http://NourishNCherish.Wordpress.com

This blog has moved to : http://NourishNCherish.Wordpress.com

I can't tell you how this post makes me feel. Emotions are splurging freely, the frame shakes in farewell.

I tried wordpress a while ago, and liked some of its features, but I kept putting the final decision away.

However, change is the only thing that is constant and all that drivel, later, here I am.

See you all at http://NourishNCherish.Wordpress.com

The President's Address

I challenge you to find a single bloke who has visited the parents' home, and hasn't seen the photographs of the daughter of the house sitting with the President of India. The show runs for 2 hours and 12 minutes and is accompanied with a full theatrical demonstration of all the words spoken by the President. Usually, excellent coffee is served during the interval.

You see, the sister won 4 medals for various activities from the then President of India, R.Venkatraman. He then called for her after the ceremony, and sat her down to see what kept her ticking, and all that. The sis' was given a new red-and-black dress for the occasion, and the photographs and medals occupy a somewhat better position than the sons and daughters of the house. It isn't everyday that the President hobnobs with the children of teachers.

The photographs themselves can be used for toothpaste advertisements, teeth whitening etc, but the President declined from going after fame in that direction, so the opp. was dropped. I remember what a great deal it was to have the President visit our School. There were black cats streaming all over the place, and everybody was checked. I almost had my priya sweets removed from my body. Quite scary I tell you.

The father was given the unique honour of signing the cards needed to present the guards with, to allow people access to the auditorium. Never has anybody approached the man with such a compelling need to get signatures from him, and he came forward with his most gallant attempt, and signed his full name, all of 23 consonants and 15 syllables (okay.....but it's a long name!) It wasn't till he signed the 502nd card that he started questioning his decision to sign the full name.

The President landed on the grounds, and we dutifully sang the national anthem, the guard of honour with the right click, shoes all polished, the works. It is something of a memory. The chance to see and shake hands with the President is one so unique.

I wonder why there is a controversy about President Obama addressing the children of the nation.
http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2009/09/coming_up_president_obamas_add.html
The most common complaint seems to be that he will push forth his propoganda. I ask you - to what end? When these children are old enough to vote, he might not be in the President's office any longer.

Turns out the President only said what parents hoot everyday, but now the country is just hoping that coming from the President's mouth, the children would listen.http://www.whitehouse.gov/MediaResources/PreparedSchoolRemarks/

He said children should make the best of life's opportunities and learn to live responsibly. Where's the propoganda? All I see is many more proud families who can show pictures of their children with the President.

When to update Facebook?

What a coincidence? I have been meaning to write about Facebook for a while now, when New York times runs this article

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/30/magazine/30FOB-medium-t.html

I quote from the article above:
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold. Facebook, the online social grid, could not command loyalty forever. If you ask around, as I did, you’ll find quitters. One person shut down her account because she disliked how nosy it made her. Another thought the scene had turned desperate. A third feared stalkers. A fourth believed his privacy was compromised. A fifth disappeared without a word.

The exodus is not evident from the site’s overall numbers. According to comScore, Facebook attracted 87.7 million unique visitors in the United States in July. But while people are still joining Facebook and compulsively visiting the site, a small but noticeable group are fleeing — some of them ostentatiously

This piece aligns itself with the sort of news I was recently criticizing. "If you ask around" - this had me dished. How was I supposed to ask around - on Facebook?! Clearly, people are quitting the site. How would they answer me? The stress made me want to update my status.

This statement is of course the crowning glory:
But while people are still joining Facebook and compulsively visiting the site, a small but noticeable group are fleeing — some of them ostentatiously. (Uh....duh....scratch. So, are people joining or are they quitting?)

But, I shall interpret this prolific link to read that many people have been quitting Facebook lately. I have felt like an aging dinosaur, pummeling myself into thinking that by spurning Facebook, I would lose touch with my friends, and like the dinosaurs unable to adapt, roam in a physical world, where the only contact was through Facebook, and water only the virtual kind. Sad, speechless....well....you get the drift.

Don't get me wrong, but Facebook felt to me like a big "Oops!" waiting to happen. I accepted anyone wanting to reach out to me, and before I knew it, I had a whole lot of friends from all my associations - kindergarten classmates, tea stall mates, college bonda mates, colleagues in the various companies I have worked in. Everytime, I attempted to post a message, I was baffled. What on Earth will I tell all these people that will interest them all at the same time?

Feeling sleepy?
Want to drink Tea?
Wants to step out

The problem with all the messages I did want to put up was that, it felt like a yearning. If I was already drinking tea, I wouldn't put that up, I'd be busy sipping my tea. If I went out, I would not stop to update my Facebook status, I'd be out the door.

The only time I felt a status was warranted was when I finished running a half-marathon. But, I think the World will agree with me here when I say that, that seems like an awful lot of trouble to go through in order to put up a Facebook status.

So life passes me by, and the stress of not having anything to say gnaws at me ..........

PS: Another link: Recruiters screen facebook too! http://msn.careerbuilder.com/Article/MSN-2035-Job-Info-and-Trends-More-Employers-Screening-Candidates-via-Social-Networking-Sites/?sc_extcmp=JS_2035_home1&SiteId=cbmsnhp42035&ArticleID=2035&gt1=23000&cbRecursionCnt=1&cbsid=d1afeba127564100aae4334a5fe432f0-305904617-w6-6

This Day That Age

This day that age.

"You know what?" the words barely left my smiling lips, when I had the attention that any teacher would kill to have from just one student in his class. I was flustered. I would have to admit it was embarrassing to have somebody pay this much attention to my words. After all, most times I was trying to get the selective hearing dad and the don't care-unless-its-sports brother to listen to something. Most attempts were feeble bleats erupting every minute for several hours. And then start afresh again after a bite of the energizing and sometimes impressively finish with a grand finale before somebody twitched a ear in my direction. When this sentence (I know, that was barely a sentence!), was met with an impressive

"Yes tell me" with the body leaning forward, I was taken aback. The face glowed with appreciation, and I found I had forgotten what I really wanted to say. Just the warmth of the reception to my sentiments were enough to soothe the soul. I hastily ushered the fellow in to my favourite ice-cream store with gratitude and bought him a rather impressive banana fudge ice-cream. What's more I presented him with a hideous tie (with love!)

Turns out the fellow doesn't like ice cream, and seldom wore ties. So, we decided to get married.

My husband - this day that age.

This day this age

"You know what?" I hollered at the breakfast table. *Ignore*
A minute later: "You know what?"
"Huunh?" or similar sounding grunt. IT's hard to reproduce, and a lapse into some important program on TV

If ever there was a soul of determination, that's me. As many times as this happened, I never quit saying "You know what?" I finished at an impressive 8 times before I decided to throw in the towel. I threw my hands up in desperation and sighed for good measure. That did it.

"Huh.....what?" said the husband turning towards me. His eyes glazed, his mind still wandering in the meaningless forest of the previous advertisement selling fresh juice from the mushy murks of some godly place. I gave up.

"Never mind, I forgot what I wanted to say", I said.
"Oh okay"

Since both times I forgot what I really wanted to say, it can't have been that important!

Festival Time ?!

Festivals are for a time of harmony. The old family spirit, the smiling pictures - the "totadoin" music in the background. Yet, I am still waiting to witness one festival where the mother of the household is not looking like a frazzled lump with a ready lampoon hoisted at the end of a javelin stick waiting to scorch through your insides if you don't make way for the steam engine(that's her) while the vadai is being fried, and before the appam needs to be turned over.

By the time, the family sits down for the meal, several feathers are ruffled, there has been at least one meltdown, especially if it involves smart-aleck daughters. Then, there is the whole post-meal sensation where the outlines of the layers of intestine have merged into an amalgamation of jaggery, oil, butter, vegetable oil, turmeric, a large shipment of rice with lentils washed down with curd. The final slurp does it.

Now, after a bustling 4 hour ordeal to whip up a meal such as this, one would expect to push the chair backward long enough for it to creak and stretch into a raised bed. What we would really look forward to doing is gently massaging the stomach area. It would help if somebody could do the same with your hair and play some lullabies. OH NO!

The bustling mother is now bustling at 80% speed owing to the bulk of food still occupying the abdominal area, but she bustles all the same. The dishes need to be cleared away, the dirty dishes washed, the remaining sweets tucked away....

Why? I ask you why? Why do these festivals have to be this way? Take Krishna for example, is he going to refuse to step into a house where gulab jamuns are missing from the list below?
Krishna Jayanthi:

• Seedai
• Patta Naada
• Theratti Paal
• Aval
• Kunzhi aapam
• 7 cup cake
• Vadai
• Payasam

In my opinion, we would be doing ol' Ganesha a favour by reducing his calorie intake instead of this:
Vinayaka Chathurthi:

• Vadai
• Payasam
• Aval
• Kunzhi aapam
• Modakam

But as always, the genii of the world go unheard....

PS: This is also my 200-th post.

P.B with only E

I have a friend who's watched 'You've Got Mail' more times than is considered civil to admit. In the movie, the huge bookstore brings the little bookstore (owned by Meg Ryan) down the corner to bankruptcy. Admittedly, it is a heart rending angle to small businesses, and a long time ago, I found myself admiring the pluck of the lady who owned a small coffee shop. She had put up a sign imploring customers to not go to Starbucks.

The placard said: "Don't let your friends go to Starbucks!"

I haven't gone to the small place in a while - I vaguely tried to recollect why, and couldn't. I stepped in.

Before you go off imagining Meg Ryan in a coffee shop, let me stop you in your tracks and state that I am not particularly fond of this lady who runs the shop. If I were Malcolm Gladwell, I could have written a book about this particular phenomenon, and how I should trust my instincts etc. I am not Malcolm Gladwell, so I shall satisfy myself with saying I am not fond of her.

This morning, I read all about sumptuous breakfasts in the English countryside and by the time I took the swift walk down to the office, my stomach was starting on a tantrum for a spot of breakfast. I relented and ordered a plain bagel with only eggs - no cheese, no tomatoes.
I can hear you mutter in your little head that there really is no need for all this detail about a breakfast order, but the crux lies here. You see the rates written up in this shop are as follows:
1) Plain bagel with only eggs is $3
2) Plain bagel with eggs and cheese is $3.25
3) Plain bagel with eggs, cheese and tomato is $3.50

I paid her $5 expecting $2 in return. The shop, meanwhile, has 2 more people in there oggling at my back. I don't know about you, but everytime I feel like a bottleneck, I will squirm and rush.
All a sales person needs to say is:
"Uh...I don't know why - let me go and check" , and I would hang onto their hands, and stop them, thinking furiously:

"Just service me please - I can't hold all these people up. "

As you can imagine, as soon as these strangers walked in, this particular sentiment kicked in. Just give me $2, so I can move. Come on : $2. Quick!

She gives me $1.75. See! In one blinding flash of revelation, I see why I stopped going there. This wasn't a mistake - she did this everytime I ordered p.b with only e. Once, when the shop was empty, I gulped down her potential cheap-skate view of me and showed her the sign for $3, but everytime?!

Why not just update the board to say $3.25? It's not like I would change my mind and not buy because of the 25 cents. Next time, I'll step into Starbucks on my way - the SKU can only give the advertised rates see?!

I am asking myself why I put up this post now. Because I have ensured that all my friends can think of me as a cheap-skate from now on.

Where do you belong?

Last week I met a person who was bang in the center of this chart.

(Courtesy: Bud Caldwell)
His eyes shone with the inner peace of doing something he loved for a living. How many of us can honestly feel that we belong in the center?

Cold blooded wonderers

I take public transit to work everyday as regular readers know. The mornings are of particular interest to me, since that is the time that has seasonal or climatic variations on the experience. There is a tower clearly visible from the platform with a temperature monitor. It helps me decide how to feel: cold, cool, pleasant or hot.

This particular temperature monitor tower alternates with the digital time display. So, after I've decided that I am shivering, I can count my minutes by looking at the clock to see when I can get into the stationary train with the doors closed resolutely. I find it particularly trying in Winter, because I am holed up in a jacket, glancing at 29 F, and wondering how long it would take for my toes to fall off with frost bite. * I know it doesn't snow where I stay, but you get the drift?*

You are wondering why the train doors are resolutely shut? I formally welcome you to join the esteemed club of cold-blooded wonderers. Here is the series of events that happens in the section of time before the train departs.
* Train comes everyday 5-8 minutes ahead of scheduled departure time. (that is good)

* Train lets people who rode in out of the compartment (still good)

* Said train is a smaller one and must be linked with another half of train that arrives just before departure time. (No unrelated ideas please, it is freezing remember?)
This is where things start to get puzzling:
* The train operator announces loudly, making several jarring noises that the train is out of service, and nobody should board the train. Puzzled first-timers walk in, look around quizzically, fear a lifetime of claustrophobic experiences of being stuck in a train compartment without food or water and come out looking worried.
* Doors close.
* Then, the train operator exits, using the smallest possible timeframe to complete the act. His expression resembles most unsettlingly that of a scuttling rabbit. Any sooner and the operator's hands would jam while they are locking the doors and letting himself out. The fear of people trying to squeeze into the train for an extra minute's warmth is clearly writ large on the operator's face. There isn't a word for this phobia yet - I checked.
* A thousand glares are directed at the operator who let himself out, which he carefully ignores for his own sake.
* Second half of the train arrives devoid of passengers, is linked to the first half and the doors are still closed.
By now people's faces are slowly moving to unmistakable scowling territory.
Finally, the helpful tower flashes the time ( a minute before departure), - some people look like they can kiss the tower at this point, if only they could move their lips.
* The doors open.
* People tumble in - partially to find seats, but mostly because they've lost the senses in their legs from the cold, and are yearning for the warmth inside the train.

I've tried plausible explanations and came up with the following:

1) If somebody complains of knee pain because of the 0.00002 level jerk on the richter scale when the train is attached with more compartments, it is a potential lawsuit.
2) Fresh air is good for the soul, and the longer people enjoy the fresh air, the better it is for their health.
That is why I weighed all the pros and cons and try my best to arrive exactly when the doors open. But it is a fine line between doors opening and the train doors closing-leaving for good.

Running does that to you - My First 1/2 Marathon

The ambience was great - a mild drizzle, chill enough to lift the spirits of a nervous first time 1/2 marathoner. As I saw the throng of people waiting to go at the start line, I got a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold drizzle or the temperature - this shiver was triggered entirely by adrenalin.

I jostled at the start line smiling nervously at the head of my cheering crew(my husband - who else?!) and the announcer's voice cracked into the air

"Do you know why you are here?"
Crowd: NOOOOOOOO
"Do you like to torture yourselves?"
Crowd: NOOOOOOOO"
But you still want to do this?"
Crowd: YESSSSSSSSSSSS!!!
"Well, then here you go............."

That pretty much summarized my running experience. This was the longest I had attempted so far. I had no idea why I was doing it. The weeks of training prior to the marathon had achieved one thing. It had awakened in me a long dormant self discipline, I had almost forgotten existed. I felt good about setting a task and overcoming hurdles to achieve what I set my eyes on.

I am a firm believer of the theory that the right things will happen at the right time. Two years ago when I attempted a half marathon, I had to limp out of training around the 6th mile - I wasn't ready. For an erstwhile short distance track athlete, endurance running was a different ballgame and I found my competitive spirit raising it's ugly head at the most inconvenient of times, like when I saw runners with biceps the size of my thighs run faster than me. I would throw caution to the winds as to the consequences of overtaking such runners, and thump behind them. (what if the biceps lunged out at me because Mr Biceps does not like to be overtaken? - BRR)

I also realised that though I was fast enough (in my cocky mind of course!), I wasn't exactly a teenager competing in the Inter School Athetic Meet in Wellington, and spotty training was clearly not enough. The dreaded ITB surfaced and my shoes retired to a quiet corner.

I read about running injuries and all the websites said it was hard to not run. I disagree. Not running is very easy - just curl up in bed! I went back to poking fun at the husband for his running socks and running t-shirts.

Somehow, this time felt different from the word 'Go'. This time, I was ready. For one, I trained steadily. I religiously maintained my mid week runs followed by my long week-end runs. I gulped down the encouragement streaming from my husband and kept going. I learnt to
repeatedly tell myself that my goal was to finish, and beating others was not my priority. I found that I enjoyed running - my thoughts and myself in tune with the early morning birdsong was one I learned to cherish.

So, on the marathon day, all I had to do was keep telling myself my mantra
"Just run slowly Just run slowly"

What amazed me was the number of people who had turned out on race day. And I don't just mean the runners. I had already joined the nutter category and revelled in the runner-nutter-camaraderie. I mean the number of people who are not running who had turned out to help. I felt the goodwill rivers flowing freely towards random strangers. People took time off from their lives to shout out encouragement, volunteer at aid stations, hold placards to bring a smile. There was one place where after a killer uphill run, people were huffing and puffing only to come up the slope and see an old lady leaning on a walking stick holding a placard - "Yeah downhill!!!"

Who does that? These people don't get anything more than a smile from the tired runners, and yet stood on street corners, straining to read your name and shouting encouragement. I felt selfish - I had never done anything like that before. I suddenly felt like my life had been lived in a cocoon of me, myself and mine.

I ran on, slowing down near water stops and gulping the horrible tasting cytomax, but never stopping. Despite the hilly terrains, I found myself running non-stop and for that I credit all the selfless volunteers who cheered. Here is a tribute to all you people who devoted some hours of your life to enable me to achieve my goal (See?!)

Just like that, I had breezed through to 8 miles when I saw a peek of my support group at a signal and then pounded the remaining miles. As I neared the end point, I was slowing down, maybe subsconsciously sorry for the event to end. I saw a little ahead of me that people automatically started running faster. I soon found out: there was a person with a placard reading
"Almost there! Run like you stole those sneakers!"

I laughed out loud and found myself running faster too! I finished strongly in 2 hours and 21 minutes. I got the finisher's medal and almost kissed it. I saw the pride in my family's eyes and suddenly felt overwhelmed.

I reached home and lost all my rights to crib about my husband's clothes again. Said husband always wears these strapping running t-shirts and I was sick of seeing him in them. Yet, this time after a shower, I found myself proudly wearing the San Francisco Marathon T-shirt.

Running does that to you.

The Gift of Personality

I have become an aunt over again. Over the years, I have cherished the special relationship of Aunt. Predictably, when news of my niece reached me, I was all agog.

What is it about a birth of baby that has us all excited? To me, it is the dimension that is added to you simply because of the richness of personality added into the mix. This little person holds within her love, strength, compassion, intelligence and many more qualities. She will enrich our lives by making herself a part of our lives.

For now, she sleeps placidly, while we wait for her to blossom into herself.

On the occasion of her birth, I listened to one of my favourite songs in Tamil - that of a daughter growing up too fast. The song put our complex thoughts into words, and that in turn put complex thoughts into my mind. I savoured the news of my niece and the beautiful song.

All in all, the news of my niece has put me in a state of joy. Welcome little one - this post is all I have to offer now, though my heart yearns to see you.

80% of Americans.....

I have had the opportunity to talk about dubious news items before. But with the Internet, it seems anybody can put up any numbers never to be cross-verified with anybody else, and what is more, it comes up as the first hits on Google.

This particular article claims 80% of Americans want to write a book. That had me stumped. 99% of Americans are literate. But 80% want to write a book?

Not to speak disparagingly of the American public or anything, but I wonder if 80% of Americans READ books.

http://www.deseretnews.com/article/705316098/So-you-think-youre-the-next-Rowling.html

This particular article talked about people wanting to write like J.K.Rowling.

I am guessing at what the survey looked like
Question 1: Do you know how to read
Ans: YES

Question 2: Do you know how to write
Ans: YES

Question 2: Do you want to write a book and become a billionaire like J.K. Rowling?
Ans: YES

That is the only way I can think of explaining that survey of 80% of Americans wanting to write a book.

What do we crave?

A while ago Scott Adams had posted on his blog about the blogs with the most popular ratings and went on to analyze the readers' profiles.

http://www.dilbert.com/blog/entry/your_psychological_profile/

One closer look at the whole post indicates that the profile he has outlined is nothing but the topics written most often by him. In short, things he likes, similar to his profile and such. For example: when he says that we like to read posts based on how things work or possible solutions to global problems because we are logical thinkers, means nothing more than the fact that he blogs on these topics the most. By derivation, if we read that, we must like that. Predictably, this post received the highest number of comments.

I can't help thinking that this is exactly the same choice facing me when I chance upon my astrological profile. My mind will subconsciously go to my zodiac sign, and if there is something I think of as positive, I want to believe it. If there isn't I can shrug it off. And the more I see the astrological predictions in store for me, the more I see the pattern of his post in it. Randomly, there will be some aspect of the prediction that will hold for me, but there are huge portions that don't. But the small portion sticks.

Emphasizes time and again how much we crave for an understanding of ourselves and our futures. In that respect, I found Jikku's(http://lettersforall.blogspot.com/) letter to her teenage self series very interesting. How our life would have changed if we knew then what life had in store for us?!

Landing on the mooon and Harry Potter

Today is the 40th anniversary of the Moon Landing - the triumph of the 'can-do' attitude. I am becoming a big fan of this attitude, although it is taking a lot of practice to not lapse into the "Can I do it?" mode.

My posts of late are reeking of the Twitter-ish tinge. I shouldn't have read about the brevity becoming the new breakfast cereal. My words seem to be slowing down at 140. I am sure the sub-conscious is playing its role. Today, I am determined to fight back. I can do it, and therefore, I am going to sit here and tell you all about my views on the latest Harry Potter movie.

As far as books go, Half Blood Prince is courageous. The book was a nice prequel to Deathly Hallows and answered for us the questions about Lord Voldemort. However, the movie was a disappointment for me at many levels.

Plainly put, a person who has not read the books and has only seen the movies, would not be able to string the story together. And that is a huge miss. Arguably, Harry Potter need not cater to a base that hasn't read a book or atleast the book review, so they should be able to string things together. But, I still find this discomforting in a movie.

Contrary to the other movies, there was too much of the dating aspect in this movie and quite a few out of character treatments.

Dumbledore, for example, is seen asking Harry about his relationship with Hermione, out of his curiosity! Like Headmasters stand around asking who is dating who?!

Lavendar creates a scene and fights with Hermione over Ron in front of - get this: Professors Snape, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Slughorn and Madam Pomfrey, and it isn't over yet - IN the hospital. All the professors stand by and watch the altercation with either consternation, a smirk or amusement, depending on their characterization.

Harry is made to stand aside and watch Dumbledore succumb wandless without a compelling reason to do so. In the book, he is stunned and under the invisiblity cloak. He is UNABLE to do anything. In the movie, he is standing right under the scene, with a perfectly functioning wand, and a clearly nervous Draco and wandless Dumbledore standing and chatting about Draco's task like it was a tea-party at Hogsmeade or something. This is so unlike Harry - when has he hesitated to help anybody? In fact, Hermione helpfuly pointed out the "hero mentality" in the previous movie!

All in all, looks like Warner Bros knew what they were doing - they kept all the crucial plot points to secure their earnings in financial years 2010 and 2011.

Now, you are wondering what the can-do attitude of landing on the moon has with my opinion of the latest Harry Potter movie. Nothing.

Deciphering t-shirts

Conservationism thy name is me most of the time when it comes to
dressing for work. Recently, when my attire drew the attention of a
room-full of people I was genuinely embarrassed. I was wearing a
T-shirt that had something scribbled across it. I tried figuring out
what it was, but couldn't.

My father's handwriting is like steaming noodles. It is in a hurry
to get eaten, and like peas dotting the otherwise hurried noodles,
the neat numerals light up the page. Therefore, it can be reasonably
agreed that I have some good experience with deciphering noodles,
but I gave up on this one. It was most probably the designer's
signature I finally decided. I tested the waters by wearing said
T-shirt to the park and am still alive. Therefore, it could not have
been offensive.

I walked into the meeting room, and everyone asked me what it said.
I blushed a deep red and confessed that I didn't know, only to have
the room guessing. I don't know about you, but I usually opt for a
quiet corner in larger meetings, and don the vaguely interested
look. I will melt into the background and sink through the bottom of
the chair hole. Having the spotlight turned on me was quite the jar.
I must remember to go back to shopping in the old ladies section, if
I have to don the interested yet dreamy looks in meetings.

For Pots and Mirrors

We were lucky enough to catch the last and most thrilling sector of the Men's Wimbledone Finals. Federer and Roddick gauged each other and combatted with the spirit that only stalwarts can command. Shot for shot, point for point. The game went on..

Finally when Federer won, our hearts went out to Roddick, though Federer had broken a world record. That is the true spirit of sports and overwhelms me every time. The youngest and oldest in our group at the time made two startling revelations:

The youngest quipped at the award giving ceremony: "See, one got a pot and the other got a mirror!"

The oldest quipped: "You know it is far more thrilling to watch a match without knowing the outcome!" (DUHH .. coming from a man who spent half his grown-up years advising his son that watching a match live was worthless, this was a revelation of sorts!)

While the grandfather discovered that watching a match live was thrilling, the grand-daughter discovered that people spent a LOT of energy to get a pot and a mirror.

Phone Message

Have you tried calling anybody lately? You would pull up the person from your phone's contact list, or take the trouble of punching the numbers in only to get to their voicemail. Isn't it funny that a majority of voicemails first tell you the number you dialled. "I know!" you want to scream, "I dialled it remember?!"

"You have reached the voicemail box of 4-8-9-3-3-8-5-9-7-4."*"Dulcet Tone?"*" is not available. Please leave your n-am-e and telephone number at the beep" BEEP!

I've also noticed that everytime one is asked to say their name under pressure, they say it with a questioning tone of incredulity. It sounds like they can't believe they said their name correctly at the right time and want to ask you if it is okay.

The tone is irresistibly influenced by the automated message tone. So, "Melody Personified" invariably sounds like "Squeaky horn?"

The exact same thing happens with conference bridges. "Saumya?" has joined the conference *BEEP* "Chris?" has joined the conference

If you call me, you will be treated to the same phenomenon, but when has that stopped me from saying anything?

News

Yesterday, I heard something bizarre from one of my friends. The United States has its own definition of what it terms "NEWS". Basically, it should be dramatic to the point of taking notice, but not dramatic enough to cripple the economy and make it hobble on crutches for months afterward. Which is why, the mortgage crisis and the internet bubble burst and 9/11 weren't good. On the other hand, there is news just waiting to be reported. But, news from other countries (especially those with a sea between US and said country) doesn't count for news at all.

So, the San Francisco Chronicle found it prudent to run a full-blown report on the shocking incident of birds now attacking people in San Francisco. (http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2009/05/30/BA8317TUO2.DTL)

One of my friends just went walking on the street. One bird flew straight at her hair. Said friend ducked in time to avoid being in the trajectory of evidently direction-challenged-and-therefore-attacking flying bird. Out of thin air, a reporter materializes and asks her if she is willing to give an interview. A number of questions arise. How was the reporter there at exactly the same time? Would newspapers actually assign reporters to random street corners waiting for a bird to attack? Or was the bird trained for this in collusion with the reporter? If it is the latter, I would be very sorry for the new lows journalism has taken in this country!

My friend, passed up the opportunity to appear in the local news. I assured her that fame was a fickle friend, and it was best if she wasn't recognized as the girl the birds attacked. Nevertheless, I stepped out for a few minutes and it looks like I could write a whole newspaper.

"Current generation less tolerant towards children."
Now, that would sell a few papers surely. Well, I did hear two people say the following while waiting for the walk sign!
"You know, I just can't stand them. I don't know how people tolerate kids. "

This means/implies nothing other than the fact that one denizen doesn't like children. I could also build a study around it, with entirely made up numbers and suddenly my news item gains a shade of credibility.

Here's another one: "Housing economy easing up" OR "Loans not as difficult anymore."
What I heard on the street again was this:"You know, it's like buying a house. A bank puts up 80% of the capital, and you just have to sign"
Evidently, some soul was being persuaded to buy a house, or some soul was telling somebody else how easy it is to buy a house, because suddenly, buying became "just signing"

Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get into the house, where I have my child waiting for me with love, to escape the birds.

Thank you!

Camping

"Amma - Get up! The sun is setting - SEE?!"

I groggily sat and up and peered out. I had barely had an hour's sleep. I could only manage to fall asleep after I could be reasonably assured that the howling wind around us would not life us and drop somewhere in the pacific ocean. We'd been camping and were spending the night in a tent. It's supposed to be an insulated tent, but it's not shaped like a boat! So it would have been a rough sail (if at all, such a thing sailed)

It was a beautiful morning. I corrected the excited daughter - "It is a sunrise, not a sunset!" As you can see, we aren't one of those who rise before the roosters and wait for the sun to come up. So, the only time, the daughter has seen the sun low, is when it is setting. We had been camping with a bunch of kids (here's proof!)

The whole experience was great fun, and was quite enough to jerk us out of our cubic worlds momentarily. Treks, hot tea, a waterside, excellent company - everything was just perfect. Even the squabbles were fun to watch. The sheer joblessness of a couple of 1-year olds against the perceived-important-but-equally-jobless 7 year olds, the whipping wind against the tea reluctantly holding its warmth, the good food with the chatter.

I was dubious when we started. The car trunk looked like we were moving houses. Sleeping bags, tents, shoes, jackets all jostled for space. Sure though I was, that we wouldn't use half of them, I was unsure of leaving anything behind just in case. It's not like we were taking the moon shuttle to get off in space for a night of camping. We were going to be half-an-hour away from an outlet mall! I seemed to have tired out even before starting!

I had only to reach the spot and inhale the beauty of the place, when all my reluctance vanished with a wisp. In fact, I was thereafter, quite the hearty soul! The only dampener to the exciting trip was the wind. It whipped up with such ferocity - and wouldn't relent. It raged and stomped through the night - till around 4:30 a.m. But any day, another camping trip is welcome.

Ahh- I love camping!

Pensick

Those were the days! The years when the heart was young, and the palpable energy of youth was looking for an outlet. The finality of the written word against the hazy thought circulating in the throes of the brain.

I revered my heroes with an insane love. I liked my hero to be either maroon or green. I rather liked the green for luck, and the maroon for looks. With my heroes by my side, I could tear any examination apart, I could make the protoganist of any novel cry through my sarcastic witticisms. In short, I truly believed in the power of the pen.

Yes, another one of my quirks. I was very attached to my pens. I had two "Hero" pens as they were called. I took care of them. While the apes among us used their hero ink-pens as darts, I polished them, made sure they were filled with ink, and were never insulted with a bent nib. The pen somehow aided my flow of thoughts.

The ballpoint pens nestled in the box too. The sleek and thin Reynolds. The super-hero that could save you, when you had to ditch the quaint calligraphic style and rush in a hurriedly drafted incorrect assignment.

Through my college, I stuck to my hero-pen and reynolds ballpoint pens. They were my friends.

Then, something sad happened. I entered the corporate world - the world of mass production and abundance as it were. I tell you, the more people earn, the pettier they become. At one point, people started perceiving free pens as a component of their salary! I once saw a person stuff his pants with free pens (I had to keep trying not to think how/where it would poke when he sat!) I lost the awe for pens - ruined forever! I could pick up any pen, that looked exactly like any other free pen in the office. As long as I tried not to imagine it being used a tooth-pick, or a gum-substitute or a ear-bud by somebody else, it would give me the same experience.

I am penstalgic and I want my own special pens once more. (Yes, I made up the word penstalgic - Bad? Yes, I know! But I am sure I could come up with a better word if I had a pen I was attached to!)

Laptop retirement schemes

What is a laptop?

Pardon me, but I am in the mood for pedantic explanations. It is a portable device with a processor that can be used without constraining the user to a particular geographical location. Wireless routers just worked hand-in-hand with this definition, because you were not required to have the network cable plugged in.

Have you seen this advertisement where an old grandmother uses the laptop as a cutting board/pizza pan/baking/cleaning surface etc? If you haven't, then here it is.
http://current.com/items/89889276_funny-ad-grandma-proof-laptop.htm

I wouldn't say our laptop was stress-tested by a grandmother, but it has been stress-tested by a budding family. The device has aged gracefully in my opinion. The first signs started with the wireless. It now remains immobile by being chained to a network cable because the wireless doesn't work anymore.

After hours with a customer specialist, nothing was achieved - in fact, the last of the calls finished with the exasperating statement from the husband telling the CSR that he was a network engineer, and has tried "right clicking and hitting repair" several times before calling! Unfortunately, customer service representatives are not trained to handle network engineers who have already tried Option X on their list, and our wireless died.

Never one to chicken out this easily, we just bought a network cable long enough to stretch across the Golden Gate Bridge and restored a certain mobility to it. I think the laptop sulked for a while, and tried acting up because of the leash, but seeing the other option - that of jostling for space on the tiny computer table, decided to work with the leash instead.
One time, it whined too loudly and the sound blasters stopped working. So, now, we could attach those over-the-ear speaker phones at the sound socket, and listen to sound. Here's a hint, it isn't worth the trouble. For one, you can never find the headphones when you need them. One of my friends is a popular audio-blogger, and that meant letting go of tuning in to her site every now and then to listen to some treats (hey, she wouldn't miss one of her fans not being able to listen as much I miss listening to her songs!)

"It is still functional though", I argue weakly. "Yeah? Tell me one thing you still enjoy doing with the thing?" demands the network-engineer-husband. "I can still see photos, and I love to do that!" I counter. I wear a smug smile on my face and move towards the laptop again. It's spooky, it was like the laptop HEARD me, and in a last bid to free itself ruined the screen. All I could see was red and blue all over. It had streaks all over, and if I squinted my eyes and tilted my face, I
could still find the icons on the desktop.

Then, one day, one of us went somersaulting on the long cable. The flying sensation was not good for 2 reasons:
1) The actual airborne sensation was exceptionally short-lived and

2) The body doesn't take easily to falling-by-tripping-on-network-cables that easily. Maybe a respectable fall while running/playing, it can still manage. But tripping on a network cable? Your body asks : "Dude seriously?!" And then, just hurts like crazy!

So, now the cable is bundled up and tied with a rope, and the laptop jostles for space with the computer anyway. It really can't whine too much, because the sound blasters are gone, and if I squint hard enough, I can find the mozilla icon somewhere.

I am not sure if laptop societies had any laws on retirement per se, but mine really seems to have reached the end of it's reign. It's time my laptop retired - what do you say?