I did not know that I'll put the next part to An unpleasant interaction so soon :)
Well there has been a shake up due to bad performance and my manager has got a new boss.
The new boss has given total power to my manager and that is supposed to be bad.
But my manager took this chance and has actually shot his own foot.
He just does not know about it ;)
He has selected two of his incompetent favourites to act as leads.
He has completely bypassed a person who was the acting lead for the past three years.
And the one who is bypassing her cannot lead :)
As for the other one, no one listens to him.
Now its so funny, my manager has committed two blunders at the same time.
And antagonised lots of people.
How will he get support of the people who are actually working, to improve the performance?
So its fun time now, I'll sit back and enjoy the whole show.
The new boss is very demanding of his leads, he follows perform or perish.
My manager will get fried soon :)

PS : I don't hate my manager as a person, he is just incompetent.
PS to me : Stop using your blog for venting out your frustrations.

Not able to sleep at 1:30 am, cause I am totally agitated.
Had a minor fight with my manager today.
#^@^*$@%* has learnt a new word - proactive.
Pretty stupid for someone who is totally passive.
He just parrots the word asking everyone to be proactive.
I am already proactive in my job.
If I start being proactive by his defn, I am actually doing his job and not mine.
Anyways, the guy had reached my limits of tolerance.
Next time, if he even utters the word to me, I am gonna call it quits.
Gonna call my delivery head immediately and tell that I am changing my project.
You keep this idiot manager who cannot do his or mine job when I can do both.
The idiot has irritated everyone since he has come 6 months back.
So I went to the food court to cool down.
And there another idiot tried to show me the latest N series phone.
I politely refused, No thank you.
The guy looked at me incredulously as if he is offering me a Ferrari.
It is a cell phone dammit, just a man's toy.
He protested, I have not even shown you the phone.
I gave him a very hard angry look, said Pleaseeee...
Thank goodness the guy took off after that.
Why should he bear the brunt of my anger?
I am so worked up, even after 8 hours and
pouring in front of 3 friends, I am still agitated.
Ahh, I need to sleep, where the hell is my sleep?

As I was walking down the road, I chanced upon this couple in front of me.
Holding hands, swinging them, so lovely, so romantic.
Will I ever be in that place, holding hands with someone?
Such a lovely sight, but trust me, I'll spoil it.

I have promised myself many times never to try to understand women.
Even though I try to break it sometimes.
Yes, women are queer, different. Strange acting.
(Please don't send me hate mails)
Among other things, they take hours and hours to get ready.

Ok, finally ready, but that's it? Quite not.
Tagging along will be a purse.
Why call it a purse, that is a fancy name for something else. A bag.
A mammoth 10 kg bag, on the shoulders.

God only knows what women carry.
I won't even try imagining all the stuff in there.
Funnily, it is a day to day bag.
Though, it looks more like a disaster contingency bag.

Take men's bags.
Most men carry a plain small bag or a wallet.
Money, cards, driving license, some papers etc.
And always some photos of himself.

For men, it is easy not to carry a heavy wallet.
It becomes damn hard to sit anywhere with a fat wallet.
As for women, the bigger, the better.
But it should be stylish, even if the poor bag is filled to the brim.

I don't really know who should I pity.
The woman or her shoulder.
Or the fully packed poor bag.
But no, my sympathies lie with someone else.

It is the poor mannnnnnn.
He has to carry the bag.
He can't even refuse, when he is asked to carry it.
And he doesn't even want to be seen by someone carrying that.

Where can the poor guy hide? Behind the bag only, I guess.
He is embarrassed by carrying the ladies' bag.
And what the heck? It is a full 10 kg bag.
Talk about double discomfort.

As for the beautiful romantic story in the start.
Yes, the guy was carrying his girl's bag.
Life does not make you ready for a lot of things.
Surely not carrying a woman's bag.

keiraknightley@yahoo.com

Hello,
My name is Keira (Oh my!) i went to your profile at www.crazymona.rediffiland.com (When did I create a profile at her blog, when did I create a profile at my blog, all it says observing, I could be observing birds or rats or women's assets for all you know) and i love it (Oh great, love is in the air and in my mail), i think we can click from thier also (Click from where? Where's my remote control, to click you off?) i will like you to reply me through my email thus; keiraknightley@yahoo.com so that i can sent you my pictures for you to know me well (I hope you are sitting in your Ferrari in that pic) and remember that distance (Where are you from, the dead sea?) or color (That's never a problem, Indians always look for a 'fair' bride) does not matter but what matter's a lot is true love (What is love, baby don't hurt me), i will be awaiting to receive your lovely reply (I don't send lovely replies) on my mail box below;
keiraknightley@yahoo.com

Your's Keira,
(Get off me!)
Please reply me back at my email box thus; keiraknightley@yahoo.com
(Why have you mentioned your mail-id 3, oops 4 times? Checking for spellings or grabbing my attention?)


Dearest one (Not dear but dearest, the girl must be melting in love right now ;) ),
My name is Scarlett Johansson (Am I lucky today?) 22 years old girl (Aha, a young girl) a university undergraduate (BSM - Bachelor of Spam Mails) from Abidjan Ivory Coast (never heard of it, have to check at google maps).MY late father was killed by his business associate (For sending spam mails, I believe) and he deposited the sum of $12.5 million Dollars (What about the interest accrued?) in a suspence (Suspense / Suspended / Defence / Suspect?) account here in the bank in my countrty (They don't teach english properly, isn't it?). now my life is in danger (For sending spam mails, right?), the people that killed my late father are after my life (So just stop sending spam mails) , they want to kill me (How do they kill in your country, do they boil you in oil or hang you upside down from a tall tree?) and claim this money from me (Spend it all, they won't be able claim anything in that case), now i want you to help me transfer this money into your account in your country (This I must say is a good idea, considering the low exchange rate of rupee vs dollar), i have maped (Is that a real word?) out 15% of the total money for your compersation (Compensation?) for helping me out and 5% for any expencis (Expenses?) that you may contribute for this transfer (Why will I contribute any expenses?).Please it is very urgent (I won't treat this at all) reply me directly (Why should I?) now through my private email box for more details . (scarlett_johansson@sify.com)
Thank you and God bless you, hope to hear from you soon.
(A good mix of emotional and monetary appeal, I  must say)

best regard
sincerely yours,
(Of course, you plan to marry me right?)
Scarlett Johansson
(No, thank you missy)


*Names have been changed not to protect any identities but for my own amusement.

The passing away of the only Indian to be appointed Field Marshal when in active service has been remarkable for the warmth of the ordinary men and women, who queued up to say meebeenamet to the adorable dikra who put his life on the line for them.

It has also been remarkable for the complete lack of grace and gratitude, civility and courtesy, decency and decorum on the part of the bold-faced names rapaciously grazing the lawns of power in Delhi and elsewhere, for the brain behind India's only decisive military victory.

Sam, the Bahadur, had been unwell for a while now. From about 1000 hours on June 26, reports of his being "critically ill" had appeared in the media. Yet, when the "expected tocsin" sounded at 0030 hours till the guns were fired in salute around 1500 hours on June 27, "civil society" chose to show its incivility.

    * Pratibha Patil, the commander-in-chief of the armed forces with all the time in the world: Absent
    * Hamid Ansari: Vice-president releasing books and writing reviews of books by fellow-travellers: Absent
    * Manmohan Singh, the prime minister who could do with a bit of the field marshal's charisma and heroism: Absent
    * Sonia Gandhi: daughter-in-law of the woman the field marshal called "sweetie": Absent
    * L K Advani: prime minister in waiting of the party which would like to do to Pakistan what Manekshaw did: Absent
    * M Karunanidhi and Surjit Singh Barnala: chief minister and governor of the state which Manekshaw had made his home for 35 years: Absent

Politicians may have their reasons. They always do. Maybe, there are issues like protocol. Maybe, this is one way in which 'civil India' shows the armed forces its place. Maybe, this is why we are not as militaristic as Pakistan. Maybe, the knees are just too old to climb the hills.

But what about the armed forces itself?

    * A K Antony: the defence minister 'now behaving like the chairman of the confederation of the armed forces' trade unions: absent 'due to prior political engagements'.
    * The chief of army staff: absent (away in Russia)
    * The chief of navy staff: absent
    * The chief of air staff: absent

The fact that the defence minister was represented by his deputy Pallam Raju, the fact that the navy and air staff sent two-star general rank officers, shows that however high or mighty, however rich or powerful, civilian or military, if you should die as you must, you should do so somewhere in the vicinity of New Delhi -- or Bombay. Or else, they must have some use for you.

Or else, too bad.

As he rightly surmised once: "I wonder whether those of our political masters who have been put in charge of the defence of the country can distinguish a mortar from a motor; a gun from a howitzer; a guerrilla from a gorilla -- although a great many of them in the past have resembled the latter."

The contrast couldn't be starker:

    * When Amitabh Bachchan was ill after being socked in the stomach during the shooting of Coolie, Indira Gandhi flew down to Bombay to show her concern.
    * When Dhirubhai Ambani died, L K Advani cut short his Gujarat tour to pay his respects to an 'embodiment of initiative, enterprise and determination'.
    * When Pramod Mahajan was shot dead by his brother, Vice President Bhairon Singh Shekawat had the time to attend the funeral.

Our VIPs and VVIPs have time for dead and dying celebrities, charlatans, fixers. Not for a field marshal?

In his biography, K M Cariappa, the only other field marshal India has had (and who too died at age 94), writes of his father's cremation in May 1993:

"Honouring him in death as they did in life were Field Marshal Manekshaw, the three service chiefs all of whom belonged to the same course and at whose passing out parade from the joint services wing father had presided, the gracious chief minister M  Veerappa Moily and C K Jaffer Sharief, Minister for Railways representing the President as the supreme commanded of the armed forces."

Somebody should have told the geniuses in Delhi that Sam, the Bahadur, passed away in Wellington, Ooty, not Wellington, New Zealand. The nearest civil airport is Coimbatore, just 80 km away.

If this is how we say goodbye to Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw, any wonder why Rang de Basanti could successfully tap into the angst of an entire generation?


Rediff - Krishna Prasad

The media needs to introspect about the steep increase in the dissatisfaction with it.

Between 1980 and 1997, I was a full-time journalist. Since then I have been a columnist for this newspaper. This takes up, on average, about three hours a day. In the remaining time, I do a bit of this and a bit of that and it is great fun.

But since my primary identity has been of a journalist, it is not surprising that people should complain to me about the media as if I can do something about it. Initially, I would defend my professional colleagues as being more sinned against than sinning. But not any longer because I think the journalists have a lot to answer for.

So I have decided to devote this article to the media, for two reasons. The first is that 11 years is a long enough time for me to be able to stop defending my former professional colleagues. Second, in the last few months, there has been a steep increase in the number of times people have voiced very deep dis-satisfaction with the media.

Thus, when people complain, it turns out very quickly that they are complaining about television. Print is usually less complained against.

Second, if you ask enough questions, it turns out that most of the complaints are occasioned by irritation rather than a factual mistake in reporting. That perhaps explains why there are fewer complaints against print, which irritates no one except those about whom it has got the facts wrong. They, of course, are incensed but it is only by chance that one gets to meet them when they are really angry. Some, of course, phone to protest.

Third, in the financial press — about which I can claim to know something — it is not mala fide (as is often assumed) but plain old fashioned ignorance that lies at the heart of the problem. This is not to say there are no bent journalists. But they are far fewer now than a decade ago.

Ignorance manifests in some strange ways. For example, a day before the RBI increased the interest rates, the largest circulated newspaper in the country reported that no such thing was even being contemplated. And when the increase was actually announced, the reporter on the largest-viewed business channel just lost it, saying the RBI had misled the markets because it had said that it "soothing" things just the previous day. Recently, a well-reputed newspaper carried a report on page one that every dollar that India accumulated between April and June cost it Rs 169 per dollar. The actual figure was less than Rs 43.

Fourth, there has been a staggering increase in the number of publications, and with it, a corresponding increase in the number of columnists, that is writers who have a fixed space reserved for them in the publication. The result is that persons with very little understanding, leave alone comprehension, have become pundits, writing pretty much what they please. (Many people believe I am one of them but a pox on them).

Fifth, with only a few exceptions, there has been a general devaluation of the editorial. Few papers ever took them seriously but now in most newspapers it has become just one more hole in the page to be filled. And, what is worse, many important newspapers, it has become a vehicle for airing the personal opinion of the editor, rather than that of some group or class interest, which is what the editorial used to do in the past. Two striking examples of this are worth citing. One is the manner in which the nuclear deal has been written about by a leading newspaper from the south — India will become a US pawn in that country's battle against China. The other was the view, expressed repeatedly, in a BJP paper from Delhi that the exit of Nepal's monarch was a blow against Hindus, quite disregarding the fact that those who voted the monarch out were themselves Hindus. There has also been a steep decline in the intellectual quality of the persons charged with writing editorials because it costs so much to hire a clever, well-read and sensible writers.

Sixth, the proliferation of TV channels and its hit-and-run nature has meant the deployment of a vast army of the untutored persons who not only report the news but also, as they babble along, give opinions, usually in response to some inane question from the anchor. But, as I said, these persons are merely irritating. It is the print media that hurts more.

I can go on but the short point is clear: those who complain against the media have a much stronger case today than they did in the past. It is the media, particularly television, which has to take corrective steps. The policy only maximising viewership matters has resulted in people not watching the news as much as they used to — they read the ticker underneath instead.

In the old days they used to shoot the messenger who brought bad news. Now the messengers are shooting themselves.


Business Standard - T C A Srinivasa-Raghavan

My previous post is very inadequate in telling how I feel (considering I have to explain to all my friends)
Probably because I wrote it in one sitting, never edited it and then posted it.
I touched a host of issues in that and will try to put a few lines on each.



Blame Game : I don't play this game.
I avoid it as much as possible.
It could be anyone's fault, I don't care.
This is because of next thing.

Past : For me past is gone.
I can't change it, I don't even remember it properly.
So I try not to get influenced by it.
What I'm today, is because of my past.
I made some decisions then, they kept me alive at least.
This has to do with the next thing.

Forced Optimism : I am a born pessimist.
My first natural thought had always been pessimistic.
So I have attained a forced optimism, it has kept me alive.
This has come from the next thing.

Severe Depression : I had severe depression in college.
And I did not know it. I had all the symptoms, I just refused to believe them.
After my college got over, my parents took me to a general physician.
He spent 15 minutes talking to me and diagnosed the same.
The reason I did not take the pills because of a medical test.
I had to submit to it before taking up my job and did not want any complications there.
So I spent one month, watching the entire Friends series, season 1 to season 10, twice.
The first time, none of the jokes seemed funny, it was not working.
The second time, I forced myself to laugh at the jokes. Got cured in those 15 days.



Success and Failure : Everyone has a different definition of success and failure.
Same is the case with me.
But the success or failure comes only when one makes an effort. An effort to achieve.
Success teaches you some things. Failure teaches you other things.
Not trying does not reach to success or failure. It leads to nowhere.
This leads me to the next thing.

An effort to try : I have not been making this effort.
Success and failure are dependent on many things but no one refutes the importance of effort.
My refusal to try is the only thing I regret.
My refusal to try for a very useless reason I regret more.
This points to me the next thing.

Next one year : The next year is very crucial.
I will make an effort to try, that's the only thing I can do.
That's the only thing I want to do.
So I have made a pact with myself. To try.
This pact has a penalty clause coming next.

Suicide pact : I have 360 days to prevent my suicide.
The pact ends on July 20th, 2009.
I gave myself one year to fight my natural tendencies of the past 9 years.
And there is a penalty for not trying this year.
If I don't try, it will be a total loss of self respect for myself.
How can I live my life without self-respect?

June, 1999

Someone called and told my sister that my 10th board results have come.
We all were excited and started getting ready to go to school.
I was the last to leave the house.
The phone rang and I picked it up.
It was my sister's friend congratulating me.
She said I had scored 90%.
I said I did not believe her. It cannot be my score.
I told her that I am going to school and kept the phone down.
I did not tell anyone about the call.
When we reached school, it was a huge rush.
Someone else also came forward to congratulate me.
I went straightaway to the board where the results were displayed.
Mom wrote down the my individual marks and of some of my 'competitors'.
She then calculated for all. I had 90.6%.
I don't remember my rank in school but it was either 3rd or 5th.
I was happy, we all were happy.
But I don't know why I detected a faint less-happiness on my mom's face.
We bought some gulab jamun, my fav sweet and reached home.
It was an exciting day.
After spending some time on the excited discussions and comparisons, somehow I felt mom was not happy.
I asked her, mom, are you happy, its a good score?
Mom paused for one sec and then said yes, it is a good score. Its a great score.
She kissed me on the cheek and fed me one more gulab jamun.

June 20th, 2008

9 years have passed and now I realize why I stopped trying to achieve anything.
I still remember the endless study in class 10th.
I was not forced to study, I wanted to study.
Some people are good in one thing, some in other etc.
I was good at studies.
My parents did not ask me to stay up late and study.
I made history notes (which I hated) and crammed them up.
I did endless maths questions, revised endless times.
Then unconsciously, that pause killed a part of me.
I unconsciously started thinking that however hard I try, I can't satisfy my mom.
The pause could have been for anything, so I won't go into the blame game now.
There was a pause and there was my interpretation.
To prove it, now I don't remember my marks in any of my exams.
Unconsciously, the delete button made its mark.

I realized what I had missed now in the past 9 years.
How many opportunities have I missed.
I could be someplace else, someone else.
I still remember distinctively, my parent-teacher meeting in Class 12th.
My class teacher, a physics professor told my parents.
"He can do it, (clear IIT-JEE), but I don't know why he does not want to."
At home, I half-heartedly reassured my parents that I wanted to clear it.
The same sentiment has been echoed by friends and teachers and even my parents.
Yesterday, a friend called me up and gave the same advice.
After the call ended, I started thinking and after 15 minutes or so, it came to me.
It was the pause.
And boy, did I hate myself then, it was something even more than hatred.
I was like, FUCK!!!
How the hell did this happen?
I thought of all the things I missed.
And then I cried, not from my eyes, but in my heart.

And as a forced optimist can be, I forced myself to think what I gained.
I gained an ability to take up complex situations and break them into simpler parts.
I gained a forced optimism. (I am a born pessimist)
I gained an ability to be emotion-less while thinking practically.
And because of that I gained an insight on why it all went down the drain.
So not completely bad, not completely good.
I recognized my lack of ambition some years ago.
And I started calling myself - the drunken philosopher.
I can give good advice but I could never use my own advice.
I did not know why. I know now.

I tried to suppress these unpleasant thoughts with music, loud music.
Nothing doing. They still remained.
Finally laid down and decided to go off to sleep.
Woke up this morning, the thoughts were still there.
SuperC mode :)
I did not know how to organize my thoughts.
Half of me (the philosopher) asked me to write it down.
Other half (the drunk) fought, said its of no use.
But still I wrote this, with a reluctance.
And I have to admit, it worked now.
(It worked because When I am writing, I am forced to think of the next thing to write.)
At the line which I am writing, the thoughts of the pause have left.
Only what remains is the thought of how to bounce back.
Now I know if something that has been broken, it has to be fixed.
But the drunk refuses to listen to the philosopher.
Now, I don't even know how to give myself advice.
Boy, what a mess I am...

PS. I think writing might be an answer to it, its a third medium.
For the above reason, it should work.
I want to bounce back in the next 1 year..I will bounce back...else I'll commit suicide...

The old man collapsed. Both got stunned. Neither had done anything. Seventeen quickly dismantled his rifle and left the building. Carter immediately left his car and retrieved his toy. Both disappeared within minutes. The son became the new head and a gang war ensured between the two gangs, leaving a blood bath on the streets. Seventeen retired after that and Carter retired an year later.

Ten years had passed since that failed job. As Carter and Seventeen talked for hours, the conversation turned to their last assignments. When Seventeen told about his, Carter let out a cry, "That job, you got that job. Hell, I was supposed to finish the old man." Seventeen asked in shock, "You too, the same stupid competition thing?" Carter replied, "No, I was paid for that assignment, and I was not the one who killed him." Seventeen said, "Well neither did I. The old man was poisoned."

The bartender came to their table, "Will there be anything else? I am afraid but I'll be closing in a few minutes. You guys seem like old friends, what say a last round on the house." This cheered them and both nodded their heads. "Do you mind if I join you for the last drink?", the bartender asked. Carter replied, "Sure, why not?" The bartender brought their drinks and then sat down with his glass of rum.

"So how long have you guys known each other?", the bartender asked Seventeen. He smiled and replied "Quite many years, though we have not been the best of friends". Carter chuckled on hearing that. "And how's the job going on?", he asked again. "Retired, both of us", Carter replied. "That's a shame", the bartender said.

"Let me tell you guys a story", the bartender continued. "I was a bartender at a party some years back. It was a party for an old man, you know, he was still working even at that age. It was his birthday party. He was not supposed to retire that day. But as fate would have it, it was his retirement day. He had lived long and worked hard. Now that's what I would like to call a good age to retire. You guys retired way too early."

"And yeah, he was the Paulo mafia head. It was nice of you guys not to kill him that day. It built my reputation as the one who stole your thunder. Now even if you don't bother finishing your drinks, that's fine. There is enough poison in your blood right now that in another 30 seconds you'll both be finished. It was nice of you two to meet up and share your experiences, the bug in that ashtray enlightened me also", the bartender said and then slammed down his empty glass on the table.

It had always been competition between the two of them. For a career spanning decades, both had built a reputation for themselves. Highly effective though entirely different methods. Carter came to be known as the Big Bang guy. His targets ranged across all the continents. Where he did not do the job himself, he supplied his 'expertise'. He did not leave any pattern, used different kinds of explosives in different killings. It was difficult to pinpoint for how many he was responsible, he was like a true professional.

Seventeen, on the other hand, was a west guy. He worked only in Americas and Europe. He was also the more cautious one. Never worked more than two or three times an year. It was heard that he simply disappears after a job, probably has a hideout someplace where he laid low. He was also equally good. His shots once fired never missed their target. That made him highly effective in places where the target was surrounded by people. He once killed a man in the middle of the New York evening crowd.

A proud man is also a dangerous man. They started crossing each other's paths. Carter once killed a man whom Seventeen was to kill. Just to show he was better. One year later, Seventeen shot dead a man who was about to sit in a car rigged with explosives. As time passed by, the competition became bitter. Seventeen started taking more assignments. Carter started taking lesser time for each job.

But there was one thing common between them. Even though they were getting older, they were still not making any mistakes. And then the Paulo assignment came. The Paulo mafia head was the target. Both Seventeen and Carter got the assignment, though they did not know about the other. It was the old man's birthday. Seventeen was hired by his son, who wanted to ascend the throne. Carter was hired by the rival gang, to target the old man and if possible, his son and his top associates.

The party was in a park adjacent to a hotel. Seventeen took position in one of the buildings surrounding the area. The garden had lots of oak trees and his only problem was to get a clear view. The old man's family, his children and grandchildren would be coming. Carter rigged a toy car with explosives and got himself parked in a car near the garden. The wait now began.

The garden started filling up with people. At one side, the live band entertained people, on the other side, the people kept the bartender busy. The old man arrived late with his bodyguards. He then shooed them off and joined the party. The cake was cut and then people dispersed. Seventeen took his position and Carter placed his toy on the ground and started guiding it towards the garden. The old man never stayed at one place for more than two minutes. He was the perfect host, engaging all the people at his party.

The toy car moved forward, the camera at its front guiding Carter. Seventeen followed the man through his scope for a clear view. Finally the old man stopped near his birthday cake. Someone offered him a glass of wine. He cut himself a piece and stood at the edge of the table. The toy car moved forward towards the man. The rifle took aim. Now was the time. The toy car reached the leg of the man. The rifle made final adjustments. One finger moved towards pressing the trigger. The other finger moved towards squeezing the trigger.