Rant 94: A radical slip of the tongue

Brett Lee once discovered to
his annoyance how bloody
dangerous fielding on the
ropes is

Ever watched a cricket match, and wondered which was the most important fielding position? I would wager the majority probably doesn't, myself included. After all, there is no guarantee of where the ball will be hit. Well, unless you're Chris Gayle, in which case the best position is probably with the chana wala outside the stadium.
But I'm talking about a position that is used only in certain periods of the match. Not always like a wicketkeeper, not always like point, perhaps, or even not as frequently as fine-leg. I'm talking about the slips.
There's no doubt that the three slip positions (and possibly the gully) are the most used only in the first 10 or 15 overs, when the ball is at its most menacing and the fast bowlers are trying to get movement. An edge to slip is arguably the most common method of dismissal in the first five overs of any game (no opener worth his salt will try a heave in the first five and risk being caught out by early bounce). And leg slip provides valuable deterrent when the spin-led middle overs come by.
Now, I've always wondered about the fielding positions that fast bowlers are used in. If it sounds like I've taken off somewhere else, bear with me. The most common position fast bowlers are put in is on the boundary. Seems logical, perhaps. They have good arms from years of turning it over; good pace from years of watching Shoaib Akhtar; and a good eye from years of trying to hit the correct spot on a pitch. Plus I've heard it said that it's a lazy job, that you're standing around doing nothing for a lot of the time - unless you count drinking Gatorade as a form of exercise.
But I've always been struck by how easily it can go wrong for a fielder at, say, deep square-leg, or maybe deep cover, or even third-man in those nervy middle overs. Putting in the yards to stop a boundary has inevitably led to some body part taking an unnatural position in the climax and there's an injury. Plus add in the fact that the swift release and pacy throws from the deep are, no doubt, hell on the arm. And in the death overs, do you really expect batsmen to not be going for boundary shots?
So my argument is, why not stick them in the slips? Why is it necessary for a player, whose main job on a cricket field is basically to run really fast and turn his arm over six times in a few minutes, to then have even more running and arm slinging to do?
It does sound very radical, I agree, and not traditional at all. I'm a fan of the traditional (given my hatred of Virender Sehwag's penchant for playing like a cow on steroids), but I'm learning to adapt. Bowlers are being given very little incentive to bowl faster and with better swing. Bouncers were reduced, fielders have been brought in, and the concept of free-hits (for f***s sake). The least I would want my bowlers to do is reduce their own workload slightly. I wouldn't even consider putting them in the short positions (short cover, short mid-wicket, short mid-off etc), because you're exposed to (a) a lot of short sprinting, and (b) risky dives on the training pitches.
The slips, in my opinion, are the best for them. It requires, possibly, the least amount of work. And requires much less bending than the keeper position (in case anyone wanted that argument). In addition, bowlers with long arms are perfect for that agonisingly wide edge that fat-man Sehwag couldn't be bothered to try for (I couldn't give a monkey's fiery posterior about his cuticle being damaged - catch the bloody ball!!).
Anyway, that was an idea that came to me today, and I've posted it out there now. I'm sure my minions in the BCCI are hard at work at rectifying this "oddity". I look forward to a strongly worded letter from N Srinivasan - and a lawsuit or two - to arrive any day now.

Rant 93: Brainstorming before the Big Bash

As most working individuals will agree, shift duties on a rolling rota basis are never an easy task, especially those that involve ungodly hours. In the last seven days, I have entered the office here at 6am on five occasions. It's perhaps not very healthy but I know which side my metaphorical bread is being buttered on so needs must and all that.
One of the ways to keep sane when the "weather outside is frightful" and sleep threatens, is have lots of coffee and watch early morning cricket. Obviously it was not very pleasant watching the drubbing meted out to India recently, but today it was the Big Bash league that caught my attention - for more reasons than merely staying awake.
It's cricket that makes you go, "what the fratch dude?", not for the usual T20 madness but for things like the Umpire cam, and those red lights on the bails that flicker every time they're touched. The latter reminds me of Ice Hockey for some reason, while the icing on the cake is perhaps the flying camera. I wonder if at the planning stage, the chief organiser gathered his minions in a dingy room inside Cricket Australia headquarters and went:-
Head Honcho: "Right boys, I'd like a list of all your favourite action movies, and the awesome gadgetry that went with them".

Minion1: "What about Liz Hurley?"

HH: "As a cheerleader?"

M1: "No, as an awesome piece of gadgetry that flickers every time you touch it."

HH: "I like your style, but I think Shane Warne's already got an exclusive patent for that."

M2: "How about a camera that flies? IPL's got a Spidercam, we'll call ours Supercam! hah! and let's have it dramatically tear its plastic cover off the front every time we switch it on."

HH: "Excellent, and I can take control of the camera no problem. I like to keep track of all aspects of our league. On a different issue, can we make it a law that all women must wear low-cut tops at the games, for...err...safety reasons?"

M3: "I think that happens anyway boss."

HH: "Oh good good. I really like keeping track of boobie...I mean safety. What else can we do to jazz up this league? I can't have that Srinivasan fellow guffawing at me every time we meet at the annual Cricket's Biggest League Leeches Awards dinner. If I have to hear "our parties are better than your parties" one more time I'm going to snap. Can I help it if all our players and spectators are already so drunk while playing that they lose the stamina to actually party when the need arises?"

M3: "What about little lights?"

HH: "This ain't Diwali mate. I'm all for cultural diversity but I don't think a candle's going to cut it. Have you seen the size of the MCG?"

M3: "Hear me out boss. You know how everyone has a problem figuring out whether the bails have been removed from the wicket?"

HH: "Err...don't they usually fall off quite easily? I've seen Virender Sehwag's huffs and puffs after walking a single that have forced them off."

M3: "Well yeah, but I was thinking more for run-outs and stuff. I was watching Mr India last night and was quite taken by the multi-coloured lights in Mogambo's lair attached to his various instruments of doom. I mean come on, he was about to blow up a city with a bomb, the least he could do is have a bit of variety in the buttons eh? So anyway, I was thinking, if we fix two red lights on the bails which are touch-sensitive, then we'd know the exact moment they've come off."

HH: "Excellent! Very Roger Moore James Bond-like as well. Oh man, little lights on bails, flying cameras, I don't know how we're going to top this."

M4: "A camera on the umpire's cap, boss?"

HH: "Ooooh! that's very futuristic. Tom Cruise can suck it. I mean this will completely take our ratings to a new level."

M4: "Shouldn't we spin it so that it looks like we're doing it to help TV umpires?"

HH: "Yes yes sure whatever! I'll make sure the media get a picture of me posing with a flag that has the words 'I stand for correct decisions' emblazoned across it. But think of the ratings. Everytime we switch to the umpire cam, it will look like an earthquake is taking place. People will rush to their friends and say 'OMG like there's an earthquake taking place mate! switch on the telly', only to find out it's just the umpire cam. Then they'll sheepishly laugh at themselves before watching the cricket. Hence: Ratings!"

M4: "Yess Bosss! 

Despite the mockery, I actually think that flickering-bails technology is a good idea, as is the umpire cam. But  it will need a generational change before the BCCI think of allowing it in their backyards.
till then, enjoy the cricket!

Rant 87: Do you vomit Blue???

And so at last the bubble has burst. After months and months of self-aggrandisement, it has finally been proven that simply waving a flag, "having the best batting order", and the most "cunning captain in the world", cannot save a cricket team from being absolute s**t when the situation calls for it.
To all the media hacks and Ravi Shastri who claim that our batting, bowling, selection policy and Kris Srikkanth's slurred ramblings are the best, you are wrong!! Because as we all know, the hard-working Indian cricket fan is the world's greatest batsman (arrey front foot pey khelo saale bhadwe!!!), the world's greatest bowler (round the wicket pphekega toh swing karega dekhna!), and of course selector (abey woh west zone key against biased hai isliye nai choose kiya mujhe).
And so I decided to explore what the paying public had to say about the damning humiliation that has befallen our cricketers in Jolly Ol' England. The article itself does not matter too much. It could range from "Dhoni should employ more spinners" to "My grandmother with Alzheimer could have played that shot better".... I picked out the aptly titled: "Why Team India is in a state of free fall" .
The points made were astute I guess: reasons for the defeat, our under-preparedness, our selection policy, our batting, our bowling, our dinner break, and topped off with the poignant conclusion that "hah! Ganguly could have done a much better job. I told u so, but forget it, I'm off to have some misti doi"
And as predicted, a plethora of comments ensued. SK clearly had the measure of things in terms of coaches as he sounded a warning to the BCCI by claiming: "I hope this is the clear sign of lossing a GARY KRISTAN." Clearly, the players are not focused enough because we seem to have lost any memory of a coach called Gary "Kristan". Presumably Mr Kristan was the interim coach after Gary Kirsten resigned from his post.
VCjob took on the task of speaking for all the grumpy-old-men of India's middle-class, who never return the cricket ball when it lands in their front yard. We lost the match "because cricket is a freaking game of chance and Indians are wasting youngster's talent and time on this worthless game." Well said Sir! Mr Malhotra from house no. 42 will visit you soon and gift you some barfi as soon as his afternoon siesta is done and he has taken his meds for the day.
Charudatta Lamaye, in his infinite wisdom, outlined a 12-point programme for the resurrection of our fortunes, where the phrase knee-jerk reaction at last had a champion, and pearls such as "cannot judge Munaf as he did not play" wreaked havoc among the BCCI elite! This author would like to add that we also cannot judge Parthiv Patel, Ravindra Jadeja, Sunil Gavaskar, my neighbour, my neighbour's daughter and the alleyway rascal who keeps sending her rude letters, as all these characters did not play the match either.
A teary-eyed Anand Bhagwat recalled the old days, and keeping small matters like grammar and coherence completely out of the equation, bellowed: "India should play aggresively...If Ganguly is caption the were different, Indian team doesn't have face their...Its look like India is not playing there...we are Missing Sourav's agression." Quite why Ganguly would want to be the "caption" for the sorry picture of Indian cricket is unclear.
Jay, having flipped through the entire rulebook of cricket, promptly threw it out the window and concluded that cricket, after all, is a one-man game. And not just any man, but somebody who's literally broken his back for the love of the game. Yet, the immediate reaction demanded by Jay was: "Tendulkar should quit playing Test cricket as an apology to the nation." According to rumours, a visibly shocked Tendulkar later issued a press release where it was his precise intention to speak during Parliament's winter session, donate a million gallons of milk to his local temple, and whip himself dry while wearing a pink tutu and asking himself: "have I made it large??"
Ashish, fresh out of Harvard Business School and having watched his girlfriend deliver a sexy report on NDTV Profit, attempted to explain things a little more scientifically. And of course, being the financially astute gentleman he is, his analogy referred to the US and its ongoing problems. "its just one of the bad patches," he remarked. "just like the downward spiral of the Dow Index as SnP downgraded US from AAA to AA....its something similar. Kind of a jolt, nothing to be worried about. Team India still has the substance, just as US gives good returns despite being AA."
So there you go! Bums on Seats are what make our country the fine democrazy it is, and our cricket team the best damn actors to grace the Kingfisher 2011 Calendar.
There are several of us however, who worry about the real problems facing this country, and Tapan Kumar's comment at the very bottom of the page highlights concerns that I'm sure each and every one of us faces at some point in our lives.
"If appears that bengalis might have f..ked you under someones consent that's you are nervous about permanant erection."

Rant 68: The post that wishes for ‘un-plugged’ cricket commentary

Note: Characters and events are inspired by the recent international test and one-day matches featuring India and Sri Lanka. Any resemblance to reality is purely intentional.
Noted commentator Mr. (insert name of Australian batting great): Welcome to the first test match between India and Sri Lanka in Dambulla. Good morning to our viewers across the world, and also to my co-commentator Mr. (insert name of Indian batting not-so-great-as-that-Australian-fella).
Comm2: Thank you Comm1, yes we are finally set for the match, the clouds look lovely, the pitch looks good, the cute chick in the stands looks do-able…whoops..er…and both captains look hungry for the win. Indeed, they look hungrier than I was yesterday when presented some of that lovely (name of random Sri Lankan local cuisine currently sold in the spectator stands, which the camera focuses on instead of the actual cricket). Incidentally, that dish was invented only last night by Mr. Guranamishanwardene who wanted to give his fishing company employees some proper incentive during those long hours that they spent looking for my marriage ring that was swept away to sea as I lay drunk on the beach after our long binge session.
Comm1 (clearly overwhelmed look on his face): Err..yes..that’s an interesting tale Comm2. I'm so glad you brought this up now. Meanwhile, the first five overs have been bowled with 30 runs scored. I wonder if Sehwag will score a century given his recent poor run of form….
Comm2: Oh yes, he certainly has the skills to do so. He just needs to work on his footwork a little bit, just like I need to work on my skills at pressing the keypad on the new micromaxx Q6 mobile with added features of Bluetooth, one-touch facebook, and a camera that can take dirty pictures of my wife on the can without a clicky sound. Incidentally, I used that camera yesterday when your lovely ‘escort’ came over towards….
Comm1: AHEM!!!!! Thank you for that lovely insight Comm1. Yes indeed, the new micromaxx Q6 mobile with added features of Bluetooth, one-touch facebook, and a camera that can take dirty pictures of my wife on the can, is a revolutionary piece of technology. It’s nothing like anything you know. Just last week I had a Blackberry on me, but the moment the micromaxx guys came to my house and showed me their new micromaxx Q6 mobile with added features of Bluetooth, one-touch facebook, and a camera that can take dirty pictures of my wife on the can, (not to mention showing me a suitcase with $50,000 for mentioning the product 100 times per innings) I was stumped…hehe see? I can do sports puns as well.
Comm2: Why yes you can! My congratulations to you and your lovely escort. I’m sure there were plenty of puns that you could have used to cover up those lovely noises emanating from your hotel room last night as you….oh gosh did you just see that delivery that bowled Sehwag? It was a wicked delivery from Lasith Malinga. Quite fast and pacey…as fast and pacey as the new Yamaha FZ that comes with alloy wheels, a comfortable seat and can go from zero to 60 in 9seconds, alongwith mirrors to see if any cops are chasing you or not (laughs uncontrollably at his first joke of the year). The bike comes in three pretty colours, green, orange and black. I personally prefer the black as it covers up my otherwise girly looks, giving my wife the macho man she thoroughly deserves (but rarely gets).
Comm1: Ah yes, the Yamaha FZ, that wonderful piece of machinery. I tried riding that yesterday and was quite good at it actually. Only broke my hip and my right lateral meniscus. Which is when I switched over to the Fiat Linea currently on your screens that will be given to the man of the series who could well be…err…ahhh….hmmm…oh well, I’m sure our viewers are paying more attention to the game than we are, so they can predict it anyways. Incidentally, our viewers can SMS their predictions and a lucky winner wins the new micromaxx Q6 mobile with added features of Bluetooth, one-touch facebook, and a camera that can take dirty pictures of my wife on the can. Incidentally, I get bonus pay-offs from Oxford Dictionary Inc. for plugging the word incidentally into my commentary.
As I was saying, I was driving the new Fiat Linea across the paddy fields of Colombo yesterday, and came across some lovely temples and farmers, who showed my how I could get my poppy crops to grow to considerable lengths. All in all, during those lovely drives through the picturesque hills of Sri Lanka, I figured out what the point of this whole series is…i.e. take a holiday in a beach, watch some boring cricket on dead pitches, and earn money advertising ridiculous gadgets.
Comm2: Well said Comm1. all you potential commentators out there. Watch and learn! Cos this is how it’s done.
Oh and there’s a run out and that’s the end of the Indian innings. But not the end of ours eh Comm1? Now how about some lovely (random Sri Lankan delicacy being sold on the stands)? I notice there are some fair females doing the selling. Let’s see if we can bowl some maiden-s over eh? (producer rolls his eyes for the tenth time)
Comm1: So to our viewers, it’s goodbye from us and the next part of the match will be taken care of by Mr. (insert random hack Indian batsman who only played two games but is still classed as ‘expert’ by random sports channel) and Miss. (insert random Indian female celebrity with zero cricketing knowledge but desperate for publicity).

Rant 63: The Road to Silence

Dear Loud Movie Goers who came for the 4:30 pm showing of Road, the Movie at Big Cinemas in Bharath Mall, Mangalore, on 7th March, and who were probably seated in Row M,
I write this because you have made me realize that even though we can try to be as non-racist, non-stereotyping and non-judgmental as humanly possible, and yet, when people like you decide to pull stunts like you did yesterday, it makes judging you all the more satisfying…and believe me, I love my sinning.
So here it goes. My friend Yashpal and I had settled in for a movie that, for my part, I had wanted to see for a long while, called Road, the Movie, starring Abhay Deol. I had enjoyed his performance in Dev D and admire his style of no-nonsense acting, in addition to the kind of films that he does. To further remind you of the kind of movie experience that you ruined for me, this movie is about…well, a road trip, which is why I was, to repeat myself, really really really looking forward to it.
However, you had other ideas…not just for me, but for 3 rows of audience who were probably too afraid of creating an unruly scene to confront you. I too was afraid of the same thing and hence am forced to bring your species into the limelight through this modus.
You took your right to free speech to a new level. You felt that every 24 frames that passed by on the screen deserved some kind of comment from you and your friends. I agree, the part where a kid – who works at a highway tea-stall – said to Abhay Deol: "Did you think this was a Starbucks?" is funny and deserves some sharing of comments in the few seconds succeeding such a jibe. However, some really touching scenes, such as Deol stopping short of consuming his entire bottle of water upon seeing the Rajasthani women walking past in a line in search of that precious liquid, did not deserve your two-cents worth. You did not care about how much you were affecting other people’s viewing experience. All you cared was that your comments should be heard by all and sundry. Your friends probably thought that your comments were making you the cool dude of the hall and thus joined in with their half-cents worth.
Why oh why did you choose to act this way??? You were not there with your girlfriend (nor were there any girls in your immediate vicinity) wherein your cheap and unsolicited comments may have elicited some giggles and thus boosted your ego. No! There was no prize up for grabs for Best-movie-reviewer-while-screening-goes-on. In short, there was absolutely no reason why your stupid stinking rice-hole blasted that cheap streaming radio for the entire length of the movie.
And do you know the worst consequence of your actions? It is the fact that based on your accent, I could tell that you and your friends are from the UP/Bihar regions of India and the kind of reputations that some from your community have garnered all these decades – of being rowdy and totally unaware of basic social etiquette – has once again been put on display. I do not know whether to congratulate you for sheer consistency or write a formal apology letter to the governments of UP and Bihar/Jharkhand for such blatant stereotyping.
What I do know, is that next time I see someone like you who doesn’t keep his comments to an appropriate decibel level, I will find the largest-sized bucket of that tasteless crap they call movie-hall pop-corn and shove its contents right down your throat!

BTW, Road, the Movie is quite a show. Open your mind completely and be prepared to suspend disbelief.

Rant 44: My Office, Episode 2

So life, as they say, goes on. Hold on! This was a sentence I used to see in my school magazine as endings to corny (and sometimes funny) articles. I’m guessing the authors couldn’t think of a good ending, and thus ended that way. So why am I using this sentence and that too in the beginning of this post?
Maybe, it’s because life inside the office will always have its particular rhythm. I really don’t see any need to elaborate much on the general workings and happenings, at this moment. (If you’re interested in it, please see Episode 1 of this series)
So let’s step out of the office space. However, I will stay within the confines of various aspects of office-life.
First things first, Lunch.
In the beginning, there was thali (a traditional south Indian meal and apologies for sounding biblical). Well, to actually call the cafeteria’s meal a traditional thali would be stretching it. It was…uhh…well…you know, an-edible-assortment-of-things. A cup of white rice, two chapathis, a curry, some sabzi (vegetable mix) and curd. I would say that from childhood, I’ve evolved from being a picky-eater (huge euphemism) to one who can survive on anything. And the afore mentioned meal was okay, I guess. The first month or so, my 30-minute lunch comprised standing in the lunch line, picking up whatever variation of curry/sabzi was on offer for the day and then endure the TV, which for some reason was always tuned to MTV. For an even odder reason, my lunch breaks always seemed to coincide with Splitsville (and if you have never heard of this show before, Run Forrest Run!).
Then came the rumours, not to mention the heavy drowsiness I felt post-lunch. After discussions with some colleagues, I decided that the vicious rumours about the canteen guys adding Soda to the rice to increase quantities could well be true. And in any case, who wanted to take chances eh? Next thing you know, they might come up with a stomach disease called Soda-stone (Shotgun on the name rights, in case they actually find something).
They say the grass is always greener on the other side. In my case, I just hoped the food at a certain restaurant located just outside the back entrance to the office campus, was better filling and had less potential for harm. What I imagined to be a hoattall turned out to be a plain old dhaba (quite possibly, a house converted into a dhaba). There was nothing plain old about the service. Enter "Aunty"!
A hobbling old woman (reminds me a lot of my grandmother) is in charge here, and she is pretty much the only one. And yet, despite the fact that loads of other employees from the company (or as I like to call them, the soda-in-canteen-rice-conspiracy-group) come to eat here, she remembers the choices of every single one of them.
And the food itself, is divine! Well, maybe not divine in the true sense of the word, but the very fact that it was "home-cooked" or at least tasted as such, was enough for me to forsake the canteen. My regular choices include 3 parotas, curry, sabzi and 3 pieces of chicken kebab. It’s been one heavenly lunch after another so far. The best part about Aunty’s (that’s the name of the place I think. At least I haven’t heard a different one yet), is that she doesn’t really care how much of curry or sabzi she lovingly doles out. Or even of the number of pieces of chicken. She handed me five once, when I’d asked for three, and the smile on her face told me who my second mum was! (first mom, I still love your food the best…KFC, you, of course, are my second dad).
A wholly satisfying lunch later, I return to the office to continue work. And here I wish I was allowed to take pictures in the office, wherein I could post a before and after pic of my post-lunch situation. BEFORE: resting head on hands, eyes closed, in risk of getting pulled up by manager.
AFTER: eyes wide open, ready to take on the world…or is it China?

(PS: Next episode will be on another important aspect of office life…Communications)

Rant 43: My Office, Episode 1

My office has changed me quite a bit as a person.
About a month back, I was pulled up by my managers here for posting three articles on this blog, based on the workings of my department. I have since taken down those ‘effing posts. Okay, so I can’t write about that stuff but I guess writing about the office in general should not be an issue (I hope!).
So here goes.
For the first time in my life, I am feeling what most office-goers can perhaps relate to, i.e. STRESS. My three-walled workstation, with a computer to stare at for 8-9 hours a day (on Fridays it’s 12) takes its toll on me every time. At the end of the day’s shift I can literally feel the heaviness in my eyes. I cannot remember the last time I felt this sort of daily grind. Don’t get me wrong. The work itself is quite interesting and keeps you on your toes but of course I can’t talk about it here (which probably increases your curiosity right? Don’t worry, I’m not building any nukes here, neither am I being called double-o-seven…sigh!). I guess all I can reveal to you is that it’s an editing and design based job. It has its impacts as well and not only on the reports that I sub. Even on this blog, I have gone from a raving ranting writer who didn’t care about grammar, punctuation and the like, to a raving ranting writer who’s been subbing this particular post as its being written.
I guess the stress and grind parts are inevitable in any person’s life. Most of you reading this have probably already faced all that through high school and perhaps even college. Sadly (?), I was more of the I-DON’T-GIVE-A-RAT’S-POSTERIOR-FOR-EDUCATION types, which meant that high-school was a breeze. I was content with average marks and didn’t value the rat race too much. And college, well, I don’t suppose ANY sane person is expected to feel stress in this period of life. Not with Pink Floyd, pretty chicks and healthy doses of inebriation around at least!
Our office computers have access to the internet of course. However, we have been strictly warned to refrain from visiting social networking websites, accessing our emails, basically visiting any website that’s not directly related to our work. And in the true spirit of "Indian heterodoxy" (my thanks to Amartya Sen), people manage to sneak in visits every now and then. The few unlucky ones, such as myself, were assigned workstations with computers facing the manager’s desk (or at least are within-sight), which means my "illegal" visits have to be conducted during **********.
(no errors or cursing here, just keeping my ass covered)
Thankfully, the office has a few television sets to keep us entertained (though they are understandably kept on Mute). It helps a lot, believe me. Even if you are the Grandmaster of Secret-Orkutting-Facebooking-Gmailing, you cannot help but take the occasional five minutes off your work to watch the Ashes, football or some random movie. And a big thank you to the major movie channels for introducing subtitles in their screenings!
Coming back to the office-changing-me part. Until I took up this job, I could never have imagined myself settling into a 9 to 5 type day. However, two months in, I have pretty much synched myself with the daily routine. To top it off, my job isn’t a 9 to 5 affair. On most days, i.e. days that I’m lucky, I manage to leave by 8 pm. On a Friday, for reasons that I am unable to divulge, I reach home by 10-10:30 pm. The bad part about Mangalore city is that the public transport system (ok that’s too much credit; the BUS service) shuts down after 9 pm. Still, I’m getting used to these late hours and minor discrepancies as well. All part of the real world experience I guess.

Rant 41: TV, Entertainment and Prosperity

I finally have a form of entertainment at my house apart from the big line of books on the maddeningly low shelf space. A TV.
Don't get me wrong.
I may not be as huge a fan of books as some of my more stiff-lipped friends who love invoking Arundhati Roy and sometimes obscure south-Indian authors just to sound smart, but I do enjoy picking up autobiographies, run-of-the-mill college type comedies (aka 5.someone types), a few action thrillers and - of late - some political ones, every now and then.
However, if you ever stepped into my current dwelling, you would realise that there can be two possible consequences of reading too many books in the kind of "scene" there is: A low power, orangey-yellowey, depressing little night light.
Consequence 1: I go half-blind
and 2: I kill myself.
So in order to avoid both (more so for No.2 I guess) I pestered my folks to finance a TV. And finance they did. Coercion, thy name in my book is whining...
Enter a Phillips 21".
I will refrain from saying too much about the cable connection. Sufficeth to say, Consequence No 1 (see above) has a chance of befalling me yet.
So to talk about the actual TV viewing...
I'd been desperate to catch some EPL action and lo and behold, the first thing I see on ESPN is the EPL highlights show, with Manu's match against Wigan (a 5-0 thrashing to get my grin going). Having filled up on EPL, topped with a healthy dose of SportsCenter, I began my second favourite pastime on TV, channel surfing. Even though the set has a lag time from the moment you press the +/- sign to when it actually changes, wherin the audio stops half a second before change, surfing on it is quite enjoyable. Not least if I end up on a boring saas-bahu show. There is nothing more satisfying than cutting off audio for a woman just about to embark on a marathon of emotional dialogues, not to mention the dramatic soundtrack with pointless extreme close-up zoom-ins and zoom-outs.
However, the icing on the cake was this tele-shopping type sales pitch I saw on some random 24 hour news channel (and you wonder where all the breaking news ideas come from???)
The sales person was a "real" sadhu, complete with braided hair, and through elaborate gestures, he explained how the

SHIV SHAKTHI KAVACH could eliminate all bad influences in your life; bad neighbours, somebody who wanted to cause you harm, swine flu, aids and other horrifying elements. All you had to do was BUY the Kavach and wear it. And in the true spirit of Teleshopping, a free gift was available to the first 100 or so callers: a gold sticker to hang on your house's doorstep to ward off all evil.

Thank you TV industry for making possible rib-crushing laughter without the need for THC!

Rant 31: The best news channel/paper in the world

Based on the propaganda model developed by a bespectacled "young" man, who once got arrested for opposing the vietnam war, here is my conclusion.
Humans are probably born with the realisation that every piece of news or information we get from another source, has essentially passed through one or more of the filters of that model. I don't know why we tend to cling to one kind of source (leading to biased views). However, how the hell is one supposed to get the most un-biased, independant version of events. Either by researching every single piece of information published, from every single type of source in the world (and that includes online articles btw...so good luck on THAT) or by actually being in the place where the event took place. And for close to infinite number of events happening every day, the latter is obviously an impossible task. The former would likely drive the researcher nuts, which is my guess for why the people Mr. C opposes, choose to ignore him.
So
To bring you a very cliched saying...

God could not be everywhere, so he created Mothers...

and...my own modification to that

Humans could not be everywhere, so they created God

Think about it. You would actually have to be an omniscient power, able to hear and see everything in order to have the most unbiased view of what happened and why.

so the best News-Source in the world would be God...and since I know there isn't one in the first place, I'm guessing I can safely say, that there is no perfect source.

We are all being lied to in some form or the other...

Deal with it!

Rant 23: Sexual Orientation

Ive heard of Homosexuality - being attracted sexually to members of the same sex
and of course Heterosexuality - being attracted to members of the opposite sex

I wonder...
Is there an orientation where you are not attracted to member of either sex?

Rant 21: realisations

Ive come to the very very late realisation:-
that girls and boys have the same level of sexual desire...the difference lies
1) Boys want sex....period ...and maybe a porsche, since I (in particular) am aiming for the stars anyway
2) Girls want sex...and a house...and Jewellery...and TV...marriage of course...and K serials...and Kids...and once the guy has lost all sanity...maybe a Porsche (after all...she was promised the moon alongwith Orion's belt)

I give up....
to quote a more intelligent chimp than your's truly, "sab moh maya hai"

Rant 20: Funny shit!

There are few books that have the capacity to make you feel as if you were "dumbing down" on

your own somehow. One of them is this

gem of a piece called "Vikram Betal Stories".

In a weird sense, I picked up this book at a bus stand in Manipal, in hopes of havng something to pass the time with on a 1.5 hr bus trip to Mangalore, badly spotted with Potholes.

disclaimer: this book has been written by Er. BG Ramesh (who knows what Er stands for?) and published by Ganesh Publications Bangalore,

any complaints of nausea, diarrhoea, cancer, aids, brain haemmorage after reading the afore mentioned book (if you actually manage to get your hands on one...and actually buy it), should be directed at the concerned parties mentioned above.

The first story goes thus,

A King, from the town of Varanasi, with a completely unpronouncable name, has a son, with an equally unpronouncable name (guess it runs in the family) and this dude befriends the son of the court minister, who has an equally....oh forget it!

hhhanyways...the duo set off on a forest ride together on horses (if Vivid video is reading this then good for porn industry) and reach a lake. Here they see a lovely woman bathing. She turns to them and with a single glance, both king and lady fall in love...

fineee..makes sense so far.

here are three actions that the lady performs afterwards:-

1) takes Jasmine flower from bunch on head and puts it on her ear.

explanation by gay son of minister: it means she is the countr y ruled by Karnotpala

2) she takes out one more flower and bites it

explanation by GSM: she is the daughter (and a kinky one at that) of an artisian who works on ivory

3) she wore a lotus flower on her hear and kept her hand on her chest (ok now this is getting way out of hand...VIVID...ARE YOU GETTING THIS??)

explanation: she wore lotus that means her name is Padmavati and hand on chest means she loves you (not to mention she likes second base)

immediately the brave son of king (SOK) sets of for the the far land of karnotpala and encounters the maid of his beloved at an inn (no doubt the old lady has a lot to work for!)

she is sent by said brave SOK to tell the girl of his feelings,

here's the funniest bit

again we have three solid actions performed by the woman that take the cake in terms of stupidity.

1) she slaps the old woman, 2 hands 10 fingers et al, and somehow the SOK figured out her fingerprints and guessed that she wanted to wait 10 more days

2) she slaps the lady with 3 fingers and sends her back...no prizes on what this sms meant.

3) the third time she tells the lady to tell the SOK to come to her house but only by a rope ladder and whisk her away...bollywood style it seems!

wow! nymohomaniac and socially dysfunctional tendencies...must be real good

Lastly by a cunning plan that involved stealing her jewels and disguising the GSM as a hermit (as if he couldn't get gay-er) the SOK manages to "nobly" win over the woman

The End...

there were 24 more stories in this book.

It is not my book anymore...because...it is in the waste basket.

My sanity is not worth this crap.

I don't know why I picked it up.

I don't know why I'm still blogging about it...

Rant 8: doubt

I have had quite a weird relationship with one of mankind's most pointless fascinations. yep i'm talking about everyone's favourite Reality show...the GOD show (not to be confused with GOD Tv though there really isn't much of a difference). i'm talking about the one reality show that didn't even need TV to begin with. Egyptians, Grecians etc made sure that we were all participants in this the mother of all shows.
Back when i was a kidI used to assume Mr. Gary O Donnel (the nice old man living up in the sky watching over me) was kind of a mean guy, punishing people with threats of hell for wrong stuff. so i did the necessary prayer time, at home, and mostly before exams. at that point, doing badly in exams was way way worse than say shoving the back-side of a pencil up ur desk partner's rear end...way worse.
i now realise that it was probably all the constant coaxing from my folks etc that got me the results i got...and not some 6X9 picture of a woman with ten hands. it's scary shit. i remember going to an Oriya association function one evening and the only thing i clearly remember is being shit scared of the black coloured statue of my people's god...Jaggannath. i was inadvertanly given the message of fear of the unknown by this statue.

as u can probably guess from earlier posts, i love "conversing". so now that i stand on a platform of uncertainty, i guess i have to take the matter up with the big G himself.

me: 'sup
G: How are you my son?
me: m doin' great. had some questions for ya though.
G: (sigh) what is it
me: how does one guy like you listen to the hopes and prayers of a whole fucking planet?
G: its a good trick u know. U dont really have to be listening even. my good friend, Mr. Bush and his dear dad made sure that my "message" gets through to everyone. that way when someone asks me for something (and this is by the millions everyday), i simply throw out random Yes's and No's. this way there's a very good probability that everyone will get somethi ng or the other that he/she asked in his/her lifetime. God bless America.
me: hang on...ur the god here i thought. did u just pray to urself??? and why does god feel obligated to bless only america. why not Jerusalem. I'm guessing the place where three religions were born should be a more blessed place than a place where crackpots like Joseph Smith emerged.
G: well you know, USA called dibs on me first.
me: dibs??? ok now this is getting silly.
G: It is. all of religion is just plain silly. take this conversation for instance. you feel like ur talking to god or someone right? wrong...ur always talking to urself. and for once, i'm gonna lay some truth on ur arse. this whole god thing is a sham. the little voice inside ur head talking to u, is ur own damn brain. Get over urself. all actions are either directly or indirectly a result of human action, and not a result of drinking my blood every sunday or lighting a thousand candles....i wouldn't even need candles if these stupid priests didn't put me in such dark corners of their temples.
and speaking of dibs, it is what politicians have always done. i'm sure u know how my good friend bush has made good use of MY concept and made life soo good for the americans. every social or geo-political master needs an element that binds his/her subjects; in order to acheive social control. apart from today's modern age, lets face it, when brother Ugger (pronounced ooo-ger) left for his morning hunt out of stone-age papua new guinea and saw his first lightning strike, he might have been just a little tempted to think there was more than just charged particles floating around. thus the first human Master emerged. and since it was Ugger who first noticed the lightning strike, thus emerged the first human Prophet. this cycle is repeated in every generation and it is how u end up with a thousand paths to the same frickin' destination.
Goddammit...it irritates me just to be talking about stuff which these idiots (the population) should have been clever enough to guess for themselves.

sigh....i guess man will always be man...and i will always be the product of a 21 year old's incessant uncertainty.

Rant 4: Bad tennis players

I believe the sports world has the following two classifications amongst so many others.
Good Tennis players Bad Tennis Players
Disclaimer: this post is based on BTP, a class of "players" found as of today in Manipal. Any resemblance to groups elsewhere is purely coincidental.
further i pay homage here to Melvin and Jenkins from M.A.D. Magazine who epitomise the concept given here. any caricatures from fans of the same on these differences are welcome.

1) GTPs realise the importance of a good warmup before settling into the game.
BTPs realise that to be actually able to hold a racket long enough for a shot, you need to be a min of 4 pints (eqv to 2 shots) down. However, in the case of BTPs, there is not much of actual "playing" after the afore mentioned "warmup".

2) GTPs wear appropriate sports footwear comprising flat soles (for clay court play).
BTPs prefer a more hawaian approach, comprising the ever so indian hawai chappal and of course, the kitos, that probably went out of fashion even before the war on terror began.

3) GTPs know that a good swing of the racket is just as important as the point won.
BTPs realise that full body keanu reaves lunges are far more effective at popping the ball back (most often met with even wilder smashes)

4) GTPs playing a friendly learn to trust their opponents' line calls.
BTPs playing friendlies need not a reason to "fight" for every point...they just fight.

5) A 20 shot rally can be a great confidence booster for any GTP.
A 20 meter high shot landing in someone's toilet through the window is the high point of a BTP's day

6) GTPs know that the Tennis court is to be used for TENNIS alone.
BTPs realise 5 a side football is a better usage of the court.

...to be continued

rant 2: night crawlers

yes...we are the night crawlers.
we form a small but nonetheless resilient batch of students who prefer to emerge from their precious watering holes after sundown.
more specifically, it is the time after around midnight, that hostel life seems most abuzz. starting off with some metalhead banging to really loud music and unbelievably unintelligible lyrics, we take our tour from the ground floor up. CS freaks gathered 15 to a room, connected not by Nokia, but the magic of LAN cables. emotions run high even as some poor sob got caught holding metaphorically his own phallus (actually it was a pointless pistol) against the guy with the really big machine gun. mothers and sisters get their usual dose of verbal "homage" as does the warden of the hostel.
our men are true citizens of the global world. every night is a new adventure in the land of Orkut and Facebook. Checking out the latest photo updates...ahem...as well as "status" updates is no mean feat. and our lads make sure that not even a minute is wasted in replying to the latest scrap
note to self: scrap chatting sucks! really pointless...i just dont know why these ppl..........ah to hell with it....next thing u know, i'll be ranting off!

moving on...
the eternal romeo. by the light of the room cleaner's dingy almost-orange-now bulb sits our man..one hand idly holding a phone to his ear. i was lucky(?) to be within earshot of one such romeo at about 2:30 am. and i swear on my aging keyboard, don juan de marco could not have done a better job on his lady as our man managed in less than 20 mins. quite evidently there had been a "major" misunderstanding between the two lovers. something along the lines of "you-sent-her-a-wall-post-with-a-smiley-on-the-same-day-that-i-got-your-lousy-beer-invitation" (ref to facebook issue). our man def had the rhetoric to get around most of her artillery shots. thus emerged a hostel hero.

and which hostel would be complete without the group of guys who believe that a birthday is a great reason to beat the crap out of you, pour water (inclusive of eggs, soap, shampoo, etc) on you, give u a cake (mostly around ur mouth) and then go crazy over the cheap beer that you managed to sneak in. as their coup de grace some decide the hostel corridors aren't clean enough and hence a hostel wide campaign of "Messiest hostel dustbin" is launched with the top 3 contenders getting the chance to dump their garbage in the wing of their choice. this particular ritual has of course been performed by one particular group that has for the last 8 months shifted locale.

the morning after

...to be continued.

rant 1 : of inane questions and pointless answers...

so where do i start?
the other day i had the weirdest mental conversation in a while
me: I'm quite bored you know
mine: yeah i totally get you, there's not much to discuss
me: come on...gimme some ideas on what to ponder about
mine: hey...you're the one who has to do the pondering. this thinking about stuff to ponder wasn't in the job description i got.
me: maybe nuclear weapons...
mine: no wait, there's too much pointless debate over that already.
me: umm..how about AIDS?...
mine: nah too scary
me: oh yeah...even scarier than nukes? come on man...i'm losing you here.
mine: ok how is getting a scary-disease-that-lasts-ur-whole-life, while doing it, not scarier than going up in one whiff of smoke..or u know, weapons grade plutonium
me: hmm...you make a good point there.
mine: ------------






me: stop gloating u fool!
damn...