Monopoly fears threaten all-out war in peaceful community

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The ‘travails’ (pronounced trae-vels) of Harmless Brown Man - Ghanaian Thoughts

I’m not somebody who’s very easily given to too much thinking. There are these times though, when the cynical engineer in me gives way to an idealist. A dreamer. And folks, let me tell you this: the dreamer is not a man to be trifled with. The dreamer believes all things are possible, and possesses an innate capability to go above and beyond. Or as all of us Haasies are wont to say, Beyond Yourself! In my humble opinion, that probably explains why I keep that beast locked up most of the time.

So, when I looked at the haas programme more than 18 months ago, there was this one course that caught my eye. International Business development. A glint in the eyes. And a promise.

Fast forward to three weeks ago. I’m in Ghana, working on the Ghana School feeding programme. Day one in accra, and I’m suddenly confused: wasn’t Ghana part of the british empire? And since the answer is yes, why in the good queen’s name do they drive on the wrong side of the road? (note: the author is subject to significant bias, as you can tell, and wishes to profusely apologise. Or as the indomitable sardarji on the popular sitcom ‘mind your language’ would say “A thousand apologies, sir!”

A significant part of the project involves all of us going out into different teams and interviewing caterers and farmers in the supply chain to understand drivers of costs and what can be done with the programme to improve it. Me and Luis (also known as the harmless brown men – for more read this) are going up to the north of the region. Luis is excited that he’ll get to see the actual landscape of the country, and also get to see elephants in the wild. I’m going to get a little rural flavor, and for the intensive travel that we’re going to see. Only thing is, I didn’t realize how much we would be travelling. Over the course of 6 days we travelled 1300 kms on some of the most challenging roads I’ve ever seen. What was even more surprising to me was the fact that at the end of the journey, I was in a state of perfect bliss and extremely happy that I had taken this trip. I was asked by my amazing client, Daniel Mumuni, whether given a choice, would I do the trip again. My response (which surprised the cynic out of my skin): Yes. I’d do it all over again. After all, how many times do you get to ride 300 kms in the back of a pickup truck, the wind blowing across your face, and get to see at once in cinemascope color a kaleidoscope of poverty and happiness existing in the same individual?

View Sissala East in a larger map

I realized quite a few things in my journeys up in the north of Ghana. One, that luis was probably the whitest person that most of these people had seen. Two, that I wasn’t so much of a novelty. In fact, there was this farmer in a quaint little village called Zabzugu-Tatale (By the way, the story of this farmer could be a blog post by itself. When we asked him to introduce himself, his response in endearingly broken English was “My name is Best Farmer. I am the Best Farmer here, and I am the chief of my community”) who, on being told that I was Indian, actually started talking to me about Bollywood movies!!

In the course of my journeys, I actually happened to go to the borders of Togo (in the east), Cote d’ivoire (in the west) and Burkina Faso (in the north).See the map i've attached. If there is a competition for most borders touched while on IBD, I guess Luis and myself qualify for the award!! (George: can we institute this award for next year?)

While the prospect of seeing elephants wasn’t too exciting for me (I’m from Kerala, India. See Ana faba’s post and pics to understand what I mean about me not being excited by elephants. I’ve literally grown up around them. Relative to people from other parts of the world, I mean. ), I did have an awesome experience up at the Burkina border. I actually sat on a live, free crocodile!!! Needless to say, I was just as scared as the chicken I bought to keep the crocodile docile. My first reaction honestly was, wait, you want me to do what??? Contrary to what I thought, these guys are really fast. Case in point: I was clicking a similar picture of luis, and in a flash, one of them had sidled up and was a couple of feet from me. Cue hasty retreat. Considering the awesome state of physical fitness that I’m in, you can imagine the sight. The locals enjoyed that a lot.

Overall, one of the best road trips I’ve been on, made even more enjoyable by the thoroughly amazing company of Vasco (best driver evah!), little john (I’m serious. He introduced himself as little john) and Michael. By the time the road-trip was done, I’m infinitely more knowledgeable about Africa and its tumultuous history. (I’ve also had assistance from a certain Martin Meredith).

Back in Accra, we’re instantly condemned to The Asylum (code name for office). More revelations. Apparently, some of us from the tropics need the air-conditioning to be at a lower temperature than most others can handle. In a spate of hard-a**ed negotiations, we started from 17 degrees (Fran’Chico’ and me) and 24 degrees (Yosuke and christine) to a suitable middle ground of 20. (I’m sorry greenpeace. Please don’t take away my membership card.). We had several other negotiations as well. Some great. No further details will be released.

I’ve been picking up a few tips from Luis: about his diplomatic talents (he was last seen negotiating a settlement with Cote d’Ivoire. Don’t ask me what about.), and his awesome ability to power through the most adverse circumstances.

On a related note, we ended up buying traditional smocks when we were up north. In the dialect that’s spoken up there, the word for it is ‘bungma’ (pronounced bnng-mma. Is that right, Daniel?) We wore the smocks to our final presentation. I must say, I do look pretty dapper in it (even if I say so myself)

Anyway, I have a million stories to tell about Ghana. Can’t hog all the real estate on this blog. If you’re an admitted student or a fresh first year looking to understand whether you should be doing IBD, go for it. If you just want to hear a good story to get convinced, come find me.

I’m going to board a flight back to San Francisco tomorrow. Have a packed schedule ahead of me. Flight to Fort Lauderdale, then back to SF and then on a flight again to Chicago. I can already feel the dreamer leaving me. This time however, the dreamer is going back into his shell without a fight. He’s had a good time in Ghana. Thank you. Mr. Cynic – the stage is all yours. I’ll let you know when I need to come out again.

The ‘travails’ (pronounced trae-vels) of Harmless Brown Man - Part Deux

(This is a continuation of the much anticipated travails of Harmless brown man. For the first part of the story, click here)

Aaahh, the joys of flying international!! In my numerous travels internationally (my sum total of experience totals 2 flights. This is my second) good, clean, wide-bodied aircraft, good food, space to stretch your legs, free alcohol, and amazingly pretty air-hostesses. Actually, you know what? Make that air-hosts. Two of the grumpiest Dutchmen you’ll ever meet. Never knew they were made that way. Sigh. Story of my life.

Apart from the fact that I never seemed to get food (because I happened to doze off at exactly the moment that they were coming around with the food trays), I think the flight was pretty good. I also had a mid-air birthday party, which comprised of 6 of us toasting tiny wine bottles, some 32000 meters in the air (In case you’re wondering, I’m not on US soil anymore. I can be normal again and use meters and Celsius.) Awesome birthday, I must say.

Some four video games and 2 movies later, we’re landing at Amsterdam. This should be interesting. Amsterdam, the city of the famous canals, the coffee shops, and, of course, the red light district!! Boy, am I looking forward to this! I’m like a five year old on a caffeine freeze as we get off the plane, literally hopping on one knee. And then, as I feared, I find that I’m not allowed to leave the airport. Why? Well, because I carry an Indian passport. Sigh. Everybody else gets to leave the airport except for the Indian and the Columbian. Both harmless brown men. More importantly, both from countries of disrepute (india – immigration, Columbia – well.. you know what)

When I was growing up, alastair maclean and then robert ludlum were my bibles of inconsequential information. A big part of all their stories featured Amsterdam and Schipol airport (with good reason, don’t you think?). I must confess however, my 6 hours at Schipol were singularly devoid of all the cloak and dagger stuff that I had come to associate Schipol with.

Time passes quickly though. Pretty soon it’s time to board the next flight. The other guys (I really want to rant about the fact that Brazilians are allowed out the airport, but an Indian is not. But I guess I can’t do anything about it, except defend India’s equally incomprehensible policy of reciprocity with visas.)

The flight to Accra is a much more pleasant flight, made even more so by the presence of two extremely beautiful and charming stewardesses who were attendant to my every small whim. In fact, I actually held an impromptu self-help lesson for one of the KLM male attendants (I believe the right phrase is on-the-job training)

This flight passes pretty quickly too, and pretty soon we’re at Accra. I walk out of the airport, and breathe in the fresh air of Africa for the first time. I choke. Wrong air. Aircraft fumes can be nauseating, you see. Walk a little further away. Repeat dramatic deep breath. Africaaaahh!!! I want to burst into song right there (humming some lyrics by Toto. Reeeaaallly cheesy. I know. Ugh.)

The tour through the airport is pretty uneventful. Kinda reminds me of Ahmedabad airport before the new one was built. For those of you who have never been to Ahmedabad, the ceiling of the airport had these rafters that were home to omnipresent and omnipotent pigeons. I’ve had goo on my head more than once.

We’re staying at GIMPA (short for Ghana institute for management and public administration). The rooms are pretty okay. No problems. I’m dead tired. I’ve been on GMT for a couple of days now to avoid jetlag, and I’m feeling the effects now. Yawn. Goodnight!!

The ‘travails’ (pronounced trae-vels) of Harmless Brown Man

In recent times I have been wont to take inspiration from other artistes, an honorable and time-tested ideal that acclaimed creative geniuses Anu Malik and Bappi Lahiri have oft leveraged, to super-hit results. (My non-indian friends: I’m sorry about the distinctly cultural reference. Goes with the job description, unfortunately. ) It is with due deference and courtesy to these great men that I start typing this script; in the process, I hope to attract both the fame and infamy that can only be associated with plagiarized art.

Anyway, my first source of inspiration is the venerated George Lucas; this article appears to you as the first part. These blog posts are intended to be the middle trilogy of an epic saga involving, not surprisingly, a harmless brown man. There will be a preview trilogy that will come out 10 years after this trilogy, which will be called (in no order of importance. All rights reserved)

Harmless Brown Man: The Beginning

Harmless Brown Man: Manhattanized Revolution

Harmless Brown Man: An Enterprise of all good things

And this chapter, which I grandiosely seek to call: (cue trumpets and inspirational soundtrack)

Harmless Brown Man (Rebirth): Cradle of Mankind

Once this script is produced, I’ll be starting on the sequel, which is tentatively titled “Black and White”

Anyway, that’s a lot of explanation about something that’s of no interest to you, the casual reader. You’re here to read my story. If you’re running out of patience, skip to the next paragraph. If you think you can put up with this a little while longer, follow me. The other plagiarized bit is the harmless brown man thingy. There’s this page on MySpace of the same name; they sell brown tees that say ”harmless brown man”. Highly recommended for all those that Michael Jackson omitted in his song. ICE at airports across the USA, you know what I mean. Peace out.

So, to the story then:

I’ve been looking forward to this day for a long time now. There have been nights where I wake up, sweating, because I think that I’ve missed the flight. Not nice at all. Anyway, I’ve done all the right things. Taken my shots. Been tested for diseases that, weirdly enough, I seem to be immune to. After 5 months of interminable sessions on Monday evenings, we’re finally going to Africa.

5/14/2011 11:30 AM – Ever since I’ve taken an operations class, I’ve been extremely critical of Queues. Today I’m waiting in one. Tapping my foot. Every minute I’m standing here, I’m risking missing my flight. The thing is, I might not have been so impatient if I didn’t know about queue-ing philosophy…

My turn. Finally. I feel like the conquistadors of old, buying colored trinkets. (bad parallel, I know.)

Rush to the Mini, where Sam’s waiting for me. Next up, we do an impressive rendition of ‘the Italian job’ in downtown Berkeley.

Next scene: Berkeley BART station. Tapping my foot again. A mere 13 minutes later, a train arrives. But this one doesn’t take me to the airport. Have to change trains somewhere in south SF. And then, with classic timing, I get a phone call. Its Chico. All hell is about to break loose.

Our original flight was to be SFO - Atlanta – lagos, Nigeria – Accra, Ghana. However, I’m now being told by an amazingly calm voice on the phone that I won’t be allowed to set foot in Nigeria without a visa. Now all of you are going to say, well genius, isn’t that obvious? Actually no, it isn’t. I didn’t know that I needed a Nigerian visa to stand in Lagos international airport. Arrghh!

Anyway, long story short. Fran’Chico’ has now booked us all onto a flight through Amsterdam. Super nice!. There’s just the small problem of this new flight being half an hour earlier. Mierde.

5/14/2011 12:55 PM - @Balboa St. More foot tapping. There’s no way we’re making it in time. Alternate plans include an impromptu party in the mission district. Oh BART, why have you failed me so!!!

5/14/2011 1:08 PM - @SFO international terminal. For those of you who have seen me running, you know it’s not a pretty sight. Coordinated body movements do not come naturally to me. Add a big suitcase, and a ludicrously heavy laptop bag to that mix, and you have a disaster waiting to happen. Sam agrees. We have no choice though. So, we run.

A few bruised toes and grimaces later, we’re at the check-in counter. I’m being told that there’s no place on the flight. Desperation to get on the flight means that both of us go into sweet talk overdrive. Amazingly enough, it works. We have seats on the flight. Phew.

May the force be with you..

There are very few ads doing the rounds these days that truly make me sit up and take notice.. just saw this one yesterday during the superbowl.. very well made ad!!!

the kid's reaction is priceless!

a quarter past, half of fall, and some other fractions..

----of the passage of the quarter past---

of the right price, and a willingness to pay,

we regress a curve, and figure, what do I say?

bring a toupee, and feet made of clay,

never once did i see, an uninteresting day.

a time of discovery, a time of mirth,

a time for me, to discover my worth,

a time, with memories, there's no dearth

and you start wondering, do i deserve this berth?

a dozen score, and then a few more,

each brings a unique lore,

split into cohorts of four,

the smaller the class, the friends the more!

classes, parties, mixers there are here,

all par for the course, my sister dear,

time's too short, missing out do i fear,

no trivial pursuit, no studying mere.

what pray, does the future for me hold,

a crystal ball, my actions foretold?

alas, this brave new world, is not yet so bold,

why do I shiver, when it yet ain't so cold?

MBA blogger?

http://berkeleymbastudents.blogspot.com/2010/10/slice-of-sky.html

An apple a day...

I’m sitting at home. I realize that I can’t put it off any more. I’ve been procrastinating, trying to avoid the inevitable. Finally, I figure, its time, time I stopped putting it off, and actually get around to doing it. What was the assignment again? I’m supposed to look at a fruit? Of everything that I could observe, I’ve been advised to look at a fruit. Not market pricing, not the share market, not even some speaker speak about innovation, and no, of course not a football game, but Fruit! Well, this is going to be interesting, I can say that much!

I rummage through the fridge and figure that an apple will have to do. I’m sure a nectarine might have been more interesting, but I’m too lazy to go out to trader joe’s and buy nectarines for this exercise.

Knife – Check.

Cutting board – Check.

Fruit – Check.

Me – Check.

Notes – Check.

The only thing that was missing was my mind. I was still humming that maiden song I just heard. Anyway, here goes.

The minute I look at the apple, the first thing that comes into my mind is Disney’s snow white and the seven dwarfs. An amazing story, considering the fact that the original story was a lot darker than the cartoon. Didn’t she bite into a green apple, and end up sleeping in a glass coffin? Creepy!

Well Aditya, this story isn’t about you and your tryst with snow white, it’s about that apple that’s lying on the table! … Yeah, yeah… the apple that ended paradise for Adam and Eve, making the apple, in a weird convoluted sort of way, causal to my existence.

But anyway, back to the apple. This is a green apple. Kinda small. Cold to the touch, considering that I’ve taken it out of the fridge. A beautiful, brilliant shade of green. The apple is a bit lop sided, not exactly the classic apple shape that we all imagine apples to be. But then, I guess apples are as different as people (that is irrelevant, isn’t it?).

I’m about to start wondering what the objective of the exercise is, when I suddenly realize that I now see the apple differently. I’ve been looking at the apple for around 15 minutes now, and suddenly the point that the professor might have in mind, begins to make sense. I can see the apple sweat, just so slightly. It’s as if the apple is demanding that it be put back in the fridge, rather than out here in this hot room. I try to tell the apple that today is a relatively cold day, and he shouldn’t be complaining, and then I check myself. Stupid idea.

I figure I’d like to cut the apple up, and see how juicy the apple is. Right now sitting on the table, it seems like a very very juicy apple indeed! I spend a couple of minutes debating whether the exercise allowed me to cut the apple up. I guess the dice were heavily loaded. I cut the apple down the middle. And get back to looking at the apple again.

Looking back at my notes, I see that I spent quite a bit of time just observing the apple with nothing else in mind after I had cut the apple open. Suddenly, it was like the apple was a lot more interesting than it was before. I remember looking intently at the surface, observing how the juice accumulates at the cut surface, before it starts oxidizing and turning that familiar shade of brown. That is weird. I actually do think that I was able to achieve a state of not thinking about anything else but the apple for quite some time, which, for me, is an achievement in itself. The apple is getting browner by the minute. And considering that I have a note which says “Very Juicy”, I think I should get around to eating this apple now. All said, a fair and interesting one hour spent on the apple, I would say!

How i found the muse.. (ramblings contt.)

.. all right, I’m back, after a long gap, but then, a lot has been happening with me over the past three weeks. I’m like a guinea pig in my head, running as fast as I can, but just can't seem to get to the other side! But that is a story for later, for now, let's go back to where I left off...

Can you please remind me what I was doing back here? Oh yeah, I was surprised. Very surprised. I always used to believe that there were the 'dreamers'(as opposed to the hippie generation) and there were the 'planners' (these are the people who like to box things in. My sister is a prime example). Well for some very weird and inexplicable reason, I just couldn't find a dreamer to speak to about my life. So, this is what I went through:

Scene - glass of beer in my hand, heart-to-heart outside the bhadrachalam bar (yes, there was a bar on the campus!)

Players: Adi & Abi

Adi – hey, you know what? I started to give a bit of thought on what I wanted to do with my life, and I’m hitting a brick wall. I’m pretty sure I want to do an MBA, but I haven't given much thought as to why I want to do it.

Abi – Good for you man! But what is it that you want to do?

Adi - ummm... aaaahhh... I dunno...

Abi – Dude, you really need to figure out what you want to do. Once you do that everything will fall in place!

Adi - (….......................................) silence

Scene 2 – Google talk chat transcript:

A – so what plans?

H – machan, I really want to be in the real estate space. I just completed a major switch right now, I think I’m on the right track to where I wanna be...

A - (… left the conversation)

I guess you guys get the picture. Long story short, I kinda figured that I had to do some serious thinking. The good news was, I already had my GMAT out of the way. Bad news: I had just 2 months to think, and make up for 26 years of morbid stupidity!

(Historical note: I think it was around this time that the stock price of ITC (cig) and United Spirits (liq) shot up dramatically. I’m sure everybody was wondering why. Well, now you guys know. It was me doing my 'thinking'.)

Jokes apart, a month later, I actually figured out that I did have a fair idea of what the end point was. No clear path, no google map which stretched forward in time. But an image. An idea. And that was when I came to realise that I was getting there. And quite surprisingly, it wasn't like I had imagined it to be, it wasn't a case of me going over to the dark side. I was still the dreamer. I still didn't know what I was doing the next day, but in the brownian space of my mind (Physics 101, in case you're confused) there was this energy which made the entire setup a little less random, the fine line on the edge of chaos which is where we really want to end up, but are too scared to stay there..(that's a bit random, but its true, believe it or not!)

So, how did this change things? Well, for one, the MBA made sense suddenly, and I had something to do! (snigger.. I didn't really realize the ride I was in for, but I’m being positive here for a change instead of cynical, so bear with me!)

more for later.. story to continue!!

Ramblings on a jet plane!

Most stories and tales usually begin, very unassumingly, with a journey. July 27^th,2010... as with most things.. this one too starts with a journey... for that was after a whole lot of frantic preparation and last minute packing, I was finally leaving for the USA. Why? Well, because, like most people, (or at least I believe most people) I had decided that I needed something better in life. Not better as in materially (although, that matters) or monetarily (although that too matters!) but purely on a fundamental level of self achievement. What I was doing in terms of work was good, sure, but I really wasn't able to stretch myself and bring the best out with whatever responsibilities I had. Add to that the fact that in my 26 years thus far, I really haven't been able to figure out what I want, rather I have been going around determining what I really don't wanna do. Although to be fair, I'm not very good at figuring that out too either, I just keep going around saying that I wanna do this.. and this.. and that too.. and really have not been able to truly eliminate what I don't wanna do. So like all those chiropractors of the human mind keep suggesting, I began to look critically at what I wanna do. About what inspires me, drives me, keeps me on my toes and running all the time. It was then that I realized, I really hadn't done much in terms of introspection through my life. Sigh! Well,I guess better late than never. At least I’m beginning to ask myself these difficult questions. Never mind that I’m not finding answers. Never mind that I feel a lot more confused and apprehensive now than I did before. I'll improve. Of that I’m sure.

So, coming back to the narrative, all those questions led me to write my GMAT. Although, in all honesty that was just a stab in the dark, because that's what everybody felt I should be doing with my life. I wanted to agree with them, sure, I’d love to agree with them.. but for the life of me, I couldn't think of a good enough reason to believe that what they were saying was right. Anyhow, the extremely random person that I am, I took all the suggestions and free advice (Oh, and it was a LOT of advice!) and went ahead and wrote the exam. Took some time studying at nights, while we were commissioning the new copier line at work; which meant that time tables were dysfunctional, and therefore, both my sleep, and my studies were too. Nevertheless, I did end up writing the exam, and I was slightly surprised when I did pretty well. So, a pat on the back to self, a congratulatory drink, and I’m back again to the same void that I felt before I had started out with this entire thing. It was then that I realised that I had barely started, barely wet my feet. I had to now choose colleges to apply to, fill out their application forms, and … wait a minute! Did I see essays? Was that what they wanted me to do? Write big fat stories (read: lies) about why I wanted to do an MBA and what was it that I was expecting to do with my career and with my life?!! Now, this is something of a challenge! Like I mentioned earlier, I wasn't entirely convinced with the reasons that were being given to me for doing an MBA. And if there was one thing I wasn't really comfortable doing, it was lying through my teeth about things that I was going to do some time in the distant future. And come on, who's even seen tomorrow! I vaguely know what I’m gonna do once I’m off this flight. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the extent of my long term planning. Not 15 years from now. Not 10 years from now. Not even a year from now. That is how hopeless I am. I mean, sure, I have a vague idea of things, I know I wanna do good in life, wanna have loads of fun, blah blah blah, but I don't have a master plan, all neatly laid down, with their cute little boxes and different colored lines which I look at when I wake up everyday!?

I used to wonder about what kind of people really think that way and work that way. So, I started asking around, reasonably confident that there won't be too many nutcases like that around. Boy, was I surprised! Every single person that I spoke to, note every single person (well, okay, not really every single person, but then hippies don't count!).... to be continued.. flight is about to land!

A little learning, a dangerous thing!

there is a phrase that old men say,
which, to me, was always fey,
for how can knowledge be a dangerous thing,
and pray, what sorrow could it ever bring?

but oft, of late, a look at the heart,
and it's bleeding, as it's been stuck by a dart,
and you try, you try, not to give a fart,
"fuck you", comes the answer, ever so tart.

you keep yourself busy, to block the mind,
keep it occupied, you fear what it'll find,
but in a moment it comes, and it comes real bad,
and to be honest, it hurts, not just a tad.

for knowledge gained, is one never lost,
to not acknowledge it, one must be of frost.
but it's not for me, whatever the cost,
and sometimes I wish I'd done a Dr. Faust.

and then it strikes me, again those old men,
accompanied by the shriek of an irritating wren,
for while knowledge is power, ignorance is bliss,
and at long last, I finally understand this.

The deed is done, the act is past,
I seek to forget, and forget fast,
for time will forge surely, as will come to bear,
a set of blinkers, that I will choose to wear.

Never again will I question an old man's wisdom,
For their phrases are lore, in every kingdom,
to the future I look, and all seems bright,
then what is that in my eye, that's impeding my sight?

The rime of the traitor

‘Tis time, my friends to tell you a tale,

A time of struggle and sorrow, I would recount,

Where the spirit of man is seen to fail,

All in all, I hope, a moving account.

Of the players, or the scene, I dare not tell,

In my heart I must keep this secret so fell,

For they, I am sure, must have been through hell,

And their trust, mon ami, is not something to sell.

“The night was dark, the shadows long,

The moon, as in so many a famous song,

The harbinger of doom, the ringing bell,

A message, that made my heart quell,

O, god? What sin is this, what wrong?

I ramble and I rave, I beg and I plead,

Such words, that you and I wouldn’t read,

But, there it was, this terrible deed,

Who, then, would ever take heed?

In a time of strife, while we defend the keep,

And the twisted knife of treachery plays its ugly hand,

You look around, and who do you find?

A leap of faith, nay, just a leap

And then, in raging fire do you stand,

The images of the dead one, playing on your mind.

And then it starts the struggle so real,

Adds bitterness to every sweet meal,

You shrug it off and then sleep, or rather, try,

But, sadly, all that you can do is helplessly cry.

For what’s done is done, the dead are gone,

All’s that left is solitude, and the dreams of the sin,

And slowly, in its place, hatred will spawn,

And repulsion, so dark, it crawls up your skin.

The sorrow is real, and the sin is too,

But both will, stay, whom will you swear allegiance to?

At the end of the day, when the die was cast,

Did you think that it would be over so fast?

A slip of the tongue, an unthoughtful act,

And you, my friend have broken an immortal pact,

Trust ‘twas that built the halls of this earth,

Who then were you, to cause such grievous hurt?

Life goes on, in it’s merry way,

With it, your will cannot hold sway,

For it is the sum of all parts, the universe a hole,

What does it care about you, you mole?

The spine is bent, the spirit is gone,

The war that was fought with pride is no more,

Where is the meaning in life now, mon?

I’m afraid, even time will not heal this wound, so sore.

Is there a way, I ask, to turn back time?

Or is this dreadful past to be forever mine?

Forgive me O lord, for I have sinned

I humbly pray that this deed have no kin.

Of all the people, in all the worlds,

This curse that you so honorably bore,

would it be that your suffering is stopped,

forchance, I may be allowed to carry the load.

But O fool, this burden is not mine alone,

Along with me, you also will atone,

You think you are free, but you fool yourself dear,

Remember, O remember, what happened to king lear.

I wish I could, I wish I might,

Blaspheme you with all of my spite,

But somehow, sadly it doesn’t feel right,

For when both repent, where is the fight?”

But hope no more, of turning back time,

It will not happen, at least in the course of this rhyme,

You will kill the seed, You will halt the flow,

Of those creative juices that created this prose.

And thus my friend this tale must end,

I’m sure with more questions; and bridges to mend,

It must be me, to get on with life,

And that, of which this world is rife,

I hope that then, my spirit will not quail,

And I will not crush another so frail,

But of the subject, I must say, all Hail!

For a truly magnanimous one it is that graced this tale.

Gods

sA man's faith is a funny thing. It's not something that's based on reason, or whatever mankind chooses to call reason; I'll be damned if the Mumbai blasts are anything close to what could be called reason. So anyway, there are thousands and thousands of gods. Religious gods. Spiritual gods. Demi-gods. Lesser gods. Greater gods. Children of a lesser God. And those who believe they follow a Greater God.

And there's Andre Agassi. And there's Iron maiden.

As different as chalk and cheese. But both icons of a generation. A generation which, one feels, is long gone. A generation of spandex. Long hair. Flamboyance. And truckloads of talent.

My Gods. Not Gods because of what they won, or the number of albums they released. But because of what they meant to me, growing up. Every high. Maiden by my side. Every low. Remember Agassi. Every sorrow; Maiden's there for you. Every adrenaline rush; you know what he feels every time he walks out onto center court.

Goodbye and Adieu Andre Agassi.

Rock is Dead. Long live Iron Maiden.

PS. I do not like Michael Schumacher. I absolutely detest him. Nevertheless, he's God. All of you who swear by his name, I respect you. On the day of his retirement, a toast to his greatness.

There's an audit going on. I'm escorting the audit team around. 4:30 PM. We're in the finishing house, near the winder, near my office. Checking on a previously known issue. The place is, as usual, noisy. Suddenly, a scream. I see a guy running. For the fire extinguisher. I look at the machine. I see smoke, a small plume. Then Wooosh! The whole machine is billowing smoke. The fire alarm goes off. I think I should run. But I stand. There's chaos around me. I stare at the smoke. There's a fire. A big fire. Time speeds up, as it is wont to do. I scream at the auditors to get out. They react, too slowly. Fire training lessons kick in. Step 1. Shout Fire Fire Fire at the top of your lungs. (I have pretty good lungs, so no problems there) Step 2. If fire generates smoke, cover your face. (shit, no handkerchief) Step 3. Locate source of fire. (can't do that now, haven't covered my face). Somebody shouts "Check all the rooms! Make sure everybody is out!!"...

...The building has been vacated. I run back toward the fire. I'm stopped. No mask. I walk out. Colleagues run to me, as if I had returned from the dead. I find out my boss was stuck in a room with no escape, and had to be taken out through the window. Thank God he's safe. I sit down, and look at the smoke...

...I go to the stores. Torches and masks are required. I load the car. And go back inside. There is smoke everywhere. Can't see. We bring welcome light in the gloom. We need to get some paper cores out. Lots of it. The fire warden puts us in human chains. We start pulling. We're knee deep in water, the fire at our backs; and we're emptying the place. The firemen hold the flames at bay, while we get all the cores out...

... It's been 2 hours. The flames are out. All flammable material was taken out. We go upstairs. The damage is huge. At least 10 days lost. Feel empty. God knows why. It ain't my 8 crores. No lives were lost. Why did I stand, and not stay safely outside?

Then it strikes me. The company does matter. It's a part of me. As long as I'm with it, I own the company. I'm mad. But I feel good. The soot doesnÂ’t matter. We'll get this place up and running. Soon. Real soon.

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder

I'm doomed. There's no more to it. The only thing I can think about writing here, is something that happened at work. Somebody please save my soul... But anyway.. Here goes...

I took two of my colleagues to the factory for a trial, one from the procurements department (which for the uninitiated gets us all the raw materials for our mill, and keep trying to cut costs on all inputs) and the other from our marketing department (which again for the the oh! So uninitiated sells our finished goods, which for the even more uninitiated, in this case happens to be paperboard; and hence is trying to increase the price we get on them).

The factory at BCM is huge, and we spend a great deal of our time just walking around the place. Now, that's not pretty much different from college, but you never got blasted for not turning up in the afternoon cos you were tired. So, anyway, while we're walking, I listen to the two chaps discussing about the price of the dollar. I'll call the procurement guy P and the marketing guy Q for the time being.

Mr. P: Yaar pulp prices are shooting through the roof! and as if that wasn't enough, the dollar is predicted to rise!!

Mr. Q: Yeah, there is a sensitivity to the positive trend in pulp prices, but I'm sure that we'll be able to gain positive mileage out of the increasing dollar/euro exchange rates.(jeez.)

So P wants the dollar to fall, Q wants the dollar to rise.

Mr. P: Import duties are killing! I wonder why they decided against dropping them.

Mr. Q: But I hope you do appreciate that we're able to maintain a significantly higher price table, solely because of the buffer that the import duties offer us. (jeez. doesn't this guy speak English?)

Hmmm.. Interesting. (not so much actually)

so anyway, we complete our trial. and then both of them look at a pallet being packed. It's usually packed with stretch film, wrapped in several layers around the sheets of paper. The operator, seeing the burra saabs, very lavishly spreads more film on the pallet.

Mr. P: arre please stop him yaar. Waise bhi film ka cost is rising, we'll be ruined if your men operate this way!!

Mr. Q: boss, let him apply as much as he wants, and then more! My customers are killing me because I'm not packing well enough!

I could go on and on. my question here, however, would be: Quo Vadiis, mom ami? (forgive the mixing of phrases)

Reminiscences

... and the train stopped. The screeching brakes and the final sickening jolt had a decisive ring to it. As i stood at the door, I was taken back in time, a very small duration in the grand cosmic scheme of things, but a time that defined me, my character, and my very being.

I think of those clear eyes of mine, the unfettered dreams in them and the fearlessness that is born out of ignorance and inexperience. The beginning of a journey, and a rush of blood to the head, and I am onthe train, riding the wave, so to speak. The world seems all nice and rosy; after all I'm the wide eyed fresher, and on top of the world. And then I step in, those dreams go pop! and I'm faced with what seems like brutal reality... a seemingly harsh, biting, scorching surrounding, and the train starts; now I can't get off. I'm on the ride, for better or worse. I look around; there are other people; I look closer, and I see all kinds of faces; some are care-worn; others, care free; some are worried; some, frightened; and others hojpeful. There are those who boarded long ago, and are de to leave, and then there are those like me, who have just got on.

I am suddenly hesitant; gone is the confidence and the swagger, words hesitate to come to my lips, but my mind is bursting with a barrage of questions, and I wonder, " O god, whatever made me come here?" I make a few acquaintances and a frew friends, I have some guiding lamps, and I find some dead ends. The other travellers don't seem as scary as they were before, as I find my way through the labyrinthine byways of the train. And then, I realise it's time for the first stop, and as I bid my first guides adieu, I realise I feel a little sad, and just a bit lonely. I look at myself, and I realise that I have changed; I am no longer a greenhorn, but I still have a great deal to learn. And so it goes on, I learn the workings of the place , learn of the pitfalls, and the haystacks, of the goldmines and the landmines. As I ensconce myself in my seat, I look out, and realise I see the world with a slightly different perspective, for i know now there is no free lunch, I realise the value of things, like food and money, things which i once took for granted, and begin to respect them. I start adjusting myself, try to fit in, and then i realise that I am no more as pure as the driven snow. I find myself more pragmatic, and a little cynical.

Another station comes and goes, and suddenly, I am taught the meaning of responsibility, not like a toddler, but just by being thrown into the deep end. All along this I absolutely detest the experience, hating every moment, using every opportunity to either run away, or go below, or high above the trials and tribulations. But the train draws me back, inexorably, like iron to a magnet.

There is darkness. all around. I quail. Fear. Desperation. Panic. I'm in a tunnel, a tunnel of my own hopes and dreams and confusions.I grope in the darkness, fearing a total loss of direction and purpose. An then i see a light. At the end of the tunnel. I turn towards it. With hope. but I am cautious, so i prepare myself, hoping against hope that the light isn't actually a freight train coming my way. And then there is light, I feel ecstatic, but lonely, for I have lost my last guiding lights. I feel old now, and bent, but I am experienced, and I am the guide! the one who holds all the keys, the one in charge, and therefore, the one directly in the line of fire. I should hate it, as i have always done, but strangely the feeling is exhilarating and I am actually enjoying myself, not knowing whether I am awake or asleep, alive or dead, and frankly, not caring. All throughout, my only constant companions are my batch mates (and of course those eternal bovines), they exist, I exist, we coexist; that is all. But there is something more to this relationship, for we are bound together by fate. We live together, trying to understand each other, learning from every step and every misstep. It is with these people that I understand who I am, and what I need to be, say or do in this journey of mine.

Then I look out of the window, and i realize, I'm next. It's my turn to get off. The staggering finality of it hits me like a slap in the face. It all pours down on my head, pounding it incessantly, and I am enlightened, for I have understood the eternal paradox of life. I'm ready for the world. All through this journey, I yearned for the end. Now, i'm faced with it. I don't want to get off. This journey has ended too soon. Also it dawns on me that the train has been moving faster and faster with each passing station, with the last leg of the journey being the swiftest. I wish it were the other way around, for now I am sad, for there are a million things i wish i did, and a thousand things I wished I could undo. And then the train stopped.

... and the train stopped. The screeching brakes and the final sickening jolt had a decisive ring to it. I got down, and looked back at the train that I had just left; my heart willed me to stay, but the journey hadn't ended, for the next train... awaits.

... ONE YEAR LATER... I STILL FEEL COMFORTABLE THE MOST WITH ALL MY BATCHMATES. EVEN THE ONES I NEVER TALKED TO IN COLLEGE. I WISH I COULD HAVE MY BATCH BACK WITH ME. GOD BLESS ALL OF YOU GUYS (AND GIRLS) I MISS YOU PEOPLE.

Silver NB.. rewound

another of my exploits on the baddy court.
the first ode was by a guy from IIT kanpur, who is also fortunately (for me), or unfortunately (for him) my baddy partner. I dont remember well but this was the day i learnt about parallax error. Then some time later he sends across this thing he calls an ode... the poem reminded me of the ides of march 2005, (refer mandolini.blogspot.com for "of Geese and G-strings"). so any way.. while the college burns in hatred a la last year... here's a small side dish to savour..

he said:

An ode to the unsuspecting baddy player

A dank, dark, weary groggy day,
the sun barely around to make any hay.
Camouflaged in the background, in comes Adi,
he rings the bell, makes ur morning snooze hell,
asking grumpily, "game for baddy?"
Out we trudge, the few lost souls,
walk in for the big fat kill.
Smiling assasins (more like malicious grins)
Adi (and all that crap), falls into the trap,
gets ready to show his skill.
He huffs and he puffs, he bluffs and he snuffs,
once in a while letting out a cacophony.
Screws shot after shot, somehow gets one 'on the dot',
audiences applaud, Adi manages a nod,
after all, wasn't his 'dot' where they put their money?
We trundle back home, the sun's past chrome,
Adi Singh with the regular morning 'daant' on the phone.
We try to prod, he quotes Skeletor,
like the same old dog without his bone.

Amen!

so said he.

my turn.. i'm not too proud of this.. but anyway.. for posterity's sake.


haha, my friend, on this day your fortunes are bright,
on the court today i could barely put up a fight,
but dear friend, remember the faint light,
when your missed shots were such a sorry sight.
Remember the day, nay, that was your darkest night,
with drops shots galore, this weak armed man did fight,
with precision, that could put to shame a kite,
On that day my friend, you had no might;
For on that day did the dust you bite!
A dog maybe, but to the water i can take,
In alien territory, without skill, or a gill;
but i wonder what will happen to you, O fish
for the dog (nay the bear), an easy kill;
after all, i shall have my day, but you? You wish!!
I shall learn soon, and I shall learn fast,
and then against me you shall not last,
but while we talk about my baddy game,
this ode of yours, is a blotch to your (shoddy) name!!


I take the joke well, and i hope so will you.
hail Beelzebub
aditya

i still suck at badminton. sigh.

Physics 1.0

There are two kinds of men; the ones who are driven, and those unfortunates who aren't. When it comes to games, sport, and in general, any physical strain other than the usual functions, i fall into category two. It requires brute force, or divine intervention, to get me to go run around. Oh, and yes. recently, i was forced to add another reason to that list. The sight of my ever growing belly. (for ease of understanding, and to deliver an effect that english rarely can, i shall call this part of my body by the tamil word i.e. 'toppai'.)

So basically, i started playing badminton. Now, there might be certain sceptics who believe that true exercise can only be achieved by Jai Alai, my friend being the foremost (she believes it's a pregnant ladies' game). I don't. Its a beautiful game, teaches you a lot. We learn a lot of things in life from sport. These baddy days are no exception.

Physics. The greek tragedy of my life. Something that has always remained just that elusive to my intellect. And also the single reason why I ended up doing Civil Engineering after my HSCE. And 5 years later, i learn some of these fundaes, on the baddy court.

Inertia:

Picture this. A doubles game is on. In the middle of a rally, some smart aleck (on the other team, obviously) hits a drop shot. I'm closer to the shuttle (which is falling rapidly) than my unfortunate partner. I reach out, while trying to move to the shuttle. But NO! my feet are made of lead, and i cannot move. This is one of those situations where, as i have mentioned earlier, you are either driven to move, or you are not. I, unfortunately, am simply not able to make myself do so, for reasons unbeknownst to myself. Seeing my puzzled expression, my partner says, "why did i have to get a partner who has such high inertia?"

Physics spake thus : A body in rest, will continue to remain in rest unless some external force is used. Conversely, a body in motion, will continue to remain in motion, in the absence of any external force. In my case, read as "I will not move for the shuttle, unless it is within arms reach. If by any chance an exception (that proves the rule) occurs, I will either run into the net, or my partner."

Just to prove his point, I run into him the next time around. Perfect day. For both me and my partner.

Heisenberg's Uncertainty principle: Moment of inertia mastered, I now realise that my toppai is the culprit. Solution: play more badminton. The Inertia should reduce as time goes on. So here I am, playing badminton again. Another day, and another partner. The score: 4-6, and the other side serves. a couple of shots later, i see the shuttle coming toward me. Nothing too difficult. A nice lollipop. Any decent player, with half his wits around, would be able to dispose of it with consumnate ease. Me, I smack my lips, ready the racket, and swing at where i think the shuttle should be. Contact is made, but without the usual slap noise associated with it.

Next i know, the point is won. I try to locate the shuttle, in the area I expected it to fall. But no shuttle there. It's in the other quarter, which providentially was vacant.

Physics spake: for a moving particle, either the position or the velocity is known. If one is known, there will be a delta error to the other. read as " when i think the shuttle will reach me at time x, the area within which the shuttle might probably make contact will be defined by the contours of the racket. hence the resultant velocity and direction of motion, will be subject to an error factor, which depends on the degree of uncertainty of the position of the shuttle in the first place" (Phew!!)

I've won the maximum number of points off the rim. All hail.

Parallax Error:

The flip side is that, when the error in the position becomes too high, it goes beyond the purview of this law. For two reasons. One, the error is no longer representable as delta. Two, in this case, I lose the point. and there is no law governing losing(nobody has ever come out with a book which says "you can lose" have they?) But englishmen being what they are, give nice names to things that are not bound by any law of the land, or of Mr. Physics.

The weakest part of my game (somebody asked me a couple of weeks ago, what are you strong at?.. i'm still wondering...) has to be the smash. It's non-existent in my armoury. Every time i see the shuttle coming down lazily in a beautiful arc, asking to be hit, i say, this is the time, today i'll learn how to hit the smash! yes, after i master this art, i shall be

the lord of the flings,

the king of the slings,

the master of the smash,

i'll beat you now, prakash!!

I swing, with all the strength in my arm. And I wait for the sound, the sweet sound...... of silence. i look around, and i find the omnicient shuttle at my feet, looking up at me and smiling, like the dog who knows that his master is a dodo, but doesn't want to say so for the sake of their friendship.

This, I am informed by my partner(who was incidentally also in case 1. A very frustrated partner mind you) is called parallax error.

so i learn. i learn more of physics, and less of badminton. I still can't hit the smash. Nor can i beat MoI, or Mr Heisenberg. As always, physics is always, just that bit difficult for me to comprehend.

a pome

This was one of chain of mails. The circumstances are not important. but the poem i liked .( i am a firm believer in the belief that the best things in the world are those i created ) so here it is.


Do not worry, friend, for i am STILL alive,
but you should not push a bee out of his hive,
for it doesn't know what or whom it will sting,
to all of us, unfathomable sorrow it will bring.
the lure of the west has always been strong,
but to judge it, in rupees, will be terribly wrong,
for the money you state, is given for a song,
such petty cash, is worthless in the land of oil,
i might have to burst your bubble, o my dear bong,
in far lands, great hours you have to toil,
don't worry too much, rewards here shall come ere long,

Fly, my friends, if you wish it so,
but please don't chase the golden doe,
have a care when you jump to work with another (old) man,
it should not be into the fire, from the frying pan,
after all this, do not consider me your foe;
else i might have to consider the recourse of lying low.
i have decided though, that this shall be my source of dough,
so in this sinking ship, i shall stand at the bow.
but don't kill the spark, this thread of mails,
although its pace has reduced to that of snails

the HR here shall run chasing their tail,
for we are no less than a mighty hail.
but in case, do'st our resolution yet fail,
and the fire is put out with water in a pail,
it is in the barren lands, and the sign of the four,
shall we, in all our despair, our entire hope pour!!

Noah's Ark

Dreams are nice. sometimes. I usually have okayish dreams, dreams where i'm the superstar.. living a life of luxury (sigh!!).. the only wierd things that i usually see in my dreams (from what i remember) is that the cows always keep jumping over the moon. guess they're armstrong cows..

any way.. there's this one dream that i remember very well. i dont remember how it started.. but all of a sudden i was noah's left hand man, and i was the one responsible for getting the animals into the boat. There is this wierd thing about people understanding things in their dreams that they never comprehended in real life. It's uncanny. Like the shape of benzene. While i was herding Mr. and Mrs. Oliphaunt, Mr. and Mrs. Zebra, Mr. and Mrs. Cat, Mr. and Mrs. Lion, and a whole lot of other couples into that *&^%$ boat (although i must confess that, in all my dreams, noah must be the greatest engineer that ever lived. Even the Queen Mary was a midget compared to this thing he made!!) i realised how a traffic policeman in ahmedabad (they're called "thulla" or "tholla" in that part of the country) must feel. And i pitied them, and my eyes were wet.

A little information about the weather would do us good now. there wasn't a cloud in the sky, nay, not even a wisp. Until my eyes were wet with tears (i know i should say i cried, but somehow it didnt feel right then). Then it happened. The skies burst. Burst Asunder. The wrath of Zeus. Of Jupiter. Of Shiva. Of all the other gods in the pantheon of the great civilizations.
All sense of traffic lost, the animals (god bless they're souls) rush into the boat. I'm outside. I cannot move. I look to my feet. Only I can't see them. They're below water. I hear water pouring. And strangely, I hear music. I strain, trying to make out the tune. It's chumbawamba. They're tubthumping. great song... What the hell!! wake up aditya, you're in the old testament! that cant be right.

I open my eyes. And i figure out why it was raining. my room is flooded.. there's water everywhere .. and not a drop to drink. My god. I close the tap. Some dream. Now i have to clean up this mess. Good morning Bhadrachalam.