Being


Nadodigal

After promising much, meanders to a lame ending. Worth a watch, though.

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Housewives IV = Microfiction X

Last Monday, Kumaresan (45) was found dead on the thinnai of his house in Anna Nagar, Mayavaram under mysterious circumstances. His body -- dead body that is -- was tinged with blue. A Rin soap bar and Robin Liquid were found in his underwear and a small cat was biting at his feet.
Two days after Kumaresan's death, his wife Gandhimathi (28) appeared on CNN-IBN to decry the fate of her two children. She hinted repeatedly that her husband may have committed suicide due to his piles problem.
The Mayavaram Police Department (MPD) swung into action. A special unit, headed by Inspector Sengottuvan conducted a spirited investigation and the truth emerged. Kumaresan, son of Chokkalingam was married to Gandhimathi. They had a son, Dhanusu (10), who was born six months after their wedding. Three years ago, Kumaresan got promoted from Dishwasher to Server at the Vegetarian Light Refreshment Stall, Mayiladuthurai Junction. Seemingly, the couple were happy about the promotion and daughter Valarmadhi was born.
Kumaresan was in the habit of taking his piles medication with tender coconut water. While buying tender coconuts, Gandhimathi developed a habit with the tender coconut seller, Veeramuthu (26). Gradually, this habit developed into a love affair. Veeramuthu and Gandhimathi began meeting secretly each other at coconut orchards and rooftop terraces. Who knows what tender coconuts Veeramuthu plucked?
Kumeresan came to know about his wife's extramarital affair but feared Veeramuthu’s sharp scythe. So, he sternly warned Gandhimathi to behave. After all, the site of Kannagi, Poompuhar, is only 25 kilometers from Mayavaram. Gandhimathi promised to obey her husband by ceremonially stepping over Valarmadhi -- kuzhandhaya thaandi satthiyam -- and accidentally stepped on Valarmadhi's tender arm. Valaramadhi had to be rushed to the hospital. But the Gandhimathi-Veeramuthu affair continued.
Veeramuthu and Gandhimathi began to plot Kumaresan’s death with poisoned tender coconuts. But miraculously, Kumaresan's piles started to improve and he wanted to have another child. Forced to take new steps, Veeramuthu inserted a Rin bar in his underwear which inflamed Kumaresan’s piles. This also made him blue in color and eventually killed him.
There is widespread speculation that Valarmadhi is Veeramuthu's daughter, further lending credence to Alan Smithee's smart-ass one-liner, "Motherhood is reality, fatherhood is belief."
Police have arrested the culprits. The Vegetarian Light Refreshment Stall at Mayiladuthurai Junction hired a new server. Inspector Sengottuvan has been put in solitary confinement to prevent him from drinking poisoned tender coconut water. The cat has been adopted by the Mayavaram Blue Cross. The locals who thought this was a case of billi sooniyam are relieved and deeply thankful to the Mayuranathar. The only unsolved puzzle is the Robin Liquid found on Kumaresan's dead body.
--A contribution from a fellow gothramite, adapted.

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Retro

"Whatever happens will be for the worse. Therefore, it is on our interests that as little as possible happens. " -- A wise drunk man.

Consider the worthwhile activities of a Thamizh (under) graduate before liberalization and the Silicon Valley civilization. He'd register at the employment exchange, write cover letters to highlight pedigree Iyengar ancestry, solicit recommendations from the onnu vitta chithappa's athimber who retired as a stenographer at TVS, go through public service commission exams and/or take the Southern Railways job baton from the retiring/expired father. The highest hope was becoming a Lower Division Clerk. The pay structure and work ambiance successfully eliminated all risks of nurturing ambition.

Now: The open nature of the job market and the knowledge economy has dealt a killer blow to the virtue of slacking by fostering competitiveness and a can-do optimism. The continuous pressure to improvise, learn and grow above one's station while simultaneously being able to boil oneself down to a bunch of bullet points and elevator pitches is the result of a grand capitalist conspiracy to deprive Thamizhan of the pleasures of indolence.

Business school appears to be an exit from the vicious cycle of forced aspirations and software defect reports. But the pain of writing essays along with MBA applications -- the crap about being motivated to excel at excelling and work in teams -- is comparable only to reading feminist rants about menstrual cycles. Worse yet, one cannot honestly write, "I want to do an MBA because I have fucking had enough of null pointer exceptions, I like bullshitting and am a natural at that, and want to be paid obnoxiously high for it so that I can buy that lakefront villa and a BMW." And after two years and a $100K hole in the pocket, one would realize that he has traded a relatively secure coding job for a "move up or move out" style ultra-competitive McKinsey shit.

Pained by the death trap of progression in the postmodern world, the heart deliberates a peaceful livelihood where there is no scope -- hence hope -- for improvement. Say, a waiter at the mess opposite to the Mayavaram bus stand. The only things to look forward in life would be two meals a day, a cutting of Old Monk every night and bit padam on Sunday.

-- Alan Smithee and I

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Housewives II

Every moron that has read Ayn Rand thinks he is libertarian and posesses objective superpowers. Prescribing canned solutions on the lines of limited government and free trade makes him an economist and an expert on Aryan ablution. May be he would get bored of it and learn to drink whisky, browse porn and jerk off, if not for other idiots with flat-rate broadband Internet who keep sitemeter ticking.

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Govinda Govinda

The only force that can fight Islam is America. But if its President gives Moslems a public blow job...

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Spelling Bee

Only Transformers irritates me more than: overconfident kids professing an excessive understanding of etymology, having lofty ambitions and role models, and diligently spelling words that they will never use. Spelling Bee contestants are perhaps likely to study sociology or space science and waste tax dollars in hunting down non-existent social problems and far-away heavenly bodies.

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Battle of York

The site of the Battle of York in the War of 1812 is the city that hosts the most number of Thamizhs outside South Asia. No thanks to another war spanning three decades. When I was living in the Madras of the West, I was warmed by the instant affection Sri Lankan Thamizhs show for "Indian" Thamizhs. "Naam ellam oru marathin iru kilaigal", as a colleague put it, after ingesting two rounds of Ballentine.

Sriram has often observed that: "Indian" Thamizhs indulge in despicable North Indian habits like wearing Sherwanis for weddings and watching movies as Dil Chahtha Hai. And North Indians continue to think Indhi is the de facto language of mankind, even if they are thousands of miles athwart where Indhi evolved from rude sounds North Indian women made when being raped by Moslems.
If a United States of Thamizh is not possible, Thamizhs can at least be acknowledged to be a distinct visible minority, in this age of rampant multiculturalism and diversity.

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Change

"Paternity leave" may have become a real word but there is no reason why men's washrooms should have baby changing stations. That is like having urinals in women's washrooms.

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Microfiction VI

After suffering 5000 years of oppression under the upper caste people, he embraced the religion of peace, got his tool snipped, entered her and exited a baby. The name. It should sound Arabic but not be out of place in the adopted land. The Prophet's (PBUH) name has become the most common. They read through the Koran searching but every character in that book turned out to be a kaffir or jihadi in later chapters. They did not realize that they had blasphemed and had become unpardonable sinners in rejecting the Prophet's (PBUH) name.
--Alan Smithee

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Microfiction V

After gathering their 14.7% downpayment on the mortgage, he entered her and exited a baby. The name. It should sound Sanskrit but should not be out of place in the adopted land: balance of Eastern and Western values, modern, unique and everything else in six English letters. The program that recycled names through two generations is almost gone. They read through Lalitha Sahasranamam and Abirami Andhadhi hoping to stumble upon the right one, accumulating accidental punyam in the process. Anything he came up with, she knew a friend or foe called exactly that.

The right name and then the right stroller. For men driving a Toyota Corolla, the Maclaren brand of stroller is almost irresistible. The child seat in the car, safety this, safety that and looking up zip codes with better school districts. Knocked up.

Ubayam: Alan Smithee

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Wolverine: Live Review

Uwack.

3G

There is no such thing as time, distance or a communication gap, so to speak. The new leader of the foremost Republic has the set the tone of the times. This is the age of over-communication. The postmodern predicament of having nothing to say but having the urge to say something is catching on, helped by plummeting costs of transporting voice and data packets.
Not so long ago, screening callers and not answering the Plain Old Telephone System provided spells of ex-communication, when required. Only the blinking red light on the answering machine reminded you of a call to return or message to respond to. Now, there is no hiding place. If you can't be reached one way, there are several others: mobile phones, SMS, Orkut, Facebook, My Space and BlackBerry Messenger, all of them conspiring together, buzzing alerts and flashing LEDs.
The 15-paisa postcard and the aerogram ensured two things in correspondence: brevity and a necessary delay, which optic fiber cables and wireless frequencies have destroyed.

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Endhu Perusu...

I and my big mouth - II

Revisiting this, I think "I" was right. The usage depends on the construction. Basically, "I" is used as the subject and "Me" as the object.


That depends on where you and your friend are in the sentence. In colloquial speech 'me' is often used where standard grammar requires 'I', especially when someone else is mentioned too. Sometimes people use 'I' instead of 'me', because they know 'me' is sometimes wrong, but have not understood the principle. (Others resort to 'myself', which can sound rather pompous.)

I am the subject of the sentence, but the object of the sentence is me.

If in doubt, take your friend out of the sentence.

Me and my friend went to a party last night. [Wrong]
I and my friend went to a party last night.

My friend and me went to a party last night. [Wrong]
My friend and I went to a party last night.

The mayor has invited me and my husband.
The mayor has invited I and my husband. [Wrong]

The mayor has invited my husband and me.
The mayor has invited my husband and I. [Wrong]

Incidentally, saying 'my friend and I' instead of 'I and my friend' is not better grammar, it's just being polite.[link]

The implication of this is astounding. What if the other posts in this blogs were right too?

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Just Shut Up

Knocked Up

Sriram thinks this is a brilliant movie. None of the masturbatory special effects, pseudo-intellectual blow jobs, animations, robots, aliens or apocalpyse. Just good-natured humor with a lot of fucks in between. Try this:

Debbie: [on subject of husbands] You criticize them so much, they get down on themselves, and then they're forced to change!

Pete: Marriage is like a tense, unfunny version of Everybody Loves Raymond, only it doesn't last 22 minutes. It lasts forever.

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Summer

When the parents come this summer, Sriram hopes for nothing too different from this: Father can't get enough of Lays chips. Mother picks up where she left off on Kolangal. Father likes the recliner chair. Mother goes for a walk, gets lost and finds her way back somehow. The wife tries to get on their good side by coming up with menus to fight diabetes and cholesterol but is usually under-appreciated. Niagara Falls, Empire State, Yosemite, temples and all of that.

After all, the above scenes have been re-enacted in many Thamizh homes in the New World, since the War.

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Ayan

Kashtam.

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State of Play

Fusion

The April 14 maanga pachidi and maanga oorgai made with Mexican mangoes.

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Miss South India

Appalling.

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Post-it

"If you think work is bad, wait for the training courses they make you take." -- A wise drunk man.
Some professional training programs aim to streamline thought process by fun exercises like: considering a real world situation (as say buying a beer) and writing down how one would go about it. One would not be in the training program if one had a work-sheet like the below:
Objective: Drinking beer.
Problem statement: Choosing and buying the right beer.
Situation Analysis: Weather is good and there is nothing useful to do.
Decisions: What beer to buy? Where is it available?
How to get there? How to pay for it? Who all are going to drink? Any preferences?(Use post-it notes to jot down key factors)
Actions: Decide on a beer. Identify a liquor store. Choose mode of commute based on distance, time and convenience. Make sure the wallet is with you. Make a mental list of drinkers and match it against their preferences. Buy. Do not open any bottle of liquor and/or drink on the way home (Use post-it notes to remind yourself of this or send yourself an email)
Potential Problem Analysis and Prevention:
(Use post-it notes, anyway)
Contingency: (Use post-it notes)
And so on goes the drivel. After a week of such exercises, an employee will learn to apply the logical and organizational skills obtained, to day-to-day work activities, magically improving productivity and performance. This is what paper-pushers with degrees in sociology and human sciences really think.
There is also a secret implication about a new world order. In twenty years, there will be no race, color, gender, caste, borders or passports. Only one distinction will matter -- the ability to expend paper by writing down every thought and using post-it notes wherever necessary. Or unnecessary. These chosen people will control all of the world's power and money while all others will be serfs. The capitalist and aristocratic class will be thus displaced.
Change.

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A Polish Joke

A man went to a doctor. The doctor was a woman.

Knowing: Live Review

Apocalypse, astrophysics, MIT and half-baked pseudo-spiritual nonsense. Typical Hollywood trash.

Parthiban Kanavu

Inexplicably, I don't mind watching this movie yet another time.

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Clothes for Vessels

Providence -- with whom I will be filing joint tax returns from this year -- has decreed that my wardrobe requires a complete change. Unfortunately, trading old clothes for vessels/utensils is an idea lost on the West.

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Gandhian I am

Of considerable ire to this Thamizh separatist is: his "second language" was Indhi. Not unusual, given:
1. Both parents were employed in the central government. This encouraged an unnatural affinity to New Delhi.
2. Like good TamBrahms, they were convinced Karunanidhi/DMK would do anything to deny Brahmins jobs and livelihood in Thamizh Nadu. As a future refugee or employee in North India, their son had to learn Indhi at school.
When Sriram was in grade six, his scores in Indhi read: 32, 42, 52 and 35 -- good numbers for a talented batsman who got off to a nice start but then threw his wicket away. As numerators appearing above 100 on the progress report, they looked bad. The school had a system of four "cycle tests" which Sriram just about managed to survive by cumulation. 161 on 400 is 40.25%, a result of best efforts and not calculated indifference. The pass mark was 40%. Sriram could better 52 four years later in the last Indhi exam he wrote -- the grade ten board examinations.
Such natural Indhi disability was Indhi ozhippu porattam without tar and rail mariyal. The wife is not impressed by any of this because she is from Bombay.

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Vennila Kabadi Kuzhu

Kind of okay. The songs are good. Karthik renders Pada Pada nicely.

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Spring

As I step out, I notice that I do not have to brace myself for the cold. The winter coat is starting to feel heavy and the gloves make the hands sweat slightly. Spring. Finally. Spring is when American Idol heats up. (Aside, Anoop Desai is way better than Sanjay Malakar.) This is the time for the annual performance reviews, followed by hasty resolutions to work harder/better and myopic preoccupations with career advancement. But realities set in by Fall, when new TV sitcoms proliferate like bankrupt banks and all of them prove to be annoying within five episodes.

In summer, the parents are coming. Just for the sake of conformism, I should take them to Niagara Falls (U.S. and Canada), New York City, Grand Canyon, Washington D.C and a couple of national parks.

First things first, this season commands a sigh of relief because winter was a miniature ice age. Any other source of joy for the year will be a surprise.

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Virtues

If I take a quick look around, my life and world look more-or-less similar as one year ago. The convenience store guy asks for ID every time I buy cigarettes, the owner of the neighborhood Chinese takeout talks English in Chinese, Kiran Chetri blabs about Iraq and the economy, work, Sun TV and my whisky. Same things, same people and similar conversations. But surely, things have changed in one important way: a sense of assurance and certainty is missing. Pseudonyms of time and place as Golden Age and New World seem slightly out of time and place.
As of today, when I get to work, I anticipate a Recycle Reminder more than a pink slip stuck to my desk. Not bad at all and I am not foolish enough to think of it as my doing. But people and news keep reminding me that the power of luck, chance, horoscope or whatever is finite. Quite suddenly, it has become harder to think of trivialities as trivialities. Like holding navy-blue instead of black passports and having children that talk in accents we try hard to fake.
In times as these, frivolousness, Scotch and indifference are important virtues.

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Watchmen: Live Review

Oh fuck.

Arjun

Among my top ten irritants, this thanneer thara dhrogi who speaks Thamizh kadichu-kadichu and never gets bored of reminding us he knows Karate

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TV

Thamizh TV channels often have one of the below to show:
(1). Man and woman gyrate and dance away with shocking levels of physical promiscuity.
(2). Yokels sporting rural Thamizh accents, clumsy coats and gaudy shirts annoy the fuck out of you with poor jokes.
(3). Bad imitations of American Idol.

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Delhi 6

Idiot North Indians can never quite get over the silly fantasy of how Hindus and Moslems are bhai-bhai.

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Dial-a-Bottle

Child-proof

Perhaps not long ago, bottles of cough syrup and other over-the-counter medications could be opened easily, with just a tweak. On an August day perfect for abortion, a San Fransisco woman interested more in feminism than child-rearing came back late from her Ladies Club meeting and found her child dead on the floor. Nearby was a big bottle of aspirin. Death by overdose! There was no food in the refrigerator and a cat was sleeping on the stove but she sued the pharmaceutical company for carelessness and got $5.4 million dollars in settlement.
Anticipating similar legal battles, Buckley's cough syrup and Tylenol tablets were packaged in child-proof containers/bottles. These could be opened only by a thorough application of the laws of physics. Force, torque and momentum have to be exerted on the cap/screw in four dimensions, indicated by as many educative arrows, to accomplish the highly scientific task of opening the fucking container/bottle.

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Dhool

Such a heartwarming masala movie.

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Ayurvedham Doctor

With the economy in the shitter, several alternative career options loom. Most promising among them is the prospect of becoming a Ayurvedham doctor in the Great White North -- there is not much competition in the vocation of making panacean concoctions from pepper, ginger, honey, whisky and jaggery.

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Asatha Povadhu Yaaru

Mudila.

National

The Ambassador Bridge transports about $323 million and 40,000 people a day. The good people of Windsor root more for the Detroit Pistons than the Toronto Raptors. Yet, every time one comes to Detroit from Windsor -- even if everyday -- one is compelled to perceive stark differences, some of them imagined. Bad beer, cheaper cigarettes, smaller dollar bills, human system of measurements instead of the French-induced metric and higher crime rate.
Stereotyping of national characteristics is inevitable and in some ways vital to the peaceful coexistence of different communities and nations. The Chinese have bad breath, the French do not shower, Moslems stink, even According to Jim seems funny in comparison to the English, Germans are racist, Americans can't make a half-decent automobile, Canadians are socialists, etc. These cliches have been tirelessly repeated and may not be universally true but a lot of truth is attributed to them. It is even acceptable to be defensive about such perceived national identities. The point is: it is naive to think national borders and demarcations do not matter.
Nationalism is stronger than any brand of multilateralism/internationalism: free trade, the metric system, religion (except Islam), fighting AIDS/climate change, the United Nations etc. To serve as reminders of this often overlooked fact, it becomes occasionally okay to invoke nationalist and socialist sentiments. As now.

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* Day and Pink

Being has subsisted on a pretense of exclusivity by intentionally not writing on popular and common topics. However, a postmodern blog by admittance is compelled to comment on pink underwear -- an imaginative tool against Moslem prisoners in Abu Ghraib and now the innocuous Sri Ram Sena.
Monday is a holiday -- at least for some -- because Madison Avenue used the excuse of the birthdays of the two most important presidents to fabricate a long weekend. Madison Avenue Annex did not need an excuse to superimpose Family Day with President's Day. * Day and long weekends are calculated conspiracies -- miniature economic stimuli if you will -- to sell more airline tickets, garments, food in restaurants, chocolates, flowers, wine, jewellery and DVDs of Sex and the City (all seasons). One wonders with a huge exclamation mark how the stimulus plan did nothing to increase the number of long weekends and * Day. Onnu-vitta Chitthappa Day, Mayira Pudungara Day etc.
BPOs, call-centers and outsourced jobs proliferates not only employment in India but also the culture of * Day and half-baked pseudo-individualist women. The pink underwear campaign brings to the fore some such women in sleeveless chudidhar and ill-fitting jeans, craving for chocolates, margaritas, and attention.
In India/Tamil Nadu, social conservatism and arranged marriage fairly allocate spouses to men (with jobs and penises) and women. Valentine's Day and this comic campaign -- more importantly, the much bigger implications of courtly love and boisterous feminism -- will unnecessarily complicate the uncomplicated. In addition to being retarded.

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Movie Review: Slumdog Millionaire

I usually do not write movie reviews. But let me make an exception only to lower the average review rating of Slumdog Millionaire, though not by much.
Living with roommates was simple. If they wanted to watch some Hollywood trash, I would retire to the couch with some whisky and have the TV remote to myself. I do not have that luxury anymore. I was forced to watch Slumdog Millionaire because the wife wanted to. While in the theater, I could not make sarcastic remarks because she was loving it and I'd be hanged for spoiling it for her.
Seemingly, this movie was based on a book. Oscar nominations and millions of dollars were gained by an unoriginal lame plot -- a Third World locale, throw in some poverty, crime and a rags-to-riches story. The Americans are capable of believing anything. Hell, they can't even see through fake resumes, golti consultants and the drivel called Statement of Purpose we write for graduate school applications. I suspect that a lot of them seriously believe in against-all-odds fairytale -- work hard, hang in there and with a little luck, rainbow will come smiling through. Such a naive mindset proliferates the notion that anyone can be president, millionaire or whatever. This illusion is often rhetorically called the American Dream -- essentially a fabrication of Madison Avenue intent on selling televisions, pizzas and airline tickets -- resulting in President Obama and the resounding success of trash films as the one being reviewed.
I have imagined Hollywood is full of anti-American communists and homosexuals, who:
(1). can't get over McCarthyism, Richard Nixon and the Vietnam War even after four fucking decades.
(2). insist on inverting the bigger picture of who kills whom, depicting Moslems as victims of Hindus, Christians and Jews.
(3). can't get call-sheets of decent actors and therefore top up movies with animations, graphics, aliens and special effects. Even if they do end up getting the call-sheets, they make matinee abortions.
(4). Award Oscars to movies which further their political agenda of abortion on demand, gay marriages, statism and sucking up to Islam.
This movie does not disprove any of my crazy theories.

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GPS

Like the car GPS unit instructs where to turn and how to drive, a life unit that provides instructions through every action and thought would make living easier. Wait, I already have one.

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MM-DD-YY

When a new month begins, one is taken by surprise. The date is not very obvious in the absence of:
(1). Monthly calendars with dates printed in super-large font serving as a notepad on paal card, gas cylinder etc.
(2). A daily calendar so that the question, "inikki enna kizhicha" has an answer.
Instead, one is left with bad trackers of date/month as:
(3). The infrequent and detailed glance at the watch or mobile phone.
(4). Pointing the mouse at the time displayed on the bottom-right corner of the computer.
There is a reason why financial institutions and coffee shops are reporting huge losses. How can customers and investors be assured if they are not getting complimentary calendars?

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Slumdog Millionaire

Matinee abortion.

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Deepavali is early

The wife wanted to spend on a couch while I wanted a massage chair. In keeping with the bipartisan theme of our times...

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Color and Contrast

Three months into the Bush presidency, a Chinese fighter plane collided into a manned U.S. spy plane, which was then forced to make an emergency landing on Chinese soil. The president seems to have handled the incident well overall. Six months later, there were more planes and crashes -- 9/11.
Bush's term will end five days after another aircraft crash-landed, albeit safely, on the Hudson. Bush, maligned more than he deserves to be, acknowledged -- at least limitedly -- the notion that Islam is a dangerous menace. The gibbering idiot Obama, born to a Moslem, should tend to illustrate how good his predecessor was, even if only by contrast.

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Goltis and Oaks

Of the couple of thousand goltis jobless from the Satyam mess, a good percentage of them will somehow get work-visas through golti consultants, fake resumes and land in the United States, Canada and elsewhere. That makes an overall weak job market minutely worse than it already is but bad enough to give up in anticipatory despair and think about cliched alternatives:
1. Extend fake-snobbery beyond exhibitionism and make it useful. Write a column or something on alcohol, at least for the Metro. I can tell interesting stories like:
(A). Many Californian wines are fake-oaked by dipping huge oak-bags -- like tea bags -- in wine drums, thanks to the American mass-production machine.
(B). A majority of Scotch distilleries are owned by the Japanese.
2. Enter into probability-enhancing agreement with a small group of people by which:
(A). Each member buys a lottery ticket everyday.
(B). The group pledges to share the prize if someone gets lucky.

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Nortel...

The Sun Shines

In the sunshine state, large spaces of several hundred acres are taken by amusement parks, roller-coasters, rafting and other activities of excitement. People whose peace is reasonably secure tend to get bored with life and ache for stomach-churning thrills pronounced safe by some government agency and lying capitalists.
Life itself seems to be a joy ride in the southern Florida, at least for visitors and new residents. The temperature is in the eighties even in January, there is no state tax on income and the St.Augustine grass looks nice on lawns. After an intense day at work, one could simply go to a beach or ride the Sheikra at Busch Gardens. Getting hold of free or discount passes is not at all hard**.
There is one downside to living in the Tamp Bay area. The weather drives one to consume beer rather than whisky, thus making one slightly lower in caste and heavier in weight. All in all, not a bad price to pay.
**Flying in/from/to the United States is infinitely more thrilling. Airlines which have stopped serving peanuts to cut operating costs are likely to intentionally overlook the one critical loose bolt, to cut maintenance costs

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Empty Hip Flask

Write when the hipflask is empty.

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Traps

People of honorable TamBrahm families quickly run out of things to say to each other. The restrictions of distance and time are necessary to sustain conversations between parents and son. The frequency and duration of phone calls should be metronomic: weekly and lasting only as much as a $5 Reliance phone card allows.

For six years, Sriram has done commendably well to avoid the trap of voice-chat sessions which unlike phone cards do not have a timeout and therefore no automatic exit strategy. Only for the wife to undo all the hard work.

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Mobile

The tendency to treat mobile phones as toys and auxiliary work-desks has resulted in fancy smartphones. The immaturity of non-enterprise adults who want to further their image as gadget-freaks and therefore geeks, is understandable. But one wonders if companies really get a ROI on providing business smartphones for a large number of employees on the grounds:
(1). What do people do at their desks anymore?
(2). Only a small percentage of the work-force -- say executives, stockbrokers and business travellers -- can honestly claim emails, calendars and Documents-to-Go on mobile phones are critical.
Because progress is getting increasingly tangled with technology and frivolous revolutions, it is a lie. At least least in some ways. As are "intuitions." Intuitive mobile devices -- meaning touchscreen phones -- may well be for non-intuitive and frivolous people. May be.
When fingering the virtual keyboard after snacking on michar or chips, the touchscreen is as slippery as the path to economic recovery. Then, one is thankful for the inordinate fascinations, as that is what keeps one employed.

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Thai

Six days into the month of Thai and the Thamizh new year as declared by Karunanidhi, the winner of the most coveted reality TV crown of 2008 -- American President -- will take office. For more than a few months now, the American media has been anticipating this, making constant references to hope and transformation. Seemingly, at the behest of Barack Obama, heaven will outsource its headquarters to the United States.

In his defense, the President-elect has been careful to only say and do things that look nice on TV -- clean energy, more jobs, the dapper gestures and being good. In all, the sense of moral elegance that has been absent since the last President and the next Secretary of State moved out of the White House with their blowfishes and saxophone.

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Disney World

Spirit of the Season II

Standard Time has taken over from Daylight Savings Time, winter has set in and 5 P.M is dark. Amidst the cold and the mess of the snow storm, the holiday season has raised its spangled banner. Economic recession and unemployment figures seem to have no effect on the Church of Shopping Malls, Bright Lights and Plastic-Swiping.

The moral lesson of Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol is perhaps inappropriate in today's setting. Alas, the U.S. federal government seems to have taken the beloved Christmas tale of all to heart. That's really okay but their goodwill should be extended to the airline industry which has taken to charging extra for checked baggage and treating passengers to free dieting sessions on non-stop 1300-mile/4 hour flights. The age of the fucking (so-called) "budget airliner" and "industry consolidation", associative with uniformly poor service -- seven years and running -- may have outlived its longevity.

Six years ago, the Bush Administration ended up rejecting an aid package the airline industry desperately requested. Back then, the President was riding high on his swift response to 9/11 and economic interventionism was not deemed necessary. But surely, a sandwich on a 4-hour flight is a more urgent need than "energy independence", "protecting our environment" and scores of other misguided ideas the new president-elect with a september-eleventhy name has?

Whatever. It is 82 F in Tampa, a far cry from the Great Lakes area. The governor is Republican, there is no state tax and hot dosais beckon.

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Georgie

There can be two approaches to the Islam question.
1. Install or befriend dictators in oil-rich Islamic countries who provide the United States with a steady supply of oil but are prone to act against U.S. interests.
2. Encourage democracies in Islamic countries and make governments accountable in the hope that the price of tomatoes takes precedence over untoward passions of the governed and the government.
Trust one Moslem or millions. Realists would point out that (1) is the safer bet. George W. Bush -- maligned more than he deserves to be -- by doing a bit of both, has been instrumental in exploring and invalidating (2) as a real option. This will probably make him more consequential than his successor.

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Saturdays

Consider a Saturday afternoon: the elaborate lunch has been done with, dishes washed and leftovers stashed in plastic boxes. Then, it is time to watch a movie on demand. For the purposes of charm, this movie should ideally have a whodunit murder plot set around inheritance, extramarital affairs, revenge, deceit and a moment of Second Amendment passion, which a divorced detective cracks open.
This genre of movie and the practice of watching movies to get over weekends does not seem to be in vogue. Common activities of leisure involve the expenditure of money and energy, as:
(1). The primary hobby of the New World: Sniffing out discount sales, saving money by spending it and Home and Garden TV afflictions.
(2). Inconvenient outdoor extertions: In addition to other excesses of outsourced and "on-site" jobs, Indian men and women have decided that camping and skiing are natural ways of killing time.

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MJ

Michael Jackson may have converted to Islam. How appropriate. Both Mohammed and Michael are child-molesters. May be, MJ will become another of Islam's prophets.

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The War

The wife says I am obnoxious enough to be considered old and archaic. This compels me to have a historical pretext. History is well-calibrated by war and resulting references like post-war, since the war, before the war, during the war, immediately after the war, etc. In the last two decades, there have been major conflicts only in the Persian Gulf, Balkans, Indo-Pakistan and Afghanistan. "The war" must be suitably global and set in the not-so-recent past. Therefore, one is left only with the Persian Gulf War of 1990-91 for "the war."
The world was a very different place before Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait. Kaapi podi was very cheap. We could not afford a full coconut and had to with a small thenga patha for chutney. Mothers started giving daughters gradual cooking lessons as soon as daughters attained puberty. Unlike now when girls are pampered sick and the dosai is delivered to their beds where they sit with their laptops looking up masturbatory material. Before the war, the reverse monsoon was very potent and summers were never too hot. For 25 paisa one cold get the Pepsi Cola, a long plastic tube of frozen juice, a dear thing the war machine killed.
Eighteen years is a long time and it is very difficult to imagine the extent of changes since the war. My father, when he is not poring over the newspaper or chewing tobacco, would be secretly proud that I have done very well in spite of the war. Perhaps, it is good the war happened.

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Barack...

...is code language for Mubarak, the common Arabic word. Obama is a Moslem sleeper agent who became President.

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Madras III

In some places, winter has arrived and with it, the danger of poetic thought -- the color of the maple leaf, the first snow and all that. These thoughts were well-placed when food storage techniques were not advanced, outdoor professions were more common and life was not automated. But they are patently impertinent in a world of centralized air-conditioning, genetically modified food and canned mangoes.

Perhaps, driving is easier in warm weather and whisky is more drinkable in cold but other than that, what spectacular difference does rain, sleet, snow or sun make to the lifestyle of any decent human being? Alas, tens of years of predisposition to be elated about changeless changes has wannabe poets towing the party line of old.

The seasonlessness of Madras can naturally deter such impertinence -- the symbolic relevance of the "Detroit of India" in a postmodern world. The dysfunction of the real Detroit's Big Three and the major population demographic of that city can be imagined to be associative. As Madras's meteorological semi-permanence and the lifestyle of its citizens at large.

Madras.

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Madras II

As a former registered hippie -- aadi kalaichachu -- coming to terms with a rapidly slowing metabolism, one is slightly puzzled by the world that is a mixture of testaments, wealth creation, deficits, credit crisis and the dollar @ Rs. 49. However, even after ten years of being on the family ration card in absentia and the unaccountable changes in those years, Madras is reassuring in ways more than one.

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Jets

Aboard Jet Airways, one feels an overwhelming North Indianess. More Indhi can be seen or heard than is appropriate in an airliner heading to Madras.
Not so long ago, one had to be diligent about specifying one's choice of food when booking airline tickets. Airliners like Jet Airways, by catering abundant Indian food, have eliminated the uncommon air one associates with flying. Similar to what a degree-populist -- Obama -- will inflict on the presidency.

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Only...

...if it had rained today in Madras. Damn Varunan.

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Spirituality Room

Corporate obsession with tolerance has yielded to the "Spirituality Room" -- a secular euphemism for a space used only by a people to discharge prayers and share jokes about infidels. In the month of Ramadan, some employees regularly make themselves unavailable from work and head to the Room, rug in hand.

The apple never falls too far away and making room for religion at the workplace is the latest brainwave, making religious accommodation semi-official policy. As a result, mid-level managers may often find it difficult to enforce professional decorum over private Mohammedan sentiments, even when critical timelines are affected.

Such are the dangers of the wrong kind of diversity.

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Drunk I Was

Perhaps a poem may be bereft of rhyme, poetic grammar (If "I was drunk" is prose, "Drunk was I" is poetry), punctuation or "O" and still be a poem -- the "Enter" key between random sets of words and letters. Like this one:
I had nothing to do yesterday
So
I got
drunk and ordered pizza
BU
R
P
Ubayam: Sriram

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Olives and Wines

Quite unsurprisingly, breathtaking photos of Europe are finding their way into my Inbox. Ah, Europe. The elegance, art, wine, cheese and pastries. Even the apple is somehow more mouthful, we have been told repeatedly.
Much of what goes by the name of exoticism is an inordinate celebration of unfamiliar lands, peoples, customs and languages -- olives, vices, expensive goods and services. In some exotic places where people speak softly and gesture demurely, when the colored tourist asks for directions in English, they stare and pretend they don't understand the language. The sidewalks are adorned with dog-shit.
Yet, as is often the case, one will be forced to do things one does not like.

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Obama-Biden

Sounds ominously close to like Osama bin Laden, tossed in with a Hussein.

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The Green Monster

Tossing empty cans of diet-Coke into the litter bin of one's office cubicle invariably results in a 'Recycle Reminder' note stuck to one's desk. The bin is not cleared unless its contents are wholly appropriate. Recycling is the incumbent monster sustained by corporate responsibility, work-place standards/certifications and governmental obsession with the environment.
General corporate culture is perhaps becoming a tad too responsible. And clean. Recycling is the official constitution, the Smoking Area is a confinement in the most remote corner of the work campus and anything Microsoft makes inspires gleeful disdain. Only the last item is within tangible reason.
The notion that recycling cuts environmental or economic costs -- or somehow makes things better -- is problematic. It thrusts upon us additional responsibilities and accountabilities that many of us are not willing to take. Besides, recycling can be linked easily with theories on climatic and thermodynamic apocalypse, which one should spontaneously reject simply because there is not much else to be spontaneous about.
But one takes life lying down and deposits empty diet-Coke cans in the giant recycle bin situated at least 150 feet away from one's desk.

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