Testing times..

The mise en scene- 26 and a half hours of cramming, 9 hours 28 minutes of telexing, 200 odd pages Photostat‘ing’, 0.0394 inches nails (or less)…the macabre phantom of exams, the only time of the semester I feel, even remotely, “academic”.

I hardly attend classes. Half of my notes is crammed with facts and figures from The Economic times and The Hindu. The other half, a la chat-room archive. Doing experiments in the lab, I consider an insult to my creativity. The maximum I’d do in a lab is tailor [as in verb] the observations. I’m the topper only by serendipity. By accident!

At 2:30 am this Monday, I was poring over G.J Tortora’s Anatomy and at 3:45 am, I was learning the different steps to plot a root locus. On any other day, at ‘this’ time, I’d be reading or re-reading Forsyth or Robert Ludlum or P.G.Wodehouse.

From Angina pectoris and Myocardial Ischemia conditions, Cardiovascular Mechanics and Prosthetic heart to Master Slave JK flip flop, Asynchronous and truncated Counters to Probability, Cauchy’s integration to Virtual reality and Haptics to Computer Organisation, DBMS to Bode- magnitude and phase plots.. It is all, now, in the noggin, sectorwise, well taken, clearly sorted out. Boy, I feel SHARP!

The competition, the marks, the drive, the one night stand, the groggy head [borrowed word], the tumid eyes, amma's eternal nagging,the outlandish question papers, the mystic expertise in writing epic size answers, assuaging the invigilator for that extra 1 minute; it is all so BEAUTIFUL, still and all. I have excluded ‘knowledge accrual’ on purpose. Competition…4 semesters down, 4 more to go…the contest for survival is “still” extremely severe and mutually confrontational..Come November 21^st..Its Armageddon time!!

P.S: Insomnia is a virtue.

The good, the bad, and the ugly

Economic development is NOT urban sprawl and unchecked growth.

SEZ policy is not the mother of all land grab schemes..

SEZs are NOT tax havens or euphemisms for land grabs. SEZs are plucky attempts to create world class exporting zones.
The Left whines as ever. The NGO’s and activists are a pain in the butt. The lawmakers, sensitive to constituents, are forever averse to economic developers. BJP is incoherent. To hell with the Joan of Arc incarnate! Even PC fears the central government could stand to lose Rs.70, 000 crores of tax revenue because of the special concessions given to firms that will operate in the SEZs… Kamal Nath is for once, sounding “unintoxicated”!
Ideally, India should have such a good infrastructure that the whole country is an SEZ. But till that utopia arrives, we need to create enclaves with world class infrastructure.

After the initial tax holiday, far from losing revenue for the exchequer, SEZs will produce a net tax gain of around Rs.40, 000 crores. Shenzhen, China’s premier SEZ, alone exports more and attracts more FDI, than the whole of India.
In our country, tax breaks are given to all infrastructure- roads, power, dams, telecom, large real estate projects; tax breaks for developing SEZs are not exactly “revolutionary”.
Up to 75% of the SEZ area can be devoted to “green belts”, residences, schools, banks, hospitals and golf courses and goddamit these are essential to woo foreign investors.
Consider one green belt under a peasant and another under a corporate house. Which would produce higher yield? Think..

Globalisation is not a monster..

If Western economists are talking anti globalisation language, fancy it as back door protectionism to safeguard their ailing industries. If somebody told you globalisation makes the rich; richer and poor; poorer, add them to your “Such-an-oaf” list. These buggers are going to sell the country.
Lower investments in agriculture, interest rate differentials between loans for agriculture and consumer goods, land acquisition by the govt. for pvt. parties, the security vs. development trade-off in “difficult areas, foreign policies: NONE of these choices is related to globalization.
Pockets of poverty in rich countries or of the prosperous in the poor nations have more to do with choices in domestic policy than with globalization.

A strong thrust to globalization can be combined with a robust social welfare orientation.

I wish my Grampa reads this post!

For greenhorns SEZs=Special Economic Zones..

P.S: Birdbrained mortals with any intentions of commenting about mini and small SEZs; can go eat a weiner!

ragamaalika

I'm sitting in Cafe Coffee Day, sipping Tropical iceberg. Chitti babu's Ranjanamala -Ragamaalika, swishes out of nowhere, cutting across the monotonous fizzing of the place. People crane their necks to ‘communicate’ their wonder. I smirk, looking into the mirror. I'm the proud owner of that ringtone.

I must admit, I'm not a fervid connoisseur of ‘instrumental’ music. I've always believed that we, vocalists, are superior to instrumentalists [we have greater freedom of movement with the swaras] and that people who aint got good ‘swarasthanam’, learn instruments.

We have the choicest collection of Carnatic music at home.

GNB, Santhanam, Chembai, Semmangudi, M.S, D.K.J, K.V.NarayanaSwamy, T.N.Seshagopalan,
M.D.R, T.V.Suryanarayana, Malladi-brothers, Yesudas, Hyderabad-brothers, Jayashree, Sudha Raghunathan, Unnikrishnan.. I’ve heard them all. Again and again.

And when I had to choose a ringtone, I picked Ranjanamala??!! I picked Chitti Babu.

When ‘riyaz’ becomes ‘ibaadat’..

Chitti babu’s veena is as Elysian as Santhanam’s vocal rendition. The virtuosity, fluency and excellence of his ‘play’ is mesmerizing. He coaxes out of the veena, ‘the esoteric secrets of sound that it treasures in the depths of its soul'. Every note..is rich with intricate and subtle turns, graces and embodiments. His raga alapana, neraval, kalpana swara in ‘Nata’ is electrifying. If GNB is the king of Riti Gowla, Nata is Chitti Babu’s homeground.

Take That.

An aunt of mine, a women’s lib, after screaming herself hoarse about the equality of men and women, swoons over a chivalrous man. Evasive…. middle aged women are!
I think women should sit at home, cook for their hubbies and sing them songs. I like macho men who protect and provide for their women folk.

“Small people” are making global headlines. APJ is “conferred” with the power to grant clemency to Afzal Guroo. The unusual interest shown by the NGO’s and the human right activists in the case of an accused convicted of such heinous offense is outré.
Gibbet the bugger!

I have become jaded to the endless stream of whining anonymous posters on my blog; who “also” think like many others think that I am a megalomaniac. Scram! Why do you have to even visit?
I ‘write’ to gratify my ego.

You cannot surf channels without a glimpse of his mug: the faux-stud look, the stubble, the baseball cap and the cockiness. If ubiquity is the measure of success, then this man has reached the top. He has got that “viral” appeal which I fail to understand…
Himesh Reshammiya.

I read Rajaji's Mahabharata again. An 'unputdownable' book. Read it in one night..to counter a silly statement of somebody. Nonetheless..
I feel blessed!

I'm the best and smartest car driver in this world.
Yes.

I read The Da-Vinci Code for the ‘n’th time and I still don’t know, why on earth, people liked that book!
Whatever!

We never celebrated Valentine’s Day growing up. I ‘don’t’..even now.But that doesn’t mean my Februaries are fallow.
We’ve always had the Union Budget..

The Indian Thali

Amitabh Bachchan, lay gravely ill, after an accident on the set of his film "Coolie." The nation came to a standstill; public prayers were offered at every intersection for the actor's survival; anxious crowds thronged the hospital; the prime minister came to sit at the patient's bedside. One fan walked backward for 300 miles, his bizarre penance an offering to the gods for his hero's survival. Two disconsolate youth committed suicide, hoping the heavens would agree to trade their lives for Bachchan's. Big B survived.

When Tulsi returned to Shanti Niketan after two decades and touched its walls, half of the nation wept. So did I.

Inhabited by nearly 940 million individuals of every ethnic extraction, we speak 17 major languages and 22,000 district "dialects". We blog in English.

51% of the country is illiterate. Mother India has educated the world's second-largest pool of trained scientists and engineers.

I stay in a place where Islamic prayer blends with the chant of the mantras at the Hindu temple and the voices of the Sikh faithful at the Gurudwara reciting verses from their sacred book. Anu Mallik cribs tunes from these prayers.

Peasant organizations and suspicious officials attempt to close down Kentucky Fried Chicken as a ‘threat’ to the nation. We invent more sophisticated software for US computer manufacturers than any other country in the world.

We elevate non violence to an effective moral principal. Our freedom was born in blood and our independence still soaks in it.

Nothing can be taken for granted here. Not even its name, not even its national song.

Everybody is a part of the minority. I am a Brahmin, 90% of my fellow Indians are not.

The country's national motto, emblazoned on its governmental crest, is "Satyameva Jayate": Truth Always Triumphs. We look at it, say “Abba Chaaaaaa” and laugh. Just.

We are comfortable with multiple identities and multiple loyalties. period.

We have; maximum films by an actor in an year [Mithun Da, you have done us proud-39 films *dazed*] , largest sky-bag, longest nails etc as entries in the Guinness book.

We cook Potato in 500 different ways natively. We eat Teriyaki burger with stuffed potato for Rs.82/-

I love Riti Gowla. Only ripe people come to our concerts.
I love the Arabic part of Kaho na Kaho. When the Pakistani “Jal” performed here, there was a hullabaloo…

“If on Earth there be paradise or bliss, it is this, it is this, it is this..."

P.S: Amma is calling me for reciting Vishnu Sahasranaamam. I'll have to shush Bade Ghulam Ali and go..

Litmus test.

Mishti is walking in the regal corridors of the XXX University College of Engineering. She is weeping like a baby. Luckily, there wasn’t anybody around. She sits in a secluded place. She could listen to the thunderous applause coming from the resplendently decorated HUGE assembly hall. She hides her face in her hands and sobs; and sobs loudly. She knows nobody can hear her. The events that had happened in the last fortnight flicker in her mind.

The sleepless nights she spent writing articles, editing [read re-writing] articles, thinking of new ideas for the newsletter, ‘Litmus’, her brainchild. She stifled yawns, rubbed her eyes, washed her face with cold water to stay awake. There were times when she felt like she’d faint with the next click of the clock, there were times when she felt a void in her mind; she STILL worked, worked for her brainchild. She was obsessed with the fortnightly newsletter. She reveled in the making of ‘Litmus’. People sent her, their articles. They were bogus. ‘She’ rewrote them all and still put ‘their’ names, all she thought was: the first issue is about ‘setting standards’ and ‘publicity’. She bunked classes, she read widely, she missed her music practice; she missed a day’s ET read, all for the sake of ‘Litmus’. People called her for articles, ideas, and everything; every minute. They asked her for correction in sentences, fonts for headings, what article goes on what page, the size of the articles, the format of the articles, colour of the newsletter, headings and subheadings, pictures for articles. She did it all. She did it happily. Because the fool loved her brainchild. She wrote the introduction, droodles, account of the celebrity interview, a column on Stocks and Economics, a poem, myriad articles, the editorial, book review, picture puzzles and all that bull. She ran from department to department, Internet lab to Principal’s office, forwarding articles, taking interviews, public opinions, permissions… She must’ve opened MS word a million times this fortnight.

The day before its release, she is walking home from the college, a group of people taking care of the printing, call and ask her to come up with an article, to fit in a column’s space. She runs home, switches her computer on, writes some bumper stickers that come to her mind, and mails them…..

The day of release: She is all excited; hoyden. The copies of 'Litmus' arrive. She asks a final year guy, she wants to see it. He tells her it’s a surprise. She gets to see it only after the Principal unveils the first copy. She waits…waits with anticipated confidence. Another final year guy makes a speech telling students about the making of 'Litmus'. There is not a whisper of her name. She’s shell shocked. The principal opens the first copy. She is not called on stage. She is appalled. She quivers. She makes for the antechamber. Those guys are barking something between themselves. She asks them a copy. They say she will get one when everybody else does. Derision! The guys go on to the stage when the editorial team is called, leaving her struck dumb. There is a copy of 'Litmus' on the table. She picks it up…She sees… ‘7’of her articles do not have her name. The editorial does not have her name. Offstage, onstage or in the paper, there aint a sputter of her name. She shudders. She cannot hold the copy; she leaves the assembly hall in dejection...

She blogs in melancholy...

Shifting paradigms of middle class relationships

Trring Trring.. : &*(%$##@&%$#...
…. my dad announces that my uncle and his family are coming for dinner.

“DAMN”, I exclaim.
[My father grits his teeth in seething ire, but thankfully, he refrains from saying anything].

“Shifting paradigms of middle class relationships” prods my brother, profoundly.

I was on national TV and I’ve told only three people in the whole nation about it. Green eyed scowls and “oof, Miss. Flaunt” reactions is all I’d get if I told the other 1,027,015,247 people.

There were times, when my dad took pride in inviting relatives to our concerts, now our concerts are low-key, hush-hush affairs.

There were times when I used to look forward to visits to grandma’s place, now it is just a consuetude.

There were times when we cousins cried while departing; now, we at the most, shake hands and grin.

There were times when it was "I love...", now its "I don't hate.."

There were times when “relationships” mattered, now it’s the “whats in it for me” that does.

Since changes are usually made within the subconscious, change doesn't usually occur without results. Results don't usually change without belief and you start to believe when you ‘see’ results…This is what I saw…appalling but true!