Ek Kathak Aur Uski Kathayen

Friday, May 27, 2005

And one hot summer in '97

Note: This entry was originally posted on June11, 2004 at my ex-blog (grin!) at blogdrive. Though this trivia may not be of much use, this incidentally was the first piece of fiction I wrote, sometime in January 2000. In retrospect though, I wonder why and how 15 year olds fall in love :D

It was just another day. She was at the computer, checking the mails she got.

Meet Priya. She's 15, a not so bright student, a little on the wrong side of the weight scale and no way part of the "in" crowd in school. She wasn't particularly awaiting her standard 10 results; neither was she awaiting college. Or maybe she was, with the hope that things would be different

It was another April afternoon in Pune. The mercury was rising; the hum of the air conditioner was getting too much for her.


A little after 2:00 p.m., can't even go out for a stroll. And she logged on to the console. Yeah... a little over 15 forwards.... check all.... delete... wait. There was something else.

"Who's writing to me, now?"

Maybe, just maybe, looking at the subject line you and me would not have read that mail, however, it was the year 1997, and mail accounts didn't need spam guards, yet. Besides, Priya had never heard of spam.

She read the letter.
Some weirdo maybe.
Wants to be friends. Got my mail address from some online group.
"Right, like I give a damn about it."

Maybe it was the mercury, or some restlessness inside her, something wanting to break free, wanting to scream, wanting attention. She replied. And she forgot. A couple of days later another letter. And so the liaison started.

She metamorphosed into Priya, 15. Looking forward to life. With hopes and dreams. She wanted to be a commercial pilot. Wanted to soar the skies.

He spoke of books, of poetry.
She told him she wrote poetry.
He told her she writes well.
Every time she checked her inbox he was there for her.
She told him about her fears.
He told her, "I'm there for you"
She needed a friend; he was there.
She fell in love; he did too.

She could feel him with her, in every moment of the day.
In the gym, and while jogging.
In the kitchen, in the bedroom.

He was with her when the rice was all burnt up or the milk spill.
You know the first time I cooked.... it was a total disaster. The utensils were charred. My mum actually had to buy new ones.

He was with her when she twisted her ankle or pulled a muscle.
When I was a junior in High School, I decided to impress the chicks... Sorry, the girls in my class.
She was laughing, not just "lol" ing. And bicep curls with 10Kgs when you can't as much lift a couple of books....you know... fell flat on my face! She still can't figure how he "fell flat on his face"...!!

He was there when she went shopping
I think green kameez with a slighter darker salwar looks awesome. Oh, and add silver bangles to it. Perfect!
I'll take two dozens. The plain silver ones, please. Thank You.

He was there when she went to sleep. She could feel his presence. His lips on her neck, his arms in her hair. She, in the comfort and security of his arms. He never told her what he looked like. She was sure he had strong shoulders and big hands.

Days turned into months. There was an eerie sort of a relationship building up in there. It wasn't love, not the Lets-get-married-kind-of-love, at least. Or was it? Soon he became Priya's centre of attention. His words forever encouraging her. She found confidence from every word he said. She looked beyond the clichéd life she thought she was going to live. She even grew out of the false cocoon she had built around herself. She looked at the world in its face. He did more than anything anyone could have done. He got her to look at the, as hackneyed as it may sound, the "real" Priya.

She went to Junior College, perusing commerce. He into Graduate school. He was going to be a lawyer soon.

It was another late evening in May. Un-seasonal rains. Was it 3, or maybe 4? Didn't matter... For that matter, nothing really mattered. Even he didn't matter any longer. She couldn't believe what she was reading, she didn't want to.

"I'm getting married. She's an old family friend's daughter."
"No... He can't get married. He. Just. Can't. Get. Married."
"But he is. "
How could she stop him?
Put into writing what she never did?
Tell him she loved him?
But... Did she love him?

That's when it struck home.
She built a world around him.
Another life jacket.

"But two years of association does warrant some honesty at least?"
"What honesty? "
"You can't be honest with him?"
"I don't know... can't tell him"

And so, she went from denial to acceptance to being blasé.

The rest of his conversation was a blur. He seemed excited. And he was the most important person for her. No, she realised, she has to be the most important person for herself.

"Hey, you wanted to tell me something before I bullied you into listening to me."
"Priya, where on earth are you lost?"
"Priya???? "

"Yeah, sorry. I was telling you, I'm going to Australia for my graduation."
"That's neat!"

She was realising she didn't need life jackets to go on. In letting go of the others, she got hold of him. She had to learn to swim. Correction. she learnt to swim. He had taught her to swim, against or with the tide.

His parents found him a prospective companion; she found a companion in her own self.
He got married; She didn't cry.

Today Priya is one of the most sought after finance consultants in a major business hub in Australia. The silver bangles still on her hands, the green fabric in the closet.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

... and everybody thinks it was an accident

The first time I met him was in a hotel room. Not the sleezy "pick up" kind of hotels, but the finest of them. That incidentally is the place where I meet all my lovers; each and every one of them, including Sumit.

Mine is not your regular story. My story is slightly different. I never ran away from home to be picked up by a guy who runs a brothel and put into sex trade. I calculated the risk and got myself into it. I'm not the cliche the documentary filmmakers and social workers talk about; the kinds they pride in telling you. Speaking in a bloody condescending manner like they're doing a world of good. I think they're just bitches all around with such shoddy and sad sex lives that they would enjoy more with battery operated vibrators, if you get my point. I don't believe in the vibrators either; I'm a proud whore and I take pride in teaching the art of lovemaking to the crappiest of them "lovers".

Coming back to my story, I was the typical middle class girl who grew up influenced by the school of thought that said sex wasn't bad, it wasn't a taboo. I also realised the quick money in the business and I loved money. I loved finery; rich clothes, jewels and the finest of food money could buy. I knew the risks. I also knew for a girl like me I need the right contacts, and contacts, for a urban girl like me were aplenty... like how men hang around a good looking woman. All those rich kids looking for a thrill, a change... just one night of pleasure. And what I night!!! Those sexy cars, the plush hotel rooms, great food and 5000 rupees in one night. All in hard cash. Pretty straight.

My parents? Well, I told them I work in a call centre. Not very off the truth, is it?
Got married. To a "colleague's friend."
Who I met at a "social dinner."

I saw all kinds of the men.
Sampled each and every one of them.
Taught them a lot, learnt a lot.
I still relied on Public transport though, since I never knew how to drive.
Enjoyed a lot. A hell lot.
Sex. Money. That must be what they call heaven!

Sumit was a nice guy.
Now he's dead.
His wife killed him.
All those who die are "nice guys", but this one genuinely was.

He's dead, because he accused his wife of being a whore in less than 2 days after his wedding. And he didn't want to be married to a whore.
She was a whore.
Only he didn't know that.
He thought she was his friend's ex.

She knew he didn't know the truth about her. She didn't intend him finding out either. She just hoped to keep juggling her business around like she did with her parents. There was only one mistake. But that's history anyway, why talk about it?

She inherited all his money.
But she stills works, still averages 75000 rupees per month, all in cash.
She still uses public transport to get around for work, because she never knew how to drive.

I killed my husband, and everybody thinks it was an accident.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

SMS Time!

Every exam time the innovative against engineering sms's start pouring in. And some of them so fucking hilarious that I decide to post them for all to see and then I forget. And then I forget the joke all together. (Regardless of the huge stock of random trivia I remember, I'm really bad at remembering jokes!)

Teacher: You have to aim for atleast 60% this time.
Engg. Student: I'll get 75% marks.
Teacher: You got to be kidding me.
Engg. Student: Yeah I am, but you started it


And there was this pseudo-shayari

Yeh exam se rishte bhi ajeeb hote hain
Sab apne apne naseeb hote hain
Reh jate hain jo nigahon se door
Wahi questions compulsory hote hain

Sunday, May 22, 2005

Captcha's for blogger?

Some days ago, I edited a published post and noticed a small text box that I had to manually fill in before it let me publish my edited post. Which I thought was pretty neat because blogger has been publishing posts of mine before I could either hit the publish button or the keyboard shortcut for it (ctrl+s, that I came across once upon a time when I accidentally hit it, subconciously thinking I was working in MS Word.)

For the fun of it I edited another couple of posts on various occasions (including the same post again) and never noticed the captcha again.

Anyone else came across it, or is it just me?

Thursday, May 19, 2005


Sounds like a war cry to me.
Regardless of either the Hawaiian or the computer networks connection.

But anyway. When I was a kid, of maybe 5 odd years we had gone to Trivandrum. My dad's sister was there. Her husband works for ISRO and at one time our very esteemed President used to be his immediate boss. (That's your random trivia for today #1.) So the train we went by stopped at this place. Beautiful scenery and all that jazz. Probably the train guy knew we were first timers. The after some 20 minutes the train re-started and moved at a decent enough and constant velocity (in hindsight I'd say probably 60kph, or at least it felt like what it feels when you stick your neck out of the car window when the car is at 60kph) And then it took us some 40 minutes to reach the station. After which on travelling barely 2km from the station we find our self right next to the place where we were stationary for 20 minutes. (That's your random trivia for today #2.) Maybe that was the train guy's cue to the stowaways to jump out of the train. Not that there was much checking at the station in any case. So they could have got down there itself.

My point being, that's all there is to my association with Mallu land. Unless you discount the sweet Mallu girl I met at the gym some 5-7 times who weighed just 0.5 kgs more than I do. (That's your random trivia for today #3)

The reason I've been talking of Mallu's is, when my networks proffie says "Slotted Aloha" I get this feeling that a Mallu is on his death bed asking for water. (That is
NOT random trivia :D)

For those who still haven't figured, that was *the* joke.
Every time I read "Slotted Aloha" I literally start rofl
I even made Pearl say it out at least two dozen times, maybe more, and it just kept cracking me up. The Slotted Aloha, not the Mallu on his bed.
Every time I type "Slotted Aloha" I burst into peels of laughter all over again.
Someone stop me.

P.S: Danny thinks "ALOHA" sounds like something sad. I still maintain it sounds like a war cry.

This is what happened on yahoo messenger after the post was published :D

kathak: was just abt to log off
Danny: :)
kathak: i wrote a new post, btw
Danny: what wrere u doing
Danny: ok
Danny: i'll check
kathak: :)
kathak: its short
kathak: do it and give me your feedback
Danny: hmm
Danny: wait
Danny: hmm
Danny: hey this mouse isn't working properly
kathak: what is it doing?
kathak: maybe the ball whatever thing needs cleaning
Danny: hmm ok
Danny: hey it is a nice post
Danny: yeah, the ball needs cleaning.
kathak: okay
kathak: that was quite tentative
Danny: but why do u laugh at slotted aloha?
kathak: i don't know
kathak: i've been laughing since afternoon
kathak: like a maniac
Danny: i didn't get *the joke*
kathak: good
kathak: not many ppl will
kathak: in fact not anyone besides me would
Danny: tell me na
Danny: and what has it got to do with malluland?
kathak: the joke is
Danny: tell tell tell!
kathak: that "slotted aloha" makes me laugh
kathak: because i keep imagining a mallu asking for water
kathak: on his death bed
Danny: so?
kathak: so nothing
kathak: i just find it funny
Danny: what has slooted
Danny: oops
Danny: slotted
Danny: and aloha
Danny: got to do with a mallu asking for water on his death bed?
kathak: i don't know
kathak: and thats the joke
Danny: :(
Danny: seems i'm in no mood to understand ur kinda jokes
kathak: thats okay
kathak: i don't know whts so funny abt it actually
Danny: hmm
kathak: its just funny
Danny: hmm
kathak: without a reason funny
Danny: hmm
kathak: maybe it'll go down in history as my own private joke
Danny: something being funny without a reason
kathak: yeah thats it
kathak: my own private joke
Danny: is in itself funny
Danny: hmm
kathak: the thought of my own private joke makes me go all rofl ing
kathak: all over again
Danny: everybody has their own private jokes
Danny: :)
Danny: and u can have urs
Danny: slotted alohas :(
Danny: and whatever
kathak: :D
Danny: :D

Sunday, May 15, 2005

Cost of not innovating

Yeah, that's *not* innovating.
Ruth Ann Hattori writes about being so obsessed with "ROI" that you miss out on the limitations of it.

She says,

This isn't about doing away with metrics such as ROI; it's about understanding their limitations. The ROI of innovation is much more complex and has a different time horizon than calculations for a capital equipment project or, indeed, any other project where the outcome is relatively predictable. Innovation does not necessarily produce results on a timeline that fits a GANTT chart; a lot of innovation is about creating the future ... the long term future, not just next quarter's or next fiscal year's.

Link via Innovation Weblog

Friday, May 13, 2005

Assorted Insanity

Non-Hindi Readers, My apologies. The text below may not make much sense to you. You could however, try an assorment of Translation Services available around you. I profusely apologise for the inconvinience caused.

4 years of engineering, or rather 4 years in an engineering college can drive any normal person insane, or so they say. I don't know about driving any one insane, lest of all me... (I'm exceptional, I'm too good, and I'm already infinitely insane. So infinity+anything...... )

But then, there times when I wonder if there is a value greater than infinity.
You would wonder too, if you left your paragraphs incomplete (like the one above :)) )
And when you find your self making statements like

1. Jabh woh building badi ho jayegi, tabh kaafi acchi dikhegi
2. Arrey... woh hanuman ki dukan 10 bajah tak to jagi reheti hai, baadmein recharge coupon le lenge.
3. (And once while talking of the virtues of the controller in my project) Woh itna chota isliye hai kyon ki all the ports are bit addressable. To woh khata bhi chote chote bits hai... (Don't ask me what I was trying to say, I'll be glad if I figure that out myself)
4. What's the issue with calling up Boston ya? Just goto the US and make a international call. (Err... international call to?)

Which brings me to the cases of the confused-with-too-much communication media.

1. (While speaking to one of my dad's engineers who was helping me with my project)
I could mail the file in, and if I come there, I could download it on the server, and get it to you on a floppy (since there was some reconfiguration of the lan and all PCs weren't connected to the server)... but would anyone have the keys to the room? (How difficult was it for me to carry the file on a floppy from home, I'm still trying to figure out)

2. (While speaking to my project partner)
Mail it to my account, and cc it to yours also. I'll download it at home, go over it, if there are any changes I'll make them, mail it to both of us. And I'll mail it to dad also, so he can download it there. (Then my friend interrupts.... "and carry a copy with you on a floppy and the USB drive") yeah, that I'll do.....and then we can copy it on the server and transfer it to Rajesh's PC. (How complicated, all for a less than 400kB)

But you can't blame me...
See I have friends who's pretty crazy.
The same friend who interrupted me midway up in the last example

1. Agar mein gaadi ki front seat pe baithoongi, toh tum logon se jaldi ghar pahunch jaoongi
2. Barish mein kapde dhoge to woh geele ho jayenge

And then another friend on an international call tells her bf (on the other end)
Mujhe aisa kyon lag raha hai ki tum aaj kaafi door se baat kar rahe ho (on a day when the delay in the line seemed more than normal)

And now collective intelligence.
Once on a lab session on fibre optics, for some absurd reason the nature of the readings for the "propogation losses" and "bending losses" got interchanged (It was because we screwed up, obviously... but then) some smart arse (I believe the same interrupt girl from above) comes up with

"Hume pata hai hum bending losses kar rahe hain, lekin fibre ko kaise pata chalega?"
And all of us were pretty much in solemn agreement with the answer!!

On second thoughts, like on a sign off note, I should change the statement above which says "But you can't blame me, I have friends...." Maybe its the other way round. Maybe I induced the insanity... and then because of that induced insanity and the insanity here, there was some amount of mutually induced insanity and then... maybe I need to stop.

But Infinity+anything= infinity ??????

P.S: People if you didn't find anything funny, party, you just tested negative for dementia. On the other hand if you did find it funny, party again, you're perfectly fine, its just some people who have zero sense of humour!

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Reasons why...

... Electronics and Telecommunication Engineers should not produce movies

1. Munnabhai VHDL (personally I would preffer Munnabhai ASIC)
2. Hamara electron aapke paas hai
3. Noise mil gaya
4. Radar se target tak
(maybe transmission se reception tak?)
5. Kabhi UJT kabhi BJT

Got these on my cell today morning.
Needless to say, but still for formality sake, additions are welcome :)