Things Ms Universe would never say

If I were a lady and in the finals of Ms Universe, I can imagine the compere asking, "So, Ms India and Ms Venezuela , what are the top five or six things you hate?"

Ms Venezuela:
1 World poverty
2 Anti-abortion movements
3 child slavery
4 female infanticide
5 women oppression

Me:
1 People who press the "Up" and "Down" button for a lift, get into the lift regardless of the direction and wonder why it takes so much time to get anywhere
2 Bad speling
3 "Can we still be friends?"
4 "How was your day?"
5 Metrosexuals
6 "Titanic"

Dammit... I lost. Was that a trick question?

Please check the number you have dialled

As a kid, while in school
I'd tell myself,"At this point, I'm in school"
I'd reply to myself,"Ya, you're in school"
I'd reply to myself,"No, I'm in school. Don't you get it?"
I'd reply to myself,"Ya, you're in school."
The debate would rage on till I was at the guitar classes.
Today, while in office
I tell myself,"At this point, I'm in office"
The phone-line is dead

1000 words on "How I'm spending my weekend"

A niece of beauty is a joy forever

Tag - you're it!

Thanks, Ms Disarticulation, for tagging me. My literary ignorance stands exposed. Well....you can fool some of the people all of the time .... etc.

As a return favour, would suggest a Music series as I'm more comfortable with music.

Pleasant distraction this, from my inability to proceed on the earlier post, "Part 3..." Here goes:

Total Books I own:
Actually, very little. I've borrowed heavily over time from parents, siblings, friends etc. and bought those that I really liked and returned the rest.

Last book I bought:
Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy by Douglas Adams. I think that Douglas Adams was a one-trick pony, but what a trick!

Last book that I was gifted:
"White Wine for Dummies" and "Complete works of Oscar Wilde"....on my birthday last December.
I enjoy both of them immensely, and quoting Oscar Wilde over several glasses of white wine while passing the quotes off as my own is turning out to be an enjoyable hobby!
[Editor's note: Question is, who does he think he's kidding?]

Last book I read:
The Devil and Miss Prym by Paulo Coelho and The Call of the Vedas.
Yes, I tend to read multiple books at the same time...am never content with reading one at a time. Go figure!

Currently reading:
Godel, Escher and Bach and Conversations with God - part 3
would highly recommend both

Books / works that mean a lot to me:
1. Peanuts by Charles Schultz
Reading Snoopy going,"Here comes the World War I flying ace veteran.....Every veteran's day, Ole Bill and I quaff root beer..." over a hot cuppa coffee on a rainy day makes me go, "Charlie Schultz, I bow before you"

2. Discovery of India by Jawaharlal Nehru
Most (if not all) of his policies do not make sense, but what a wonderful and concise description of Indian History

3. Alchemist by Paulo Coellho
No need to explain this one. One of the few books I've re-read.....I tend not to read works more than once

4. Mahabharat by C Rajagopalchari
As a favourite professor of mine would say,"What is in this story, is. What is not in this story, is not". Could not agree more.

5. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig
Yes, sorry to sound pretentious, but this work has moved me immensely. Had to read the book three times just to scratch the surface. My barometer for a work of Art is the number of questions raised rather than the number of answers provided. This work raised a lot of questions; whether you like the questions are not, you'll never be the same again after having asked them.

To be honest, it is difficult to select five works out of the many creations of several geniuses. Also, music tends to impact me more significantly than the written word. Am on a Western classical trip after a life-time dosage of '70s ..... Liszt, Bach, Mozart, Chopin, Antonin Dvorak, Beethoven etc. Attempted Indian Carnatic music, but realized am way out of my depths here. Ah well....a journey of a thousand miles....


Books that I plan to read soon:
1. Treasure of American Poetry....have had sneak previews of poets like Edgar Allen Poe and Henry David Thoreau, but I shall spend more concerted efforts in completing the works.

2. Stories from the Upanishad

3. TrotterNama ... by I Allen Sealey. Again, am guilty of enjoying the smell of a book, but not actually got around to reading the book.

4. A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway. Have stared at this slim volume for four months now, and someday I shall pick it up.

I tell you, some people are lazy...

Worst book(s) ever:
Most works of V S Naipaul

PS I reserve the right to change the list on an ongoing basis

Part 3 - Life in the fast lane

The waitress was collecting enough change by flirting with one man and pitting him against another man she had flirted with some minutes back. A real labour of love.

It was four in the afternoon but inside the bar, there was no sense of time. The holes in the wall that overlooked the street seemed to radiate the darkness outside.

Outside, the cobbler sat underneath the shade offered by the tarpaulin covering the paan-walah's 2 by 2. Business was slow today, and he slowly chewed on the betel-nut, focusing on the chewing and the spitting in an effort to forget the heat. The storm clouds had been teasing people, and the occasional shower whispered relief, only for the sun to return with a vengeance.

There were some rumbling noises coming from inside the bar; chairs being pushed behind only to be followed by some shouting and laughing and some educated shrieking.

The two policemen sitting outside drinking their half-cuppa tea cursed loudly in the direction of the bar. The shouting subsided, but the laughter continued. The rubber sheets covering the row of slum-houses reeked of the smell that rubber makes when unable to cope with heat. The stench, combined with the banging noises that came from the various mechanics' outlets led to a bad headache. Stripping licence plates was a good business.

The policemen proceeded to abuse, with the occasional slang questioning the validity of their origins and passing references to their mothers and sisters. On this street, life was as bad as it could get.

Which made it an unusual locale to discuss the previous night's suicide.

The cobbler's distant cousin was a hand at the apartment where the death took place. His cousin often referred to a violent life that the four walls of that apartment had played a mute witness to. Of strange looking pills that would be consumed with golden liquors in fine glasses, and the cigarette smoke often smelt very sweet.

The cobbler adjusted his dhoti and stretched his legs. He spat in the direction of a drain. This weather simply took no prisoners!

"These filmi people have more money and less brains", said the first policeman to noone in particular.
"Yes, so much blood", replied the second.
"And what of that fool, with his city ways? He was disturbing us at four in the morning!"
"But how did he know it was a suicide? It was less than twenty minutes when we came, and he was too drunk to walk"
"These filmi people are always like that", confirmed the first one.

The cobbler continued to overhear the conversation.
"She did some good work though ... on those TV serials", said the second one, rising to the defence of the defenseless dead."My sister always enjoyed her serials. She played the role of nurses, and forever spent free time in hospitals. She did some good......"
"Arrey, so what? Do you know how many men have been in her life? And my job is to help clean up the blood and collect evidence. For what? Her men should have been there cleaning up the blood. Why do I need the stress?"
"Ya, we should have called the drunk fool with us. Wonder where he went...we should have taken him for questioning."
"What for? He seemed another filmi types..fool. No use to us."

Thank God for stereotypes, it resolves the need for thought. This was the lesson for the day for the cobbler. He would learn another from his cousin.

Part 2 - Doors of Perception

It was a perfectly balanced life; he often alternated between regret and sin. And often alternated between the men’s room and the bar. In front of the live music. Just like it was some minutes back. Except that news of the gun-shot had spread pretty fast. And then it came back, haunting him like an old tune.

The police were circling around the apartment complex. The lights were twirling and the police had arrived to close another chapter.

But tonight, there was another story. He was far too drunk to figure how best to tell the story.

He pulled himself out of the pub and stood outside, trying to catch the sea-breeze, breathing through his mouth. A few hours later, he would be ok. Except that the police were around.

Death is a real eye-opener, he thought to himself. Apparently, awareness to environment heightens on news of death. He remembered being part of a funeral procession some years back; the flowers growing near the drainage system looked beautiful then. Tonight, he was trying to catch his breath. Idiot.

So he approached the police cars slowly. One of them looked at him with disgust.
“This is no place for you, sir. There has been a shooting.”
“I know. You’ll never catch the killer, though.”
“Why is that?”
“Because the killer is also dead”
“What?”
“Suicide...it's the latest flavour of the month”
“How would you know that, sir?”
At this point, the drunk started laughing.
“I think its better that you go home, sir. You’re in no condition to walk. Besides, this is not a good time to be chatting with the police.”

The police officer was visibly irritated by this fool. Spending hard-earned money on alcohol too expensive to waste by getting drunk, and all he has to show for it is caked stains on his shirt.
“Sir…..please leave.”

And the drunk turned around, and staggered on his left foot. His state was worsened by the fact that he was flat-footed.

There must be a taxi at that time; what time was it anyways? He looked at his left hand. Men who wear watches on their right hand are strange, he was told during his school-days. Not much valuable insights to be gained in school. It’s funny, what startling revelations are to be had when death and alcohol surround you.

There was a taxi-driver sleeping, but the meter was up, indicating that even at this god-forsaken hour, the taxi was ready for business. The city never sleeps.

He entered the taxi and passed out just before telling the driver where he wanted to go. He was pretty sure that the driver would wake him up about ten minutes before he got home.

Next morning, he expected that the death would be all over the papers. Not really; page 3 was very sympathetic to the plight of a socialite who used to sing at parties and was associated with many famous industrialists.

What a sad ending to a life that blossomed with joy and radiated happiness to one and all.

Page 3 got her name wrong. When you die, then you’re really famous.

Times are a-changin'

What issue or issues will most define our future?
A search for values. People want to believe in something more profound than "bigger, better, faster, new, and improved." Full lives need meaning and purpose beyond the fleeting gratification of rampant consumption. In the future, successful businesses will need to connect emotionally with customers. And transactions will be richer--more than goods and services exchanged for a fair price. They will be about building a relationship that increasingly buttresses and substitutes for the declining influence of family and organized religion in individuals' lives.

Pop quiz...who said this?
Interestingly, by a gentleman named David Roux, Co-founder and MD, Silverlake Partners.

Seems like there is something subtle blowing in the wind, and it threatens to envelop us all very soon. As I said before, the world is getting better.

Values and Commitments

The choices of values that people make continue to fascinate me. This is in continuation to another pile of junk I'd written sometime back......

Commitment

Depending on your genetic predisposition, a commitment could either mean taking a relationship to “another level” or it could mean a stint in a lunatic asylum. Or one followed by another. Like serendipity gone all wrong.

To me, a commitment means neither…as yet. Commitment typically means “Let me call you back in a bit” and one does call back in a bit. Not calling back is a serious offence.

I specialize in rarely committing; I prefer to be accused of rarely making commitments (but sticking to them) rather than making commitments and then having to break them- like an IT vendor:
Rookie: “But can your software integrate with my back-end accounting packages?”
IT vendor: “That can be easily achieved through customizations that my 'Java Swing' software development team can do. Our commitment to excellence ensures no projects fail.”
At this point of time, if anybody talks to you about customization efforts in any project (software, construction...anything), run.

So what then is a commitment: a promise to deliver? But isn’t that what brands are all about - a promise to deliver? So a brand is nothing more than a commitment then.

Interesting…at least to me; so brands can exist in the form of husbands and wives, soaps and vegetables, and vegetable sellers. Anything you look at can be boiled and distilled into a single sentence: a commitment. Long chains of unbroken commitments merely reinforce the original commitment; like DNA.

Spouses shell out huge sums of money on marriage consultants to analyze their commitments. We look towards mega-watt wind turbines to reinforce commitments to a greener tomorrow. Commitments, the whole is greater than sum of the parts, but eventually depends on each part’s commitments, and the ability to deliver on its commitments.

Commitments: a prayer to God, the process of the Sun rising on the east and setting on the west, of the fastest runner in the world, of cabbages and kings.

Isn’t that why it hurts when a commitment is broken? We form a frame of reference driven by our expectations of all commitments. And the relative distances between each of them is driven by what we call values.