This long weekend will be spent in Goa. An orgy of sorts, drinking all day long, is in the offing. But, one's already in really high spirits. Mabbu glass'la'ya irukku? Mansula irukku!
Heard that the Bombay reader will be there too. Hmmm.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Dear other readers, as I found out on further stalking, the reader from Bombay is not actually in Bombay. He is, in fact, from Bangalore and has never been to Bombay. And, he is male.
Just a while ago, the reader from Bombay reluctantly confessed to have been reading my blog for a while, but vehemently pleaded innocence claiming that he always closed the browser window much too quickly. The Bombay reader also claimed, more vehemently, that he stays in Bangalore.
And, the bastard has a lot of coffee. (I always guessed that it was coffee, didn't I?)
Thus, I saw all the pieces of the puzzle in place, and him typing this post.
Just a while ago, the reader from Bombay reluctantly confessed to have been reading my blog for a while, but vehemently pleaded innocence claiming that he always closed the browser window much too quickly. The Bombay reader also claimed, more vehemently, that he stays in Bangalore.
And, the bastard has a lot of coffee. (I always guessed that it was coffee, didn't I?)
Thus, I saw all the pieces of the puzzle in place, and him typing this post.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Dear reader from Bombay, I know you very reluctantly open my weblog in your browser and quite immediately step out for some hot coffee, or even to take a neat little nap wondering why would somebody write such stuff.
If that's indeed the case, and God forbid otherwise, please close the browser before you go, if it's not much work. Probably, doing that will close your session at my Site Meter tracker installed in my blog, rather than inadvertently let it make utterly false notes that you spend horrifyingly long time reading my blog.
If that's indeed the case, and God forbid otherwise, please close the browser before you go, if it's not much work. Probably, doing that will close your session at my Site Meter tracker installed in my blog, rather than inadvertently let it make utterly false notes that you spend horrifyingly long time reading my blog.
SQoSSD #7 (or) From the Things I’ve been telling people dept.
Art is pretty unfair, I tell you, unlike software.
The beauty that lies in the eyes of this much pokerfaced beholder is apparently not all that charming. Life has transmogrified into a series of conversations, musings, soliloquys, sound sleeps, hot shower baths, coffee-drinking and plain sit-and-stare-at-the-wall.
Damn the visuals, Woody Allen is God.
Damn the visuals, Woody Allen is God.
A couple of weeks back, I had been to Thailand on a 4-day fun trip organized by the company I work with. We were told that we could take a guest along with us. In saner circumstances, it'd have meant a spouse, a girlfriend, or even a sibling. But what I apparently did was one of the weirdest things I ever pulled off.
In what seemed like a chapter straight out of Fellini's La Dolce Vita, I took my appa along with me. Yes, I and my dad travelled around with my colleagues and others, visited places, parasailed, walked under the sea, ate passable Indian food, slept soundly in the hotel rooms, shopped in huge malls, and came back home.
If one skims a little through this blog, one can figure out the level of excitement I'd have towards such touring and travelling. But, my father, a man of a different generation and certainly different sensiblities enjoyed every bit of it. My appa just oozes out frenetic enthusiasm during such trips. He makes note of the places he visits (along with the date and time, no less), wakes up early and gets ready for the next place of visit, takes part in organizing the proceedings and so on. As a matter of fact, during this trip, I kept him in check, not letting him be his usual self. I did realise soon that, it was utterly preposterous of me to impose my "modern detachment" on him, but most of the men around, I was afraid, were "modern" themselves, but probably not as "detached" as I was. But, I couldn't inhibit him from being his usual self and, apparently, he won more friends than I did during the trip. And, he really enjoyed parasailing and the undersea walk (which I was supposed to not to let him do), and recalled his doing the same (against much opposition) during his long holiday in Mauritius.
Personally, I fairly enjoyed the Battaya beach and Bangkok. On the whole, it was actually nice, this stranding together a boy and his father, starkly different in their sensibilities - the son steeped in stoic cynicism and the father, zealous and with strong middle-class ethos - and yet uncannily similar, not to mention the look-alike noses.
I wasn't sure if I should have asked him if he'd like to have a drink or not, during the dinner on one of those days, but as stern stoicism prevailed, I just sat still and waded through for most part of it. And, I had quite quit drinking too. But, he'd have enjoyed a drink if somebody forced it a bit on him, I know. Now, I wonder if I should have, and what his reaction would have been.
Of the words that I repeately use in conversations and in writing, and even tend to consciously keep it in check, the topmost is probably 'bland'. That is the word. That is real. That is my drama. And, my melodrama.
Blandrama!
In what seemed like a chapter straight out of Fellini's La Dolce Vita, I took my appa along with me. Yes, I and my dad travelled around with my colleagues and others, visited places, parasailed, walked under the sea, ate passable Indian food, slept soundly in the hotel rooms, shopped in huge malls, and came back home.
If one skims a little through this blog, one can figure out the level of excitement I'd have towards such touring and travelling. But, my father, a man of a different generation and certainly different sensiblities enjoyed every bit of it. My appa just oozes out frenetic enthusiasm during such trips. He makes note of the places he visits (along with the date and time, no less), wakes up early and gets ready for the next place of visit, takes part in organizing the proceedings and so on. As a matter of fact, during this trip, I kept him in check, not letting him be his usual self. I did realise soon that, it was utterly preposterous of me to impose my "modern detachment" on him, but most of the men around, I was afraid, were "modern" themselves, but probably not as "detached" as I was. But, I couldn't inhibit him from being his usual self and, apparently, he won more friends than I did during the trip. And, he really enjoyed parasailing and the undersea walk (which I was supposed to not to let him do), and recalled his doing the same (against much opposition) during his long holiday in Mauritius.
Personally, I fairly enjoyed the Battaya beach and Bangkok. On the whole, it was actually nice, this stranding together a boy and his father, starkly different in their sensibilities - the son steeped in stoic cynicism and the father, zealous and with strong middle-class ethos - and yet uncannily similar, not to mention the look-alike noses.
*****
I wasn't sure if I should have asked him if he'd like to have a drink or not, during the dinner on one of those days, but as stern stoicism prevailed, I just sat still and waded through for most part of it. And, I had quite quit drinking too. But, he'd have enjoyed a drink if somebody forced it a bit on him, I know. Now, I wonder if I should have, and what his reaction would have been.
*****
Of the words that I repeately use in conversations and in writing, and even tend to consciously keep it in check, the topmost is probably 'bland'. That is the word. That is real. That is my drama. And, my melodrama.
*****
Blandrama!
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Friday, September 08, 2006
Last Sunday, I went back to Lawrence & Mayo and took my new pair of glasses that I had ordered. Yes, it was a full week after I had ordered for them. It felt good.
***
This week, I, along with some folks from the company I work with, was supposed to go to my alma mater for recruitment. We'll be starting on Tuesday noon, I thought. My friend calmly corrected me on Monday morning that we were supposed to start on that very day. So, I hurried up, bought a couple of new shirts, I don't know why, and reached my office just about noon, all set.
The two gentlemen whom I accompanied were both managers which brought in an obvious generation rift. But, the drives (we went on road), to and fro, were very pleasant. Both gentlemen were quintessential Tamilians. They listened fervently to 80s Ilaiyaraaja and were sort of movie buffs. Much as it sounds condescending, I was very impressed with their knowledge of Tamil cinema. We talked about many things; Tamil film songs, Ilaiyaraaja, Tamil movies, Mahanadhi, an obscure movie called Gramathu Athiyayam, yesteryear actress Jayashree, entrance exams, engineering, counselling etc. They nostalgically recalled their college days and the beginning years of their career time and again, and in lieu of their current affairs, kept talking about their kids. Such times are when I realise how much I enjoy a Tamilian company. I have never been a great enthusiast of Tamil, the language, so to say. I mostly deride my friends when they get all worked upon the Tamilian spirit or suchlike, or prove that Tamil is the one of the oldest languages in the world, and even worse, point out that Sanskrit derived a bit or more from Tamil. But, all that history and justification of it being a great "classic language" or otherwise is immaterial.
I am, for all practical reasons, a Tamilian myself, and that pretty much explains my natural affinity towards Tamilian things. Just like any ordinary Tamilian, I love Tamilian things, but not much the language itself.
And, yeah, one of them is technically not a Tamilian. Even, I am not. Whatever.
***
At the college, it was quite odd to see students going head over heels addressing us sir and all that. Yes, of course, I know that's how it was; and, back then, I too addressed such people as sir. But, much as I must have had used it to address certain people, I guess I didn't go to the levels that some students did the other day. (Had I overheard some of my batchmates attending interviews back then, perhaps, I'd have been more ready for this.) The way some candidates bludgeoned me with their sirs as they answered my questions really made me a bit uncomfortable, but I started taking it as a fact at its face value soon.
The recruitment itself was a low-key affair. About 30 candidates took the test (back then, I used to complain that the junta refers to it as 'giving the test' instead of 'taking the test'), a little less than half of them got short-listed for the interviews, I grilled some of them in data structures, algorithms blah blah blah (though I was well aware that I had to brush myself off on these subjects), and we finally zeroed in on two candidates and short-listed them for a job offer.
***
We left in the early morning, the day after, i.e. Sep 6th. The very day I first stepped in on my alma mater six years ago. I actually felt I should roam around the entire campus (esp. my room), but hardly had the time to. All I was able to visit was our beloved Octagon (it was some time between 9 and 10 in the night, so it was almost full), after a hectic session of interviews and dinner, the day before.
It was more than two years since I left the place. I am not able to figure out how nostalgic I feel about those times. Those days are the most unforgettable ones of my life and were great fun. But, I am not able to relate to many a thing out there anymore.
***
I am not even a bit sure about what I should do with my life. Enakku enna pannen, enna panren, enna pannalaam, edhuvume puriyala. I should start cooking. I'll get to peel onions, you know.
***
This week, I, along with some folks from the company I work with, was supposed to go to my alma mater for recruitment. We'll be starting on Tuesday noon, I thought. My friend calmly corrected me on Monday morning that we were supposed to start on that very day. So, I hurried up, bought a couple of new shirts, I don't know why, and reached my office just about noon, all set.
The two gentlemen whom I accompanied were both managers which brought in an obvious generation rift. But, the drives (we went on road), to and fro, were very pleasant. Both gentlemen were quintessential Tamilians. They listened fervently to 80s Ilaiyaraaja and were sort of movie buffs. Much as it sounds condescending, I was very impressed with their knowledge of Tamil cinema. We talked about many things; Tamil film songs, Ilaiyaraaja, Tamil movies, Mahanadhi, an obscure movie called Gramathu Athiyayam, yesteryear actress Jayashree, entrance exams, engineering, counselling etc. They nostalgically recalled their college days and the beginning years of their career time and again, and in lieu of their current affairs, kept talking about their kids. Such times are when I realise how much I enjoy a Tamilian company. I have never been a great enthusiast of Tamil, the language, so to say. I mostly deride my friends when they get all worked upon the Tamilian spirit or suchlike, or prove that Tamil is the one of the oldest languages in the world, and even worse, point out that Sanskrit derived a bit or more from Tamil. But, all that history and justification of it being a great "classic language" or otherwise is immaterial.
I am, for all practical reasons, a Tamilian myself, and that pretty much explains my natural affinity towards Tamilian things. Just like any ordinary Tamilian, I love Tamilian things, but not much the language itself.
And, yeah, one of them is technically not a Tamilian. Even, I am not. Whatever.
***
At the college, it was quite odd to see students going head over heels addressing us sir and all that. Yes, of course, I know that's how it was; and, back then, I too addressed such people as sir. But, much as I must have had used it to address certain people, I guess I didn't go to the levels that some students did the other day. (Had I overheard some of my batchmates attending interviews back then, perhaps, I'd have been more ready for this.) The way some candidates bludgeoned me with their sirs as they answered my questions really made me a bit uncomfortable, but I started taking it as a fact at its face value soon.
The recruitment itself was a low-key affair. About 30 candidates took the test (back then, I used to complain that the junta refers to it as 'giving the test' instead of 'taking the test'), a little less than half of them got short-listed for the interviews, I grilled some of them in data structures, algorithms blah blah blah (though I was well aware that I had to brush myself off on these subjects), and we finally zeroed in on two candidates and short-listed them for a job offer.
***
We left in the early morning, the day after, i.e. Sep 6th. The very day I first stepped in on my alma mater six years ago. I actually felt I should roam around the entire campus (esp. my room), but hardly had the time to. All I was able to visit was our beloved Octagon (it was some time between 9 and 10 in the night, so it was almost full), after a hectic session of interviews and dinner, the day before.
It was more than two years since I left the place. I am not able to figure out how nostalgic I feel about those times. Those days are the most unforgettable ones of my life and were great fun. But, I am not able to relate to many a thing out there anymore.
***
I am not even a bit sure about what I should do with my life. Enakku enna pannen, enna panren, enna pannalaam, edhuvume puriyala. I should start cooking. I'll get to peel onions, you know.
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