Hello, Rajesh?

My wife got irritated with this caller who'd address her as certain 'Rajesh'.

The telephone service provider had recycled his long lost connection with this number and happily assigned to my wife. Now this creature of gentlemanly qualities did not bother to inform his well-wishers that he did not own the number any more (well, nobody can 'own' a number, but what the heck!). So, his well-wishers started wishing my wife every now and then.

She, overwhelmed with so many uncalled for good wishes, got very upset and threatened me that she'll stop cooking for good. Now, how could I let that happen!

I decided to pick this well-wisher's call and politely replied, "it's a wrong number, please don't call again." After ten minutes, the phone rang again showing the same caller-id as before.

This time, I added, "please contact Rajesh and ask for his number" (How foolish! But thankfully the other side didn't understand the irony).

"No sir, this is Rajesh's number--I am sure!" came reply from the noisy line.

Now, how do I convince him?!

"Ok sir. Tell me who's calling!"

To my surprise, he stated his name and place where he was calling from.

"Now, tell me sir, what is it?"

"Rajesh?" -- as if he couldn't believe it was Rajesh.

"Yes. Mein Rajesh hi huun"

"Nahin sir, aap Rajesh nahin hein" -- "No sir, you can't be Rajesh"

Bang on! Finally, I was able to convince him that I was not Rajesh, and this number didn't belong to Rajesh.

Before I could express my joy, he had decided to call it quits.

Since then (at least till now) she hasn't had any more well-wishers calling her Rajesh. And I have been enjoying good meals!

Writer's Block

Agreeably, the activity on this particular blog has been very quiet for more than a month now. And it has taken a good friend's nagging scrap for me to make some move. Intertia, was more of the reason than lack of ideas. Yet, it's no wonder that the first Law Newton came up with was to explain Intertia: An object tends to be in its present state unless a force opposing that state is applied! I guess in my particular case, my friend's pushing force was enough :)

But a deeper and philosophically engrossing question remains yet. And that is, what to write (far less philosophical than why to write). It's quite likely that this very question kept me away from this world of letters for a while.

I thought, well let me write down n number of excuses for not taking the time out to write! How's that for irony?!

(1) There are many distractions:- These distractions can include absence of electrical energy at our energy starved houses, especially when in the spur of that (dark) moment you have summed up a fantastic sentence, which can't see the light of the day in this Internet-age. Another example of distraction is that of nagging salesmen (and saleswomen, more importantly) or those cycle-peddling old-newspaper buyers, who, on many a quiet afternoon, wake me out of pleasant dreams, robbing the world of magnificent works of fiction. On the brigher side of matters, never-ending sequence of telemarketing calls on my cell-phone seems to have finally ended.

(2) Happenings in this material world are better left undocumented: Be it the matter of shoe-throwing competitions being held around the world or banks making telephone calls to customers asking to lend money at low interests, I guess many things are better done than said. So, why take trouble on commenting on these!

(3) Lack of quality topics to blabber on: The very fact that I am seeing the light of a day on which I have to write about why I don't write is indicative of how fast the world of thought is shrinking. Take a cue from the global slowdown, I guess it's hitting the slow world of thought very hard, as well. Only the other 'quality' topic other than this I had was: "Oh, how I hate to shave!". Thin-n-light, evergreen topic of "Bangalore Traffic Situation" reached me last, as expected!

(4) Enough is Enough: When it rains, it pours, they observe. I had accumulated a feeling of, "I have written enough." I guess, I needed some time to drain out that feeling, before I started on accumulating again. (on a side note, the truth is: Enough Is Never Enough, ref-- "There is enough in this world for everybody's need, but not enough for everybody's greed," ---MKG). 

(5) Many unknown reasons: (on account of being unknown, I won't be able to elaborate those, pardon me!)

I had to say that

There was this talk about mosquitoes while we were trying hard to 'consume' the lunch at the office cafe.

I hate mosquitoes. I mean, every life form has its right to live and die, but, please, not mosquitoes (and for that matter, no rats for me too). I lose my sleep over the last memories of having to defy the ever flying and ever buzzing little monsters throught the night. If only I could take revenge by buzzing around their uncovered ears while they slept (or, tried to sleep). But alas! Someday I'll end my existence on this planet with that one dream unfulfilled.

So, this friend of mine, newly moved into his 5th floor apartment was complaining about mosquitoes. The following conversation prevails:

"How come at such a height you find mosquitoes?"

"Aah, those bloody creatures are smart. They know where people live. I guess, by instinct."

"Well, but can they fly to such heights?"

"You bet they can't. I found many of them taking the elevator to the fifth floor,"

"Haha, then, I must say they are born downstairs and brought up later!"

"Or it may be that their families are brought up first and then the next generation is born"

License to Drive

The traffic laws (or rules, or whatever) in the US can get pretty complex. The exam that I passed before getting a valid driver's license had a lot of crazy questions. One of them was about a snow-scenario, at sight of which I froze. Although, Arizona has never seen the white of natural snow in centuries (maybe during the previous ice-age?) the DMV must have thought through the scenario of me going up to Chicago or Boston during winter and coming across this severe proposition. Anyway, I passed the exam, and obtained my driver's license, which is an old story.

But only the other day, a cat failed me while I was driving. (I should thank the cat-God that she did not decide to come down to Earth when I was actully taking the driving test back in April).

It must have been past 7 O'clock, and the Sun had recalled its messangers. I was driving at a casual pace towards the office recreation center where a prior appointment with a friend for a game of table tennis was on. I was in no particular hurry and was frustrating every driver behind me by driving exactly at the speed as stipulated by the Law in this part of the planet. I came to a complete halt at a stop sign (this is my daily route, so I was not surprised that a big octagon should turn red on seeing my car). There I spotted a cat. Now, cats, as immortalized by their great Hero Garfield, are supposed to show signs of lethargy. But as every living thing should, it showed signs of movement. It was, now I think in hindsight, a pre-planned movement. I don't mean to be sexist here, but I had no way of knowing if it was a she-cat or a he-cat, so let's just call it a she-cat. So, I was describing, she showed sudden urge to move.

I had my headlights switched on (again, owing great respect to Law of the Land), yet, I must admit I was a little careless in not stopping for that extra second at the stop sign. So, I hit the gas pedal before I was forced into repentence. There she stood, right in the central zone of the road, basking in the head-light, staring at me. I must say she had fierce cat-eyes. In that split-second she hissed at me, and after giving a slight jerk to her neck, fled at cat-speed.

That hissing gesture and that tiny jerking motion spelt much to me. And that much, I must spell to the law makers.

I strongly suggest, Law number, whatever, must be ammended and reworded as, "Yield to pedestrians, and by definition, pedestrians include any living thing along with humans." I expect to send a copy to that cat to make peace with her.

And better yet, next, I am going to ask the authorities to create a new sign-board with cat-sign on it (you must have already noticed horse, deer and cattle signs, I am sure). How about that?

Some humour precipitated during the day---

• On the roadside, a sign reads "Huge Moving Sale ---->": Obviously, something to run for, as the sale itself is advertised to be moving.
• "Oh, long time, my friend! I think your voice has changed!" a friend is excited. "No mate, it must the new phone I bought yesterday," I say in the same breath.
• The tandoori chicken we had for lunch barely looks tandoori-ed. It is wearing pink colour; and I mention to a friend (she, just a minute back was cribbing about too many artificial colours being used in the Indian restaurants around here), "When was Holi? Last week, the leftover colours are showing!" "EEEEk!" she frowns. And another friend wins the battle of wits, "Or maybe the chicken played too much colour!"

The sorrow of not being unique

I had to let one day pass before I posted this; for I did not want the haunted day to play foul against the authenticity (and of course, the agony, as you'll see) of this article.

There are multiple sorrows in this material world. Those, if I may be allowed to, can be categorized into the sorrows of nation, the sorrows of race, the sorrows of kingdom, etc. etc. and last but not the least, sorrows of the individual. I dare say that the sorrows of the individual are as bad as they come; for all other kinds can be converted to the latter!

It really hurts to know that your name (which is your identity) is not unique. There is someone else (or in case of a John Smith or a Sachin Kulkarni, there may be hundreds) who prints his name just the same as you do. And that, my word, starts an interesting dual. This person follows you (and you, in turn are following him!) everywhere you go. To the bank, to the office, (and why not!) to the library too.

When I joined my organization, which at that time used to pay more than a hundred thousand people, I never thought that there will be another person with my name here, and that too the same (characteristic) spelling, the 'Oke'! I was proven wrong the very first morning, as I realized a colleague of mine had mistakenly sent an e-mail to my namesake. And of course, it was not long before I received an e-mail for my counterpart! And so it began.

When I came to the US, I got a chance to meet this gentleman in person, and it was some experience! He was talking to a colleague of his, when I passed by, proudly showing my badge. This fellow was taken for a ride (earlier that morning, I got a telephone call for the other 'Ajit'). It was interesting to know that I studied in the same college that he did: about eighteen years later, history was to be repeated!

And then, when I went to the public library to get my card, the lady at the desk must have thought that I was out of my mind.

"Sir, but you already have an account!"

"I do?"

"Yes sir, you do!"

"Oh it must be the other I"

"?"

"The other Ajit Oke?"

"How do you know?"

"He goes to work to the same place I do"

""

":-)"

"Well. What do you I do now?"

":-)"

"Do you have a middle name?"

"Thanks to my father, I have!"

"Well, let me use that in your a/c name then. You don't mind, right?"

"Please go ahead!"

What's in name, Shakespeare said a long time ago. Well, he could afford to, because at that time, he may well have been the one and only William Shakespeare. I am sure he would not say that had his name been William Jones!

Heck- it's not easy to be unique in this world. And that's the sorrow of this individual.

Elementary, Watson!

Q: In case you did not get Reliance Power shares allotted, what should you do?
A: Buy a lot of Reliance Energy shares and wait for some time :p

Difference

Q: What is the difference between a Linux Kernel and a dishwasher?
A: Linux kernel forks a process while a dishwasher processes a fork!

The Art of Gossip

Man is a social animal, they say.

I want to contest this judgment, or rather, desire to modify it to a practical statement.

Man is a social animal who loves gossip.

Like golf, one does not have to be very good at gossiping to enjoy it. I would rather say, if you're a decent listener, you can derive more satisfaction out of gossip. Gossip is fairly easy to practice. It does not need special arrangement as to place or time. Better place, time and occasion can introduce finer flavours to the recipe, but they are not absolutely essential. Art of gossip brings out creativity in you beyond compare: it takes some practice (apart from courage) to gossip about a person with your buddies in his (or her) presence. Masters of this art can debate for hours together on whether gossip should contain hints of truth or should it be a pure act of imagination. Either ways, no doubt it brings collective best out of a group.

Like alcohol, perhaps, gossiping goes to head and achieves the highly desirable state of mind. No doubt it's addictive, worse for the victim, since it can happen any time, anywhere, appealing against it is next to impossible task. Fortunately, for regular gossipers there is no law that lays down guidelines. If there were any, I am sure, the lawmaker would have become the first victim to appeal against incessant gossiping about him in public.

Since man is a social animal first, and then a born gossiper, gossip needs a group. Without a group gossip cannot and does not thrive. Have you imagined a lonely person whispering to himself about some person X's recent confrontation with person Y that never happened? You wouldn't possibly hear that. As gossip cannot grow with only a single individual, too many cooks too will spoil this delicacy.

Noting these many things about gossip, I wonder if gossip can really be called as an addiction. Probably yes, for it does have some resemblance with the habit of drinking that has gone overboard. You drink too much and the next day you wake up to rather unbearable head-ache (this is second-hand information, so you should take this with a pinch of salt and a glass of wine). Similarly, you over-indulge in gossip and if it leaks to the target, you may end up in severe headache of having to patch-up with that target!

Classic

To me 'classics' are some creations of art which goes beyond the boundaries of time, language, race, etc. etc. In short, a classic is something that can be universally appreciated, at any given time (of course, not before it has been created). When it comes to a specific manner of expression, called sarcasm, certain parts of our lives seem to dominate it. Cricket, and in particular the Indian version of it, has shown no aversion towards it time and time again. And when you come across something as spontaneous and appealing as the following, you can't help but call it a classic. With rather unbearable disappointment, let me quote the following questionnaire:

Q. What's the Indian version of hat-trick?
A. Three runs in three balls.

Q. Why don't Indian players need pre-tour travel injections?
A. Because they never catch anything.

Q.What's the Indian version of LBW?
A. Lost, Beaten, Walloped.

Q. What do you call an Indian with 100 runs against his name?
A. A bowler.

Q. What do Indian batsmen and drug addicts have in common?
A. Both spend most of their time wondering when their next shot will be.

Q. Who spent the most time on the crease of anyone in the Indian touring party?
A. The lady who ironed the cricket whites.

Q. Why are the Indian cricketers cleverer than Houdini?
A. Because they can get out without trying.

The above was being circulated over e-mail not a long time ago, and I doubt if it'll ever go out of circulation considering the regular debacles of the team. That's not saying I don't have hopes of burying these very words. And I do want the dubious classic status removed.

When can that happen? Only time would tell, I daresay!

Eggs, tomatoes, and ...

The entry of Celery on the big stage is an indication that the age of tomatoes and eggs is over. When a fan threw a big chunk of Celery towards the corner-line being guarded by Chelsea, it was nothing short of hilarious. Yet, even more fun followed when Stamford Bridge issued a statement banning Celery into the stadium, calling it something like 'criminal offense,' and that 'the violator could be arrested'.

Tomatoes, eggs and now Celery! You bet it's far more eco-friendly than throwing plastic water bottles usually seen on Cricket field...

Sticky post

Q: What did the hockey team's coach tell his 'boys' during half-time?
A: Stick to the basics and victory is yours!

And no wonder they won the match...

Up the Hill

The reason I don't work very hard is that I hate to be lonely.

I am told that there are a very few people at the top, you know... :-)

And here is another reason.

Me and them

Whenever there is an international summit or bilateral talks, news channels show two leaders greeting each other, saying a few words to each other. I have always wondered what kind of talk they must be having in such meetings.

Do these meetings start with 'open issues' and then move on to 'status,' or is it that the leaders in chief talk for a while and leave the matter to their subordinates? I have always had such curious questions about celebrities or world leaders, or even famous historic figures.

• Does a leader like Tony Blair take time out to watch his favourite program on BBC?
• Does Gen. Musharraf visit his favourite kebab place on every visit to Lahore?
• Does Aishwarya Rai paint her nails herself?
• Does Shane Warne's mom pat on his back upon every five-for?
• Does Dr. Manmohan Singh like Parle-G biscuits, or does he prefer cookies?
• Does Arundhanti Roy like Garfield comic?

I am sure all these great personalities must have their own ways of doing things.

They wouldn't forget the key in door lock (like I did today!) before going out. They wouldn't have to stand in long queues to fill air in bike tyres. A fan sitting next to them wouldn't spill coffee on them. They would always have change when the auto driver asks for; and suchlike.

All this excitement is for the ordinary-people class, which I am proud to be member of!

Welcome!

Right in front of the Bangalore Airport, there is an IBM servers billboard. The punch line is, "A knock-out Performance," with a picture of a mighty fist. The fist seems to have knocked out the billboard itself and is almost aimed at you.

Today, when I looked at it, it seemed funnier. There was a big flower-decorated 'welcome to Bangalore' board just below the fist. The board was apparently welcoming the Prime Minister of some country.

Welcome with a punch! A knock-out performance indeed.

Nice memories of Bangalore for Mr Prime Minister to take home.

Hungarian Fish

When our organization took us out for half-a-day picnic to Golden Palm Resorts (the mangal karyalaya for Hrithik Roshan) I looked forward to two things: Food and the squash court.

I developed healthy hunger (read 'appetite') as we reached there well past noon.

The menu was quite exhaustive, from noodles to soups, from garlic bread to boondi raita, from paneer to mixed vegetables, everything (well, almost everything) one could wish for was on the buffet. I was looking out for Fish. The menu plate besides read, 'Hungarian Fish'. My thinking organ tried to recall geography of Europe. I did not recall if Hungary had any sea as its neighbor. Hungarian fish, interesting!

It was so interesting it was tasteless. Either my taste-buds or the fish's were to blame. I had never left fish in the plate all in my life. This Hungarian sea animal, perhaps born and brought up in a lake near Bangalore made me do just that. What a big let down, really!

'Good appetite and sea fish!' I was talking to a colleague at the lunch table.

'You must be a real fish lover,' he said, 'I can see a spark in your eyes!'

A real fish lover, yes I am. But only if you serve me real fish. And not its Hungarian cousin.
---
Oh no!

---
And this marks 500th post on this blog!

For a Change

When they say that change is the only constant thing in this world, the question that comes to my mind is, if this is correct.

Shouldn't they be saying, change is the only variable thing in this world. All other variables exist because the underlying entity changes.

If change were a constant, the double derivatives of all the variables would be zero (which is a constant!). But that isn't so :-)

Solitude!

Wouldn't you call a bankrupt, debt destroyed man rather loanly?

Interview

I wonder if interviews for the positions of (chief or otherwise) chefs are held over a meal!

Three wheeled cars and knee cap

We have Mike visiting our office to work on the ongoing project. Mike is a first-timer to India and is 100% USA'an. He speaks very slowly it isn't that he isn't excited about what he is speaking). He has so many questions about India. One day while traveling to work in the bus, he sees stray cows on the road.

He asks, "What are the cows doing there?"

Now, how do we explain to him that they are not doing anything there. They are just there. When a friend remarked a more meaningful (and philosophical!) comment: not everything in India has a purpose; I couldn't agree more.

He then asks, "What do they eat?" and continued, "And where are the male cows?" Not that we don't see the cows on road, such questions somehow, don't appear in our Indian minds. We accept the cows, that's all.

On the occasion of Dasara, bus and auto-drivers (he calls them three wheeled cars!) have decorated their vehicles with flowers. He has a question, "if it is a religious festival, why do they decorate their vehicles?" Again, as such there no right answers. We can convince him that we are showing gratitude towards the tools we are using; etc. Somehow, although I like to decorate, I don't see why it has to be only on festival days that we want to do it.

Mike is interested in Volleyball, so we quickly start a conversation.

"Do you play everyday after work?" --- "Yes."

"Do you spike?" --- "Yes, and reasonably well too."

"Do you use knee-caps?" --- "No!"

"You should. Because otherwise you may hurt yourself" --- "Yeah...but you know..."

I can't quite continue. How do I tell him that we are not so very particular about safety. How do I tell him that we consider it below standard to use all these guards and play. It is so much fun without them.

So, I don't.

There are so many such interesting things about Mike. Remaining, maybe later.