The great hedge of India. Sounds cool nah? At first as a banker when I read it, it sounded like some great hedge that India has that protects it from any downside in economy. Something like a hedge against inflation or something like a hedge against economic downturn or something. More like a financial hedge, an advantage that we have against any downside. A hedge is basically a good thing to have in financial markets.
But as I read further I was completely flabbergasted. This was something that could have only been possible during the British Empire. I have read a book an a half by John Keay. One was ‘discovering India’ and the other I got only half way through ‘the great arc’. The reason I couldn’t finish it was because it was loaned to me by Captain Steve Lall of Jilling Estates while I was holidaying at his property and the vacation finished faster than I could read. I am trying to get my hands on that one. Which reminds me. I should try and get that through Infibeam.com. I get all the difficult to get books from there. Cheaper than others and no postage necessary. (I am not played to plug that, in case you were wondering.) The other book by John Keay on the East India Company was too boring for words.
Coming back to the point. I read today that the Great Hedge of India (wiki link) was just that, a physical hedge, 3200 kms long. Also called the Inland Customs Line, the British used it to collect the salt tax and control the opium trade. As I quote from the wikipedia : The barrier consisted of fences, stone walls, and above all a nearly impenetrable barrier of trees, thorny bushes, and hedges, with periodic guard stations…According to Moxham, the customs line was an instrument employed by the British to enforce taxation on salt, effectively a tax on all subjects, as a result of it being a basic food item. Moxham argues that the Hedge may have caused mass salt deficiencies.
This is so believable, in line with our popular notion of the oppressive British rule in India. As I read this I can only think of a movie plot. The British come to India and begin a construction of a mammoth hedge to control the trade of salt and tax it heavily while growing rich at the expense of the natives. One of the works (our hero or his father perhaps) is beaten and made to work on this hedge. In the village the hero is a carefree individual with razor sharp cunning which we see in the games he plays while romancing the women. But slowly calamity hits the village and his fellow villagers are dying and suffering from salt deficiencies. He realizes his calling and thanks to the secrets of the hedge that his father has told him about, e attempts to get salt to his people. He smuggles to the coast, he gets his salt, he hides and runs from the British. The climax action sequence is when he runs into the jungles and has an army chasing him and he manages to run and defeat them using his skill and rustic skills, hone as a prankster and a hunter and foxes them, to take salt to his people and thereby saving lives, having a one up on the British and making thereby sparking a revolution against the British on Indian soil.
You like it. Well, it’s better than beating them at cricket just to save some tax. (a la Lagaan, duh?)
Well at the worst if you don’t have a huge budget then merely make a documentary about how Roy Moxham, a conservator at the University of London Library managed to ‘unearth’ it.
And the last clincher to the tale that will explain its ultimate relevance – from wiki again “Though the Hedge was dismantled, the salt tax remained, and later precipitated the famous Salt March of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, a significant moment in the history of Indian independence.”
any takers?
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
traffic sense
On some days I get home faster and on some days I get home slower. The traffic is a bit unpredictable. It’s generally easier on Mondays than other days as I guess it must be thanks to the retail business holiday. But the unpredictability of the route is typically concentrated in only what might be 5% of the complete route distance.
That my attempt to make a some statement like 80% of variability in returns depend on asset allocation rather than eth asset fluctuation. I know, it sounds like fart and it may not make sense to you (or me); but there is some serious science behind this stuff.
So there is a patch on the route that makes the commute highly unpredictable. If there is traffic on that route I am doomed at the spot anywhere 15 to 50 minutes. I could walk faster through that patch. It is sion koliwada. The interior heart of the place. the place where are large chawls with Jai Bhim written in blue, where just of the road there is a colony called sardar nagar, and large slums with south Indians dominate. All in all it seems to be a very potent combination. This road through the place did not exist a few years ago. The carved a road from here to the highway which leads to my complex. This is a short cut and I safely save 20 minutes else I would have to make the great turn at priyadarshini circle which at peak hours is horribly horribly jammed.
So the traffic I get once in ten days (a little dense) or once in 20 days (quite slow) and once in 30 days (we are celebrating some festival you dickhead) is well worth the trouble.
Especially the last one. Once in 30 days (I suspect the instances are getting closer) there is some festival or another by some community. Since it is a densely populated area comprising of the lower income group, the political parties are also fairly active there. We rich basterds rarely vote and we are too far spread to really rally around. So on and off there will be a rally, a stage built on the bloody road, a procession, some dance and excitement and a large mass of people roaming around. Recently the monorail which is expected to pass through narrowed the roads further, dug some stuff up, erected barricades and then just as suddenly, filled the holes and left, leaving rubble. So much happens in that one or two kilometre stretch that it makes the rest of my commute seem mundane in comparison. Well actually, the rest is mundane. How exciting can western express highway followed by a cut through dharavi and a drive past Sion hospital get. There is one really stupid cross road just at the start of the mad street. The cross road by itself is not srazy. Poor thing. It just lies there. The craziness is due to the cars that insist on creating logjams there. The bus coming in from opposite wants to turn to its right and invariably finds itself facing a car on the wrong side which is trying to manoeuvre, in order to pass the bike which is stuck as the car ahead is overtaking a waiting line which in turn got jammed by the original bus leading to other in my line rushing forward on the wrong side in the hope that somehow by reaching ahead they will beat the system, causing many more to follow suit and then some want to take the turn which is to my right to get inside, but is a no entry, but who cares anyway as that lane has cars parked all over and has many garages that park their cars on the kerb while they work on it and the ….. you got the point. Dint you?
You pass that and you get to the chaotic bazaar right ahead. I think the yoga I have been doing must be helping me here. The other day there was a procession of the South Indians. They had completely jammed the road. The crowd was so great that the bikes which normally make their way too were pretty much stuck. Yoga connection? I was happily stuck. It did not bother me one bit. I was pretty much unfazed. At one point I even stepped out and locked the car. I was enjoying the music I couldn’t understand a word of. I was enjoying the crowd, smiling at people, laughing and cracking jokes with the bikes who were hassled. Sharing a smile, everything. Just short of dancing alongwith the crowd. It was some weird festival. The guys were in a procession carrying some pots and garlands around. But the interesting bit was the human self torture. They had these huge hooks which were essentially hooked up on their backs, with the hooks passing through the skin and they were pulling stuff with it. Some were pulling loads of coconuts while one guys I saw… what the hell was that… he was pulling a god dam TAXI? Whoa. Then there were the others who had huge rods piercing their cheeks. They went in from one side to come out through the other. And they would be roaming around with that hanging on their cheeks. Weird. I have a few of these before. Never understood why they torture themselves such.
Here is the pic of the rod guy.
The rod is much bigger than what you see and the reason he is so bending as he is trying to manoeuvre his rod between the traffic. Swaying from side to side.
I can’t believe this shit still happens. Now I guess I know why I am not that religious. They all seem to lead to some form of flagellation. Suffering is intrinsic in religion I guess.
That my attempt to make a some statement like 80% of variability in returns depend on asset allocation rather than eth asset fluctuation. I know, it sounds like fart and it may not make sense to you (or me); but there is some serious science behind this stuff.
So there is a patch on the route that makes the commute highly unpredictable. If there is traffic on that route I am doomed at the spot anywhere 15 to 50 minutes. I could walk faster through that patch. It is sion koliwada. The interior heart of the place. the place where are large chawls with Jai Bhim written in blue, where just of the road there is a colony called sardar nagar, and large slums with south Indians dominate. All in all it seems to be a very potent combination. This road through the place did not exist a few years ago. The carved a road from here to the highway which leads to my complex. This is a short cut and I safely save 20 minutes else I would have to make the great turn at priyadarshini circle which at peak hours is horribly horribly jammed.
So the traffic I get once in ten days (a little dense) or once in 20 days (quite slow) and once in 30 days (we are celebrating some festival you dickhead) is well worth the trouble.
Especially the last one. Once in 30 days (I suspect the instances are getting closer) there is some festival or another by some community. Since it is a densely populated area comprising of the lower income group, the political parties are also fairly active there. We rich basterds rarely vote and we are too far spread to really rally around. So on and off there will be a rally, a stage built on the bloody road, a procession, some dance and excitement and a large mass of people roaming around. Recently the monorail which is expected to pass through narrowed the roads further, dug some stuff up, erected barricades and then just as suddenly, filled the holes and left, leaving rubble. So much happens in that one or two kilometre stretch that it makes the rest of my commute seem mundane in comparison. Well actually, the rest is mundane. How exciting can western express highway followed by a cut through dharavi and a drive past Sion hospital get. There is one really stupid cross road just at the start of the mad street. The cross road by itself is not srazy. Poor thing. It just lies there. The craziness is due to the cars that insist on creating logjams there. The bus coming in from opposite wants to turn to its right and invariably finds itself facing a car on the wrong side which is trying to manoeuvre, in order to pass the bike which is stuck as the car ahead is overtaking a waiting line which in turn got jammed by the original bus leading to other in my line rushing forward on the wrong side in the hope that somehow by reaching ahead they will beat the system, causing many more to follow suit and then some want to take the turn which is to my right to get inside, but is a no entry, but who cares anyway as that lane has cars parked all over and has many garages that park their cars on the kerb while they work on it and the ….. you got the point. Dint you?
You pass that and you get to the chaotic bazaar right ahead. I think the yoga I have been doing must be helping me here. The other day there was a procession of the South Indians. They had completely jammed the road. The crowd was so great that the bikes which normally make their way too were pretty much stuck. Yoga connection? I was happily stuck. It did not bother me one bit. I was pretty much unfazed. At one point I even stepped out and locked the car. I was enjoying the music I couldn’t understand a word of. I was enjoying the crowd, smiling at people, laughing and cracking jokes with the bikes who were hassled. Sharing a smile, everything. Just short of dancing alongwith the crowd. It was some weird festival. The guys were in a procession carrying some pots and garlands around. But the interesting bit was the human self torture. They had these huge hooks which were essentially hooked up on their backs, with the hooks passing through the skin and they were pulling stuff with it. Some were pulling loads of coconuts while one guys I saw… what the hell was that… he was pulling a god dam TAXI? Whoa. Then there were the others who had huge rods piercing their cheeks. They went in from one side to come out through the other. And they would be roaming around with that hanging on their cheeks. Weird. I have a few of these before. Never understood why they torture themselves such.
Here is the pic of the rod guy.
The rod is much bigger than what you see and the reason he is so bending as he is trying to manoeuvre his rod between the traffic. Swaying from side to side.
I can’t believe this shit still happens. Now I guess I know why I am not that religious. They all seem to lead to some form of flagellation. Suffering is intrinsic in religion I guess.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
can you ask me that answer again?
I was explaining to the poor customer care lady from my car service station (Jay Bharat Hyundai) that I cannot remember how the service was done. My Hyundai i-ten was serviced in Jan. that information was also provided by her. I can’t remember when it was done. I don’t even remember what I had for lunch yesterday. She still insisted that at least I know if what I said or had complaints about were addressed. Lady, how can I know that? We are right now in May. At best I might remember if you had botched up the service. Which I don’t think you did. My car is running fine right now.
After a few minutes of me stonewalling and refusing to say something I don’t remember at all she agreed and moved onto the next question in her interview. Could I please rate the service on a score from 0 to 5. Oh shit man. Lady. I just told you I don’t remember anything. Do you remember what you did in Jan. Do you remember what you did last week? What were you doing yesterday? You don’t right? How can I score you guys if I don’t remember what experience I had? It’s been four months.
Sir, but at least some score. NO. I DON’T REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED. Surely you did not screw up big tie and hence I have no bad memories but I have none. What part of that did you not understand?
That’s proactive customer service for you. We care so we call you. Even four months from then and ask you what had happened then. Hopefully you don’t remember shit and you score us good. Since you guys are obviously so polite not to give us bad marks on things you don’t recollect. Hence I have a great customer satisfaction score and I am doing a good job.
I told my wife about the conversation and she was wondering why the call was made. She had already got the call a few days after the service was done. That’s a good thing. A decent follow-up call, just after. After four months your call can be at best a call that checks to see if your car is working all well. Not to score what happened four months ago. Especially on something as unearthshaking as routine car service. Why? Don’t you realise we get shit from tele marketers all the time.
While right now its pretty cool to have follow up service, my prediction is that this too will become a nuisance factor soon enough. The companies that will do well will be the companies that do not need follow up calls as their processes and procedures themselves are tight enough to provide the best service and their redressal mechanism would be swift and powerfull while being accessible.
But that seems to be pipe dream. In India we are busy chasing growth and are tapping into the vast India as it gets richer and richer. Who cares for the leaky bucket if the tap on top continues to pour its bounty? Growth always comes at a cost. Rapid growth comes at an even higher cost. If it is too good to be true then it is too good to be true. I don’t think our immature capitalism understands this yet.
I am probably needlessly taking off on Hyundai right now. It is a wrong thing to do. At least they are trying to do something. But the point is that in trying too hard they end up getting data that is wrong. Data has to be understood in its context and not by itself.
I hope companies like Hyundai understand this and not merely take action on quantitative scores. A process to get the data is as important as the data that is being gathered. Everyone knows that, even the folks at Hyundai. But we end up being so lazy that we don’t bother to put in a check for this. It won’t affect the short run but it will hide serious flaws in the wrong run. Anyone remembers ‘the broken windows theory’ made famous by Malcolm Gladwell? Look it up.
After a few minutes of me stonewalling and refusing to say something I don’t remember at all she agreed and moved onto the next question in her interview. Could I please rate the service on a score from 0 to 5. Oh shit man. Lady. I just told you I don’t remember anything. Do you remember what you did in Jan. Do you remember what you did last week? What were you doing yesterday? You don’t right? How can I score you guys if I don’t remember what experience I had? It’s been four months.
Sir, but at least some score. NO. I DON’T REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED. Surely you did not screw up big tie and hence I have no bad memories but I have none. What part of that did you not understand?
That’s proactive customer service for you. We care so we call you. Even four months from then and ask you what had happened then. Hopefully you don’t remember shit and you score us good. Since you guys are obviously so polite not to give us bad marks on things you don’t recollect. Hence I have a great customer satisfaction score and I am doing a good job.
I told my wife about the conversation and she was wondering why the call was made. She had already got the call a few days after the service was done. That’s a good thing. A decent follow-up call, just after. After four months your call can be at best a call that checks to see if your car is working all well. Not to score what happened four months ago. Especially on something as unearthshaking as routine car service. Why? Don’t you realise we get shit from tele marketers all the time.
While right now its pretty cool to have follow up service, my prediction is that this too will become a nuisance factor soon enough. The companies that will do well will be the companies that do not need follow up calls as their processes and procedures themselves are tight enough to provide the best service and their redressal mechanism would be swift and powerfull while being accessible.
But that seems to be pipe dream. In India we are busy chasing growth and are tapping into the vast India as it gets richer and richer. Who cares for the leaky bucket if the tap on top continues to pour its bounty? Growth always comes at a cost. Rapid growth comes at an even higher cost. If it is too good to be true then it is too good to be true. I don’t think our immature capitalism understands this yet.
I am probably needlessly taking off on Hyundai right now. It is a wrong thing to do. At least they are trying to do something. But the point is that in trying too hard they end up getting data that is wrong. Data has to be understood in its context and not by itself.
I hope companies like Hyundai understand this and not merely take action on quantitative scores. A process to get the data is as important as the data that is being gathered. Everyone knows that, even the folks at Hyundai. But we end up being so lazy that we don’t bother to put in a check for this. It won’t affect the short run but it will hide serious flaws in the wrong run. Anyone remembers ‘the broken windows theory’ made famous by Malcolm Gladwell? Look it up.
Monday, May 24, 2010
knowing your onions
It was good to be a sickly kid after all. It comes back to haunt, oops sorry, help you when you grow older.
Jispa tonsils progressed from bad to worse. They started hurting her ears. At first they hurt a bit and then it started hurting more. We called up the paediatrician and she prescribed some ear drops which we duly bought. After we put them in her pain went sharpened. I guess the liquid medicine seemed to have exacerbated her immediate pain and she started screaming in agony. At first we tried to knock some patience in her. But then I remembered my childhood.
I used to get tonsillitis often enough and the infected would spread to the ear. The ear infection would remain in a dormant state for some time to come. Once millions of years ago, while we were in Pune at mom’s friends place, my brother and I were playing in the garden outside. I dunno what happened but my brother decided to give me a slap. Older brothers seem to love to do that kind of thing. Being the youngest of tree kids has given me enough reason (mental scar) for Jispa not to have siblings. This slap was a not so hard but it was misdirected. Instead of the cheek it hit the ear. Aw aw aw ow owowow ow.. MUMMY… I remember crying out loud and rushing in. Mommy was quite worried and my brother was aghast at what he saw as essentially overacting. According to his philosophy larding over me is fine and I complaining to a higher power was a sign of betrayal and cowardice. A squeal. It was my duty to submit wilfully to his orders. Now you know.
So mom took me aside and instantly readied her remedy. She boiled water and kept it at one side. Then covered it. she then took two napkins and got them warm on the lid. One by one she gave me a gentle .. what’s that word?.. a gentle warm _____… is it called dry fomentation? something we call it ‘sake’ in gujarati. Basically she put warm napkins on my ear, one by one. Lovely feeling and the pain just vanished away in due course.
So when Jispa really couldn’t bear it anymore, I asked Jasmine to boil water and get me some towels. I thought she understood the remedy. Ina few minutes a little warm water came in. I was like ‘I need it boiling Jasmine and get a lid’. Oh ok. She thought you wanted to put some in her ears. It’s not your fault Jasmine. I was the sickly kid. I was the one who knew all the shit that happens and all the possible remedies. So water was taken and heated to boiling point. In the meanwhile we took the towels and warmed them on the food vessels that were already hot.
I got Jispa to sleep on one side and gently put warm dry towels on her ear. In two minutes she stopped crying, in five she was better, in ten she was ok and in fifteen minutes we had enough and wanted to continue to watch her movie. Charlie and the chocolate factory. Roald Dahl might have been a great writer for kiddy books but I guess this made for a lousy movie script.
And I felt that finally after years of suffering as a kid I finally saw some light in His ways. So if you are getting married to someone with whom you might have babies, first figure out if either of you have been sick kids (especially as teenagers, since you would then have remembered the experience). If both of you have been reasonably healthy and not experienced enough of bacteria and viruses then I think you guys will be unfit to raise kids. No chance.
Jasmine is pathetic when it comes to understanding illness. I am the resident expert. She can nurture well enough, and she takes super care; but you really can’t write a treatise on hunger if you haven’t experienced it first hand.
Jispa tonsils progressed from bad to worse. They started hurting her ears. At first they hurt a bit and then it started hurting more. We called up the paediatrician and she prescribed some ear drops which we duly bought. After we put them in her pain went sharpened. I guess the liquid medicine seemed to have exacerbated her immediate pain and she started screaming in agony. At first we tried to knock some patience in her. But then I remembered my childhood.
I used to get tonsillitis often enough and the infected would spread to the ear. The ear infection would remain in a dormant state for some time to come. Once millions of years ago, while we were in Pune at mom’s friends place, my brother and I were playing in the garden outside. I dunno what happened but my brother decided to give me a slap. Older brothers seem to love to do that kind of thing. Being the youngest of tree kids has given me enough reason (mental scar) for Jispa not to have siblings. This slap was a not so hard but it was misdirected. Instead of the cheek it hit the ear. Aw aw aw ow owowow ow.. MUMMY… I remember crying out loud and rushing in. Mommy was quite worried and my brother was aghast at what he saw as essentially overacting. According to his philosophy larding over me is fine and I complaining to a higher power was a sign of betrayal and cowardice. A squeal. It was my duty to submit wilfully to his orders. Now you know.
So mom took me aside and instantly readied her remedy. She boiled water and kept it at one side. Then covered it. she then took two napkins and got them warm on the lid. One by one she gave me a gentle .. what’s that word?.. a gentle warm _____… is it called dry fomentation? something we call it ‘sake’ in gujarati. Basically she put warm napkins on my ear, one by one. Lovely feeling and the pain just vanished away in due course.
So when Jispa really couldn’t bear it anymore, I asked Jasmine to boil water and get me some towels. I thought she understood the remedy. Ina few minutes a little warm water came in. I was like ‘I need it boiling Jasmine and get a lid’. Oh ok. She thought you wanted to put some in her ears. It’s not your fault Jasmine. I was the sickly kid. I was the one who knew all the shit that happens and all the possible remedies. So water was taken and heated to boiling point. In the meanwhile we took the towels and warmed them on the food vessels that were already hot.
I got Jispa to sleep on one side and gently put warm dry towels on her ear. In two minutes she stopped crying, in five she was better, in ten she was ok and in fifteen minutes we had enough and wanted to continue to watch her movie. Charlie and the chocolate factory. Roald Dahl might have been a great writer for kiddy books but I guess this made for a lousy movie script.
And I felt that finally after years of suffering as a kid I finally saw some light in His ways. So if you are getting married to someone with whom you might have babies, first figure out if either of you have been sick kids (especially as teenagers, since you would then have remembered the experience). If both of you have been reasonably healthy and not experienced enough of bacteria and viruses then I think you guys will be unfit to raise kids. No chance.
Jasmine is pathetic when it comes to understanding illness. I am the resident expert. She can nurture well enough, and she takes super care; but you really can’t write a treatise on hunger if you haven’t experienced it first hand.
Friday, May 21, 2010
it works
Jispa is currently down with tonsillitis. I used to be a victim of this with alarming regularity when I was little. I think it took be to graduate from college to sufficiently build enough defences to now be at reasonable ease with the tonsils. I remember the big problem with tonsils was the fever. If they got infected, besides obstructing my swallowing, my fever would shoot up. Straight 104 degrees Fahrenheit. Mom got some time to get used to this and then finally understood that this but natural with the infection. A dose of antibiotics along with paracetamol (typically crocin) would be great. I must swallowed kilotons of them by the time I grew up.
So yesterday when Jispa’s fever hit 102 levels I knew it was par for the course. The problem surfaced for us when the fever did not rapidly subside when we gave her a Crocin yesterday. Action mode kicked off. Frantic calls to the doctor were made. The doctor recommended a sponge bath. Jispa was completely irritable and hated it and she got very angry with us. She still had energy to get angry, which was a good thing. I firmly told her that we are doing what is right irrespective of what she says. After some time the fever went up to 103. This was panic mode. The doctor asked to give a dispirin and to give Gelusil along with to counter the possible acidity. This was around 12 and I ran out to get a 24 hour medical shop and get the medicine. We kept cold water strips on her head to ensure that the fever stays away from the brain.
Jispa knew this was trouble. If the fever would not subside from now she would necessarily be put in hospital.
Luckily the Dispirin took its effect. In around 35/ 40 minutes, she began to feel really warm and better.
But in the meanwhile I noticed something that has had me thinking for sometime. After we had given her the Dispirin I noticed that she had kept both her fingers crossed. While continuing the cold water strips on her forehead, I asked her, why? She was not keen / too weak to answer. I opened them, thinking it was a unintentional action. Then I asked her, if she did it for good luck. She mumbled a yes and I let the matter rest. Jasmine came in and then pointed the crossed fingers to me. according to her, it must be the germs game they have been playing. This is a funny game that they play in school. You touch and other person and say germs, the other person is deemed to have gotten the germs. If he does not touch another person on the count of ten then he has ‘melted’ due to the germs. How do you take care and stop the germs from hitting you – your fingers must be crossed. Hmmm. Must be that.
Today morning I asked her why she had done it. She said she had done it so that she did not have to go to hospital. She had crossed her fingers and said that she wished that she did not have to go to college. I asked her if she learned that somewhere. Nopes. Did it mean good luck? No. Was it from the game? I don’t know. But you could have asked God for it I remarked, why cross your fingers. Then I realised that I have taught her not to ask God for anything. In fact I have put in her mind the question of the existence of God.
I asked her if it really happens. She said she doesn’t know but it worked nah? It worked for me this time. Yes dear. It surely did. I told her that doesn’t worry. If you have to go to the hospital then possibly it might be a good thing. You might learn something, you might experience something. Have faith.
I kept thinking. We have tried not to teach her any superstition. We have tried to teach her to question God. We have tried to teach her that things remain within yourself. Trust yourself and your belief. Thank god, if you believe, for what you have but no point really asking for anything. If you see, she did not ask God for anything. She just crossed her hands and wished that she did not have to go to the hospital. Whom did she wish to? Herself.
It’s interesting. If a child is an unbiased respondent then this is an interesting case. Are we wired to believe in God. We look for strength in times of trouble. We believe that by wishing we can somehow control things around us. Wishing in some sorts seems to be a primitive form of prayer to me. If I had taught my daughter the Strength and the Glory of god, would she have wished to God instead? But since we have taught her otherwise, she wished to herself instead. She though that she could alter natural course of action by the strength of a wish or a ritual. Hence the belief in God that has evolved over years to be highly ritualistic... I don’t know. These are questions that I must be needlessly over analysing. But I think there is some merit here.
I have had my tryst with superstitions. I have had my run in with my share of bribery with the supreme lord. I have had my fall out with rituals. I have fought and so far won over these in my head and heart. But to see my eight year old do this fills me with question.
Am I denying her, the right to God? Isn’t she supposed to believe in the Supreme Being? Shouldn’t she take comfort in religion the way countless millions do, I haven’t taught her to pray but I have also taught her to respect God. I have merely asked her to question the world interpretation of God and the rituals around it.
Actually I think I must be happy. In adversity she turned to herself. She did not ask me, she did not tell me to some how stop it from happening. She asked herself. Sure, she used a ritual. She used something that gave her hope. I am glad it was something inside of her.
Suddenly as I think, we saw the movie Badmaash company, recently. In that the protagonist uses the crossed fingers when he needs extra help. Possibly that might have prompted the thought. Kids learn by all around us. They take their cues from anywhere. From places you never thought possible. Possibly it’s this or possible its other factors, or a combination of many. No one knows.
But I am surely thinking about this and this might remain in my mind of sometime to some. At the end you possibly require something, some Ritual to help you channelise your strengths. Possibly that’s what they help in. that’s why they were invented.
Possibly now I have become older and hence I can channelise my mind without a ritual hence I actively disband it’s use as a superstition. But there are still so many rituals that help us. Eating together, hugging before we leave for school. The morning waking up. (how could I not remember that). whatever.
I guess after today I might be a little more ambivalent. I was a little left of neutral. I moved a little to the right to be a little less left of neutral on the topic.
One thing is for sure, Jispa reminded me of the basic truth of life. “It worked this time nah?”. Yes Jispa. It did. It surely did.
So yesterday when Jispa’s fever hit 102 levels I knew it was par for the course. The problem surfaced for us when the fever did not rapidly subside when we gave her a Crocin yesterday. Action mode kicked off. Frantic calls to the doctor were made. The doctor recommended a sponge bath. Jispa was completely irritable and hated it and she got very angry with us. She still had energy to get angry, which was a good thing. I firmly told her that we are doing what is right irrespective of what she says. After some time the fever went up to 103. This was panic mode. The doctor asked to give a dispirin and to give Gelusil along with to counter the possible acidity. This was around 12 and I ran out to get a 24 hour medical shop and get the medicine. We kept cold water strips on her head to ensure that the fever stays away from the brain.
Jispa knew this was trouble. If the fever would not subside from now she would necessarily be put in hospital.
Luckily the Dispirin took its effect. In around 35/ 40 minutes, she began to feel really warm and better.
But in the meanwhile I noticed something that has had me thinking for sometime. After we had given her the Dispirin I noticed that she had kept both her fingers crossed. While continuing the cold water strips on her forehead, I asked her, why? She was not keen / too weak to answer. I opened them, thinking it was a unintentional action. Then I asked her, if she did it for good luck. She mumbled a yes and I let the matter rest. Jasmine came in and then pointed the crossed fingers to me. according to her, it must be the germs game they have been playing. This is a funny game that they play in school. You touch and other person and say germs, the other person is deemed to have gotten the germs. If he does not touch another person on the count of ten then he has ‘melted’ due to the germs. How do you take care and stop the germs from hitting you – your fingers must be crossed. Hmmm. Must be that.
Today morning I asked her why she had done it. She said she had done it so that she did not have to go to hospital. She had crossed her fingers and said that she wished that she did not have to go to college. I asked her if she learned that somewhere. Nopes. Did it mean good luck? No. Was it from the game? I don’t know. But you could have asked God for it I remarked, why cross your fingers. Then I realised that I have taught her not to ask God for anything. In fact I have put in her mind the question of the existence of God.
I asked her if it really happens. She said she doesn’t know but it worked nah? It worked for me this time. Yes dear. It surely did. I told her that doesn’t worry. If you have to go to the hospital then possibly it might be a good thing. You might learn something, you might experience something. Have faith.
I kept thinking. We have tried not to teach her any superstition. We have tried to teach her to question God. We have tried to teach her that things remain within yourself. Trust yourself and your belief. Thank god, if you believe, for what you have but no point really asking for anything. If you see, she did not ask God for anything. She just crossed her hands and wished that she did not have to go to the hospital. Whom did she wish to? Herself.
It’s interesting. If a child is an unbiased respondent then this is an interesting case. Are we wired to believe in God. We look for strength in times of trouble. We believe that by wishing we can somehow control things around us. Wishing in some sorts seems to be a primitive form of prayer to me. If I had taught my daughter the Strength and the Glory of god, would she have wished to God instead? But since we have taught her otherwise, she wished to herself instead. She though that she could alter natural course of action by the strength of a wish or a ritual. Hence the belief in God that has evolved over years to be highly ritualistic... I don’t know. These are questions that I must be needlessly over analysing. But I think there is some merit here.
I have had my tryst with superstitions. I have had my run in with my share of bribery with the supreme lord. I have had my fall out with rituals. I have fought and so far won over these in my head and heart. But to see my eight year old do this fills me with question.
Am I denying her, the right to God? Isn’t she supposed to believe in the Supreme Being? Shouldn’t she take comfort in religion the way countless millions do, I haven’t taught her to pray but I have also taught her to respect God. I have merely asked her to question the world interpretation of God and the rituals around it.
Actually I think I must be happy. In adversity she turned to herself. She did not ask me, she did not tell me to some how stop it from happening. She asked herself. Sure, she used a ritual. She used something that gave her hope. I am glad it was something inside of her.
Suddenly as I think, we saw the movie Badmaash company, recently. In that the protagonist uses the crossed fingers when he needs extra help. Possibly that might have prompted the thought. Kids learn by all around us. They take their cues from anywhere. From places you never thought possible. Possibly it’s this or possible its other factors, or a combination of many. No one knows.
But I am surely thinking about this and this might remain in my mind of sometime to some. At the end you possibly require something, some Ritual to help you channelise your strengths. Possibly that’s what they help in. that’s why they were invented.
Possibly now I have become older and hence I can channelise my mind without a ritual hence I actively disband it’s use as a superstition. But there are still so many rituals that help us. Eating together, hugging before we leave for school. The morning waking up. (how could I not remember that). whatever.
I guess after today I might be a little more ambivalent. I was a little left of neutral. I moved a little to the right to be a little less left of neutral on the topic.
One thing is for sure, Jispa reminded me of the basic truth of life. “It worked this time nah?”. Yes Jispa. It did. It surely did.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
have an edge
Jispa’s composition book is the eagerly awaited one for me. She is supposed to keep her books at school. From time to time her teacher sends a book in rotation home. This is for the parent to sign. I care little about the math and social science or the language books.
Till last year they had the class creative writing. This year onwards it’s called composition. I have always encouraged her to write nice and interesting stuff and sometimes she does manage some really nifty writing. The book is also worth reading as it has one ruled side and one blank side. At her age you are supposed to write on one side and use the other to draw the topic. Both of them are interesting to lok at. Jasmine has been saving her books from all the years and I am sure this one will be the most interesting to see after she’s grown up. Yesterday jasmine informed me that the composition book had arrived. I went through the essays she had to write. Interesting stuff. One essay she was supposed to write was on a shiny new bicycle. She wrote the usual stuff till suddenly she wrote something bang in the middle of the essay… “oops, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Jispa. Ok now where was I? ah, now I remember” and then she continued her story.
I was pretty intrigued by that. It was funny and it came up smack in the middle of the essay. The teacher had taken her red pen and marked a line right through it. as she was asleep by then, I made a mental note to ask her about it the next day.
Today while dropping her off in the car I asked her about it. “you wrote those lines in your essay, the one that said ‘oops I forgot to….’. Your teacher scratched them out?” “Ya”. “But don’t bother I thought they were pretty cool. How did you think of them?”. I have learnt over a period of time to ask her for her inspiration for a lot of things. She reads a lot and she observes a lot. She also retains her learnings and what hse likes in her brains and keeps it in a neural cupboard for later use. So anything she does interesting I ask her. Either she will tell me where she learnt it from or she will tell m “brain”. Then I ask her the logic and she will explain many times, how she got to the point.
This time around she said “I got them from geronimo the mouse. In one of his stories he says ‘opps, I forgot to … (right up to) ... oh now I remember’. So I thought I will put it in the composition. I thought it was very creative” She said the last lines with a little bit of dejection, just a faint little bit. I answered “I thought that was pretty creative. I rally did”
Well according to me it was creative. It was a nice break to the narrative. It did not really matter and I guess I know why the teacher scratched it out. I don’t think she might be yet liberal enough to allow that in. And of course, this year onwards, they have named it composition class and not creative writing.
Jispa now you will slowly see the effort of everyone to straight jacket you. They will slowly be less tolerable of all your edges and your tangents. They will cease to understand them. They will slowly sand paper you to a smooth finish. Till you grow independent you might not be able to really resist. It might be a question of ten or even fifteen years more for you. There is very little we can do in this. I can only tell you that hold your edges inside of you. Slowly as you grow independent you will allowed to bare them. Bare them in style, in power and with confidence. Then only will they accept you or even less, be willing to tolerate it.
I too have become more edgy over the last few years. Till then I was not even allowed to be edgy. The walls around you are pretty tight. Now the only places I am allowed to is where I hold some power some control.
You need to fight back but you also need to know which fights to pick. Some define you some don’t. Choose. It’s not about perceived importance it’s about what you really want to do.
One fight I picked was yesterday. I like jumping on the bed. I have always like running across the bed instead of walking across it to get to the other side. So now its one and two steps to get to the other side. Jispa has been doing that and been getting jammed for it by Jasmine. Jasmine is right. It does spoil the bed and she is the one making it. But I love it to do it too much. Now when Jasmine saw me do it, she chided me. At first I heard her and said sorry. Yesterday I did it again. Jasmine caught me and chided me again. This time I pushed back. “Sorry. All my life I loved doing it. My mom always stopped me. I still love doing it. And you have a bed cover for that reason. And my legs are clean. So I am doing it nevertheless.”
I like stepping on the bed. I see no great reason why it should not be done. The bed spread in on and the little it gets shifted is not an issue. It’s not like we have someone that will see it a little less neat and give us negative marks. So this is the little edge that I would like to retain. There is a lot else that I have smoothened out. Choose your edges. They are your edges. Keep them.
Till last year they had the class creative writing. This year onwards it’s called composition. I have always encouraged her to write nice and interesting stuff and sometimes she does manage some really nifty writing. The book is also worth reading as it has one ruled side and one blank side. At her age you are supposed to write on one side and use the other to draw the topic. Both of them are interesting to lok at. Jasmine has been saving her books from all the years and I am sure this one will be the most interesting to see after she’s grown up. Yesterday jasmine informed me that the composition book had arrived. I went through the essays she had to write. Interesting stuff. One essay she was supposed to write was on a shiny new bicycle. She wrote the usual stuff till suddenly she wrote something bang in the middle of the essay… “oops, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Jispa. Ok now where was I? ah, now I remember” and then she continued her story.
I was pretty intrigued by that. It was funny and it came up smack in the middle of the essay. The teacher had taken her red pen and marked a line right through it. as she was asleep by then, I made a mental note to ask her about it the next day.
Today while dropping her off in the car I asked her about it. “you wrote those lines in your essay, the one that said ‘oops I forgot to….’. Your teacher scratched them out?” “Ya”. “But don’t bother I thought they were pretty cool. How did you think of them?”. I have learnt over a period of time to ask her for her inspiration for a lot of things. She reads a lot and she observes a lot. She also retains her learnings and what hse likes in her brains and keeps it in a neural cupboard for later use. So anything she does interesting I ask her. Either she will tell me where she learnt it from or she will tell m “brain”. Then I ask her the logic and she will explain many times, how she got to the point.
This time around she said “I got them from geronimo the mouse. In one of his stories he says ‘opps, I forgot to … (right up to) ... oh now I remember’. So I thought I will put it in the composition. I thought it was very creative” She said the last lines with a little bit of dejection, just a faint little bit. I answered “I thought that was pretty creative. I rally did”
Well according to me it was creative. It was a nice break to the narrative. It did not really matter and I guess I know why the teacher scratched it out. I don’t think she might be yet liberal enough to allow that in. And of course, this year onwards, they have named it composition class and not creative writing.
Jispa now you will slowly see the effort of everyone to straight jacket you. They will slowly be less tolerable of all your edges and your tangents. They will cease to understand them. They will slowly sand paper you to a smooth finish. Till you grow independent you might not be able to really resist. It might be a question of ten or even fifteen years more for you. There is very little we can do in this. I can only tell you that hold your edges inside of you. Slowly as you grow independent you will allowed to bare them. Bare them in style, in power and with confidence. Then only will they accept you or even less, be willing to tolerate it.
I too have become more edgy over the last few years. Till then I was not even allowed to be edgy. The walls around you are pretty tight. Now the only places I am allowed to is where I hold some power some control.
You need to fight back but you also need to know which fights to pick. Some define you some don’t. Choose. It’s not about perceived importance it’s about what you really want to do.
One fight I picked was yesterday. I like jumping on the bed. I have always like running across the bed instead of walking across it to get to the other side. So now its one and two steps to get to the other side. Jispa has been doing that and been getting jammed for it by Jasmine. Jasmine is right. It does spoil the bed and she is the one making it. But I love it to do it too much. Now when Jasmine saw me do it, she chided me. At first I heard her and said sorry. Yesterday I did it again. Jasmine caught me and chided me again. This time I pushed back. “Sorry. All my life I loved doing it. My mom always stopped me. I still love doing it. And you have a bed cover for that reason. And my legs are clean. So I am doing it nevertheless.”
I like stepping on the bed. I see no great reason why it should not be done. The bed spread in on and the little it gets shifted is not an issue. It’s not like we have someone that will see it a little less neat and give us negative marks. So this is the little edge that I would like to retain. There is a lot else that I have smoothened out. Choose your edges. They are your edges. Keep them.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
all time great lines
We were discussing something strategic in a major meeting today. Some words like Venn diagram were being bandied about. Venn diagram is when you show two or more sets represented as circles and you show the intersection between the two in order to understand the overlap. A website that uses this to show relationships between seemingly disparate sets can be accessed here.
So this guy (sweet guy, slightly senior to me) took the marker and drew something where he drew a circle and then another circle inside it and some thing outside it in his effort to explain his point, which for the record wasnt too bad. Just a bit confusing.
I couldn’t help remarking “this is not a Venn diagram, it is a Vent diagram. A lot of hot gas passes through it”
The laughter lasted for a few minutes afterwards.
So this guy (sweet guy, slightly senior to me) took the marker and drew something where he drew a circle and then another circle inside it and some thing outside it in his effort to explain his point, which for the record wasnt too bad. Just a bit confusing.
I couldn’t help remarking “this is not a Venn diagram, it is a Vent diagram. A lot of hot gas passes through it”
The laughter lasted for a few minutes afterwards.
it aint over till papa sings
I am rediscovering some awesome songs from yesteryears. My friend had classified the best songs of the 50’s and the 70’s and the 80’s. Why are the 60’s missing? I have no clue. I just took what I got and loved them.
One of them I set as my alarm. Jispa as you know is my problem in the morning for waking up and every now and then I have to figure out a way to wake her up. A few days back I was the lion and the novelty lasted exactly two days. Soon enough she was back to sleeping in for ten minutes before she wakes up.
I hate waking up kids with a diktat. GET UP NOW! Shutting of the fan and other irritating tricks. My poor mother obviously had three of us and I don’t really blame her lack of patience and creativity.
Since I have no such excuse I try all the funny stuff, so that I can get her to wake up with a smile. For me waking her is a fun thing. I look forward to it. Everyday new story, new blackmail, new masti, new talking points. Whatever… the only thing is that I have one rule. No doing aaaaaaaaaaaa. If she does that I stop and walk. Inadvertently every few days I get one of those wails. I pretend to walk away. She then stops me and says that it wasn’t an aaaaaaaaaa. It was an aaaa only. Then I come back and restart my travail.
Today I kept the phone (alarm on it) next to her and let kishore kumar (vocals) to do the needful. It was a grand success. I sang along with him and sure enough the smile came out and the process started. It did not get any shorter but it surely was a creative innovation for today.
The song was selected for its impact in the first 10 seconds. My phone plays only the first 30 seconds of the song clip as the alarm. And hence the song must start with a bang and have the music continue nice and loud in the first 30 seconds. The song in question – the funny classic from chalti ka naam gaadi – hum the who thi aur…
Let me see if I get the right video on you tube. Ya.. Sure enough. Its here. The video start a bit early here. Imagine it starting from the 6th second. Don’t miss the whistle in the 8th second and pomp pomp of the horn in the 10th second, and the vocals of kishore kumar doing the taarararara in the 13th second. And then finally the yaneyaneyaneyane in the 18th second. And then the song moving beautifully into a tune by the 20th second. Thank you Kishore and SD, it’s a perfect wake up song.
Jispa surely enjoyed the song and I sang along with kishore especially on the above mentioned parts.
It’s a classic across all ages and fifty years on it continues to entertain an 8 year old in the same way it made their then audience dance. Jispa was later asking ‘is this from dada, dadi’s era. “Ya. they probably heard it when they were of your age.”
One of them I set as my alarm. Jispa as you know is my problem in the morning for waking up and every now and then I have to figure out a way to wake her up. A few days back I was the lion and the novelty lasted exactly two days. Soon enough she was back to sleeping in for ten minutes before she wakes up.
I hate waking up kids with a diktat. GET UP NOW! Shutting of the fan and other irritating tricks. My poor mother obviously had three of us and I don’t really blame her lack of patience and creativity.
Since I have no such excuse I try all the funny stuff, so that I can get her to wake up with a smile. For me waking her is a fun thing. I look forward to it. Everyday new story, new blackmail, new masti, new talking points. Whatever… the only thing is that I have one rule. No doing aaaaaaaaaaaa. If she does that I stop and walk. Inadvertently every few days I get one of those wails. I pretend to walk away. She then stops me and says that it wasn’t an aaaaaaaaaa. It was an aaaa only. Then I come back and restart my travail.
Today I kept the phone (alarm on it) next to her and let kishore kumar (vocals) to do the needful. It was a grand success. I sang along with him and sure enough the smile came out and the process started. It did not get any shorter but it surely was a creative innovation for today.
The song was selected for its impact in the first 10 seconds. My phone plays only the first 30 seconds of the song clip as the alarm. And hence the song must start with a bang and have the music continue nice and loud in the first 30 seconds. The song in question – the funny classic from chalti ka naam gaadi – hum the who thi aur…
Let me see if I get the right video on you tube. Ya.. Sure enough. Its here. The video start a bit early here. Imagine it starting from the 6th second. Don’t miss the whistle in the 8th second and pomp pomp of the horn in the 10th second, and the vocals of kishore kumar doing the taarararara in the 13th second. And then finally the yaneyaneyaneyane in the 18th second. And then the song moving beautifully into a tune by the 20th second. Thank you Kishore and SD, it’s a perfect wake up song.
Jispa surely enjoyed the song and I sang along with kishore especially on the above mentioned parts.
It’s a classic across all ages and fifty years on it continues to entertain an 8 year old in the same way it made their then audience dance. Jispa was later asking ‘is this from dada, dadi’s era. “Ya. they probably heard it when they were of your age.”
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
an apple a day makes the dad's day
We have been on an apple spree these days. There has been a general uproar in India about apples and the fact that the foreign imported ones come coated with wax etc. if any one has ever seen and felt a Washington apple then they would completely agree. The beautiful red cherry of an apple. I have opened the bowling attack a few times while playing cricket in the past and the apple sure feels like a rand new ball. I just want to run hard in and bowl an apple at the batsman at full pace. The idea is not to bowl it short and make it bounce but just short of full length so that it gives ample time for the bowl to swing. In this case the apple. Sorry... I think I got carried away, but the apples do look lovely red and shiny. Much like the wax fruits we played with as kids.
So we haven’t been eating those. The good Indian ones aren’t to be seen around. I hate the ones that aren’t hard and crunchy. The Indian ones we get seem to be soft and soggy types. At home we call them rava apples. Like the rava upma we eat at udipi restaurants, with all grainy grainy inside. Somebody in office called them phus phus apples.
So no desi apples and no Washington apples. Enter the Chinese apples. Like all idiotic patriotic Indians we are and will be wary of anything Chinese. Even their apples will be fake. Jasmine once bought them nevertheless. These are the pinkish ones and rounder than the Washington ones. We tested for wax. The nail test - in which you try and scrape the wax away. Negative. So picked them and washed then and one bite later we were hooked. Nice and sweet and crunchy. The last word is the key. A crunchy juicy apple that you have to take care while eating in front of someone lest you spill or actually spurt a few drops on their face. Hmmmm.
I love cutting apples for Jispa. In my earlier posts I have blogged about loving to do for Jispa what I loved my dad doing for me. Cutting apples is a vivid memory. He used to love cutting fruits for us and somehow I remember the apple cutting the best. Outside home he used to beautifully cut off the skin. I wondered how he could do that. Now when we are outside I love doing that for Jispa. At home I love slicing these apples for her. So that she can take a plate full of them and eat and read, slowly slowly. After she recovered from typhoid, she ate like a horse and everyday in the evening after a heavy dinner she would get hungry and I would cut an apple for her.
But what my dad did I do it, better. or rather funnier, or lets just plain different. No qualitative description, just ‘different’ will do. What’s the point of cutting an apple if you cant do it differently and interestingly.
So while doing it differently I chanced upon this style which I think is pretty cool. I take an apple and slice it from the side. Slowly and thin wafer slices of apples. The crunchy apples remain so and they feel quite awesome. Eating round thin slices of apples. You cut from the side till you hit the middle and then from the other side. The closer you got o the middle the wafer begins to resemble a heart. Awwwwwww. Aw come one. Have a heart. hehehehe. See the heart shaped slice.
The rest of the apple cuts look like this.
The apple thins…
After the cuts done from all four sides you have the inner core. That was always a pain to remove once you dice them the normal way. This way the core comes out pretty cool and that’s what the dad typically has to finish off as his reward. :)
I know it’s pretty trivial but I love it. It just makes my being a dad more fun. More complete … I dunno. I loved cutting it this way and Jispa loves it when I cut it this way. Who else is there to see?
So we haven’t been eating those. The good Indian ones aren’t to be seen around. I hate the ones that aren’t hard and crunchy. The Indian ones we get seem to be soft and soggy types. At home we call them rava apples. Like the rava upma we eat at udipi restaurants, with all grainy grainy inside. Somebody in office called them phus phus apples.
So no desi apples and no Washington apples. Enter the Chinese apples. Like all idiotic patriotic Indians we are and will be wary of anything Chinese. Even their apples will be fake. Jasmine once bought them nevertheless. These are the pinkish ones and rounder than the Washington ones. We tested for wax. The nail test - in which you try and scrape the wax away. Negative. So picked them and washed then and one bite later we were hooked. Nice and sweet and crunchy. The last word is the key. A crunchy juicy apple that you have to take care while eating in front of someone lest you spill or actually spurt a few drops on their face. Hmmmm.
I love cutting apples for Jispa. In my earlier posts I have blogged about loving to do for Jispa what I loved my dad doing for me. Cutting apples is a vivid memory. He used to love cutting fruits for us and somehow I remember the apple cutting the best. Outside home he used to beautifully cut off the skin. I wondered how he could do that. Now when we are outside I love doing that for Jispa. At home I love slicing these apples for her. So that she can take a plate full of them and eat and read, slowly slowly. After she recovered from typhoid, she ate like a horse and everyday in the evening after a heavy dinner she would get hungry and I would cut an apple for her.
But what my dad did I do it, better. or rather funnier, or lets just plain different. No qualitative description, just ‘different’ will do. What’s the point of cutting an apple if you cant do it differently and interestingly.
So while doing it differently I chanced upon this style which I think is pretty cool. I take an apple and slice it from the side. Slowly and thin wafer slices of apples. The crunchy apples remain so and they feel quite awesome. Eating round thin slices of apples. You cut from the side till you hit the middle and then from the other side. The closer you got o the middle the wafer begins to resemble a heart. Awwwwwww. Aw come one. Have a heart. hehehehe. See the heart shaped slice.
The rest of the apple cuts look like this.
The apple thins…
After the cuts done from all four sides you have the inner core. That was always a pain to remove once you dice them the normal way. This way the core comes out pretty cool and that’s what the dad typically has to finish off as his reward. :)
I know it’s pretty trivial but I love it. It just makes my being a dad more fun. More complete … I dunno. I loved cutting it this way and Jispa loves it when I cut it this way. Who else is there to see?
Monday, May 17, 2010
zoozoo
It’s already around 6.30 and I haven’t had the time to write down something. I have been in really boring meetings all day. I slept through one as well. So its been a bit off day. Add to it some office complications and some motivation issues from personnel, today has been a day worth forgetting.
So while I head home I thought I might as well upload this pic that I took waiting for a colleague at Bandra, linking road, opposite shoppers stop. This is me with the Zoozoos. Zoozoo is the Vodafone mascot that has fired the imagination of Indians. I think when they did the first set of ads in the last IPL it was a hit and a craze. This time I thought they were a bit tired though and not so funny. The novelty too had worn off. Plus I really don’t know if that helped the brand sell anything. They had targeted an ad a day the last time around. That’s about 45 ads or was that number 25. whatever…. I think that’s a lot of things to say without anyone really remembering them. I guess even if they had a high rotation, a number much less would have sufficed. But then many decisions are taken without too much rational thought. That’s advertising and marketing for you.
But one thing is for sure, the mascot is a phenomenon. They even sell official merchandise. One guy in office bought himself a mug with these creatures plastered all over it. We took his case for an hour afterwards, disowning him etc … the usual office shit that we throw at the guy.
His only defense is that he wanted a mug, he went to shopper stop and this one was the cheapest at 200 bucks. The rest were priced at 250 bucks and above. But then why would you pay to display the Vodafone brand? Why? Oh we laughed no end at his expense. His retort should have been – the same reason you pay a lot more to get a brand emblazoned on your chest – be it a shirt or a t shirt. But the guy was sweet and let us off the hook. Or he knew with five ganging up on him, he might as well take the shit.
So here is the pic. That’s me with all the zoozoos around me. I like the pic. The zoozoos look like they all have been hanged en masse or something. The zoozoos look like zombies.
For those who were probably on the moon and missed the ads – here they are from the first edition. The second edition ones were the really tired ones.
So while I head home I thought I might as well upload this pic that I took waiting for a colleague at Bandra, linking road, opposite shoppers stop. This is me with the Zoozoos. Zoozoo is the Vodafone mascot that has fired the imagination of Indians. I think when they did the first set of ads in the last IPL it was a hit and a craze. This time I thought they were a bit tired though and not so funny. The novelty too had worn off. Plus I really don’t know if that helped the brand sell anything. They had targeted an ad a day the last time around. That’s about 45 ads or was that number 25. whatever…. I think that’s a lot of things to say without anyone really remembering them. I guess even if they had a high rotation, a number much less would have sufficed. But then many decisions are taken without too much rational thought. That’s advertising and marketing for you.
But one thing is for sure, the mascot is a phenomenon. They even sell official merchandise. One guy in office bought himself a mug with these creatures plastered all over it. We took his case for an hour afterwards, disowning him etc … the usual office shit that we throw at the guy.
His only defense is that he wanted a mug, he went to shopper stop and this one was the cheapest at 200 bucks. The rest were priced at 250 bucks and above. But then why would you pay to display the Vodafone brand? Why? Oh we laughed no end at his expense. His retort should have been – the same reason you pay a lot more to get a brand emblazoned on your chest – be it a shirt or a t shirt. But the guy was sweet and let us off the hook. Or he knew with five ganging up on him, he might as well take the shit.
So here is the pic. That’s me with all the zoozoos around me. I like the pic. The zoozoos look like they all have been hanged en masse or something. The zoozoos look like zombies.
For those who were probably on the moon and missed the ads – here they are from the first edition. The second edition ones were the really tired ones.
Friday, May 14, 2010
All for a cracked CD
Oh god. I had no clue this was so complicated.
Jispa found a CD floating around the house. She came to us and asked if this was an important CD. Oh no, that was just around, waiting to be junked. She then asked “Can I put it in the microwave please?” WHAT? Why would you want to do that? “I read somewhere that if you keep the CD in the microwave then it will crack.” Uh ok. I looked at Jasmine and I figured that WTF. Let give it a go. We took a Corel plate and kept the CD on it and put it inside the microwave. In exactly two seconds the CD began to crackle with electricity. It looked so cool. The sparks on the CD looked like how a city looks at night from an airplane. It was pretty cool. We stopped it immediately. Then we started it again for three seconds. Wow. Cool nah? We did it again a couple of times.
Then we removed the CD to see it. The plastic was untouched. It was the mirroring on the CD that was affected. Then I tried to explain that to Jispa. I explained that the CD was actually a transparent plastic disk with troughs on it. so while it looking smooth to you, it actually has many small dimples of sort. Then I had to explain this via a cross section drawing. At first it was difficult to think of the drawing as cross section but eventually she got it.
Then I had to explain how the laser in the CD player throws a laser which bounces back. She then asked me if laser is like electricity. On which I then had to explain how laser is essentially a light beam, narrowly focussed. Like those red lasers which you get. Then I had to explain how light essentially has to bounce for us to see stuff. then I took her to the bathroom with a torch and explained how by merely shining a beam on the mirror you cant see yourself. But if you throw that beam of light on yourself, you can see yourself in the mirror. It merely bounces off the light it gets and hits the eye and hence you see what you see in the mirror. That was one major oh ho moment for her. She thought the mirror works in some other rocket science way. Now that I write about it, I am making a mental note to ask her what did she actually think, on how a mirror works. Then I got the beam on the top of her head and she figured that the light moves in a straight line as her head was illuminated and not her chin.
Now establishing light, we continued to understand the CD and explained to her that the CD language is in dips and troughs or something like that and that the laser (which I showed her on the comp) throws this beam and catches the bounce and understands the language and translates it into the screen image and music. “so, who wrote that language”. Er I don’t know but some body did I guess. “so if you don’t know the language?” “ya you need to know the language. The computer knows the language and then translates it for us”.
Then I had to explain that how the CD goes round and round in a computer and the read goes up and down to read it and that’s how you get to see a movie etc.
Then we went back to the concept of the microwave that sends out an electric signal of sorts that pass through the metal portion and what you see are essential electric sparks on the CD.
Wow this took up at least half an hour, but it was well worth it. Then she decided to take the CD to school as a part of show and tell. I had also explained that the CD would then melt if it would have been heated too much. Today morning as she was putting the CD in her bag, she also wanted to take the small plastic cream bottle that we had kept in the car. That bottle, thanks to it being in the car had twisted out of shape in the car. She wanted to show what happens to plastic if it gets heated too much.
Whew. What a large explanation all because she wanted to see the CD crack in the microwave. Cool nah.
My inspiration for this was Richard Feynman. In the book, 'Surely you are joking Mr. Feynman', he explained that how his dad explained Triboluminescence. It is the light emitted when crystals are crushed. His dad explained that as the blue light you see when you crush sugar. Google search throws this line - “'When you take a lump of sugar and crush it with a pair of pliers in the dark, you can see a bluish flash. Some other crystals do that too. Nobody knows why. The phenomenon is called "triboluminescence."
I even found an online version of this lovely book. You can get it here
Jispa found a CD floating around the house. She came to us and asked if this was an important CD. Oh no, that was just around, waiting to be junked. She then asked “Can I put it in the microwave please?” WHAT? Why would you want to do that? “I read somewhere that if you keep the CD in the microwave then it will crack.” Uh ok. I looked at Jasmine and I figured that WTF. Let give it a go. We took a Corel plate and kept the CD on it and put it inside the microwave. In exactly two seconds the CD began to crackle with electricity. It looked so cool. The sparks on the CD looked like how a city looks at night from an airplane. It was pretty cool. We stopped it immediately. Then we started it again for three seconds. Wow. Cool nah? We did it again a couple of times.
Then we removed the CD to see it. The plastic was untouched. It was the mirroring on the CD that was affected. Then I tried to explain that to Jispa. I explained that the CD was actually a transparent plastic disk with troughs on it. so while it looking smooth to you, it actually has many small dimples of sort. Then I had to explain this via a cross section drawing. At first it was difficult to think of the drawing as cross section but eventually she got it.
Then I had to explain how the laser in the CD player throws a laser which bounces back. She then asked me if laser is like electricity. On which I then had to explain how laser is essentially a light beam, narrowly focussed. Like those red lasers which you get. Then I had to explain how light essentially has to bounce for us to see stuff. then I took her to the bathroom with a torch and explained how by merely shining a beam on the mirror you cant see yourself. But if you throw that beam of light on yourself, you can see yourself in the mirror. It merely bounces off the light it gets and hits the eye and hence you see what you see in the mirror. That was one major oh ho moment for her. She thought the mirror works in some other rocket science way. Now that I write about it, I am making a mental note to ask her what did she actually think, on how a mirror works. Then I got the beam on the top of her head and she figured that the light moves in a straight line as her head was illuminated and not her chin.
Now establishing light, we continued to understand the CD and explained to her that the CD language is in dips and troughs or something like that and that the laser (which I showed her on the comp) throws this beam and catches the bounce and understands the language and translates it into the screen image and music. “so, who wrote that language”. Er I don’t know but some body did I guess. “so if you don’t know the language?” “ya you need to know the language. The computer knows the language and then translates it for us”.
Then I had to explain that how the CD goes round and round in a computer and the read goes up and down to read it and that’s how you get to see a movie etc.
Then we went back to the concept of the microwave that sends out an electric signal of sorts that pass through the metal portion and what you see are essential electric sparks on the CD.
Wow this took up at least half an hour, but it was well worth it. Then she decided to take the CD to school as a part of show and tell. I had also explained that the CD would then melt if it would have been heated too much. Today morning as she was putting the CD in her bag, she also wanted to take the small plastic cream bottle that we had kept in the car. That bottle, thanks to it being in the car had twisted out of shape in the car. She wanted to show what happens to plastic if it gets heated too much.
Whew. What a large explanation all because she wanted to see the CD crack in the microwave. Cool nah.
My inspiration for this was Richard Feynman. In the book, 'Surely you are joking Mr. Feynman', he explained that how his dad explained Triboluminescence. It is the light emitted when crystals are crushed. His dad explained that as the blue light you see when you crush sugar. Google search throws this line - “'When you take a lump of sugar and crush it with a pair of pliers in the dark, you can see a bluish flash. Some other crystals do that too. Nobody knows why. The phenomenon is called "triboluminescence."
I even found an online version of this lovely book. You can get it here
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
move on
‘We never had it this easy’ the dreaded 6 words strung together in a highly prejudiced sentence invariably followed by the slightly haughty ‘we had it much tougher than you’. All parents have remarked the same in many ways. Some in anger, some in nostalgia some merely reminiscing
Ever successive generation would have things given to them on a platter, things that the previous generation struggled for, never got and in many cases never imagined. My grandfather cycled his way from one village to another to get schooled and he came all the way to Mumbai to get his doctors degree. I am sure he faced far more hardships getting to an education compared to what Jispa is facing. Seeing her schooling I feel she is sleeping on a bad of roses. We had 52-55 kids in a class, compared to her 32. That’s just the starting point.
One of the biggest ones I keep telling young kids is the brilliance of the internet. I got through school, college and horror of horrors, B school, without the fun of the internet. How on earth we did our research? How did we submit all those reports? Did we type all them? Actually type them? The biggest achievement was getting through B school without CCP… cut copy paste. We did projects the good old way. Once the projects were announced we would run to the library and try and get in line to get the books issued. There were a limited set of books there and only the fastest five to hit the library would get their hands on them. Then you read them, makes notes on another paper, write down the page numbers separately, Xerox the correct pages and distribute them among your team. Then we start making the report. Two of us would book the computer room time and one would dictate and the other would type. We barely knew how the QWERTY keyboard and we slowly managed to finish the project. Then at the end make a presentation. That too was done on over head transparency projector (OHP). What is that? It’s as below. You write on a thin clear sheet of plastic (called acetates) with OHP markers. Then you cover the points that you want hidden by a piece of a paper and slowly display them one at a time. Oh those were the days! :)
But the nostalgia trip was sparked out by an interesting happening. Jispa was down with typhoid till last week. As a part of her inoculations she had got her typhoid shots when she was much younger. Hence the typhoid she got was much milder than normal. This is similar to the chicken pox she had. A much milder outbreak. At first I couldn’t believe its typhoid. Just a not so high fever and headache. I was sure its flu and so was the doctor. Only when the fever relapsed on reducing medication did we go for the medical test which showed a minor hit of typhoid. The anti biotic course kicked in and she was fever free instantly. But she had to be at home for a week to rest. She started school this Monday.
At the end of it I was like – that’s it? that’s all she got for typhoid? Just fever! I remember vomiting my guts out when I got it. Very high fever, couldn’t eat anything, nothing stayed in the stomach too long. I remember Sleeping with a bucket next to me so that I could instantly throw up and not dirty everything on the way to the bathroom. Eesh. My stomach would hurt, my head would hurt, and the fever would give me horrible horrible dreams. Oh it was one long night mare. My blood test had come out a little complicated and we had to call in a specialist who in those days came in wearing a blazer. Hah! Twenty years ago he charged 500 bucks to come home and diagnose it and he put me on an antibiotic which was relatively new – Cifran 500. Yes, I remember the name very clearly. The medicine was something like ciprofloxacin, if I got that right. That was also expensive and my parents wondered if they should administer such a new tough and harsh antibiotic to me. Also I remember the thing that was scaring people – ‘dombivili fever’ which was similar to the typhoid thing. So I got administered the drug and I made a slow painful recovery.
I am glad that Jispa did not have to go through what I did. There has to be some benefit to progress. I am glad for her, and I am glad for us. Parents go through shit when child is unwell and more so when the child is younger. It’s impossible to do anything or understand much. Though Jispa normally has been much better and articulate about where its hurting, exactly what’s happening but still as a parent it feels so helpless to merely look on and wait for the medicine to kick in.
It is a growth process for all of us. We all come out stronger and smarter. I hope. Amen.
Ever successive generation would have things given to them on a platter, things that the previous generation struggled for, never got and in many cases never imagined. My grandfather cycled his way from one village to another to get schooled and he came all the way to Mumbai to get his doctors degree. I am sure he faced far more hardships getting to an education compared to what Jispa is facing. Seeing her schooling I feel she is sleeping on a bad of roses. We had 52-55 kids in a class, compared to her 32. That’s just the starting point.
One of the biggest ones I keep telling young kids is the brilliance of the internet. I got through school, college and horror of horrors, B school, without the fun of the internet. How on earth we did our research? How did we submit all those reports? Did we type all them? Actually type them? The biggest achievement was getting through B school without CCP… cut copy paste. We did projects the good old way. Once the projects were announced we would run to the library and try and get in line to get the books issued. There were a limited set of books there and only the fastest five to hit the library would get their hands on them. Then you read them, makes notes on another paper, write down the page numbers separately, Xerox the correct pages and distribute them among your team. Then we start making the report. Two of us would book the computer room time and one would dictate and the other would type. We barely knew how the QWERTY keyboard and we slowly managed to finish the project. Then at the end make a presentation. That too was done on over head transparency projector (OHP). What is that? It’s as below. You write on a thin clear sheet of plastic (called acetates) with OHP markers. Then you cover the points that you want hidden by a piece of a paper and slowly display them one at a time. Oh those were the days! :)
But the nostalgia trip was sparked out by an interesting happening. Jispa was down with typhoid till last week. As a part of her inoculations she had got her typhoid shots when she was much younger. Hence the typhoid she got was much milder than normal. This is similar to the chicken pox she had. A much milder outbreak. At first I couldn’t believe its typhoid. Just a not so high fever and headache. I was sure its flu and so was the doctor. Only when the fever relapsed on reducing medication did we go for the medical test which showed a minor hit of typhoid. The anti biotic course kicked in and she was fever free instantly. But she had to be at home for a week to rest. She started school this Monday.
At the end of it I was like – that’s it? that’s all she got for typhoid? Just fever! I remember vomiting my guts out when I got it. Very high fever, couldn’t eat anything, nothing stayed in the stomach too long. I remember Sleeping with a bucket next to me so that I could instantly throw up and not dirty everything on the way to the bathroom. Eesh. My stomach would hurt, my head would hurt, and the fever would give me horrible horrible dreams. Oh it was one long night mare. My blood test had come out a little complicated and we had to call in a specialist who in those days came in wearing a blazer. Hah! Twenty years ago he charged 500 bucks to come home and diagnose it and he put me on an antibiotic which was relatively new – Cifran 500. Yes, I remember the name very clearly. The medicine was something like ciprofloxacin, if I got that right. That was also expensive and my parents wondered if they should administer such a new tough and harsh antibiotic to me. Also I remember the thing that was scaring people – ‘dombivili fever’ which was similar to the typhoid thing. So I got administered the drug and I made a slow painful recovery.
I am glad that Jispa did not have to go through what I did. There has to be some benefit to progress. I am glad for her, and I am glad for us. Parents go through shit when child is unwell and more so when the child is younger. It’s impossible to do anything or understand much. Though Jispa normally has been much better and articulate about where its hurting, exactly what’s happening but still as a parent it feels so helpless to merely look on and wait for the medicine to kick in.
It is a growth process for all of us. We all come out stronger and smarter. I hope. Amen.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
bonding over hot water
I just love doing things with Jispa that I might have done with my dad. There is lovely warm feeling left within when something like that happens. It is a moment that reminds me of the joy childhood and fills me with eth warmth of parenthood. Eela, too much poetry; but the feeling is unbeatable. Two completely opposite but equally warm and fuzzy feelings, together at a point in time.
On Saturday after the match, in the evening the soles of my feet were aching. I remembered the remedy my dad used to try out. We were in Dubai at the time. My dad was a civil engineer and that meant long hours standing at the site. Either it was that or it was plain old window shopping for hours. But his feet used to ache and the remedy was dipping your legs in a bucket of hot water mixed with salt. My dad used to dip his legs and we kids used to fight to dip our legs as well. He used to get the very hot water and afterwards we got the not so hot water. But that was all we could bear. It was pretty cool fun.
This I got out my hot tub and mixed a bit of salt along with it. Jispa was wondering what I was doing. I explained to her the remedy. Predictably she wanted to get into the action as well. The tub was big enough for the both of us.
Quality time is sitting opposite each other and dipping your legs in a bucket full of hot water. Don’t forget the salt.
On Saturday after the match, in the evening the soles of my feet were aching. I remembered the remedy my dad used to try out. We were in Dubai at the time. My dad was a civil engineer and that meant long hours standing at the site. Either it was that or it was plain old window shopping for hours. But his feet used to ache and the remedy was dipping your legs in a bucket of hot water mixed with salt. My dad used to dip his legs and we kids used to fight to dip our legs as well. He used to get the very hot water and afterwards we got the not so hot water. But that was all we could bear. It was pretty cool fun.
This I got out my hot tub and mixed a bit of salt along with it. Jispa was wondering what I was doing. I explained to her the remedy. Predictably she wanted to get into the action as well. The tub was big enough for the both of us.
Quality time is sitting opposite each other and dipping your legs in a bucket full of hot water. Don’t forget the salt.
Monday, May 10, 2010
the joke's on me
Some website I was reading has a link to a paper titled ‘The Attributes and Attribute-Consequences of Great College Teachers’. You can read the paper here.
But the short abstract of the same is as below:
"In personal interviews and questionnaires, students describe great college teachers as those who are dynamic lecturers, clear communicators, and make sincere efforts to relay their concern for students and student learning. Driving these preferences is students' desire to commit to class, improve class focus, and learn the material."
It sounds very right and I whole heartedly agree to this. It seems quite close to what I believe in. Its puts the teacher and the student together in a combined mission.
The only thing was I did not really understand the Dynamic lecturer part. What exactly does that entail? Reading further I got this laundry list of attributes that describe ‘A DYNAMIC LECTURER’. I miss the tone when I write this stuff. Imagine King Julian from Madagascar saying – a dynamic lecturer… did you get it? google King Julian, youtube him. Especially the dialogues in part 2.
Forget it… just read the attributes here for a dynamic lecturer (that tone again)
Gives an interesting and entertaining presentation
Provides good examples in class (1)
Provides good examples in class, real life and timely (2)
Lectures are relevant and interesting (5)
Make the class interesting by doing something other than lecturing all the time (6)
Fun; Descriptive; explaining why they are doing things in class; motivating the subject matter (7)
Witty / funny (8)
Tries to keep students entertained during lectures (10)
Relate to students, give personal examples of themselves (11)
Goes in depth to explain things in their lecture (11)
Relate the class material to stuff you're familiar with (13)
Have a dynamic presentation style; not monotone (13)
Entertaining, keep the students attention (14)
Apply the information to things that students are familiar with (14)
Entertaining, funny (15)
Entertaining, not monotone; keep students' attention (16)
Enthusiasm; presenting their information with a good personality and sense of humor (17)
Ability to lead and control the class (19)
Sense of humor; entertaining (19)
Funny, light-hearted personality (21)
Interaction with the class / Entertaining (23)
Give interesting presentations; activities, personal stories, etc (27)
Not monotone in their presentation (27)
Entertaining; tell jokes and stories (29)
Keeps the lecture relevant and appropriate (31)
Good flow in their lecture; don't jump around (32)
Keep the attention of the class; funny; entertaining (33)
Sociable; talk about other things besides material; relate subject to students (33)
Good personality; entertaining enough to keep students attention (35)
Keep the class's attention; entertaining (37)
Have voice fluctuation, not monotone (39)
Humorous (39)
Keep the mood light; not serious all the time (42)
Sense of humor; connects with their students (44)
If you read carefully, actually even if you read not so carefully, you will relaise that – the students don’t need a professor, they need a FU&*$NG joker. No wonder I seem to be doing decently well with the students.
While on the topic of jokers, I couldnt but help humming this really old song. What you have been exposed to in your early impressionable years is what stays with you till much later. complete irrefutable proof as below.
the heat was on
In the evening on Friday, Jasmine and I were making plans for the Saturday. Later at the party which we finally went for, I got a call from the company cricket captain. We have a match tomorrow and we need you. Great. A quick permission from my wife and I am on. I told my wife that this will be a full day match unlike the twenty over ones we normally play for half a day. This was the real thing 35 overs a side. My looked at me with.. with a look that said – you are crazy. I love these long matches. Nowadays the only reason I get called to matches is when we don’t have enough players to complete the eleven. My calling card, good safe fielder, can swing it in the end if the match is tight and can bat out long hours in long matches if the team is out early; and no faltu attitude. That’s it. My entire reason for loving the long matches is also pretty simple. I will definitely get batting. The team is invariably inside in about 25 overs. That’s when I walk in with around two three wickets to go and tons of overs to play for. Last year this was 45 over match, which I got to bat for 20 overs.
The only issue with these matches is that this is the RBI shield which is conducted in the most oppressive month in Mumbai. May. The temperature is generally in excess of 35 degrees and the humidity is easily greater than 75%. The sun shines down hard and there very little cloud cover. It’s really really oppressive.
Immediately as I cut the phone I told jasmine, “its time to start drinking water”. The ritual is clear. I start drinking water from the evening before. The wake up next day. Have my shredded wheat with fruit and milk. That is the best bet and has worked so far. Then have some more water. Then some fruit on the drive to the ground. Then some more water. Then some stretching, some knocks, come catching, then lots more water. And then some more water. Then on to the field. A last swig of the bottle before you go. Try and get in some sugar and salt in the water. This time I mixed salt with the tang in my bottle. Then drink at every opportunity.
I was fielding in the deep this time. The best part about Mumbai cricket is that the density of matches is very high. Sure you risk getting hit by a ball from another match, but the flip side is that there is always some action always going on. Every second there is a ball being bowled. Where I was fielding I was following two matches in addition to my own. I also took a few swigs of water from the other match drinks break. No one says no for a water sip. Everyone will be asking each other, ‘which match are you playing’. Its good fun. It makes fielding in the deep a lot more interesting. There is enough variety and intensity going around.
And it surely helps on a really hot day. From the ground at cross maidan, where we were playing, I absolutely love the sight of Rajabhai towers. I keep looking at that to know the time. The drinks break come every one hour. I know how much I need to go before I get another drink. Also this time around I practised some breathing along with stretches on the ground. Normally we merely stretch but thanks to yoga, I learnt how to breathe while stretching. That really helps improving concentration and stability. In one of the drinks break I reckoned that I was far off enough from the umpire, enough to flick one bottle and keep it in my pocket during the last one hour. The Mumbai umpires can get notoriously finicky. Some are sweet and some irritating. Some won’t allow spikes on the pitch; some disallow leg byes saying no shot offered, some give leg befores just because you were rude. Anything goes. Once one umpire held up the game and asked me to tuck my t shirt in my tracks. Really. They can go too far at times. You have to ask permission to pee during the drinks break. The dam urinals aren’t there and the pee point is the periphery of the ground. You just need a wall and you can let go. It always two steps away from your deep fielding position in any case. But you still have to ask. So I wasn’t taking chances. I knew he won’t allow the bottle on the field so I hid the bottle and kept taking swigs from it.
The heat started rising. The ground gets hot. You are out standing for more than two hours now. The heat starts emanating from the ground as well. You can pour water on your head and t shirt and that too won’t really help. You just hope to sweat enough to keep the body cool. Wind is never a big factor at these grounds. A few gusts here and there.
At the end of the first innings (we fielded) we gathered together. I was a little slow into the huddle. I got in as the captain was screaming. He was pissed at the fielding and the fitness. I knew its got nothing to do with me. I had a 100% track record this match. A lot of balls came to my side which I managed well and saved quite a few runs. He was talking about some of the younger guys. Some of whom complained of nausea. Hahahha. The last batsman after the innings was sitting in the middle of the ground and trying to puke out. There was nothing come out of his mouth. He obviously had an empty stomach and his body was retching air. I gleefully ran into the huddle with my spirits high. The water drinking binge was an old secret. That’s the only way to go.
My team was collapsing under the heat. I offered to get the lunch for them. You relax, I am fir enough. Some of the younger guys were in complete awe. Jasmine called to figure how I was faring. I was gleefully happy ‘I have won. I am the oldest but I have the highest energy left on the field’.
But this only the first instalment. The second started when it was our turn to bat. Now it was one o clock. The sun was even more oppressive. I was roaming around in my shorts trying to remain cool. The breeze dropped, the heat rose and the place was a furnace. Sure enough at around the 25th over I got sent in to bat. The match was lost. We needed too many runs and had no wickets in hand. The instructions to me were clear. Make the other team field for the full 35 overs. We will not be all out. Soon my head was throbbing. The electral solution I had some time back was trying to make its way out. Every ball required me to bring my concentration to the ball and play it. there was no way in hell I was going to get out.
The wicket keeper was crying out ‘reham, reham’ which basically meant, g
Have some pity on us and get out. Haha. That merely spurred me on. Some sledging followed. That was even more fun. Then we ran a few hard runs, just to irritate the fielding team. This was to make them run harder for the ball. A soft fielding approach meant one more run for us. The at last at the 34th over I decided to smash a few. Little energy left for that though. I shot sailed into the wall for a six over mid wicket, the next safely ensconced itself into the fielder right there. End of a marathon effort.
I then washed a bit and changed and directly headed for the pool at my gymkhana. My body was so warmed up, that I am sure it might have been a few degrees hotter than normal. I walk out with my costume on and I started shivering in the open. As I hit the water I can barely control my shiver. I still manage to swim a few laps and then shower and change.
To my surprise I recovered well towards the evening. Normally sunstroke requires a crocin and an hour of sleep at least. This time the sheer will power to keep forcing water down my throat helped. The realisation of nutrition in sports is so important. You eat wrong, you drink wrong and you will suffer on the field. Fitness is one thing, nutrition is completely another. This all is only possible to whatever level thanks to me understanding a bit of need for correct food and drink. I was a little lazy for lunch and I had a biryani and I think I suffered a bit thanks to that. I will to figure that piece as well. I assumed rice was good but it comes gift wrapped in a lot of other stuff. One can only get smarter.
I have no idea why I do this shit. I guess it’s just a point that I need to prove myself. I am still fit and I can still give the youngsters a run for their money. If I can tell others to bear the heat, then I must be able to bear it myself. At least now I can advise without being guilty of living in an ivory tower. So next time Jispa says it was too hot I can give her a story on what hot actually is. Running for no reason on a hot day with your cricket gear on is pushing the limits of sanity.
In the evening I was telling Jispa how I played in the hot sun, whole day. She was like ‘you played cricket whole day! That too with your gloves and everything on! I to want to remove your gloves in one second when I try them at home with the fan on’. For that one second I think, I repeat I think, I was a hero in her eyes. That was well worth every moment.
PS: Sanity did prevail in the household, as an average. Jasmine was alone as Jispa was also at Dadi’s house. She used the Saturday to sleep right through, in the cool confines of the house. Lucky woman.
The only issue with these matches is that this is the RBI shield which is conducted in the most oppressive month in Mumbai. May. The temperature is generally in excess of 35 degrees and the humidity is easily greater than 75%. The sun shines down hard and there very little cloud cover. It’s really really oppressive.
Immediately as I cut the phone I told jasmine, “its time to start drinking water”. The ritual is clear. I start drinking water from the evening before. The wake up next day. Have my shredded wheat with fruit and milk. That is the best bet and has worked so far. Then have some more water. Then some fruit on the drive to the ground. Then some more water. Then some stretching, some knocks, come catching, then lots more water. And then some more water. Then on to the field. A last swig of the bottle before you go. Try and get in some sugar and salt in the water. This time I mixed salt with the tang in my bottle. Then drink at every opportunity.
I was fielding in the deep this time. The best part about Mumbai cricket is that the density of matches is very high. Sure you risk getting hit by a ball from another match, but the flip side is that there is always some action always going on. Every second there is a ball being bowled. Where I was fielding I was following two matches in addition to my own. I also took a few swigs of water from the other match drinks break. No one says no for a water sip. Everyone will be asking each other, ‘which match are you playing’. Its good fun. It makes fielding in the deep a lot more interesting. There is enough variety and intensity going around.
And it surely helps on a really hot day. From the ground at cross maidan, where we were playing, I absolutely love the sight of Rajabhai towers. I keep looking at that to know the time. The drinks break come every one hour. I know how much I need to go before I get another drink. Also this time around I practised some breathing along with stretches on the ground. Normally we merely stretch but thanks to yoga, I learnt how to breathe while stretching. That really helps improving concentration and stability. In one of the drinks break I reckoned that I was far off enough from the umpire, enough to flick one bottle and keep it in my pocket during the last one hour. The Mumbai umpires can get notoriously finicky. Some are sweet and some irritating. Some won’t allow spikes on the pitch; some disallow leg byes saying no shot offered, some give leg befores just because you were rude. Anything goes. Once one umpire held up the game and asked me to tuck my t shirt in my tracks. Really. They can go too far at times. You have to ask permission to pee during the drinks break. The dam urinals aren’t there and the pee point is the periphery of the ground. You just need a wall and you can let go. It always two steps away from your deep fielding position in any case. But you still have to ask. So I wasn’t taking chances. I knew he won’t allow the bottle on the field so I hid the bottle and kept taking swigs from it.
The heat started rising. The ground gets hot. You are out standing for more than two hours now. The heat starts emanating from the ground as well. You can pour water on your head and t shirt and that too won’t really help. You just hope to sweat enough to keep the body cool. Wind is never a big factor at these grounds. A few gusts here and there.
At the end of the first innings (we fielded) we gathered together. I was a little slow into the huddle. I got in as the captain was screaming. He was pissed at the fielding and the fitness. I knew its got nothing to do with me. I had a 100% track record this match. A lot of balls came to my side which I managed well and saved quite a few runs. He was talking about some of the younger guys. Some of whom complained of nausea. Hahahha. The last batsman after the innings was sitting in the middle of the ground and trying to puke out. There was nothing come out of his mouth. He obviously had an empty stomach and his body was retching air. I gleefully ran into the huddle with my spirits high. The water drinking binge was an old secret. That’s the only way to go.
My team was collapsing under the heat. I offered to get the lunch for them. You relax, I am fir enough. Some of the younger guys were in complete awe. Jasmine called to figure how I was faring. I was gleefully happy ‘I have won. I am the oldest but I have the highest energy left on the field’.
But this only the first instalment. The second started when it was our turn to bat. Now it was one o clock. The sun was even more oppressive. I was roaming around in my shorts trying to remain cool. The breeze dropped, the heat rose and the place was a furnace. Sure enough at around the 25th over I got sent in to bat. The match was lost. We needed too many runs and had no wickets in hand. The instructions to me were clear. Make the other team field for the full 35 overs. We will not be all out. Soon my head was throbbing. The electral solution I had some time back was trying to make its way out. Every ball required me to bring my concentration to the ball and play it. there was no way in hell I was going to get out.
The wicket keeper was crying out ‘reham, reham’ which basically meant, g
Have some pity on us and get out. Haha. That merely spurred me on. Some sledging followed. That was even more fun. Then we ran a few hard runs, just to irritate the fielding team. This was to make them run harder for the ball. A soft fielding approach meant one more run for us. The at last at the 34th over I decided to smash a few. Little energy left for that though. I shot sailed into the wall for a six over mid wicket, the next safely ensconced itself into the fielder right there. End of a marathon effort.
I then washed a bit and changed and directly headed for the pool at my gymkhana. My body was so warmed up, that I am sure it might have been a few degrees hotter than normal. I walk out with my costume on and I started shivering in the open. As I hit the water I can barely control my shiver. I still manage to swim a few laps and then shower and change.
To my surprise I recovered well towards the evening. Normally sunstroke requires a crocin and an hour of sleep at least. This time the sheer will power to keep forcing water down my throat helped. The realisation of nutrition in sports is so important. You eat wrong, you drink wrong and you will suffer on the field. Fitness is one thing, nutrition is completely another. This all is only possible to whatever level thanks to me understanding a bit of need for correct food and drink. I was a little lazy for lunch and I had a biryani and I think I suffered a bit thanks to that. I will to figure that piece as well. I assumed rice was good but it comes gift wrapped in a lot of other stuff. One can only get smarter.
I have no idea why I do this shit. I guess it’s just a point that I need to prove myself. I am still fit and I can still give the youngsters a run for their money. If I can tell others to bear the heat, then I must be able to bear it myself. At least now I can advise without being guilty of living in an ivory tower. So next time Jispa says it was too hot I can give her a story on what hot actually is. Running for no reason on a hot day with your cricket gear on is pushing the limits of sanity.
In the evening I was telling Jispa how I played in the hot sun, whole day. She was like ‘you played cricket whole day! That too with your gloves and everything on! I to want to remove your gloves in one second when I try them at home with the fan on’. For that one second I think, I repeat I think, I was a hero in her eyes. That was well worth every moment.
PS: Sanity did prevail in the household, as an average. Jasmine was alone as Jispa was also at Dadi’s house. She used the Saturday to sleep right through, in the cool confines of the house. Lucky woman.
Sunday, May 09, 2010
steal from the world (and not a stone)
There was this party organised by Jasmine’s uncle. It was supposed to be a social get together with all of Jasmine’s relatives etc. We knew about this since some time and knew we hadn’t received the invite. Jasmine’s sister in law kept asking if we had received the invite. Jasmine and I are pretty unsociable characters. We don’t like to go to too many social dos or marriages or functions. We just avoid in the hope that we will slowly become outcastes.
The sweet uncle in all probability forgot about the invite. We are really not the types to count it as a snub. Honestly we don’t really care too much. It does not change equations at all for us. Where’s the harm, when you are ultimate goal is social exclusion.
Me especially; I hate taking calls as well as making small talk with all the relatives. That’s why most the time I am busy playing with the tiny tots. I don’t connect and it probably is felt by the others. Most of the time I am so bored. Of course in wedding the saving grace is the atrocious embroidery, colors and hairstyles worn by the close relatives. Those are many times worth going miles to see. I think Jasmine’s cousins are worse than mine in this regard. But of late I haven’t had too much opportunity for comparisons. I hardly get invited by any of my relatives. Also the source has dried up. The second generation is now coming of age and now on we might have reason to be called as they start getting hitched one by one. Till then it’s relax time.
On Saturday mid way into the party, her uncle calls up and apologises to Jasmine and me for the faux pas. No problem uncle, it really does not matter. We are comfortable. We still love and respect you. But then he insisted that we come. Ok ok. Now I was tired from office and we had to go to my mom’s house as well. But then if we then do not go that would mean that we would count not being invited as a snub. If Jasmine went without me then it would mean that I counted that as a snub. Oops. So we both went for the function and then went to mommy’s house.
The sweet uncle for all apologetic at the function. I told him it’s ok, don’t bother. Shit happens. I am glad that both Jasmine and I don’t really care about it. We like to keep our egos in close check. There are so many mistakes we make in the course of our lives as social creatures. Lots of energy and time is devoted to ensure that egos are placated and crazy rituals are involved to ensure everything, from who sits where and who eats when. It’s stupid. The last thing I would want is to accentuate it by feeling ill will over something I don’t even want to get into. Got invited… great. Did not get invited… greater. They forgot you existed… greatest. I think in ninth or tenth standard I read a poen in school which had these lines to close the poem. “Steal from the world, and not a stone tell where I lie”. Google search mind refresher – the poem was by Alexander Pope.
Hey I just read the whole poem again. It’s pretty inspirational. I had forgotten the words. But is so clearly remember the class in which it was taught. I think one the best things that happened in those days was that the school principal Fr Adolf, came to teach poetry in class. He only took the poetry lessons. The principal is not normally expected to teach and his predecessors hadn’t taught us anything. But the fact that the principal took one poetry class every week for us, signified the importance of poetry, at least in my head. He came in and dicussed a poetry from the book. He used to allow us, rather encourage us to think. We were a boy’s school and the only person we really feared was the princy. And this princy was feared as he was a bit authoritarian, came in and taught poetry. Opposites reconciling? It is from him that I learnt to throw chocolates in class for good answers. He threw éclairs and melody chocolates to kids giving answers. I still use that as an effective strategy when I teach for encouraging people to think and students after many years still remember that and tell me that they really tried their best to get a chocolate in my class. And these are ‘hard nosed and bored’ college students, no less.
This poem was taught to us by this princy. I had a difference in the understanding on the last lines. I read it as the poet wanting not to steal even a stone from the world and was challenging the world to prove if he ever lied. The sweet princy heard me, thought through, agreed and then explained the right interpretation. Not once did he say I was wrong. In fact I remember his argument as if it was yesterday. He said ‘I would have agreed with you if not for the comma put before the and in the line. If the comma came after the word – stone, then your interpretation might hold good, but now if you pause at world and the word ‘and’ comes there, it almost like starting a new sentence with ‘not a stone…’; and hence the conventional and straightforward explanations.
Here, read the entire poem. I don’t know if I really liked it then. But I seem to like it now. Probably it resonates better with my current being.
Ode on Solitude
How happy he, who free from care
The rage of courts, and noise of towns;
Contented breathes his native air,
In his own grounds.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.
Blest! who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide swift away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,
Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mix'd; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.
Thus let me live, unheard, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
-- Alexander Pope
The sweet uncle in all probability forgot about the invite. We are really not the types to count it as a snub. Honestly we don’t really care too much. It does not change equations at all for us. Where’s the harm, when you are ultimate goal is social exclusion.
Me especially; I hate taking calls as well as making small talk with all the relatives. That’s why most the time I am busy playing with the tiny tots. I don’t connect and it probably is felt by the others. Most of the time I am so bored. Of course in wedding the saving grace is the atrocious embroidery, colors and hairstyles worn by the close relatives. Those are many times worth going miles to see. I think Jasmine’s cousins are worse than mine in this regard. But of late I haven’t had too much opportunity for comparisons. I hardly get invited by any of my relatives. Also the source has dried up. The second generation is now coming of age and now on we might have reason to be called as they start getting hitched one by one. Till then it’s relax time.
On Saturday mid way into the party, her uncle calls up and apologises to Jasmine and me for the faux pas. No problem uncle, it really does not matter. We are comfortable. We still love and respect you. But then he insisted that we come. Ok ok. Now I was tired from office and we had to go to my mom’s house as well. But then if we then do not go that would mean that we would count not being invited as a snub. If Jasmine went without me then it would mean that I counted that as a snub. Oops. So we both went for the function and then went to mommy’s house.
The sweet uncle for all apologetic at the function. I told him it’s ok, don’t bother. Shit happens. I am glad that both Jasmine and I don’t really care about it. We like to keep our egos in close check. There are so many mistakes we make in the course of our lives as social creatures. Lots of energy and time is devoted to ensure that egos are placated and crazy rituals are involved to ensure everything, from who sits where and who eats when. It’s stupid. The last thing I would want is to accentuate it by feeling ill will over something I don’t even want to get into. Got invited… great. Did not get invited… greater. They forgot you existed… greatest. I think in ninth or tenth standard I read a poen in school which had these lines to close the poem. “Steal from the world, and not a stone tell where I lie”. Google search mind refresher – the poem was by Alexander Pope.
Hey I just read the whole poem again. It’s pretty inspirational. I had forgotten the words. But is so clearly remember the class in which it was taught. I think one the best things that happened in those days was that the school principal Fr Adolf, came to teach poetry in class. He only took the poetry lessons. The principal is not normally expected to teach and his predecessors hadn’t taught us anything. But the fact that the principal took one poetry class every week for us, signified the importance of poetry, at least in my head. He came in and dicussed a poetry from the book. He used to allow us, rather encourage us to think. We were a boy’s school and the only person we really feared was the princy. And this princy was feared as he was a bit authoritarian, came in and taught poetry. Opposites reconciling? It is from him that I learnt to throw chocolates in class for good answers. He threw éclairs and melody chocolates to kids giving answers. I still use that as an effective strategy when I teach for encouraging people to think and students after many years still remember that and tell me that they really tried their best to get a chocolate in my class. And these are ‘hard nosed and bored’ college students, no less.
This poem was taught to us by this princy. I had a difference in the understanding on the last lines. I read it as the poet wanting not to steal even a stone from the world and was challenging the world to prove if he ever lied. The sweet princy heard me, thought through, agreed and then explained the right interpretation. Not once did he say I was wrong. In fact I remember his argument as if it was yesterday. He said ‘I would have agreed with you if not for the comma put before the and in the line. If the comma came after the word – stone, then your interpretation might hold good, but now if you pause at world and the word ‘and’ comes there, it almost like starting a new sentence with ‘not a stone…’; and hence the conventional and straightforward explanations.
Here, read the entire poem. I don’t know if I really liked it then. But I seem to like it now. Probably it resonates better with my current being.
Ode on Solitude
How happy he, who free from care
The rage of courts, and noise of towns;
Contented breathes his native air,
In his own grounds.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.
Blest! who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide swift away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,
Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mix'd; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.
Thus let me live, unheard, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
-- Alexander Pope
Friday, May 07, 2010
home alone
I am such a family man. Yesterday I was to reach home and fend for myself. My wife and kid were at a party where we men weren’t invited. Some kids birthday. So Jasmine offered to cook me dinner. I refused. According to her I just need an excuse to eat out but the truth is that I hate to eat alone. I went to the theatre complex next to home and browsed around Crossword for a good book and ordered a noodle dish at Zenzibu. But I was so depressed and lost, all alone.
I hate it. Even while travelling on work, at the hotels, in the evening it is so boring and alone. Eating dinner alone is a punishment for me. I try and delay it as far as possible. Try and order something in the room itself and eat silently, watching TV. Staying at the five stars adds to the solitude. They are in such sterile environments and there is no one at eth front office that you can really chat up with. In the good old days at Balsara, I had a 30 day travel plan. So I ended up going to the same places over and over again. Those were the really cheap sales hotels. How cheap? The most expensive room was 280 bucks a night and the cheapest was at 80 bucks a night. No I did not miss a zero there. And the most expensive room I ever stayed in, ever. 15,000 a night at Delhi Taj. But hold on, I think the Geneva room I stayed in was even more expensive. But now I am diagressing. What was the point I was making?
Yup, the cheap hotels in Blasara. They were pretty nice places. You sometimes catch TV in the hotel lobby. You meet other sales guys from other companies. There is some action happening. People talking. The owner talking and giving some gyan. Its good fun. Those days in the evening there was a line for people wanting to talk at the STD booth. That was fun. Waiting for 20 minutes to talk for 10.
The five stars have none of this camaraderie. I remember my days at my favourite hotel at Baroda, Junagadh, Ahmedabad. Also these hotels were bang in the heart of the city and I loved going out for a walk around. Getting outside the 5 stars is a walk by itself. The cheap hotels are merely a building that adds to the commotion on the street.
Then also I hated to be alone and I hated having dinner alone. Yesterday somehow I remembered those days. The only small difference was that 12 years back I also had to see my budget and figure what / where to eat. Now I don’t really need to look at the right hand side of the menu anymore.
Luckily half way through my chow mein, jasmine came in and I felt at ease. I think it’s easier to spend the day all alone at home but in the evenings, I so hate it. I can empathise with Jasmine when I am on a travel plan and she has to be home alone. or even when I am working till late. But at least now she has Jispa with her. All alone… I can’t handle it.
Earlier days when we stayed with mom, Jasmine used to go to her mom’s home to stay for a few days in a year. I used to find it impossible to sleep early alone. I would watch TV till my eyes closed and then hit the bed. The house just does not feel nice without people in it. I hate it and hence this time I refused to go home in the evening to get an empty house. Sometimes I feel I am such a baby.
I hate it. Even while travelling on work, at the hotels, in the evening it is so boring and alone. Eating dinner alone is a punishment for me. I try and delay it as far as possible. Try and order something in the room itself and eat silently, watching TV. Staying at the five stars adds to the solitude. They are in such sterile environments and there is no one at eth front office that you can really chat up with. In the good old days at Balsara, I had a 30 day travel plan. So I ended up going to the same places over and over again. Those were the really cheap sales hotels. How cheap? The most expensive room was 280 bucks a night and the cheapest was at 80 bucks a night. No I did not miss a zero there. And the most expensive room I ever stayed in, ever. 15,000 a night at Delhi Taj. But hold on, I think the Geneva room I stayed in was even more expensive. But now I am diagressing. What was the point I was making?
Yup, the cheap hotels in Blasara. They were pretty nice places. You sometimes catch TV in the hotel lobby. You meet other sales guys from other companies. There is some action happening. People talking. The owner talking and giving some gyan. Its good fun. Those days in the evening there was a line for people wanting to talk at the STD booth. That was fun. Waiting for 20 minutes to talk for 10.
The five stars have none of this camaraderie. I remember my days at my favourite hotel at Baroda, Junagadh, Ahmedabad. Also these hotels were bang in the heart of the city and I loved going out for a walk around. Getting outside the 5 stars is a walk by itself. The cheap hotels are merely a building that adds to the commotion on the street.
Then also I hated to be alone and I hated having dinner alone. Yesterday somehow I remembered those days. The only small difference was that 12 years back I also had to see my budget and figure what / where to eat. Now I don’t really need to look at the right hand side of the menu anymore.
Luckily half way through my chow mein, jasmine came in and I felt at ease. I think it’s easier to spend the day all alone at home but in the evenings, I so hate it. I can empathise with Jasmine when I am on a travel plan and she has to be home alone. or even when I am working till late. But at least now she has Jispa with her. All alone… I can’t handle it.
Earlier days when we stayed with mom, Jasmine used to go to her mom’s home to stay for a few days in a year. I used to find it impossible to sleep early alone. I would watch TV till my eyes closed and then hit the bed. The house just does not feel nice without people in it. I hate it and hence this time I refused to go home in the evening to get an empty house. Sometimes I feel I am such a baby.
Thursday, May 06, 2010
tummy trouble
Yesterday night Jispa woke us up, as she had a really bad stomach ache. We were wondering what the issue was. She was really in pain. We thought at first it would go away, then we though it was gas. So we gave her something for it. Then we tried the ultimate weapon for gas – heating a little asafoetida (heeng) mixed with water and then putting it on the tummy. It always did wonders for me whenever I had gas. It is instant relief. But this time something else was wrong. It kept on paining. Once the ultimate weapon was done with we realised that this is something else. We called up the paediatrician at 3 am. She asked a bit and then simply recommended a crocin. Its possible thanks to the dal she had. Jispa is recovering from typhoid and her tummy is still not completely all ok.
But sitting there and waiting for the medicines to take effect while she was rolling about in pain is so painful for a parent. Especially at 3 am, when you are not really sure you want to call the doctor before you have exhausted all the likely home remedies. Jispa wouldn’t even let me touch her tummy. She is quite an angry person when she is sleeping and when she is in pain. This time it was both. It is almost as if she turns herself into another avatar. Whenever we have to wake her up mid sleep we let her know it in advance that we will wake you, either early morning or in the middle of her highness’s sleep and that she should not throw a fit. Then she behaves like a dream. All nice and cordial. She is quite a sweet understanding type kid. Just don’t give her surprises in her sleep.
But tummy aches are bad and I have had my fair share. The worst ones I remember were a couple of really nasty aches. Once I had this horrible gas build up for some reason and it just refused to subside. I remember puking the little food that I had just before. It was the humble bourbon biscuit. I did not touch it for another year after that. the pain was so great that I remember feeling the pain till a couple of days afterwards. The doctor I told me that it was because my stomach muscles had gotten tired or something. The other one was the time I had a stone in the urinary tract or something. Oh that was something which was a 7 on the Richter scale. This one happened in the middle of the night. Nothing seemed to work. I even remember removing my laptop and connecting to the internet to figure which side is the dam appendix. All in complete agony. The after effects of that are that I have kept a spasmo proxyvon capsule in my wallet for many years. It is still there. I haven’t had the courage to remove it. I have used only once from there. That too at an event when a lady friend needed it. I used to keep a packet in office and at home and everywhere else. If a stone hits you from inside there is only one thing that can give you relief at the time. Only one.
The crocin worked on Jispa for sometime. She could sleep then. Later in the morning she woke and complained a bit more. I got her by my side and slept by her. Most of the time, both of us need our teddy bears to sleep. She is light and perfect as she slings her hand and leg over you while she sleeps. Absolutely wow. We both slept through the rest of the morning.
For some reason I remember the old woodwords grip water ad. The one is which first the parent says, and then the granny says and then the great ganny says – kay zala/ bal radat hota. Woodwards dyala saang tila, tu lahan astana me tula hech detos. Forgive the marathi. The big wonder of wonders - I can’t seem to find that iconic ad on youtube.
But sitting there and waiting for the medicines to take effect while she was rolling about in pain is so painful for a parent. Especially at 3 am, when you are not really sure you want to call the doctor before you have exhausted all the likely home remedies. Jispa wouldn’t even let me touch her tummy. She is quite an angry person when she is sleeping and when she is in pain. This time it was both. It is almost as if she turns herself into another avatar. Whenever we have to wake her up mid sleep we let her know it in advance that we will wake you, either early morning or in the middle of her highness’s sleep and that she should not throw a fit. Then she behaves like a dream. All nice and cordial. She is quite a sweet understanding type kid. Just don’t give her surprises in her sleep.
But tummy aches are bad and I have had my fair share. The worst ones I remember were a couple of really nasty aches. Once I had this horrible gas build up for some reason and it just refused to subside. I remember puking the little food that I had just before. It was the humble bourbon biscuit. I did not touch it for another year after that. the pain was so great that I remember feeling the pain till a couple of days afterwards. The doctor I told me that it was because my stomach muscles had gotten tired or something. The other one was the time I had a stone in the urinary tract or something. Oh that was something which was a 7 on the Richter scale. This one happened in the middle of the night. Nothing seemed to work. I even remember removing my laptop and connecting to the internet to figure which side is the dam appendix. All in complete agony. The after effects of that are that I have kept a spasmo proxyvon capsule in my wallet for many years. It is still there. I haven’t had the courage to remove it. I have used only once from there. That too at an event when a lady friend needed it. I used to keep a packet in office and at home and everywhere else. If a stone hits you from inside there is only one thing that can give you relief at the time. Only one.
The crocin worked on Jispa for sometime. She could sleep then. Later in the morning she woke and complained a bit more. I got her by my side and slept by her. Most of the time, both of us need our teddy bears to sleep. She is light and perfect as she slings her hand and leg over you while she sleeps. Absolutely wow. We both slept through the rest of the morning.
For some reason I remember the old woodwords grip water ad. The one is which first the parent says, and then the granny says and then the great ganny says – kay zala/ bal radat hota. Woodwards dyala saang tila, tu lahan astana me tula hech detos. Forgive the marathi. The big wonder of wonders - I can’t seem to find that iconic ad on youtube.
chocolate tale
Whoops I did it again… what? Something ridiculously stupid. I have had the 99% dark chocolate with me for the longest possible time. I have slowly, a tiny piece at a time. Not that I savour it like that but that’s all one can have at once.
The last piece was left today to savour. I had kept it aside when I got the call for lunch from my colleagues. Instead of leaving it around somewhere on the table, I thought I might leave it somewhere I would be able to see it as soon as I am back. I left it on the laptop next to the touchpad. When I came back – the sun was coming through the window on the laptop and I then hit my head. Oh shit. I touched it with fear. Sure enough, my finger went right in. It had melted right on the laptop. Oh god. Ok.. I scooped it up and savoured it one finger at a time. What? I was not going to let my last bit of 99% cocoa go to waste.
Here it is after the first two scoops.
This poor bar lasted me so long and gave me so much happiness and other poor victims so much grief. One new joinee had it and at the time made no visible sign of distaste. Today nearly a month later she explained how vile it was. Hehehe. What to do. Like some Ms India contestant she held her nerve at the time of test and faced discomfort rather than spit it out. Wah wah. One step towards …world peace.
Now to buy some other really dark chocolate and have it bit by bit. I am not sure if I might be ever tempted to buy 99% dark but 85% will taste like a sugar factory.
The last piece was left today to savour. I had kept it aside when I got the call for lunch from my colleagues. Instead of leaving it around somewhere on the table, I thought I might leave it somewhere I would be able to see it as soon as I am back. I left it on the laptop next to the touchpad. When I came back – the sun was coming through the window on the laptop and I then hit my head. Oh shit. I touched it with fear. Sure enough, my finger went right in. It had melted right on the laptop. Oh god. Ok.. I scooped it up and savoured it one finger at a time. What? I was not going to let my last bit of 99% cocoa go to waste.
Here it is after the first two scoops.
This poor bar lasted me so long and gave me so much happiness and other poor victims so much grief. One new joinee had it and at the time made no visible sign of distaste. Today nearly a month later she explained how vile it was. Hehehe. What to do. Like some Ms India contestant she held her nerve at the time of test and faced discomfort rather than spit it out. Wah wah. One step towards …world peace.Now to buy some other really dark chocolate and have it bit by bit. I am not sure if I might be ever tempted to buy 99% dark but 85% will taste like a sugar factory.
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
an old shave
This one is ridiculously funny. I couldn’t believe it. We are separated by miles of earth, completely poles apart as far as culture and origin is concerned. Vago connection – he has an Indian wife I think. But the feeling is bang on. Having a razor handle is an investment I somehow really don’t want to let go of. So I end up having the older razors.
The thing is that I don’t have a tough beard. It’s a pretty soft beard and I hate shaving. I try and shave every third day at best. Sometimes its once a week. I am normally extremely bored to shave. The older I get the lesser I shave. So my blades last me months. Three, four, five, six months. And I don’t normally get cut while shaving. Only when the shave gets a bit rough and I feel a bit burned, would I get out my new blades. I just find it so cool to really extend my blade life.
The same goes for my shaving foams. I can get through one foam can for over a year. I just don’t understand how people use one can a month. I guess they like to shave everyday with a lot of foam and then they shave twice at the same time. Wow. That reminds me of myself at 15.
Also I have never bought a razor handle in my life. I have only used the ones that people gifted to me. I have one that I recently threw that a friend gave me in 1996. That’s 14 years of service. It was a Gillette mach 2. It was complete drool stuff at the time. They weren’t still freely available in India. The friend had got it as a gift from his relative abroad.
The other razor handles were also gifted to me. I upgraded my self to the all new mach three thanks to my well wishers I guess. With a majority of Jasmine’s relatives in US, shaving innovations are on the top of the list of giftables to poor Indians. Now that the realisation has sunk in with them that we are less deprived, the shaving stuff has far reduced. Thanks to that and my miserly usage, I have never bought a foam bottle also my entire life. Hehehe.
The only foam bottle I bought was a small travelling one and that too is now lying in waste as I stopped shaving while travelling. Invariably I come back from a vacation with a stubble.
To overcome my inertia these days I have started shaving while in the shower. I don’t even have to look at the mirror. I just soap the beard a little and take the blade over it. A quick check in the mirror and I am done. No need for an elaborate setting.
So now even my aftershaves are really really old.
As far as the squash ball is concerned – I don’t throw them unless they tear. Dan has got both the examples absolutely bang on.
Monday, May 03, 2010
a little less sleep, a lot more thought
I have been getting all sleepy these days thanks to a little less sleep everyday. The reason - two back to back fantastic books. One I finished was called Logicomix – a graphic novel that traces Bertrand Russel’s quest for the foundation of mathematics. As dense as it sounds, I guess most the book I could not really claim to have understood in depth. Most of it would have been understood in spirit. I basically understood what the premise is and what the large issue was. But I know only enough to know of it and nod enough to speak of it. But that’s also a big thing.
Maths and physics were easily my favourite subjects. Scared stiff by the engineering competitions I choose to take up commerce and reduce all possible future tension. For the next five years at least. Till I figured that it led no where and I did my MBA. That the MBA also went no where is another matter altogether.
So whenever I get my hands on a half decent physics or math book which is written in a manner that a tenth pass can understand then I am completely keen and sold on. Some of my interesting books have been the dead famous series on Newton and Einstein along with the book that is essential the biography of the equation e=mc^2.
Once Logicomix got over, the book I picked was the Singapore story by Lee Kuan Yew. I have been a great admirer of his, especially after I had personally seen for myself the amazing city of Singapore. While there are enough critics but there is no reason to doubt the integrity of the man and the progress of the people.
I have just started the book and it is immediately a compelling read. He talks about his teachers and the effect they have had on his thinking. It made me sit up and think. Have I made a contribution to the kids I have had the chance to teach. As I have grown I have tried to teach what I think the kids really need to imbibe as a mindset. Much more than mere theory.
If I have been able to inculcate a mindset that enables them in the future to attack various situations and be able to keep their thinking clear, then it would have been well worth it. that’s why its always nice to meet old students. Some of them come upto you and tell you what they have learnt from you and how it really helped them. It is the same in office with my subordinates. That is how I guess I must judge myself and act in a manner that best allows this to happen. It’s not a popularity contest wherein the votes count immediately after the display of ‘skill’. This is a slow burn. Years and decades later if someone remembers you for the value you have added to them and not merely helped them at an unfortunate moment, then you have really done your job.
It also set me thinking on education opportunities. Instead of choosing the commerce stream, if I had taken the arts stream and got into the best college with the best teachers might have enjoyed my education better. Arts was for the women and the men who wanted to be near women. I am not so sure if my parents would have been happy to have their son in arts. Especially after my brother’s lost way in the education system. I was my dad’s final hope. He wanted me in science, an engineer perhaps but being principled that he would not influence choice of stream, commerce was still ok. At least I was not threatening to fail a la big bro.
Teachers have the ability to affect the minds of their wards. It’s a pity that they don’t see it as thus. But then at 200 bucks an hour that I get for teaching, I am ok as it’s not my bread and butter. I would be happy to pay. But how can it motivate a genuine talent to make it a profession. With good women now going to corporate life even the last hope of them joining the only “respectable profession” of teaching is fast diminishing. What’s good for the corporate may not be good for the country. But you can’t really do anything about it. The invisible hand of Adam Smith will transfer the best resources to where it will see the maximum value.
Only issue is that he talks about the long run and we live in the short run.
Maths and physics were easily my favourite subjects. Scared stiff by the engineering competitions I choose to take up commerce and reduce all possible future tension. For the next five years at least. Till I figured that it led no where and I did my MBA. That the MBA also went no where is another matter altogether.
So whenever I get my hands on a half decent physics or math book which is written in a manner that a tenth pass can understand then I am completely keen and sold on. Some of my interesting books have been the dead famous series on Newton and Einstein along with the book that is essential the biography of the equation e=mc^2.
Once Logicomix got over, the book I picked was the Singapore story by Lee Kuan Yew. I have been a great admirer of his, especially after I had personally seen for myself the amazing city of Singapore. While there are enough critics but there is no reason to doubt the integrity of the man and the progress of the people.
I have just started the book and it is immediately a compelling read. He talks about his teachers and the effect they have had on his thinking. It made me sit up and think. Have I made a contribution to the kids I have had the chance to teach. As I have grown I have tried to teach what I think the kids really need to imbibe as a mindset. Much more than mere theory.
If I have been able to inculcate a mindset that enables them in the future to attack various situations and be able to keep their thinking clear, then it would have been well worth it. that’s why its always nice to meet old students. Some of them come upto you and tell you what they have learnt from you and how it really helped them. It is the same in office with my subordinates. That is how I guess I must judge myself and act in a manner that best allows this to happen. It’s not a popularity contest wherein the votes count immediately after the display of ‘skill’. This is a slow burn. Years and decades later if someone remembers you for the value you have added to them and not merely helped them at an unfortunate moment, then you have really done your job.
It also set me thinking on education opportunities. Instead of choosing the commerce stream, if I had taken the arts stream and got into the best college with the best teachers might have enjoyed my education better. Arts was for the women and the men who wanted to be near women. I am not so sure if my parents would have been happy to have their son in arts. Especially after my brother’s lost way in the education system. I was my dad’s final hope. He wanted me in science, an engineer perhaps but being principled that he would not influence choice of stream, commerce was still ok. At least I was not threatening to fail a la big bro.
Teachers have the ability to affect the minds of their wards. It’s a pity that they don’t see it as thus. But then at 200 bucks an hour that I get for teaching, I am ok as it’s not my bread and butter. I would be happy to pay. But how can it motivate a genuine talent to make it a profession. With good women now going to corporate life even the last hope of them joining the only “respectable profession” of teaching is fast diminishing. What’s good for the corporate may not be good for the country. But you can’t really do anything about it. The invisible hand of Adam Smith will transfer the best resources to where it will see the maximum value.
Only issue is that he talks about the long run and we live in the short run.
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