A little something on Crappers..

An honorable, serious blogger who even cares for a moderately decent audience should never steer onto a topic that borders local indecency as this. That said, I am not a serious blogger, I don’t care for decent audience and my honor is beyond debate or reconciliation so let me get started right away.

Now what is it about some people that makes them crap all the time? They crap if the weather cock turns or if the traffic freezes. They crap when they come across more crap just as often as they would when they come across the crap-less. Then there’s the whole holy crap, and unholy filth.

And it’s not a one-off thing either. I wrote eloquent literature on the pee-ability of dogs and how that helps world peace. And on how the slimy dribbles of snot can change the technological landscape. And bird poo theories. But this crapper thing is just… crappy!

Before I diverge any further let me take you deeper into the soft core of the matter at hand- it is NOT the crap that matters but rather is the crapper.

Crappers! They put world-changing discussions on hold and let the mist of ideas fade into the oblivion with their untimely escapades. They let loose their physio-emotional-pshycho-tempo-biological effluents in the no-way-but-die elevator rides for the rest of the crew to enjoy. They hijack perfectly honorable coffee break discussions.  They break the social order of gatherings with their pleasantly held gobar. No gadget, no technique, no diet satisfies them for a month, and yet if they leave home without it they will offer unto the universe their variations of Hugo Boss.

While I find crappers one of the supreme failures of the theory of evolution alongside pathetic excuses for human life, I can at least understand if there is a certain level of biological uncertainty involved. After all, it is only likely that the crapper eventually understand the level of disruption they bring upon the world.

But wait, no! Consistency and constipation seem to go together. The loudest shall crap, and the rest shall be reduced to simpler lifeforms that shift to anaerobic respiration. Oh, and cannot re-crap.

And it follows that you cannot compete with the seasoned crapper for they can, and will smother you with years of experience and baked beans. If the crapper is a girl, you could at least expect a stern lecture on indecency and lack of tact in bringing up as delicate a subject. A guy? Expect to go down in a “who’s the bigger crapper” contest.

This post is not with an oblique target. Possibly because I don’t know what an oblique target means. It isn’t a rotten retort either. Rotten, possibly, depending on the time since exposure and initial set of bacteria available for the break down. It isn’t much of an opinion either. Just that the next time I see that constipated look and 20-rounds-a-minute crap, I’m going to give them a good smack approximately in the nasal bridge area. And follow it up with forced enema.

PS: If the chronically medically constipated or with “uniform motion tending to infinity” find this disturbing- don’t. I have nothing against biological crappers- chronic and hobbyists. It is the verb-lingusitic types that get me…

Vent.

Whats wrong with not being a pet lover, seriously?I am not too fond of dogs. I throw up on the sight of cats. Thats a lil overboard but yeah, thats just me right?

I tweeted this up but I am sure this will serve well for a blog.At given point of time, knowledge is a constant. Meaning, when people say they figure out something , they just ‘uncover’ right? And creation is not very humanly capable because you uncover things from the already  created things. You create from a creation and you aren’t the source. Like someone recently told me how vinyl records are back in vogue because of the audio quality. Its just revamping. Uncovering is exploring and moulding out of a creation but thats where it ends.

I have been having very interesting conversations of late. And the more I think about it, the more I seem to have my questions on evolution and belief systems answered. Its a lil crazy, the evolution if you will for my arguments on the entropy of a system being a constant has been met with objections. And email exchanges have become fun.

I am so addicted to my iPhone. Its not that I want to brag but honestly, I have gotten past the SMS days. Last five years I have changed about 7 phones and this is the first time that a phone feels like a part of me.I am becoming a lil helpless but I think an Ipad this month will sooth all that irritation:D

I don’t really relate to college kids anymore (which is very bad!) and I seem to be eternally reading something off techcruch , HBR , wired en all the blah. I miss reading real books though. I have been trying very hard to read the art of choosing by Sheena Iyengar but the book is supremely tranquilizing.

I have become a brag person. V says I need to learn to take a break from talking gibberish but beneath I know the guy likes it that way. Its been more than two years since we started going out (I met V first in 2007) but everytime the train pulls over at the cantonment-with V waiting for for a 9.30 PM train from 8.30 PM-  there is heavy rush , a maddening excitement like its the first time ,talking over phone constantly asking each other if the other person is excited and all that. And when the train pulls over and my eyes search for V across the flood of humanity , V will invariably spot me first with his biggest grin. I have attained salvation like that many times.

I performed for the Saraswathi Pooja. I began the concert with Thilang and drifted off to Lalitha (Dikshitar’s Hiranmayim). Thanjavur Iyengar’s Ranjani(Chathurthandi Prakaasikai) was a lil tough given the ‘edupu’ was important since the song was a conglomeration of four Ranjanis but I could see my Guru’s face flush with pride so there, I hit that off well. I know I have a long way to go to break inside the Sabha circle but then I have many years ahead of me. I just hope I don’t get drowned into work all that much.

Working in Chennai has been a breeze thus far. I have always thought I am a lil allergic to codes but this experience is slightly telling me otherwise. And I have put off my Masters plan to 2013 since I think I am too confused at this point to decide on what I really am passionate about. Having a gazillion choices is not very healthy. My trump card for these things when people ask me is ‘Oh wait! I am too young’.Heh.

Now to the bit that gets me worked up: The trivia being V and I address each other ‘macha’. Since the day I have known him, I am used to calling him da. I still do. And our families don’t seem to have a problem with that. I mean,we respect each other and we are super proud of eachother en all. But honestly, proving to the world is not my thing. Living our life the way random maamis want us to, I don’t subscribe to that point.

Well, this stint at Chennai away from home is not really doing good on me. It appears as if I will have to stay here for a good half a year almost and its exasperating. I miss home. I miss lazing around with V in our house. Cooking at midnight and waking up in the afternoons. I miss a lot of all that. Music keeps me in good cheer but I don’t know for how long I can prolong this.

Okay bye.

Seemingly Unrelated Regressions

Some days, every day is an event. Wake up in celebrity mode, whistle an incoherent tune between the toothpaste and the spit… Waltz in to work, shoot out gold and silver stars like Harry quite didn’t in the fourth book… Whip up a cuisine and relax while at it, and cool it off, knowing tomorrow is going to be just as awesome…

Then there are others- a pity that the old Pope Gregory XIII added to the otherwise already dull and pointless array of dates. Wake up swearing. Spill paste out of the brush. Demotivated work, shooting passersby with rulers and empty coke bottles, imagining them to be hand cannons. Lie down hungry, head spinning out of control in the thought that every day is just the same…

With an evil 300 odd kms back in place between me and A, the week has progressively moved to regression. Like regress, the opposite of progress, not the statistical thingy where you force a bunch of points onto a nice functional form. Interesting that other than the niceties of the telecom giants that gave back their 2G booty in slashed STD rates, regression is quite the respite. Researchy and all…

Since the day A’s plan got semi-frozen, days have moved closer towards pity days. That is not to say the celebrity ones weren’t- just lowered in frequency. Weekend plans, dinner get-aways… A’s a genius planner with the persistence to see them executed. I’m not complaining.

My first taste of real statistical modeling came by with something called Seemingly Unrelated Regression. The rough idea is that the error terms are correlated, so what might seem like an unrelated regression to a myopic, astigmatic mortal like my self was actually not quite. Statisticians are still actively debating on whether to call it Seemingly Related Regression instead. True, that’s the kind of debates statisticians have.

To me, the SUR model speaks of something more philosophical. A bunch of things that seem unrelated to lesser mortals, in which case you would place each of these in a separate box in your head, could actually have some randomness at the end that you just decided to not consider, considering this being random and all, that was actually not that random when you considered the rest of the bunch of things together. It also showed me that I could write insanely long sentences without Word’s grammar nazis painting the whole page red.

Totally unrelated (seemingly), I decide today is a celebrity day. With reasons, of course.. Today is exactly 2 days after exactly 1 year when A’s and my folks decided that approximately 8 and a half months hence we would officiate the oaths we had shared a couple of yearsago. Every day with A is a celebration. Seriously. There isa tensed getting-ready. There are plans. There is awesome food, cooked by us, greater folks or a burrp certified restaurant. There is fun and music. There is a fair bit of dance. There is the moment of relaxation that can only be compared to diwali days in high school, towards noon when the sound of crackers have subsided to little kids with kuruvi and extra bijjlis, and the area boys who have kept at it from a month before, and surely a month after. As you savor the spicy-sweet lagiyam and roll back to watch Baasha on Sun TV for the millionth time. That relaxation.

With A around, there’s always life. Even if she’s curled with her Doris whos-that-name, or a brick sized book written by some Sundaramoorty Iyengar on the exploits of something at sometime, causing something. And then hear her views and debates, knowing that all all other mortals would merely have condensed tweet of comment thread on facebook. I haven’t really touched that xbox much. It is no fun playing without A asking me to shut it off.

So that’s the other thing about SUR. Sometimes, the gold and silver sparks seem flying about and yet there is a seemingly regressed air, quite unrelated to events, days and calendar. Just a passing mood. An annoying wind of depression.

I never really liked mobile phones. Come to think of it, I don’t think they liked me all that much either. It’s not the same. Not even close. I try to think about how I survived all the time before the 1 year and 2 days milestone, or between that and the 3 months and 18 days milestone… Or then and the 6 months and 5 days milestone.

The more I think about it, the regressive pattern seems pretty related. I’m just going to curse Gregory and think about the celebrity day round the corner…

Tata Vacuums…

Monologue. Monotone.Miserable little vacuum. And all those divide by zeros and neg infinites.

Vacuum is a funny thing, Rather, the lack there-of.. Nature abhors it. Physics avoids it. Math just fails to consider it. And yet, like an indomitable force that pervades the universe… And gets fine dust particles out of the car seat.

It’s been a while since I wrote something without either ROI, someone from UX or a peer-review process to worry about. To be honest, I had to google what “indomitable” meant.. That long!

A would have known. She is generally a genius of sorts when it comes to these things. She would have known the meaning even if that was a word I just made up.

I am not really too fond of using initials in posts. Me? I would rather quote “Mrs.A”… But A says that’s how its done, and that’s how it shall be.

A is adamant. If she were to be crowned emperor she would decree Dosa’s for morning, noon and night. Make that the benne masala at CTR. Her choices generally tend to be excellent so it does best to agree.

Disagreements, though, are fun. Inspiring, educative and really the only way a game-playing, work-doing, bullshit-adiching arse like me would ever get my news. But fun,without doubt. A speaks with passion.When she points the flaws in Anna’s fast, or the economic falterings, or just the quality of samosa’s down her alley, you can see her face flush with pride and emotion.

Quite obviously then, A loves Chennai. I used to like the city myself.My grand-dad’s dad forgot to mention the village he came from to his son, so all I have for”what is your native?” is a rusty hospital in Rangarajapuram, in a rusty corner of Chennai.

I don’t like it all that much these days though. You would think weather, or economy or traffic. Rather not quite. Of the recent few, I have grown to despise it… Like you would the villain that kidnaps your damsel.

A is music. Just listening to her sing would teleport one to a different universe, and you will have to push yourself pretty hard in distraction, lest all but the bodily you gets lost in the hyperspace of multiple harmonics superimposed with just the right functional notions, acting like the Almighty bar magnet, polarizing the mind into a single flow of hypontic wonderment. In other words, she is Awesome.

With respect to music, I know precious little and understand even lesser. From a negative zillion gazzilion, to a point now where I can at least appreciate the nuances of an RTP (A still has to tell me which is the R, the T and the P) is testimony to how addictive A can be.

A is a great teacher. A friend. And beyond all else, in lieu of this getting mushy-mushy, just the sight of her can do wonders.Or just screaming her name a thousand times, for her to come running in, and have nothing really to say except the same thing I already did 37 times. Or me drive off lizards from the room and be championed by A for a half hour.

Every moment is life brimming up. Vacuum is not. I wish the great Tata’s just stuck to tea and coffee and hotels and everything else and steered clear of IT. 47.

Update:

Sometimes I wonder if work matters much over people. Work calls and a move to the other city couldn’t be averted. I am going to miss V for a good while. Not sure how long but I hope its not going to be all that much. I owe the best memories of my life to V. Cliched, but V is just more than the husband. He is my bestest friend. I can talk to him about anything under the sun and the dude wouldn stereotype me a bit. I am going to miss waking up late. I am going to miss staying up hungry the whole day only to wait for V to come home and whip up delicious dinner for us. V is a learner. He is a history buff. Racer. An amazing cook. Mathematician. Marketing genius. Techie. Cartoonist. Gaming buff. Programmer. Writer. Traveller. Ask him anything, he has the answer. V is also my teacher. There is really not anybody who cannot but like V. V floored my entire family off with his humor the first time they met him. And his father-in-law still can’t stop raving about V. V is also my travel companion. V is also the one who says sorry first. V danced at our sangeet sans a single previous attempt to shake a leg. V has started liking Carnatic Music because I keep discussing raagas with him. It takes a great deal to like someone like me. I don’t cook all that much.I am a mediocre feminist. I like things to happen my way. I get worked up easily. I cannot stay put at home for more than one full day. I am a spendthrift. I am not an early riser. I don’t like idlis.I don’t like Chinese food. V hasn’t ever dictated terms on me whereas I have.Surprisingly V is so innocent that he doesn’t even know that I am inherently flawed this much. I am not sure if this move is right. I am not very sure if I am being that girl who thinks being independent is bending to the rules of the corporate cycle and neglecting the family  turf.V understands me more than anybody else and this is one of those times I am taking that understanding for granted. I feel sorry for myself.

The ruins of Hampi.

                                      Sights and a good bag of memories from what was once the capital of the Famous Vijayanagara empire. And all that remains today are the stones that live to say the tale of Hampi-Krishnadevaraya’s paradise. Hampi is beautifully sad. A visual treat. It is also an appalling remainder to the atrocities of the Muslim invaders . But Hampi continues to live content with its glorious past , happy to serve the eager eyes of the seeker…with its old-world charm, Hampi hangs loose midway ..serene, adamant and lifeless.I can do a post but lack the patience to type down. Posting a few pictures hence..Am just a fledgling photographer.This trip has made me a lil confident with the camera. Also there seems to have been an ISO problem. Hence the blurs here and there

Inside the vittala temple...The Vittala foyerThe Monolithic chariot..

The Hampi Sadhu. With a Gomateeshwar.

A typical Hampi villager

The Monolithic chariot..

The Vittala foyer

Attempt tapas atop hampi rocks..Notice the olivattam I say

Thanjavur and Thiruvaiyaaru for this month. I intend inaugurating a travel blog so that I can document my travels .Soon.

From the archives

Now that I have decided to make this blog intensely personal -for a while- I see no wrong in posting my notes off FB in here. Just not in a great mood to blog(Killing a good part of the time in twitter/FB/foursquare ..add what you will). And I have felt the need to update this space regularly. Hence the post(s):

1)Two days and yet another birthday. This year is very special for me. Like the last year and the year before and the one before that.I have always believed I am very special.I think it does help a lot to identify the person in me. A lot of gyan comes around, a lot of thinking goes into forming perspectives and sometimes I get the feeling I am becoming less interesting and more complicated. I was a black-or-white person for a long time.Because I thought it simplified living despite being extra super judgmental,more serious and  less fun .But somewhere along I tripped -discovered the golds, the purples, the pinks and yes, the greys too. And there is no regretting about that. Because everybody goes through that phase of wanting to be identified as the cool one, hanging around with friends like its the end-all, crying over broken relationships that hardly mattered and being an intensive fuss-pot.And from there on I think I have come a very long way.And I ve definitely become less judgmental, less arrogant and back to the blacks and whites.Though its less fun and life is full straight line , it lets me sleep well and be nice.So there, I am a lot more different now but also the very same just that I ve realized  independence is more internal than anything…This birthday I am a much happier and freer person -Jan26,2011.

2)

An inspiration, perhaps.

A dream, gloating and the gossamer streamlined.

To know or not is not what I know. To know and know wise,to feel and feel the brilliant confluence of light…

It sure is not what I am used to. 1.00 AM and a FB note is not what I do, in tandem. But I so feel like tagging along the flow that keying down doth maketh sense.. A humongous and sapient thought creeps up..Fills the void . And in that little wonderment life proffers, for all the good the bad and the best-we hold true what we amusingly want to believe is true..that for a moment the underlying ethic of whats meant to be true doesn’t really matter for it is the choice that stands monumental in the portals of ordinary lives and apparently, thats what makes the essence of being ordinary ‘special’.-December 2009.

3)

I sometimes know this voice..I ve seen it often and I quite cannot pinpoint moments those seem to steadily age with my deepening sense of cynicism…Its all so irrelevant now, as I write this . But it also seems so important to put this down..Masochist is what I wouldn brand myself to be. But a stealthily malicious tone keeps resonating inward. I don’t even remember how it used to be save the horrified wonder when I really think about the magnitude of scurrilous bitterness I seem to successfully invest. I know I am capable of fantastic kindness. But puzzling it be, I remember wanting to use the opposites of all adjectives that I use to qualify myself to identify mineself. Until I never write things I am blinded by delusions of grandeur. Writing seems my perfect aegis. I suddenly wonder if its all human to live under such veils. But I ve also discovered its better to just leave it at that.

 

I know it is impossible for me to reply rationally. Ironical, you might say. But I enjoy this.-November,2008.

I am also hoping that people reading this should understand that these emotions tagged under various timelines are borne out momentary boredom/’am also trying to philosophy’ moments. Otherwise , I am all for total fun . No need the justification part, but defending thy self is not very criminal too. Visiting Hampi this weekend to unleash the photographer in me and to learn some history. A great finish to the month. Will get back.

 

The identity city

I am not sure of the eventuality. I am here sitting in an alien city.. the city that I think has failed to capture my liking. The city by far looks gloomy to me. Lifeless. Soulless. People –IMO-use the city because the city mints them  their money …The sprawling campuses that is the electronic city, the totally bewildering number of shopping malls, uneven roads, comparatively cheap autos, a comfortable night life, unrestricted alcohol,the greenery..name it you have it. I suddenly miss Chennai.Maybe I am just being nice by saying suddenly. I think I always miss Chennai. Its sad that I benchmark every good thing in this city with the better things at Chennai. That is significant partiality, if you will. But living and growing up and loving a city because it is worth all that love  conforms to the acceptance of sentiment as a valid standard.Thinking about the long walks in Mandeveli ,days when call from across the seas was lifeline, every single café visited. Every restaurant frequented. A lot of friendships made. Places where the friendship quietly slugged out to let love in. Live music classes. Days when hours din’t matter because music meant a time warp. A great big gang of friends. .The people who din’t matter because they never existed. The first trial smoke with the two women atop the hills. Kutcheris. The fear of losing out on the raga improvisation in a concert. The concert where I specifically forgot to do the RTP embarrassing the guy on the mridangam. The bad driving. The sweaty weather and the endless complaints about the city. My identity that is Mylapore. Impromptu gossips with the dance teacher. Back to being friends mode. The random bike trips. ECR. The official meet up at the look out point. The long drives that now is a distant memory. ‘I can drive at 150 kms/ph’ thenvattu and the Pondy mishap that ensued. Backpacking in random. Kovils. That invincible feeling. That feeling of let loose in the pink scooty. The countless plates of Pani Puri at Gangothri. Shopping. SHOPPING. Being that shopaholic and this city despite its vast expanse of the malls doesn’t really make me want a want. The hookahs with A.The travels plan meetings at Barista. That high and the olarals of my life’s secret that is now only normal. Movies. MOVIES. The unreasonably idiotic flicks to the coolest of action flicks . Again. British Council. The Music Academy flyover . That feeling of invincibleness, cutting across the flyover at a torque that a poor scooty pep tried enormously hard to handle. The beach therapy. Depression, wins, word-wars,break-ups, poetry,the deep insightful discussions on why the matrix is a stupid movie and why Tom Cruise is a Scientologist-the beach seem to have seen it all, the dog chase at Bessy,the early morning beach games with the gang, The Japanese class, KB road and the corner shop, the masala cheese sandwich at the famous stall down Alsa Mall, cho and politics, Thuglak and my model for a politically stabilized nation. Should I stop? Maybe I need time to make memories in this city. And with time,I hope, the alien feeling will pass.This city lacks a story. This city lacks a tradition that probably needs to be dusted off the muck. Bangalore looks like a land populated by humanoids, laced with technology driven comfort (to my liking) and interspersed with a weather that is an oxymoron for it makes the endurance worth it.  I am sure I will have tales about Bangalore that I can silently shove off as a personal entry someday. Until then and after, home is where heart is. And no, I refute it when you say ‘familiarity breeds contempt’. Familiarity is comfort and liking is also longing.Chennai , I long.

P.S: An impromptu diary entry. Posting it here because I felt like it. Emotion ya.

Just popping in here..

Bangalore. The two. Vanilla tea. GRE,TOEFL. Applications. Samskrit. Workouts. Unix. Social Media. Vythiri. The road trip. Planets and astrology. Instrumentation.Wendy Donniger.System dynamics. Newspapers. Rudram. Music classes in Skype. Poorvikalyani, again. Fledgling photography. The new Canon SX130.The weekend movie.Mall hopping.City discovery. The travel plans. Work. The travel blog. Benne Masala Dosa at CTR. The orange bicycle. Qvikr. Life.

With all this, where is really the time to blog?

Travel posts , pictures and a few updates up and coming. Life has never been this excitingly intelligent.

Slight dementia

I am so funk now.

I have stopped looking forward to a lot of things. Momentary feeling, should pass.

I am going to miss the luxury that is home.

I was whooshing past my school the other day. Oh ..used to be the school pupil leader and all that jazz. Higher secondary saw me striding past the corridors with a ‘my word is the rule’ type arrogance. Power ,decent  money , respect, attention, weekly crushes, gangs..Sometimes I miss them. Most times I don’t. Doesn’t really matter. Miss school albeit.

Officially an engineer now. I was fervently praying that this torture end very soon but really the idea that I am done with exams and marksheets and charulatha publications and ink pens..needs a while to settle.

I am becoming super very religious offlate. I just hope I let my logical side live.

I have also been contradicting myself. Is this what is that ‘early-twenties-syndrome’?

I don’t believe in friendships.Its all bullcrap. Now don’t let tamizh cinema pollute you.No backstory en all.A passing thought.

I miss taking my bike out at 10 pm on the roads, ears all plugged in to music .I miss driving.Poetry.

Making good progress with my music. Learned to sing poorvi kalyani with all its nuances today. Liberation.

Oh and btw, what is the meaning of life?No, don’t even get me started about Douglas Adams now.

Random post.My blog, I will write whatever I want to.Poda.