertheless, I keep trying and trying .....and trying.

So, seriously and I mean seriously lets talk about Potato Chips. Why?? Because that's the only serious subject I could find in front of me. A pack of potato chips essentially contains potato chips which essentially are slices of potato that are 'supposed' to be freshest with no preservatives with a terrific taste that will tantalize my taste buds (those surviving after the assault of Subway veggies). Philosophers contend that the potato chips is a perfect metaphor to the problems in life that look humongous when in a pack but dissolve into thin air when chewed on. But seriously speaking again what they fail to notice is the 11g of fat (2g of saturated fat) that is transferred along with the crispy wafers which is akin to the .... the... penalty the system has to pay for chewing on the problem. Crap! What am I talking. Whoever said potato chips were metaphorical of problems. All crap. I cant do this anymore.

In that case, I guess I'll go back to my latest muse of comparing things here and back in India -things I miss a lot. And I guess I'd do it with a lot of favoritism towards India than those NRIs (the non returning types). I miss having my morning cuppa over the old faithful friend Deccan Herald. Waiting for the newspaper boy whose arrival times cannot fit into any known probability distribution was sweeter in direct proportion to the magnitude of the news expected. Literally fighting with the family to be able to grab the paper first is an experience best experienced first hand. Although newspapers in America are supposed to be good, the free ones contain absolute rubbish like 'taxi driver rips off passenger's coat for refusal to pay tips' or 'prankster arrested for making 911 calls repeatedly' which are of no use to mankind. In contrast, looking out for the scheduled power cut and hunting down for our locality in the midst of hundred other localities is more cherishing. The joy of finally finding our locality and then the realization of absolutely no TV or computer for the next 7 hours was simply great (either in the positive or negative sense).

I miss those delicious dosas I had 5 times a week and literally fought with my mom for it, so much so that she dreaded hearing the very word 'dosa'. Settling on the couch with those and dutifully reading the middle and the LTTE (Letters to the editor) was as much a routine as brushing my teeth. Agreed, I can always read DH online here too. But anyone who has read a newspaper with the least bit of enjoyment would agree that the epaper is in no way a substitute to the 'real thing'. I yearn for the Bangalore traffic with their great lane nonsense ( I believe the antonym for lane sense), the unpredictable auto drivers (I've heard that the late Dr. HN wrote a humorous piece on them titled 'Auto Bhayagraphy' - please forward it to me if anyone finds it), the chaos with the seasonal rains, the splendid taste of Bhel puri when one's pants are half drenched, the confrontations with the street dogs with 'attitude', the BMTC buses that could compete for the densest population per square meter, the joy when petrol prices decrease, the despair when they increase, the luxury of having incoming calls free and of course the exemplary art of 'giving' missed calls are just a few of the simple joys in life one misses when away home.

But on the brighter side, you have to miss them for a few years to realize what you really enjoy and that makes one appreciate their value a lot more. In conclusion, at the risk of sounding nostalgic, I guess I have written a fairly 'serious' blog on a fairly serious subject for a fairly serious audience. If a more serious approach is warranted, I shall be obliged to do so in the near future.

Yours Seriously,

Varthik K

Life 101

There are only two ways in life, the one you are treading, and the other you regret not treading. And life goes on .....

Innerwear over Dhoti.... Up up and away.....

Having a Gult converted to Kannadiga converted to Tamilian (okk! to be fair enough to all states .. soon to be Keralite) as a roommate has its fair share of advantages apart from the fact that he can curse you in n! different languages and you can still stand grinning there not understanding a single word.

Right now we three roommates stay in three different rooms and coincidentally I happen to be at the end of the laughter propagation chain. The moment I hear a hysterical laughter piercing the silence two rooms away, I buckle up for the things to come, flex my facial muscles and get ready. Around 30 seconds later, a stifled conscious laugh a room away, and then I know its my turn.

For a kid who grew up on generous doses of Dr. Vishnuvardhan and Dr. Raj who rarely tested the sensibilities of the kannada audience save for an occasional jump from a 50 feet building or swimming across the Cauvery during a heavy flood, my generous roomie introduced me to the wondeful world of Telugu and Tamil superheroes. I always thought those stories about Captain and Rajanikanth were fake and pseudo stuff created by overzealous and jealous teenagers. But now, I take pleasure in introducing them to all you innocent people whose brains have never been tested to such extremes.

For starters, Balayya with his superhuman powers.



All you kids attempting wheely on your 180cc bike. Grow up. Rise to the occasion (with your tractor)!!



Get your horse to fall on its back, generate great momentum pulling the reins and you are all set to slide with it. Slide, slide and away.......



Ever heard of the LBR? The Large Bullet Reflector. Breakthrough....truly!



For the benefit of those that are still on their chairs or aren't on their way to the hospital, you can dare see this and this.

And for those of you who repeatedly asked for the past few months and those who didnt ask too, n! is a strange number and I love it. For those who think small, say 10, then 10! would be a big number (for their understanding) and for those that think big, say 10000, then 10000! is anyway a huge number. So I prefer n! to n in most of my conversation.

How boring can this get?? Aaargh....... shut up! [Gunshot] Enna pairu Gardheek Vengadesh, My brain is wrapped up in SBR ... hahahaha.....Jai Chennakesava, Jai Chennakesava....

Amreeka! Amreeka!

Q: So how was the journey??

A: The journey was a perfect embodiment of what is generally called a long journey except that the particular word in the Queen's language 'long' apparently defied all bounds and decency to transmogrify into 'loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong'.

So in a days time of 23 hours of trying to figure out why exactly British Airways mandates its male cabin crew to have clean shaven heads, ponder at the retirement age for the female crew, turn around every single piece of food packet served to determine its allegiance to the Vegetarian or the Non Vegetarian lobby ( I never spared "Still" Mineral water too), gulping down horrible replacements to what you (that was just a little joke) Indians call food and catching say 15.65 winks for the day, I had almost reached a good twenty thousand miles away from home.

For the run of the mill IT company kind of guys that's it. Go back to sleep. your cab has already started from it starting point and would be on its way to pick you up in sharp 6 hrs 41 mins. For the others, a more detailed and sometimes boring explanation is warranted. Well lets see....

The Bengaluru International Airport with all the hype around it still requires 1 Re to make a call. Oh God! Gone are the days when flashy places like the airports actually charged you a minimum of double digit currency to talk to your girlfriend. So I guess its perfectly normal to find kids and the not so kids in designer suits and Gucci shoes begging around - "1 Re Pleeease". And I guess it needn't be further stated as to who had a first hand experience in the art of begging.

An unceremonious 'random' bag checking and a few plastic smiles later, and of course a couple of high altitude meals thrown in, London was refreshingly hmm..aah...well.... western enough. After being forced to watch the plane trajectory from Heathrow to Denver and a particularly irritating review of all the movies onboard by a certain Michael Something with a irritating sense of humor, the Spanish movie 'The Orphanage' was quite good and intense and I would recommend it any day for anyone wishing some horror.

Some like the chocolates here, some the cleanliness, some the cute ones, but the first thing I loved about this place is ........ ah well...I dont seem to know the name of that but for all I know its those synthetic tapes used as railings in almost every public place. Can be easily dismantled and reconfigured for new ways. For those of you still wondering what Im talking about, I'll post a picture someday.

The best thing about Boulder apart from the northward racing shorts (obviously those preferred by the female species) is the transport service. I love this ( I meant the bus, not the former) so much that there hasn't been a journey since I landed here without me dozing off. Well for starters, some of the queerness noticeable here apart from those mentioned above are

• The eternal penchant for maps and their usage. Every corner has a free map to be 'used'. Getting lost here isnt all that easy, even if you wanted to, for eventually you'll bump into this sweet girl who'll get you on the right track (quite literally) with the help of her sleek iPhone.
• Motorists giving way to pedestrians. Its a state law here of course. Yet, it is embarrassing that you accidentally keep a foot on road and all traffic comes to a standstill and you are forced to cross the road even if you didnt want to in the first place. Dont try them on national highways though.
• And boy, greet, greet and greet. Every moment, every time you see someone, greet. Phew! although amusing sometimes, can be quite irritating when experienced in large doses with no apparent motivation to do it :P

America is said to be a land of opportunities ( someone missed out 'extremes') From my close shave with a hit to the mighty jalapenos (pronounced 'halapenos') and their funny taste, the vending machines that hate humans and dish out dimes and nickels, the really fast internet (vrooooooom!) there's plenty to discuss, but all that if I can motivate myself to blog again. (Heck! I took a whole week to complete this!)

These four years.....

I just feel as if it was yesterday....err...I mean four looong years back that I was standing here for the orientation. I can never forget that day for I got oriented away from VTU and was deprived of all options to reorient myself.

So after finishing our demo by putting the examiner to sleep, [Well, almost, it was payback time], it was compulsive to sit down and summarize my education in the last 4 years and these principles were what I assimilated over time from my own experiences and also of those around me.

1. Attendance is never accounted for when thou shalt attend classes dutifully.

Corollary 1: Grace attendance is always granted when thou shalt abstain from the class

2. The last 5 minutes in the exam hall are always of the duration inversely proportional to the number of questions yet to be attempted.

3. The students from the other streams in the same examination hall shalt always get an easier paper. Always! (Just to make you jealous, they would throw their answer sheets with style and possibly a little jig)

4. The girl you feel is the prettiest will invariably be seen with her boyfriend at the canteen the next time.

5. The break hours of anyone you are in a dire need to meet is always when you search for them.

6. Be diplomatic. Ah! sorry. I personally feel it would be a good option to stay diplomatic. But then everyone has his own ideas that are better. So, it would be your call in the end.

7. Never prove the examiner wrong. Exams are much more important than examiners.

8. Always fake. Thats what drives the world around.

9. Always try to attend classes. Engineering students need some sleep, now and then!

And lastly, the ever favorite observation by most guys I've interacted with.

10. The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. Almost always.

If I've missed some or not encountered something, please be kind enough to educate me. Did we hear someone say Continuing Education?? CATCE? (Words aren't enough to describe it. So better not waste the limited supply I have)

Tougher exams ahead!

Ah! My lessons have just started. I'm learning the basics of the subject. I'm failing, I know not whether I'll ever get through. But my mum wants me to come out with flying colors (Parental pressure? Yes, whatever happened to those psychologists who said " Dont compare your children with those of thy neighbours!". So, I have to put up with the cliches like "Sharmajiki beti knows all these too well" or "Hudugeeru elladrallu mundhe irthare") Heck! what can I do??

And so, yours truly who always believed that Urad Dal (Uddina Bele) can be a good ingredient for a spicy curry ( I still believe it, for I have no experiences to the contradictory) is forced to observe dishes being prepared ( We should have prime time shows like " The Making of....er Soft Chapathis") and possibly try out something himself. Yes, I've tried to mug them all, ingredients chart for each dish, conversion charts (1 cup = 1 person, but miraculously 3 cups = 2 persons. I guess people tend to eat more when they are in groups), timing diagrams, shortcuts et al.

No, I've already seen those Bollywood and Sandalwood films quite a number of times. So, don't expect to have a salted coffee or a overly spiced curry. I can do much better than that. (In a negative sense that is!) So, any brave hearts willing to submit himself to my culinary adventures, please ping me, I'd be more than willing to oblige. Oh yes! Gals would be welcome too, but only that I wouldn't tolerate comments like "Bah! I could have done it much better!"

Btw, just how much more cute could this kid get. Since the first time I saw him in the Igo ad, his cheeks have been growing chubbier and eyes shining more than ever!