Confused

A tale of two cricket games

2011-08-26T16:01:00.000-07:00

India vs England, World Cup 2011, Bangalore, India
England vs India, Day 5, Lords, London, England

Getting tickets

My wife and I were in Bangalore, when the news came out that they were shifting a World Cup cricket match from Kolkata to Bangalore. The fact that it was India vs England, the original rivalry, was icing on the cake, and I was immediately scrambling to find tickets. The official channels were quickly deemed to be unviable and I reached out to a “connected” uncle to find out if he could pull some strings. He came through, and on the morning of the game we picked up our tickets.

Four months later, we had just moved to England and India was coming to town to play a 4-match test series. We had purchased tickets to Day 4 of the Lords test match. It was an absorbing day of cricket and day 5 was setting up quite beautifully, with the fabled Indian batting line-up having to bat out a day for a draw. The tickets for Day 5 were first-come, first-served, so a group of friends and I showed up bright and early at 8:30 am to get our tickets. After 2 hours in the queue, we were in, with tickets in hand.

The queues

In Bangalore, we had been warned that the queues would be long, but nothing prepared us for what we saw when we got to the ground. The queue was a mile-long and then some. For some inexplicable reason, the authorities decided that they would only start letting people in an hour or so before the start of play. As a consequence, the game was well and truly underway while thousands of potential spectators were still queuing outside. News that India was batting came in, and the crowds started getting restless. Before you knew it, there was a near-stampede situation as people were trying to push their way in. The 3000 policemen (I am not exaggerating) who were on duty continued to sip their coffee and do nothing. Some members of the crowd started self-policing which brought some order to the proceedings. However, we still saw many families getting out of the queues as they were afraid for their children. We decided to stick it out, and eventually we were in.

On day 5 in England, the queues were just as long as they were selling all the tickets at the gate. However, they opened the door early and all of us were in with time to spare. There were instances of some fans trying to sneak ahead and jump the queue. However, the policemen were quite alert to it and I saw multiple instances of burly (and often drunk) interlopers being pulled out of the queue by the police.

The atmosphere

In Bangalore, once we were in, we were immediately pulled into the madness of a one-day crowd. Sachin made a flawless century and the crowd greeted every shot with huge cheers. There were Mexican waves and flags everywhere, not to mention DJs and dance music. People were coming and going as they pleased.

In England, the first thing you noticed at the gates was spectators being asked to turn in their flags, horns et al. While this was mentioned in the terms and conditions, it was a bummer for those coming to have a blast. Lords is the home of cricket after all and they didn’t want the rarefied atmosphere sullied. At one point during the game, to add some excitement during a slow period, the rowdy sections of the crowd started some Mexican waves. The wave was clearly picking up momentum, until it reached the famed Member’s pavilion, which is occupied by the MCC faithful. No one budged. The wave was picked up at the other end of the Pavilion and it went another full circle. When no one budged the second time the wave got to the Pavilion, the rest of the crowd started booing in jest. It was all in good fun, but it was a clear portrayal of the clash in cultures.

In India, it was all people – a relative got us our tickets, the spectators self-regulated the queues, the atmosphere was electric, the food-stalls were swamped, but still functional by having doubled the staff.

In England, it was all process – the tickets for day 4 were ordered online, day 5 was a well-run queue, the policemen were at the top of their game, the atmosphere was “British”, the bars and burger joints worked like clockwork.

And for what its worth, even the 2 teams played their cricket in accordance to the plot. The Indian effort in India was characterized by the individual brilliance of India's two heroes, Sachin and Zaheer. The English dismantling of India at Lords was a complete team effort – with three players (Pietersen, Prior and Broad), none of them superstars, in contention for the Man of the Match award.

Two countries, two ways of being, one game.

Fitting in..

2010-10-01T07:09:00.000-07:00

One of my many learnings at INSEAD has been that I am definitely more interested in the technical aspects of finance and economics than the average MBA. Most of my classmates hate the math, and rightly focus on getting the business insights which they can then apply to the “real world”. I am a proud exception who thoroughly enjoys playing around with all the equations and numbers.

Initially, I felt quite odd and attempted to fit in by trying to be more MBA. Any such illusions were shattered, as I once found myself conducting a finance tutorial to a class of 40 students desperately trying to prepare for a final exam. After this incident, I spent the next few weeks with the nickname “Professor”.

Eventually, I accepted my strangeness and even resorted to attending some of the Ph.D seminars on campus where I could find others like me. Today, I attended a seminar titled “Friends in High Places”. It covered a fascinating piece of research which explored the impact of social networks (college alumni networks, seating proximity in the Senate) on the voting behavior of individual senators. I enjoyed the entire presentation and was mesmerized by the techniques used to leverage a complex database to extract some fascinating insights.

Over lunch, I was excitedly describing this research to 2 MBAs. They were extremely unimpressed and insisted that the research was doing nothing but proving the obvious, which it clearly was. My protestations as to the unique methodology and the potential future research areas it opened, failed to impress them in the least. Their conclusion from the conversation was that most academics spent their lives sitting in their cubes and proving the obvious using obscure techniques. Try as I might, I could not disagree. :)

That incident however, reminded me of a conversation I had had with a Ph.D student just earlier that day. We were talking about the Finance recruiting opportunities which an MBA opened up. He was telling me his views about how most MBA Finance roles completely lacked intellectual challenge and were in reality, extremely well-paid, glorified clerk jobs. Try as I might, I could not disagree. :)

Two sets of people, from two different worlds, inhabiting the same campus. And never the twain shall meet.

Tales from the Road - the World's Cup!

2010-06-29T20:53:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, we spent a lazy weekend in Khao Lak, a town one hour north of Phuket which is described as what Phuket was 15 years ago. The town definitely lived up to the billing – beautiful beaches, laid-back resorts, great Thai Food and no parasails/banana boats spoiling the beautiful horizon.

One evening, Disha went to get a massage and I headed off in search of a television so I could see the World Cup. As it turns out, they take the “Phuket 15 years back” tagline so seriously that they don’t have televisions in the resort.

I eventually found a roadside grocery store where they were showing the game. Unsurprisingly, there was a group of about 10 huddled around the TV. I bought some water and biscuits to alleviate the guilt and then settled down among the crowd. The guy sitting next to me spoke English and so I started chatting with him. He told me that he was a Nepali born in Thailand. However, his family moved to Burma and he studied there, which was why he knew such good English. He then moved back to Thailand to get a job because of the political unrest in Burma. I had recently spent a few days in Myanmar and so we exchanged commiserations on the sorry state of that beautiful country.

He was a tailor in one of Khao Lak’s ubiquitous tailor shops. I asked him why Khao Lak had so many tailor shops. He told me that the German and Scandinavian tourists who frequented Khao Lak got a year’s supply of clothes stitched when they came on their vacations. Hence, every resort had its very own in-house tailor. Globalization at its very best! :)

He then started telling me about his Sikh entrepreneur boss who was born and brought up in Thailand. He was a tailor who had developed an international reputation for quality and had used that to build up a chain of tailor shops across Phuket and Khao Lak. It was now going on 12 shops and counting. As he proudly proclaimed, “everyone knows King’s fashion”.

The way his boss managed his employees was by having video cameras in each store so that he could do surprise check-ins. Since my Nepali friend did not have football in his store, he came to this nearby grocery store to see his football. If he got a call from the boss, he would go running back to the store and tell the boss that he was outside trying to herd in customers.

Since it was now low season in Khao Lak, my friend had a lot of time on his hands. Being a football fan, he was seeing every game of the World Cup, supporting Holland and Argentina. He caught me up on every detail of the games I had missed, and we exchanged sporting stories back and forth. The game (Netherlands vs Japan) wrapped up with a 1-0 victory for the Dutch (go orange!), and it was time to bid each other goodbye. We wished each other good luck in all our respective endeavours. An Indian and a Nepali-Thai–Burmese – citizens of 4 countries that aren’t close to being in the World Cup can still spend an hour watching the beautiful game and getting to know each other’s lives. That is why I love the World Cup. :)

Damn it! I am an NRI – part 1

2009-10-29T02:09:00.000-07:00

One of my recent passions is running. Back in America, I had dreamed about running through India. While I realized that I would never quite manage a run through an Indian city (alive), I had hopes for running in rural India.

Yesterday, I was at a relative's farmhouse in the outskirts of Jaipur. I got up early for my run. I headed out onto some dirt roads in search of my rural idyll. I lasted about 5 minutes before I realized that I had to choose between my dreams and intact ankles. Sanity prevailed and I settled into a more comfortable stroll. Damn those movies (especially Delhi 6)!

The good news is that I did find some fields (and I even found a peacock). :)

The Pursuit of Happiness

2009-08-15T08:40:00.000-07:00

I blogged 4 years back about happiness.

It was a very pessimistic view of the world and on reflection, deeply unsatisfying. I have spent a lot of time since then reflecting upon what makes me happy… with little success.

Until today. I went for a hair cut at a non-descript Hair Cuttery. I asked for the first available hair-dresser. She was a kind Southern woman who was born in South Carolina and moved to Washington, DC in 1970. As I was settling into my chair I noticed a simple hand-written note on the mirror.

“A happy person is one who has
Someone to love
Something to do
.. and some hopes”

I spent the next 10 minutes looking back through life. Thinking about the times when I was happiest. I told her I loved her quote and that I would remember it. She smiled and said. “Life is simple. We forget to notice it”

I loved it and will remember it next time I am feeling sulky. What do you guys think?

It is a beautiful day!

2009-05-17T05:10:00.000-07:00

The heart is a bloom
Shoots up through the stony ground
There's no room
For procrastination to be around

Only one more essay
and B-school apping shall be done
Get it out of the way
And a life of freedom shall be won

It's a beautiful day
Don't let it get away
It's a beautiful day

Mushing like only we can
Reading Yunus and Obama
Kayaking on Lake Anne
Calling my papa and my mama

It's a beautiful day
Don't let it get away
It's a beautiful day

You're on the road
But you've got no destination
You're in the mud
In the maze of imagination

You love your country
Even if that doesn't ring true
You've been all over
And it's been all over you

Touch me
Take me to that other place
Teach me
I know I'm not a hopeless case

It's a beautiful day
Don't let it get away
It's a beautiful day

Salutations to a Great teacher!

2009-03-01T18:56:00.000-08:00

This is an article which was published in the first Journal of Respiratory Therapy. It is about my father - Ramkumar Venkateswaran. The author is a student and colleague of my father's who has worked with him for 10 years.

He discovered no miraculous cure or wonder drug. Diagnostic wizardry, brilliant research, writing and teaching - these constitute his tangible achievements. He is great not only for what he did, but for what he is: he is master of the art of ministering to the patient’s and the student’s troubled mind as well as to patient’s sick body. A beloved teacher of medicine and an anaesthesiologist, Professor Ramkumar Venkateswaran (Ramkumar Sir, as he is popularly known), also has a great interest in intensive care. By virtue of commencing the course of respiratory therapy in this country for the first time, he may be aptly called ‘Father of respiratory therapy’ in India.

Dr Ramkumar Venkateswaran was born in Ponnani, a village in north Kerala on 29th June 1954, the youngest of 5 children. He was brought up in Bangalore, capital city of Karnataka. He joined as a medical student at the famous medical college, Jawaharlal Institute of Postgraduate Medical Education and Research (JIPMER) at Pondicherry. He was a very studious and brilliant medical student at JIPMER as he converted his hostel room into a wall library. He also completed his MD in Anaesthesiology and 3 years of senior residency there.

He had already marked his place in the field of Anesthesiology when he joined the department of Anaesthesiology at Kasturba Medical College Hospital, Manipal University, Karnataka in 1985. In those days, the intensive care personnel in India had not even heard of a profession called respiratory therapy, but in the United states of America it was a wide spread field with immense opportunities. Dr Ramkumar was sent to Loma Linda University (LLU), California by Manipal University as an observer for one year from 1993 to 1994 in the department of Cardiopulmonary Sciences. The thoroughness with which he approaches any challenge was evident in the way he used to politely attend the classes with the undergraduates of respiratory therapy at LLU. He enjoyed being a part of the new profession.

Dr Ramkumar’s return to Manipal saw the birth of a new specialty of Allied Health sciences in India - Respiratory Therapy. He worked laboriously preparing the syllabus and curriculum to tailor to the Indian situations. He, along with other professors of department of Anaesthesiology, started teaching Respiratory Therapy students in the year 1995. Later, the department of Respiratory Therapy was brought under the umbrella of Manipal College of Allied Health Sciences, Manipal. He made the difficult medical terms and concepts very simple for respiratory therapy students. His pedagogical skills remain unforgettable to all his students. His classes have a magical touch in them.

He has contributed remarkably to Anaesthesiology postgraduate and respiratory therapy teaching. He is a well known scientific orator in the field of anaesthesia, respiratory care and intensive care. He has been faculty for many important conferences in India and abroad. He believes in dedication, hard work and perfection to be successful in life.
Dr Ramkumar is an uncanny diagnostician, a bedside sleuth with few equals. He knows what to look for and he spends the time to find it. Dr Ramkumar’s ICU rounds starting promptly at 9 am are the high spot for the hospital day. Anaesthesia PGs, faculty of anaesthesia, respiratory therapists and nurses make an admiring procession during his rounds. Patients would know that a prominent doctor is around to take care of them. Students would know that they have the proximity of a great teacher.

He introduced many new concepts and practical ideas to his students. He is always there by the side of the students, faculty and of course the patients with his mind and hands open to help them in their difficult situations. He is involved very actively in respiratory therapy teaching program both undergraduate and postgraduate. He is blessed with his wife and philosopher Dr Vani Ramkumar, Unit chief, Department of Obstetrics and Gynaecology, KMC, Manipal and two sons - Karthik and Krishna.

At the threshold of launching this RT magazine for the first time, respiratory therapists salute in reverence, Prof Ramkumar Venkateswaran, Father of Respiratory therapy in India, as a person who is responsible for their very existence in this country.

When words are just not enough

2008-12-06T07:03:00.001-08:00

For the longest time, I have not been able to get myself to blog about the attacks in Mumbai. Mumbai is my adopted home and my favourite city in the world, a city which doesn't care if you are cosmopolitan or gawaar, rich or poor, it will still show you a great time.

I will never forget the 4 years I spent in the city : IIT and ALL that went with that - hiking with the Ruggers, chilling with ee2kiitb, Mood Indigo (our college fest), the Performance Arts Festivals, working late nights building our Electronics Design Projects, the cool gang and InsIghT (the campus newspaper), the hidden gems like Maddu Mess which give Mumbai its character, travelling by local trains, sneaking into the legendary restrooms at the Taj, the snootiness of Prithvi Theatre, the dosas of the udipi restaurants in Matunga, the 16-hour daroo parties, holi and bhaang Mumbai-ishtyle, hanging out for hours at Pizza Hut or Mcdonald's, the house parties at friends' places, the empty roads at night perfect for biking, rock concerts with crazy head-banging, all-night scrabble with Renta, MVN or Pramit, the midnight buffets at the five stars, the trekking in the Sahyadris, Chaat and waves at Juhu beach at night, college fests and all that go with them (Sophia's.. sigh!!), watching Ducatis drive around the Queen's Necklace at night, chicken kebabs in the car at 3 am at Bade Miya's, konkani fish at Mahesh Lunch home, cocktails at Europa, going to geeky science lectures at TIFR, movies in south Bombay, shopping for used books at Flora fountain, Bhavya's yummy chocolate cakes, free tickets via Mood Indigo to party at Fire and Ice, the scrabble house parties with amazing company, the "oh-so-British" pubs like Mondy's and most importantly the amazing, amazing, amazing, amazing, amazing, amazing people.

......... and I still couldn't get myself to say something about what happened in this very same city as I was scared that I would not do justice to how it was that I felt. I now realize that whatever I will say will be inadequate, but I do know that it will be cathartic.

My brother was in Mumbai when the attacks started. He works at a big consultancy firm in Nariman Point bang next to the centre of the mayhem. When I heard about what was happening, the first thing I did was call him. I got through to him and he told me about how he had left work early that day as he had wanted to see the India-England cricket match. Over the next few hours and days, he told me that he had colleagues who were at the Oberoi who had to hide with the lights off for 4 hours. That friends of a friend were shot dead on the spot at Leopold's Cafe - the restaurant where it all began. The restaurant which will always be special to me - as it was the restaurant where I first tasted steak.

When I got off the phone, I was overjoyed that he was okay and that everyone we knew was okay. I felt the guilt I always feel when I have these thoughts - the realization that when it comes down to it, the only people that I REALLY care about are my friends and family. But then I shoved them aside as they were too uncomfortable - like I always do. I talked to my mom and dad, about what was happening in Mumbai. And when we were talking, we realized that as brave a front as my brother was putting on for the world, those of us who knew him knew that my brother was scared. I put down the phone and I realized that, for the first time, I was really scared.

The bomb blasts never REALLY used to make an impact on me. It had become a routine. Someone at work tells me frantically about the bomb blasts. I try and call India. I don't get through. I try and call again and again until I get through to someone. I find out from them that everyone I know is okay. I feel guilty that I am feeling good that my family is okay when other peoples' families aren't. I feel the guilt that I am in the States and doing nothing for the country that I love. I am then depressed for 2 days which I spend trying to avoid the topic and deleting all the rants which my friends send. I then spend 2 days angry that the Indian government is ineffective, that all of us Indians are resigned and cynical, that the terrorists are sub-human. Then I feel happy when things go back to normal back in the targeted area and everyone goes back to work, because we "showed them that they couldn't stomp our spirit". Then I feel angry because we all pretend like everything is okay when it clearly isn't. I spend a week when my anger slowly fades away. And then I forget that the bomb blasts ever happened ......... until the next bomb blast happens and the cycle repeats itself.

This time was different. It wasn't over with that one phone call. I stopped going online because I was just too scared to follow the news. I would call my brother every 12 hours and pretend to be happy and cheerful while deep inside I was just petrified. I doubled down on my GMAT preparation as that allowed me to block everything else out and focus on something which was truly and utterly irrelevant. I tried everything I could to force myself not to think about what was happening..... what had happened. I tried and tried to wrap myself in a cocoon, until a good friend Rohit came over to my place and we started talking about Mumbai.

Rohit and I are very close and so there is little room for political correctness in our conversations. We talked about the bare facts and very soon we started talking about what we (India) should do about the situation. Rohit was squarely in the camp that India has been a soft state for too long and it was about time that we did something about what was happening. He believed that we should start rounding up suspects without being hampered by "human rights issues", question them aggressively, follow-through on leads until we find those responsible and be severe in their sentencing. In his words, "If that means we need to create a Guantanomo, then that is what we should be doing."

I too was convinced that something really dramatic needed to be done, but I was of the opinion that we needed to be really surgical about our actions to make any sustainable difference. By playing the Texas cowboy, I was convinced that we would only make the situation worse. If the United States, which is multiple times more powerful militarily than India is, cannot make a solution by force work, our efforts were sure to be futile. I argued that, additionally by playing by the terrorists' terms, we would only make it easier for them to paint us as the enemy and recruit more people to their cause. That by killing the leaders, we would just create the ten new leaders who would take over. That we would just repeat the lessons of history - of Al Qaeda or Palestine or the LTTE.

We both did our share of ranting, but at some point we both decided to start talking more pragmatically about what actually could be done. I agreed with him that the ability to be surgical did not exist in our defence systems. I agreed that even if the young, ultra-trained, ultra-smart professionals of modern India wanted to contribute to defence there seemed to be no mechanism for them to do so. He agreed with me that 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth' would not make any sustainable difference to this world.

But, then Ro asked me this one question - "If it was up to you, what would you do?"

For those of you who know me, I rarely am speechless - I often talk rubbish, but I rarely do not talk. I waited for 30 seconds, 1 minute, 3 minutes to think of something. What would Karthik Ramkumar do if he was Prime Minister of India? My brain was rushing through multiple ideas all of which I firmly believed wouldn't work. And try as I might, I could come up with nothing that I believed had the slightest chance of working. And for the first time in my life, I actually felt hopeless.

Two days later, I was meeting a colleague Anish who also studied in Mumbai and loves the city as much as I do. We are both talkative people by nature, but when we started talking about the blasts, it was just so hard to say anything. After a long silence, peppered with sighs, Anish said something which really warmed my heart - "The next time I go to Mumbai, I will make sure that I go to the Leopold's and have a beer there". I wish I could stop on that positive note, but it would trivialize what actually happened.

I firmly believe that there will always be something missing in anything I say. No matter how eloquent I get, my words will always ring hollow because I was one of the lucky ones. One of those whose family and friends got out safe. Intellectually, I went through a lot of strife, but in the real world, nothing happened. My life didn't change one bit. In the last week or so since this whole episode began, me and Disha had a wonderful Thanksgiving meal, had dinner with some cousins, wrote our GMATs, invited some friends over for dinner, created our wedding invitation, danced some salsa, did more gymming than we normally do, talked much more to our family (and especially Krishna) than we normally do, did some gift shopping for the holiday season and did 5 days of work. Essentially, we had a blast.

But unfortunately, the world isn't that simple. Not everyone gets so lucky. There are lives across the world which have been devastated by the events of last weekend. All we can do is commit to doing all that we possibly can to be there for those among us who have not been as lucky as we have. Click on the link below to read from someone whose life has been irreversibly changed and the commitment he has made to the world. I thank Disha for sending me this last week, because when I read his words, I started to get back my hope.

http://inhome.rediff.com/movies/2008/dec/03aashish-chowdhry-is-very-angry.htm

I know that words are just not enough, but for now that is all that I have.

My brother Kittu

2008-11-30T14:36:00.000-08:00

When I was 10 years old, my parents spent a year in the States on work. Our grandparents had come over to Manipal, where we lived, to take care of me and my brother, Krishna (Kittu). Unfortunately, I had a bad fall and broke my back. I was bed-ridden for a couple of months and then had to wear a back brace for half a year. All this time my parents were extremely worried as they were at the opposite end of the world - and this was the world before Skype and Reliance India call.

Attached is an excerpt from a letter which my grandmom (Paati) wrote to my mom on June 3rd 1993. Needless to say, it made them feel a whole lot better to see that I was well taken care of.

"Krishna brought me to tears when he said 'Please don't worry Paati. I will look after anna. I can easily carry both schoolbags.' He is truly a fantastic kid, may God bless him and Karthik. The more I see him the more I admire him. Yesterday, he packed both his schoolbag and his anna's bag. When I told Karthik that he is very lucky to have a caring brother like Krishna, he said 'Yes Paati, Amma says he has the genes of the entire family - big ears like Thatha, wanting to dress well like the two paatis and meticulous like appa and mugs like amma.' To be responsible when he is not even 9 years old. I hope I don't make you cry."

I have never heard of an elder sibling who was taken care of by his younger sibling. I am one lucky guy!!! What more can I say. :)

Glossary
Paati - grandmom
Thatha - granddad
Amma - mom
Appa - dad
Anna - elder brother

How I met my wife :)

2008-11-21T14:08:00.000-08:00

The one good thing about stopping blogging is that when you start, you have a lot to blog about. A lot has happened in my life in the last 2 years, but undoubtedly the biggest thing is that I am now engaged to be married to this wonderful woman, Disha. I was one of those people who thought that nothing could top my 4 years of under-graduate college, but I can say with no hesitation that the last 2 years have been the best 2 years of my life - and then some. :)

My first 2 years in the States were highly average - I traveled a lot, made some great friends and met new family, had a ton of fun, but at the same time I ‘liked’ my job and I was as single as a dollar-bill (my little tribute to Douglas Adams :P ). However, not only was I single, but I was well and truly resigned to the fact that things were never going to change – me and a friend, Gautam Tambay, had done this complex analysis which basically proved that it would take on average 17 years for me to find someone that I could marry (Detailed analysis below :P). Needless to say, nothing could have prepared me for how much my life was going to change.

Disha came to America 3 years back. Her first impression of me was that I was a snob. I don’t blame her – first off I am a snob, and to add to that I used to rarely spend time with her, I would run off to a different city every weekend and I played a pivotal role in her having to live without a roommate for 6 months (I teased her roommate about choosing to stay with D over one of his old friends and he gave in to my teasing).

My first impression of Disha was that she cooked AWESOME food. She used to make rajma and call all of us over and for an Indian boy craving home-cooked food, that was a dream come true. I would never refuse an invitation to come over and pig out – while being a snob of course. :)

At some point I can’t quite remember, I realized that here was this pretty, smart, independent, beautiful, nice and cool single Indian girl in my life and I was doing NOTHING about it. Of course, I immediately 'sprung into action' but things weren't that simple.

You see - pretty, single Indian girls in America are VERY rare, especially ones with all the above-mentioned qualities. Hence, Disha had a long list of guys who were trying to win her over. Luckily for me, she saw something in me and as they say, the rest is history.

Our first date was the night when Disha was moving to a new apartment (and I was being the good friend and helping her move) at this cute Italian restaurant called Edo’s Squid. Disha put it best when she said that for the first time, if someone walked by and assumed that the two of us were dating, she would not mind. : )

Soon we were solidly dating, I would make sure we spent our weekends together…. we would take “coffee” breaks at work. But the real kicker was when Disha asked me if I wanted to learn salsa together. Dance, music, romantic drives and coffee were an intoxicating combination and we were soon love-drunk. Salsa was the perfect excuse to spend time together and flirt. Of course, on non-salsa nights, we also had practice as we were preparing for a big performance.

As it turned out, that was just the beginning – romantic dates, weekend trips, Disha’s business trips to Dallas and the long phone conversations, our India vacations and soon we were a couple. Since then, we have come a long way, but I will save that for another day.

Suffice it to say that Karthik Ramkumar has changed - and if you listen to my friends from high school or IIT, the unanimous decision is that I have changed for the better. However, the biggest change is something no one could have ever predicted. For those of you who know me from my IIT days or my Manipal days, I leave you with this note. If someone told you that some day Karthik Ramkumar would speak more Hindi than English, what would you say.

Life is like a box of chocolates – you never know what you are going to get. :)

P.S: Happy birth-week, Disha : )

Detailed analysis as promised
Key assumptions on which analysis was based
i) I want to marry an Indian girl
ii) I had met ~6 Indian girls who passed the basic constraints like age, being single etc. in my first 2 years in the states. Assume that meeting a girl is a Poisson process, this means that I am likely to meet about 3 girls a year as long as I am in the States.
iii) Assume that I am a good match for 1 in 10 girls that I meet. Say that 1 in 10 girls I meet are a good match for me. These are very aggressive assumptions. :P

Conclusion
- I need to meet 100 girls to find someone I can marry. Given 3 girls a year that will take 33 years.
- This means that on average it will take me 16.5 years to find someone
- Oops :)

The birth of Obama-nation

2008-11-05T13:51:00.000-08:00

Political views are all about individual perspective and so let me start of by letting you know who Karthik is, politically speaking. To synthesize, I am very left of centre on social issues and slightly left of centre on economic issues. Before you point out that my political leanings are completely incongruent with my day job, which is to work in consumer finance, let me just point it out myself. :)

Since I was always a leftist, I was pre-disposed to be an Obamaphile. However, Obama has inspired me in a way that no human being in my life has inspired me. My expectations of Obama are sky-high and I am cautiously hopeful that he will live up to them.

For me, Obama is many things. He is an underdog of monstrous proportions – an African American who first overcame the Clinton establishment and then did the unthinkable – win the White House. He is a man of vision – who believes in peace, diplomacy, values, equality and is also pragmatic and a uniter. Moreover, his power of oratory and stunning presence make him electric in my eyes. I am convinced that such a man has the potential to be great – not just a great politician but a great man for generations to come. The kind of greatness to put him in the same league as Lincoln, Gandhi and Mandela. I know that he is inexperienced – that his real contributions to the world are scarce. But I forgive him that, because of what he promises…. because of my staunch belief that if you are a visionary, a powerful communicator and a person of principles, you can be the change that you want to see in the world.

So, why am I only cautiously hopeful? Why just the soft endorsement? Well, if I am really honest with myself, I am scared that it is all too good to be true. When I read about Reverend Wright I was disappointed by his lack of judgment. But, if I try hard enough, I can suppress the cynicism by telling myself that that was a younger Obama, and he is no longer the same man.

What is truly the hardest thing for me to stomach though, is something which has been an election non-issue - it is the fact that earlier this year, Obama refused public financing. That when it came down to it – when it came to choosing between political expediency and his principles, he sold out. That he went against everything he stood for. That he went against his word. He became the establishment that he abhorred. That he became one of them.

I tell myself that he was playing a bigger game. That he made a compromise because of what he was committed to. I want him to tell me that as well. And I really, really, really want to believe him.

The Bee Box

2006-09-06T13:40:00.000-07:00

In this small box, my love,
you'll not find a ring,
but instead, a brave, little bee.
He'll be dead by morn, having given his life
defending his flowers against me.
I felt his sting
while picking the small, purple pansies
growing wild along the roadside,
in hopes of an afternoon bouquet for you.
And I grieved the sting,
more for him than me,
knowing full well the price he paid
for my small pain.
And I allowed him his victory,
leaving his flowers as a memory,
and brought you instead
this brave, little bee,
who proves there is love
even in the smallest
of things.

-- Lowell Parker

Once again, a poem in the mail has forced me to revive my blog. Nothing I can say can really add to this. I just wanted to put it up there for you all to read.

Life at my end has been great. Summer has brought with it some amazing weekends and some interesting changes. :) Unfortunately, winter will be coming soon but I do have my India trip and snowboarding to look forward to.

K

Survivor

2006-05-07T21:17:00.000-07:00

I spent Saturday at the Holocaust museum in Washington, DC. The museum is filled with symbols of the holocaust, both the evil as well as the good and it is incredibly well done. However, the one defining experience of the trip for me had nothing to do with the museum itself.

The fact that I made the trip alone had made it incredibly sombre and real and 3 hours into the experience I was tottering around quite thoroughly shaken. I noticed a group of 10-odd tourist types gathered around an 80 year old man and his wife. He was a survivor of the Holocaust who had spent years in a concentration camp and lost his entire family to the tragedy. In typical touristy fashion, they were quizzing him about his time there and how it felt to go through something so terrible. He said that it was something he didn't think was worth talking about and that he hadn't even told his wife of 58 years the gory details. The group continued the polite probing and finally he gave them this.

"Imagine the thing which you love the most in the world.

.
.
.

Now imagine it being taken away from you.

.
.
.

Now imagine all the things you ever loved in this world.

And imagine every single one of those things being taken away from you.

.
.
That is how it feels."

Snooty Tambay's blogging

2006-02-14T05:52:00.000-08:00

One of the most interesting people I know decided to start blogging.

Do visit. Maybe that will keep him blogging.

http://whomovedmytequila.blogspot.com
K

Small-town news, Big-town people

2006-01-22T14:41:00.000-08:00

I am back from a road trip which I shall never forget. A trip involving Napa Valley, Lake Tahoe, San Fran, LA, San Diego, Orange County, Tijuana (Mexico), the Mojave desert, Death Valley and Las Vegas. I will not recount the trip in excruciating detail but there was one little pit-stop in rural Southern California which I must blog about.

We were driving from Vegas to San Fran via the Death Valley. We had a crazed driver who believed that an appropriate speed for an SUV with 6 people was a 105 miles per hour. We had just passed through the Death Valley and we had stopped for fuel in a county so unimportant I don’t even remember its name.

I was at a nearby shop buying myself something to eat when I noticed this local newspaper. The front page had two top stories which were rather quaint and unique and I felt merited a place on my blog.

Renowned Vet in Intensive Care

Robert Langley, the renowned and much-loved veterinarian was injured in an automobile accident yesterday. Robert was driving to a client when he was hit by a speeding truck with 3 occupants. All the 3 occupants of the other truck are currently in stable condition. Robert’s vehicle, however, took the brunt of the impact and both his dogs, who always travel with him, were killed on the spot. Robert is in the Hanover medical hospital and is currently in critical condition.

The good doctor is well-loved and respected all across the county. We are in constant contact with his family and you can send us messages which we will forward to his wife. Our prayers and wishes are with Robert and his family.

The Golden Retriever

We have all seen those machines at Walmart in which you drop in a quarter and try and pick up a doll using a grappling hook. Well, if you ever see a tall blonde teenager surrounded by a bunch of kids next to one of these machines, you just saw Scott Colden.

Scott happens to be a toy-retrieval genius. He manages to pry out a doll more than 7 times out of 10. Scott’s parents used to leave him next to a machine with a bunch of quarters to distract him while they did their shopping. What started out as an idle pastime turned into an obsession and Scott became an expert at the game.

Scott uses his gift whenever he gets a chance. You often see him helping kids out when they are playing at the machine. He regularly uses his pocket money to collect these toys and then ships them out to people in need. When Katrina hit, Scott spent days extracting more than a thousand toys and then shipped them to victims of the disaster. Scott works at the Staples on Broad Street and his dream is to become a fire-fighter.

Back

2005-12-25T00:26:00.000-08:00

Hiya uall,

If you still check this I apologize for not posting for so long. Life has been very busy at work (which is no excuse) but hey it is the only one I have. December is here and things are slowing down so should start blogging again.

I have been looking for a car for months now and I had almost zoned in on the somewhat sporty (Ed: Can't believe I used to think that) but still sensible RSX when, on a friend's urging, I test-drove the Z. The 350Z is a Nissan sports car. A 290 horsepower speed demon. Ended up buying a Blue 03 model. 6 CD changer, Bose speakers, the works. Hence, am on top of the world. :)

I left to California for a roadtrip two days back and am having major withdrawal symptoms. After the Z, no other car feels right.

Just a little something

2005-10-19T11:02:00.000-07:00

To restart blogging.

I once asked a friend who had just broken up how he got over it so quickly.

"At some point of time... you have to realise that it's not about getting over her or getting over anything. It is incidental.. It is not a problem or an issue or a situation. It is just the way things are.."

I liked that.

I hadn't posted anything corny in a while. So I thought it was about time. :)

Weird

2005-09-23T09:19:00.000-07:00

Random events I have witnessed after Katrina.

“It feels like living in a third world country.”
- A New Orleans resident on CNN

“The stock of all the financial institutions is going to crash because of all the un-recovered debt.”
- A colleague at work

A: “Did you hear. Gas prices just went up 50 cents because an oilfield in Louisiana blew because of the floods.”
B: “Did you say 50 cents! Noooooooooooooooooo!!”
- Conversation I overheard in the corridors

I guess, honesty isn’t always the best policy. :-/

I can’t get no satisfaction

2005-09-16T14:21:00.000-07:00

Look around you. Chances are you will see successful people. Making good money. Studying in a good university. Chances also are that most of them whine. Something don't fit, right?

I was discussing a web article with a friend recently. It said that for most people, happiness was a function of how you were doing with respect to the people around you. Most people make endless comparisons with their peers – he is making more than me, she is cuter than me. Given that one tends to hang out with people in a similar social stratum, one inevitably manages to find at least one thing to whine about. And that, more often that not, is more than enough.

In a weird way, I like it like this. All of us definitely feel this unique sensation of guilt – what if my parents had not had the money to educate me. What if I was born someone else – less smart, fatter? How much of what I have is just plain luck.

It is strangely gratifying to imagine that at the end of the day – we are all more or less equally depressed. : )

Afterthought: I guess I am generalising. There definitely are a chosen few who are literally at peace with themselves. I think in my 22 years of existence, I have met 4 of them.

For the rest of us, a surefire way to stay happy would be to make loser friends. : )

This is not meant to be a serious post. Please to not be flaming.

Alex Ting of Miri

2005-08-29T11:40:00.000-07:00

Alex Ting is a small, stocky sixty-year old who lives in Miri, Malaysia. He drives a large van-taxi between Miri and Bandar in Brunei. Three weeks back, my parents, my brother and I happened to need a ride between the 2 cities and we got in touch with him.

We landed at the Miri airport and looked around for our ride. Suddenly, this little fellow came running up and went, “So much luggage”.

My dad was a little shocked at his rudeness but managed a “Will it be a problem?”

“No”.

And he waddled along to the back of his car and pulled out 24 eggs and an enormous bunch of this local fruit called the rambutan.

In a few minutes we were all piled in with our luggage and the exotic cargo and were on our way. Miri is known for its handicraft, tribal heirlooms and the like, and we had intended on buying some. My dad asked Alex if he could stop for a few minutes at a handicraft shop.

“Handicraft. All you Indians – you buy handicraft. Masks, funny things. It is useless. Why you Indians buy handicraft?”

My dad replied without a moment’s hesitation, “So that when I am back home in India, I remember Alex Ting.”

He let out a squeal of excitement and I can swear that his ears turned red. He drove us to the handicraft shop and bought a bunch of trinkets completely forgetting his anti-handicraft lecture just minutes back.

We continued driving under the hot equatorial sun. The inordinately large bunch of rambutans sitting in front of us started to look incredibly inviting. When we stopped at the border-post between the two countries, Alex pulled out the rambutans and conspiratorially handed them over to the border security. It turned out that the fruit were Alex’s “travel insurance”.

It was late in the evening and we were rather close to home when Alex pulled into a petrol pump. With a shout that sounded distinctly like “Wakata Wa” he jumped out of the van and went to fill his petrol. Two minutes later, I was jolted out of my half-sleep by a yelp and the image of Alex running towards the restroom. It turned out that he had held the pump in the opposite direction and had managed to douse himself with gasoline.

Eventually, we got to Brunei. As Alex dropped us off, my dad politely asked him if he knew how to find his way back. Alex dismissed my dad’s offer of help with a “Ya. Sure la”. And just as we were going to leave, he popped out of nowhere and went “Show me, La”.

Alex Ting is a small, stocky sixty-year old who lives in Miri, Malaysia. And there is no one who drives a taxi quite like him.

The Boyz are on the web

2005-08-26T06:24:00.000-07:00

Blog alert! Blog alert!

I just started a group blog with the Boyz at Cap1. We promise to keep you entertained.

http://theboyzzz.blogspot.com/

Keep commenting. Keep coming back.

Kram

Memories

2005-08-25T10:59:00.000-07:00

He was born in 1924 in a small town in India. He worked hard to get the advantages of a good education and all the opportunities which come with it. He went to college and studied Physics. He completed his Ph. D at the Indian Institute of Science. He worked at the BARC for a few years and soon became a senior researcher. Back then there were 2 computers in the world – one of them at the Pennsylvania State University. A professor at Penn State noticed the raw talent in this young researcher from India and invited him over to the US. He flew with his wife across the world on a plane which had to re-fuel every 2 hours. He researched and taught at the Pennsylvania State University. He came back to India for a while and then returned to Penn State. He taught there until he retired.

He is now 80. I spent a weekend with him and his wife 8 months back. He took me to his lab and showed me his research. Some optical instruments, some sliced rocks, many things I couldn’t recognize.

I met him today. He and his wife had just come through a harrowing 12 hour drive. Their car had broken down on the way. They tried to fix it at a mechanic’s shop but couldn’t. They had to resort to renting a car and driving it the rest of the way. I was glad to meet him after so long. I said hello and shook his hand.

Later on in the evening, we were talking. There were a number of people all around. I slowly realized that he did not recognize me. His wife told me that he was slowly but surely losing his memory and that he got confused in a crowd. He quietly listened to her. He must have been embarrassed but he didn’t show it. He told me about how life changes once you get old and how hard it is to cope with things no longer being the same.

He is a grand old man I have grown to love. At the end of my days, I will be glad if I have even a semblance of his dignity. I wish that my mind continues to be the captain of its sinking ship.

An inebriated haze of Edge parties and Edge countries

2005-08-22T05:25:00.000-07:00

Last weekend saw me at 2 parties – 2 very, very different parties.

Friday was an edge party. We tend to have “desi” (Indian) parties quite often where I live. Although my friends are most interesting and the parties are absolute blasts, one can’t help but wonder that one is not doing enough to integrate. I guess a friend of mine put it rather well when he said, “I want to be an American in America or an Indian in India.”

Saturday, I was in Pittsburgh at a grad student party where I knew almost no one. I met a Danish grad student doing his Ph.D in Computer Science. We were talking about the education systems in our two countries. I was telling him about how competitive things were in India. How everyone wanted to become an engineer or a doctor to have a chance at the good life. How all the good life meant was not worrying about how you were going to support your family. He was a little drunk and this got his mind racing.

“In Denmark, every student who applies to college is given aid. No questions asked. Can you imagine? Every student. You just apply and they go - Here is 800 Euros a month. Do what you want. So people do whatever they want. I dread the day when all you guys who really worked hard to know your stuff come and kick us out of our jobs.”

I guess in today’s global world, opportunity isn’t everything

We went on to talking politics and inevitably, war. After some Bush-bashing we got around to our own countries. I was distressed at what I saw as a capitulation of the Indian government to towing Bush’s line and was railing away at our government.

He started talking about Danish politics. When the war in Iraq broke out the Danish government proclaimed their support for the US forces. The solitary submarine of the Danish Navy was sent to the Arabian Sea to patrol the waters. Once it became obvious that the war was coming to an end, the submarine was dismantled, put on a plane, flown back to Europe, re-assembled and navigated back into the Danish port.

“All of us knew it was a farce, yet we stood on the shores and cheered madly. What else could we do?”

At least I can dream of a day when my country will be a serious global power. I wonder how it would feel to know with a certainty that your country would never matter.

Wow!

2005-08-18T07:51:00.000-07:00

I was at the after-party of a cousin’s Arangetram (the first solo Bharatanatyam performance of an artiste) in New Haven, CT. It was a small group of 25 odd people ranging in age from 8 to 80. This little group was stuffed with talent - 2 violinists, 4 Bharatanatyam dancers, a cellist, 2 guitarists, a pro singer, 2 Mridangam players, a flutist, a banjoist and a clarinetist – many of them professional. I was feeling rather miserable about my lack of ‘talent’ and was shrugging off polite queries regarding what I could do with a grumpy “I can be geeky and play with numbers.”

Be that as it may, the only person I had eyes for that night was P – a professional Bharatanatayam artiste from New York who was gorgeous in a way only a dancer can be. I had told her how awesome I thought New York was and how I’d love to live there. I had been quietly “crushing” in a corner and planning out my first pick-up line in a year, when my aunt told me to be the good host and drop P off at her room in the nearby Bed & Breakfast where she would be staying.

Me: “Which room is she staying in?”
P (who happened to just walk up): “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Me: “Uhhh.. blurgh..”
P (grinning): “If you want to move to New York, you have to learn to be faster than that”

There are girls and then there are women. : )

Afterword: She had to take the early train the next morning to watch the last day of the Ashes test. How many of you just found your dream woman?

Reverse Engineering

2005-08-15T12:31:00.000-07:00

Standing in a queue yesterday, I slipped into one of those casual conversations with a complete stranger which sometimes turn rather pleasant. I got talking to a Frenchman who runs a vineyard back home. He was complaining about how the French economy was in the dumps.

Nowadays, most topics of conversation seem to take second place to India and soon I was doing most of the talking. He happened to have holidayed in Pondicherry, the former French principality where, coincidentally, I was born, so we got talking places and culture and ashrams and spirituality.

He told me about an English friend of his who is an Indophile who has a rather good deal going. He is a disciple of the renowned Yoga guru Shri Shri XYZ and spends months in the Himalayas learning the art under the guidance of his holiness. Every 5 months he takes a 2-week trip back to Britain where he conducts exclusive yoga classes for his celebrity clientele - rock stars, sportsmen, models, the whole menagerie of the privileged. He earns enough in 2 days to afford a month of the good life in India. When the strains of Western life start to wear on his sense of spirituality, he returns back to the mountains and his hippie girlfriend.

And our parents thought that they were giving us a ticket to the good life by making us engineers.

Crash

2005-07-18T01:02:00.000-07:00

Last night, I had a dream.

In it two taxis were hurtling down a road. They must have been going at a 100 kilometres an hour. It was a crowded road, a sea of people. There was a sharp turn on the road. Screeching tyres. Both the taxis over-turned. About a 150 people ran towards the accident - some locals, some tourists. I was one of them - I distinctly remember feeling like a tourist. We opened the doors and we saw that there were 24 people between the 2 taxis. They were packed. They were the poorest of the poor - mainly women and babies. We pulled the survivors to safety. 2 women were dead. They were put into the trunk of a passing taxi and sent to the crematorium.

An hour later, I was in a group of 10 odd tourists who had gathered in a nearby restaurant to get some coffee and recover from the shock. Some people were drinking beer. We were feeling good about ourselves - the type of feeling good which accompanies getting your hands dirty to help the under-privileged. I remember someone saying, "I was reaching out to try and help them and the little fella was so ignorant as to what was happening that he was lashing back out at me." I felt sick but I did not say anything. Didn't want to crash the party. I said my goodbyes and walked away.

I woke up.

And I thought about world aid.

Survival of the Heartless

2005-07-13T18:04:00.000-07:00

This year alone, I have spent about 700$ on concert tickets. About a 1,000$ on travel within the US. 300$ on alcohol.

I contributed a 100$ to tsunami relief.

When I am in India I see people on trains, on the sides of the road, begging for money. Sick people, little kids.

And sometimes I refuse to give them any. Because I was told not to when I was a kid. Why? I never bothered to ask.

I have heard about Africa's debt. I now know that the poorest countries in the world pay back more towards old debt than they get in aid.

It took Floyd coming together after 20 years for me to read about it.

A child dies every 3 seconds in Africa because of poverty. That is 30,000 kids - 10 IITs a day.

I have the nerve to feel sorry for myself.

I have spent all but 9 months of my life in India.

Poverty is alien to me.

It's all wrong.

And I write blog entries.

I had great friends, incredible family. Yet, this is me. Am I a bad person?

I think I am.

How can I go on existing like this? How am I so individualistic? In 2 weeks, I will forget that I had these thoughts.

I am an animal.

I hope some day I read this and change.

These English-mans are Cuckoo *

2005-07-02T07:55:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make.

Among the courses I did well at in IIT, the one I probably took the most pride in was a Humanities course - Reading Fiction.

Arguably the most interesting thing about this course was that about ten odd students from every batch used to fall hopelessly in love with the hapless professor. The story of those ten Romeos and their pathetic efforts to win her heart would make wonderful reading. But I was not one of them and today I am telling my story.

My story began in school.

When I was a kid, I had wanted to be an author or a journalist. My uncle, a professional writer, was my inspiration. In high school however, I realized that I was rather good at math and pretty soon there was a healthy IIT-JEE obsession growing. A 16-year old body, albeit over-weight, has room for only 1 obsession. And so it came to be that my writer obsession bit the dust.

Once I came to terms with my engineer existence, I went through a phase where I believed that the woman I would end up with would be an artsy type. In my head I had the Engineer geek with Litty woman thing going.

(Note - A previous posting refers to me wanting the woman I end up with to prove that every integer >=3 can be expressed as part of a Pythagorean triplet. Let me just say that all such pre-requisites have faded with time for a multitude of reasons. And given my quite remarkable lack of success in meeting a remotely interesting, single specimen of the opposite sex recently, I have also come around to the realization that beggars can’t be choosers.)

With time my obsession with Littiness started to fade away. I tried an “Indian Writing in English” course in my fourth year but 2 cloying, pseudo-artsy batch-mates of mine put me off permanently. Most of my Litty urges have been suppressed and I have settled for the more “respectable” alternatives of crosswords and scrabble. They provide me with an opportunity to satisfy my occasional Litty cravings while still not crossing over to the other side. ;)

However, there is one remnant of my artsy times which still lingers on. I am subscribed to the Wondering Minstrels – an incredibly good mailing list which sends me a poem a day. One day recently I got this poem.

"Cuckoo Song"

Sumer is icumen in,
Lhude sing cuccu!
Groweth sed, and bloweth med,
And springth the wude nu
- Sing cuccu!

Awe bleteth after lomb,
Lhouth after calve cu;
Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth,
Murie sing cuccu!

Cuccu, cuccu, well singes thu, cuccu:
Ne swike thu naver nu;
Sing cuccu, nu, sing cuccu,
Sing cuccu, sing cuccu, nu!
-- Anon. (Middle English, 13th cent.)

Glossary:
Lhude = loud.
Awe= ewe.
Lhouth = loweth.
Sterteth = leaps.
Swike = cease.

I would think that a poem with a glossary would have constituted sufficient warning that this was a tad bit out of my league. However, a vestigial impulse surfaced and I decided to soldier on. After a tremendous struggle (Google, for once, came up with nothing) I managed to decipher it. If you are feeling adventurous please go back and give it a try. But consider yourself warned.

Eitherways, I translated it to the best of my ability for the sake of this post.

"Cuckoo Song"

Summer is a-coming in,
Loudly sings cuckoo!
Grows seed, blows meadow,
And springs the wood now
- Sing cuckoo!

Ewe bleats after lamb,
Lows after calf;
Bullock leaps, buck runs to the greenwood,
Merrily sings cuckoo!

Cuckoo, cuckoo, well sings thou, cuckoo:
Never cease your song now;
Sing cuckoo, now, sing cuckoo,
Sing cuckoo, sing cuckoo, now!

-- Anon. (Middle English translated, 21st cent.)

So after all that effort this is what I get.

Summer arrives, the wood springs, bullocks leap and other animals do similar random antics. Through all this, the cuckoo keeps singing well, merrily and without ceasing.

Take it from me - a little snobbery is a dangerous thing.

Afterword:

I had initially planned to end the posting there. However, the process of figuring out what the poem meant was for me almost like a logical puzzle across time – just one with no right answer. I had trains of thought like once upon a time, “Cuckoo” (Cuccu) used to rhyme with “now” (nu).

Or that “calve cu” might mean “calve cow” or “calf”. Google told me that “nu” was now. Hence, “cu” could mean “cow” which would fit rather well. This poem has not been translated on the internet to the best of my knowledge. I actually have a rather two-thumbs-up feeling that I might be the first person to have put it out there.

For the first time in my life, I feel like I am at the verge of actually understanding why people spend their lives studying subjects like language and history.

* My sincere apologies to Obelix for the title. I just couldn't resist it. :)

Massacre of the innocents

2005-06-26T10:46:00.000-07:00

“This place was a treat”
“We’ll come back”, he said
Her heart skipped a beat
“This is where we’ll be wed”

Unfortunately, he remembers
The beauty is now gone
Memories are but embers
“It is time to move on”

“I’ll think about you everyday”
Her eyes said she was true
“I don’t know what to say?
What will I do without you?”

This power he abuses
Too many words spoken
The dagger she uses
Promises broken

They’d be together forever
Until the ends of time
Their love was so tender
Separation a crime

They both do repent
Inevitable, I suppose
Both parties innocent
Yet the blood freely flows

The anatomy of a nation - Part I

2005-06-23T11:24:00.000-07:00

My 8 months in the US have been filled with traveling and people and comfort and loneliness and promises to go back home some day soon. I intend to experience as much of this crazy country as I can while I am here - an observer who outwardly laughs with the world at the many things so wrong about America but at the same time is impressed by the pervasiveness of their "Western" culture.

One of the things that my current situation as a moderately well-off 22-year old with no immediate family in America has given me is the money and the freedom to listen to all the bands I grew up idolising. Through these concerts I have seen slices of Americana which I wish to remember. Here goes.

The Eagles
Venue - Baltimore, MD

I spent my first 3 months in America figuring out how things worked. Once I found my feet (and a credit card), I set off on my concert spree. My roomie and I discovered that we shared a similar taste in music and we decided to catch the Eagles when they came to Baltimore (3 hours from our place).

From my second year at college, when I realised that there was music beyond Floyd, the Eagles have been a favourite. In India, rock is the music of my generation. Although I had been warned that things were very different in America, I still didn't expect to walk into a Southern American party 20 years too late. A quick look around confirmed that we were probably the ONLY non-white people at the concert and almost the only people younger than 25. Turns out that the average Joes in America today listen almost exclusively to hip-hop, R & B and rap. Snooty America listens to jazz and classical music. Rock is fading and fading fast.

Be that as it may, I had come here for some good music and I was treated to a feast. The Eagles performed all their greatest hits for 3 hours and 15 minutes straight. No mean achievement for any band, let alone one on the wrong side of 50.

The one thing I took away from this show was that the Eagles are distinctly likeable. They started by thanking the audience for being a part of "Farewell Tour - I", a self-deprecating take at the concept of multiple Farewell tours nowadays.

Apart from the music, they kept slipping some stand-up comedy into the performance. Joe Walsh modified the lyrics of "Life is Good" to include -

"I have a limo
Ride in the back
I watch the Lakers
They stink without Shaq"

Aaah, I wish Kobe hears that. :D

Music - 9/10
Overall Experience - 10/10

Mamma Mia
Venue - Richmond, VA

"Mamma Mia" is a Broadway musical which is currently touring the US. The entire plot of the musical is woven around 22 Abba hits!!! My dad loved Abba so I grew up a passive Abba listener.

The most interesting thing about the show is that it really is quite like a travelling circus. The cast and crew goes from city to city with all the paraphernalia and perform at different theatres. Each role has a main performer and an apprentice who steps in if the main performer can't perform for any reason. The performances and the music were incredible. The whole gang did this huge dance at the end of the show. They just seemed so happy and chilled out. :)

Most of the audience were dressed fancy - tuxedos and evening gowns. We were a bunch of 10 odd ex-IITians - synonymous for lack of dressing sense. Let me just say that we didn't quite fit in. :) The good bit about being an ex-IITian is that we also didn't really care.

Music - 8/10
Overall Experience - 8/10

Potter's Pub "Battle of the Bands"
Venue - Richmond, VA

One lazy Wednesday, me and my roomie wandered over to a local pub which has an annual "Battle of the Bands". It epitomised the state of rock in this country. There were more 40-something ex-rocker judges around than audience members.

One of the bands had TWO cute female guitarists - not something I have seen before. The music was above-average country rock, the atmosphere was chilled out, the beer was good. :)

Music - 6/10
Overall Experience - 7/10

Santana
Venue - Small town, MD

I walk into the concert stadium and something is different. I just can't put my finger on it. And then it hit me. There were women. Not the dressed-in-black, pierced-as-hell zombie types who frequent the concerts I normally go to, these were actual Latino babes. :)

The atmosphere was mind-blowing. Much younger than the Eagles concert and much, much more diverse. We had lawn tickets so we just lazed around with our beer as the opening band Los Lonely Boys played their music. Decent band, not my kinda music. When Santana, dressed as usual in his garish worst, got on stage the crowd exploded. These people worship him.

And when he got into the flow with the salsa beat, couples of all ages were salsaing all over the place. Far from the male, testosterone-driven rock concert atmospheres I was more used to, all I wanted that day was a cute chiquita to salsa with. Sigh!! :)

Music - 7.5/10
Overall Experience - 8/10

Deep Purple
Venue - Norfolk, VA

It was Austin Powers in reverse. From the moment we arrived it felt like we had gone back in time to the 70s. We get out of our car and the minivan next to us was purple and plastered with anti-war slogans and outrageous hippie colours and the owner had his/her name on the windscreen - Pearl. :) The crowd was mainly made of ex-hippies re-living their glory days with long hair and jazzy clothes.

The venue was an open-air arena on the seafront. We had great seats - some 40 feet from the performers, bang in the centre. The sea breeze and Deep Purple live right in front of you. :)

The atmosphere was very sentimental. The entire crowd sang along with a rendition of "Blowing in the wind". And when they performed a tribute to the people who died when the space shuttle Columbia crashed, you could see tears in so many eyes.

The only downer was that Purple only performed for about an hour and a half which put the Eagles marathon in perspective. The saving grace was that they had a great opening band which played for about an hour so that kinda made up for it. We hit a monster traffic jam (Norfolk is an island with only one bridge which connects it to the mainland) on the way back, so we got back home only around 3:30 a.m.

Music - 9/10
Overall Experience - 8.5/10

If music be the food of life.......... I sure am gorging. :)

In case you are wondering, the post is titled Part I because I have tickets booked for performances by Judas Priest, Dave Matthews Band, Mark Knopfler, Hootie and the Blowfish, Coldplay, U2, Megadeth and Dream Theatre. This is a summer I will never forget.

Old habits die hard

2005-06-20T08:34:00.000-07:00

Note: You have to be familiar with the basic dynamics of softball and cricket to fully understand this post.

With the advent of summer, office sports is the new in thing and a softball league has been set up. A bunch of desis here at work decided that if they spent their entire childhood playing cricket, softball can't be too hard. Lagaan-style they got a team together and joined the league. Little did they realise that this was going to be a whole new ball game. :)

Practice was a premonition of things to come. Confused fielders vowing that they would field better if they took their gloves off. Americans trying to convince them that if they tried that they would re-arrange their fingers. Fielders throwing in the softball to the people at base... on the bounce. :)

The high point was however when R2, a goodish cricket batsman, came to the plate. His first time at bat. A clean hit and the ball goes flying. After the initial moment of shock, he starts running straight at the pitcher...... with the bat in his hand. :) The pitcher is petrified. People are clutching their stomachs laughing. Like they say, everything's cricket.

Oh and BTW the route might have been circuitous but he made it to first base :)

Things I have stumbled across

2005-06-17T12:48:00.000-07:00

Work and the lack of internet at home has kept this blog inactive for a good while now. Here are a coupla things to read/hear this weekend. Will re-start blogging soon.

"Why so Pale and Wan?"

Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why so pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail?
Prithee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prithee, why so mute?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do 't?
Prithee, why so mute?

Quit, quit for shame! This will not move;
This cannot take her.
If of herself she will not love,
Nothing can make her:
The devil take her!

-- John Suckling

This is always worth a smile.

And if you have the time, download every.mp3 from

http://www.thesunscreenman.com/html/sonn0600.htm

It is the "Sunscreen" song :)

Enjoy!
Kram

Ac"corporat"ization

2005-06-08T22:33:00.000-07:00

Corporate America prides itself on valuing it's diversity as well as it's tolerance. One inadvertent politically incorrect statement often means tumbling down the ladder. A common source of amusement to us corporates is to see newbies struggle with the rules of the game. And by far the most interesting location to see the drama play out is at the lunch table.

Newbie after the US election results: "Bush is such an idiot. I can't imagine why you would vote for anyone but Kerry!!"

Red-stater: "Kerry is worse than Hitler. More innocent souls have been murdered by abortion than during the Holocaust." :O

OR

Newbie trying to show some empathy for a colleague's country: "So what is the Taiwan-China diplomatic battle really about?"

Chinese colleague with a blank stare: "Taiwan does not exist. It is a part of China, not a separate country."

Hence, since every topic with even the slightest importance quickly goes off limits, the experienced corporate learns pretty soon that the only two things which are on the table at lunch are sports .......... and girls.

Yesterday at noon, six guys were sitting at a table and making random conversation. Coincidentally, 5 of them are single and bemoaning their lack of action. From SG (Single Guy) 1 who has resigned himself to a life without dating to SG2 who has had 1 date in the last year to SG3 who has had 12 dates with 7 different women in 3 months (without a single third date!!), we realised that our love lives were varied with the common theme of not getting any.

Just as silence descended on this scene of abject misery, SG3 gets a wistful look in his eyes and goes, "Man!! Things were so much easier in college."

And 5 voices shout, "Exactly".

The icing on the cake. SG4 quips, "Why do you think people stop working, give up the cashflow and go back to grad school? EDUCATION???"

Oh and in case you were wondering, I am SG1. Yes, I lead a miserable, single existence and am consoled by the fact that I am not the only one. :) And you wonder why I am up at 1:30 a.m blogging.

P.S: NO it is not to meet interesting women who might read this while doing random walks on the internet. Although that would be a fringe benefit I could do with. ;)

P.P.S: A quick clarification. Self is loserly enough to have had that train of thought (the one in the P.S) but not quite at the stage where the train of thought is the truth.

P.P.P.S: Friends have been telling me that I am trying to paint a "cool personality" on my blog. Now that this posting is done, I would like us all to take a moment of silence to acknowledge it's demise. :)

Which side of the fence do you sit on?

2005-06-08T07:08:00.000-07:00

Unless you are very geeky, please do not read this posting. I do not want to be responsible for wasting your time. Please come back to this blog in a coupla days and God promise, Mother promise, normalcy will return. Also, NO MORE GEEKY COMMENTS ON MY BLOG. Please :)

In the comments section of my last post, Viral and Golu are arguing about whether negative numbers can be a part of a Pythagorean triplet. And since I was the one who started this whole thing in the first place, here are my tuppence.

Viral's POV mainly comes from the idea that the Pythagorean triplet concept came from Pythagoras and was w.r.t right angled triangles. However, in today's world, with math making time go backwards, Golu's idea of negative numbers in a Pythagorean triplet is not too far-fetched.

Now that I think about it, which side you are on in this argument might say a lot about you. Given that you are geeky enough to understand the argument that is.

If you think that negative numbers can be part of a Pythagorean triplet your fundamental instinct is mathematical.

If you think that the fundamental idea of the Pythagorean triplet comes from the historical caricature of a Greek guy in a toga drawing triangles in the sand, then you would say that your fundamental instinct is artsy.

Oh and just in case you have no idea what I am talking about, then too your fundamental instinct is artsy. :)

What say? :D

This will be my last geeky posting for a bit. The number of people who have started to call me a geek has alarmingly gone up. Damage control must be done. :)

One in a thousand

2005-06-03T13:33:00.000-07:00

I never laid any claims to being normal. So it came as quite a shock when I took a geek test on the internet a month back and was rated "Average geekiness". Turns out all geeks play X Box and write open source code.

When I was a kid I had three library memberships. I was caught reading a book in class and sent to the headmistress's office. My headmistress came to my rescue saying that I did well in my exams because I read so much.

In my first year of college, I used to walk back from Hostel 10 to Hostel 3 every night @ 11 p.m reading a novel from streetlight to streetlight. I studied Electrical Engineering in college and now work as an analyst.

Every second Wednesday of the month I go to a scrabble club. I print out crosswords from the internet and carry them around in my pocket. Discussing a grad student's research on adaptive MRI scanning is normal conversation. I do NOT like to shop.

I swim 3 times a week and diligently note down my timings for 50 and 100 metres, the number of laps I swam and if that isn't enough, I plot graphs. I cannot cook without a recipe. I think Ph.D students are cool. :) I have had the same haircut for 6 years.

My first real mathematical proof was in the 9th standard. Every integer >= 3 can be expressed as part of a Pythagorean triplet involving other integers. And I remember thinking to myself that the girl I end up with should be able to prove this from first principle.

Fast forward to college. I was with a bunch of Xavierite friends one day when we were ordering pizza. And they figure that if 2 6 inch pizzas cost less than a 12 incher, they are getting a good deal - like, duh, do the math. And there I am foaming at the mouth, screaming Pi R square.

I blog.

When I see a spelling mistake, I Google for the various spellings and ponder on the results. I really hope for your sake that you don't know what I mean. A friend of mine types "an year". I google "an year" - 85 thousand pages. I then google "a year" - 85 million pages. And now I am thinking one in a thousand people gets it wrong. What symmetry!

There, it's done. Now, anonymous stranger, you know me for what I am. :) You decide.

Sometimes, I scare me.

Crushed

2005-06-02T05:57:00.000-07:00

For years now, poets have waxed eloquent about the magic of falling in love - the first time your eyes meet, the skipped heartbeat and all that jazz.

What hogwash! When I am in a relationship, I can buy all that melodrama, but singleness tends to wear on you.

However, jaded as I am, there is one phase which is absolutely magical and I will always look forward to - the magic of "falling in crush". Sigh!

My first crush, like most first crushes was special. I was this geeky 12 year old who had just had a back fracture. The doctor insisted on 2 months of bedrest and 6 months with a back brace. Indian 12 year old boys don't really believe that there is life beyond cricket. And as an Indian 12 year old boy, my world had come to an end.

It was then that I really got to know her. Games of scrabble, intellectual discussions on comics, copying homework, (confession alert) playing girly games in the local playground and before I knew it, my best friend was, as unbelievable as it seemed, A GIRL!!

However, even backs heal and 13 year old Indian boys have to play cricket. We were still good friends but it almost seemed like a phase had passed.

And then she left town, just like that.

And I missed her.

Life goes on. 3 years hence, I was a dysfunctional teenager who knew next to nothing about girls.

And then, just like that, she was back.

Needless to say, I did nothing about it - dysfunctional teenager remember. 2 whole years of nothing. And out of the blue, it happened. A month before our 12th standard board examinations. It was a normal conversation. We were talking about hindi movies - being cool and 17 and dissing them. And then she said, "I saw John Abraham at the airport last week and he was my 5th crush in life." Before I knew it, I had popped the question - "So, who was your first crush?"

"You".

Sigh!

Ah my Golu, past compare

2005-05-19T07:13:00.000-07:00

Singaraju D Prasad, the up and coming all-rounder from Gultland, has made a promising start to the US inter-university cricket season. He started with a strong bowling performance last week when he was 'on a hat-trick' and yesterday, on the rainy pitches of Baltimore, he made firmer the case for his inclusion into the USA World Cup squad.

The match started badly for him when he dropped a catch in the first over. When this reporter contacted him about his rare mistake, Prasad said, "I was like abt 10 feet away and m** ** **** he hit the fast ball straaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaight to my hands. It is still hurting. My hand became red." But that was not the end of his woes.

After the Jamaican team got of to a smashing start, Prasad was given the ball. According to Prasad the first ball he bowled was "f***ed so peacefully even though it was an ok ball". He followed that up with "2 good balls and after that they f***ed" him "again". 16 runs in the over meant that Prasad was not given a bowl for the rest of the innings.

However, Prasad re-affirmed the faith of all those who think of him as a true thinking cricketer. Prasad is rather intellectual and when he is not on the pitch he spends his time doing research to save the world - pixel by pixel. Chasing a score of 163, Prasad's team had reached 160 for the loss of 8 wickets. The 9th wicket fell in dubious circumstances and Prasad had to come out with 3 runs left to win. It was then that a slight drizzle started on the field. The crowd was on their feet expecting a nail-biting finish, when Prasad put on his thinking helmet and walked out to bat. It was then that it struck him. A couple of quick mental calculations and he strode up to the umpire and firmly said, "I cannot bat in this rain". 6 foot 6 members of the opposition came up confused and when they realised what was going on went ballistic. As Prasad recalls of the situation - "Whammmboooo, I thought I would die off there only". However, the umpires had to accede and Prasad won the day on run rate.

And to think that this bright mind is being wasted doing a Ph.D, slogging his behind off so that some professor in JHU can get tenure. Ah, such is life.

The top of the hill

2005-04-30T13:16:00.000-07:00

Let me introduce myself in one sentence. I am one of that breed which seems to proliferate out of the IITs - a 22 year old engineering graduate with no idea what to do with the rest of his life. In the last 6 months, over numerous sessions of introspection and conversations with friends, I have figured just one thing - that, for most of us, the grass is always greener on the other side. There are so many of us out there, running about, like headless chickens, trying to figure out what part of the world we want to re-shape - please note the sarcasm. It is only human, I guess. But just as I had resigned myself to being a headless chicken, a boss at work said something which made sense.

We were talking about the professional goals people have for themselves and he likened the situation to that of a man on a river trying to cross over to get to the other side - that raise, that next promotion. But once he crosses the river, he realises that there is another river to cross and so on. He said that his boss once told him to forget about the river and imagine the person on the top of the hill at the end of all those rivers whom he wants to be. Imagine the life that person has lead, the experiences he has, the different characteristics he possesses. Imagine it all in excruciating detail and work backwards from there. Somehow it made a lot of sense.Its been a week since and I am still trying to imagine my person on top of the hill but that is another story.

On a somewhat related note, I asked a friend of mine why he didn't blog. And he said that he didn't have enough to whine about. :) I read my post and boy!! Udit, I now know what you mean.

"Wisdom"

2005-04-18T14:56:00.000-07:00

When I have ceased to break my wings
Against the faultiness of things,
And learned that compromises wait
Behind each hardly opened gate,
When I have looked Life in the eyes,
Grown calm and very coldly wise,
Life will have given me the Truth,
And taken in exchange -- my youth.

-- Sara Teasdale

Growing up has been a recurrent theme in conversations lately. Be it juniors passing out of college or batchmates experiencing (at the risk of sounding cliched) the real world.

Life has been interesting recently. Bunch of things happening. Most good, some not so. But amidst it all, there is this one thing I cling to, the will to keep walking.

K

Getting out - alone

2005-02-19T17:29:00.000-08:00

I have always had this weird thing about being alone. I just detest it. I never do anything alone - I'm always calling up people trying to get together a group.

Figured, I can't be such bad company. Nice day out. Lunch at Farouk's - desi food. Spent the afternoon at the Science Museum of Virginia. Geek in me Liked.. Liked.. :)

Reading Foucault's Pendulum at Starbucks - Heavy stuff!!

And now I'm catching NBA All Star Saturday. Perfect!! :)

K

Geek Code

2005-02-11T19:06:00.000-08:00

It is Friday and I have some time on my hands. Here is me - in Geek Code.

-----BEGIN GEEK CODE BLOCK-----
Version: 3.1
GB/CC/E d s++:(+) a-- C++(+++)$ U P+ L+ E-- W++ N o? K--? w O? M- V-- PS+++ PE+ Y PGP? t 5? X++ !R tv+ b++(+++)>++++ DI+(+++) !D G- e++(++++) h r+(++) y++
------END GEEK CODE BLOCK------

BTW it is a tremendously cool idea. I wish I had thought of it.

K

Democracy

2005-02-07T11:49:00.000-08:00

Random thought that occured when I was reading about the Iraqi elections - What is the big deal with democracy?

At the end of the day. It is the rule of the elected, not the people. Limited choice in the elections. And even if you accept that the government represents the people, in reality it only represents the majority. And that's just "bully".

Disclaimer - I am not a political science major :P Not close. Just your good old Engineering graduate from India 8-B

Why do I Blog?

2005-02-05T11:01:00.000-08:00

So today is Day 2 of my blogger existence.

Day 1 of my blogger existence has had a lot to do with blogging. You see my current status in life is rather immobile. I had knee surgery last Monday so my world has become my bed and thanks to my wireless card the World Wide Web. Spent yesterday going through a blog which really has affected me - to put it mildly. It is "Baghdad Burning" at

http://riverbendblog.blogspot.com

It is a blog described by riverbend as "Girl Blog from Iraq... let's talk war, politics and occupation."

To sum up my feelings succintly - I'd just say that it is nice to think. In some ways I think I have gotten too comfortable with my life at present. I don't know how to put this but normalcy is mind-numbing. Working at a first job. Discovering a new country. Travelling. Making friends. Wondering about the future. Its awesome and its fun. But it can also consume you. That little cocoon you live in becomes your world.

And I think blogging and reading people's blogs give you just that outlet - that chance to think. I have spent yesterday reading about Iraq - from the eyes of a soldier and from the eyes of a civilian. I cannot claim to know what either life is like but I do have a much better understanding than I did 24 hours back. And that is a first step.

I think I am quite in love with the blog. The downside is that I work in front of a computer 10 hours a day. So not a very healthy obsession. You can't have everything

A Blog is Born

2005-02-04T13:38:00.000-08:00

Hello World!

Well, I always knew it was going to happen. For 10 months now I have been at the crossroads - to blog or not to blog. To continue loving your life and living it to the full or to document that whirlwind of events which you believe you go through and realise how mundane it actually is. :) Well, I finally get around to conquering the fear and how do i start off - "Hello World" - about as well as a computer program would have done.

But you pick up your shattered dreams and reconstruct.... OK OK I'll cut the melodrama.

I'm Karthik. I'm 21. And like you can see I am confused - I am out to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life - which part of the world I want to re-shape. ;) I am currently working in Richmond,VA at a financial services company called Capital One. And am spending all my weekends travelling. Which is fun. Also been clicking away on my camera quite crazily which is the primary reason I guess to start blogging. So I can put up all my good pics. A secondary reason would be that I have completely stopped writing.

More on that later.
Come back
K