ഘണ്ടാകർണ്ണന്മാരുടെ നാട്ടിൽ...

ഈ കഥയോ പാത്രങ്ങളോ സാങ്കൽപ്പികമല്ല.
ജീവിച്ചിരിക്കുന്നവരുമായി സാമ്യം തോന്നാൻ തന്നെയാണ്, അതിന് വേണ്ടി മാത്രമാണ് ഇത് പറയുന്നത്. 

ഘണ്ടാകർണ്ണനെക്കുറിച്ച് കേട്ടിട്ടുണ്ടോ? നാം അറിഞ്ഞിരിക്കേണ്ട ആളാണ്. കേട്ടോളൂ..

കഥ തുടങ്ങുമ്പോൾ അങ്ങേർക്ക് ഈ പേര് കിട്ടിയിരുന്നില്ല. മിക്കവാറും പഴയ പേര് ശശി എന്നാവാനാണ് സാധ്യത. ശശി വലിയ വിഷ്ണു ഭക്തനായിരുന്നു. കുഴപ്പമില്ലാത്ത കാര്യമല്ലേ? പ്രശ്നം എന്താണെന്നാൽ അയാൾക്ക് മറ്റ് ദേവതമാരോട് കനത്ത വിരോധമായിരുന്നു. വിശേഷിച്ച് ശിവനോട്. ശിവനെ ആരെങ്കിലും സ്തുതിച്ചാൽ ശശിക്ക് കുരു പൊട്ടും. പിന്നെ തെറിവിളിയായി, ട്രോളിംഗ് ആയി, പൊങ്കാലയായി.

ഒരിക്കൽ വിഷ്ണുദേവൻ തന്നെ ശശിയുടെ രോഗം മാറ്റാൻ നേരിട്ട് പ്രത്യക്ഷപ്പെട്ട് നോക്കി. തങ്ങളെല്ലാം ഒന്നാണെന്നും തമ്മിലൊരു പ്രശ്നവുമില്ലെന്നും വെറും പ്രത്യയശാസ്ത്രപരമായ ഭിന്നത മാത്രമേ ഉള്ളൂ എന്നും ശശിയെ ബോധിപ്പിക്കാൻ ഹരിഹരവേഷത്തിലായിരുന്നു വരവ്. ശശി ചന്ദനത്തിരി കത്തിച്ച് വിഷ്ണുവിനെ സ്തുതിച്ചു, ശിവന്റെ മൂക്ക് പൊത്തിപ്പിടിച്ചു. അതോടെ ഭഗവാന്‍ സുല്ലിട്ടു.

നാട്ടിലെ പണിയില്ലാത്ത ചെറുപ്പക്കാർ ശശിയെക്കാണുമ്പോൾ ഉച്ചത്തിൽ ശിവനാമം ചൊല്ലാൻ തുടങ്ങി. പലരും ശിവസ്തോത്രങ്ങൾ വോയ്സ് മെസേജ് ആയി ഫോര്‍വേഡ് ചെയ്തു. ആദ്യമൊക്കെ ശശി കലി കൊണ്ട് തെറി വിളിച്ചു.

അവസാനം സഹിക്കാതായപ്പോൾ അയാൾ രണ്ടു അമ്പലമണികൾ വാങ്ങി ചെവികളിൽ തൂക്കിയിട്ടു. ശിവനാമം കേൾക്കുമ്പോളെല്ലാം തലയാട്ടും. അപ്പോഴുണ്ടാകുന്ന മണിമുഴക്കത്തിൽ ഒന്നും കേൾക്കില്ല. അങ്ങനെ ശശി ഘണ്ടാകർണ്ണനായി (ചെവിയിൽ മണിയുള്ളവൻ)...

Achcha Din Continued: Family Troubles

Read the beginning of Achcha Din with Railways.

Thus I boarded the train, pissed off after paying the exorbitant fare, into the stinking sleeper class coach. It was the end of the summer vacation and hordes of families had occupied many berths- most of them travelling till the final destination. It was evident that they had all reserved their tickets and were assigned with berth numbers. A few of us short distance travelers- if you can call 200 plus kilometers as short distance-, ones without any berth numbers but possessing perfectly valid albeit overpriced sleeper coach tickets, were looking to get ourselves accommodated in any vacant seats, leftover by the multitudes of ladies, kids and gentlemen.

It was strange. If anyone looks from outside, from the platform, they may feel that the train is almost empty. But I had a tough time finding a seat. One reason was the peculiar, unaccommodating behavior displayed by families. Once they occupy some space, they never allow an intruder. If you are familiar with sleeper coaches, you may know that six berths- two lower, two middle and two upper berths- forms kind of a territory, with two berths on the opposite acting like a door or a lid. The intended practice is that, in the day time all the six passengers are to use the lower berth for sitting. If anybody feels like having a nice siesta, they can use the upper berth. The middle berth, the hanging one that can be used as a cushion for the lower berth when it is used for sitting, is usually erected only at night, after all the passengers come to a silent mutual agreement to call it a day. 

But once a family finds its assigned berths, they put all their luggage- a tremendous load by default, on the upper berth. Then they take up the lower berth. Kids start playing their games taking up the most of the available space, periodically disturbing the elders only when any vendor passes by. At least one woman, in many cases all of them, stretches legs, and slowly assumes any of the postures of a deep slumber, occupying any left over space. Menfolk take off their shoes, unbutton partially or sometimes fully their shirts, lift their legs onto the seats and attain an impromptu yoga pose.  The middle berth in many cases is just left hanging, but sometimes it can be observed that even they are occupied, virtually negating any possibility for a passenger possessing day-time ticket to sit on a vacant spot. Ultimately, in seats that can accommodate 6 grown up passengers (8 if you consider the upper berths too), it happens that only three or four people take up the entire area.

Now if you want to get a place to sit down, you have to ask any of them to adjust. You ask them politely to move a bit and the family head jerks his head suddenly towards you, staring with disbelief. It seems as if you have asked for a plot on his family land for free. Women try slowly to move their legs, as if to make some space with much difficulty, but stops midway and continue their slumber. The kids don’t even acknowledge your presence as if you are the Hollow Man.  You are left standing there for some moments, stupidly looking at each of them and eventually making a slow retreat.

In my case, I tried to get on an upper berth finally. When the family-head, who seemed to be in a Samadhi state, jumped up and yelled that the berth was theirs, I asked him to come and sit there if it was his. That settled the matter, somehow.

An Achcha Din With Indian Railway

A few months back I had commented to someone about a marked improvement that I observed with the railway infrastructure. Stations, coaches and even railway lines were kept cleaner, considerably improving the whole experience of travelling on rails. Even the affair of consuming rail food, the quality of which stayed in the same dismal state, was less unpleasant thanks to the absence of stink.

Today, when I ventured on the platform of Ernakulam Junction station, I was overcome by nostalgic feelings from a bygone era, when welcomed with the strong smell of garbage and piss. I was travelling to Thalassery, a tough journey when you consider the intense summer heat that is again doubled by the railway coaches that are ingeniously constructed using materials which are the highest conductors of heat making you remember the images etched into the minds of public by a certain Mr. Dante. Adding to the heat  is the perplexing railway schedule that somehow manages to consistently stop the exact train in which I get in to make way for every other trains that cross us, making the actual journey time taking double than the announced.

But today when I got into the train I had a bigger reason to be pissed off. It seems the rate of sleeper coach tickets when purchased on the spot for day time journeys has been insanely increased. That means a Rs 110 sleeper coach ticket will cost me Rs 195 now! This, for a service that no one uses, because nobody in their right mind will sleep in a daytime journey for reasons that I already detailed. Its a perfect recipe for certain harakiri. Buying general class tickets is out of question as most express trains have just two general coaches- three if we consider ladies' coach, but that one is out of bounds- in both extreme ends and they are filled in light speeds. There are atleast 12 sleeper coaches, most of which are either empty on day time or filled with passengers with general tickets.

Now if I am doing an advance reservation for sleeper tickets it will be costing me much lesser even with the reservation charge added in. But this is not possible when an unplanned journey has to be made in an emergency situation. So what railway essentially want is to squeeze passengers who are out of possibilities to make them part with as much money as possible. And the services are back to the terrible and despairing state it was in before.

A more ethical way to fill raiway coffers would be to make the employees stand on the exits with daggers and guns and extort money from exiting passengers threatening them of dire consequences...

... My Achcha Din has just begun. Will continue once I get chance to recharge the cell batteries. I found a plug point on train but as expected it doesn't work.

Its here..

Staying One Step Ahead.

I received this email a few days back and thought it worthy of sharing with my readers. Enjoy:
 
The Taj hotel group had invited Mr. Masai Imai from Japan to hold a workshop for its staff.
 
The staff were very skeptical - the hotel is doing excellent business, this person from Japan has no exposure to hotel industry - what exactly is he going to teach?
 
But everybody gathered as planned for the workshop in the conference hall sharp at 9 am.
 
Mr. Masai was introduced to them - a not so impressive personality, nor the English all that good; spoke as if he was first formulating each sentence in Japanese and then translating it into rather clumsy English.
 
"Good morning! Let's start work. I am told this is a workshop; but I see neither work nor shop. So let's proceed where work is happening. Let's start with the first room on the first floor."
 
Mr. Masai, followed by the senior management, the participants, the video camera crew trouped out of the conference room and proceeded to the destination.
 
That happened to be the laundry room of the hotel.
 
Mr. Masai entered the room and stood at the window, "beautiful view!" he said.
 
The staff knew it; they need not invite a Japanese consultant to tell them this!
 
"A room with such a beautiful view is being wasted as a laundry room. Shift the laundry to the basement and convert this into a guest room."
 
Aa Haa! Now nobody had ever thought about that!
 
The manager said, "Yes, it can be done."
 
"Then let's do it," Mr. Masai said.
 
"Yes sir, I will make a note of this and we will include it in the report on the workshop that will be prepared." Manager
 
"Excuse me, but there is nothing to note down in this. Let's just do it, just now." Mr. Masai.
 
"Just now?" Manager
 
"Yes, decide on a room on the ground floor/basement and shift the stuff out of this room right away. It should take a couple of hours, right?" asked Mr. Masai.
 
"Yes." Manager.
 
"Let's come back here just before lunch. By then all this stuff will have got shifted out and the room must be ready with the carpets, furniture etc. and from today you can start earning the few thousand that you charge your customers for a night."
 
"Ok, Sir." The manager had no option.
 
The next destination was the pantry. The group entered. At the entrance were two huge sinks full of plates to be washed.
 
Mr. Masai removed his jacket and started washing the plates.
 
"Sir, Please, what are you doing?" the manager didn't know what to say and what to do.
 
"Why, I am washing the plates", Mr. Masai.
 
"But sir, there is staff here to do that." Manager Mr. Masai continued washing, "I think sink is for washing plates, there are stands here to keep the plates and the plates should go into the stands."
 
All the officials wondered - did they require a consultant to tell them this?
 
After finishing the job, Mr. Masai asked, "How many plates do you have?'
 
"Plenty, so that there should never be any shortage." answered the Manager.
 
Mr. Masai said, "We have a word in Japanese -'Muda'. Muda means delay, Muda means unnecessary spending. One lesson to be learned in this workshop is to avoid both. If you have plenty of plates, there will be delay in cleaning them up. The first step to correct this situation is to remove all the excess plates."
 
"Yes, we will say this in the report." Manager.
 
"No, wasting our time in writing the report is again an instance of 'Muda'. We must pack the extra plates in a box right away and send these to whichever other section of Taj requires these. Throughout the workshop now we will find out where all we find this 'Muda' hidden."
 
And then at every spot and session, the staff eagerly awaited to find out Muda and learn how to avoid it.
 
On the last day, Mr. Masai told a story.
 
"A Japanese and an American, both fond of hunting, met in a jungle. They entered deep jungle and suddenly realized that they had run out of bullets. Just then they heard a lion roaring. Both started running. But the Japanese took a short break to put on his sports shoes.
 
The American said, "What are you doing? We must first get to the car."
 
The Japanese responded, "No. I only have to ensure that I remain ahead of you."
 
All the participants engrossed in listening to the story, realized suddenly that the lion would stop after getting his victim!
 
"The lesson is: competition in today's world is so fierce, that it is important to stay ahead of other, even by just a couple of steps. And you have such a huge and naturally well endowed country. If you remember to curtail your production expenditure and give the best quality always, you will be miles ahead as compared to so many other countries in the world.", concluded Mr. Masai.

മാണിസൂത്രം

സീന്‍ ഒന്ന്
രംഗം- മാണിഭവനം

മാണി- മോനേ ജോസേ, അപ്പന്‍ നിനക്ക് കെട്ടാന്‍ ഒരു പെണ്‍കൊച്ചിനേ കണ്ടു വച്ചിട്ടുണ്ട്.

ജോസ്- ദേ അപ്പച്ചാ, ഒരു മാതിരി...

മാണി- ടാ മോനേ, ഇത് അംബാനീടെ മോളാടാ...

ജോസ്- എന്നാ എനിക്ക് ഓക്കെയാ അപ്പച്ചാ..

സീന്‍ രണ്ട്
രംഗം- പ്രധാനമന്ത്രിയുടെ ആപ്പീസ്

മാണി- പി എമ്മേ, എന്‍റെ മോന്‍ ജോസിനെ റിസര്‍വ് ബാങ്ക് ഗവര്‍ണറാക്കണം.

പി എം- ഒന്ന് പോടേ, ഇവിടെ പണി പഠിച്ചവന്മാര് ക്യൂ നില്‍ക്കുമ്പോഴാ...

മാണി- സാറേ, അവന്‍ അംബാനീടെ മരുമോനാ...

പി എം- ഓ.. താനൊരു കാര്യം ചെയ്യ്. കാലത്ത് അവനെ ഇങ്ങ് വിട്. ഓഡര്‍ കൈപ്പറ്റി ഉച്ചക്ക് മുന്നേ ജോലിക്ക് കയറട്ടെ. പിന്നെ രാഹു തുടങ്ങും.

സീന്‍ മൂന്ന്
രംഗം- അംബാനിമന്ദിരം

മാണി- ചേട്ടായീടെ മോളെ എന്‍റെ കൊച്ചന്‍ ജോസിന് ആലോചിച്ചാലോ?

അംബാനി- അറിയാന്‍ മേലാഞ്ഞിട്ട് ചോദിക്കുവാ... താനാരുവാ?

മാണി- ഞാനാരെന്നത് നിക്കട്ടെ, ചെക്കന്‍ റിസര്‍വ് ബാങ്ക് ഗവര്‍ണറാ...

അംബാനി- കല്യാണം രണ്ട് മാസത്തില്‍ നടക്കണം, ശേഷം ഒരു വിദേശകമ്പനി ഏറ്റെടുക്കുന്നതുമായി ഞാന്‍ തിരക്കിലാകും. പിന്നെ അറിഞ്ഞില്ലാ പറഞ്ഞില്ലാന്ന് കുറ്റം പറയരുത്.

സ്റ്റേജില്‍ വെളിച്ചം മങ്ങി വരുന്നു. എല്ലാ കഥാപാത്രങ്ങളും കയറിവന്ന് അരണ്ട വെട്ടത്തില്‍ ആനന്ദനടനം ചെയ്യുന്നു. താളം മുറുകിവരുമ്പോള്‍ കര്‍ട്ടന്‍ വീഴുന്നു. ആ കര്‍ട്ടന്‍ തലയില്‍ വീണ് പൊതുജനം എന്ന കാണിയുടെ ബോധം മറയുമ്പോള്‍ നാടകം സമാപിക്കുന്നു.

കടപ്പാട്- Readers digest മാസികയില്‍ പണ്ട് വായിച്ച ഫലിതം.

A Day Lost in Train

After reviewing Railonama, the book about train journeys, I remembered a couple of experiences while journeying on train. I thought I would scribble one of them here.

This happened at the time when I had completed my education and was searching for a job. Through one of my friends I got an interview call from Pune. I went and booked the train ticket from Shornur Junction to Pune. Train was supposed to start the next day afternoon from Shornur. After booking a sleeper berth, I casually asked the booking officer about the arrival time of the train in Pune. He replied that the expected time is early morning 3 o'clock.

Then I called my contact in Pune and told him that I will be reaching the day after tomorrow early morning. I told him that I will somehow manage in railway station till daybreak and then I will call him. After reaching home, I informed my mother and other relatives that I will start the next day and by the day after I will be at Pune and will meet my friend.

The next day I boarded the train from Shornur. There was a boy of my age sitting across my seat. By the time train started, we were chatting. After an hour passed, he was telling about the long journey ahead of us and about passing a whole day in train. It took sometime for me to realize that the train won't reach Pune the next day morning. The scheduled time is at 3 O'clock the day after. I had a whole day to spend in train...!

Mobile phones were not so common those days and there was no way I could convey this new situation to my friend in Pune or to my family. I tried to find a phone booth at any passing station, but a few coin phones were only for local calls. I passed a day sitting on thorns.

When I reached Pune, I called my worried friend and he was relaxed after hearing me. Same with my family. 

Eating Competition

I went with my giant friend to have tea. At the tea shop, he took one pazham pori and started eating. I too took one and ate.

He took one more and ate. I followed him and had one too.

Then he took a puffs and devoured it. I grabbed one for myself.

He claimed that the combination will be right with one more pazham pori and had one. I agreed and took one for myself.

He ordered a strong tea with more milk. I too ordered for same.

After both of us finished our tea, he slowly got up walked to the counter and declared all that he needed now was a sweet lemon soda. I surrendered.

Relighting the Home...

"She doesn't eat anything."

My sister complained on phone. She was telling about her daughter, my niece. For a five year old my niece is quite intelligent, active, very playful and very very naughty. I used to tell my sister that it was good for kids to be naughty. I hate it when people try to suppress kids. Its like you are switching off a bright light in a beautifully set room and plunging the room into darkness.

At the same time I realise how hard it is on my sister, to balance the kid and her full time job. When she called me, my niece was sick. With proper treatment her fever came down, but health did not show much improvement. Doctor had advised sister to try stuffing her up and increasing her weight by next few days. If there is no progress she has to be hospitalized.

"The only way left to try is using a funnel to force feed her." My sister continued. "When I call her to the table she never turn up. She run away when I approach her with food. I know she needs her nutrients, but she doesn't like any thing that I prepare for her."

"You try to find out what she like."

"I tried it. She doesn't like anything!"

Then I remembered my childhood. I never used to like food then. Milk, rise, iddli, dosa, sambar, chutney... my hate list used to be endless. I remembered one day when my father tried to feed me rice with some daal curry.

"I cannot eat daal. I don't like it." I declared.

"You love Dhara Singh, don't you?"

Dhara Singh used to play Hanuman in Ramanand Sagar's Ramayana, which was running in Doordarshan at that time. Father had told me before that Singh used to be a wrestler who has won many fights.

"Do you know how they get such power?" Father cooked up a story. "By eating daal. They eat lot of it."

I was hooked and daal became my favorite from then, with rice, chapatti, in sambar or rasam- for close to 15 years, everyday I demanded it in my diet.

Now the time has come for payback. I asked sister, "What do you have right now with you?"

"Pomegranates."

"Ok, give phone to her." She handed over the phone to my niece.

"What did Doctor uncle do today?"

"He gave me an injection." Obviously she was not pleased by it.

"You know, there is one thing which if you eat, the next time when he does it, his needle will break."

"What's that?"

"Pomegranate. If you drink its juice everyday with milk, he cannot take an injection next time."

I disconnected the call after I heard her shouting to her mother to make her pomegranate juice immediately.

Months later when I saw her, her mother was serving her pomegranate juice and she seriously informed me, "Did you know, pomegranate juice can make injection needle break...!!!"

This post is part of Happy hours by indiblogger.in sponsored by Dabur based on the theme A happy child make a happy home. Go here for more information.

That Evening When I Had The Scare of My Life...

I am a person who doesn't get scared much. I have no problem in staying alone in a building, or walking in a dark night. I can watch the most extreme horror movies and still get a good night's sleep. The ghost stories never bothered me in moments when I was alone, which used to be quite often before. But there was this one night, from long back, when I really got scared as never before. I literally shivered for some moments that night.

I was staying in Coimbatore then, in a rented room along with a good friend. In our floor, there were two other rooms. In the room adjacent to mine, a kid, probably a student, used to live. The third room used to be a mystery for us. Most of the times it used to be kept locked. On some occasions we had observed people there, but never the same ones. The mystery was cleared when the house owner told us that it belonged to a private firm and their executives who come on duty to Coimbatore stayed there.

That particular evening, my friend had went to his native. I had my dinner outside and was comfortably watching television. It was turning late and a horror movie was running in HBO. All of a sudden, there was a terrible scream. It was so unexpected and loud that I remained sat on my couch for a full minute. I could not determine from where the sound came. I could not conclude if it came from the throat of a man or a woman. Hell, I was not even sure if it was human.

I waited a while for a follow up. Nothing came. Suddenly I remembered our mystery room. That noon I had noticed someone entering it. It was a lady. Was she still inside the room? Was that her sound? May be something nasty is going on. May be someone is in need of help.

I slowly opened the door and looked out. No one there. I took one step outside. 

"Psst", the guy who lived upstairs.

"What was that?" He whispered. I shrugged. He went back. I waited for a minute and came back to the room. My sleep was dead and I had no desire left to watch the movie. I sat and thought for sometime about many possible situations. Every thought had a dirty, tragic end.

"Hell", I thought, again came outside and knocked the door of the kid. The guy took two whole minutes to open the door.

"Hey, didn't you hear that horrible scream sometime back?". I enquired in a hushed, urgent tone.

Came the tired reply "Yeah. I got an electric shock."

Einstein, Pascal and Newton joke...

Found this while browsing:

One day, Einstein, Newton, and Pascal meet up and decide to play a game of hide and seek. Einstein volunteered to be “It.”

As Einstein counted, eyes closed, to 100, Pascal ran away and hid, but Newton stood right in front of Einstein and drew a one meter by one meter square on the floor around himself.

When Einstein opened his eyes, he immediately saw Newton and said “I found you Newton,” but Newton replied, “No, you found one Newton per square meter. You found Pascal!”.

Parental Troubles of Darth Vader...!

My disinterest in sci-fi movies might have developed after watching a totally incomprehensible Star Trek movie in a theatre in Hubli when I was a teen ager. I sat through first hour without understanding a single shot of the movie (which was a first for me) and the second hour was passed by carefully observing the correlation between back ground score of the movie and the lights glowing on the space craft on screen, thanks to an observation by my friend while half time.

 

My only knowledge about Star Wars came from a couple of movie posters and trailers and for me these movies were always ‘the ones were dudes fight using tube lights’.  But now I know they are Siths and Jedis fighting with Light Sabers, thanks to two cute comic books that are a reimagining of Star Wars. After reading them back to back I used Wikipedia to find out more about the series and even watched a full movie till end, the one in which Luke Skywalker is revealed his true identity, that he is in fact the son of the much feared Darth Vader, the antagonist of the series.

 

Darth Vader and Son show a tired Vader raising his 10 year old son Luke. In 64 pages illustrator Jeffrey Brown fills humorous imagined situations that can arise. Vader’s Little Princess is a follow up book which shows the bonding between Vader and Princess Leia from her adolescent till she is a rebellious teen ager. Both books use several dialogues from movies into these situations creating hilarious moments.

 

Both these books are driven by a single line concept- showing a popular antagonist in very normal situations and inducing comedy. Writer has not bothered to go beyond this, but still these books are definitely worth a look, especially for fathers with young kids, who have grown up watching the Star Wars.

Curious incident of a customer audit

There is a customer audit this Friday. For the uninitiated, it is when customer representatives come to the factory and check the procedures and processes followed by vendor. It may be before giving an order or a routine check periodically while project execution. An unwanted trouble... I mean, just imagine, when a new restaurant is opened, do we go there for customer audit? Imagine prospective customers walking into the restaurant kitchen and checking salt in curry, measuring the temperature of coffee or looking in the corners for ratholes. Ridiculous... Why don't these morons see it for themselves..?

When I saw the circular about audit, I was remembering the one that I attended during my previous job. I had come fully prepared for audit... shaved, wearing a washed uniform, shoes mirror polished... The auditor entered the cabin accompanied by the Quality manager of our firm. I don't remember much about him now. He was an average looking man with average height, average weight and not so average beer belly. I don't think I can ever recognize him now in a crowd, even by his belly. The only thing that I remember is the wrinkle on his forehead which resembled a question mark just after a query is forwarded. Was it really there? I sure felt like that then...

Quality Manager introduced him as the head of the Quality Department of that firm. He told that they were planning to give us quite a huge order, one that will make sure that all of us will be working double shift till we are sixty or die whichever happens first.(I am tempted to type 'fade into oblivion' instead of die. Wanted to use that phrase from some time.) Before committing that atrocracy, they wanted to make sure that we are all set and prepared for shouldering and executing it. So he would make some queries about the functioning of my department which I have to duly answer to his satisfaction. I wanted to ask him that restaurant question, but kept quite for good. 

The auditor looked around the section. As some of you may be knowing I work in a Tool room where they make tooling for producing the, ah what should I say.. products. This guy went around the place, poked his nose into every unwanted corner, came back with two lines made by black oil on his cheeks and sat opposite to me looking like a average looking John Rambo. 

"How do you make sure that your toolings are good?" The firing started. 

"Well, eh, for that you need to just take a look at them Sir. See the finish, the look, if you want just run your hands on that forming die... Just solid!"

"Trying grocery selling with me?.. I am not talking about aesthetics. How would you check the functionality?"

"Well, hm... about functionality... for that.. eh..we oils them every day twice and also..."

"No, no.. How do you check that the toolings that you manufacture are ok for production?"

"We release it for production. If it is ok, they run production with it, if not they send it back to Tool room with a sticker 'Better luck next time' pasted on it."

"Oh my goodness, you mean you don't inspect them?"

"What exactly did you mean by that?"

"You do not have Inspection reports here?"

"Inspection reports... Wait, I am sure I have seen them. Hey Raju... What is the name of the sheets that you make daily, on which you mark some ticks and crosses and all..? Aren't they the inspection reports that Sir here is asking?"

Raju, the Quality checker came running and confirmed those are the same.

"Oh you are really lucky Sir, we make Inspection reports here. This Raju makes me sign it once in a while. Why!Yesterday only I signed atleast a hundred of them.. What happened Sir, why are you tearing your hairs out? Why your face is contorted? Oh I know, dandruff or head ache? Sir, just try this XYZ brand hair oil, which relieves stress and then wash with H& S dandruff shampoo. You will surely feel better.."

(This is just a figment of my imagination. If anyone from my workplace see this, don't panic. I won't screw up the audit.... Well, atleast not this bad.. ;)

Dam(n) politics

This post is the revival of an old series "All are mathematics" written sometime back as a fictional satirical political commentary. Read the whole series here.

"We are all going to dogs. No body care for us. Not the state government or central government..." Abu cried.

"Well, these politicians does not have any interest to save the lives of people. They are interested only in swelling their vote banks and Swiss bank accounts. Corrupt lot." Divakaran complained.

Rajagopal Master, as usual, was on a walk to the tea shop of Raman Pilla for his daily dose of political gossip, when Abu and Divakar joined him near the library. Abu, an old student of Master, (you have met him before) has come back from Middle East, after his short but successful stint in business and is planning to establish his own business empire in his village, a hair transplanting clinic, which he is confident to be a huge success owing to the increasing cases of baldness, thanks to global warming, global recession and global pollution. Divakar, also an ex-student, was a student union leader in his early days. Later as he inherited a patch of land and a good running family business after the demise of his father, he severed his ties with politics and is now a vocal critic of the dirty pits it has fallen into. Rajagopal Master, in his mind, thinks that it as a classic case of sour grapes as many of his colleagues from earlier times are walking the power corridors, milling great fortunes.   

"It seems the death toll will be anywhere near 4 million if the disaster strikes. Kerala will be torn into two halves and the commercial town Cochin will be below water. We are doomed for an eternity." Abu said. 

"Well, it seems the MPs from Kerala has met the PM and got assurance of some kind." Master told, remembering some snippet of news that he overheard the last day on TV, while channels were being changed faster than the pop up ads appearing with a 3G connection, during the eternal struggle between his son and wife to see channels of their choice. 

"No use Sir, Tamil Nadu politicians have strong hold in center, our guys won't be able to do much against them." Divakar replied in a rage of fury. 

By this time they had reached the tea shop and there also the discussion was on the impending disaster that may be caused by the rupture of the hundred year old dam. Appukkuttan, the librarian of the village library and one of the few computer literate members of the older generation was working overtime to spread the awareness among locals. He used to come up with at least five multicolored posters and slogans daily to upload on Facebook and other social networking sites and it will be a lie to claim that he does not get a perverted kind of pride and pleasure, when he gets likes and comments on them and when the best ones goes viral.

"Everyone has to dedicate their time for the cause, irrespective of  caste, class and religion. This is for the common good." Appukkuttan declared to general public. 

"Hm.. This is precisely the reason I told all of you during the last election time, to vote us into power. Then no one heeded. Now all of you will suffer for it. Historically only Left governments has stood against central government with a spine that is not bend. No use of complaining now." Sudhakaran the local Leftist leader commented in an uninterested tone.           

"Man, this is not the time for getting divided. We have to take this cause above politics. Yesterday also the CM of other state has declared that dam is safe and sound. Why should they care for the dam..? If it breaks they won't have anything to lose." Appukkuttan was furious. 

"Anna, don't forget that my village and hundreds of others like it gets water from that dam. If it is ruptures, there is going to be a severe drought that the world has never seen." That was the dissenting voice of Selvan, who had come there one decade ago as a laborer and got assimilated himself into the society in so much depth that it was the first time most of even thought of him as an outsider. 

"Master, what do you think of all this?" Raman Pilla asked  Rajagopalan Master, while keeping a hot glass of tea on his table. Now all heads turned towards Master, as he was known as a man of good judgement. Normally his arguments were never biased. 

"Hm..." Master sipped some tea, took his time to devour it and to frame his thoughts. Divakar was remembering that moment when he asked a particularly difficult doubt in mathematics class years before.

"I think you all remember the case of Laaly that happened some time back. She found herself in serious trouble when found herself pregnant without getting married. Well, the whole village knew she was into some funny business with that truck driver Ramanan. But when confronted he told outright that there is no chance that it is his, as he had taken all necessary precautions while they were, hm.. getting cozy. There were lot of mudslinging between them, which passed on to their families and in no time our entire community was divided in two. One group told that there is nothing wrong with Laaly and she is just making the whole story up for money. The other group blamed Ramanan for ditching the poor girl after committing to marry her. When things took a nasty turn all the elders gathered and decision was taken to get her examined medically and take a decision based on the result of that examination."

"But what is the connection between this long forgotten episode and the issue of dam?" Abu asked the doubt that lingered on every one's mind while hearing the monologue. 

"Well, this issue is also not different. Kerala claims that the dam is severely damaged and even a mild tremor can cause the rupture resulting in loss of lives. They want to built a new dam and decommission the old one.  Tamil Nadu asserts that there is no need to panic and the dam is strong still. They absolutely deny any claim by Kerala that there is a safety issue involved. Both the parties puts forward diametrically opposed statements as facts. The only sane way to end this argument is to make either parties agree for examining the dam by an impartial agency, the report of which will be agreed by both parties involved and take necessary steps to prevent any disaster before anything nasty happens, just like how we did in Laaly's case."  

Silence reigned. Master finished the tea, kept the cup on the table and rose to leave. All were pondering on the words that they just heard. 

"Master, finally what happened to Laaly..?" Abu whispered in Master's ears, thinking of all that interesting things he missed out while he was abroad...     

Debates: Past and present...

In olden times, people who did not have any work used to pass their time by debating!... What they do is, they select a verse or a stanza of a poem written by some no-good jobless poet, usually in Sanskrit and debate on that. The first assumption made by these pseudo pundits is that this worthless piece of poem deals with the existential perils of mankind and contains a deep meaning and can cure the world of all its troubles...  So each of them interprets it, finds the meaning and try to assert that, their view, which no one in the group follows, is correct. Verbal fights occur among the participants, each of whom equipped with ideas of their own, to claim that they are right. The poor poet delights in all the unwanted attention that his useless  poem receives. 

Last few days, I am standing on the pedestal of the poet. I was told to make a financial statement of my department. As I am just 6 months old there, and the management wanted to show the expenses ridiculously low and the time alloted to  make it was less and I had many other urgent duties to attend, (add any other excuses that you can think of), I made an extensive report without researching, mostly out of my own imagination...! 

After getting my emailed report, the finance manager never bothered to look into it let even correct and forwarded it, as it is, to the auditors. Auditors, who could not make the head and tail of it, asked the manager to put some sense into it. Baffled manager interpreted it as per his limited knowledge and needless to say, the interpretation was bull. Auditors got further confused.  They wanted to clarify it from the person who made the report. Manager asked my boss to make some sense out of it. My boss who made an equally imaginary report last year, added his inputs, further complicating the matters. The auditors came with hundred objections. Meetings after meetings, where all of us auditors, finance manager, my boss and me debated on and on taking different points to suit our individual requirements. We decided to maintain our stand, with blessing from our big boss. More lies were added to the whirlpool by making many more imaginary, ridiculous reports... Tomorrow, finally the tired auditors want to close the audit. I have just made two more reports containing the details which they have asked and am hoping to end the trauma once and for all. 

Pray for me.. :)

On other news, I watcher Transformers 3 last week. And boy, it was the most tiring movie that I ever watched. The humor was inane, acting bad and the CGI was too long. The climax was so long and pointless that, I felt it was longer than the actual movie.. And I also watched X Men: First Class, which compared to the inane Transformers installment was first class. Another watch was a Thai Action comedy called Saturday Killer, which I will recommend to any avid movie watchers not to watch... Most ridiculous comedy I have watched in a while, cringe worthy is an under statement... 

The snack for nights...!

Unagi Pie... A snack for nights!

That was written on the dark red box kept on the top of the cupboard. Unagi...? It is not the first time that I am hearing the word. In that ancient episode of Friends, Ross tries to impress the girls demonstrating a Japanese martial art technique called Unagi. Later they find out he is bluffing and actually Unagi is a Japanese delicacy made of fish, much like Sushi.

Last week, we had a group of Japanese delegates visiting our firm, who had gifted some cookies that we all shared among ourselves. I googled and found Unagi is a fresh water eel found in Japan, which they use in  cooking a wide variety of  delicacies, from Pizza to pie... We have some pure vegetarians in our place, and if they knew that they have eaten fish, even unknowingly, it may prove a bit embarrassing for them. If they have seen the pics of live Unagi that I have googled, even non vegetarians will have a bit discomfort.

Unagi: Live and uncut!

When I confronted the person who distributed the 'cookies' and explained him of my discovery, he replied with a mischievous smile that he had felt something fishy while eating it. I left the matter there. My sincere condolences to all those unsuspecting vegans in my work place who had a taste of this wonderful cookie. (BTW I was not able to find out why did they advertise it as a snack for nights...)

How to write a bestseller with minimal effort...

Recently I happened to read a wonderful blog post by my blogger friend, in which, after getting inspired by a German bestseller, she was planning to write a book on the life of a cleaning lady. After reading this one, I too felt a sudden urge to be an author of a best seller.

There are many advantages of being a best selling author. You can give your valuable (?) opinion on any matter below the sky- politics, terrorism, fashion, movies- you name it!... Whatever stupidity that you say will have a seal of authenticity. Press wallas will be anxiously waiting for any thing that falls from your lips, that can be put on front page and made a controversy of. Only skill you should have is to tell things that are shocking at face value and by which at least the sentiment of one national party or religion should get wounded. There will be much revolt and bashing against you on media and public, but there is no need to panic, because you will be safe behind the veil of "Freedom of Speech". 

Another best thing is that you can have your book made into a movie. Your celebrity status will touch the sky if it happens. And definitely that low-head who ventures to rewrite your master piece on to celluloid will take some liberties and you can sue him and his producer. Like, in your story, the hero will be riding a vintage Rolls Royce through the streets of Norwegia, but producer, unsuccessful to get hold of the former and unable to locate the latter on an atlas, decides to change it to a Volkswagen in Switzerland.  You can shout on the roof tops that your story is compromised and it is totally butchered. Even if this does not give you an immediate financial gain, because you will surely lose the verdict, as, any judge, who has at least a naya paisa worth grey  cells inside his head (and who is definitely not an avid reader of yours, like millions of like minded public with a sound intelligence), can see through your claim, it can give you much coverage in media and you can always don that victim look. 

But writing a book is not an easy task. It needs at least some minimum effort. From finding a topic, to finally getting a publisher, (this issue does not come if you have a best seller in your name already.) the energy, money and time to spent is huge. You can rent a ghost writer, but shouldering the weight of a ghost throughout your life is not an easy task. What if he blackmails later? (Most probably this will not happen, because if any one claims that he is behind that "obnoxious weed" of a novel, public will take care of him.)

Then I came upon this news story.  A professor in Britain, wrote this book titled, " What Every Man Thinks About Apart From Sex (Blank Inside)", which is 200 pages long, but totally blank! You are not surprised? OK, I know what you are thinking. You are thinking about Lajja (Shame)by Taslima Nasreen. To make record straight, let me clarify. It is not blank as that novel. This one is actually, totally white. Not even an ink stain in any of those 200 pages! The professor painstakingly researched for decades and finally came to the conclusion that men thinks of nothing apart from sex. So he went ahead and "wrote" this masterpiece, which became an instant hit through Monster.com. 

Now the easiest way to make some quick bucks is to translate this book into 56 other languages (like the advertisement for Paulo Coelho's Alchemist). But there is no scope here, because the author is translating the book himself to 56 other languages, with the help of Google translator and he says it is far more difficult than his research of two decades. (When the last update came he is working on 56th translation and plans to google search and find any other language is left.)

But I have certain topics that can be used for writing best sellers like this in an Indian context. "What politicians think, apart from Corruption" will be good for a start. Another one can be  "Harish's Mammoth list of sincere politicians". Equally profitable titles will be 

"Intelligent thoughts of Rakhi Sawant", 

"Aiswarya's Thought worthy quotes", 

"Acting techniques from Fardeen Khan"

"Success story of Piyush Chawla"

"Safe ways of travelling in Bangalore"

.... so on and so forth... 

Flashes of insane thoughts...?

The lizard on the ceiling boasted to the man beneath: "Weight of this ceiling is safe on my shoulders..!"

The angry man shouted back: "Get off my ceiling, you filthy reptile."

Precisely the moment lizard got off, ceiling fell! 

I am not sure whether the man got a chance to curse his foolishness for making a pillar-less ceiling, there by giving a chance to the reptile for shouldering its weight. 

****

I know why the flap of my ears are open outwards. If it was inwards, I would have turned insane hearing the shouting of my brain.

****

Marriage and funerals- two rituals that I find very boring. Sometimes I wonder if I can sit through at least mine.. !

****

Recently I saw myself,

naked,

on a mirror on the wall. 

Realized that I am watching myself, 

after many years, 

may be a decade. 

And I cannot recognize him, 

this stranger, 

on this mirror on the wall...

****

People say they are afraid of uncertainties...!

Then why are they afraid of Death,

Which is the only certain thing in life...

****

The title of Tarantino movie Pulp Fiction should be Pulp F#ction..

Yeah, it was a bad joke,

I mean, It was a f*$#@in bad f$#@ed up joke, you muffin...

A fist full of SMS

"What the hell is happening? Who called from my phone?"

Sudden shouts that came from the sitting room caused ripples throughout the house. Seethamma, who was busy boiling tea, shuddered at the voice. It was a rare occation. Rajagopal Master, her husband was a man of cool temper and if he is making this noise, matter is serious. Seethamma ran towards the sitting room.

Akash and Anu had already reached there. Both of them where quite perplexed seeing the usually quiet, amiable Master fuming with his mobile phone in his hand.

"Who called and finished the balance? Tell me the truth!" Master's sound boomed again. His friends had compelled him to buy that phone. For years, when the whole population of the village was basking in the new found sensation of cell phones, SMS and SIM cards, he resisted the compulsion from friends, former students and family. What good was mobile phone for a retired school teacher like him? He used to maintain that it was for business men, who need connectivity on the go.

It took his friends, his former colleagues all now in the same age of autumn as Master, almost three years of continuous persistence to make him consider buying himself one. And Master, a careful spender, or miser in Seethamma's own words, used to be very particular in recharging it. Only once in a month, not more than Rs 30 and that too if there is a full talk time offer. He had charged for Rs 50 last day, and Rs 20was cut immediately thanks to the devotional pack that Seethamma activated. He was quite irritated by this waste of money, but Seethamma was a very devoitonal kind of lady who will not budge in that particular matter.

"I send an SMS for a quizz programme." Akash admitted.

"SMS is free for us, isn't it?"

"No daddy, not for contests." Anu chipped in. "Rs 10 gets cut for every SMS." There was a sound of blame in her voice.

"But Dad, there was a chance to win a DVD player, if the answer is selected."

"But what guarantee is there that you will get the right answer? I have seen some of your answer sheets and am sure you are not the type who wins quizzes." Master mocked his son. 

"No Daddy, infact I got it right!"

"Tell me what was the question?"

"Who is the PM of India?"

"What?"

"Hm.. and the options were, Manmohan Singh, Obama and Tendulkar."

"What a silly question? Who does not know the answer? Every indian will get it right and what are your chances of winning against that many entries? These are tricks by companies to loot money from customers, traps set to cheat fools like you. What a waste of money? So are you sure you have send only one SMS? "

"Daddy, I sent an SMS to India Too Have Talent!" It was Anu's turn now.

"?"

"Daddy, it is a reality show in TV. We can vote contestants through SMS and those who get more votes win." Aakash was taking revenge now. "The first prize is a flat in the heart of the city!"

"So what do you get after helping them?"

Anu's lowered gaze was answer enough for Master. "Oh! So these people are building flats with SMS from my pension money and you are helping them loot me. What about last 10 rupees?"

"I send an SMS to Queen of Kitchen, the program on cooking in Indianet Channel." Seethamma softly told.

"You too?" Master was embarrased and all the more angry now.

"The prize was one day's supply of vegetables to the whole family. I could not contain myself. Please forgive me!"

Master's face mellowed and he became quiet. He noted in his mind to offer some sweets to temple and burn a candle in the nearby church, for good luck with the contest.

To Respond, or To React..?

I was reading this article on maintaining an emotional maturity in work place, when these two terms got into my attention- React and Respond. Two words that sounds similar, but the implications are totally different. 

To react is automatic, reflexive and mostly impulsive.

To respond is thoughtful, calculated, reflective and often positive in nature.

If we depend on reactions, we do not have any control on the situation. 

Like some one hits you, you hit him back, he and two of his friends barges into your home, kicks the shit off you, knocks down two of your front teeth and pisses on your expensive Persian carpet.

But response gives you total control of the situation. 

Now some one hits you, you bear it grinning, later you call two of your good friends, barges into his home at night when you are sure he is drunk and alone, beat the shit off him, knock his front teeth and piss on his expensive Persian carpet... See, now who won the war by giving a thoughtful, planned response...?

I started this one as a very serious post, but could not help it... sorry guys :-)

Malappuram Kathi..

"കായിക്കാ, ഇങ്ങള് മലപ്പുറമല്ലെ?"
"അതെയല്ലോ മോനെ."
"എനക്ക് മലപ്പുറം കത്തി കാണിച്ചു തരുമോ?"
"കള്ളനായിന്റെ മോനെ! അനന്ക്ക് മലപ്പുറം കത്തി കാണണോ ഹിമാറേ?"
ലുങ്കിയുടെ മാടിക്കുത്തില്‍ കൈ വെച്ച് അലറി കായിക്ക. 
"അയ്യോ! മാണ്ട കായിക്കാ, ഞമ്മള് ബെറുതെ പറഞ്ഞതാ."
"ഇതാണ് പഹയാ, മലപ്പുറം കത്തി." കായിക്ക ശാന്തനായി മൊഴിഞ്ഞു. 

Sorry to non malayalee readers. Just an old joke retold. You can check this great intro scene of Reservoir dogs. (Caution! lot of swearing... quite a lot... ahead). Don't ever miss the fabulous song The Little Green Bag in the end...