My Pug Marks

The new job saw me going to Hyderabad for a fortnight's training. It also gave me a chance to visit some good old friends of mine who have been working there. It used to be a refreshing change at the weekends after a week's training sessions and being unknown to the city.  After the regular Buddha  statue visit at Hussain Sagar  lake which everyone who visits Hyderabad, I was shown around the impressive building which my friends call their office. And as we were sitting in the cafeteria talking of times new and old, a very interesting piece of discussion ensued. My little chubby and cute friend from college asked out of the blue -  Do you all know that Dosa  is actually Dosai?   Rest of us just gave our eyebrows a little tilt in our minds and one of us said - Yea well, it is how people prefer to call it in this part of the world. What about it? My little friend being adamant to prove her point explained us with words and action something that kep...

 image courtesy: moonlightblue.wordpress.com pain in neck pain in head killing eyes imploring to die anaerobic respiration acid in muscles all the creepy aches erupt simultaneously with no respite hazy sight nothing compares though to the aches of the heart inside

As I sit to write My same old ink pen Begins to talk to me In words I never knew I would ever know It refuses to write Saying its canals had dried Like the thoughts, I tried But it did not relent I reminded him of the good old The smell of blue as it faded on husky old paper It reminded me of how long that was After much persuasion It did splutter the same old smell of blue Beginning afresh with splendor renewed

And as I drive on an empty dark road Radio playing slow beautiful songs My mind wanders away from menial To us and how it all happened Like an old wine Beautiful thought Growing older and better The way we met and things turned around Like a stuck record Beautiful music Playing the symphony  Melodies to my heart The way we met and things turned around Like a grandfather's clock Beautiful mechanism Cogwheels fitting perfectly Like our fingers intertwined The way we met and things turned around And as I halt and return to present Focusing back on the menial I save you in my mind For another time

Like every good Indian kid - I got interested in cricket quite early. Over the years, seen it develop from a gentleman's game to a game enforced by technological advancement. From the first run out given by the Third Umpire to the Hawk Eye - technology indeed has come a long way in making the sport error free. However, there is this boundary catch phenomenon which has disturbed me. I have dubbed it as the Up in the Air dismissal. It is fairly simple: You catch the speeding ball easily racing for a six just inside the boundary but realize that you are losing control and will fall over. You throw the ball Up in the Air and stroll outside, reposition yourself, stroll back just in time to catch the ball again. And a good beautiful six is converted to a wicket taken. Here is a sample: Well, I don't really like this concept and really think there should be a rule for this. I do not deny that it is fair and requires good athletic ability, but for me, it is a tad bit unfair for the ...

 Image Courtesy: http://www.thehindu.com/ Now that MBA is over and I am considered an ounce wiser, being back home means work. There are so many pending things that are just waiting in the attic to be dusted and made to work again. One of them is the mammoth task of physical share transfer and dematerialization. Though stated in one pretty sentence, it takes months of effort and work. And of course, money!  My brother has been painfully going about the motions of this work for a couple of months now and nothing much yet seems to have resulted out of it. We struck a good deal with a certain Saraswati something shares. I asked, "How much would this one fetch us?". He replied, "Enough to recover the money you spent on your MBA degree". I exclaimed, "Really! Waoh! Even after they have been dormant for like 15 years??!". He quipped, in exasperation, "Weren't they supposed to teach you all this in B-School?" I did shut up and let him do this pain...

  Image Courtesy: http://talkingtails.wordpress.com/ Yet another bomb blast. This time it is the famous German Bakery in Koregaon Park in Pune. Thronged by lots of foreigners and many self proclaimed happening people from posh areas around. An uncanny resemblance to a Goan shack and a not-so-Indian ambiance ensured that it was always packed. But well, enough about the goodness about the place, that is unquestionable nevertheless. I am here to talk about the bomb blasts that have become a norm for creating and spreading terror in India. If we notice, the level of comfort that we have attained before we raise our eyebrows to crime is alarming. Murders, rapes, forgery, road rage - all pass without much noise (unless it effects you directly) and a small mention in a newspaper or may be not.  So what does it take to move India? A Telgi with a multimillion scam, a Nithari homicide or bomb blasts that kill many people (even better if foreigners and especially Jews are amongst th...