A walk amidst the clouds

Living on a hill has its benefits.

I have been in Lavale for four months now and finally did I find some time to visit this space and relive the old routine of typing some shit.

An MBA life is curiously enchanting. You rarely sleep before 2 A.M. You learn to read up for presentations an hour before. In fact guys get to learn a trick that girls have mastered instinctively - Multi tasking.

The campus is in its first year of operation and by now most of the glitches have been sorted out. The air is clean and healthy without a trace of the slightest pollutants, and for someone who hails from the perennially polluted Mumbai, this is a pleasant change. Of course, since this isn't Mumbai, electricity and water shortages are omni-present challenges, but the administration is dealing with it to the best of its limited capabilities.

To tell the truth I haven't found an MBA course to be much helpful so far. It seems to be just repackaging of common concepts and the examinations especially are pretty bullshitty. I expected post-grad exams to do a serious testing of your concepts and check your utilization of those concepts in practical scenarios. But so far all the exams have been similar to our school exams wherein we by-heart a topic and then vomit a short-note on it.

Of course, its not all crap. There are some good things in the course also. But all the good things only come to those who are willing to participate in either the student council activities, the inter b-school management fests or some case-study competitions etc. If you just depend on the school curriculum you are pretty much not gonna learn anything.

And finally, the biggest learning comes through the 2-3 months of your summer internship process. Thats when you get a feel of what is in store for you post degree and how suited you are to it. It is a time to experiment and hence it is extremely vital that you either a) Enter into a good b-school which will attract the best companies across India b) or have good personal contacts to get you into one of those companies.

So far, I have seen things which haven't been upto my expectations, but who knows maybe my expectations were themselves flawed.

As Bryan Adams (or maybe Aerosmith) sang, "life's a journey not a destination."
I have embarked upon an interesting journey. I have consciously chosen to throw away the safety net of my IT job and swim into deep unknown waters, especially with the economy being in such a roughed up state.

Wherever i may reach, it will definitely be far away from my current comfort zone.

Chala murari hero banane

In other words Chala Santosh MBA Banane.

I will be leaving for a village called as Lavale (pronounced "Love-Lay") on the outskirts of Pune to pursue a two-year full time MBA course in Symbiosis Institute of Business Management (SIBM).

By the time I return I might well be singing the song - "Suit Boot mein aaya Kanhaiya ..."

I know I haven't blogged a lot in the recent past. I had been too busy living out a lazy life in front of the Television. God alone knows when I get another chance like this again.

I will be blogging about my (mis)experiences at SIBM and even though I know that very few people do read my blog (but naturally, after all look at the competition I face from fellow bloggers like Amitabh Bachchan and Aamir Khan to name a few) I will be posting regularly.

A question I have been asked sporadically in the past few days by some of my friends is if I would continue writing my Bat-Bubba/Abnerobin/Hariteman spoofeventures. The answer to it is, of course, why not!

So adios muchachos, I am just gonna undergo a change of my operations base, everything else stays the same.

p.s. If you are wondering about the title, well, it is the name of a Hindi movie in the 80s starring Asrani! Yes! Asrani! I wonder how many of you'll knew this ...

I do declare in a solemn voice ...

I have recently noticed this trend, of people deleting information from their social networking pages such as Orkut, Facebook. People have ensured that unfavourable comments and information about them written by their friends in more carefree times have been removed. This excessive anxiety has been brought about by the recent trend of recruiters checking the web for incriminating information about potential employees.

I find this tactic ridiculous and derisive. I mean, how does my social life have any bearing on how I am able to conduct myself professionally. Will my friends calling me a sad weasel make my coding skills any less efficient.

So this is a declaration to any recruiter who wants to gain ideas about my personality through my blog ... What I write here isn't who I am ... neither will the comments by my friends give you the slightest clue to my personality... And this post shall never be deleted ... And if you still have gained a negative impression about me ...then I do declare in a solemn voice ... Recruit my ass...

Le Festin .. translated

J'adore cette chanson.
Je n'ai pas écrit ce ... Mais je tiens j'avais.
Je vous donne ... Le Festin

Dreams are to lovers as wine is to friends
Carried through lifetimes, (and) spilled now and then
I am driven by hunger, so saddened to be
Thieving in darkness; I know you’re not pleased
But nothing worth eating is free

My hope is a banquet impatiently downed
Impossibly full, now I’ll probably drown
Many thieves’ lives are lonely with one mouth to feed
If giving means taking, I’ll never succeed
For nothing worth stealing is…

Free at last; won’t be undersold
Surviving isn’t living; won’t eat what I’m told
Let me free, I’ll astonish you; I’m planning to fly
I won’t let this party just pass me by

The banquet is now underway, so…
Bring out the bottles; a new tale has spun
In clearing this table, my new life’s begun
I am nervous, excited; (oh) just read the marquee!
A lifetime of hiding; I’m suddenly free!
My dinner is waiting for me

A lifetime of hiding; I’m suddenly free!
My dinner is waiting for me

Appu Logy

I apologize to all those people who are not from SFIT batch 2001-2005 and who couldn't understand most of the in-jokes in the post below.

I intend to write on more generic topics from now on.

As for those who did get all the jokes, I hope you'll enjoyed.

In the words of Comrade Namboodaripad, the legendary Malayalee Communist Revolutionary, "Thaang yoo for your support"

BatBubba and Abnerobin in "Chettan, where's my Car?"

Note : To all you dumbass non Mallus Chettan means Bro, as in, 'Yo! What is haapnin' Bro!"

FIFTH LAST CHAPTER
A loud buzzing noise made BatBubba open his eyes! The pain caused by the blinding glare of daylight was too much for his photo-sensitive bat eyes! "Aiyo! Raascal! Who opened the bloody windows!!!!" wailed the beleaguered Bubba!

Abnerobin groaned in reply from the adjacent cot, "Must be the maid! Rosy Kutty! Cleaning the room!"

"Rosy Kutty!!!?? What in the name of Maamooty's Magnificent Moustache is she doing here so early???"

"What do you mean early!" smirked Abnerobin maddeningly! "She never left yesterday! Don't tell me that you are so sloshed that you forgot last night's, ahem, festivities!"

"Aargh!", groaned BatBubba, "I vaguely remember a cow being involved!"

Thwangg! A dustpan flew on BatBubba's head and the door banged close as BatBubba, rubbing his throbbing head gingerly, caught a glimpse of the maid's ample posterior make a-priori exit from their home!

"No! come back Rosy Kutty! I hadn't meant you! Aaargh!!! or maybe I had! God my head is aching so bad even my ass can feel it! Abnerobin please go get some hot Kaapi for me! My bat senses are all a-jingling"

"There is no Kaapi Powder in the house Bubba Boyee! I will go to the super mart and get it!"

Abnerobin left the house dragging his unwilling feet slowly towards the parking lot, but what he saw there made him rush back into the house in super speed! Sooongggg! (The noise Abnerobin makes while moving at super speed.)

"Holy Khalap's Candies! BatBubba, the BatMaruti800 has been stolen!"

"What!" cried BatBubba, getting to his feet! "Are you sure?"

"Hell yeah!" yelped Abnerobin! "The keys are still here. Someone must have hot wired it! But who could have done it?"

"It could be any of the super-rascals we have pummeled over these years. The Giggler! Absolute Jeero! LoudMouth Lobo! It could even be a terrorist organization like Al Pussaida!"

Abnerobin eyed BatBubba sceptically! The overdose of liquor had obviously affected BatBubba's reasoning!

"I think it's more likely that one of our party guests yesterday night must have made off with the car. Only they could have had knowledge of the secret parking spot we use to park the BatSuzuki!"

"Groan! Maybe u'r rite Abbey!" So who all did we invite apart from er.. Rosy Kutty?"

"Well ... At 8 p.m. The first super-guests had arrived ... The Gas Boy AKA Rubby Rogers, The Assassinator Twins AKA Pious and Patrick. Along with them were GMATwoman and The Amazing Blob!"

At 9 The Chooserminator and Abhinandan Boy arrived!"

BatBubba chortled, "Abhinandan Boy! You mean the ex-sidekick of the tragic super-zero Hariteman. Funny you didn't AKA him. Abhinandan Boy AKA Abnerobin's toy boy! LOL!"

"Shut up BubbaBoyee! It had only been once on a hot Sunday night when the fan was not working and one thing led to ..."

"Okay! Okay! I don't need the sordid details! So we can count out Rosy Kutty(she can't drive too well with the enormous airbags in her front) and The Amazing Blob (he'd never fit into the vehicle) Well what about GMATwoman? You know she is The Giggler's girlfriend! Could she have passed inside information to him?"

"Nope! The Giggler's currently too busy in his plot to take over the world by converting biogas to laughing gas!"

"Well Ok! Speaking of Gas! Maybe Rubby Rogers did it?"

"Nope! He's too full of hot air to stoop to stealing cars!" sighed Abnerobin.
He continued, "So that leaves us with the Assasinator Twins, Chooserminator and Abhinandan Boy! Well I vouch for Abhindanboy!"

"Yeah, you would, wouldn't you!", jeered BatBubba sarcastically! "Well the Chooserminator can travel back and forth in time! Why would he need a car! It must be the Twins! We need to get to their secret hideout immediately! What do we have for alternative transport??"

Abnerobin sighed again!

Soon enough astride on the BatToboCycle the Mallu MenOfAction raced towards LokhandWalaLand, the not-so-secret hideout of the Assasinator twins ...


FOURTH LAST CHAPTER
... Meanwhile ... Pious was staring intently out of the window of his plush hideout on the 27th Floor of Superhero Villa.
Patrick lying on the sofa in front of the TV called out, "Hey Bro! Stop moping about her already! She's married now! You can have all the girls you want! "

Pious continued staring out.

Suddenly the door blasted open and Batbubba and Abnerobin burst into the room!
"What the hell! " burst out Patrick AKA The Prat Man!

"Confess up Assassinator Twins! You guys filched our BatOmni!"

"What! Have you gone stark raving mad! Why would we steal your rundown car when we have our own AssAssMobile!? Still, If you want you can search the premises!" An extensive search revealed nothing and the Disappointed Duo pedalled back furiously to their BatVeetee. (Sigh! Time to again translate for the ignorant non-Mallus that the entire world seems to filled with. Veetee means home as in "Rosy Kutty! Veetee Poova!" )

As they parked the BatToboCycle in the forlorn looking parking lot, BatBubba's photosensitive eyes caught a glimpse of light glinting off something lying on the ground where the BatMarutiZen had been. Picking it up he saw that it was a pair of Ray-Bans. Realization hit BatBubba and Abnerobin like a pail of cold water - "The Chooserminator!!!!"

The Chooserminator was a cyborg who had come from the future to kill the famous industrialist Don Thito Corleone (who was also a part-time Mafia Magnate), owner of Rupa Innerwears Limited! Chooserminator had later claimed that in the future The Don would go on to manufacture a revolutionary pocket-wala innerwear which would itch so bad that it would drive it's wearer mad with murderous rage and would ultimately lead to the destruction of mankind! After an epic battle Chooserminator had been the ultimate victor and mankind had thus been spared an itchy and painful end. RayBans had been his most favoured accessory.

BatBubba and Abnerobin were stunned. Why would such a great superhero stoop to something so low as to stealing a car? As they sat there pondering over this imponderability, Abnerobin's super-sensitive nose caught whiff of a familiar smell of a brand of perfume. The same scent that had overpowered his senses on that fateful muggy Sunday afternoon! He didn't want to believe it. He had been betrayed by ... by ... No! it was unthinkable! But BatBubba had caught Abnerobin's expression of horror. "Abhinandanboy was here too, wasn't he!"

BatBubba grimaced, "Hmm. No Matter, we will take care of that conniving Bailyamos later on. Right now we need to prepare ourselves for an epic battle. Chooserminator is undoubtedly the most deadly foe we have faced yet!"

But Abnerobin was still in shell - shock and was catching his head in his hands while whispering monotously, "No! He couldn't! He wouldn't!" BatBubba realized with a sinking feeling that Abnerobin was in no condition to face Chooserminator. For the first time in his crimefighting career, he would be without his resourceful partner. Leaving Abnerobin in the garage, he strode towards his LaBubbatory.

From his extensive research files, BatBubba knew exactly what made the Chooserminator so dangerous. The adamantium plated exo-skeleton and jute plated thermal innerwear made him invulnerable to all attack (from above and below) and the ultimate bad-ass ever. Using the incomparable technological prowess that BatBubba had developed in the world-famous SFIT Mechanics lab under Prof. ChalluMallu, he set about manufacturing his own armour and weaponry. Once he was done, he surveyed his work with quiet satisfaction.

The stage was set for the mother of all battles.

THIRD LAST CHAPTER
As BatBubba geared up himself to challenge the psychotic cyborg, Abnerobin had set about on his own quest. He would find out that weaselly lil' Abhinandanboy and get some answers. He fought back the tears as they threatened to spill out and flood his face. This was not the time to cry, but to act.

Steeling his heart, he entered the gentleman's bar called Majestic Park where he knew he would find the traitor. He saw Abhinandanboy seated in a corner table with some friends. He sprang towards the table and caught hold of Abhinandanboy by the scruff of his neck. But his opponent was a strong pansy and he was able to push Abnerobin away and raced out of the exit. Abnerobin followed him in hot pursuit.

Abhinandanboy was headed towards the parking lot, and there in the shadows was parked the BatEsteem. Before he could get into the vehicle Abnerobin overtook him and put his arm around his neck in a vice like grip. "Stop! You're choking me", pleaded Abhinandanboy. "I won't leave you, until you tell me why ..." But before he could complete his sentence he felt a sharp blow on the back of his head. Letting go of Abhinandanboy, Abnerobin turned around to catch a glimpse of a face as he stumbled to the ground. "No! You are supposed to be dead!" gasped Abnerobin as he lost conciousness.

Meanwhile, BatBubba had traced the Chooserminator's whereabouts. He had enrolled himself in Baba Altaf Bangali's ashram in the upper reaches of Lower Parel, in order to learn human spirituality. BatBubba confronted the cyborg who was performing Nidrasan in the lawns of the Ashram. Decked in his newly manufactured body-armour, BatBubba kicked the comatose cyborg. Opening his eyes, the cyborg shouted out - "Who dares disturb Choosali Baba! Yes! I have left my old name and have adopted this new one, as befitting my new spiritual awakening!"

"Wot crap!", shouted an enraged Bubba, "Yesterday! You had turned up at my party, stolen my BatPalio, and today you pretend to be a saint! Well, you ain't fooling me! Hand over my vehicle and maybe I will let you live!" And to prove that he was serious, BatBubba fired a warning shot at the cyborg's feet.

Well, Baba or no Baba, the cyborg formerly known as the Chooserminator wasn't going to tolerate this and shedding his sadhu garb, he jumped into battle. It is said that even the Gods temporarily left their heavenly abode to witness the battle between these two titans.

... Meanwhile ... Abnerobin slowly regained his conciousness. He found himself tied up in the back of his own vehicle. The man who had struck him came to check on him. Abnerobin croaked haltingly, "Hariteman! It was you all along! How the hell are you still alive? You were supposed to have been killed when Fatty Jose had fallen on you (refer to Hariteman Adventure 1)? Why did you steal our car?"

Contrary to his reputation, Hariteman smiled.

SECOND LAST CHAPTER
He spoke in his well-known constipated voice, "Because, I am a jealous grumpy old man that's why! Before you Mallu maniacs showed up on the scene, I used to be the most desirable superhero around. PlayGirl Magazine had crowned me as the "Most Sizzlingly Sensous Superhero for women in the age group 75-80".

"But all that changed. You two took away all the prizes, the acclaim and the glory. I had become so depressed that I carelessly allowed Fatty Jose to crush me and almost kill me. But here was my stroke of luck. Everyone thought that I was dead. I immediately formed a plan to overthrow you'll. I sent my faithful sidekick to seduce you, gain your confidence and gain entry to your home, which he managed to do very admirably."

Abhinandanboy blushed manfully at the compliment.

"And then on the night of the party when you'll were drunk and asleep I made off with your BatAmbassador and placed Chooserminator's Ray-Bans there. I knew that BatBubba in his hot-headedness would rush to challenge the cyborg and would be killed in the battle which he cannot win. But I hadn't counted on the fact that you would not be by his side at this crucial juncture."

Hearing this Abnerobin felt miserably guilty at having abandoned his dynamic partner and immediately started to formulate a plot to free himself. Hariteman after having made his self-congratulatory monologue, left him tied up in the back of the BatSantro with Abhinandanboy in charge. On his departure, Abnerobin immediately started making puppydog-eyes at Abhinandanboy and pleaded to shift him into a more comfortable position.

All this while, Abnerobin had been working at his knots and had managed to get them loose and when Abhinandanboy came closer he immediately attacked him, overpowered him and broke free from his bonds. After tying up Abhinandanboy more securely than he himself had been tied, Abnerobin went to the car's intercom panel and frantically tried to communicate with the pager in BatBubba's Batbelt.

... Meanwhile ... BatBubba and Choosali Baba were both locked in battle trying to pummel the other into submission. BatBubba felt his BatPager vibrating and raising his hand to his mouth gestured to the cyborg, "Time Please!"

He saw the message on the pager, "Abbey Here - BatVehicle Found. Chooserminator not villian, Hariteman is. Arrive at Majestic Bar ASAP."

BatBubba began embarassedly, "Err ... Choosali Bhai! There has been a slight er.. misunderstanding. Sorry for it. Please forget about this little episode. I have to leave now!"

But Choosali Baba's ire could not be doused. "Forget about this?!!!! Out of the question! Choosali Baba's fighting spirit cannot be bottled again once it has been unleashed! Now face Baba ka Prakop!"

BatBubba took to his heels with the cyborg in hot pursuit of him!

AND FINALLY THE LAST CHAPTER
Desperate times call for desperate measures from despos. BatBubba somehow managed to evade the clutches of the cyborg and reach Majestic Bar. He saw Abnerobin in the parking lot and shouted to him, "Where is Hariteman?"

Abnerobin gestured towards the bar and BatBubba ran into it. All this while Hariteman had been merrily getting drunk, singing "Stephen's Utthapa" with his booze buddies, unaware of all the drama outside. Seeing Hariteman, BatBubba rushed towards him and so did Choosali Baba, who too had entered the bar in pursuit.

Seeing Hariteman, his old nemesis, the cyborg forgot all about BatBubba. The Chooserminator had nurtured a deep hatred for Hariteman ever since he was a small cyborg baby in metal diapers, and had always dreamt of facing him in battle. (Hariteman had killed the cyborg's evil creator/genius Dr. Pondicherry in front of his eyes.) However, he had been deeply disappointed when he had learnt of Hariteman's alleged death.

But here was his oppurtunity and brushing aside BatBubba, he attacked Hariteman instead. Now friends, Hariteman might be the villian in this particular tale and dead drunk, but remember he was once a brave and noble and cherished superhero whose daring exploits had warmed our hearts and chilled our loins.

The battle between these two was a terrible yet fascinating spectacle to watch. Both were equally matched in strength and prowess and Hariteman met each of the cyborg's blows manfully. Every drunk in the bar would later recall the scene with a tear in his eye, wistfully sighing at the end, "Now that was a true hero!!"

Ultimately, realizing that he could not win the battle, the Chooserminator decided to teleport himself into the future. However just as the cyborg was dematerializing, Hariteman caught onto him and in a flash, both of them vanished from the present leaving behind only a trail of cosmic dust.

As to their eventual fates, we who are constrained to the present can only learn of it as and when we reach that unknown time in the future.

BatBubba came out of the bar and fell into Abnerobin's arms, sapped out of all energy. As they drove back to the BatVeetee silently in their reacquired BatMercedes, Abnerobin who was driving remarked glancing at the fuel gauge, "We need to stop for a fuel refill." They pulled over a petrol pump and filling up the tank decided to visit the convenience store at the pump to buy some Appams to fill their famished stomachs.

When they came out, Abnerobin cried out in despair, "Chettan, where's my car????"

They had underestimated the purloining powers of the pansy who they had thought had been firmly secured in the back of the vehicle.

BatBubba shaking his head sighed wearily, "Aargh! Forget it mone'. Lets take the bus."

********** THE END **********

Mission Mantralayam

Before you jump to the conclusion that this post is about a racy account of a covert espionage mission to the place where our Mantris preside and reside let me declare ... it's not!
It's about the religious pilgrimage (are there pilgrimages of any other type??) that I underwent last weekend with my parents to the picturesque little town which straddles the banks of the ruined and depleted TungaBhadra river in Andhra Pradesh, famous for being the place where Shri Raghavendra Swamiji (one of the most hallowed and venerated saints of Hindu Dharma) took Samadhi.

I had been ambivalent about the trip from the beginning!

I have become deeply attached to Mumbai, despite of the sweat, the stench and the grime. I love the fact that even at 12 in the night and 5 in the morning, I find this city alive and about, a city which caters to all your needs however exotic they may be.

But in my family, I am not allowed to say No for a trip to a religious place. It is considered sacrilege and I am generally considered to be, among my relatives, the one most likely to commit sacrilege. 'Oh that good for nothing Santosh. Mark my words. He will shame us all yet.'

So I started with my packing, with a heavy heart. I made up this game in my mind, to make sure I survive the boredom that is inherent to such trips. I conceived that I am going on a mission which will last 72 hours. Every 8 hours I survive on it I would reward myself with a point. 9 points would mean that I win. Or come crap like that.

The train journey was as usual summed up in one word, Horrible. We went by sleeper class, my bunk was smeared with the dirt that had been accumulating since the days of The East India Company. And our companions were pesky little kids who would have nothing better to do than giggle at me the whole day. I pressed my pillow on my face and tried to see how long I could remain without suffocating to death.

When I had almost reached my breaking point, the train reached Mantralayam Junction, a quaint little railway station, 8 miles away from the temple. We took a bus, where I was heartily abused by the conductor for sitting on the seat reserved for ladies (The sign was in Telugu - so shoot me!), and reached the main temple town after an hour.

Immediately we set about searching for a decent hotel room. But since the busy weekend was coming up all the bastards had hiked up the rates by almost 4 times. Since everything was damn expensive, we just spent the day going from 1 guest house to the other. To add to our luck it started raining and we were stranded in the lobby of such a guest house. My dad, who was dead tired after all the running around, decided to take a room here itself. It turned out to be the most expensive one in town.

So we got an excellent room with TV and geyser!!! Yea!! Good for us! Not quite. TV and geyser for some godforsaken reason, never work when there is no electricity. And there was never any electricity. By Swamijis grace, atleast they had a generator which allowed the fans to work.

Finally we went to the temple complex. Outside the complex, my eyes fell upon some deer tied up in an enclosure. I don't know what they were doing there and why PETA wasn't on the scene. These beautiful animals were made by God to run freely in grassy forest meadows, not tied up in cages surrounded by their own excreta.

Washing ourselves, we entered the temple in the evening. After joining the huge queue of people lining up for a darshan, we sat in the courtyard of the temple waiting for the evening festivities to begin. Every evening there is a rathotsava where the idol of God is placed in a chariot of Gold and is wheeled around the temple, once pulled by the aged temple elephant and once by devotees who had paid for this privilege.

I checked my mission counter. I had only gotten 2 points so far. 7 points left. I steeled myself and watched the activities silently.

The next day we shifted hotels. After investigating without any rain hindering us, we found that the Karnataka Government Choultry was charging a quarter of what we were currently paying for the rooms. There was no AC and geyser here, but the room was airy and there was a magnificent garden.

It was this garden that saved my trip. It had started drizzling and I went and sat in the garden bench. It was desolated at this time in the late afternoon. The atmosphere was pleasant, I could hear birds chirping. I saw the trees in full bloom with flowers. Slowly I started reciting the prayers that my dad regularly exhorts me to recite. I felt good. I know it's a cliche, but I actually felt one with nature.

I had finally gotten into a religious mood.This mood wasn't necessary connected with me being a Hindu or identifying with any deity. It was me acknowledging that there is a force above us which is present with us throughout our life. This life force that we can only truly sense when we our alone warmly ensconced in the bosom of Mother Nature and not when we are caught in a mad throng of people rushing towards a common goal.

I suddenly didn't want to return to Mumbai. I forgot about my mission or my points tally or anything else. Ironically just when I had gotten to enjoy my trip, it was over and we were back in Mumbai.

So now that I have undergone this experience am I more religious individual now?
God alone knows.

How to be more interesting

So I was perusing through some books in my office library (in the non non-fiction section obviously) when I kinda gazed upon the adjacent shelf where the self-help books were kept.

And then a title caught my eye. The title of this post. How to be more interesting. Feeling that familiar feeling of unbridled mirth welling up in my self, I inched closer to see the author of this ridiculously named book. The name of the author left me in shock - Edward De Bono. The Edward De Bono. The guy who's made his name and untold millions churning out those lateral thinking books!

I would have thought at least De Bono with all his expertise in lateral thinking would have the basic marketing sense that no customer in his right mind would be caught dead reading that book!
I mean suppose you're this under-achiever (i simply abhor the alternative term for under-achiever that starts with L and refuse to use it) who people find boring and find it difficult to string together a conversation without putting the opposite person to sleep! The last thing you would do is to been seen buying the book and be a confirmed bore.

I would like to see how many copies of that book have been sold! I mean was De Bono drunk when he allowed the editor or whoever to name this book. Or is this a fake, not written by De Bono? Is my office library stacking up books of imposter? Whatever may be the case I don't think that I'd have any further faith in De Bono teaching me any strategies on how to think!

Ok, so finally now that you have waded through this utterly boring asinine crap masquerading as a post, let me ask you this.

Do you think I need to read that book?

The outsiders

The ringing of the bell awakes me.

I hear my mom rushing to open it. It is not my father. It is Sushil. I can tell that he has brought bad news. I can tell from the increasingly high pitched responses from my mother.

Sushil rushes into my room. My mother follows him whimpering.

"You have to leave immediately aunty. The mob has entered the locality and are forcibly evicting all non-Maharashtrians. Rumour has it that they are also looting all valuables from peoples houses. Please pack up all that is absolutely necessary and leave now before they arrive."

My mom objects tearfully, "But your uncle hasn't arrived from office yet. And you know the condition of poor Venu."

Yes I have a condition. It is called paraplegia, or in layman terms total paralysis from the waist down. A result of a stupid bike race that I was egged on to participate in by my college seniors 3 years ago. 3 years since I last stood on my own two feet.

"I will tell my brother to inform uncle when he arrives that I have taken you to the station. As for Venu, we will load him and his wheelchair into my Omni. I will come below the building in it in 15 minutes. Please hurry aunty, we have no time to waste."

Sushil left us in total shock. My mom immediately went to the bedroom and started dumping clothes, jewellery and my medicines into the attache.
I wheeled myself to the door, getting ready for the inevitable.

Sushil was lucky. He was a Maharashtrian. We also had considered ourselves to be lucky till about a month ago. We were south-Indians. The violence had begun due to a campaign by a political party to drive away the North Indian migrants to Mumbai. Encouraged by the tepid response of a weak state government, a police force which was sympathetic to the cause of the localites and the increasing disillusionment and growing frustration in the Marathi youth, the party had been forcibly driving out migrants from the north. Those who were on the wrong side of the economic divide.

Spurred on by their success with the North Indians they had now focussed their campaign against the "intruders" from down under. It didn't matter that my father had migrated to Mumbai from Kochi 25 years ago. Or that I had been born and had lived my entire life in Mumbai, and had as equal a right to call Mumbai my home as any other Mumbaikar. It only mattered to the mob that our surname was Reddy and that automatically made us usurpers of jobs meant for localites.

Of course the mob didn't just contain the zealots who wanted us out, it was infiltrated and run by common criminals who found this a perfect oppurtunity to conduct robberies in broad daylight. Which was why my mom fearfully stuffed her mangalsutra and other assorted jewelery into the depth of the bag.

We started to hear shouts coming from below the building. It had started. I called out frantically. "maa!! come on its time to leave."
My poor mom. How my heart went out to her. As I saw her tearful, worried face desperately trying to figure out all that needed to be taken and all that had to be left, I wished I could go to her, hug her and comfort her. But I couldn't. I was as scared as she was, but was helpless to do anything to alleviate our fears.

As I wheeled myself out of the house, I glanced one last time at the only place I had ever known as home. With our heavily beating hearts, teary eyes and hands numb with fear we got into the lift which would take us down to the ground floor.

When the doors of the lift opened below we saw a sea of faces malevolently staring at us, furious with hate. They had hockey sticks and lathis in their hands. There were men and women and boys and girls. My mom immediately tried to close the door of the lift again. But she was too slow and rough arms pulled her out of the lift. The attache was dragged away from her. She pleaded with them to let go of it. But they started raining blows on her head.

Unable to bear this sight I wheeled myself into the middle of the mob shouting out loud. "Soda tila (let her go)!!!" I caught hold of the hand of the man who had begun to punch her. He turned towards me and shouted out, "Kaay re madrasi kutrya!!! (You Madrasi dog!) "

I punched him hard in the groin and saw him fal down doubled in pain. Immediately I felt someone tilt my wheelchair from the side and I fell down to the ground. I felt someone kicking me on the groin, on my head. I saw a hockey stick being raised, ready to come down in full force. I closed my eyes, anticipating the sharp pain that would follow. But the blow never came even though I was still being kicked on my head. I opened my eyes slightly just in time to see someone holding the hockey wielding arm before I passed out.

When I came to again I felt someone dragging me into a vehicle. I could make out that it was Sushil. I could hear my mom's crying nearby. I realized that I was in Sushils Omni with my head on my moms lap. Her beautiful face had been bruised and blood was oozing from a split lip. She thanked God that I had come to consciousness. The attache case of course was gone.

Sushil turned around from the driver's seat. "Dude, I thank heavens that I came when I did. Those bastards would have killed you if me and my dad hadn't convinced them to let you'll go. What yaar Wino! Did you think you were Rambo or something trying to hit back at the goondas!"

'Venu the Wino!' Sushil had been calling me that ever since me and him had tasted that first glass of beer in Majestic Bar and I had gotten drunk after just that one glass. It made me want to smile, but even thinking about smiling made me cry.
I was glad that my mom was safe, notwithstanding my pathetic attempt to save her.

We reached Dadar Terminus where Sushil and his dad helped carried me into the station. The station was jam packed with people, families shivering in the cold, worried about their loved ones. There were a group of lathi-wielding men who were forcibly bundling people onto the trains. The police was nowhere to be seen.

I sensed Sushil talking to me. "Don't worry Wino, It's only a matter of a few days, maybe a week or two. I'm sure things will calm down. It's just that there's so much anger around nowadays."

I nodded to him. I know that Sunil and his dad had gone through great personal risk to to help us out. I instead asked, "Any word from my dad yet?"

"No yaar, As always at a time of crisis all mobile networks are jammed. I have instructed my bro to intercept him before he returns to the colony and bring him here. I'll go find something for you two to eat."

I nodded to him as he left us. I closed my eyes, emptying my mind of all thoughts.
Of course we would survive this. We were not being killed, just driven out of our homes. Sometimes that can be as devastating.

An hour later my father did arrive, and three hours later we were on a train to Kochi, to our ancestral home. As I saw the train leaving Dadar station, I found myself wondering about not just my beautiful city of Mumbai, but of my country in general. As a nation, we were breaking up, getting divided into individual little fiefdoms each antagonistic with the other. The outsiders. Get rid of them! Everyone had forgotten about the basic right of a citizen of every country to freely roam about and settle in all parts within it.

It wasn't just in Maharashtra. MP was evicting its Marathi population, West Bengal its Bihari immigrants, Karnataka its Tamil speaking population. Before the British coalesced together an empire called India, the subcontinent was divided into different kingdoms, each of which was at war with each other. 60 years after independance it seems we were condemned to repeat history.

It didn't matter anymore that I am an Indian.

Mera Bharat Mahaan!!

Who is the man behind Hariteman ... And I don't mean Khalap

Who is Hariteman? Where does he come from? Why does his face always have a frown, as if he suspects someone is going to releasSSse a particularly noxious batch of wind on him?

It all began on a cold wintry day 6 years ago, in the winter of 2001, when there was a college called as SFIT, a subject called as BEE, and a new professor called as Harite.

He had been in the industry for more than 10 years honing his skills and perfecting his sour-puss expression. But the industry had disillusioned him. The people who entered into the industry after completing their engineering were extremely pathetic when it came to practical knowledge and more often than not floundered miserably initially and the companies had to spend a bomb on training these retards.

But Harite knew that it wasn't really the fault of the students. It was the fault of that evil sinister entity better known to the general public as Mumbai University, which had designed engineering courses to teach students everything but how to actually engineer stuff.

Harite was an idealist, a pragmatist and a masochist.

He believed that he would change the system, he would educate the youngsters of today and make them the engineers of tomorrow, the real ones that India Inc so desperately desired. His intentions were noble, his teaching methods were honed to perfection.

But as history has duly recorded, his choice was f***ed up!

He chose to start with SFIT.

Some people have sworn under oath that the very first day that Harite entered FE-EXTC to teach BEE (Basics in Electrical and Electronics) in winter 2001, he had a smile on his face. The very same people have also sworn under oath (and under their breath) that he never smiled again in his life after that.

Soon all his illusions about the potential in the youth of today were blown away.
He soon saw them in their true colours. Noisy, chattering, obnoxious monkeys wearing colourful clothes and torn jeans and dancing with gay abandon in the corridors.

The students never left him in peace - in the parking lots where they surrounded him like a bunch of beggars begging for marks which they never deserved, which they couldn't even begin to deserve. Even in his sleep he could hear their chants "Gimme the Marks! Gimme the Marks!" rising into a crescendo eventually drowning out all sound from his brain.
He found them invading every inch of his life be it in the staff toilet where they weren't supposed to drink or the nearby Majestic Bar where they weren't supposed to piss. Or vice versa.

Every time he valiantly tried to chastise them, to show them the error of their ways, they simply jeered at him, booed him behind his back. His expression grew grimmer, his physique grew slimmer, his bald pate started to shimmer. He tried to torture them, bribe them, seduce them but ultimately failed to help them evolve from their primitive ape-like state.

Eventually he realized the hopelessness of his cause, renounced engineering and SFIT and Mumbai University and returned back to the warm, comfortable bosom of the industry where he spent the rest of his days happily listening to the rhythmic sounds of humming machinery.

But little did Harite know, how big an impact, how big an imprint he had left in the mind of a young impressionable monkey known as Santosh Bhat. Little did he know that he had been elevated to the status of a super-human in the weird little tales penned down by this grotesque chimpanzee.

Little did he know about Hariteman (and his pansy sidekick)