tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725345603440303132024-03-13T15:50:42.034+05:30Insignificant Palavers of Another KindYou have ordinary, and you have extraordinary. Then there's this...Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-74881986850000202622011-03-14T18:18:00.000+05:302011-03-14T18:18:31.667+05:30The Great World Cup Mystery<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<i>A series of mysterious events of the supernatural sort occur in the Indian dressing room after they win the World Cup. Could they possibly be related? Will these incidents make the members of the Indian cricket team start to believe in ghosts? Read and find out...</i><br />
<br />
******************************************************<br />
Harbhajan just stepped out of the shower, and into the dressing room and his eyes on their own accord went to the gleaming trophy that seemed to have been assigned a special place amongst all other trophies - a trophy that would in all probability make other trophies jealous, if trophies had such things as feelings. An audible sigh (of that particular variety that often preceeds 'you know back in those days', 'yaar, woh din bhi the' and other nostalgic variety of sentences) escaped his lips. Right behind him came Sehwag.<br />
<br />
"I will never forget that day till my last breath, Veeru", he said and sighed some more. Sehwag also finished the customary casting of a loving glance on the same object and came beside Harbhajan now. "And why should you? These kind of things are what they call legends, Bhajji..", he said nonchalantly and the level of nonchalance was comparable with the nonchalance with which he usually bade farewell to those deliveries that were pitched just a little outside the off-stump, and which he sent hurrying on towards the boundary line.<br />
<br />
"Legend - now that's a word made for describing him", said Bhajji, as the conversation invariably turned to that one man who turned that whole match. "Just imagine. Doing something impossible. And on the way to it, merely doing something really difficult. That was what I thought when Sachin scored his 50th ODI century and also won the World Cup. 100 international hundreds, mindblo..."<br />
<br />
<i>"Hundred and one"</i>, said someone presently. <br />
<br />
Someone very likely in the dressing room, if Bhajji believed his ears were in fine working order.<br />
<br />
"Oh yeah. 51 in tests and now 50 in ODIs. I forgot. It's hundred and one", responded Bhajji and looked around with the intent of including the source of the above mentioned statement into their conversation, but there was no one else around.<br />
<br />
"Who was that?", he asked. And he intended Sehwag to answer, which no doubt you would have already guessed, since no one else seemed to be around.<br />
<br />
Sehwag now did his bit of studying the room, in order to divine the nature and number its occupants, and he found that his observations now matched with that of Harbhajan's. So he replied, "Dunno.. Everyone in this dressing room is a Sachin fan. And everyone know his records by-heart. Could have been anyone passing by.."<br />
<br />
"But there was no one else around when I went in. And no one else but ourselves are present in the room right now!!", replied Harbhajan. "Besides, that voice sounded unfamiliar", he added finally.<br />
<br />
"Arrey, alright. Koi toh hoga. Let's go Bhajji. A family man like me likes to spend more time with his wife and kids, you know, than worrying about hearing voices in dressing rooms", said Sehwag getting up grinning. "Family man, eh?", said Harbhajan mock punching him as they got up, and subsequently followed him out of the room.<br />
<br />
******************************************************<br />
<br />
Raina looked to be in a very good mood. Infact as he picked up his cricketing gear, he was found to be whistling away like a lark. Just as he came in front of the beautiful trophy, he stopped and postively admired it, and you could see it was very special for him too (any other trophy he would have probably looked at only to check his reflection in - and I do not imply that he was narcisstic that way - but that is usually what boys of his age tend to do)<br />
<br />
His phone rang. Quickly he looked around the room - the coach did not like players using phones in dressing rooms. This he had gleaned, perhaps due to the innumerable occasions during which the coach had expressed his displeasure on that particular subject. However now, seeing that the room was completely empty, he proceeded to answer the phone. It seemed to be a call from overseas.<br />
<br />
"Hello", he chirped into the phone.<br />
<br />
The person at the other end also must have emitted some form of greeting. And then added another sentence. "Oh! You got that HDSLR camera for bhaiyya? Excellent..", responded Raina. The person at the other end mumbled something."Ofcourse, man. I can wire it immediately. Just tell me the amount", said Raina now. A pause. "4190$ huh? What's the current conversion rate in Rupees?". Another pause. "45.06Rs per USD? So that's 4190x 45.06 ..."<br />
<br />
<i>"188801.40 Indian Rupees"</i><br />
<br />
Raina dropped the phone in surprise. "Who's there?" he called out and looked around frantically. He thought he was alone in the room. And all visual evidence suggested that he still was. He shuddered, picked up his phone and hurried out of the room with his cricketing gear.<br />
<br />
<br />
******************************************************<br />
<br />
Yuvraj was livid. And he has quite a reason to be, for he should have been basking in the glory of being a part of the World cup winning Indian team. That day however a leading daily in India had carried out a report card of sorts, evaluating the contribution of each Indian player during the cup. It rather suggested that though Yuvraj did well with the bat and ball, his fielding, which in his earlier years could somewhat be labelled as magnificent, was now rather dismal. It went on to suggest further that this was a direct effect of a lot of weight Yuvraj had put on, in and around his mid-section.<br />
<br />
"Ridiculous!", Yuvraj thundered throwing the copy of newspaper onto the floor. Munaf and Piyush looked up. "These media-wale, they think they can write anything. And get away with it. This is heights yaar!! The only reason I've not been my former self on the field is because of my knee problem. I'm not a 19 year old anymore. And my fielding - it's not dismal" He looked around as though daring the other two to challenge his views. Thankfully, they did not seem to take the dare on and remained silent.<br />
<br />
"And what's this weight issue nonsense? Huh..", Yuvi continued. "That was one - one and a half years ago, when I was injured. But look at me now. Put on weight it seems. I've infact lost some. I'm now a healthy 82 kilos. From 97 kilos - in the course of my fitness regime I've lost - how much is that?", Yuvraj started to calculate.<br />
<br />
<i>"Fifteen kilos"</i><br />
<br />
"Yeah. Fifteen kilos I've lost. That's no mean..", he paused and fixed Munaf with a shrewd look. "Your voice sounds a little girlish."<br />
<br />
"No it does not, Yuvi. What makes you think so?", replied Munaf his tone apparently manly enough still.<br />
<br />
"Do it again", said Yuvraj still not believing him. "I mean, say fifteen kilos again". Piyush looked from one to the other. "Hold on. You think Munaf here said fifteen kilos? He's been talking with me. We thought you said fifteen kilos", he said now with growing concern on his face.<br />
<br />
"Arrey, come now.. There's no one else in this room but us three. Stop pulling my leg you guys", cried Yuvraj exasparatedly.<br />
<br />
Harbhajan and Raina just entered the room. "What's the commotion guys?", Bhajji asked. And then seeing their faces added, "You guys look like you've seen a ghost or something. Am I that scary?"<br />
<br />
In a few words Yuvraj laid out the happenings before them. Raina looked startled. "Even I heard a voice like that some days ago, in this same room", he said. Harbhajan started looking nervously around the room muttering "That voice did sound girlish. No wonder I couldn't place it. I've never heard of it before".<br />
<br />
Finally after some moments of such muttering Harbhajan addressed everyone present.<br />
<br />
"Guys. I think there's something going on here. And I haven't got a clue what it is. Perhaps we should consult someone higher. Someone who might know of all such things.."<br />
<br />
"You mean...", started Yuvraj.<br />
<br />
"Precisely", said Harbhajan. "Only one person I can think of who is immensely knowledgible on and off the field. And we must visit him now.."<br />
<br />
******************************************************<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Sachin's abode...</span><br />
<br />
Though initially surprised to see them all together, Sachin invited them all inside warmly. Once they were all ensconed within his residence, he looked around at them all. Grim faces greeted him. This was an unusual look to be seen on some of those faces. So he inquired as to what the matter was. One by one, the elicitation of the events began.<br />
<br />
When he heard the Sehwag-Harbhajan incident he just nodded. After Raina's narration he looked a little surprised. And when Yuvraj finished his story he muttered "Aila!" and leapt to his feet. One thing they all agreed on was that none of them had heard of that voice before. Yuvraj even suggested it might be a ghost of some long gone cricketer, who may have died in that dressing room.<br />
<br />
Sachin just shook his head. "A math wiz of a cricketer with a girly voice who died in that dressing room? Fat chance, Yuvi", said Sehwag and then looked at Sachin who seemed to be biting his lip. "What's the matter Sachin?", asked Sehwag.<br />
<br />
Sachin looked up. "I probably should have shared this knowledge with you guys earlier. Kapil paaji had told me of this long ago"<br />
<br />
"What?", they all asked with a bated breath in unison.<br />
<br />
"But I thought only the original could have such magical properties. I had no idea that even it's replica was endowed with such abilities", said Sachin.<br />
<br />
Everyone exhanged anxious glances. Confused even.<br />
<br />
Sachin explained, "That voice you hear, is not that of any ghost. It is coming from the cup. It has magical arithmetical properties. For <i>it is the cup that counts!</i>"<br />
<br />
</div>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-7936953460439477082011-02-20T15:58:00.000+05:302011-02-20T15:58:29.826+05:30Some untitled non-proseful writing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
Jeez. I never thought I'd write something like what I've written below. But then again, I'd never thought of doing several things I've done so far in my life. I have long held views that I am not a poetry person, and really by golly I may not be one, and what I've just written may not be classified as poetry, oh don't you know.<br />
<br />
I hope you did not read the title as "Some untitled non-purposeful writing", since that may well be the title of most of what I write (as I often joke - but this joke is getting stale I think). But this piece of writing I couldn't classify as prose or for that matter expand into something more substantial without sounding either too preachy or appearing to be in a pathos mood (or preaching something in a pathos mood) It rather suggested itself to me that that the style of writing was a little poetic, even if it doesn't rhyme, and I am told that they need not as well. So for the lack of a better word, I choose to call it poetry - you are free to call it what you may. Reading this you may feel that my puns were bad, but my poetry is verse. However as this could be one off case, rest easy if you share that opinion (btw do share your opinion even otherwise)<br />
<br />
So without much further ado, I present to you that-which-I-cannot-call-prose-but-chose-to-classify-as-poetry:<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>However narrow the sandclocks throat,</i><br />
<i>still manages to dash hopes that,</i><br />
<i>some day the time may fully stop</i><br />
<i>on moments remembered, opportunities lost.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Through cupped hands the w</i><i>ater seeps</i><i>,</i><br />
<i>never reaching that parched throat;</i><br />
<i>A forgotten dream, recalled in vain.</i><br />
<i>Minutes and seconds of a wonderful life.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Of words that were better left unspoken if,</i><br />
<i>to silent regrets of those that were;</i><br />
<i>What boiling blood - the heat of the moment,</i><br />
<i>And of cowardice that crept upon the heart.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Often turning our backs we hark the past,</i><br />
<i>even as we know, what he has to say.</i><br />
<i>I know you long for me still,</i><br />
<i>but all this was done, and remains only so.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Were we really puppets on a string, </i><br />
<i>controlled by a force above?</i><br />
<i>Or did we bring upon ourselves this,</i><br />
<i>remorse and regrets, in the winter of life.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
</div>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-36827744809676681072011-02-05T23:59:00.002+05:302011-02-06T01:19:30.712+05:30Second life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
Pffff pfff pfffht. Damn - it's so dusty.<br />
<br />
If my mother were to read this, she'd think I was talking about my table - which has miraculously managed to gather about 17 cms of dust in an otherwise spic and span home (which reminds me - I should accomplish cleaning it up soon for er.. <a href="http://marcel-oehler.marcellosendos.ch/comics/ch/1990/11/19901129.gif">various reasons</a>) No. I'm talking about this blog.<br />
<br />
An insightful reader will observe, that over the past couple or more (tending towards more) months there has been nothing to say with reference to the updates here. A regular reader (here I'm supposed to add within parenthesis the words - <i>if any</i> - but won't), would perhaps notice one or two posts making an appearance and then before you could say blogpost, mysteriously disappear. In case you missed it, it was nothing to write home about, so to speak. One may have been about my blog which has run off, and another - yet another frivolous story (makes a Capt.Jack Sparrow-disgusting-face), but I assure you - if you are joining now, you've missed nothing.<br />
<br />
Now to enumerate reasons for my absence.<br />
<br />
What reasons shall I give for my AWOL, huh? I certainly could not say I was busy cleaning my table *adds a reminder in phone* Or say I was busy with work? Perhaps saving the world? Or did a certain micro-blogging site take away my(our) powers to write? Did I not find anything to write about?<br />
<br />
Nay. None of them are really convincing - except the third one. So I shall not give any.<br />
<br />
Since this might be a comeback post of sorts, I must perhaps add something to the effect of: <i>Dear readers, I promise henceforth my fingers shall run over the keyboard more frequently and spew lot more words for your eyes to consume. </i>But again - you guessed it right - I simply won't. And I really have no statistic on how many of such promises were eventually kept.<br />
<br />
I instead spend time doing a makeover of the site layout (more simpler, less images and hopefully better content), change the title (yeah, I know - my previous was too amateurish and had nothing to do with content whatsoever. The newer one, in keeping with that tradition, also will not have anything to do with the posts I will write - but I have crafted it in such a way that its meaning conveys to the reader that it indeed does not have anything to do with anything at all), prune a few stupid posts here and there (the ones I never plugged/publicised/trumpeted anywhere ever), publish this post, decide against watching Hollow Man 2 on Star Movies now, go to sleep and all that with one hope - this second innings will perhaps be better.<br />
<br />
So here's to another beginning - cheers! And see you soon..<br />
<br />
<i>(also notice - I did not open with a sarcastic comment assuring the readers that my life has not yet perished)</i><br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-69352308420185382502010-03-23T23:30:00.007+05:302010-03-28T19:12:47.073+05:30ತರ್ಲೆಕುಂಟನಹಳ್ಳಿಯ Da Vinci Code<span class="Apple-style-span">ತರ್ಲೆಕುಂಟನಹಳ್ಳಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ಇಂಥಹ ಒಂದು ದೊಡ್ಡ ಅನಾಹುತ ನಡೆಯತ್ತೆಂದು ಪತ್ತೇದಾರಿ ಮಾದೇಶ ಕನಸಲ್ಲೊ ಎಣಸಿರಲಿಲ್ಲ. ಅದು ಹೇಗೊ ಏನೋ ಆ ಊರಿನ ಆಂಗ್ಲರ ಪಳೆಯುಳಿಕೆಯಂತಿದ್ದಹ ಸಂಗ್ರಹಾಲಯದ ಪಾಲಕ ರಂಗಜ್ಜ ಸಾವಿಗೀಡಾದ. ಮಾದೇಶನಿಗೆ ಇನ್ನೂ ನೆನಪಿದೆ. ರಕ್ತದ ಮಡುವಿನಲ್ಲಿ ಬಿದ್ದಿದ ರಂಗಜ್ಜ ಹುಚ್ಚನಂತೆ ಕೇಕೆ ಹಾಕುತ್ತ ತನ್ನ ಅಂತಿಮ ಕ್ಷಣಗಳಲ್ಲಿ ಕೂಗಿದ ಪದಗಳು, "Da Vinci, ಅದು Da Vinci, ನಮ್ಮ ಊರಿನ Da Vinci Code-ಉ!!"</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">ಆಗ ಮಾದೇಶನಿಗೆ ನೆನಪಿಗೆ ಬಂದದ್ದು ಅದೇ ಹೆಸರಿನ ಒಂದು ಅಂಗ್ಲ ಚಲನಚಿತ್ರ. ಹೌದು.. ರಂಗಜ್ಜ ಹೇಳಬಯಸಿದ್ದು ಈ ಚಿತ್ರದ ಬಗ್ಗೆಯೇ ಇರಬೇಕು, ಏಕೆಂದರೆ ರಂಗಜ್ಜ ಖಂಡಿತ ಹುಚ್ಚನಂತೂ ಅಲ್ಲ.ಸದಾ ಊರಿನವರ ಬಾಯಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ತನ್ನ ಪತ್ತೆದಾರಿಕೆಯಿಂದ ಬೈಗುಳಗಳನ್ನು ತಿನ್ನುತಿದ್ದ ಮಾದೇಶ ಇದರ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ಏನಾದರು ಮಾಡಲೇಬೇಕು, ಇದು ನನ್ನ ಪತ್ತೆದಾರಿಕೆಗೆ ಒಂದು ಸವಾಲು ಎಂದು ಯೋಚಿಸಿದ. ತಕ್ಷಣವೇ ಪಟ್ಟಣದಲಿದ್ದ ತನ್ನ ಗೆಳೆಯ ಪರಮೇಶಿಗೆ ಕರೆ ಮಾಡಿದ.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">"ಓಹ್ಹೋಹೋ !! ಏನಪ್ಪೋ ಮಾದೇಶ ? ಇಟ್ಟು ದಿನಗಳ ಮೇಲೆ ನನ್ನ ನೆನಪು ಬಂತೆನೂ? ", ಅತ್ತ ಕಡೆಯಿಂದ ಪರಮೇಶಿ ಕೂಗಿದ.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">"ಹೂ ಕಣಲೇ.. ನಿನ್ನಿಂದ ತುರ್ತಾಗಿ ಒಂದು ಕೆಲಸ ಆಗಬೇಕಿತ್ತೋ", ಮಾದೇಶ ಅಳುಕಿದ.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">"ಗೊತ್ತಿತು, ಏನೋ ಕೆಲಸ ಇಟ್ಕೊಂಡೇ ಫೋನ್ ಮಾಡ್ತಾ ಇದ್ದೀಯ ಅಂತ. ಹ್ಞೂ, ಅದೇನು ಅಂತ ಹೇಳಪ್ಪ", ಪರಮೇಶಿ ಕೇಳಿದ.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">"ದೊಡ್ಡ ಕೆಲಸ ಏನು ಅಲ್ಲ ಕಣೋ. ನನಗೆ ಇ Da Vinci Code ಅಂತ ಒಂದು ಇಂಗ್ಲಿಷ್ ಚಿತ್ರದ್ದು c.d ಬೇಕಿತ್ತು. ಸಿಗುತ್ತಾ ?", ಮಾದೇಶ ಕೇಳಿದ.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">"ಅದಾ ?", ರಾಗವೆಳೆದ ಪರಮೇಶಿ. "ಸಿಗಬಹುದು.. ಏನಿದು ಇಂಗ್ಲಿಷ್ ಚಿತ್ರ ನೋಡೋ ಆಸೆ? ಏನ್ ಕಥೆನಪ್ಪ?"</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">"ಯಾವುದೋ matter ಬಗ್ಗೆ ನೋಡಬೇಕಿತ್ತಪ್ಪ. ಫೋನ್ ನಲ್ಲಿ ಹೇಳಕ್ಕಾಗೋಲ್ಲ", ಮಾದೇಶ ಉತ್ತರಿಸಿದ.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">"ಓಹೋ ಏನೋ serious ಆದಹಂಗೆ ಇದೆ ಹಾಗಾದರೆ.. ಸರಿ ಆದಷ್ಟು ಬೇಗ ಕಳಿಸ್ತೀನಿ", ಎಂದ ಪರಮೇಶಿ.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">"ಥ್ಯಾಂಕ್ಸ್ ಕಣೋ ತುಂಬ", ಎಂದು ಹೇಳಿ ಫೋನ್ ಇಟ್ಟ.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">=========================================================================</span></div><br />
೩ ದಿವಸದ ನಂತರ ಮಾದೇಶನ ಕೈಯಲ್ಲಿ "The Da Vinci Code" c.d ಇತ್ತು. ತಕ್ಷಣವೇ ಅದನ್ನು ನೋಡಲು ಹಚ್ಚಿದ.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">ಚಿತ್ರದ ಆರಂಭದ ಸನ್ನಿವೇಶವನ್ನು ನೋಡಿದಾಕ್ಷಣ ಆತನ ತಲೆ ಸುತ್ತಿದ ಹಾಗಾಯಿತು. ಅರೇ!! ರಂಗಜ್ಜ ಹೇಳಲು ಯತ್ನಿಸಿದ್ದು ಇದನ್ನೇ ಎಂದು ಖಾತ್ರಿ ಆಯಿತು. ಆ ಚಿತ್ರದ Louvre ಸಂಗ್ರಹಾಲಯದ ಪಾಲಕನ ಕೊಲೆಯ ಸನ್ನಿವೇಶ, ತಮ್ಮ ಊರಿನ ಸಂಗ್ರಹಾಲಯದ ಪಾಲಕ </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 25px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">ರಂಗಜ್ಜನ ಕೊಲೆ!! ಒಹ್..</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 25px;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 25px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;">=========================================================================</span></span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">ಮರುದಿನ ಸಂಜೆ ಪತ್ತೇದಾರಿ ಮಾದೇಶ ಊರಿನ ಮುಖಂಡರ ಮನೆಗೆ ಬಂದ.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">"ಮುಖಂಡರೇ, ನಿಮ್ಮ ಬಳಿ ಒಂದು ಮಹತ್ವದ ವಿಷಯ ಮಾತನಾದಬೇಕಾಗಿದೆ. ನನಗೆ ಕೊನೆಗೂ ರಂಗಜ್ಜನ ಕೊಲೆ ಯಾರು ಮಾಡಿರಬಹುದೆಂಬುದು ತಿಳಿಯಲ್ಪಟ್ಟಿದೆ", ಎಂದು ಶುರು ಮಾಡಿದ.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span">"ಏನ್ ಮಾತಾಡ್ತಾಯಿದ್ದಿಯಪ್ಪ ? ರಂಗಜ್ಜ ಕೊಲೆ ಅದನೆ? ಛೆ ಛೆ.. ಅವನು ಸಾಕಿದ ಗೂಳಿ ಅಕಸ್ಮಾತ್ ಆಗಿ ತಿವಿದು ಆಟ ಮೃತಪಟ್ಟನಲ್ಲವೇ..", ಎಂದರು ಮುಖಂಡರು.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span">"ನೋಡೋದಿಕ್ಕೆ ಹಾಗೆ ಕಾಣುತ್ತೆ, ಮುಖಂಡರೆ.. ಆದರೆ ಇಗೋ ನೋಡಿ ನನ್ನ ಕೈಯಲ್ಲಿ ಪುರಾವೆ ಇದೆ", ಎಂದು ಹೇಳಿ 'The Da Vinci Code' c.d ಅನ್ನು ಹೊರ ತೆಗೆದ. "ಇದಿರಲ್ಲಿ ಇದೆ, ರಂಗಜ್ಜ ಸಾಯೋ ಮೊದಲು ಹಾಗೆ ಹುಚ್ಚನಂತೆ ಏಕೆ ಕೂಗಿದ ಅಂತ.. ಅವನ ಕೊಲೆ Opus Dei ಅನ್ನೋ ಒಂದು ಗುಂಪಿನ ಸಂಚು. ನೀವೂ ನೋಡಿ ಧಣಿಗಳೇ. ನಿಮಗೆ ತಿಳಿಯುತ್ತೆ."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span">"ಅದರ ಅವಶ್ಯಕತೆ ಇಲ್ಲ.."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span">ಮುಖಂಡರ ಮಗ ಗೋವಿಂದ ಅಲ್ಲಿಗೆ ಬಂದ.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span">"ನೋಡಪ್ಪ.. ಒಂದು ಸಲ ಇದನ್ನು ನೋಡಿದರೆ, ಎಲ್ಲ ಗೊತ್ತಾಗುತ್ತೆ ನಿಮಗೆ..", ಮತ್ತೆ ಶುರು ಮಡಿದ ಮಾದೇಶ..</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">"ಏಯ್ ಮಾದೇಶ.. ಗೊತ್ತಿಲ್ಲದೇ ಇರುವವನು ನೀನು..", ಕಿಡಿ ಕಾರಿದ ಗೋವಿಂದ. "ರಂಗಜ್ಜನ ಗೂಳಿಯ ಹೆಸರೇನು ಗೊತ್ತೇನು? ಒಂದು Michanangelo, ಮತ್ತೊಂದು Leonardo Da Vinci.. ಆತನನ್ನು ತಿವಿದಿದ್ದು Da Vinci.. Da Vinci ಯ ಕೋಡಿನಿಂದ ತಿವಿದ ವಿಷಯದಲ್ಲಿ ತನ್ನ ಕೊನೆಯ ಕ್ಷಣದಲ್ಲೂ ಸ್ವಾರಸ್ಯ ಕಂಡ ರಂಗಜ್ಜ. ನೀ ಮತ್ತೆ ಏನೋ ಒಂದು ಸುರು ಮಾಡಬೇಡ. ದೊಡ್ಡ ಪತ್ತೇದಾರಿ ಥರ..."</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">ಮುಖಂಡರು ಎದ್ದು ಒಳ ನಡೆದರು.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">ತರ್ಲೆಕುಂಟನಹಳ್ಳಿಯ ಮಹಾನ್ ಪತ್ತೇದಾರಿ ಮಾದೇಶನ ಬಿಟ್ಟ ಬಾಯಿ ಬಿಟ್ಟೇ ಇತ್ತು..</span>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-28702404341994978682010-03-22T21:22:00.004+05:302010-03-22T23:59:46.723+05:30When a science experiment goes wrongDr.Raghavan had a lot of reasons to be exited today. Just 8 years after the Large Hadron Collider was commissioned and started its operation at CERN, his team had managed to setup what was only the world's third particle collider under BARC. Today India's own version of 'mini-universe' would begin it's first run with a large congregation of media (from all over the world, of course), eminent scientists, the president of the country, a few other heads of few more states and a political entourage from a friendly African country present as its witness, along with the entire nation glued to television watching the live telecast<br /><br />He was just leaving the CVR-314 (which was one of the 6 controlling and monitoring areas) and would soon be joining the dignitaries at the DK-7 (the presentation area - specially designed for the occasion), when he saw Dr.Talpade coming in his direction, looking all sweaty and pale.<br /><br />"Dr.Talpade, what on earth are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at..", began Raghavan when Talpade interjected.<br /><br />"I'm sorry Dr.Raghavan. I have some very bad news. You see, one of our trial runs went horribly wrong. The controlling systems... They malfunctioned I think. And the acceleration overshot by..", he stammered.<br /><br />"Dr.Talpade! What is this you're talking of? This simply cannot.."<br /><br />"Dr.Raghavan, please listen to me. The team, I mean... We botched up. And..", he looked up with hands held together at his chest. "Oh God! I think we created a small rip in the Time-Space continuum.. And the tear is growing wider and wider. And your daughter Dr.Naina has kind of gotten stuck in the warp-hole. We need to get her out, Dr. And we need to evac immediately"<br /><br />Dr.Raghavan's face went white. This was the biggest shock of his life...<br /><br /> ***********************************************************************<br /><br />Moments later Dr.Raghavan and Dr.Talpade along with the rest of the team were assembled at BHC-PPK-9 and all were listening to Dr.Raghavan talk.<br /><br />"As I see there is only one way out. We should allow the warp-hole to completely get Naina first. No, listen to me.. I'm not kidding", he was saying seeing the skeptic looks on their faces. "And then, using the synchotron beam, we start sealing the rip in the time-space fabric. The synchotron particles should negate and annhilate the photo-gluons that should be forming along the edges of the tear, thus forming a seal. Well... What are we waiting for? Let's do this together team" he finished.<br /><br />He then went towards where his daughter lay stuck in a limbo between this world and God-knew-elsewhere. Holding her hands, he said, "Naina. Do not fear. You'll be alright, I promise. I love you my dear.."<br /><br />"I love you too, Dad", said Naina tearfully as she sank into the other world.<br /><br />Operation fixup began. The team assembled the synchotron ray gun and powered it up. As soon as it hit 80%, Dr.Raghavan signalled them to take aim.<br /><br />85%<br /><br />93%<br /><br />96%<br /><br />99%<br /><br />Zwibbbfffffpppt!! Zreeeenk!! Twoosh!!<br /><br />The hole was sealed. No sooner did this happen, Dr.Naina popped out of thin air right where she had stood before being sucked up into the warp-hole..<br /><br />A loud cheer went up in the room. Everyone surrounded the father and daughter pair. A visibly shaken but really relieved Dr.Talpade finally managed to ask the question all had been dying for.<br /><br />"But Dr.Raghavan, how did you know nothing would happen to your daughter. Wasn't sealing the rip, with your daughter inside very risky?"<br /><br />Dr.Raghavan replied "It was really simple actually. There was no way my dear daughter was ever in danger. For you know <i>'a stitch in time saves Nain'a</i>, right?"<div><br /></div>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-32781070218789766102010-03-19T21:32:00.005+05:302010-03-21T22:08:40.565+05:30How Terminator should have endedJohn Connor ducked just in time as the T-X fired two shots into the space which had been occupied by his head just a few micro-seconds ago. As he stepped of the sidewalk onto the road, he had no doubt he was finished today. With no T-101 to protect him, there was no way he was going to survive. It was just a question of when the T-X would catch up with him...<br /><br />But then, all thought of escaping the T-X were driven out of his mind by the booming horn of a Renault Magnum truck. Once again he fell to his knees, bought his shoulders to the road and pulled his head into his chest and rolled perpendicular to the trucks path. The truck breaked nevertheless. Seizing this opportunity, John quickly got to his feet again, bounded across the remaining part of the street, reached for the fence , grabbing its railings with both hands and leaped across it to land into a basketball court.<br /><br />This too was empty. As he ran across the empty court, something bounced out of his coat. It was a Colt M1911 .45 caliber. Stumbling he caught it, whipped around and sure enough the T-X was just getting over the fence. He aimed for her head firing of 3 quick shots. They just seemed to richochet of the tough exo-skeleton of that mean machine. Having no choice he made another dash for the gates of the court, across it and again into another pavement and started running east.<br /><br />"Don't move"<br /><br />Oh! About time... It was T-101 and he had his bad-ass shotgun with him. John Connor, between the two machines, with both of them having their weapons pointed straight ahead, now at each other.<br /><br />"Duck", bellowed T-101, and John did. T-101 dropped his shotgun, and ran towards the T-X with his right arm outstretched, index and middle fingers separated in a V-shape and screaming "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!" The surprised T-X shot at T-101, with one shot missing and another rebounding of his chest. T-101's fingers connected with the eyes of T-X, and she froze. And as John watched the T-X fell to the ground writhing.<br /><br />"How's that possible?", asked John as he was helped to his feet by T-101. "I shot her in the head, and nothing happened. You did not even use your weapon.."<br /><br />"That's simple", replied the T-101. "You could have done it too. If you knew that to destroy her, you've got to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Catcher_in_the_Rye">catch her in the eye</a>"Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-75805585111007109562010-03-05T22:14:00.002+05:302010-11-07T20:55:55.303+05:30Lord of the Mutreeks - Return of the Ring<div class="MsoNormal">Somewhere in middle-earth the sun is beating the hell out over vast treeless desolate plains. Two figures are trundling along, in silence. The taller of the two is an old man, possibly ancient. He looks so old that it might have occurred at first glance as though he had already died once (perhaps he has, who knows). The other is a shorter, curly haired being. A story cannot proceed if one of them will not start speaking shortly. So, the old man starts the conversation.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Young hobbit, would thee look in ye baggage and fetch meself something to eat?", asked the old man.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Gandalf, stop talking in such a stupid style! I'm sick of it. And don't talk to me as though I'm a 2 year old, for Gods sake", cried the one who was called hobbit.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"What stupide style art thou speaking of? Why dost that make thee sick? Did thee consume something heathen on ye way yonder?", the older one called Gandalf asked with attempted concern in his voice. But it sounded as though he was doing this deliberately. And enjoying it.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Oh, for the last time Gandalf, quit it.. Quit it before I..", began the hobbit, but then...<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Well well well, if it isn't Gandalf the White and Frodo Baggins. What a pleasant surprise!!", it was an elfish looking man.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Yo Elrond!! Wassup dawg..", shouted Frodo the hobbit cheerfully, forgetting all his irritability about Gandalf. <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0915989/">Elrond</a> the elf-man just nods. But Gandalf is wary. He is glaring at Elrond. Elrond notices this.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Yes, I think you know Mr.Gandalf.. I see that look on your face, that you recognise me now. Well, I won't hide it any longer. I am Smith. An <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0915989/">agent Smith</a>", sneered the elf-man known as Elrond.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"What the hell are ya speaking of dude? An agent? Of what?", cried Frodo, looking from Elrond to Gandalf and back.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Perhaps my appearance should clear up all doubts" It was coming from a man in a dark suit. He was also wearing a pair of sunglasses. Frodo gawks at the new entry. Yank off his sunglasses, and put him in an elvish garb and why, he's Elrond!! Frodo opens mouth, closes, opens it again and still makes no sound. Look on his face is of utter shock. </div><div class="MsoNormal">(Let us call this new entry Smith#2. Elrond then naturally becomes Smith#1 – by the virtue of being earlier in the order of appearance)<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Now that we know who I really am", said Smith#1, "Well atleast Mr.Gandalf does. The other numbfuck (gesturing towards where Frodo stood looking - well - gaping still) will take some more time before his filament heats up. I think it would be wise to get on with some more introductions."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"So where do we start, Mr.<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0005212/">Gandalf</a> or should I call you Mr.Eric Lehnsherr a.k.a <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0005212/">Magneto</a>, hmmm?", said Smith#2. Now it was Gandalf’s turn to look shocked.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"We know more about you than you think we know. You also go by the identity Grouchonomanas isn't it?", sneered Smith#1.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Grouchy who??", ventured Frodo recovering a little.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"The one who's standing there looking grouchy now", said Smith#2 now also sneering. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Why did you do it?", asked Gandalf, "You were an immortal when you were Elrond. Why give it all away to be what, a freelancing agent?"<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Hmm.. Now that you ask", replied former Elrond (Smith#1), proceeding to put his hand into his pocket.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Gandalf suddenly looked even more wary. The tip of his staff started glowing white.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Easy old man. I was just removing this", said Smith#1, removing a rectangular piece of paper from his pocket.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"And we know, it's a 1500W bulb you've got there mounted on that staff for special effects. Wanna bet what happens when environmentalists get a wind of that? Someone like Pachauri or God forbid Arundhati Roy? The great Gandalf using an energy inefficient light bulb!!", sneered Smith#2<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Anyway, getting to answering your question", said Smith#1 pushing a photo across to Gandalf. It was the picture of a scrawny hideous looking elf whose head looked like someone had mistaken it for a football and accidentally kicked it around when the owner of the head had accidentally slept in the football field.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Not exactly pretty was I?", said Smith#1. "That was before I accepted the offer to become an agent Smith. Besides, I still have retained my immorali.. Oops immortality if you're so concerned about that"<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Frodo had recovered almost completely by then. He asked, "So you (pointing to Smith#1) became him(Smith#2)? What’s that supposed to mean? You two are one and the same?!?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"So naive Mr.Baggins", replied Smith#1. “Let me put it more clearly. He(Smith#2) is a self-made man, while I am man-made elf”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">“Oh”, is all Frodo manages.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">“None of that still explains what brings you here”, asks Gandalf pointing around as though he is showing some guest around in his private vegetable garden.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Don’t we all like to know that, hmmm? “, replies Smith#2. “Sadly the truth is that I got pwned by a certain hacker called Neo. As a result I got annihilated. However, that it seems is not the end for me. I was blasted off into a parallel universe. There are infact many other worlds, parallel universes, each stacked on the top of the other. After the climax of any trilogy, the characters are often shunted off into such vortexes of existance. Some however alternate between several such existances"<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Your companion Gandalf knows about all this. He has been living under several identities in several such universes. You wanna know how we came to know about your Magneto act, Mr.Gandalf? Want to know who squealed on you? It was Mystique...", says Smith#1 grinning.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Gandalf mutters something that sounds very much like "Bitch"..<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Anyway. You must have met the Orcs of Mordor the Uruk-hai in your own version of the world",said Smith#2. "Ah so you have.. Right..", he smiled seeing the look of terror on Frodo's face. "It so happened that the commander-in-chief of Uruk-hai was also blasted off into a parallel universe along with his entire army when, as a result of destruction a certain ring courtesy Mr. Baggins with a little help from a certain Gollum, the army of orcs was annhilated. By an amazing chance of sheer coincidence, he landed in the same world as myself"<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Being loners, we found solace in each other. Narrated our stories to each other and when I got to the point where I transformed the life of former Elrond, the orc guy gets all exited. You see, he had heard of Elrond, who's dazzling beauty paled in comparison to that of the orcs. But he had never understood the secret of how ugly little Elrond suddenly appeared more... ah.. charming", said Smith#2<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"When he did, however he requested us to transform all of his army into more better looking gentlemen", continued Smith#1, "to which we gladly agreed. So to answer your question of why we're here. Yes, we're here to transform the Uruk-hai army into an army of Smiths. Mu-ha-ha-ha-ha", laughs Smith#1. Smith#2 joins him in laughter..<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Wait a minute", said Frodo. "You're <i style="">here</i> to transform means.. Mordor Orcs are <b><i>here </i></b>?!?"<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">More grins.. Smiths nod at the same time. "Someone's finally catching on. Yes, the orcs are here, you are here, we are here", says Smith#1.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Ow man!! I risk my life and all to destroy a silly ring, some evil villian and his entire army to boot, and I find that I still end up in some sick parallel universe where Mordor Orcs still exist. Shit man..." wails Frodo. "Smith.. Tell me quick. What about Sauron? He's not here is he?"<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Ofcourse he is here. And guess what Mr.Baggins, the ring that you destroyed in your own world. It is here in this world too. Ha-ha-ha", laughed Smith#1.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Hobbit. You know what this means. We have to destroy the ring. Another quest!!", cries Gandalf.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Ow man!! Ow man!! Ow man!! Not again....", wails Frodo..<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And just then another man in dark overcoat lands amidst them, wearing dark shades(and apparently more good looking than the vain Mr.Smiths) Smiths scream and cling to each other in terror.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">"Guess who else is back as well, bitches", says the dude they call Neo...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>(to be continued.. perhaps..)</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-23314884845500148442010-02-15T23:06:00.001+05:302010-02-15T23:09:16.190+05:30No need to say it out loud13th February, and minutes away from the V-Day.<br />
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It is at this moment my reader that we choose to visit a boy who is preparing to send his first Valentines message - very much like several love struck teenagers at this time around the world I'm sure -well, atleast those who are in the same time zone as the boy in question...<br />
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But it is this boy we are watching now as he sits on his bed by the window in almost complete darkness. It is nearly new moon and the only light from the skies is what the stars in the heaven can provide (which is quite naturally, very little, if you've observed the sky on such a day my reader) The streets are empty and dark owing to the local power stations devious plan that seems to be that it's town's local lovers may be deterred by such darkness into keeping away from each other. Alas, they do not know that true love cannot be stopped by such menial things..<br />
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Let us approach the boy my reader, and hush... Make not any noise. Here we currently see that though it is completely dark, there is a little glow coming from his room. What is this source of light that has lit up his face thus? Ah, it is his mobile phone. Come now let us peep over his shoulder and see what the boy is upto...<br />
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He seems to be going through the Drafts section in Messaging option of his phone. Here we see several messages: shayari, wonderful poems, mushy rhymes he has collected all through the year. And they all bear the name of only one sender.. That is right my reader. The name in the sender field is that of the girl whom this boy loves deeply!! He seems to ponder over each message. One of these will end up in her inbox tonight he thinks, and we see/hear all this quite clearly...<br />
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You may wonder, my reader, why doesn't the boy call the girl up - for isn't that the best way to make his feelings known? Well the truth is that he is so sure if he tires to talk he will make a fool of himself and fail very badly. And neither me nor you can convince him otherwise, so lets leave it at that.<br />
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But even as I speak, we see/hear he has decided he cannot send any of those canned messages. They all seem to fake and unreal. Yes, he thinks, a true message must be from ones heart to another. So he starts composing a new message:<br />
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<i>My dear ... Happy Valentines Day. I really love you a lot and</i><br />
<br />
Hmm, he does not have much imagination at this sort of a thing, so my readers, we have to accept that this is what he starts with. Atleast this is some beginning...<br />
But wait. He is shaking his head; Oh!! And now he is erasing the message<br />
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<i>Happy</i> <blink> <blink><br />
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He cannot do it. He will not do it. Oh my, I think he is giving up. We can see/hear it in his head...<br />
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<i>Happy Chinese New Year!</i><br />
<br />
He writes instead. Poor boy...<br />
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<i>May the year of the Tiger bring to you great prosperity !!</i><br />
<br />
He concludes the message somewhat lamely and presses the Send button.Bitterly dissapointed he lies down to sleep. A few seconds pass by and he knows he isn't going to get any sleep tonight...<br />
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Somewhere nearby the town-halls huge clock begins its 12 chimes to indicate the arrival of midnight.<br />
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<b>Dong.. Dong.. Dong..</b><br />
<br />
Just then his phone beeps!!<br />
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<b>Dong.. Dong..</b><br />
<br />
<i>1 new message</i><br />
<br />
<b>Dong.. Dong.. Dong.. Dong..</b><br />
<br />
He opens his inbox. It is from her!!! His heart starts beating wildly. He opens the message:<br />
<br />
<i>Hey! Happy Valentines Day! </i><b>Dong..</b><br />
<i>You don't need to say it out loud silly. I love you too. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><b>Dong..</b></span></i><br />
<i>How about we meet someplace and spend our Valentine together? <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><b>Dong..</b></span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
Come now dear readers, let us not press upon his privacy any more. Just as we leave his room we see him typing 'Y' and 'e' and ...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</blink></blink><br />
<div><br />
</div>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-56448663907510575522010-02-03T23:49:00.032+05:302010-06-18T22:27:16.359+05:30In which the author is plagiarisedNot so long ago, I wrote a stupid, silly <a href="http://blogs.sandeeprc.eu.org/2009/12/tweet-from-java.html">post</a> about how to tweet from java. And then as the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Gunslinger">Gunslinger</a> said "the world moved on" I found better things to do (and also to do things in a better way), and wisely judging that if I ever wrote a Twitter app as mentioned in that post and made it public (which was something I wanted to for some time now) I may be sent to the gallows for such stupidity. Really, because it was a simple application that transmits your Twitter id & password in plain text, for all to sniff and snoop. For those of you who are interested you can use <a href="http://apiwiki.twitter.com/OAuth-FAQ">OAuth</a> to keep your Twitter data safe. I'll perhaps write about that some other time..<br /><br />So why am I returning to all that now? Well.. I stumbled upon <a href="http://incubator.apache.org/esme/simple-use-case-ofbiz-sends-message-to-esme.html">this</a> today. If you look carefully (or casually - for Christ's sake - it doesn't matter) you may notice similarities to the earlier post of mine. Some dude has flicked bits of my code for some project (called ESME) undergoing incubation at Apache Software Foundation!! Check out this part:<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-;color:#cccccc;">String encStatus = "status="+URLEncoder.encode(statusmsg, "UTF-8");</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-;color:#cccccc;">ostreamwriter = new OutputStreamWriter(conn.getOutputStream());</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-;color:#cccccc;">ostreamwriter.write(encStatus); </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:red;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-;color:#cccccc;">//--> Magic Magic :) </span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-;color:#cccccc;">ostreamwriter.flush(); //I forgot this at first..</span><br /><br /><br />Come on dude. It's okay if you're inspired by someone else's code. Feel free to contact that person if you want to use it. But copying it with comments and all ? Too obvious. How can you ripoff someone else's posts and pass it off as your own, huh? I'm not really interested in taking a legal recourse. But come on, isn't there something called ethics?<br /><br />So now I make a hue and cry about not being credited and all that ? That my mother cried after seeing all this? What next, I participate in Aman ki Asha with my Pakistani counterpart (if I have one), block people on Twitter and write novels whose titles include only numbers I can count with my right hand?<br /><br />My case may not be has high profile one as <a href="http://www.chutneycase.com/2010/01/three-one-idiot-s.html">this</a>. But hell, I now understand how people who get plagiarised by the likes of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pritam#Accusations_of_plagiarism">Pritam</a> and all feel. I think I'm more than just a little peeved at this. I feel this urge to do something to make me feel better about this.<br /><br />Allrighty.. What you see next is a product of one pissed off mind. You have been warned, so beware.<br /><br />** Ironically the producers of a certain movie claimed that using this video is kind-of plagiarism, so this has been taken down **<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><i>In your face plagiarist. In your face..</i><br /><i><br /></i><br />Aah.. Feels much better now.<br /><br /></div><pre class="code-java" style=" line-height: 1.3; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 10px; overflow-x: auto; overflow-y: auto; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;font-family:'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; white-space: normal;"></span></span></pre>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-78586846510139378832010-01-09T18:40:00.012+05:302010-01-11T21:29:06.532+05:30The uncertain case of Jeevan Das<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(Disclaimer: </span></i><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 20px;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The following work is purely fictional. I do not mean to offend anyone by writing this. </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: normal;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This could have happened in any court in any country. Perhaps it is only the names that are Indianised. I leave it all to your imagination. No more preambles. No meandering narratives. On with the story then.... )</span></i></span></span><br />
<br />
<i>Judge</i>: This court has been called to decide upon the case of Jeevan Das vs State of *** with directives that it deliver a speedy judgement as it involves parties who have very high holdings in our society. The public prosecutor Mr.Roy will argue on states behalf.<br />
(turning to the accused)<br />
You have been accused of the theft of a bicycle of Bobby, pampered son of our village Panchayat head. How do you plead, guilty or not guilty ?<br />
<br />
<i>Jeevan Das</i>: Not guilty mi lord.<br />
<br />
<i>Audience</i>: (Gasp!!)<br />
<br />
<i>Judge</i>: Very well. Who will represent you in the legal proceedings?<br />
<br />
<i>Jeevan </i><i>Das</i>: No one mi lord. I will argue on behalf of myself. And yes the public prosecutor will assist me.<br />
<br />
<i>Public </i><i>prosecutor</i>: What the f**k !!!<br />
(judge glares at him) Ahem. Sorry your honour. I apologize for using cuss words in the esteemed court. But as a public prosecutor, I am not legally bound to assist the accused. I request your lordship to instruct the accused to refrain from making such statements.<br />
<br />
<i>Judge</i>: Mr. JeevanDas, you are not to make such statements. Do you not know how the judiciary works ? The public prosecutor cannot be of any assistance to you. If you want to proceed without a lawyer, you may do so. But I hereby prohibit you from making such absurd claims.<br />
<br />
<i>Jeevan </i><i>Das</i>: Apologies mi lord. I will make no more such claims, though I still stick to what I claimed earlier.<br />
<br />
<i>Judge</i>: Alright, alright. Let the public prosecutor begin his thing. Whatever it is that his thing is.<br />
<br />
<i>Public </i><i>prosecutor</i>: I'm sure you mean that I begin my prosecution your honour.<br />
(coming to Jeevan Das - who has in the meanwhile been sworn on Gita or some other similar tome)<br />
Will you please state your name and occupation to the court ?<br />
<br />
<i>Jeevan </i><i>Das</i>: Well I'm Jeevan Das, and I'm the president of Kleptomaniacs Anonymous.<br />
<br />
<i>Public </i><i>prosecutor</i>: Mr.Jeeven Das, when I say occupation I mean what do you do for living ? His lordship probably knows that the presidency of Kleptomaniacs Anonymous is not an office of profit, considering that lordship himself has held the post previously.<br />
<br />
(judge appears to be looking towards the ceiling, whistling lowly)<br />
<br />
<i>Jeevan </i><i>Das</i>: Well then, by daylight I am a swindler ; and a thief by night.<br />
<br />
<i>Public </i><i>prosecutor</i>: Aha!! Your honour, I think this statement itself should be suffient to convict the accused for the crime, don't you think ?<br />
<br />
<i>Jeevan </i><i>Das</i>: Mi lord, I said I am a thief, not a successful thief. If my knowledge of law is correct, I cannot be convicted if it isn't proven that I've ever successfully stolen something, right ? Besides, the aforementioned robbery took place in broad daylight.<br />
<br />
<i>Public </i><i>prosecutor</i>: Well allright. I have a witness who has, as you may have guessed, witnessed you stealing the cycle. I request your lordship to allow me to present the witness to the court.<br />
<br />
<i>Judge</i>: Summon the witness.<br />
<br />
<i>Public </i><i>prosecutor</i>: I call upon Bobby, the grievant.<br />
<br />
(Bobby enters)<br />
<br />
<i>Public </i><i>prosecutor</i>: Bobby, do you identify the person standing as the accused?<br />
<br />
<i>Bobby</i>: You mean the guy in the silly wig? Why he's my dad's friend and drinking mate. Namastey Uncleji !!<br />
<br />
<i>Public </i><i>prosecutor</i>: Hush!! That's the honourable judge.. And here he's no one's friend. I meant that one (points to Jeevan Das)<br />
<br />
<i>Bobby</i>: Oh.. Hey, I'd identify that guy anywhere. He's the rascal who stole my bicycle. Arrest him!! Why's he standing.. (prosecutor whispers) Oh, sorry.<br />
<br />
<i>Public </i><i>prosecutor</i>: So Bobby, please narrate to the court what happened on that fateful day.<br />
<br />
<i>Bobby</i>: Well I took out my cycle for a ride to the market. That turned out to the last time I rode it.. Well actually I rode it once more on my way back...<br />
And then I parked it in my compound and went inside the house to have lunch.I came out and saw that the cycle had dissapeared. Just outside the gate, I saw this man Jeevan Das escaping with my cycle.<br />
<br />
<i>Public </i><i>prosecutor</i>: Thank you Bobby. That evidence should convince his lordship about the accused.<br />
<br />
<i>Judge</i>: Hmmm.. Jeevan Das, do you have anything to add?<br />
<br />
<i>Jeevan </i><i>Das</i>: I have one question to ask the witness mi lord.<br />
<br />
<i>Judge</i>: Ask away then.<br />
<br />
<i>Jeevan </i><i>Das</i>: (turning to Bobby) You say that you saw me escaping on you cycle. Can you tell me the exact speed with which I escaped ?<br />
<br />
<i>Bobby</i>: Well I could say the approximate speed was around 25Km/h<br />
<br />
<i>Jeevan </i><i>Das</i>: Approximate.. See mi lord, he does not even know the speed with which I sped away after allegedly stealing his bike. I say that his entire story is fabricated.<br />
<br />
(meanwhile Public prosecutor nudges Bobby so hard in his ribs that he yelps)<br />
<br />
<i>Bobby</i>: No.. No.. I can tell you the exact speed.. Mi lord, he escaped with my bike at an exact speed of 24.6 Km/h<br />
<br />
<i>Jeevan </i><i>Das</i>: How sure are you of that?<br />
<br />
<i>Bobby</i>: I completely certain.. I swear on it..<br />
<br />
<i>Jeevan </i><i>Das</i>: In terms of percentage??<br />
<br />
<i>Public </i><i>prosecutor</i>: Objection Your honour, this is highly irrelevant question...<br />
<br />
<i>Jeevan </i><i>Das</i>: Very relevant mi lord as I shall shortly explain.. Please Mr.Bobby how certain are you?<br />
<br />
B: (now vehemantly) 100%.. I'm 100% sure of the fact that you escaped at 24.6 Km/h..<br />
<br />
<i>Jeevan </i><i>Das</i>: Ah! Thank you Bobby and thank you public prosecutor.. That is all I need to prove my innocence..<br />
<br />
Judge, Public prosecutor and Bobby: (all together) What the f**k @#$@ ?!?<br />
<br />
<i>Jeevan </i><i>Das</i>: Yes.. I'm sure you must have heard of Heisenbergs <a href="http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/614029/uncertainty-principle">uncertainty principle</a>.. Well it states that: the position and velocity of an object cannot be measured exactly at the same time!! This means if Bobby is 100% sure of my speed/velocity he must be totally unsure of my position at that time. Thus you cannot take his evidence that I was there at that time. That is all mi lord..<br />
<br />
(Almost everyone who was capable of speech in that court gave out a loud groan. One lady screamed and fainted. Donkey brayed somewhere. Or it was the other way round. Govinda slapped someone..<br />
<br />
And ofcourse - Jeevan Das walked free)Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-54154418914527729712009-12-09T20:57:00.009+05:302009-12-09T23:44:33.734+05:30Your country needs you - and how<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__xSQ5-GYcUo/Sx_oNuCKiwI/AAAAAAAAAsw/pFBxfyo0H9o/s1600-h/Chacha-Shyam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__xSQ5-GYcUo/Sx_oNuCKiwI/AAAAAAAAAsw/pFBxfyo0H9o/s200/Chacha-Shyam.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: auto;"><br />
</div>I got this very important 'msg' today evening. You'll thank me for not forwarding this to you. It ran like this:<br />
<br />
hi guys.<br />
Ths msg s vry vry imp Pls frwd2al. <span style="color: orange;">(OMG!! Last time I got an important 'msg' was in the heydays of Swine flu - what is it now? Equestrian measles ??)</span><br />
V hav 2stp d chinese products whch v r buyin. (<span style="color: orange;">who told you I brought Chinese products? The mallu shpokeeper who sold me that secret chinese stuff swore discreteness... Dang, he must have snitched under pressure)</span><br />
So tat v can mak china economic down. <span style="color: orange;">(Ah! So this is how we make economic down. I bet not even Amartya Sen knew this)</span><br />
U al knw tat china goi2start war wit india <span style="color: orange;">(WTF?!? I didn't know that I knew this - *scratches head*)</span><br />
within 2or3 mnths <span style="color: orange;">(Whoa.. 2 or 3 months? Do our intelligence agenicies know this??)</span><br />
Pls guys stp buyin chines prdcts. <span style="color: orange;">(Swear I will... really - we'll burn em like swadeshi movement)</span><br />
Stdnts hav 2shw our powr by sending ths sms 2whole india. <span style="color: orange;">(Yeah! Go students.. But when you say whole India do you mean to include the remote village of Tarlekuntanhalli too??)</span><br />
Atleaz do this for our india. (<span style="color: orange;">You break my heart sir. 'Atleaz' ?? Meaning I have not done anything for my country yet ?!? Waaah :`-( )</span><br />
<div><br />
</div><div>I suspect a Chinese hand in this forward.. Their plan is to cause panic in minds of Indian students (who make up a sizable chunk of our sizable population) Who do they think they're fooling? For one, it's definitely not me ;)<br />
</div><div><br />
</div>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-85368437547849414852009-12-09T01:07:00.004+05:302009-12-09T23:49:59.701+05:30Tweet from JavaHere's how you can use Twitter API to Tweet from java:<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">import java.io.*;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">import java.net.*;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">import com.sun.org.apache.xerces.internal.impl.dv.util.Base64;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">public class Tweet {</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">static String twitterUrl="http://twitter.com/statuses/update.xml";</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">public static void main(String[] args) throws Exception {</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">//Hate args checking.. Won't do it; Not even usage shall be displayed - figure it out</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">OutputStreamWriter ostreamwriter;</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">String statusmsg="";</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">int i=2;</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">URL url = new URL(twitterUrl);</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">URLConnection conn = url.openConnection();</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">conn.setDoOutput(true);</span><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">conn.setRequestProperty("Authorization", "Basic " + Base64.encode((args[0]+":"+args[1]).getBytes()));<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">while(i < args.length-1){</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">statusmsg = statusmsg+ args[i++]+" ";</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">}</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">statusmsg = statusmsg+ args[i];</span><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">String encStatus = "status="+URLEncoder.encode(statusmsg, "UTF-8");</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">ostreamwriter = new OutputStreamWriter(conn.getOutputStream());</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">ostreamwriter.write(encStatus);</span><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">//--> Magic Magic :)</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">ostreamwriter.flush(); //I forgot this at first..</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> //If interested you can check the response after this, though </span></span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">}</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">//Won't bother with exceptions either. </span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">//A programmer should be intelligent enough to discover errors without any display mechanisms...<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">}</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">}</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div><span style="font-family: inherit;">And </span><em style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">voilà</span></em><span style="font-family: inherit;">:</span><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__xSQ5-GYcUo/Sx6pwo9TQpI/AAAAAAAAAsc/SD45wMW9yOU/s1600-h/twitter.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__xSQ5-GYcUo/Sx6pwo9TQpI/AAAAAAAAAsc/SD45wMW9yOU/s400/twitter.JPG" /></a><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
(or you could also use <a href="http://yusuke.homeip.net/twitter4j/en/index.html">this</a> )<br />
</div>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-23379196463189399552009-12-01T23:16:00.010+05:302009-12-02T00:18:42.656+05:30Short story #6<i>[...They say it's bad luck if a black cat crosses your way...]</i><br />
<br />
It was getting late for work and he had missed his cab. Weather did not help in any way, gloomy as it was. He decided to take the shortcut to the nearest bus stop, instead of standing at his doorstep, cursing his luck. Thunder rumbled in distant sky. He prayed he did not get wet so early in the morning. Sitting with wet clothes, in that awfully cold place called office was not something he looked forward to. Neither was the presentation he was supposed to be giving today.<br />
<br />
Brows furrowed, hands deep in his pockets and his head low, he hurried past the butchers shop of that gully, that would for today, serve as his shortcut. He did not even shudder, as he did always, when he went past that particular landmark. So lost was he in his thoughts that he nearly jumped onto the road when he heard that sound.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__xSQ5-GYcUo/SxVWPtiHVTI/AAAAAAAAAsU/E3Sw8Mgs-GE/s1600/blackcat-734018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__xSQ5-GYcUo/SxVWPtiHVTI/AAAAAAAAAsU/E3Sw8Mgs-GE/s200/blackcat-734018.jpg" /></a><br />
MIAOW!<br />
<br />
A cat as black as the deepest darkness, with bright jewel like green eyes looked up at him, midway through tackling a mouse. He scowled at it (although for what reason he did not know) He was not superstitious, but<br />
<i>[...They say it's bad luck if a black cat crosses your way...]</i><br />
still he did not like the way it stared at him.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Curse you, curse you; Dirty human, who walks upon the plate we eat</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Damn you, damn you; Wicked man, for no reason which us you beat</i></span><br />
<br />
Shit. He did not care if the cat actually was cursing him now. He had no time for such stupidity. He mimed kicking, aiming his feet at the cat, which deftly picked up the mouse between its teeth and ran away, it's net displacement resulting in<br />
<i>[...They say it's bad luck if a black cat crosses your way...]</i><br />
it crossing his path.<br />
<br />
His momentum carried him forward a few steps before he thought about his action (all the while not really sure, whether some consideration would have resulted in a different outcome) and just as he went past the crossing point of their paths, a cold drop of water hit his forehead hard, dripping down to his eyes. Before he crossed the next 20 yards, that landed him at his bus stop, heavens opened up and drenched him completely.<br />
<br />
He reached his office full 16 and a half minutes late, wet. Nancy, his colleague whispered as soon as he reached his cubicle, "Boss man is in a bad mood today. He's looking for you, I think"..<br />
"Thanks", he said. "I'll drop by his chamber right away" and he started towards his boss' chamber.<br />
<br />
He knocked on the door and entered the chamber. Boss was peering over a long piece of what appeared to be fax paper. He looked up.<br />
<br />
"Ah, here you are. I was looking for you. You're late you know", the boss said and then continued without missing a beat, "This just in. There are some changes in the figures you'll be presenting today. You'll have to start working on this immediately and if you are lucky enough<br />
<i>[...They say it's bad luck if a black cat crosses your way...]</i><br />
you may just finish this, and then we can have our presentation as planned. You know how much this means to the team, right?"<br />
<br />
He could hardly protest as boss man dumped the sheets of the latest reports into his (still wet) hands. Taking it as a sign that he was dismissed for now and also for the fact that he wanted to show that he was going to start working on it immediately, he started looking at the numbers on that report even as he started from the chamber towards his cubicle. Shit, he thought, as he felt the numbers made no sense. He sat heavily in his chair, took out a pencil and started marking those parts that made some sense to him, dimly aware that some parts of the fax were slightly smudged by his wet hands.<br />
<br />
Two hours went by, he was not even half way through. His stomach grumbled, but he stayed at his place. No lunch today, he thought. Dumb luck. And his mind wandered to the black cat who<br />
<i>[...They say it's bad luck if a black cat crosses your way...]</i><br />
had crossed his path that morning. Hmmmph. He had to push such thoughts away. That would get him nowhere. And he was pretty confident, he'd be done in a couple of more hours, if he concentrated hard. Imagining his colleagues nodding appreciatively at his presentation, he started working away furiously.<br />
<br />
Shit. He had smudged more that he had thought he had. He extrapolated whatever figures he had, cursing his stupid luck, his mind going back to his lab exams (where he had performed similar feats of adjustment), going back to the black cat (more than once) and returning with the faithfulness of a well trained dog, to the task at hand.<br />
<br />
Hours passed...<br />
<br />
He was almost done now and he looked up at the clock. Shit again, it was 4:30. He had only an hour before the presentation. His thoughts turned to despair, (and also to the cat which crossed his path that morn) and by the time he finished, it was exactly 3 minutes to 5:30. He snatched his laptop up and ran 12 flight of steps to the meeting room. As his luck would have it<br />
<i>[...They say it's bad luck if a black cat crosses your way...]</i><br />
lifts were not working today, of all days.<br />
<br />
Entering the meeting room, he tried to throw a casual smile at those present and was treated to a couple of grimacing (ghastly even) looking smiles. Or perhaps it was just his imagination (which again wandered briefly over to the black cat who, you know, crossed his path that morning) Turning on the projector, he started his presentation, although without his usual confidence.<br />
<br />
For the next one and half hours he battled his way through the presentation, fielding all sorts of questions thrown at him. Were a couple of questions asked just to rile him? Anything was possible today he thought and as the presentation concluded, he did not quite think he had pulled it off. Infact he had no hopes of it at all. As boss man took the guests away for the evening entertainment, he just slunk away from the office, too tired and too dazed, now for sure believing that - it's bad luck if a black cat crosses your way.. There was no other reason that could explain such a bad day.<br />
<br />
Now once you believe in the problem, you have to believe in the solution as well..<br />
So, determined to set this all right, he decided he should retrace his steps of the morning, uncrossing the darned path where this all began. An undo, a ctrl+z of sorts.<br />
<br />
As he neared the spot where the (darned) creature crossed his way, he saw that there, at the exact spot, was a boy of about 8. The boy stood there all alone, crying. "Ah, another victim of badluck", he thought pitying the boy and decided that perhaps he should enquire and offer him his solution (ctrl+z and all that)<br />
<br />
"What's wrong kid?", he asked, "Why're you crying?"<br />
<br />
Sobbing the kid replied "Cat" (his heart leaped)<br />
<br />
"What happened, kid? What of the cat?", he asked, now feeling suddenly very light headed.<br />
<br />
"My cat", the kid sobbed again, "Someone ran over her today morning. I have her no more" and he started wailing..<br />
<br />
<i>They say it's bad luck if a black cat crosses your way, but they did not say it is for whom...</i><br />
<i><br />
</i>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-64392199429534424162009-11-23T21:00:00.003+05:302009-11-25T09:54:18.816+05:30Language biff-bashLighter side of language bashing. Nothing Thackerayesque here ;)<br />
<br />
<i><b>Bashing:</b></i><br />
English vs Kannada (ah, the controversial topic) came up recently, when we were at a wedding over the weekend (me and 2 other friends-I'll call them Quiz master a.k.a Pyaaz Kaatke and the C dude - no points for guessing who they are) and the conversation drifted to the aforementioned topic.<br />
<br />
<i>Quiz master</i>: Accha, C dude, fiancé ka spelling batha..<br />
<i>C dude</i>: f i a n c e<br />
<i>Quiz master</i>: Woh 'e' nahin, 'é' hain. 'e' ke upar ek tilak<br />
<i>C dude</i>: Kya baat kar raha hain? (He fished out his iPhone with a flourish, opened the dictionary and searched for the word) Arrey you are right man (pause) But there are two words here: fiancé and fiancéé<br />
<i>Me</i>: Haan. For different genders. One is pronounced fiancey and the other fiancei<br />
<i>C dude</i>: Nahin. Pronounciation is same for both. See..<br />
<i>Me</i>: (trying to recover) Ah.. It's a word derived from French. In French, if you add le before a word it's masculine; if you add la it's feminine. But English has no such distinction, hence they have extra é (a.k.a e with tilak)<br />
<i>C dude</i>: What a stupid language. Indian languages are much better..<br />
<i>Quiz master</i>: English is like that because it's not rule based, it's practise based. Let's take another word - spell Django<br />
<i>C dude</i>: I give up<br />
<i>Quiz master</i>: It's d j a n g o<br />
C dude at this point made a statement that was almost a copy of Dharmendra's go = ಗು dialog of Chupke Chupke. I remembered that he had once told me his name should actually be pronounced as rhyming with cream. I shuddered..<br />
<i>Quiz master</i>: ?!?<br />
<i>C dude</i>: That is why I call it a stupid language. We have no such problems in Kannada<br />
<i>Quiz master</i>: Ok.. Let's go and wish the couples<br />
<i>Me</i>: phew<br />
<br />
<i><b>Basher bashed:</b></i><br />
Long long ago, I had a friend who's favourite topic was(guess, guess) English vs Kannada. He is rumoured to have asked an English teacher a question that stumped the lady completely, and made sure she reserved the lowest marks in her subject for this guy. He also asked that question to a lot of other people mercilessly. My turn came one day.. He asked me: ನೆಹರು ಭಾರತದ ಎಷ್ಟನೆಯ ಪ್ರಧಾನ ಮಂತ್ರಿ? Translate this to English.. Heh he!!<br />
<br />
Gears turned in my brain and out this came: If one were to prepare a list of Prime Ministers of India, sorted on the order in which they swore in, what position would Nehru occupy on that list?<br />
<br />
Bash that!!Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-90289018401068223372009-11-08T21:50:00.001+05:302009-11-15T17:18:32.391+05:30Koda and the Zen of stomach ache and other maladies<em>Scenario:</em><br />
You are a bigwig in the society (perhaps political), who has hundreds of people working under you. You have wielded power for a long time. You are thinking all this is going to last for ever, and you'll live to a ripe old age to enjoy the fruits of your (poor taxpayers ??) labour, when one day, all of a sudden, like a bolt out of the blue, you find that Income tax department has raided your palatial home, found that you have been involved in illegal transactions ammounting to several crores, and you are now facing detainment and possible arrest. So what do you do?<br />
<br />
<em>Solution:</em><br />
You fake it ofcourse.<br />
<br />
Hmm.. This may not make much sense to all the readers out there, the humble voters/taxpayers. So let me elaborate. What you fake is some sort of illness. And what choices have you got? Well you could go for faking chest pain (do not go all the way one <em>"patient"</em> in Munnabhai MBBS does when Munna's dad visits his <em>"hospital"</em> - that won't work I suppose.. But then again, I'm not really sure of that) Or you could try the good old uneasiness and blood pressure thingy (you wont have to go to great lengths to fake uneasiness - just picture your imminent arrest - that should do the trick) There are several such illness you can always fake, but just make sure no other bigwig has used that reason in recent times. Not that it'll be easy for the sleuths to spot the fake. You see, my sir, people deserve something original..<br />
<br />
If you have observed, I've never mentioned the humble stomach ache here. Yes, the world famous refuge of school-going children worldwide has now been used by <a href="http://khamba.blogspot.com/2009/11/madhu-koda-allowed-to-keep-assets-on.html">Mr. Madhu Koda</a>. So Sonu, if you want your mother to be convinced that you are indeed sick enough to skip school today, you'll have to use a different excuse. Sorry kid.. You see, it's all politics <strong>:(</strong> What really bugs me is, how is it that the IT department and ED (you pervert, it's Enforcement Directorate) bought this story, when, not once in all my school going years did my mother fall for this trick.. Koda ke performance mein kya hain jo mere mein nahin?!?<br />
<br />
Madhu Koda, whose surname was carefully chosen by his grandfather, a Star Wars fanatic, now joins the great list of Movers and Fakers. Some of the more notable names on this list include Abdul-stamppaperismymiddlename-Telgi, Ramalinga Raju amongst others. A visibly heartbroken Koda granddad, told the press today that he had never expected his grandson would land in such trouble one day. "I had christened him Koda, along the lines of Yoda, hoping one day he would reach to great levels as the Jedi master. Actually I <em>would</em> have named him Madhu Yoda, if it weren't for the insistence of the village astrologer, who said it was numerologically advisable to have a surname starting with 'K'. This same piece of advice from the same astrologer worked wonders for Ekta Kapoor. I don't understand what went wrong", he said revealing the <i>K</i> connection<br />
<br />
So finally what happened was that Koda was discharged from the Apollo hospital today. The doctor who treated him, told on the condition of anonymity that Koda's stomach ache was due to high levels of acidity, caused by indulging in all the spicy festival food his mother-in-law had made for him. "We have intravenously administered Gelusil to Mr.Koda. Joh karna tha humne kiye hain.. Ab toh bus unko dua ki zaroorat hain", he added in a quite filmi fashion. Now the nation awaits with a bated breath (reserved for such cases), as to what happens next...<br />
<br />
One word of advise to dear readers. The above techniques though tried and tested over the years by several bigwigs, may not really work for you. So if you are in a similar situation, please do not try this, for the above stunts are performed by trained professionals. For the harder you try, the harder you fail. Do not 'try' to fake it, for it fakes all by itself. Better yet, do not get into a similar situation at all. How do you do this? Pay all your taxes on time, do not bribe or get bribed and please for God's sake do go out and vote.. To make sure such people do not get elected ever again. I know, the next guy may be not be better than this one( he could be a lot worse), but let us by a process of elimination get rid of all these babus one by one.<br />
<br />
Jaago re!! (and drink your tea too)Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-82707082745426673302009-10-28T23:16:00.008+05:302011-02-05T21:06:48.179+05:30Caution: Chicken crossing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i>I'd broken a plastic comb this morning,</i><br />
<i>Followed by a plastic jar of glue;</i><br />
<i>Thank heavens her heart wasn’t made of plastic,</i><br />
<i>Or I'd have ended up breaking that too...</i><br />
<i>(A song not written by the Beatles)</i><br />
<br />
Swaminathan, the village idiot of a remote village in South India caused quite a furore in the philosophical world yesterday when he claimed that he had solved the question that had puzzled philosophers, theologists, theosonists, arsonists(??) and Marxists for several centuries (and in that order). The question in question here is the famed "Why did the chicken cross the road?" or "<span style="color: #444444;">Kukkutaha maargam tarati kim?</span>" as was known to ancient Indian philosophers.<br />
<br />
To the uninitiated, let me begin with the historic importance of this famous question. Any philosopher worth his salt will agree that this question is to philosophy what Einstein's Theory of Relativity is to Physics. The exact origin of this question is still in dispute amongst the historians. Some experts say that this happened during the late Selandian era when the chickens evolved enough to distinguish between the road and the pavement, and the Darwinian force called the "survival instinct", made it cross the road to the other side, where it perceived an abundance of bird seed. However this group of experts is small indeed, for there are several other groups who have put forth arguments that have cast some aspersions on the validity of this theory. Rival groups have long argued that there were no chickens in the late Selandian era and the rest of the theory is hogwash. However a recently unearthed signboard of KFC has been found to be of the late Selandian era (in fact in the last 3 years of that era - carbon dating has accurately established) and this seems to lend a little credibility to the former group (Let's call them Selandian experts) Another group of radicals however argue that there may have been chickens, but certainly no roads in that particular era. Selandian experts have dismissed this saying that the KFC signboard was that of a KFC “Drive in”, and “Drive in” must imply the existence of roads. QED.. <br />
<br />
The opponents look silenced for now, but there is a general air of calm before the storm, and rumours have it that these opponents have an ace up their sleeve that will demolish the Selandian experts once and for all (All this became "like lighting divine fire underwater" or "neeralli madida homa" as Swaminathan, effectively put an end to this topic yesterday. More on this later..)<br />
<br />
The origins of this question is not the only thing disputed with regard to the question. As one can see <a href="http://www.allauthors.com/archives/cat__creative_nonfiction_essays.html">here</a>, there are arguments that chicken did not have the rationality that road was indeed a road. For that matter, it wouldn't discomfort the road-crossing-chicken the slightest bit, if one called road a toad. This seems to suggest that the chicken was well versed in the Shakespearean philosophy of "What's in a name?" which suggest the it was indeed a rational thinker (assuming that anyone who reads Shakespeare is a rational being) Thus a mere suggestion that the chicken is not a rational being leads to 'it' being proved to be a rational being! However such suggestions not withstanding, the author of the above essay has brilliantly dismissed the idea that the "question of chicken crossing the road is meaningless and invalid".Thus there is no need for the rationality or intentionality on the poor chickens part here. It has also been bought to light in the recent <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Large_Hadron_Collider">LHC</a> experiment that this question is indeed a valid one. Scientists recently claimed that the same force that causes a bunch of scientists to study atoms by colliding them against each other and breaking them apart is responsible for such actions of the chicken. Philosophers smirked at this news, saying this is what they had claimed all along. They even named that unknown force as "Curiosity"<br />
<br />
It is to be noted here that this mysterious force has long been associated with felines. This same force has caused several members of the feline fraternity to pay dearly with their lives. This discovery of "curiosity" as the force behind the chicken-road-crossing, some philosophers go on to claim, has heightened the importance of the great question. They say that since there has been no historical evidence of any chicken having to pay with its life, even under the effect of this force, chickens are allegedly immune to the force of curiosity. Their claim is that solving this question will make even humans immune to the curiosity force, thereby prolonging their lives.<br />
<br />
In related news, Chicken rights activists recently held protest near the author’s office stating that it was dangerous for the chickens to cross the Indian roads. They wanted the traffic police to help any chicken crossing the road. Later they distributed pamphlets, which enumerated the safety precautions that chickens had to follow while crossing roads. Unfortunately the 30 chickens who were bribed into attending this protest were nowhere to be seen after about 30 minutes after the start of the protest..<br />
<br />
Coming back to how this question came to be solved, let us first see the previous solutions. Over the years there have been several attempts to solve this conundrum. However none of them seem to have satisfactorily answered the question. Given below are some of the more important theories:<br />
<ul><li>"To get to the other side" (A very popular and old solution) Reason of dismissal: But why? Answered again by: "Perhaps there was grain on the other side" Reason of dismissal: "Perhaps... Indeed *smirk*"</li>
</ul><ul><li>"The chicken discovered that the side of the road on which it was standing on had a KFC outlet" Reason for dismissal - Chickens cannot distinguish between KFC and "McShmucks Home for homeless chicken"</li>
</ul><ul><li>"The sidewalk on which chicken stood was dug up to lay the Optic fiber cables. It had no space to stand, hence it crossed" (A popular Indian theory by the second-cousin forty-seven-times removed of the Nobel prize winning Chandrasekhar) Reason for dismissal - When there is a dispute over the existence of the road itself, there can be no question of admitting the existence of optic fiber (Indians have protested that it was racism that caused the dismissal of this theory)<br />
</li>
</ul>Thus for years there were not satisfactory explanations for this philosophical question. That is until yesterday. And then,<br />
<br />
World sat stunned in silence as Swaminathan announced: "The chicken never did cross the road... Road just happened to move under chickens feet (a la Relativity)"<br />
<br />
Thus it came to be that a philosophical question that was compared in likeness to Relativity came to be solved by the same. Nobel committee has decided to open a new category in philosophy this year. And guess who the prize goes to?</div>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-31748031735716284042009-10-25T19:11:00.003+05:302009-10-31T11:47:55.089+05:30Yet another weekend postBored sitting at home, I decided to go shopping for books. Landed at Blossoms after a little walk.<br />
<br />
So here I am, looking for some books that would help me pass some time this weekend (and many more weekends to come) All of a sudden I bump into a lady, of a different country (more commonly known as a foreigner - or the one who foreigns)<br />
<br />
"Excuse me", says she, "You work?"<br />
<br />
Eh? Now what's this? Why is a person who is revered in our country (as in Athiti Devo Bhava et al) concerned with my employment? What would be the consequences say, if I am to reply truthfully, or should I rather escape with a lie? I had been caught unawares by this question several times until today (all the while <i>this</i> coming from fellow Indians - those who tried to heap upon me some sort of great <a href="http://bankling.com/2009/beyond-madoff-definition-of-a-ponzi-scheme-the-biggest-ponzi-scams-in-history-and-more">pyramid scheme</a> - that would help me earn more money than my current job) And now, this ? (Et, tu ?)<br />
<br />
I made a gesture that indicated neither this nor that <i>ie</i> a shrug and tilt of head from side to side, in a careful hybrid of a yes and a no and tried to get away. Not really xenophobic, but some stranger asking about your employment usually gives one cold creeps.<br />
<br />
Slowly backing to escape this strange predicament, I knocked over a small pile of books. Drat.. I started rearranging them, helped by the lady. Whilst reconstructing the pile of books, she spoke again smiling a little "Where can I find Vikram Seth's Suitable Boy", she said before I could disappear around the corner. I replied this time with words, that I had no idea. "Oh so I'm supposed to find it on my own?", she said a little more serious this time..<br />
<br />
Somewhere in that dingy, cobwebbed, dilapidated old structure some people call my mind, a tube light flickered to life. "You work?" meant "You work here?" (or perhaps I had lost the last word of that sentence) "Oh", I managed to grin sheepishly, "I'm sorry, I don't work here"<br />
<br />
"Oh!"<br />
<br />
Ten minutes later I left the store with my purchases, really wondering if I looked like a bookstore assistant.<br />
<br />
(PS: Hope the lady found her "Suitable Boy")Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-48748509853453938062009-10-17T14:26:00.018+05:302009-12-09T23:54:57.458+05:30How the Grinch Stole DiwaliEven as a kid, he hated crackers. Apparently his dad couldn't fathom the idea that any kid could hate crackers. All of the boy's pleas disguised as, "Let's buy less crackers this year" or the classic "Let's do something else other than crackers" were dismissed with a shrug, and then, "That's alright, we'll get them from Hosur this time. Pretty cheap they've got over there"<br />
Blast!! (pun intended) He thought. Another nightmarish Diwali :(<br />
<br />
I mean, it's not like he hated the explosive variety. He hated even the sparklers. Suresh Heblikar would have been proud of him if not for the fact that he could do nothing to prevent his share of contribution to global warming. And thus he spent a few Diwalis that way...<br />
<br />
Finally on one Christmas eve ,he found a solution to this problem. Watching "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Grinch">How the Grinch Stole Christmas!</a>", he was thrilled with the idea of a creature of this sort(who could steal holidays, not trinkets, but holidays ladies and gentlemen!!) who would come to his rescue and steal Diwali. But how was he, a mere boy, supposed to contact him? Grinch was spotted in Whoville once in a while, but where did he reside for most of his time? Heck, even if he'd write a letter addressed to "Mr.Grinch, Whoville" would it reach him? (If "Dear Santa, North Pole" can reach the jolly old guy, why not our friend here?) He decided he wouldn't allow such petty obstacles prevent him from executing his plans. So be it...<br />
<br />
So he went and contacted the television channel who aired the show, asking them the contact address of a certain, Mr.Grinch. The guy who answered the call was pretty revulsed to be asked such information. Our hero made up a story that he was the reporter of a leading bi-weekly that caters to large group of business entrepreneurs and how with the stock market booming, they would love to know more about the creature, who in course of time would become a brand ambassador of major products world wide (I know this doesn't make sense, but that was the height of his desperation to rid Diwali) "Just think, a lot of kids would buy everything that some green creature endorsed. Why man, Grinch is the next "in" thing. You wouldn't understand all this. So why don't you.."<br />
...<br />
...<br />
...<br />
Dial tone. Drat. The channel guy had seen through our hero's cover..<br />
<br />
It was time to take the risk and write a letter to the green guy. I have reproduced below the contents of that letter, to the best of my memory (as the hero of this story recounted to me one day):<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">Mr Grinch Sir,</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;"> I'm a big fan of yours :) I'm not sure whether this will reach you or not, but I am writing this with utmost desperation. So I request you to please listen to what I have to say.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">Your attempts over the years to steal Christmas, I must say have been very fascinating. I'm sure Christmas is really big in your part of the world. But you see, to cater to a wide range of people, you must reinvent yourself (Don't take this wrong, sir, I respect you a lot) I have a proposal for you.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">This year why don't you come down to India, during the month of October, and we could have great fun stealing a festival called Diwali, that's celebrated here. I'm pretty sure this will be very much to your liking. We will have lots of crackers and fireworks to steal, and we'll destroy them all. Please let me know if you need any further assistance in reaching here, assuming that you agree to my proposal (I'm hopeful you will)</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;"> Warm Regards,</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;"><i> (our hero's sign)</i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i>He addressed this letter to "Mr Grinch, Whoville" and hoped to see a reply in positive soon. Days turned into months as he waited for the reply. He hoped against hope that Grinch still resided in Whoville, and had not moved out elsewhere. That'd be bad for him...<br />
<br />
5 months later,on a sunny afternoon, when he had almost given up hope, he got a surprise! A letter lay on his desk. It was open. Had his father seen the contents ? He hoped not. Hands shaking he took the letter and stared at the reply:<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">Stupid boy,</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"> </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;"> Buzz off... I'm retired now. Besides, I'll have nothing to do with a festival celebrated to commemorate the slaying of monsters and </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narakasura"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">demons</span></a><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;"> (Like I was in the past)</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: blue;"> </span><span style="color: blue;">(PS: Festivals are not always what they seem. Just as Christmas is not about presents, I'm sure Diwali is not all about crackers)</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">sd,</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">Grinch</span><br />
<br />
He looked up to see his father standing in the doorway. He came to the boy and hugged him.<br />
"Son, I've realised that Diwali is really not about crackers. You are right, we'll not have any crackers this year. But would you agree that we decorate our abode with diyas, lamps and lights this year? I mean this is a festival of lights and we should pledge to drive away darkness from our home as well as our minds. What say?"<br />
<br />
The boy was moved to tears. Needless to say he agreed.<br />
<br />
- The End -<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>[</i> <i>Here's wishing you all a Happy Diwali. Before you light that cracker think about what Grinch had to say. I'm sure you'll agree too :)</i> <i>]</i><br />
</div><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-51553190045915232662009-10-10T12:24:00.015+05:302011-02-05T21:12:51.643+05:30Daal mein kuch kaala hain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I will NOT blog about Obama getting Nobel. This statement should in itself should make things clear about my view on the subject. Besides, there are worthier things to blog about.<br />
<br />
For instance, take grocery shopping. It is simple right?<br />
<br />
Breaking it into simple steps, firstly you have to locate your friendly neighbourhood grocer, enter the threshold of his humble store, ignore the overwhelming urge to buy some chocolates - located strategically at the entrance (this urge basically stems from all those years of being denied those goodies inspite of your best pestering - well, I never pestered my parents, ask them if you want - but I still have the urge to grab chocolates), find precisely the item(s) you want to acquire, proceed to the storekeeper, where depending on the time of the day, season and a lot of other factors, you may have to wait in a queue (but perhaps not), get the items billed (those you do not intend to shoplift of course), pay with cash/card or any other means of monetary transaction (barter included) that is valid in your part of the world, and proceed outwards, homebound seemingly delighted with your accomplishment.<br />
<br />
Well I got this mission briefing from my mother, to procure precisely one kilogram of culinary ingredient they call <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pigeon_pea">Tur Dal</a>, also recently in news for being very <a href="http://www.thehindu.com/2009/08/30/stories/2009083059770600.htm">pricey</a> .Entering the store, I proceeded directly to the location my brain indicated through various visual and olfactory cues that the assortment of pulses lay. Having previously being briefed on the exact technical specifications of the above mentioned item (yellow coloured, round, a little flat), I selected the first packaged 1 kilogram block that fit that description, paid for the item and returned home, pleased with my successful transaction.<br />
<br />
My mother had one look at the package and asked how much I paid for it. I declared that it was 32 rupees. "Hmmm.. only 32 rupees for a k.g of tur dal", remarked my mother "Nice deal" Uh oh!! That was when I felt that something was amiss. Or "Daal mein kuch kaala hain", so to speak. I remembered reading about the prices of tur dal sky-rocketting so this could in no way be tur dal, unless whatever I read about was a bad media joke.<br />
<br />
"Why didn't you ask for tur dal at the store?" Would perhaps be your first question, right? Well the answer is: Nay, any self-respecting male will not ask for directions even when lost - and I extend my self respect to such levels as not asking for the store-assistant's assistance in locating items (If you are a male, you'll understand this, else don't bother)<br />
<br />
I returned to the store again, returned the item that mimicked tur dal(it was 'avare' something - I'm told), back to the place where the other pulses of its kind lay and I find that miracle-of-miracles, Holy Father in heaven and all that, the items are actually labeled by their proper nomenclatures!! Below each item, on the rack was attached a handwritten label indicating it's name. Ah.. There's "tuvar dal" Hooray!!!!<br />
<br />
That fuzzy feeling of blissful giddiness, caused by your success at locating a certain item without anyones help overcame me. I literally bounced across the store, landed in front of the puzzled looking storekeeper (Boy! Aren't some people just happy to purchase something as small as tur dal? Why then am I, the owner of the store, keeper of such exotic substances as tur dal, not happy to be doing what I am doing - his look seemed to say) It cost 90 rupees (actually I parted with only 58 bucks - as I had done a substantial share of parting with money during my first transaction) I returned home, handed the packet to my mother, who was satisfied with the quality and contents of it.<br />
<br />
I walked away with my head held high. The Indian national anthem played in my ears.<br />
Mission accomplished.. Bravo Alpha-One, the country is proud of you!</div>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-32175711022147776652009-10-07T12:05:00.007+05:302010-02-09T01:21:05.420+05:30Crash Chrome - a new waySearch Google for "crash Chrome". Everything that's listed there looks fixed with the latest update (3.0.195.25)<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Well, it's noon. I'm at my office with my workstation doing strenuous amounts of work. Chrome has about 15 tabs open. And I find a new way to crash it. Couldn't find it on the net yet, so I'm duty bound to post it, sorry Google :(</div><div><br />
</div><div>Here's how you can repeat it too:</div><div><br />
</div><div><div>Open a web page in chrome and open History. This will be opened in a new tab.</div><div>Pick a day on which you have visited large number of pages. Click "Delete history for this day". Say OK at the popup and immediately close the History tab..</div><div><br />
</div><div>Kaboom kapow!!!</div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389744476702549298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__xSQ5-GYcUo/Ssw4C6P6pTI/AAAAAAAAAsA/OeNaJGdsjbE/s400/crash-illus2.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 259px; width: 400px;" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(enlarged below)</span></div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__xSQ5-GYcUo/Ssw5IeDOaII/AAAAAAAAAsI/W0O-Ou7BfZM/s1600-h/crash2.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389745671723968642" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__xSQ5-GYcUo/Ssw5IeDOaII/AAAAAAAAAsI/W0O-Ou7BfZM/s400/crash2.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 200px; width: 400px;" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>Thats right. Yeah go on, give it a try..</div><div><br />
<i>EDIT: This seems to be a one off incidence. Me and Chrome having a bad day. It never misbehaved with me in this fashion ever again..</i></div></div>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-20232182096386605572009-10-07T00:07:00.009+05:302009-10-07T11:25:40.042+05:30C.Ds of a different kindLooking out of the window you make a casual remark- "It's going to rain heavily today evening" Chances are 2 times out of 10 someone who hears this replies "Oh no it will not", with such a tone that almost implies that it was originally your idea that it rain heavily. And that by disagreeing, they will prevent your supreme show of superhuman powers of nature control by their sheer will power. They are the "Chronic Disagreers".. The strange sub-species of homo sapiens, whose only purpose of existence is to disagree. I shall refer to them as c.d henceforth. You will have greater pleasure reading this if you substitute c.d for something else throughout (Yeah.. the word that has "dress" in it)<br /><br />My association with c.ds goes long back... My doctor disagreed with me when I attempted my first bawl just after birth. My teachers disagreed with me when I started attending school (Both very unnecessary I opine) And then few years ago I was discussing something with a friend, and well... We disagreed on a particular point. Very recently that same topic was repeated with the same friend (yeah.. I recycle conversations once in 2 years) We disagreed at the same point as earlier.. Funnily though, this time around I subscribed to the other guys views (remembering and repeating it to avoid a showdown) and he still disagreed!! I would have rationalised his behaviour perhaps, thinking that he has come around to my earlier view in the grand scheme of things we are all a part of, only if he hadn't exhibited the symptoms of being a c.d over all those years I've known him..<br /><br />This illness perhaps stems from the innate need to be one up on the other person. Especially when you can have the thrill of disagreeing and being successful at that with a fellow of such great intellectual capabilities as myself. Really.. People cannot resist disagreeing with me. Case in point, I am not spared even by auto-drivers... A few weeks ago I happened to find myself on an auto (I found myself there as in - I have no recollection of how or where I hailed and occupied that 3 wheeled wagon) It was raining.. Or perhaps it had stopped raining. Doesn't matter for my narration, anyway, so feel free to assume either.<br /><br />The auto passed/ ferried across a small pond (which I had never noticed all my life) at the base of the Richmond circle flyover. A few other vehicles struggled to get past that pond (my own vehicle had comedown with flu at the sight of an even smaller water body previous day- which led my present situation). Auto driver seeing me looking at other poor vehicles with concern said,<br /><em><span style="color:#666666;">"Nodi saar, bere autogella coil-ge neer seerkondre ashte. Naan coil-ge protection haaksiddini"</span></em> (Or something similar - I don't exactly remember)<br /><br />I said, <em><span style="color:#666666;">"Hmm.. So nimdu LPG naa??"</span>,</em> simply because I thought he wanted to converse a little with me.. Bad mistake. I saw a flash of evil c.d grin before he replied ,"<em><span style="color:#666666;">Ayyo.. LPG-ge addakke sambhanda ne illa"</span></em> (in the same tone Vishnuvardhan said <em>"Nange ninge innumele yava sambhanda noo illa"</em> in a senti-film) Strike one!!<br /><br />A few minutes later he again started talking about how due to heavy rains, a branch of a tree almost fell on the head of someone he knew.. I though it was my duty to make appropriate sounds again. So I said that one has to be careful during such rains. Uh oh... Another grin (disguised as a wry smile - but I tell you, it was a grin) <em><span style="color:#666666;">"En hushaaru saar.. Grahachaara nettig illandre husharaagidru en prayojana"</span></em><br /><br />Strike two!!<br />He nonchalantly dismissed my mild suggestion that one should be especially carefully in such rains and just resign to our fate as decided by the nine planets..<br /><br />Some miles later, he asked me the time. I said 8:30.. <em><span style="color:#666666;">"Ayyo illa saar, adu 6:40!!!"</span></em> Strike three and Out!!<br /><br />Ok, I made the last one up. But twice bitten, third-time shy, I decided to have no more such conversations with this knowledgeable auto-driver.. Apparently he was satisfied with having the last say twice..<br /><br />So what do you when a c.d marks you as a target? For one, you can try steering conversation towards a topic c.d is uncomfortable with.. Or if you are physically strong you can try to knock c.d out before he has the pleasure of disagreeing with you. If all fails, make a run for it! Get as far away as possible.. In the meanwhile I'll look around if some NGO offers a helpline to such hapless victims as myself. I need counseling, for the last attack has traumatised me pretty badly :(<br />Be careful, for they’re out to get you…<br /><p></p>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-7623629897399247182009-10-04T17:29:00.013+05:302009-10-04T19:50:07.064+05:30This post has no purpose<p>This post is dedicated to nothing in general. You may have a strong reason to believe the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Infinite_monkey_theorem">Infinite monkey theorem</a> by the time you are done reading this..<br /><br />First some random facts: </p><ul><li>You cannot pull the same leg twice. </li><br /><li>Two zenzizenzizenzic is 256.. </li><br /><li>World's first commercial ad appeared on July 1st, 1941 at <em><strong>10:10</strong></em> p.m - by a watchmaking company Bulova (Does the time ring a bell??)<br /></li></ul><p>There, that was like getting phleghm out of your throat.. Now for more important random things: </p><ul><li>I spent the better half of my weekend looking for Sid. I figured some frustrated mom had plastered "Wake up Sid" posters all over town, asking the "not-what-the-country-can-do-for-you-but-what-you-can-do-for-your-country" countrymen, to wake up her son. Three frustrated souls named Siddharth, Siddhu and Sidhdharth (mind the double dh) are looking for me all over town, for jeopardizing their evil plans to slumber till lunch hour.. They however do not know where I reside.. Thank God for small mercies.. </li></ul><p></p><ul><li>"One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" is an awfully depressing movie. And yes I'm one of those who judge people by the way they read this title out loud (Are you a ka-kk-oo, ku-kk-oo or a ku-ku person ?) 5 Oscars and being called one of the greatest American movies ever made does not endear the movie to me.. </li><br /><li>As I have quoted elsewhere - Hrithik starrer Kites is not related to nor is a remake of the <s>epic</s> Kannada movie Gaalipata. Rakesh Roshan does not copy. He is only inspired by Hollywood movies (Right, wiseguy, I'm being sarcastic here...)</li><br /><li>24 years to this day, Richard Stallman started the Free Software Foundation. May the code be with you. (Yes this is related to movies too.. How? That is left for the intelligent reader to find out)</li></ul><p>So you figured out I had yet another boring weekend. Few more hours left, lemme see if it can spice it up a notch. I'll round this post with something I heard the other day - very inspiring - see if you can get the serious side of it: </p><p align="center"><em>My drim is old piss</em></p><br /><p></p>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-59840600229428689672009-09-30T23:41:00.013+05:302009-10-01T09:35:10.849+05:30We are the champions??Rameez Raja gloated that the whole of India will be praying for a Pakistan win (for a change - <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">sic</span>) today. Agreed. But I really didn't get what the rest of his <a href="http://www.dawn.com/wps/wcm/connect/dawn-content-library/dawn/news/cricket/08-india-to-pray-for-pakistan-win-at-champions-trophy-ts-06">statement</a> meant.. How the hell is this supposed to bring the nations closer ?<br /><br />Forget his naive idiotic theory. I'm sure a lot of our politicians would have been proud of that statement if he were Indian. I too prayed really hard that Aussies would lose today..But the difference is that I also hoped that India would go on and lose to the West Indies..<br /><br />Eeeps...<br />Now, please put those torches and rakes and forks and sharp-things away.. Isn't it time we stopped praying for other teams to lose so that we can qualify to the next round? If Pakistan won, but India still managed to lose, perhaps that would jolt them into improving themselves (yeah, just perhaps)<br /><br />Alas, today was a bad day for me. None of my prayers were answered. By the time I posted this, Australia had won, knocking India out of the tournament, without them suffering the major humiliation I had hoped for them; playing as if this innings of theirs would earn them a place in the Test squad, and guiding (yawn) India to their only victory of the tournament were Kohli and Karthik..<br /><br />So welcome back Indian cricket team, public memory is short and we'll forget all this in a few days and repeat it all over again.. We'll stoutly defend you even when you ridiculously refuse to agree to the WADA clause.. We'll buy all the products you endorse, religiously name our kids after you and even build temples in your name.. Welcome back..<br /><br />Champions trophy is indeed for the champions..<p></p>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-25972897413600635952009-09-26T11:43:00.005+05:302009-11-22T11:58:26.300+05:30Pre-Sabbath(s), Sabbath and post-SabbathOk.. I admit..<br />
I'm going to have a very loooooong weekend. Longer than most of you are going to have [wicked-maniacal-Joker-laugh] Because I've extended it beyond whatever legal holiday-policies my company permits..<br />
If you think you are going report to my manager about my so called conniving scheme of weekend extension , then I will have to regretfully inform you that I have neither purposefully plotted this nor have enjoyed the extra day off..<br />
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I discovered that getting drenched in the rain, whilst having mild cold can aggrevate it leading to your nasal siphons working overtime. I always thought I was immune to that particular effect of rain. Not to mention the headache that accompanies it. As a result I spent a boring day at home yesterday..<br />
<br />
I'm not writing this to generate some pity for myself from the readers. I'm feeling much better now (though in case you were thinking of sending a "get-well-soon" card, thanks for your concern - I'm touched - seriously - but do send the card all the same)<another></another><br />
Within a week of it's existence, it gives me great pleasure to inform that my blog turns up <strike>as</strike> on the very first <strike>result</strike> page on a very famous search engine (type my name there!!) Advantages of having such a unique surname...<br />
However the title does not appear to be so unique after all.. I have to share it with a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Take_My_Word_For_It">creepy Hong-Kong TV series</a>, some relatively unknown <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Take-Word-Language-William-Safire/dp/0805006060">book </a>amongst others..<br />
I placed myself completely under house-(ar)rest yesterday. My self incarceration continues today- with TV previleges - but am not sure if I can watch todays cricket match to the end(I feel drowsy after <i>[surprise,surprise]</i> taking a dose of cold/cough medicine) Have no idea what I'll do tomorrow and end the very long weekend by being present at my cousins wedding on Monday..<br />
Oh well, weekends are for people who have something interesting to do.<br />
<br />
As Odgen Nash remarked:<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Your hair may be brushed, but your mind's untidy</span><br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">You've had about seven hours of sleep since Friday.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">No wonder you feel that lost sensation;</span><br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">You're sunk from a riot of relaxation. </span><br />
<div style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</div>I rest my case...Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-472534560344030313.post-58866649701940134642009-09-21T23:09:00.001+05:302009-09-29T14:35:06.594+05:30Please refrain from SmokingMy second post also starts off on a bus (I'm not a bustromaniac - and no that word does not exist) I happened to visit Mysore over the weekend and my appearance there during the inauguration of Dussera was only coincidental (trust me). It happens to be an inside joke of a <a href="http://middleclassbrahmin.blogspot.com/2009/01/climate-change-explained.html">friend/colleague of mine</a>(he's the non-mallu guy referred there) that I visit Mysore every other weekend. That's not true either..<br /><br />It was a long time since I'd traveled to Mysore on a bus and my first time from the not-so-new Satellite bus terminal, Mysore road..<br /><br />Me and dad bought tickets and got onto to the bus. And that was when I noticed strange alien people camouflaged amidst rest of us.. Yep, hard to tell them apart, but if you are observant enough you can always tell a Mysorean from a non-Mysorean.. It's probably the sense of relief at leaving Bangalore evident on their faces (who doesn't feel relieved to leave this city ??)<br /><br />The driver came in and announced that everyone had to get tickets before getting onto the bus. Strangely he never asked anyone to show their tickets (a trusting Mysorean perhaps??) Instead he proceeded to every passenger, palm stretched outward in a way a guru blesses his disciples, muttering perhaps a prayer (something like -Forgive them for they know not what they do when they beshrew me for my driving) It was a few seconds later that I realised he was actually counting passengers!!<br /><br />The bus finally started and what a start it was!! I've never been on a bus that crawled like that. Whining, wheezing it struggled to keep up with even the slowest vehicle on the road.. (My cousin told me later that was due to speed limiters - apparently some drivers haven't got used to it yet)<br /><br />Nothing interesting happened for another 3 and half hours(except sleep, tea at Maddur, sleep, sighting of a large congregation of foreign tourists - yeah - Sri Sri's disciples – I knew about them long long before newspapers announced their presence at Dussera, and some more sleep)<br /><br />We reached Mysore at about ten a.m and checked into the Dasprakash's.. We dumped our luggage in our room and came down for breakfast.. That was where I saw the strangest of signs - "Please refrain from Smoking"<br /><br />I've seen a lot of "No Smoking", "Smoking Prohibited", "Smoking here is punishable by law" signs over the years, but never something like that.. Refrain?? Why not prohibit? With that puzzling thought I left the hotel as we took an auto to my aunt's place..<br /><br />I witnessed yet another unprecedented event on my way.. A traffic jam in Mysore!! Nope that's not the event I'm talking about, it's how Mysoreans react to such traffic jams.. There was literally no honking at all.. Damn intelligent Mysoreans, they seem to have realised that honking is no solution to traffic jams!! Wish we could learn a lesson here :(<br /><br />Now, I have an explanation for such Mysorean behavior. I call it the "Aristocratic theory of Mysoreans" (for the lack of a better name) Here goes:<br /><br /><ul><li>The Dasprakash's has been a host to many members of royal families and their ilk.. Now when a Dewan or a king's kin arrived at your hotel, you naturally could not ask them to "Stop Smoking", right? If they had right sense they would refrain from smoking.. This is what I believe is the cause for such a polite sign to be put up instead of the usual - No Smoking<br /></li></ul><ul><li>Mysoreans are perhaps used to traffic jams caused by some king happening to be passing along the same route.. You do not honk at the king, do you? This seems to be the same sense of non-honking even the modern Mysoreans have inherited from their ancestors..<br /></li></ul>Perhaps some kindred soul would further my theory and earn a PhD in the same (from Mysore University ;) ).. Until then I shall spin some more of my theories..<br /><br />(Note: To the wisecrack who remarked that the title of my first post sounded like a high school essay - my minions are well on their way to your place, hope you're prepared to meet their fury)<div><br /></div>Sandeep Cavalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12995995945063893272noreply@blogger.com1