tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56883612174715913902024-03-13T22:10:22.163-07:00Writer's BlockJayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-5374986801756115272010-06-08T06:23:00.001-07:002010-06-08T06:23:01.937-07:00Joey and Football<p>The World Cup is here and I've been watching a lot of "Friends" (apologies for the lack of formatting, I'm blogging from my phone). Some weird neuron connection, probably fused as a result of Internet use (that's what everyone's saying these days), fired and connected the two.<br /><br />Joey Tribbiani, the often dumb "Friends" character played by Matt Le Blanc, is a midfield maestro. In terms of the jokes his character has, and the punchlines. <br /><br />Midfield Maestro Move #1: The One-Two<br /><br />Example:<br />Joey: Hey Ross, if homo sapiens were in fact, "homo" sapiens, is that why they're extinct?<br /><br />Ross: Joey, homo sapiens are people<br /><br />Joey: Hey...I'm not judging<br /><br />Or, another one:<br /><br />Rachel: Guys and girls both carry this bag. Unisex<br /><br />Joey: Maybe you need sex. I had sex a couple of days ago<br /><br />Rachel: No no Joey...U-N-I-sex<br /><br />Joey (smiling): Now how could I say no to that?<br /><br /><br />Midfield Maestro Move #2: The Killer Pass<br /><br />Joey (hitting on a girl dumber than himself): You look familiar. Maybe it's because I'm on television. I'm Joey Tribbiani<br /><br />Or,<br /><br />Joey (checking out an attractive girl, within earshot): Hot<br /><br />Girl (turns): I'm sorry, what?<br /><br />Joey: I said you're "hot" and now I'm embarassed<br /><br />Girl: Oh, I thought you said "Hi"<br /><br />Joey: That would have made more sense<br /><br /><br />Midfield Maestro Move #3: The Venomous Shot<br /><br />Joey (about his advice to an acting student): I told him to play the role "super-gay"<br /><br />(Yeah I know the last one is kind of lame. I thought of the concept in the shower and forgot the example I actually wanted to give)</p><div style='clear: both; text-align: center; font-size: xx-small;'>Published with Blogger-droid</div>Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-28979934756563474052009-11-19T14:31:00.000-08:002009-11-19T14:36:01.564-08:00Should I have studied Literature?The other day, I had a meeting with a professor of literature here at Georgia Tech. I've been to his office a couple of times before and it fills me with jealousy every single time.<br /><br />His office is completely filled with books. Shelves line three of the four walls and they are packed with all kinds of books, all very interesting. I envy the guy for getting to work in such a cool office.<br /><br />Too bad a literature degree can't make you any serious money. Is there any way to read books and make a lot of money? I'd be the best in the world at that job. Why am I such a materialist? :(Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-8936580192534269272009-10-29T16:44:00.000-07:002009-10-29T16:46:48.449-07:00I can't believe it's been a yearWhoa! I was on the last blog post, for a class project when I checked the pub date. It's been a year since I last posted here!<br /><br />They do say that the majority of blogs languish after one or two posts. I managed 20+, but finally petered out. <br /><br />A lot has happened in a year. I hope it's not another year before I post again. But I can't write anymore now. Have to get back to work.Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-20509261564598933022008-10-22T10:17:00.000-07:002008-10-23T02:56:23.205-07:00The Future of ICL<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SQBJpNu-FbI/AAAAAAAAAHI/RidMsFkGvgw/s1600-h/Icl222.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 90px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SQBJpNu-FbI/AAAAAAAAAHI/RidMsFkGvgw/s200/Icl222.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260285337178871218" /></a><br />ICL, the Indian Cricket League, has been the ugly sister of domestic T20 events ever since the launching of the IPL. It is regarded in many quarters, not unfairly, as a place where only two types of players go: those past it, and those who aren't going anywhere. Since most of ICL's "international stars" are players looking to line their retirement nests with a few more greenbacks, I don't have much sympathy for them. Unfortunately, ICL teams are also home to many of India's young cricketers, who had lost all hope of ever making the national team when they put all their eggs into the Essel group's basket. Thanks to the BCCI's arrogant and in my opinion, illegal, ban on any players associated with the rebel league, their careers are pretty much over if the Essel group decides to call it a day. After all, ICL isn't setting the TRP charts on fire by any stretch of imagination. This would be a massive waste all around.<br /><br />The BCCI owe the Essel group a huge debt of gratitude. If it weren't for the owners of Zee, the BCCI would never have been forced to launch what is possibly its greatest ever money-spinner, the Indian Premier League. It wasn't just money either. The IPL threw up many new stars, players previously completely unknown. The biggest beneficiary was Swapnil Asnodkar, a previously unknown Goa batsman, languishing in the Ranji Trophy's plate division, out of sight of the national selectors. His opening partnership with South Africa captain Graeme Smith was one of the main reasons that Rajasthan Royals emerged triumphant in the inaugural IPL. But who knows how many Swapnil Asnodkars play in the ICL? Will they be frozen out of the national side forever, just so the BCCI can make a few million more by strangling ICL in the cradle?<br /><br />The ICC has just asked the BCCI to speak to the ICL. I can't remember the last time the BCCI listened to the ICC. The ICL is also planning legal action against the BCCI, probably on the basis of unfair trade practices. We all know how long court cases take in this country. Unless the BCCI willingly speaks to the Essel group, with the hope of reaching a constructive solution, the ICL is basically toast. Their viewership is not nearly enough to sustain them (I read somewhere that fewer than 5% of households have access to Zee Sports, the main broadcaster. Zee's dispute with TataSky can't be helping their subscriber base either). The franchises have virtually no fanbase to speak of, at least in Mumbai. Let's hope the BCCI puts the good of Indian cricket ahead of profits, for once. I won't be holding my breath.<br /><br />How will cricket benefit? I was watching an ICL match the other day, I don't remember between who, but what struck me the most was how many names were familiar. In just that one match, played the following: Chris Harris (NZ ODI great), Shane Bond, Nantie Hayward, Abdul Razzaq (set WC '99 on fire), Jimmy Maher, Stuart Law, Ian Harvey, Russel Arnold and Justin Kemp. Not a bad collection of names for a limited-overs match. You could build a very decent team out of that bunch. There are plenty of other retired greats plying their trade in ICl too, Inzamam-ul-Haq and Brian Lara, to name two. Throw in a few unknown, but possibly talented Indian youngsters, and you will see that ICL isn't really lacking in quality, as much as it is in glamour. India would be missing out on a lot of hitherto untapped talent, talent which has benefited by playing alongside top-class internationals for a year, the same as their IPL counterparts. <br /><br />What is the future of the ICL? It could go down the path of American baseball. Baseball in America, known collectively as Major League Baseball (MLB) consists of two leagues, known as the American League and the National League, although since 2000, the two have ceased to be distinct legal entities. The two leagues together have 30 franchises. At the end of each season, the champions of each league play each other in a best-of-seven series labeled, quite presumptuously these days, the World Series. Players can and do transfer between the two leagues. A similar structure would be the way to go for the BCCI, if they are forced to recognise ICL. They can cross their fingers and hope that ICL folds on its own, and the good players come back to the BCCI fold. <br /><br />The other way could be simply to integrate the two leagues. This would increase overall competitiveness and there is a precedent for it, again in American sport. American football is played under the National Football League (NFL). However, briefly in the 1960s there was a rival league, known as the American Football League (AFL) started in response to resistance by the NFL towards expansion of the league to include more franchises. AFL started in 1960 and boasted of 10 franchises. It began by recruiting top college talent from under the noses of the NFL, then began raiding NFL squads for players. After finally establishing equality with NFL on the field and in the money stakes, the two leagues merged in 1969. Imagine the possibilities of a merged T20 league. There could be two divisions and relegation and promotion battles, a la soccer leagues, from which both leagues draw inspiration. With many of the franchises in the same city, there could be amazing local rivalries. Think of it: Mumbai Champs versus the Mumbai Indians, both curiously inaptly named teams (the Indians contain the maximum number of foreigners allowed, while the Champs sit at the bottom of the ICL table), the southern rivalries of Deccan Chargers, Hyderabad Heroes, Chennai Superstars and Chennai Super Kings. ICL also contains franchises not found in IPL, Ahmedabad, Lahore and Dhaka to name three. <br /><br />The latter option is much harder for ICL but also more rewarding. By regularly playing against IPL teams, they would certainly earn a lot more money and get more exposure. But as mentioned earlier, AFL was only able to merge with NFL by proving its strength. The only way ICL can do this is to grab currently active international stars to play in their league. This is only possible if they can convince the other cricket boards to break ranks with the BCCI on the issue of banning ICL players from international cricket. It seems unlikely the BCCI will reverse its stand unless its hand is forced.Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-5568215678044755092008-09-15T10:54:00.000-07:002008-09-26T03:39:44.735-07:00Kerala Diary-4In spite of the hotel's valiant efforts, our laundry hadn't dried by the morning of our departure. So, as we checked out, each one of us bore a plastic bag of damp, sodden clothes, each promising a stink if we didn't get them dry, and fast.<br /><br />In a rather endearing piece of naivete, we thought we'd leave a bit earlier if we got our own breakfast instead of waiting 4 hours for the hotel to make it. So we'd purchased a jar of strawberry jam and a couple of loaves of bread the previous day. Unfortunately, we hadn't factored in Vix. Needless to say, we left an hour and half late.<br /><br />Next on the itinerary was <a href="http://www.periyartigerreserve.org/">Periyar Tiger Reserve</a>. It's located near the town of Kumily, near the southern portion of Kerala's border with Tamil Nadu. The drive was all downhill, a winding road from the hilly tea gardens. We listened to music and I was labeled "anti-Pappu" for skipping "Pappu Can't Dance". He who holds the remote holds absolute power, till he falls asleep of course. We passed thru innumerable hamlets. Tiny Christian (chapels?) punctuated the road sides. Men walked about in <span style="font-style:italic;">lungis</span> everywhere; they even rode motorcycles wearing them, a feat that defies belief. <br /><br />Kumily is, in my humble opinion, a sorry-ass town, whose streets are lined with spice emporiums, hotels and restaurants. It exists solely to service the tourists who visit Periyar. There are plenty of spice farms in the area and you can get good-quality spices there, which is exactly what Horus did in the evening.<br /><br />Our hotel (Mt Sinai Tourist Lodge, just so you know never to go there) was representative of the town of Kumily: sorry-ass. Tiny rooms with the barest of decoration and comfort. The corridors were open and the railing was bare concrete. Our rooms faced an under-construction building. Indeed, the two buildings were so close together, we could easily climb over to the other building from ours. We laid out wet clothing out on the concrete railing, in the bright sunshine. <br /><br />Lunch was at a low-to-medium quality restaurant, bereft of anything not containing rice. It didn't matter, because I wasn't in a position to eat much else and I believe Rocky was with me. The food wasn't anything to write home about. <br /><br />To see Periyar Tiger Reserve, you drive in and buy a ticket for a boat ride on the man-made Periyar Lake, where all the animals come to drink. The best time to go is early morning or failing that, late in the evening. We elected to take the boat ride the following morning, just before leaving for Allapuzha and instead, go on a guided trek in the afternoon. So we signed up for Cloud Walk, a 4-hour trek along the hills of Periyar and were assigned two guides. Those who weren't wearing shoes, socks and full-length pants had to wear protective canvas stockings. Leeches are abundant in the Periyar Hills. The guides also carried a packet of salt along, just in case a leech did clamp on. <br /><br />Off we went. As soon as we started, Ruud, who had already been running a fever since we reached town, decided to go back to the hotel. He went to the bus and was driven back. It was a wise decision. Cloud Walk in Periyar National Park, was anything but a walk in the park.<br /><br />Apart from Neo, Henry, Horus and our guides, everyone was huffing and puffing in fifteen minutes. The climb was up, always up, and steep. Because of the rains, the paths were slippery and treacherous. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNyxWq2ALfI/AAAAAAAAAFY/1hyGkEII2SQ/s1600-h/dsc03054.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNyxWq2ALfI/AAAAAAAAAFY/1hyGkEII2SQ/s200/dsc03054.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250266268623187442" /></a>We climbed up, heads bowed looking out for leeches, panting and gasping for breath. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNyx65SOZuI/AAAAAAAAAFg/uvTNGR2KS8Y/s1600-h/dsc03058.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNyx65SOZuI/AAAAAAAAAFg/uvTNGR2KS8Y/s200/dsc03058.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250266890974947042" /></a>It rained intermittently. The guides showed us the wire fence separating the park from tribal lands. Apparently it was an electric fence, but nothing happened when we touched it. Maybe there was load-shedding going on there too. <br /><br />Presently, we came to a hilly clearing, where a group of locals were playing cricket. On a slope, and with a real, hard cricket ball no less! No pads and gloves either. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNyypU-yXpI/AAAAAAAAAFo/TdNhM8KssIg/s1600-h/dsc03090.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNyypU-yXpI/AAAAAAAAAFo/TdNhM8KssIg/s200/dsc03090.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250267688683593362" /></a>Every once in a while, the ball would roll down the hill and two guys would scurry after it, lest it conk someone in the head further downhill. It could have been us! <br /><br />And we kept climbing, till we reached the summit of the hill, about 500 metres high by my reckoning. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNyy_sqViBI/AAAAAAAAAFw/IEV_8fMjh7Q/s1600-h/dsc03085.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNyy_sqViBI/AAAAAAAAAFw/IEV_8fMjh7Q/s200/dsc03085.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250268072997390354" /></a>There was a large cross. We were virtually standing on the Tamil Nadu border and could see that state. It was raining and the wind was blowing quite hard too. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNyzdVJKXCI/AAAAAAAAAF4/OlczQLTdFG4/s1600-h/dsc03105.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNyzdVJKXCI/AAAAAAAAAF4/OlczQLTdFG4/s200/dsc03105.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250268582080306210" /></a>Our windcheaters and clothing were whipped about by the gusts. We got up to a lot of antics at the hill top. No need for me to describe them; just check out the photos.<br /><br />I was tired. My legs had turned to lead. And then I learned that the trek wasn't over. Far from it. We weren't even halfway through. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNy0Rl1dj5I/AAAAAAAAAGI/0QWDJ10jU70/s1600-h/dsc03109.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNy0Rl1dj5I/AAAAAAAAAGI/0QWDJ10jU70/s200/dsc03109.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250269479914278802" /></a>In fact, we would be making our way along the hilly ridge to a point very distant from where we stood. That is what we did. Along the way, we encountered some ramshackle wooden shacks, on the tribal side of the wire fence. They looked awfully rickety but we crossed the fence and went in anyway. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNy0sG4qmaI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/zIloKRxY8GA/s1600-h/dsc03122.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNy0sG4qmaI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/zIloKRxY8GA/s200/dsc03122.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250269935462685090" /></a>A wooden bench collapsed almost instantly under the combined weight of Jay-Z, Henry and myself. We took a lot of videos, laughed a lot. I was constantly conscious of the fact, as the others joined us in the shack, that the floor could collapse at any instant and send us rolling down the hill. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNy1KNJbA6I/AAAAAAAAAGY/FDQQMbPxKyM/s1600-h/dsc03126.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNy1KNJbA6I/AAAAAAAAAGY/FDQQMbPxKyM/s200/dsc03126.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250270452539655074" /></a>I was most relieved when we left.<br /><br />Neo picked up a couple of leeches on his sandals but they were found and disposed of instantly, before they could do any damage. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNy16O-l5yI/AAAAAAAAAGg/vOMYXURN-zs/s1600-h/dsc03128.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNy16O-l5yI/AAAAAAAAAGg/vOMYXURN-zs/s200/dsc03128.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250271277664823074" /></a>We reached a tall steel watchtower used by forest officers. It was thoroughly rusted and the guides told us to go up four at a time. The view from the watchtower was spectacular. More leeches as we left the tower and these were also doused with salt. <br /><br />Finally we emerged onto an asphalt road. I hadn't the slightest idea where we were. There was a minor comic moment along the trek when we found out that one of our guides' names was Indre. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNyz0tgmW4I/AAAAAAAAAGA/ROo5JeDNk1k/s1600-h/dsc03110.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNyz0tgmW4I/AAAAAAAAAGA/ROo5JeDNk1k/s200/dsc03110.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250268983758052226" /></a>Jay-Z can speak some nonsense, which sounds like a South Indian language. Most of his "sentences" start with the word "Indre" and they usually go like "Indre athropode andrema". He stopped speaking "Malayalam" as soon as he found out our guide's name. <br /><br />It started pouring once again. We were already drenched and chilly and took refuge in front of a provisions store, where Henry bought fake-fruit jelly candy. I wanted something a bit warmer and refused a rare show of generosity from him (:P).<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNy227EOYLI/AAAAAAAAAGo/GpaEjMjLrPQ/s1600-h/dsc03192.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNy227EOYLI/AAAAAAAAAGo/GpaEjMjLrPQ/s200/dsc03192.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250272320291758258" /></a> A man came up and offered us an elephant ride. Everybody was very excited and Jay-Z and couple of the others went off to have a look at the elephants and negotiate a rate. We got their "best offer": Rs 250 for a half hour ride. Everybody except Rocky and myself assented, so we stayed at the elephant loading dock (a raised platform where you can climb on),<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNy3PapV0ZI/AAAAAAAAAGw/5Ij4Ol_FlZM/s1600-h/dsc03165.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SNy3PapV0ZI/AAAAAAAAAGw/5Ij4Ol_FlZM/s200/dsc03165.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250272741085794706" /></a> watching a Mallu film on the TV and shivering in our wet clothes. We took pictures of the guys on the elephants and watched the mahouts bathe and feed the elephants platefuls of rice. <br /><br />By the time we got back to where our bus was parked, it was nearly 6:30 PM and darkness had already fallen. We called Ruud at the hotel to ask them to heat up some water for out baths. Hot water is a surprisingly rare commodity for Keralan hotelry. He sounded very sick and was running a very high temperature. <br /><br />At the tourist centre, we heard a most unpleasant bit of news. There had been some political trouble in the district and a general strike had been called starting at 6 AM the following morning. We were advised to leave the district before that time, which essentially meant a departure time of 4:30 AM or thereabouts. Of course, our boat ride on Periyar Lake was also out of the question, so we would never see a tiger or any other animal. The closest we got to seeing wild animals on the entire trip was when Horus stepped on the droppings of an Asiatic wild dog during the trek. <br /><br />Back at the hotel, we thought things couldn't get any worse, then realised we were wrong. They did; very fast. The hotel rationed out hot water, for one thing. We were told that if we took hot water now, we wouldn't get any the following morning. Hotel policy mind you, not lack of hot water. Then, there was a "one bath towel per room" policy. All the hotel's towels were at the <span style="font-style:italic;">dhobi's</span> apparently. I could not remember the last time I had heard such a load of bull's excrement. <br /><br />Vix had been carrying a leech on his leg for God knows how long. It had happily been drinking his blood all the while, without his suspecting a thing. The thing wouldn't come off when pulled by hand. A packet of salt was found and purchased swiftly, but Vix burned it off with a matchstick before that, so we were stuck with a useless 500 gram bag of salt. I took Ruud to the doctor on his dad's instructions, then sent him back to the hotel and went off to buy him medicine. Then I cursed at the hotel manager till he gave me a bucket of hot water, cursed some more when I didn't get a fresh towel and gratefully took a hot bath. Let me just mention the hotel's name so that you never go there: Mt Sinai Lodge, Thekkady, Kumily. Please do not ever go there.<br /><br />Dinner was at another depressing joint; we had Chinese for a change and found it mediocre, like everything else in Kumily. Horus bought spices and we went back to the hotel. The big final of Euro 2008 was on: Spain vs Germany. Stifling yawns and propping up drooping eyelids, eight of us watched, sitting on a bed meant for two, as Fernando Torres scored the only goal of the game for Spain. It ended at 3:00 AM. We hadn't slept a wink yet and had to leave in another hour and half, to beat the strike.Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-89274169014139163642008-09-14T01:46:00.001-07:002008-09-15T10:54:42.406-07:00Kerala Diary-Day 3Morning in Munnar on the third of our seven days in God's Own Country. There was sickness everywhere. Although Kerala is outstandingly beautiful in the monsoon, made more so by the conspicuous lack of tourists, the cold, wet climate breeds many diseases. And so it happened here as well.<br /><br />Rocky earned himself the nickname Pressure-Boy, for obvious reasons, though even I was similarly afflicted. Neo was running a slight fever, as was Amul.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzR7GbAGyI/AAAAAAAAAEI/95bAj_f9qO4/s1600-h/dscn1668.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzR7GbAGyI/AAAAAAAAAEI/95bAj_f9qO4/s200/dscn1668.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245798479246138146" /></a><br />And of course, Horus had hit his head the previous evening. In addition, we were fast running out of dry clothing. We'd given most of it up to the hotel laundry and now they were working frantically to get it dry by the following morning, when we left. The hotel's game room had our clothes spread out on all the horizontal surfaces, fans running.<br /><br />All wasn't doom and gloom though. We had beautiful Munnar before us. Setting out at approximately 10 PM (late again, due to you know who, this time, for real), we made our way firstly to Matupetty (or Madupetty or other variants) Dam. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzSZPRJCbI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/peGyKJwqAHk/s1600-h/dscn1725.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzSZPRJCbI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/peGyKJwqAHk/s320/dscn1725.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245798997016775090" /></a>The weather was dull and grey, drizzling intermittently, and it was quite cold as well, considering we were near the tropics. It felt like how all non-English footballers describe Manchester as being. So we loved it. <br /><br />At Matupetty, the first task of Rowdies 3.0000hhh awaited. It consisted of shooting balloons with an air rifle, like those games you have at carnivals. Everyone got one shot each, and the ones who burst their balloon would be immune from being sent out of the game. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzToYZ7zuI/AAAAAAAAAEY/5ZbUZmy_JIE/s1600-h/dscn1735.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzToYZ7zuI/AAAAAAAAAEY/5ZbUZmy_JIE/s200/dscn1735.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245800356679241442" /></a>Alas, Jay-Z badly miscalculated. With no prizes on offer at the shooting stall, the stall owner had inflated the balloons quite generously, and the cloth backing was also quite tight; these are the main reasons it's difficult to burst balloons in carnivals. Everyone, except myself and Neo, got theirs on the first shot. We'd gotten the worse of the two rifles that the owner had. So there was a very, very, very long, instant-death shootout between us. To everyone else's envy, we got about 7 shots each, before Neo rather unfortunately missed the last balloon on the sheet. He was out and I had avoided elimination by a whisker.<br /><br />Echo Point was nearby, and we drove over. We thought, at first, that it was a fake, because we couldn't hear any echoes. Turned out, we hadn't been shouting loud enough. This was a pretty busy tourist spot as well, just like the dam, and consequently there were plenty of vehicles around. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzVh1HppzI/AAAAAAAAAEg/XPTX003Einc/s1600-h/dscn1752.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzVh1HppzI/AAAAAAAAAEg/XPTX003Einc/s200/dscn1752.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245802443151353650" /></a>One among us (I don't remember who, but it's just convenient to say Vix), rather hilariously got into someone else's Tempo Traveller, that looked just like ours. We took more pictures too. Taking inspiration from the billboard we'd seen on arrival in Kochi, we took the photo that's displayed alongside. The fellow tourist who clicked it for us just about held off paroxysms of laughter. Note Rocky's tragic lack of coordination between torso and legs. Also, Vix thinking that he's SRK. <br /><br />Munnar is famous as a tea-town. There are three world-famous varieties of Indian tea: Assam, Darjeeling and Nilgiri. Of these, Nilgiri comes from the hill-station of Munnar, in addition to southern Kerala and the Nilgiri district in Tamil Nadu. When Ruud and I had last visited Munnar, eight years ago on a family trip, the tea plantations were owned by the Tatas. But in 2005, they decided to get out of the plantation business and sold out to the plantation workers themselves. Plantation workers now own 69% of stock in what is known as the Kannan Devan Hills Plantation Company (KDHPC), an experiment that is quite unique.<br /><br />I got all this information from Munnar's excellent tea museum, which was where we went, after Echo Point. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzaLu0wwtI/AAAAAAAAAEo/ZKrFcjn-VgQ/s1600-h/dscn1756.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzaLu0wwtI/AAAAAAAAAEo/ZKrFcjn-VgQ/s200/dscn1756.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245807561062531794" /></a>The tea musuem has a half-hour film on the history of tea in Munnar. It also has one of the few operational tea factories in India that is open to tourists. A wrinkled guide explained the entire process of converting green leaves into black powder. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzbK891KiI/AAAAAAAAAEw/artmccE-zvI/s1600-h/dscn1772.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzbK891KiI/AAAAAAAAAEw/artmccE-zvI/s200/dscn1772.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245808647190424098" /></a>I was quite surprised to find out that green tea is made from the same leaves as black tea. The tour ended at a museum gift shop featuring (what else?) tea. There was also a free cuppa for everyone. The museum grounds also had a pretty little garden with plenty of flowers. Horus took a camera and went crazy.<br /><br />Lunchtime. Rather, way past lunchtime. Everyone was hungry and it was almost three before we got into town and found a good restaurant. While the others started, Ruud, Jay-Z and I went to a store to do something that we'd all decided. We bought <span style="font-style:italic;">lungis</span> for everyone, haggling and going from store to store, looking for the best deal. <br /><br />The restaurant was excellent. We ordered Keralan meals (which means a <span style="font-style:italic;">thali</span> in Kerala). A banana leaf was set in front of each of us. A middle-aged man with an avuncular air about him gave orders to his crew of waiters. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzdCJIndrI/AAAAAAAAAE4/IsM3awkr2xU/s1600-h/dscn1775.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzdCJIndrI/AAAAAAAAAE4/IsM3awkr2xU/s200/dscn1775.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245810694861321906" /></a>They set about the job of popping our pants buttons, such was the quantity of food served. It was all vegetarian, all delicious, all rice and all too much for me. Endless bowls of delicious <span style="font-style:italic;">payasam</span> followed the meal. And the best part? The bill. Lunch for ten people (Charles ate with us) cost us Rs 250. <br /><br />After lunch, we could hardly walk. Nevertheless, we bought a couple of music CDs to listen to in the bus. We wanted to hear the Tamil song <span style="font-style:italic;">Aapdi Pode</span>, made so popular by Abhishek Bachchan in a recent ad for a mobile phone. There was one more place still to go to; Eravikulam National Park, located 13 km from Munnar. We arrived there at 4:30 PM and were told that the park closed at 5:30 PM. Cursing Vix once again, we bought tickets and went up in the park bus (private vehicles aren't allowed up into the park). <br /><br />Eravikulam National Park is one of the last habitats of the Nilgiri Thar, a species of ibex. It is closely related to sheep and is an endangered species; its world population is no more than 2500. The drive up to the park's entrance was thrilling too. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzhKtHM_7I/AAAAAAAAAFA/ksrsIDzb1co/s1600-h/dscn1794.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzhKtHM_7I/AAAAAAAAAFA/ksrsIDzb1co/s200/dscn1794.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245815240004534194" /></a>It had gotten even cloudier and the park's pristineness was something to be cherished. The highlight of the drive was a spectacular waterfall, at least a 100 feet high. Indeed, it was so high up that the clouds covered the cliff from which it was falling, giving the impression that it was falling from the sky itself. <br /><br />Because the park closed at 5:30, we didn't get to walk too far into it. At 5:15, park officials caught up with us and asked us quite politely to get our asses out of the park.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzi2-pemOI/AAAAAAAAAFI/3rgZk2B1KkQ/s1600-h/dscn1809.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzi2-pemOI/AAAAAAAAAFI/3rgZk2B1KkQ/s200/dscn1809.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245817100137568482" /></a> Quite dejected at not seeing a Nilgiri Thar, we went back down to the parking lot by bus. There, Ruud and Horus found the next best thing to a Thar. <br /><br />On our way back to the hotel, we had an encounter with a couple of scary-looking wild dogs that were guarding the entrance to a village on the banks of a river that were absolutely dying to get a look at. We also tore/dirtied our clothes trying to get over the barbed wire into one of the tea plantations to get a few photos. Back at the hotel, it was dinner time and then a few games of Call. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzlLjSBhVI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/VXEYs2W3J50/s1600-h/dsc03040.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMzlLjSBhVI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/VXEYs2W3J50/s200/dsc03040.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245819652591945042" /></a>Everyone tried on their new <span style="font-style:italic;">lungis</span> and Vix smeared talcum powder on everyone's foreheads, to mimic <span style="font-style:italic;">vibhuti</span>. Almost inevitably, his new nickname was <span style="font-style:italic;">vibhuti</span>-boy. Then, we finally flung our exhausted bodies onto our beds. Neo was running a worryingly high temperature.Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-70714534016719069612008-09-07T08:14:00.000-07:002008-09-14T01:28:09.230-07:00Kerala Diary-Day 2And so the sun dawned on the second day of our southern sojourn. We planned to leave early to drive to Munnar, a lovely hill station famous for its tea gardens. Departure time was pegged at 8 AM sharp. So, of course, we left at 10 AM. We had to. It was Vix's fault. Whenever we ran late on the trip, it was always Vix's fault, even when it wasn't. <br /><br />There had been some drama the night before. Charles, our cheerful and good-natured driver seemed slightly <span style="font-style:italic;">pissé</span>, because he'd wanted to leave early. The last bus home for him left at 8:30 PM, the time that we'd started our revelry in XL Bar. The ride back to the hotel left my knuckles white. Neo, Henry and Rocky were up in front with me and they looked somewhat fearful too. The others in the back had not the slightest idea that we were rushing through lanes 10 feet wide at speeds approaching those of a bullet. Speaking in Marathi, as foreign to Charles as Gaelic, we decided that we should probably give him some money so that he could take a rickshaw home. That had solved the problem. <br /><br />The drive to Munnar was approximately 5 hours of road coiled around hills upto 1800 metres tall. Our trip was punctuated by two stops, although we wanted to take many more. The first of these was at a large waterfall by the roadside; it was large enough that there was a small bridge over it. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMquNERjXII/AAAAAAAAAC4/vncW_Pa-SXk/s1600-h/dscn1601.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMquNERjXII/AAAAAAAAAC4/vncW_Pa-SXk/s320/dscn1601.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245196255535258754" /></a> As always happens with such places, stalls selling food and drink sprouted up around it. We discovered that <span style="font-style:italic;">bhutta</span> in Kerala really isn't that good; at least it wasn't at that place. The corn grains were really dry. <br /><br />Photography was easy too, because of the spectacular views that the hills of Munnar provide. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMqvQPM_f-I/AAAAAAAAADA/m81FfUlj_8k/s1600-h/dscn1591.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMqvQPM_f-I/AAAAAAAAADA/m81FfUlj_8k/s200/dscn1591.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245197409520156642" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMqvoVqJdjI/AAAAAAAAADI/6Gy2ydjd79s/s1600-h/dscn1612.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMqvoVqJdjI/AAAAAAAAADI/6Gy2ydjd79s/s200/dscn1612.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245197823569917490" /></a><br /><br />Our second stop was at another such location. Spirits were high; we'd stocked up in the town before we hit the hills, having been warned by the ever-reliable Charles that venturing out at night in Munnar for anything would be dangerous due to fog. The liquor store itself offered us more talking points. It was the most unusual one we'd ever seen. It was slighly less well-fortified than the average Middle Ages castle. And the cheapness of the liquor (all of it, even the good stuff) would gladden the hearts of all but the most devoutly temperate. <br /><br />Although we were running late (because of Vix obviously), we stopped for a few more pictures of the astounding views that we saw. Greenery as far as the eye could see, rolling hills blanketed with forests and tea plantations.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMq2a26eteI/AAAAAAAAADY/35E_864u6F0/s1600-h/dscn1625.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMq2a26eteI/AAAAAAAAADY/35E_864u6F0/s320/dscn1625.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245205288560014818" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMqyMTghWVI/AAAAAAAAADQ/ZLrPJqZ2IUI/s1600-h/dscn1618.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMqyMTghWVI/AAAAAAAAADQ/ZLrPJqZ2IUI/s400/dscn1618.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245200640491215186" /></a><br /><br />We arrived at our quarters in Munnar, the Igloo Lodge (and ayurvedic resort) at approximately 3 in the afternoon, three hours late. All our afternoon and evening sightseeing plans were effectively wiped out. We had been booked into dormitory accomodation here, unlike anywhere else. The dorm, meant for about 20 people, held only half that number. One bunk bed for each person! The hotel building looked new and freshly painted, the grounds and lawns were nicely groomed and well-maintained. There were fruit trees and flowers, shrubbery and climbing creepers of all manner. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMq4IL55PGI/AAAAAAAAADg/NLAro0obF3Q/s1600-h/dscn1674.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMq4IL55PGI/AAAAAAAAADg/NLAro0obF3Q/s320/dscn1674.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245207166800444514" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMq5XRrqJ5I/AAAAAAAAADo/bkI-Pp4Zw-Y/s1600-h/dscn1825.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMq5XRrqJ5I/AAAAAAAAADo/bkI-Pp4Zw-Y/s320/dscn1825.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245208525561014162" /></a><br /><br />Having arrived too late to go into town for lunch, we decide to revictual at the hotel's own restuaurant. It would go on to be one of the most tragic mistakes of the trip. <br /><br />With no dishes from the restaurant's lunch menu available (since it was 3:30 PM), we had to content ourselves with snacks; sandwiches and other similar fare. It's difficult for anyone to make a meal of the average sandwich in a restaurant. You can just about finish one in four bites. With it being three hours past when we should actually have had lunch, and with people like Henry (whose exploits at the dinner table are as infamous as his feats on the football pitch are renowned) among the hungry, the scene was set for a long afternoon. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMq7sJFkbUI/AAAAAAAAADw/kMYtXxl9dLI/s1600-h/dscn1642.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMq7sJFkbUI/AAAAAAAAADw/kMYtXxl9dLI/s200/dscn1642.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245211083054280002" /></a>It didn't help that the restaurant was laughably understaffed. I could almost imagine the guy who took our order going into the kitchen, donning a chef's hat and apron and chopping veggies. In any case, a lunch consisting of about 25 sandwiches and 4 plates of fries took us about 3 hours to order, have served, and eat. So we took some more pictures. <br /><br />By the time we'd finished, all hopes of a small evening excursion into town had vanished. So we played football, 3-on-3. With Henry and Horus on my team, we could not fail to win. Horus later got a knock on the head as a result of falling (some would say pushed by Henry) onto the brick border of the garden. On the plus side, Horus made the new Rowdies artwork before it happened. <br /><br /><br />We had the foresight of ordering our dinner two hours before we were hungry, and it turned out to be quite good. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMq8-QJQYAI/AAAAAAAAAD4/747ezXeaE8c/s1600-h/dscn1645.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SMq8-QJQYAI/AAAAAAAAAD4/747ezXeaE8c/s200/dscn1645.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245212493698064386" /></a>After dinner, there was the big event. The first Rowdies vote-out. The vote-out itself was conducted in a quite normal manner. The events after it were something else entirely. <br /><br />First, Jay-Z, the host, forgot who had gotten how many votes. While we laughed and jeered (quite good-naturedly), he frantically played back the video to jog his memory. Then, when it seemed as though Ruud was going to go out, having garnered four votes, he introduced a twist. <span style="font-style:italic;">"Lekin ye Rowdies hain. Is mein twist hote hain."</span> Ruud was immune, it would be Henry, Neo and Amul to play off in a game of Call, to decide who went out. It turned out to be <span style="font-style:italic;">rava laddoos</span>-are-like-cigarettes Amul. Jay-Z was subjected to plenty more ribbing.<br /><br />Then it was time to drink. The two bottles of beer we'd bought were finished quickly, but no one was showing any appetite for the hard stuff. People were already falling ill, victims to the cold and damp of Munnar.Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-65739927167982414642008-05-22T09:23:00.000-07:002008-07-22T12:43:33.664-07:00Kerala Diary-Day 1Rowdies 3.0hhhhh went southya. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SIMD8MZOHAI/AAAAAAAAABg/-JL-v9kdNW8/s1600-h/dscn1532.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SIMD8MZOHAI/AAAAAAAAABg/-JL-v9kdNW8/s400/dscn1532.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225024325333949442" /></a>That was not, however, the biggest talking point on day one of our week-long trip to Kerala. That honour goes to the picture above; the first thing we saw when we emerged from Kochi station.<br /><br />The trip had finally started after an interminable train journey from everyone-speaks-Hindi-or-Marathi-Thane to WTF-are-you-saying-Kochi. There were countless games of Mafia and Call, many bottles of water and soft drinks, <i>chood</i> (hot) <i>vadas</i> and cups of tomato soup that tasted like watered-down ketchup. All of these were borne with good grace by our seat mates, a middle-aged Kerala couple. The husband, by the way, had the most astounding belly you will ever see. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SIMHuD1nfCI/AAAAAAAAABo/kiFH6nf8L38/s1600-h/dscn1535.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SIMHuD1nfCI/AAAAAAAAABo/kiFH6nf8L38/s320/dscn1535.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225028480565476386" /></a><br />Our travel arrangements were made the excellent travel agency La Kerala, and their driver was waiting outside Kochi station for us. The ride to the hotel was short and the hotel itself provided the second big talking point of the day: the hotel was actually quite nice. It was a pleasant surprise for nine students unaccustomed to luxuries like complimentary soap and folded towels in the room. <br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SIWtIG5lKJI/AAAAAAAAAB4/kG46oY014E8/s1600-h/dscn1550.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SIWtIG5lKJI/AAAAAAAAAB4/kG46oY014E8/s320/dscn1550.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225773297436010642" /></a><br />We washed up and cleared out rather quickly, because it was already 4:30 PM and we only had that day to see Kochi. We headed immediately for Fort Kochi, an island connected to the mainland by two bridges. St. Francis Church, the oldest European Catholic Church in India, constructed by the Portuguese in the early 16th century stands in Fort Kochi. Vasco Da Gama, the first European to reach India by sea, was buried at the church when he died in Kochi on his third visit to India, in 1524. His remains were taken back to Lisbon 17 years later but his tombstone is still here. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SIW0ToBT85I/AAAAAAAAACA/nKxKBWTzO70/s1600-h/dscn1555.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SIW0ToBT85I/AAAAAAAAACA/nKxKBWTzO70/s320/dscn1555.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225781191886762898" /></a><br />Just behind St Francis Church stands Santa Cruz Basilica; nearly as ancient as its neighbour. It is a handsome structure and is stunningly decorated with frescoes and murals depicting the life and times of Jesus Christ. On the wall behind the altar is a reproduction of <span style="font-style:italic;">The Last Supper</span>.<br /><br /><br />Next stop was the Fort Kochi beach, the most forlorn and trash-strewn strip of sand that you could ever hope to find. But that didn't matter because Kochi isn't Aruba. The real reason to go down to the beach at Fort Kochi is to see the Chinese fishing nets and eat their catch. These enormous (10 metres tall) fishing nets are fixed on the shore and lowered into the water with the use of stones as counterweights. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SIW5UQ0aJVI/AAAAAAAAACI/1pKEoI594Kc/s1600-h/dscn1562.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SIW5UQ0aJVI/AAAAAAAAACI/1pKEoI594Kc/s200/dscn1562.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225786700396635474" /></a>They are said to be of Chinese invention, brought here during the reign of Emperor Kublai Khan; hence their appellation. The net only catches a few fish every time it is lowered into the water. Most of the fish are quite small but occasionally they will catch a biggie. Shacks along the beach sell the catch and street vendors will clean and cook the fish for you. This was exactly what we did; but first, there was some Rowdies business to take care of. You can see the videos here and here and also here. <br /><br />That taken care of, there was nothing else to do but consume a delicious 1.4 kg pomfret fish, freshly caught and deep-fried. The vegetarians trudged off to XL Bar; more on that later. While they started on a beer odyssey, we ate our fish while cats rubbed up against our legs, imploring us for a morsel or two. The cats of Fort Kochi, looked exceptionally well-fed, I must say. I suppose cats usually are, near fishermen. <br /><br />With the fish swimming in our bellies, we made our way to XL bar to join the herbivores. They had a good head start on the beer (pun intended). Kerala is surprisingly lacking in variety in beer brands by the way. Everywhere we went, Kingfisher was, erm, king. The only challenger to its supremacy is Royal. I'll shut up with the wordplay. Oh no wait, one more. Kerala is not a good place to find your Buddy. <br /><br />Like all restaurants that we went to on the trip, XL had the deserted look of an establishment that's waiting for the tourist season to start. Since we were virtually the only customers and we wanted to watch cricket on the TV, the waiters told us we could sit in the AC section at normal charge. They wanted to watch some Mallu film, you see.<br /><br />Thence we embarked on a memorable journey, in high spirits. The waiter's every entrance was the cue for all of us to chorus, "Five more beers". We ate and we drank, and then we drank some more. We tried playing cards and Mafia, gave it up and finally settled down to making noise and stealing gulps from others' glasses. It was only at around 9:30 PM, when another group of guys came in, that we realised we should get going. It was late (by Keralan standards) and these guys had warned us about "mafia" operating on the streets after 9 PM. Drunken jokes about Mafia, the game would have followed but with the bill mounting, we made a hasty exit. Those guys claimed to be working in the Mallu film industry by the way. <br /><br />Back to the hotel to watch the big game: the second Euro 2008 semi-final between Russia and Spain. Except that no one actually watched it. Everyone slipped quickly into a deep stupor courtesy the king of good times. Ruud and I woke up in time for the second half, when fortunately all the goals were scored. Spain won 3-0. They would meet Germany in the final.Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-52600192914560644662008-05-11T13:11:00.000-07:002008-05-12T23:59:05.104-07:00Tommy Hilfiger and Oprah - The HoaxI'm sure many of you have read this e-mail:<br /><br />"I’m sure many of you watched the recent taping of the Oprah Winfrey show in Chicago where her guest was Tommy Hilfiger. On the show, she asked him if the statements about race he was accused of saying were true.<br /><br />Statements like”…”If I’d known African-Americans, Hispanics, Jewish, INDIAN and Asians would buy my clothes, I WOULD NOT have made them so nice. I wish these people would *NOT* buy my clothes, as they are made for upper class white people.”<br /><br />His answer to Oprah was a simple “YES”.<br /><br />Where after she immediately asked him to leave her show.<br /><br />A suggestion? Don’t buy your next shirt or perfume from Tommy Hilfiger. Let him get what he asked for. Let’s not buy his clothes, let’s put him in a financial state where he himself will not be able to afford the ridiculous prices he puts on his clothes."<br /><br /><br />Funnily enough, people seemed to believe this; no one ever said, "No I haven't watched this tape. I should see it. Lemme try Googling it." Bloggers such as <a href="http://www.harishchouhan.com/general/tommy-hilfiger-insulted-indians#comment-68">this</a> fell for it. However, after I pointed it out, he very graciously accepted what I said. A true gent. (By the way, this guy created Chetan Bhagat's new website, which is how I came across his blog. Isn't it neat how things just fit together? My last post provided the material for this one.)<br /><br />Not me. My interest was piqued. Could such a high-profile man be so publicly bigoted (that too, sober. Not like Mel Gibson), and actually do business in America? <br /><br />The story is a FAKE. If you don't believe me, then believe Oprah's <a href="http://www.oprah.com/tows/slide/200705/20070502/slide_20070502_350_101.jhtml">website</a>.<br /><br />That's not to say that Hilfiger leads a blameless life, of course. <A href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tommy_Hilfiger">Wikipedia</A> says that he has been accused of running sweatshops on US territory. Oh and if you're a Guns n Roses fan, then the fact that he once assaulted Axl Rose might make you want to boycott the Hilfiger brand. <br /><br /><br /><br />But wait. There are two points to be considered:<br /><br />1. If I believe Wikipedia blindly, without corroborating these "facts", I'm as big a fool as the people who fell for that e-mail. But I'm feeling kinda lazy. Can someone else do it?<br /><br />2. Where do you buy Tommy Hilfiger in India anyway? And who does?<br /><br />Ciao.Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-4930684877625725612008-05-11T03:08:00.000-07:002008-05-18T07:36:09.337-07:00The 3 Mistakes of My Life - A Reader's Opinion<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SCdKbcvo7EI/AAAAAAAAABM/xkAp5pMPFao/s1600-h/img_cover_book3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/SCdKbcvo7EI/AAAAAAAAABM/xkAp5pMPFao/s400/img_cover_book3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199206130255457346" /></a><br />Chetan Bhagat is back, with his newest offering, <span style="font-style: italic;">The 3 Mistakes of My Life</span>. The sub-title states that it's a story about "business, religion, and politics". It's a potent blend for any storyteller, and Bhagat is a really good one.<br /><br />Let's establish a few facts (or rather, my opinions) first. Chetan Bhagat isn't a good writer. He is, in my opinion, just about the worst bestselling writer ever. His style is a bit flat and colloquial, sometimes even grammatically incorrect. His characterisation is hit-or-miss, sometimes done brilliantly, as in <span style="font-style: italic;">Five Point Someone</span>, but at others, not so much. His dialogues could be better, although one must appreciate that since his characters probably don't speak English, but Hindi or Gujarati (as in his new book), it is difficult to strike a balance between keeping the Indian tone of the characters' speech while at the same time, making it seem as though they're really speaking English.<br /><br />All these things don't matter, in the final analysis. Bhagat's strength is storytelling, and when he's in form, the words don't really register. All that matters is the story. It grabs the reader by the nose and pulls him or her through Chetan Bhagat's world. The fact is, I didn't even notice most of the literary failings in <span style="font-style: italic;">Five Point Someone</span> the first time I read it. The story resonated with me, as it has with countless other Indians my age.<br /><br />Now for Bhagat's newest book. It's a story about Govind, Omi and Ishaan, three friends in Ahmedabad. Govind wants to be a businessman, a dream that just about every Gujarati holds in his or her heart. Omi and Ishaan are his cricket-crazy friends. The book takes us through their struggles against fate and history-the Bhuj earthquake, the India-Australia Test series in 2001, 9/11, and the post-Godhra riots-and Govind's own moral struggles, in business and love. The reasons for many of India's problems is also touched upon; it's a clarion call for entrepreneurship, endeavour and initiative. All in all, a cracking story, told by a storyteller of great conviction. The trouble is, I really can't talk much about the storyline without giving away more than what is said on the book's back cover.<br /><br />The bad news now. It's really not as good as Bhagat's previous two books. Although his writing has improved with each book, it still isn't that good. Apart from this, where he really fails in this book is his development of the characters. Sometimes it's hard to understand what motivates certain characters to act as they do-Omi for example. And finally, Chetan Bhagat's use of the Prologue as a means to explain how he came by this story is starting to get really irritating. It was completely unncessary in <span style="font-style: italic;">One Night @ the Call Centre</span> (probably not true either) and not really needed here. I, for one, would not at all have minded if Bhagat had simply launched into the story from Chapter 1. The background could be explained in an afterword.<br /><br />The book is worth a read; a good way to spend your vacations.Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-419153447010003902008-05-08T05:49:00.001-07:002008-05-08T06:26:06.769-07:00FarewellThis post isn't, as the name may suggest, about my farewell party. This June, I and 13000 other engineers in Mumbai, will graduate and step out into the real world. This post isn't really about that either.<br /><br />This is a retrospective post, looking back on nearly four years spent in a dark corner of Vashi. I first heard of my college, Fr C Rodrigues Institute of Technology, from my cousin, who was already a student there. Fr Agnel, as it's better known, had a reputation for being a strict college. I thought to myself, "I think I need a bit of discipline." What a fool I was!<br /><br />Fr Agnel isn't strict the way the police and law are strict in Western countries. Fr Agnel is strict in the manner of Soviet Russia or the People's Republic of China. I'm talking about exiles in Siberia, gulags, water drops on shaved heads and executions without a trial.<br /><br />I didn't know this and so I was even ready to get in by paying a "donation". So it transpired that I stood in line with approximately 100 other students on a muggy June day, dad in tow. I was pretty far back in line, since it was on the basis of marks in the qualifying exams. Just ahead of me stood one of the most attractive girls I had ever seen, with the most dazzling smile. When I walked into the office and was offered a choice between the only two branches with openings, IT and Electrical, I instantly replied IT. The three admissions officials were all smiles. I realised later why it was so. There were very few takers for IT in that particular year. There wasn't much "scope" in it, apparently. EXTC was the hot branch. It had a lot of "scope", whatever that means.<br /><br />And I was in. I spent the next four years in this institution. I fell in love, bought a cell phone and topped in an exam. I fell ill, had rows, danced, sang and even studied. I made friends, lost friends, ate, drank, made merry, made enemies. I slept in lectures and stayed up all night, went on late night drives with friends during exams, split my head open (exaggeration), lost 5 kilos and then gained 10, sang in a band, promoted festivals, made robots and did just about everything else that an engineering student does in this city.<br /><br />Last month we had our last working day. The entire class went out for lunch after this. There was still a feeling in the air that college wasn't over yet. There was still a farewell party to come, after all, and exams.<br /><br />I didn't join the class for lunch. I have a certain antipathy towards most of my classmates so I made my excuses and ducked out. However, I did wait in college for a couple of my friends to come back from lunch, so that we could go home together.<br /><br />So I sat in front of the college's office, lonely and miserable, wishing I was somewhere else. And just then she walked by. It was the girl who had stood in line in front of me four years ago. We'd been classmates and acquaintances, and though initially I'd had a bit of a crush on her, we'd never got past the "acquaintance" phase. As she walked past, she gave me one of her 100,000-volt smiles and said "Hi". As she walked past, hips swaying, I realised that college was finally over. Her smile book-ended things quite neatly.Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-10069569190968383642008-04-27T10:19:00.000-07:002008-04-27T10:36:12.738-07:00Sex EducationPeople in our country get kind of embarrassed when you say the S-word. Most of all our politicians. They are the gatekeepers of morality in our country after all. Where would we be without them? That's why, in their wisdom, they have stopped sex education being introduced in our state for the umpteenth year in a row.<br /><br />Having lived and gone to school in the (shorn of morality) US for four years, I am one of the few students in the state who has actually been given sex education. I didn't actually know it at the time because we were taught it under the subject Health Education. There are many misconceptions about sex education. The first is that it teaches innocent young children how to have sex. Firstly, by Std 9, there really aren't any innocent students. They say school kids nowadays are experimenting more with the other sex than my generation (that makes me sound pretty old, even though it's just been just 4 years since I left school). But I knew kids in school who'd had sex in Std 8. Hardly your innocent school children. Secondly, sex education doesn't teach students the mechanics of sex. It's much more like a biology lesson than anything else. I actually learned about the act when I observed some of my school mates making some obscene gestures and then realising that what I'd learned in Health class kind of made sense. <br /><br />I think the problem of introducing sex education in India is political more than anything else. A lot of what we learned in Health class in Std 7 is actually in the Biology syllabus of Std 12 in India. But since not everybody takes biology in Std 12, many students miss out on some essential information. It would be a capital idea to simply introduce the human reproductive system into the science syllabus in Std 9. When it's science, after all, nobody, not even politicians take much offence. And students get some much needed information.<br /><br />For more information about the need for sex education in India, check out the excellent article in today's edition of the Sunday Times. 'Nuff said.Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-65126205467548583372008-04-08T01:39:00.000-07:002008-04-08T02:50:46.298-07:00More IITs?It has been said for a long time, by many, many people. The IITs, India's premier technological institutes, don't have sufficient capacity for India's teeming millions. There are many students being denied the chance for a quality education, just because there aren't enough seats in the IITs, they say. More IITs will mean a better education for millions, more research output, better faculty, is what everyone proclaims. IITs are the silver bullet that will ensure that the percentage of "employable" engineers we produce increases.<br /><br />I might be alone in thinking this, but why? Does calling a college the Indian Institute of Technology, (fill in the city), make it a quality institute? Or is it that only institutes bearing the IIT moniker have a right to better funds, quality faculty, good students and high-tech research. Forgive me, but where does it say that colleges must permanently be graded as First Class, Second Class and Steerage?<br /><br />Here is the killer question. Why must the IITs be considered the premier institute in the country forever and always? Why can't other colleges be made to meet the standards of the IITs, if not in the brilliance of students (the cream will always go to the most venerable college, after all), then at least in terms of faculy, facilities and syllabi? It's true that our premier educational instutions, the IITs and the IIMs are considered among the best in the world. But what of the others? On an average, do the other institutes come anywhere near making the global top 500?<br /><br />I once played a computer game called Brian Lara Cricket, with the great Geoffrey Boycott commentating. At the start of any match involving India, Boycs would launch into his programmed spiel about the strengths of each team, and he would say in that Yorkshire accent,"Well, India...their best players are as good as any in the world, but some of their other players are sub-standard, so they have some weak players in their lineup."<br />That one sentence just about sums up our country. At our best, we are as good as anyone else in the world, at just about anything. Unfortunately, the gap between the best and the rest is as large as the Grand Canyon.<br /><br />We boast of four of the world's ten richest men. We also have some of the worst cases of human suffering in some parts of our country, conditions which handily beat even sub-Saharan Africa. Our film industry produces the most films in the world and is one of the richest in the world. Despite this, there is a startling lack of any international prizes of repute (not even counting the Oscars). Our cricket team has gems like Sachin Tendulkar, who must play alongside hopeless cases such as Wasim Jaffer. And the country of IIT produces millions of engineers who are simply "unemployable": computer engineers who couldn't code to save their lives, mechanical engineers who don't know a crankshaft from a piston, and electrical engineers who are clueless about the difference between AC and DC.<br /><br />The vast majority of engineering students will only ever see the inside of an IIT at one of their excellent festivals. That doesn't mean they aren't entitled to a quality education. This holds true for just about every kind of student (medical, law whatever) in this vast country, and I believe, since we have the largest young population in the world, we may also have the largest student population in the world. This really is something to think about, very hard.Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-29725931329950041362008-04-06T05:13:00.000-07:002008-04-06T05:50:48.748-07:00openSUSEI'm back, as promised, albeit a little late. It's more than 11 hours since my last post.<br /><br />This is the second post I'm writing from the new operating system I have installed on my computer: openSUSE (10.3) Linux. I've wanted to install some Linux distribution on my PC for nearly a year now, but I've been held back by a combination of factors.<br /><br />openSUSE, which I affectionately refer to as Susie, is the second distro I've used; the first was the wonderful Fedora 7, which I used for my final year project in my college. I would've liked to install it at home too but I once left the DVD in college and someone took the term "free software" very seriously and helped themselves to it (or so I thought at the time). openSUSE 10.3, I borrowed from a friend.<br /><br />This represents an attempt to free myself from control by the software firm from Redmond, Washington, USA, affectionately dubbed the "Evil Empire". It was a headache to install the video drivers and get my Internet connection working. Incidentally, to install MTNL Triband in openSUSE:<br /><br />The ADSL modem must be connected to the LAN card of your PC. USB won't do. Then, switch to root user and open the /etc/resolve.conf file. <br />Here, replace the default nameserver setting with<br /><br />nameserver 59.179.243.70<br />nameserver 202.159.217.198<br /><br />There is also a comment at the head of the file that tells you what to do so that the value of namseerver isn't thoughtlessly changed by some other program. Follow those instructions. I'd like to thank <a href="http://www.shwetz-online.in/blog/2007/03/02/mtnl-triband-on-linux/"> this guy </a>, from whose site I got this information. I've reposted it for two reasons: <br /><br />1. More replications make it likelier that people will find this information more quickly<br /><br />2. Someone just might stumble onto my blog<br /><br />Back to business. Working with Linux <i>is</i> more difficult than the OS that's named after holes in walls. I only made it through because I was determined, and because I know a bit about Linux already. I'm told that Ubuntu, the most user-friendly Linux distro, is as good as that unmentionable OS. I haven't used it so I can't really judge. However, since I have just about everything I need with Susie (I even downloaded and installed codecs so I could watch video), I'm cool. And all set to become a Linux geek.Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-53858006040276997922008-04-05T11:55:00.000-07:002008-04-05T12:33:42.149-07:001590My blogger dashboard says that my last post was on March 1. That's over a month ago. It's been a very long time indeed, since I've posted on these hallowed pages. But that's all about to change. My buffer is primed and ready to disgorge its contents. (In tech lingo, lots of push() calls. Now it's time to pop()).<br /><br />Enough cheap humour. I've had very good grounds for not writing for such a long time. I gave the GRE (the Graduate Record Examination) on March 12. In India the exam is a ticket for bored college students to be admitted to an American college, supposedly so they can get a quality education. What they don't know is that it's merely an opportunity to pay your fees in dollars (the actual figure doesn't change, just the currency) so that you can get get even more bored and then get placed in the American equivalent of TCS (who have currently made me an offer of employment upon graduation). I'm kidding of course, and if any admission-in-charge at any university is reading this a year hence, please disregard this paragraph. I really want to join your school (really!).<br /><br />My score on the GRE was 1590/1600. This was, to me (and to others as well), nothing short of astonishing. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the score on the screen, ready to sell my soul for a camera phone, just so I could take a picture and have proof that it wasn't a dream. There wasn't any way to actually record the score; I could just look at it and trust my eyes and brain to convey it correctly to everyone who asked me my score. I couldn't trust my eyes however, no one who's seen my glasses could, and my brain is more like a sieve. Thus, whenever someone congratulated me on my score, I felt a vague unease and I mumbled "Thanks", instead of saying it proudly. This was mistaken by people, I suppose, for diffidence or modesty. Nothing of the sort.<br /><br />I had to make sure so I called the GRE Hotline a week later to confirm my score. They charge a larcenous $12 just to let you hear your score (on top of the phone charges for the international call). I didn't care much though, the score was confirmed, with me making the call to the hotline, and my father listening in on the extension. It was the best $12 I've ever spent.<br /><br />The days afterwards were spent replying to messages of congratulations, telling people how I prepared. My preparation methods, by the way, really aren't something that can be very successfully employed by anyone else and I told this to everyone who asked me. I've been a voracious reader (cliche, I know, but I don't have much more time) since the age of eight. Since fourth standard (when I first went to the US and had access to a large quantity of books), I've probably read an average of 3 books a month. This, of course, includes the lean engineering years. In school, I'm sure I approached the rate of a book and a half a week. <br /><br />The upshot is that I never really needed to study for the verbal section of the GRE. And since the quantitative section is only high school maths, it wasn't too challenging either. That was my big secret for getting a good score in the GRE. <br /><br />Of course, a high score doesn't assure a good school. I've since learned that about 15% of an application's weightage is the GRE score. There are a lot of other factors. Let's see how it works out. Ciao. My next post is coming up in exactly 11 hours.Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-2067498344984474632008-03-01T09:21:00.000-08:002008-03-01T21:24:05.942-08:00I Can't Think of a Title 'Coz I'm Stupid (that's what my result says)It's been my longest hiatus from the keyboard to date. The days since my last post have been either crazily packed with things to do (leaving me with no time) or dull and devoid of any sort of stimulation whatsoever. You may ask, "Well, why didn't you write about the crazy days then?". Or then again, you might not, since no one actually reads my posts. And that works out pretty well doesn't it? I don't write and no one reads! Swell!<br /><br />Enough sarcasm. I use plenty of it nowadays, in my day-to-day affairs and it's spilling over into something that I take very seriously indeed; writing. In the days since my last post, two festivals have come and gone at college (Grand Carnival/Festival, for the benefit of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Mukta</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Jeevan</span> Ashram, a home for HIV/AIDS and leprosy patients, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">CRITeria</span> '08, for the benefit of, well, I'm really not sure). Both events were smashing successes. As I write now, the organisers are cleaning up the mess left behind by the latter.<br /><br />Since it's compulsory to attend a workshop or the departmental seminar, I signed up for a workshop called Theatre. Workshops in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">CRITteria</span>, a techno-cultural fest, tend to fill up fast, both because they are good and because the departmental seminar is so poor. I'd normally join a workshop even if it wasn't compulsory but this semester, I've been particularly pressed for time. Nevertheless, I was glad I had joined the Theatre workshop, because the seminar was, by all accounts, thoroughly insipid. Students essentially paid Rs. 50 for a cup of tea, a samosa, a plastic file, a notepad, a disposable pen and a revision of a lesson from a paper we had last semester. The idea that seminars are meant to teach students about what's not in the books is a bit foreign in these parts.<br /><br />The Theatre workshop was held the day after and it held two nasty surprises.<br /><br />1. It was scheduled to be an 8-hour workshop, all about the technicalities involved in performing arts. This was a shocker; I like most people had blindly signed up, assuming it to be about 2-3 hours long.<br /><br />2. The name Theatre was a misnomer. Theatre is understood to have to do with a place where plays are performed. This workshop was conducted by a guy named Jay, an assistant director on the movie <i>Corporate</i>. Alongside him, was a guy called <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Nitin</span>, an assistant music director.<br /><br />The workshop turned out to be a 6-hour <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">borefest</span>. I managed to have some fun, because, as a demonstration, a bunch of people, including myself, were selected to perform a short scene. I was the director of the scene. Helping me was an art director and I had a cast of five, including a lead actor, who I realised quickly, couldn't act to save his life. The script was a typical <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Bollywood</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">masala</span> film kind of scene. Boy likes girl. Girl likes other boy. Other boy likes girl back. Boy 1 persists. Friends of Boy 1 try to intervene.<br /><br />It was, I felt (a view shared by some of my actors as well), hopelessly inane <br />and unimaginative.<br />The dialogue was corny and contrived and, more importantly, given the short span of time <br />the actors had to learn their lines, convoluted. We rehearsed as best as we could. I did my directorial duties (which mostly consisted of standing quietly and listening to what the actors were going to do), at which I was a real expert, having directed (or as the only reader of this blog may say, co-directed) a prize-winning (in my college) street play. I tried to explain what kind of acting I wanted and got the desired response from all but the lead actor. He seemed incapable of doing anything except grinning moronically, even as he declared publicly how much <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Jiah</span> (the girl mentioned above) meant to him.<br /><br />In the meanwhile, the audience was treated to a screening of scenes from <i><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Sholay</span></i>. Jay told the audience about the techniques behind some of these scenes, the cameras and lenses used and so on. Not the kind of thing that your average moviegoer really wants to know about. And while we're on the topic, is it me or does every filmmaker publicly declare his <br />adoration for <i><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Sholay</span></i>, even if he privately thinks that the movie is actually crap? In India, the movie is spoken of in the same breath that <i>The Godfather</i> is in the West. There's no doubt that it was a huge hit, a phenomenon. It had everything: action, comedy, tragedy, romance, great music, a strong storyline and some powerful performances. This is all very fine, but what would these people have said about the movie if it hadn't been such a big hit. Even at the time, critics wrote it off as a "potboiler". It would have been the same movie, with exactly the things that I mentioned above. But no one would remember it. Don't go by me though; I think <i>Star Wars </i>is the greatest movie ever made.<br /><br />So it transpired that they were actually eager to watch us perform. The actors took their positions, I shouted "ACTION!!" and the performance, I thought, was acceptable. It was a one-shot, no retakes, and there was only one awkward moment in the whole scene, where one of the actresses had her back to the audience as she spoke (a major performing arts' <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">faux</span> pas), and I swore at her silently.<br /><br />Then the performance was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">critiqued</span>. There were some valid points made, particularly with the attention paid to the costume, or rather lack <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">thereof</span>. Whenever Jay brought another flaw to light, it was with the remark, "The director should have noted this". I hung my head in shame at first, but positively bristled when he blamed the lead actor's lack of acting on me. "Hey," I thought ,"I can only work with what you give me." After asking the audience yet again, "So what other mistakes were there?" I muttered under my breath, "Making me director." The cast heard and smiled.<br /><br />Then the guy said that he'd direct the scene now, to show us how it's done. And although he spent an inordinate amount of time flirting with one <br />of the actresses, <br />he obviously did a much better job (although I was secretly smug that he needed <br />three takes).<br />He also failed utterly in getting the lead actor to act, something else that filled me with unholy pleasure.<br /><br />Such was the antipathy of the audience towards him (due to the ceaseless lecturing on that movie, whose name I won't type again because I have to use italics and I'm too lazy to do that), that when I returned to my seat, many told me that I was the better director. There was one more shocker: the scene that we had just performed, far from being something that the young assistant director had rustled up the previous night for us to cut our teeth on, was a scene from an actual upcoming movie, whose name I won't mention here (although I'll be glad to tell you in person). What's more, I'd just directed parts to be played by actors such as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Akshay</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Kumar</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Arshad</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Warsi</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Neha</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Dhupia</span>.<br /><br />Before the full weight of what I'd done settled, an even heavier cloud of boredom did. There were a few more scenes from THAT MOVIE, more discussion about camera angles and so on. It was all very interesting, but I'm sure the audience would have preferred something more hands-on. Small wonder half didn't turn up after the lunch break. The assistant music director took charge in the after-lunch session, putting music to lyrics written by members of the audience. Again, all very interesting, but a bit too technical and dry for the majority of the crowd.<br /><br />The workshop ended with the assistant director giving his opinion on a few film-world controversies. I'm not sure if it's OK to write about what he revealed to us. But it seems that a certain rape/casting couch controversy about a now well-known director was just a<br />publicity stunt. The director and the so-called victim are actually good friends. <br />The story even went as far as the victim hiring contract killers to bump the director off. <br /><br />That's the end of a long post (my longest yet, I believe). I always finish lamely, and this time is no exception.Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-38390570469398643442008-02-19T05:12:00.000-08:002008-03-01T22:56:44.376-08:00I'm OffendedI am offended. I am deeply, deeply offended. My sentiments have been hurt; deeply and irrevocably. Can I go out, vandalise some buses, smash a few glass windows and threaten my offender with a fate worse than death if he or she doesn't repent? What am I saying? Of course I can. Everyone else is doing it.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.apunkachoice.com/happenings/20070427-0.html">People felt offended when Richard Gere kissed Shilpa Shetty on the cheek.</a> (I don't think Shilpa minded much herself). People felt offended when <a href="http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2005/11/24/1132703261303.html">Sania Mirza wore a short skirt to play tennis and when she said pre-marital sex isn't all that bad (as did actress Khushboo). </a> And now, <i> Jodhaa Akbar </i> has been banned in Madhya Pradesh and Uttar Pradesh, apparently because it's creating law and order problems. Hasn't the government considered that it's the protesters who are creating the problem and not the movie? I particularly have very little sympathy for the Rajput protesters of <i> Jodhaa Akbar </i>. Were they asleep when the movie was being filmed, edited and publicised?<br /><br />This is a typically lazy Indian response. Why bother protecting free speech? It's so much easier to ban something and save yourself the trouble. You also earn some brownie points with the offended group along the way. It's politically expedient to ban. No one values free speech.<br /><br />This is a dangerous trend. You cannot have a democracy without the right to free speech,without the fear of reprisals. The rule of law cannot be bypassed by the mob, merely because they're "offended". <br /><br />I really have nothing more to say on this issue, except to list the cases in recent years where someone or the other has "offended" someone else, who has then retaliated with violence or frivolous court cases. M F Hussain, Taslima Nasreen, Sania Mirza, Khushboo, Shilpa Shetty, Aamir Khan, Ashutosh Gowariker, the makers of <i> Parzania </i>, banned in Gujarat by the Bajrang Dal, because it depicted a Muslim family's sufferings during the post-Godhra riots, the makers of <i> Black Friday </i> (for similar reasons, Salman Rushdie (not recent, I know), the makers of <i> Aaja Nachle </i> for lyrics that were seen to reinforce casteist stereotypes. Isn't this rather a lot for just the last 3 years?<br /><br />As a nation, we are among the most sensitive people in the world. Most commentators have observed this. Our politicians are also among the craftiest and most wicked in the world. Commentators have observed this as well. It's pretty easy to stir up a bunch of youths with no jobs, no entertainment and no girlfriends (you can thank moral policing for that) by telling them that their community has been insulted gravely. I bet 99% of the people protesting Salman Rushdie's <i> Satanic Verses </i> never read the book in their lives. <br /><br />It's time to put an end to this. Tolerance levels may take some time to rise. As prosperity increases and quality of life improves, it will prove more difficult for politicians to stir up mobs on such flimsy grounds. However, the rule of law must prevail NOW. Offended or not, no one can be allowed to take the law into their own hands and stop someone else from saying something through coercion or the threat of violence.<br /><br />Now please excuse me. I have to lead a mob out against a guy who swore at me when I was driving. After cutting me off dangerously with his car, he shouted at me, "Abe paagal, dikhta nahin kya?". I'm on my way to Thane Mental Hospital, whose inmates he insulted deeply by comparing them to me. They're gonna be mighty p***ed!Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-54213985790677291122008-02-09T09:56:00.001-08:002008-02-09T10:05:22.336-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/R63rRe0zhGI/AAAAAAAAABA/h65w5GTag78/s1600-h/rime+of+ancient+mariner.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/R63rRe0zhGI/AAAAAAAAABA/h65w5GTag78/s400/rime+of+ancient+mariner.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165043033228674146" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/R63q6u0zhFI/AAAAAAAAAA4/7uGlkobROo4/s1600-h/DSC00083.JPG"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/R63q6u0zhFI/AAAAAAAAAA4/7uGlkobROo4/s400/DSC00083.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165042642386650194" /></a>Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-78263878787298180502008-02-02T21:44:00.000-08:002008-02-03T12:57:02.013-08:001650-The Number of the BeastIron Maiden, the legendary heavy metal band, played in Mumbai day before yesterday. It was their first gig in this city and only their second ever in India. Since they're a pretty old band (by this I mean the ages of the band members), I figured they'd wouldn't be returning too many times more and this was probably my last chance to attend a Maiden show (Maiden don't have concerts, they put on "shows").<br /><br />So I bought the most expensive ticket, Rs.1650, left early from college and presented myself at MMRDA grounds in Bandra-Kurla complex at about 2:30 PM. I'd been hoping to catch a good place in line but I was to be disappointed. Hardcore fans had practically been camping out on the grounds to be first in line and stand in the first row. I managed to cut ahead in line (not something I feel particularly guilty about; everyone was doing it) and ended up with a group of hardcore fans from south Mumbai (Bombay for them) who'd been waiting since early morning. Since they were built like the Spartan troops from <i>300, </i>I negleced to mention that I'd arrived only minutes earlier. One burly guy with a bushy beard bore a striking resemblance to Gerard Butler as King Leonidas. As the crowd behind us started shoving and pushing us, he even bellowed, "SPARTANS!!!!".<br /><i><br /></i>There was an interminable wait for the gates to the grounds to be opened. After standing in line for about and hour and a half with a friend who arrived later on, we were finally let in. Everyone was thoroughly frisked and water bottles, confiscated, ostensibly on the grounds that they could be used as projectiles. However, we were much aggrieved when the sponsors, Pepsi, handed out free samples of their new can. These were then then used as projectiles on the poor opening band (whose name I never did learn, due to all the booing and jeering). Water, meanwhile, was selling for Rs. 20 a glass. To punish the organisers for ripping us off so blatantly, I did my best to litter as extravagantly as possible, quite at odds with my normal no-littering habit.<br /><i><br /></i>At 4 PM, my friend and I took our positions in the crowd, having visited the loo and the water stand. I'd been warned by my Spartan friends outside that once inside it was a matter of "conserving your strength" till the main show was actually on. At 5:15 PM, the opening band I'd mentioned earlier came on to play. The hour between entering the venue and the opening band's performance was spent trying to remain on my feet against the powerful, ever-shifting tides of humanity. Every minute was a struggle: a struggle to stand, a struggle to keep one's foot out from under someone else's foot and a struggle to draw fresh air into one's lungs, air laced with the stench of cigarette smoke, marijuana and alcohol.<br /><i><br /></i>The newbie band failed to make much inpact on the crowd, but I rather liked their last song. It was titled <i>Marijuana</i> and although the subject itself didn't appeal to me, it had a good sound. Local bands don't get much airplay on radio stations or TV; as a result they aren't much known. However, being unknown is no reason for being scorned, the way they were by the crowd on that day.<br /><i><br /></i>Next up was Maiden bassist Steve Harris's daughter Lauren and her band. The crowd had a similar opinion of her music as that of the first band; this had been made clear to me even before entering the grounds. Lauren Harris had performed for her father's earlier Indian gig too and fans who'd attended that show knew her. However, she is much more attractive than the lead singer of the first band (he was a guy, hence not attractive to the majority of the crowd) so the crowd mostly ogled, instead of booing. There was more shoving, falling down and getting up again, and shouts of "Don't push!" throughout the gig. Indeed the cameraman in front of the stage was rather enjoying himself, watching the crowd sway with the sweep of the camera. The girls in the crowd clearly had the worst of it; they were too short to see anything if they were more than a few rows back and too weak (physically) to withstand the exertions of standing in one place in that mob. And although I didn't see it, there must've been plenty of groping going on too. The conditions were ripe for it. It really was a most distasteful scene.<br /><i><br /></i>After another interminable wait, the Indian band Parikrama took the stage. They were to be the last opening act, and as their set came to an end, the crowd got wilder and wilder. By the time they finished, I could not breathe. I had worked my way to the third row and I was close to passing out from lack of fresh air. It was hard to believe that a large portion of the crowd was made up of South Mumbai (Bombay!) brats who detested local trains for exactly these reasons, yet conditions were far worse here. I could stay no longer and I surrendered my hard-won position near the front row and made my way out to the soft drink stand, for some fluids and fresh air.<br /><br />Pepsi was Rs. 30 a glass (another rip-off) but I bought some anyway and slaked my thirst. After a breather and a joyous running-into with another friend (I'd lost the ones I'd come in with a long time ago), <br />I made ready to go back. It was at this time that the main show finally started.<br /><i><br /><br /></i>The opening of the video of <i>Aces High</i> played. It was footage from the Battle of Britain, fought over the skies of Britain between the Royal Air Force and Hitler's Luftwaffe. In the background, plays Winston Churchill's "We shall never surrender" speech. The band burst onto the stage in a blaze of bright lights, to a wild reception from the expectant crowd. It was quite superb to see the lead singer, Bruce Dickinson, almost 50, to be singing with such energy. The crowd went wild and I followed them. The band (for the record: Janick Gers, Adrian Smith and Dave Murray on guitar, Steve Harris on bass and Nicko McBrain, dubbed a "sartorial casulaty" for wearing shorts, by Dickinson, on drums) really knows how to put on a show. For the song <i>The Trooper</i> an ode to the Light Brigade that perished in a tragic charge against Russian armies in the Crimean War, Dickinson put on a British soldier's redcoat and pranced about waving a tattered and burnt Union Jack.<br /><i><br /></i>The show was two hours long and every single minute of it was enjoyable. The theatrical elements culminated with a giant Eddie robot striding onto the stage. It was basically guy on stilts wearing a sinister Eddie suit (Eddie, the band's<br />mascot, is a scary-looking guy). <br /><i><br /></i>After the show, which ended at 9:45, getting back home was hell. No rickshaws outside the venue and we had to walk halfway back to Kurla. Two of my friends managed to get a hold of plectrums thrown by band members; this is a pretty good souvenir.<br /><i><br /></i>That's pretty much the story of my time at the Maiden gig. Sorry for the lame ending. I'm in a hurry. I'll add pictures later. Promise.<i><br /></i>Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-1630616042692602382008-01-13T10:07:00.000-08:002008-01-13T11:06:04.594-08:00Lessons from a Cement Company<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/R4pfVZVcGDI/AAAAAAAAAAU/RWKW1z25zTU/s1600-h/1945.GIF"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/R4pfVZVcGDI/AAAAAAAAAAU/RWKW1z25zTU/s320/1945.GIF" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155037544661653554" /></a><br />I' m sure just about everyone has seen the ad. Two brothers, B R Thakur and S R Thakur, reconcile after many years, over the wall that divides their ancestral property. "Chhotu!" says the older, more conservative brother, dressed in kurta-pyjama and a turban. His side of the family mirror him in all respects. "Bhaiyya!" cries out the younger brother, with just as much feeling. He is more modern in dress and appearance, just like his side of the family.<br /><br />The brothers decide to break down the wall separating them. They call upon family members to bring the barrier down and the two clans use their respective methods to try and do the job. They are, ultimately, unsuccessful. "Tootegi kaise? Ambuja Cement se deewaar jo bani hai?"<br /><br />Does this seem familiar? If it doesn't, it should. The Father of the nation of Pakistan, Mohammed Ali Jinnah, while negotiating with Lord Mountbatten for the vivisection of India, assured him that Partition would be like a case that he had once handled, a property dispute between two brothers. The brothers were at each others' throats during the case, but a year after the judgement they were "the best of friends". He was confident that this would be the case with India and Pakistan.<br /><br />Regrettably, that hasn't happened. Our nations still view each other with suspicion, over many issues: terrorism, Kashmir, the 1971 war of Bangladeshi Independence and now, nuclear capability. The man on the street in India is mostly hostile towards Pakistan as a nation, though individual Pakistani visitors are still treated with courtesy. We have come to see Pakistan as a poor, backward, dangerous nation, run in turn by fanatic <i>mullahs</i> and power-hungry army officers. We see it as a nation that routinely bombs our cities without declaring war on us openly.<br /><br />The Pakistanis, in turn, see us as a cruel nation, suppressing Kashmiri aspirations for independence or accession to Pakistan. We are the interfering busybodies that severed their nation in two. We are the knaves that wouldn't give them their share of the treasury during Partition (in India's defence, we were fighting a war with them at that moment).Nonetheless, Indian visitors to Pakistan are welcomed warmly as is the tradition in those parts.<br /><br />As an Indian, I think that most people wish Pakistan would just go away. They wish that there were no more bomb blasts in our cities and massacres in Kashmir; these are things that deter foreign investors. Europe and America are seem closer to us: culturally, politically, diplomatically and, in these days of dizzying prosperity, economically. Pakistan is the poor, embarrassing and hostile neighbour that we wish would just move to the slum. "WE are part of high society now"; this is the general feeling towards Pakistan, no matter how much we may love Adnan Sami or Strings.<br /><br />Let's not kid ourselves. Our nations are inextricably bound. What affects them affects us and vice versa. Pakistan's failures, economic and political, should be a cause of grave concern for us, rather than a reason to feel smug. The reasons for it are both pragmatic and idealistic. The most compelling reason for us to wish Pakistan economic progress and political stability is to free the country from the clutches of India's sworn enemies: the Islamic fundamentalists and the Pakistan Army. Democracy, real democracy, not the sham being perpetrated by Pervez Musharraf, is the only hope for peace between our countries. Let's not forget, Pakistan have a nuclear arsenal and delivery capability, gifts from our other dear neighbour, the People's Republic of China. The cost of a war would be too much for us to bear, even in victory.<br /><br />The idealistic reason for wishing Pakistan success is simply because they were, and still are, a part of us. Bengal and Punjab, the two regions most affected by Partition, have strong, vibrant cultures. The bond of language and culture are very strong, even when separated by boundaries. There are many families in both nations having relatives on the other side. Sindhis in India and other displaced communities on both sides still bear the scars of being torn from their motherland. Indians, Pakistanis and Bangladeshis still have more in common with each other than almost anyone else.<br /><br />What is the point of this post? It is a prayer for peace. In a perfect world, our nations will form a European Union-like group. If France and Germany can share a common currency and allow their citizens <br />to cross borders freely, a mere sixty years after fighting the most destructive war in history, why can't we? The Continent, which was once war-infested, has known its longest period of peace in thousands of years. "Imagine all the people...sharing all the world"-John LennonJayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-43761719091189632662008-01-12T13:15:00.000-08:002008-01-13T07:17:55.865-08:00Redknapp's Refusal and Premiership Saturday Round-Up<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/R4kz5JVcGCI/AAAAAAAAAAM/oB9yf0Zxwbc/s1600-h/Harry_Redknapp_620792.jpg"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G_XIxHUPImg/R4kz5JVcGCI/AAAAAAAAAAM/oB9yf0Zxwbc/s320/Harry_Redknapp_620792.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154708305353644066" /></a><br />Harry Redknapp has probably risen in esteem in the eyes of quite a few people. After turning down a very lucrative job with Newcastle United (£5 million a year, use of the club owner's personal jet to commute from his home on the south coast of England) at lunchtime, the managerless Magpies put in an abject performance at Old Trafford against Manchester United in the afternoon. They were witless, clueless, rudderless and hapless as United thrashed them 6-0. If he'd accepted the job, 'Arry would be walking into a very funereal dressing room.<br /><br />Redknapp said later of the decision, that <a href="http://www.sportinglife.com/football/news/story_get.cgi?STORY_NAME=soccer/08/01/12/SOCCER_Portsmouth_Snap.html"> his "heart was at Portsmouth"</a>. He turned down millions and the promise of strong backing in the transfer market because <br />he felt he owed something to the cluband to the players that he had brought in. In today's money-hungry world (Juande Ramos leaving Sevilla, the third-best team in Spain last season and back-to-back UEFA Cup winner, for Spurs, at the time of his joining the third-<i>worst</i> side), it's refreshing to see a man listening to his heart and coming out on top for it. Newcastle's rabid fans might also have had something to do with the decision.<br /><br />On to other matters. As already mentioned before, Man United beat Newcastle to go top of the table courtesy of goal-difference. Ronaldo (a first-ever hat-trick), Tevez (brace) and Ferdinand were the scorers. Arsenal helped them on their way by dropping two points at home against Birmingham, a 1-1 scoreline being the result at full-time. Chelseas stayed near the top two by beating Spurs 2-0 at home; Belleti and Wright-Phillips weighing in with two stunning strikes. Liverpool looked set to provide the Premiership with its eighth mangerial casualty this season after they drew with Middlesbrough. A Torres goal late in the second half saved the blushes for Rafael Benitez's team and the beleagured coach simply seems unable to find a way to win a match. <br /><br />In a match that was billed as the Fight for Fourth, slow and steady Everton beat flashy Man City 1-0 at Goodison Park. It's a result the puts them on 39 points, the same tally as City, Liverpool and Aston Villa. A very interesting situation is developing in that portion of the table. As is being suggested in many forums, the time may be ripe for a new club to gatecrash the top four.<br /><br />Aston Villa maintained their charge with a 3-1 victory over Reading. John Carew scored a brace in th match and the victory takes them to 39 points. Derby County lost 1-0 to manager Paul Jewell's old club Wigan. Wigan gained three valuable points in the relegation battle as Derby, almost a certainty to be relegated, seem to be looking to do it with a record low points total.<br /><br />That's it for Saturday. I'll probably write about tomorrow's action too.Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-29276870942904888162008-01-10T06:45:00.000-08:002008-01-10T12:35:31.847-08:00The Tragedy Of Sam AllardyceDisclaimer: This post will probably not interest my principal audience, since it is about football. However, the principles I write about are broadly applicable.<br /><br />Big Sam's been <a href="http://www.sportinglife.com/football/premiership/newcastle/news/story_get.cgi?STORY_NAME=soccer/08/01/09manual_174555.html&TEAMHD=newcastle&DIV=prem&TEAM=NEWCASTLE&RH=Newcastle&PREV_SEASON=">sacked.</a> He joins six other English Premier League managers in the unemployment queue. The season's barely halfway through and already, nearly half of all Premiership clubs have a different manager than the one they started the season with.In addition to this was the sacking, late last season, of Chris Coleman of Fulham, who wasn't merely one of their most successful managers in recent years (relatively speaking, for Fulham are small-fry), but also a loyal servant as a player, joining the club when it played in the third tier of English football and guiding it to the top flight.<br /><br />Managers have paid with their jobs for underperformance, but also, in at least two cases, for their style of play (for poor Lawrie Sanchez it was , unfortunately, both). Every manager who still has a job is crying out about the need for stability. People like <a href="http://www.sportinglife.com/football/premiership/newcastle/news/story_get.cgi?STORY_NAME=soccer/08/01/10/SOCCER_Newcastle_Eriksson.html&TEAMHD=newcastle&DIV=prem&TEAM=NEWCASTLE&RH=Newcastle&PREV_SEASON="> Sven-Goran Eriksson, Gareth Southgate</a>, Sir Alex Ferguson and Arsene Wenger have repeatedly said that managers need time and support, both from the boardroom, but more crucially, from the fans. In Allardyce's case, the Toon army (as the supporters of Newcastle United are known), chanted "You don't know what you're doing" during Newcastle's defeat to Manchester City at home. It turned out to be Allardyce's last home game in charge.<br /><br />Whatever the reasons for sacking a manager, it is well-known that doing so causes great turmoil within the club. It takes time to appoint a new manager and th e team generally loses matches or drops points under a caretaker. The new manager brings in his own staff, players and tactics. It takes time for things to settle down and the team doesn't do all that well in the meanwhile. At the end of the season, the club has finished in the same position as it would have with the old manager. Only now they are short a few million pounds (compensation for sacking the old manager, plus hiring a new one), and the team is less settled.<br /><br />This is common sense and just about everyone knows it and says it. Nonetheless, 9 Premiership managers have paid with their jobs in the space of 10 months. To call it a carnage is an understatement. The amount of money in the English Premier League puts a tremendous amount of pressure on clubs to maintain their top-flight status. Teams have fallen into enormous debt-traps after being relegated due to excessive spending on players to stay in the league. All that matters is doing well.<br /><br />I'd like to add my own observation to the whole situation. I came acros the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/FA_Premier_League_2003-04#Final_league_table">league table for the 2003-2004 English Premiership season</a>, the season of Invincible Arsenal. The table makes interesting reading. The teams occupying positions 13 through 17 are: Portsmouth, Tottenham, Blackburn, Man City and Everton. These teams (barring Spurs) which are the in-form, red-hot teams this season, were the teams fighting relegation battles just 4 seasons ago. Of them, Portsmouth and Everton still have the same manager. Blackburn appointed their current manager, Mark Hughes, at the end of this season, with Graeme Souness leaving for (ironically) Newcastle. Martin Jol took charge of Spurs at the end of this season and led them to consecutive fifth-placed finishes.<br /><br />Of the teams in positions 6 through 12, three have been relegated since (Charlton, Birmingham and Southampton) while three are in the thick of the relegation battle this season(Bolton, Fulham, Middlesbrough). Only Aston Villa are at about the same level as they were. The common factor among all these teams? Barring Birmingham, all have had at least one change of manager, for varying reasons. Steve Mcclaren left Boro for England, Curbishley departed from Charlton and Big Sam from, Bolton. The rest have sacked one or more coach. And what about Newcastle? They finished fifth under the venerable Sir Bobby Robson, who was sacked at the start of the following season and replaced by Graeme Souness (the guy who finished fifteenth with Blackburn). Serves 'em right, one might say.<br /><br />What's this got to do with real life? Things like this happen all the time in business. CEOs are hired and fired, the same way football managers are and for the same reasons too. Poor performance, not staying in the core business whatever. And just like in football, firing CEOs rarely produces an improvement in the company's performance. This has been proved many times over. The new CEO changes the company's direction, leading to a loss in momentum built up by his predecessor.If you want more information in this regard, check out <i>Good To Great,</i> a business book by Jim Collins.<br /><br />So in conclusion, show more patience. Great teams and great organisations aren't built overnight. Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-62877628678056868362008-01-07T07:30:00.000-08:002008-01-10T12:39:01.292-08:00Happy New Year<div align="left">It's been a pretty significant length of time since my last post. A lot has happened since then. Benazir Bhutto has passed on. So has the year 2007. India are already 2-0 down, Down Under; a combination of the world champions Australia playing good cricket and umpiring that would suggest that the Indian team had committed some deeply unforgivable sins against Messrs Benson and Bucknor. As a matter of fact, there was even a small protest rally on the road outside my building. A pack of fifteen youths (probably on vacation and bored, just like me) burnt effigies of Ricky Ponting and displayed placards comparing Bucknor to the <i>rakshasa </i>Bakasura. The event was eagerly covered by the local cable news channel.<br /><br />The beginning of a new year means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. Many look on it as a chance to start anew, to open a new chapter in their lives; hopefully a happier one. This idea was, to me, most poignantly expressed in the movie <i>Forrest Gump</i>. A prostitute partying on New Year's eve in a tavern, with Forrest, says wistfully, "Don't you just love New Year's? You can start all over. Everybody gets a second chance."<br /><br />Personally, the beginning of a new year means a number of things. It is definitely the start of something new. It's like a partition in the cavernous building that is life. Each year is a new room added to this house; you are in charge of it. You hope and pray that the new addition to your house will turn out well. This, hopefully, will happen. But if you aren't paying attention or The Big Interior Decorator in the Sky decides that your house is coming along a bit too well and you'd learn from a few ugly rooms in it, it may well be so. So be on guard.<br /><br />As I said, a lot has been happening. Plenty of media coverage about various unsavoury incidents around the state: molestation at Juhu, two rape-murders in interior Maharashtra. I am not apprised of the statistics but it does seem to me that our crime headlines are looking eerily Delhi-like. If we're not careful, India's economic engine might have to start downing shutters by 9 PM, like many areas of the capital. Policing: the non-moral kind, is the need of the hour. Where have the people who filed a PIL against Shilpa Shetty (for being pecked on the cheek by Richard Gere) gone now? I reckon even if they do come out, it'll be to file a PIL against the two NRI women molested at Juhu for obviously titillating a crowd of horny, deprived men, merely by the act of being female.<br /><br />I had a pooja at my house. Properly, a <i> Laghurudra </i>is a religious rital performed by a team (indeed 11) priests. The priests chant various mystic <br />mantras in unison; this creates good vibrations for the entire home. It sounded like a very good concept and very impressive too. It isn't often that holy men gather in such large numbers to fight the dark forces on your behalf. Add to it the fact that this is a ritual rarely performed (at least amongst the people whom we know), the <i>Laghurudra</i> acquired a very mystical aura indeed. I must say that the chanting was impressive and would have been more so if ten of the priests weren't, in fact, students of nearby colleges of priestly studies (I use the term with all due respect, since I don't actually know what they're called in English). The trainee-priests were mostly younger than me, some barely able to raise stubble on their chins. Hardly the platoon of hand-to-hand fighters I expected.<br /><br />And let me add just one more observation. Supply a priest with a few basic ingredients: a copper tumbler, some mango and betel leaves, coconuts, apples, bananas, water, rice, betel nut, fresh flowers, camphor, perhaps a gold ring or two, and he can perform just about any religious rite. Add in a ritual fire and he's even got weddings covered. I'm sure that there are rules about the precise configuration of the above mentioned items, but it appears to my untutored eye, to be pretty much random. Today there was another pooja, this time in my sister's house and the layout of all these implements appeared pretty much the same to me. There was just one additional ingredient, steamed rice as opposed to mere rice grains.<br /><br />That's pretty much it as far as my thoughts on the New Year and recent events go. I will put up a few more posts soon, possibly tomorrow. Two will be reviews of books that I have read in this period (A Walk in the Woods and The Zahir). I will also outline my progress in the acquisition of a new computer, either by assembling it myself or buying a branded machine. I'm sure you're eagerly waiting for these posts. :P</div>Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-48293035051552416902007-12-24T01:40:00.000-08:002008-01-10T12:40:20.688-08:00The AirportI went to the airport a few days ago to pick up my sister and brother-in-law. They live in the Netherlands and were making their way back home to celebrate a very merry Christmas indeed, and a happy new year to boot.<br /><br />We got there a bit early; an hour before their flight was scheduled to land and an hour and half before it actually did. And let me just say that the airport is probably the only place in Mumbai where you will find such a crowd at 2AM. Alas that nightclubs have a deadline in this backward part of the world :P.<br /><br />The principal amusement of any young male waiting at the airport is to look at the beauties assembled there, waiting to receive friends and relatives from Toronto, Timbuktoo and God knows where else. I don't know if it is a purely Indian idea, but the vast majority of people seem to perceive the airport as being a nightclub (kind of linked to the previous paragraph), for nowhere else in Mumbai will you find so many people, so flashily dressed at such an hour. You'd think half the girls had just stepped off a flight from Milan or Paris; having just spent fashion week there as special guests of Ritu Beri or whoever; such is their dress. Mini-skirts, strap tops, tank tops even a corset! Why in the world is going to the airport such an event, that people must dress up for it? I didn't look at the men that closely, but I presume that they were similarly attired. I hereby call upon Mr R R Patil to allow bars, discos and nightclubs to remain open all night, just to give these poor people a place to go.<br /><br />In any case I spent a very uncomfortable, though entertaining, two and half hours. Half the time was spent pacing to and fro to keep the mosquitoes away. The airport waiting area does have seating but it costs Rs. 60 to get in (to pay for the bug zappers you see) so most people happily stayed outside with the mosquitoes. The flight was delayed, as all flights are, circling overhead waiting for a landing slot. The problem has attained gargantuan proportions these days. Flights from Pune spend more time circling than they do en route.<br /><br />My sister and bro-in-law came out eventually, further delayed by a luggage mix-up. We were all just happy to get out of there and happy to see them again. The end. (I'm short of time; I'm in a cyber cafe)Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688361217471591390.post-20107073926609735792007-12-01T23:16:00.000-08:002008-01-10T12:41:33.052-08:00Drunken Revelations<div align="left"><div align="justify"><div align="justify"><div align="justify"><div align="justify"><div align="left"><div align="right"><div align="right"><div align="justify"><div align="justify"><div align="justify"><div align="justify"><div align="justify"><div align="justify"><div align="left">I was on the phone the other day, speaking to a close friend of mine. We were shooting the<br /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>breeze, chit-chatting, the usual; complaints about studies and our upcoming exams were a<br />dozen a penny.<br /><br />He told me about a night out on the town, dancing in the downtown discos (what a pretty piece of alliteration!), chugging tequila, whiskey and vodka and driving back to a friend's pad (please<br />don't be judgemental people). Another bottle of vodka shared between three friends and my mate became (temporarily) a philosopher. Something like this is unusual for my normally cynical buddy, so I was compelled to sit up and pay attention.<br /><br />He told me that as he lay on the floor, Fuel burning in his body, one thought was running through his mind. "Why do I have to study?"<br /><br />We all know the answer to that question. I asked him if he really hadn't figured that one out by now. (I didn't actually; wish I had. I always think of snappy comebacks slightly too late). It wouldn't have mattered if I had said it because that wasn't the answer he was looking for.<br /><br />He said again,"Why do we study? Why do we have to have jobs or work?"<br /><br />"Well, how else would you live?"<br /><br />"Why can't we just live on a farm, chill, grow a few vegetables to eat and hang out with friends on nearby farms? Was it so bad when man used to live in a jungle?" This question had occupied his thoughts for quite some time so I thought it was worth answering.<br /><br />"I find it surprising that you, of all people, would say this. If you did live on a farm, for one, you wouldn't be able to afford all the things you enjoy now."<br /><br />"Maybe I don't need them. I'm sure I can go without." This from a guy who has lived in the lap of luxury all his life. But he sounded sincere. "Look, I like material things. Sometimes I do feel I don't have enough. But that's only when I see others having more. If the whole world lived simply, there wouldn't be any problems. Why do we need progress? What's the point in having more or doing more? We're all going to die someday. A beggar on the street and a king will both meet the same end one day. So why bother trying to be the king? Why can't everyone be happy with being a beggar?" (I'm paraphrasing obviously, and writing from my tremendously <br />unreliable memory).<br /><br />The more he said, the more it sounded right. How has "progress" really helped<br />anyone? Medical advances save lives, technology makes our life easier and more<br />comfortable. But longer lifespans mean a greater burden on our environment<br />(sounds pretty cold and unsentimental but it's true). Technology has mostly been<br />pretty bad for Mother Nature. <br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Instead</span>, I pondered aloud about why progress happens. I told him, "Nobody<br />says we need progress. The vast majority of people would have been happy<br />living the way you just described; that is, if they didn't know any better. Progress<br />has always been the achievement of individuals who weren't <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">satisified</span> with the<br />status <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">quo</span>. You asked me why people would rather be the king than the beggar?<br />It's because people who want progress are the people who want to be remembered<br />after they're gone. A beggar and a king may meet the same end, but who'll<br />remember the beggar a hundred years from now. Forget beggars, say you or<br />I die tomorrow. Fifty years from now, who will remember that we ever existed?"<br /><br />He said, finally, that he saw why progress happens. But he didn't like it. <br />Neither do I.<br /><br />I don't have a problem with progress of any kind; technological, social or <br />otherwise. But some of itseems rather pointless. Take, for instance, weapons. <br />In the good old days, real men bashed in the skulls of other real men with<br />stone clubs. Then copper rolled around; and later, bronze. Swords and spears<br />were the cutting-edge weapons technology of the day and each new innovation<br />gave some advantage over the previous weapon. However, whenever the<br />next big thing in killing rolled around, everyone adopted it pretty soon. The<br />advantages gained by progress were pretty soon nullified because everyone<br />used the same technology.<br /><br />Look where we are now. ICBMs and missile shield technologies. Would it <br />really make much of a difference if we still fought each other with sword, <br />shield and spear? It would be much cheaper, easier on the environment <br />and would mean fewer civilian deaths. Progress, hascompelled everyone <br />to spend more and more money on what is a pretty simple job: killing <br />people.<br /><br />Take business. In the old days, everyone used regular inventory management <br />systems. Then the Japanese began using Just-in -Time; a breakthrough in <br />inventory and flow control. They reaped huge benefits from it and it enabled <br />them to put one over their lumbering American competitors.<br /><br />But once everyone began doing it, the competitive advantage was lost. It became <br />the baseline, from which all future progress was to be measured. I would <br />wager that if everyone agreed to stop using <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">JIT</span> (or any other management <br />tool), itwouldn't make the slightest difference to the companies' relative <br />market positions. And it would make life a whole lot easier for people <br />actually doing the work.<br /><br />What was the point of this enormously lengthy post? Nothing. Just trying to <br />improve my writing skills. :P Jayraj Joghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12132696390221815554noreply@blogger.com1