Greatest game of chess ever played

Depicted above is widely regarded by many greats like Kasparov, Capablanca etc. as the most brilliant game of chess ever played. The game was played in 1851 between Adolf Anderssen and Lionel Kieseritzky. The two greats locked horns in this informal game which was played in an official tournament in London during a break.

In this game Anderssen sacrificed a bishop on move 11, both rooks starting on move 18, and the queen on move 22 to produce a checkmate which stands unparalleled in its brilliance.

The moves of the game with small annotations (source: Wikipedia):


White: Adolf Anderssen
Black: Lionel Kieseritzky
Opening: King's Gambit, C33

1. e4 e5 2. f4

This is the King's Gambit: Anderssen offers his pawn in exchange for faster development. Although this was a common opening in the nineteenth century, it is less common today, as Black is often able to eventually equalize development, so White will be down in material.

2. ... exf4

Kieseritsky accepts the gambit; this variant is thus called the King's Gambit Accepted.

3. Bc4 Qh4+

Black's move will force White to move his king and White will not be able to castle, but this move also places Black's queen in peril, and Black will have to waste time to protect it.

4. Kf1 b5?

This is the Bryan gambit, named after Thomas Jefferson Bryan. It is not considered a sound move by most players today.


5. Bxb5 Nf6 6. Nf3

This is a common developing move, but the knight now attacks Black's queen, forcing Black to protect it instead of developing his own side.

6. ... Qh6 7. d3

With this move, White now has solidified control over the critical center of the board.

7. ... Nh5

This move threatens Ng3+, and it protects the pawn at f4, but it also sidelines the knight to a poor position at the edge of the board, where knights are the least powerful.

8. Nh4 Qg5

9. Nf5 c6

This simultaneously unpins the queen pawn and attacks the bishop.

10. g4 Nf6 11. Rg1!

This is an advantageous passive piece sacrifice. If Black accepts, his queen will be moved away from the action, giving White a lead in development.

11. ... cxb5?


12. h4!

White's knight at f5 protects the pawn, which is attacking Black's queen.

12. ... Qg6 13. h5 Qg5 14. Qf3

Anderssen now has two threats:

* Bxf4, which will trap Black's queen (the queen has no safe place to go),
* e5, which would attack Black's knight at f6 while simultaneously exposing an attack by White's queen on the unprotected black rook at a8.

14. ... Ng8

This deals with the threats, but undevelops Black even further — now the only Black piece not on its starting square is the queen, which is about to be put on the run, while White has control over a great deal of the board.

15. Bxf4 Qf6 16. Nc3 Bc5

An ordinary developing move by Black, which also attacks the rook at g1.

17. Nd5

White responds to the attack with a counter-attack. This move threatens Nc7, which would fork the king and rook.

17. ... Qxb2

Black gains a pawn, and threatens to gain the rook at a1 with check.


18. Bd6!!

With this move White offers to sacrifice both his rooks. Huebner comments that, from this position, there are actually many ways to win, and he believes there are at least three better moves than 18. Bd6: 18. d4, 18. Be3, or 18. Re1, which lead to strong positions or checkmate without needing to sacrifice so much material. The commercial version of the chess-playing computer program Junior recommends 18. Nc7+, followed by Re1. Garry Kasparov has pointed out that the world of chess would have lost one of its "crown jewels" if the game had continued in such an unspectacular fashion. The Bd6 move is unusual, because White is willing to give up so much material.

18. ... Bxg1?

It is from this move that Black's defeat stems.

19. e5!

This sacrifices yet another White rook. More importantly, this move prevents the Black queen from protecting Black's g7 pawn — in fact, the Black queen will not be able to easily return to defend Black's king at all. It sets up a dangerous possible attack, 20. Nxg7+ Kd8 21. Bc7#.

20. ... Qxa1+ 20. Ke2

At this point, Black's attack has run out of power; Black has a queen and bishop on the back row, but cannot effectively mount an immediate attack on White, while White can storm forward.

21. ... Na6

This move was probably made to counter 21. Nc7, which would fork the Black king and rook, and it prevents the bishop from occupying c7 as part of a mating attack, but White has another dangerous attack available. 20...Ba6 is a much better try.

22. Nxg7+ Kd8 22. Qf6+

This is a queen sacrifice, on top of the earlier sacrifices of a bishop and both rooks, and Black cannot avoid taking the queen.

22. ... Nxf6 23. Be7# 1-0

At the end, Black is ahead in material by a considerable margin: a queen and two rooks, plus the advantage of having both bishops, while having only one fewer pawn. But the material does not help Black. White has been able to use his remaining pieces - two knights and a bishop - to force mate.

How to kill a mouse

Here is a step by step procedure for killing that mouse that has been pestering you at nights for so long. The inspiration for this is a real life incident that took place at one of my friends' house. He happened to trap the mouse in a small enclosure but now he is hanging in the dilemma of what to do with it. The mouse has been sitting in that dark enclosure for a few days now (I guess) and apparently it has become extremely annoyed at having been kept deprived of any food whatsoever. He expresses his anger by nibbling at the enclosure's wooden interiors. There is another twist to this story. A moral one. His roommate doesn't want to kill the mouse. So here is the situation in a nutshell:

The Cast: 2 roommates. 1 mouse.

The Scene: Mouse trapped below a table. All exits closed. Its dark inside. And lonely. The mouse is infuriated at this blatant disregard for rodent rights. He starts polishing the wood of the table. Roommate 1 who happens to share the room with the table which stands on top of the mouse who is nibbling gets crazy by the constant sound of dentine workout. He cannot take it anymore. But he cannot do much. The other roommate doesn't want to kill the mouse. And they sure can't let him go.

The Dilemma: Should they kill him or should they take the humunguous risk of trying to open an exit and catch the mouse so that they could throw him out ? Should they feed him ? What if he comes back again ? And with vengeance ? What if he nibbles through the table and comes out in the open to set matters straight with the two ? What if he bites through the floor and falls in the room below ?

My stance is that the mouse should be killed and killed fast. Opening the exits and trying to catch him is far too dangerous to be considered as a possible option. He might run away and who knows what all possibilities might present themselves to him as means of getting back to his captors with interest. The shoe rack, the cupboard, the foodgrains, the linens are all possible targets. And it is only too well known how devastating a pissed rodent can prove to be. The only option is to kill him and here are some of my suggestions as to how to do it. We have all seen rodent killing baits and sprays but all those methods seem to be too demeaning for a mouse that has suffered so much. His death should be special:

1. Concentration Chamber: Get some of the stuff Hitler used to use and pass it below the desk. Close the exit, wait for 20 minutes then open to find the mouse dead. Even if he is not dead, I am sure he would atleast be inebriated in which case you can get a hold of him and throw him out. Make sure to bang his head with a spatula before throwing. This will ensure that even if he gets back to his senses, he will have no recollection of what has been meted out to him and by whom. You do not want to be in his bad books.

2. The magic: This is a very delicate technique. You will need 2 swords. Start from the left edge of the table. Make a hole just big enough so that you could insert a sword into it but not big enough for the mouse to come out. Insert one sword upto the end. Move a bit to the right and carry out the same procedure with the second sword. Now take out the first one and insert it to the right of the second. Keep doing it till one of your swords touches something soft. Once it does, give it a final violent push. The mouse is dead. Now on with carpet cleaning.

3. The deathly workout: Take two gongs and place them on two opposite sides of the table. Ring one. The mouse startled, will run to the opposite side. Go to the opposite side and ring the other one. The mouse will run to the previous side. Keep doing this all through the night and the mouse should be dead by the morning due to exhaustion. The mouse might be intelligent but its not that you have nothing going for you. You have more expendable fat.

So here were my kickass techniques for killing a mouse. If nothing works out you can atleast transfer your pains to the apartment below:

Dig a trench in the floor all around the table. The trench should be big enough to see the ongoings of the apartment below. Open the exit. The mouse runs out and falls through the trench in the house below. All done. You have a ruined floor and carpet but you also have the satisfaction which only comes from seeing someone else endure the pain that has resided in your butt till now.

Taste of Potassium Cyanide

I was wondering today. What would Potassium Cyanide taste like ? Not that I am going to try to find out anytime but I am just driven by the basic human weakness of inquisitiveness. Afterall even a miniscule dose kills in less than 15 seconds. Is it even possible to determine its taste ? I know it smells like Almonds but how would one determine the taste ?

People have said that some guys have tasted diluted form of KCN and experienced a bitter taste but I can easily refute this theory. This theory just does not hold water. Why would one drink a diluted solution of KCN in order to determine its taste ? I mean, if 300 mg is needed to kill a person, why would one need to dilute it with water in order to find the taste. Why not just take, lets say 50 mg of undiluted KCN and be done with it ? Diluting KCN in water will only serve one purpose - Making it harder still to determine the taste with certainity. Most of these stories must have been the brainchild of some idle nincompoop grappling with the properties of solutions in physical chemistry trying to apply his half baked ideas to practical applications like this.

So here is my advice to all those who are willing to stake their lives for a better informed society : Try KCN in a smaller dose. I would say 1/5 of the fatal dose. If you are lucky enough, you would be able to tell the taste. There is just no point trying to dilute it with water and then wondering why the hell does the solution tastes like distilled water. The result also depends upon your sensitivity of taste. Mind you, if you cannot taste it, you were just not cut out for it. Don't go 'Well lets have one more spoon and see what happens'. It doesn't have to be an ego point. If your friend performs better, well, tough luck. Don't swell your chest and go 'My mom said if someone can do it, I can too'.

Anyways, I digressed a bit. I was thinking of making a movie plot which would revolve around this special property of KCN. The movie would be 3.5 hours long. It would start with a happy family. Everyone would be leading a perfect life until one fine day the husband discovers that his wife is cheating on him and tension starts to simmer beneath the surface. The wife suspects that he knows. They constantly indulge in quarrels which by the way screw up the children completely. Depression coupled with midlife crisis forces the husband to evaluate his life. He starts looking for ways to make sense of his life which he thinks is going waste. What could he do to make a mark in the world ? How would the world remember his name ? How can he bring a meaningful change to society ? Such are the questions pestering him when he comes upon this unsolved problem of the taste of KCN. Perfect ! He doesn't wanna live anymore. How better to die than dying for the betterment of the society. He figures:

"If not in life, I would be worth atleast in death' (Melodramatic music. Glycerine. Flashbacks of his wife and children).

Ecstatic at this ingenious plan, he moves ahead to bring it to fruition. Last 10 minutes of the movie. He has to tell whether KCN tastes sugary or salty. He has the bottle in his hands. He has a pen in the other hand. A pink coloured, scented paper is lying just below the pen. Orchestral music is slowly reaching a crescendo. There are beads of perspiration on his head. He weighs his judgement again. His children float in front of his eyes. Then his wife. His home. His dreams, happy times. Then the sullen faces of all those millions who lead an unfulfilled life unaware of the taste of KCN and die with only one wish- What the hell does it taste like ? In that moment of intense judgement he decides to die for the social good. He takes a spoonful and transfers it to his mouth. Sudden convulsion grips him instantly. He starts shivering, choking, writhing in pain. He takes the pen and in that last moment of intense concentration writes something down... Police arrive the next day and see the paper. Whats it gonna be. Sugary or Salty? Sugary or Salty? Sugary or Salty? The paper reads:

S

Hu ha ha ha. Hu ha ha ha. My revenge against all those suckers who leave the most important details of a movie 'to the discretion of the viewer'. My foot. How about this ending. Not only is it a kickass story, it also makes sure that millions of manhours are wasted all across the world. Next time when a bunch of friends come out of a David Lynch atrocity, they could atleast console themselves by saying:

"Atleast Lynch didn't pull off a Srivastava"

Telephonically stunted

I don't get it. Its not that I am a particularly retarded human being woefully inept at social mannerisms. Neither am I especially ignorant in matters pertaining to general knowledge or literature or sports etc. so as to find myself perennially at loss of ideas during a normal conversation with another person. I am not really identified as too much of a geek who finds it difficult to initiate and sustain a face to face dialogue. But give me a phone with another human being on the other side and I just run out of ideas to talk about in approximately the first 13 seconds.

I don't understand what people talk about for hours together on a telephone. I have never been able to fathom the mysterious ways of those who tread the murky waters of a telephonic conversation with the ease of a fish in water. For me atleast, there are few things more excruciating than a telephone call from a distant relative or a friend I have hardly been in touch with who sees the present call as a means of whiling away his 20 minutes just because they could not think of anything better to do. The call starts with the innocuous looking:

"Haan to kya chal raha hai ?" (Wassup?)

My heartbeat for one... but don't count on it. I just heard a vein pop in my head when you asked this question. What the hell does it mean anyways. Nobody who asks anyone 'Wassup?' really wants to know 'Wassup.'. There are few phrases more futile than 'I want to live life to the fullest' and 'Wassup?' beats it by a mile. The moment I hear this question, my life functions automatically go into hibernation. My brain sends all the vestigial body functions to sleep, my heart starts beating at half the normal rate, my body temperature drops by 3 points, my digestive system goes into a nap and I start burning fat instead of food. After that I enter one of those zenlike states where I am only vaguely aware of what the other person is speaking and my awareness serves only to help me answer his questions in rhetorics and more questions.

But some of these callers are becoming shrewder by the day. After putting up with my answers mainly consisting of 'Oh!', 'Great!', 'Well thats good', 'What?' for about 15 minutes, they somehow realize that I might not be giving the attention they deserve so they come up with something that any self-respecting individual would do. Direct confrontation:

'Saale, tu sun nahin raha hai kya ?' (ARE YOU NOT LISTENING ?).

At which point I have to kickstart my machinery, accumulate what little I had assimilated in the last 15 minutes, pass it all through a series of logic gates, come up with the most likely topic that the other person would have been discussing, decide my opinion on it and confidently retort:

'Hain ????' (translates into 'Whats that?' but with much more cluelessness.)

The conversation goes downhill from there and the only thing worth looking forward for me is the sweet sound of 'Click' which signifies that the 3rd degree has stopped.

Its not that I do not want to talk to people, its just that I do not have enough things to talk about on a telephone and I just do not find it interesting or stimulating enough. Most of my outgoing phone calls fail to cross the 1 minute duration mark. I cannot explain how many times I have to fight with myself before finally deciding to pick up a call which I suspect would last more than 5 (barring from very few people. Till the last count the number was 3.).

And as if all of this was not bad enough, they have gone ahead and provided voice mails to every phone. Now I cannot even say 'oh your number is not stored in my phone so I couldn't recognize the missed call and you know with all these spam callers nowadays I do not generally call back to unidentified numbers'. They will listen to this baloney with all the patience in the world and come up with the atom bomb:

"And the voice mail ?"

They hardly understand that their voice mail is probably 78th in the line of unheard voice messages since October 2006 and it would be awfully impossible for me to sift through all that junk to get to that particular message i.e. if I remembered my voicemail password in the first place. Unless Apple comes up with iPhone with the random voicemail utility and unless I become mentally senile enough to once again get blinded by all that glitter and end up buying one, doesn't it sound a bit harsh expecting me to listen to the 78th message after listening to 77 ? I know it does.

Well anyways, the bottom line is that the quality of a successful telephone conversationist is woefully lacking in me. In a world where teenage girls go yammering away for hours non-stop on the phone, discussing their pointless antics, where aunties swell up the telephone bills discussing how Mr. Sharma's daughter was seen with that other guy, where guys beat the 'unlimited calls' rule to death romantically swooning over every syllable that pours in from the other side, where the right hand spends more time near the ear than its politically correct place, where the normal position of the human head is now being described as 'slightly right to the line of symmetry', here I am with a cell phone with hardly any sign of wear on its number pad constantly chewing over the eternal question:

"What do they talk about ?"

Bye Bye Miss American Pie

'Bye Bye Miss American Pie' is an epic song from Don Mclean and I must confess but I must have listened to this song which runs for upwards of 8 minutes atleast 50 times in 2 days. As beautiful as the song is inasmuch as its lyrics and melody are concerned, it also gives an amazing insight into the rocknroll era of the 50s, 60s, and the early 70s of American music scene through its varied allusions to various milestones along the musical history. This is one of those songs which make even the harshest cynics go silent. There is just nothing in the song that is not perfect and desirable and beautiful. The staunchest of critics of American culture can only bite their nails and maybe point out to the length of the song in a last ditch effort of coming up with atleast some criticism. Nevertheless, on with the post.

First of all, you can listen to this song here but I suggest getting some perspective of what is being said in the song before actually listening to it in order to appreciate it better:

Miss American Pie

The song represents the point of view of singer Don Mclean through his childhood and into his adulthood and his take on the changes through which the musical scene of America underwent begining 1950. The song is primarily an emotional tribute to Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and Jiles Perry Richardson all of whom died in an aircrash in the February of 1959. Buddy Holly was an exceptionally gifted singer who made waves at about the same time Elvis Pressly was making America gyrate to his pulsating tunes. He is considered one of the greatest proponents of rocknroll and despite dying at a very young age of 22, still regarded by many to be as good if not better than Elvis. He defined an age brimming with rebellion, an age bubbling with the revolution of creativity, nicely iced with a varnish of simplicity and innocence. Aspects which are woefully missing in today's music. One song that I particularly like is:

That'll be the day

You see what I am saying. What the song lacks in the clarity of audio and the sophisitication and aural power of the instruments, it makes up in a sincere dose of emotion and passion for music in the singer (Holly).

Don Mclean, in Miss American Pie, gives a tearful tribute to the genius which died young. He terms this particular day, The day the music died, a phrase that has entered the popular lexicon now. Here are the lyrics to the song. At the end, I have listed some of the allusions mentioned in the song (marked in bold) and their place in American Music history:

Lyrics:
-------

A long, long time ago...
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they’d be happy for a while.

But february made me shiver
With every paper I’d deliver.
Bad news on the doorstep;
I couldn’t take one more step.

I can’t remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride,
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.

So bye-bye, miss american pie.
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

Did you write the book of love,
And do you have faith in God above,
If the Bible tells you so?
Do you believe in rock ’n roll,
Can music save your mortal soul,
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?

Well, I know that you’re in love with him
`cause I saw you dancin’ in the gym.
You both kicked off your shoes.
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues.

I was a lonely teenage broncin’ buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck,
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died.

I started singin’,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

Now for ten years we’ve been on our own
And moss grows fat on a rollin’ stone,
But that’s not how it used to be.
When the jester sang for the king and queen,
In a coat he borrowed from james dean
And a voice that came from you and me,

Oh, and while the king was looking down,
The jester stole his thorny crown.
The courtroom was adjourned;
No verdict was returned.
And while lennon read a book of marx,
The quartet practiced in the park,
And we sang dirges in the dark
The day the music died.

We were singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

Helter skelter in a summer swelter.
The birds flew off with a fallout shelter,
Eight miles high and falling fast.
It landed foul on the grass.
The players tried for a forward pass,
With the jester on the sidelines in a cast.

Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
While the sergeants played a marching tune.
We all got up to dance,
Oh, but we never got the chance!
`cause the players tried to take the field;
The marching band refused to yield.
Do you recall what was revealed
The day the music died?

We started singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

Oh, and there we were all in one place,
A generation lost in space
With no time left to start again.
So come on: jack be nimble, jack be quick!
Jack flash sat on a candlestick
Cause fire is the devil’s only friend.

Oh, and as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage.
No angel born in hell
Could break that satan’s spell.
And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite,
I saw satan laughing with delight
The day the music died

He was singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news,
But she just smiled and turned away.
I went down to the sacred store
Where I’d heard the music years before,
But the man there said the music wouldn’t play.

And in the streets: the children screamed,
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.
But not a word was spoken;
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most:
The father, son, and the holy ghost,
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died.

And they were singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

They were singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die."

---------

Allusions:

The day the music died: February 3 1959 when Buddy Holly, Valens and Richardson died in a plane crash.

Miss American Pie: Probably refers to the expression "As American as a pie" and in essence points to the innocence and idealism of an idea that is vintage American.

Chevee and Levee: Chevee or Chevy again refers to an idea that is distinctly American by pointing out the Chevrolet brand of cars. levee represents a body of water and driving beside it represents an ideal and a beautiful journey. Finding the levee dry signifies the dirth of happiness, a dystopian scenario.

'Jester' and 'moss grows fat on a rollin’ stone': Jester refers to the great Bob Dylan and the line 'moss grows fat' signifies a reducing popularity of Dylan's music. The paragraph refers to the time when Elvis's (alluded as King) popularity was decreasing and his place was being taken by Dylan (Jester)

lennon: lennon obviously refers to the rise of the Beatles. By the way, the name Beatles is again a tribute to Buddy Holly whose band was called The Crickets.

The birds: Refers to the period where the American band the Byrds became momentarily famous. This was a time pregnant with tumultuous changes. The Jestor (Dylan) is referred to as being sidelined (due to a motorcycle accident).

sergeants: The Beatles, who were changing the scene of American Music from rocknroll to classic rock, seen by many contemprories as a musically diluting effect and something that would ultimately lead to the corruption of the innocence vested in the music.

Oh, and there we were all in one place,
A generation lost in space: Woodstock '69. Certainly a defining moment in Music history. Considered by many to be the most powerful statement of the counterculture thriving in the 60s. A generation lost in space refers to the excessive usage of drugs by the generation and more broadly refers to the hippie culture.


Oh, and as I watched him on the stage: Refers to the Rolling Stone. This paragraph particularly refers to the Altamont Free Concert which was held in SFO in '69 and was being touted as Woodstock West before it ran into immense mismanagement leading to 4 deaths and several injuries.

No angel born in hell: Refers to Hell's Angels, a group which was given the responsibility of the security for the concert. Fights between the audience and the group led to violent incidents and this concert is widely regarded as the turning point when drug abuse and violence reared their heads in the Rock scene of American Music. This is the point to which the loss of innocence in Music is attributed.

girl: Refers to Janice Joplin, widely regarded as the greatest White blues singer who died a premature death due to accidental overdose of heroin.

So here it was. My take on a beautiful song. English afterall is not that drab a language :). Meanwhile, if you like Miss American Pie, listen to this gem by Don Mclean. Its a tribute to the Dutch painter Vincent Van Gogh:

Vincent

Unusual Wikipedia articles

And by interesting, I mean KickAss...

These are the titles of some of the articles that once used to be on wikipedia until someone had the shortsight of terming them as irrelevant and stupid. Personally, I feel that its an infringement of the basic human right of expression and knowledge. More so because of the very important topics these articles dealt with:

3.141592653589793238462643383279502884197169399375105820974944592307816406286208998628034825342117 :This was the title of the article which apparently redirected to the article for 'pi'. The editors thought that no one would be knowledgeable enough to put the above string into the search field in order to search for pi. Moreover, anyone who knows pi to such precision probably won't need a wikipedia article for learning more about it.

2. Alternative Rock: This article wasn't itself deleted but the entry describing it was. It said: "Alternative rock is the rock which is lying near the other rock that you are watching". Pretty smart, eh?

3. Does not link to Hitler: This article aimed to link to every page on the Internet which did not link to Hitler. Aim high, I say.

4. Guide to: Blowing Your Nose & Getting Dressed : This article gave a step by step tutorial on how to blow your nose. It catered to the special needs of a whole range of nose blowers. While on one hand, rank amateurs could learn how to blow their noses from scratch, experienced nose-blowers could also take something away from the wealth of information contained on this page. Too bad it got deleted for there are far too many young ones now who have no idea how to blow their noses and have to depend on the mercy of the adults to teach them the secret art.

5a. List of notable people who have been stung by jellyfish
5b. List of jellyfish who have stung notable people

6. List of people who are alive or are dead : Basically a census of the WHOLE FREAKING WORLD.

7. List of people without names: This article did not have even a single entry. I wonder why...

8. List of those who are "far left" according to Bill O'Reilly : You would appreciate it more if you knew just how big a bonehead Bill O'Reilly of Fox News is. Just to give you an idea, this article would have been as big as "List of people who are alive or are dead" except for Bill O'Reilly and George Bush.

9. Mirwin's prototype of synergistally rationalized collaboration as an example of developing liquid resources from ambient commons in USA, tailor as required: Sounds like the title of an average scientific paper. Entirely incomprehensible. After a few years I have understood that the academic status of a journal paper in the eyes of the beholder does not lie in its comprehensibility but rather its incomprehensibility.

10. Polydimensional industrial bio-cosmic psychology of microscopic bacterium: Or in simpler words, Psychology of a bacteria.

Infomercials - The zenith of creative ad-making

Before saying anything, let me just make it clear that there is no sarcasm in this article. In fact, I would just go ahead and say that I never say anything sarcastic. I didn't even know the meaning of the word sarcasm till I looked it up in the dictionary a few moments back. Now that things have been clarified enough, I will get on with the subject matter:

"Infomercials kick ass"

Infomercials (paid programming/teleshopping) are those advertisements which generally hunt for their prey after 11:00 and run for the better part of atleast half an hour straight. The basic structure of every infomercial ever made has always been the same:

1. An over-enthusiastic guy who has invented something completely irrelevant that is able to perform a completely unnecessary task in just seconds. It doesn't matter if his contraption sets you back a fortune just for inserting a nail in a wooden frame, or for illuminating the inside of your purse, or for turning your kitchen into a personal butcher shop. As long as it saves you seconds of hard work, the over-enthusiastic dude keeps on yammering about his wonder product NON-STOP.

2. Another guy who has no idea what the hell is going on. He keeps on posing the over-enthusiastic dude completely arbitrary questions and keeps on performing his part of a humunguously confused guy to the hilt. Frankly, he doesn't get it. If the infomercial had been a government, this guy would have been George W. Bush presiding over the Iraq evacuation bill in the congress. He manages to keep the audience (me) interested in the ad by periodicaly uttering cliched and evidently rehearsed exclamations. "Oh! Wonderful! Now I can cut these potatoes in a fraction of a second". "Oh! Great! now I can look into my purse even in the dark!", "Oh! Brilliant! Now I can remember where I placed my keys". At this point of time, I generally start banging my head on the wall till I get a concussion.

3. Most of these infomercials generally have an audience as well as if trying to console the TV viewer that he is not the only moron in the world who watches such shows. There are atleast 22 more. All of them have a vaguely interested look which lies somewhere between that of a philosophy student who accidently finds himself in a statistics class (or for that matter anyone who finds himself in a statistics class.... including statistics students) and that of a person, high on dope, trying to decide what's it going to be next: Cocaine or Marijuana. They keep asking their retarded questions just to keep the flow going and just to give us a break before the over-enthusiastic dude starts again on his memorized speech which he has already blurted out verbatim for atleast 9 times.

After about 20 minutes of sincere salesmanship, the guy who "doesn't really get what the hell is going on" gets it. With the eloquence of a Venkatesh Prasad finally realizing that he is a spinner in reality, he stumbles to the light at the end of the tunnel, the hard way. At this point of time the O-E dude gives a smirk of triumph, turns to the camera, points at his product, and gets onto the financial issues with the promptness of a doctor elaborating his fees after he is done diagonising you. Oh! I can get a knife, another knife, a blue plastic jar, a food grade plate and a host of other things free if I order in the next 10 minutes. Oh! how lucky!. I am sure I am the only one getting this. Oh! how was I ever going to live a fulfilling life had I not come across this brilliant offer!.

I am generally in awe of the OE-dude and his kickass product till I see the whole informercial repeat itself. It generally takes me till the end of the repeat show to realize that when they gave me that incredible offer last time on the condition that I order it in the next 10 minutes, they weren't really telling the complete truth. At this point of time, I generally become suspicious that maybe, and I am just spitballing here, maybe those people give this offer every half and hour every day. And whats worse I have started getting a feeling that it might not really be an exclusive offer. Oh my god! I just had a brainwave. What about those internet adverts where they say that I am the 1 millionth visitor and I win a free iPod. I hope they are genuine.

RAP

I don't know how but I landed on this wikipedia page today about an American rap singer called Snoop Dogg. I remembered having had some discussion about this 'artist' and his history with Khatri bhai a few days back so I got reminded of him instantly. I really admired the way the singer had mispronounced his name as 'Dogg' instead of 'Dog' because lets face it, proper pronunciation is overrated and hollow personalities lacking ioatas of characters all around the world find it difficult to express their empty and worthless ideas without the constant gnawing fear of getting exposed as shallow without riding on the crutches of a mauled and bleeding language (...not a generalization). I came to know that this guy had been charged with many crimes including murder and I really felt bad for all that he had gone through. I felt so sympathetic at one point of time, that I almost forgave him for all the shootings and muggings and killings that he might have done and that I was almost ready to forget about all those years this social evil spent driving his limo and living in his palatial home when he should have been rotting in a maximum security prison in some corner of the US and I almost was ready to turn a blind eye towards his blatant lack of musical talent because I know that in a world pestered with singers of the caliber of Paris Hilton and Himesh Reshammiya, there is only so far I can go pointing fingers at individuals before realizing that its more a trait of the society in general than segregated ineptitude.

Nevertheless, that's not even the point. My point is this: Rap is not music. Period. Wherever I go, I see people wearing extreme t-shirts, the size of their father's, tilted caps, shorts precariously hanging from points way below where they were meant to be, speaking god knows what language, their hands constantly moving in gestures which ought to ooze the word COOL but only managing to reinforce what I already know about them: STUPID. These are specifically the kind of people who listen to RAP sung by people with names like Snoop Dogg. It doesn't take Einstein then to figure out the minimum intellectual requirements required to realize the overwhelming stupidity of such kind of music. Even when Baba Sehgal during the 90s was pouring hot metal into the unsuspecting ears of Indian public in the form of the crime against humanity that were his voice and talent, I, probably a 15 year old, could tell that this could not be music. I am inclined to say that that probably was the golden age of RAP (and Eminem) and it has only gone down since then (if it was possible).

There are atleast two requirements for a good song:
1. Good music
2. Good vocals
In the absence of one, the other should more than make up for it. Like instrumental music (especially classical) or Rock. Nevertheless, the problem with RAP is that it does not have any good vocals on one hand and on the other, their proponents are just not talented enough to produce good music even. They try to make up for this lack of talent and quality in the form of raunchiness of the video and a general potrayal of hipness and coolness. Open minded people would like to give RAP the benefit of doubt but since I am not one I would just say that its crap and anyone who likes it enough to follow it closely should evaluate his life right now. Its the sound monkeys make while fighting for the last crumb of bread. Its the sound you hear when someone scratches his nails on the blackboard or screeches a rusted iron piece on a concrete floor. Things like RAP, gothism, drug culture etc. should have been boycotted long before and the only reason they survive is because of the need of some sections of the society to potray themselves as depressed and rebellious while they forget that life is a struggle for most but while most people have chosen to put up a brave face, they have chosen to take recourse to aesthetics by labeling themselves as oppressed and sidelined.

Chacha Chaudhary

Its one of the series of homages to those eternal comic strips which punctuated an average day in the life of an average Indian kid about 10 years back. That was the time when kids had better things to do than getting their brains liquefied by the idot box watching mindless soaps and even more moronic movies. This post concerns that great character : Chacha Chaudhary. Nostalgia is a great deluder. Irrespective of how mindless those comics seem in hindsight, they were a joy to reckon with in the bygone era and my perspective is coloured both by a pining love for the dying genre and a humourous take on their sheer artistic ineptitude which by the way did not seem to matter then:

The Protagonists:


Pictured above is the main protagonist, an octagenarian with very matter of fact look as if he is just done saying "I told you so". He differs from all other superheroes in the sense that he does not have to wear his underwear over his pants in order to indulge in rampant ass kickery. His main weapons are his sharp mind and huge coincidences which the writer tries to pass off as somehow resulting from his ingenuity. His mind purportedly works faster than a computer although with the computers of that age slothing away at a few megahertz, I would hardly take that as a complement. Mr. Chaudhary supposedly never locks his home but then only a suicidal psychopath would dare break into your home also when you have a wife like:


When Bhaagwan is not busy preparing truckloads of food for her family, she is basically known to pass her time beating the hell out of Chacha. One of her main weapons is a belan (which in more civilized homes is used for preparing rotis) and this is one of the few times in her life when she was photographed without one.


The image says it all. Sabu is from Jupiter... ... ... I will let it sink in... ... ... So then, Sabu is from Jupiter and Jupiter being n times larger than Earth, it is inconceivable that its residents are of the same size or lesser than those of Earth. But there is something we did not know about their sizes before Cartoonist Pran decided that humanity was mature enough to face the truth. Jupiter residents change sizes as you can see below:


Sabu eats 108 rotis, 12 kilos of Halwa and drinks about 20 litres of Lassi in one meal (Source:Wikipedia) and when he gets angry there is a volcanic explosion on Jupiter which all makes sense because he is from Jupiter and a volcano erupting on Mars would be too ridiculous to believe. As if the notion of volcanic activity on his homeplanet wasn't corny enough, Cartoonist Pran goes ahead and draws a small volcano on the side whenever Sabu gets angry. Now how are we supposed to believe that its the same volcano and not one of the millions which would have been spewing fire had Jupiter NOT BEEN A GASEOUS PLANET ? "Nevermind Logic: Corn is up for Grabs". Meanwhile Chacha also has a dog named Rocket. And oh by the way, he is vegetarian... whatever that means in a canine context.

The Antagonists:


No its not Gabbar Singh, its Gobar singh which effectively translates into "Dung Singh". Its like his mother left him no chance. I can almost picture his parents at the time of his christening. Hmmm... what should we name this filthy, hairy sack of flesh and bones... Hmmm... how about kachra (garbage)... no not degrading enough... how about Gobar !!!... and they rejoiced at screwing up their child's life. Whats more astonishing is the fact the Mr. Dung went on to opt for Dacoity as his career. New rule: anyone named Gobar isn't allowed to be a dacoit. How are people supposed to take him seriously. No wonder that his only achievement in life is being famous for getting his ass repeatedly kicked by an 80 year old. His accomplices include Dhamaka singh and Palita Singh. As unfortunate as the name Palita is even for a real Palita (what does it mean anyways), its almost a crime against humanity when used to denote a person. Its one of those words which do not mean anything and if you think about them long enough you will realize how inhumanely funny they are. Its like Tinda or Albuquerque . Now whoever came up with that one.


Pictured above is one of the most devilish characters ever to adorn a cartoon strip in India. Make way Mr. Chumba, move aside Mr. Kirgi, here comes Raka. Everything about Raka is NO JOKE. He likes to ruin people's days for no reason at all. One moment you see him walking on the road minding his own business, another, he picks up a car and munches it up with all the ingredients inside. That is how badass he is. No wonder he remains one of the few characters which gave me sleepless nights during my childhood. The other being that lady from Ramayana who gets up from the ocean and tries to eat Hanumaan. That was way too scary.

This was too much fun. I should probably review specific comics from Chacha.

An ode to C&H

Even now, when the days are lenient enough and the nights are warm enough to provide room for nostalgia, I sometimes remember the innocence of childhood. I still like to drug away the pointlesness and cynicism of youth by the LSD of those old memories. Even if for just a few moments, the relief is both palpable and welcome. Things did not make much sense then. There wasn't much motives to my actions and much regret at their results. The joy of doing something was neither clouded by the apprehension of failure, nor the expectation of success. Victory was only as sweet as failure was bitter. None of them managed to tax the tongue too much. Just left a barely discernible taste of abnormalcy.

That is why I like Calvin and Hobbes so much. The comic strip is a glowing testimony to those good old times. Calvin, with his tantrums and hyper-imagination and wierd philosophies (well, not so wierd really) and pointless activities. Hobbes with his warm friendliness and innocuous cynicism and maturity and immaturity. And between these two, a cosy little world which bred the most daring of imaginations, the most astounding of inventions, the most maddening of antics and yes, the most piercing of insights into the real world.

"The problem with people is that they don't look at the big picture. Eventually, we're each going to die, our species will go extinct, the sun will explode, and the universe will collapse. Existence isn't only temporary, it's pointless! We're all doomed, and worse, nothing matters!", said Calvin, and seldom have I heard someone else hit the nail on its head harder. To even think that our presence has a higher motive seems so self concieted at best, especially when you look at the tiny speck that our (humanity's) existence occupies in the grandest scheme of things. Human motivation, if driven by a distant goal of achieving immorality, will fall over its head. Rather, it should just be driven either by passion or a question of survival. Both of them are illogical and hence apt for a life which itself is illogical.

Throughout the strip, we can see a pessimism that is so necessary for leading a fulfilling life. Unless the realization that everything that we indulge in will come to a naught doesn't dawn upon us, we would always be crying at every failure and prolonging the celebrations at every small success. Unless we come to see the truth behind the phrase "Keep climbing", we probably will keep on screwing up our lives trying to climb the imaginary ladder where our position is decided in the eyes of the beholder. That is why I like it when Calvin says "I hate to think that all my current experiences will someday become stories with no point." or "The secret to happiness is short-term, stupid self-interest!" or "Reality continues to ruin my life.".

There is a subtle but a very important commentary on our misplaced priorities as adults in the whole strip. Phrases like "It seems like once people grow up, they have no idea what's cool." or "Childhood is for spoiling adulthood." seem so much more relevant when you are in one of those blue moods (The only time, I think, when your thoughts are not clouded by unnecessary trifles). The strip is replete with strong social commentary throughout like "You know how people are. They only recognize greatness when some authority confirms it." or "Happiness is being famous for your financial ability to indulge in every kind of excess.". Its a reflection of Bill Watterson's mind, one of the few persons I really admire for his integrity and his love for his craft. In a world infested with people who are all too ready to sell their principles and morals at the slightest possible pretext, Bill Watterson chose to stand for the integrity of his first love. And it shows in the quality of the strip.

A cop caught me tonight

Well this is the first time and I am so proud of my performance.

I was coming back after watching the friday night movie from the college, you know, minding my own business, driving the kickass machine that is my motorcycle, clocking well above the speed limit, breaking stop signs left right and center when this cop started flashing his lights indicating me to stop. Normally I do not really care for flashing lights but I just had to stop when the cop took out his loudspeaker and started blaring into the dead of the night. I steered to the side and stopped. He, looking like an agreeable man, came up to me with a notebook in his hands, noted my license plate number and called it out into his wireless. A lady on the other side confirmed that the bike in question belonged to a Mr. Ankit Srivastava. Now I am not one who gets flipped out easily but the thought of all those grim scenes from Shawshank Redemption sent a chill down my spine. My fears were not entirely unfounded as you will learn later. Here is the conversation that took place between me and the cop:

Cop: Please put your bike on the sidestand, sit in the driver's position and keep your hands in front of you.
Cop: Now Mr. do you know why have I stopped you ?
Me (nervously): Well I broke a Stop sign...
Cop: ...and ?
Me: (Vigorously trying to figure out what more did I do wrong) I am not sure...
Cop: Please put some more effort
Me: (in one breath) and overspeeding
Cop: Thankyou... now do you know that you were way above the speed limit and I had to press my gas upto 100 just to catch you ?
Me: (Thinking : can you please stop lying ? I wasn't above 50) I am sorry
Cop: I also drive bikes and I know how easy it is to reach 60 mph. How fast can you go from 0-60?
Me: (Is it a trick question? Anyways...) 4-5 seconds (conservatively).
Cop: Can I see your license ?
I hand him my car license afraid that since I just have a temporary motorcycle license, the cop would know that I am not allowed to drive in nights and I might have to spend my night in a maximum security prison festooned with smelly, bulky criminals. I congratulated myself for this brilliant plan.
Cop: Can I see your registration ?
Me: I don't have it with me.
Cop: Hmmm... Can I see your insurance ?
Me: I have the temporary one but not the permanent. Its at my home.
Cop: Hmmm... So lets summarize here:
1. You were overspeeding
2. You broke a stop sign
3. You do not have your registration
4. You do not have your permanent proof of insurance
I can easily hit you up for something upwards of 500$ but it won't teach you anything will it ?
Me: (thinking: is this a trick question. If I say yes then you would slap the fine and if I say no, you will hit me with something harder. So I did something that any intelligent doctoral student would have done: kept mum).
Cop: Now I am going to run this license of yours and if I find no violations I would perhaps let you go but if I find any previous violations, I would fine you.
Me: OK (at this point I was really happy since I knew that I did not have any previous violations. The cop goes back to his car and I am almost ready to put the keys back to my ignition so that the ordeal could finally end. The cop comes back looking grim.)
Cop: We have a slight problem here Mr. I hope you know that for driving a motorcycle in California, you need to have a motorcycle license.
Me: (Shit!!!) But I do have it. ( I take it out and hand it over)
(He looks at me increduluously and says the next time a cop catches you on a motorcycle SHOW HIM THE MOTORCYCLE LICENSE !!! )
Cop: This is a temporary driving license. Are you allowed to drive at nights ?
Me: No... but... ahem... I was working late in the lab and it got dark... and... well... its once in a full moon situation.
Cop:
5. Not allowed to drive at night.
Me: (Quiet)
Cop: I am what you call a good cop so I will let you go with a warning. Next time you are caught with so many violations, you will atleast get a ticket for about 800 and your bike will be towed away and your license will come under jeopardy.
Me: (Not able to believe my ears. What did he say ? He will let me go ! After I have had 5 violations, 3 of which pretty grim !!!) Thank you so much officer.

So that was it. My first pullover by a cop and it was nothing less than a miracle that I came unhurt.

Greatest movie that shall ever be made

Okay, so here is a brilliant plan. Now that Hollywood is so out of ideas that it has started giving screentime to actresses like Paris Hilton and Bollywood keeps harping upon those lachrymose scripts expecting people to cry buckets at every tear that drops down king Khan's eyes, I have decided to make a blueprint for the greatest movie that will ever be made if the directors out there have any grey matter left somewhere in those small skulls after years of dishing out substandard scripts. So here it goes, a movie that will kick so much ass that I have decided to name it:


CAST:
Main actor - A gigantic lizard with menacing red eyes and a husky voice.
Main actress: Aishwarya Rai
Supporting actor in a comic role: Shahrukh Khan
Supporting actress in a comic role: Smriti Irani (of Tulsi fame)
Others: Ram, Shyam, Gopu, Dayaram, John Doe, Jane Doe, Michael, Ivaturi Surya Satya Subramaniam Shyam Sundar Sandeep.

I haven't exactly decided what the flow of the movie will be but I have some basic ideas. The movie starts when the lizard is roaming around happily when it happens to step upon Aishwarya Rai who is busy trying to dish out another one of her performances in a movie where she tries to fool the audiences into believing that she has an iota of acting talent. There - thats her only scene in the movie. This scene will be so intense that the Academy will have to go to Aish for the award titled 'Best Actress in a dying scene under the feet of a fire spewing reptilian monster'. Nevertheless, the lizard gets a taste of human flesh here and turns into a maneater not necessarily because it liked what it had but out of spite because Aish gives him a stomach ache. Its here that the ass kickery really starts. He starts gulping down generic people. The movie will showcase, in gory detail, every bite that he takes, every munch that he enjoys, every bit of fodder that he eats. US marines, meanwhile will bring all the tanks and the ammunition enough to blow up a small city and use it on the lizard only to find out that his skin is made up of extra-durable scales and their weapons are of no use whatsoever (how convenient). John Doe, the US president, meanwhile, will ruminate over the possibility of nuking the monster. As intense as the debate would be regarding the potential loss of civilian life, the overzealous generals of US army will come to the realization that all this is happening in Tehran and being American fighters, they don't necessarily have to care about the lives of of those who dwell in that uncivilized part of the world as it isn't quite the same. They nuke the monster only to find that the ensuing radioactivity has made it deadlier by giving it the ability of breathing out life threatening carcinogenic gamma rays. So here we have a monster, spewing a heady mixture of gamma burts and fire. Such a malicious concoction turn entire populations into flesh eating zombies, you know the ones with strange expressions on their faces, hilariously disfigured bodies, burns everywhere, walking at .2 cm/year, wide open eyes like these:


There -the reptile has an army of its own - Lizard - 1, United States of America - 0. For comic relief, Shahrukh Khan, Karan Johar and Ekta Kapoor will be shown crying, running and basically getting their stuff ruined by the lizard and the zombies. This will be shown in all its magnificient detail. SRK and co. being chased in supermarket. SRK and co. being run down in streets and alleys and roads and water and air. SRK and co. being followed up the stairs, down the stairs. SRK and co. trampled over, thrown down a building, shot at etc. How utopian !!!.

Thats how it will end. I am not really one for happy endings but this will have one. A crying SRK and a dilapidated KJ and EK will give audiences hope and happiness. They will feel contented while walking back to their homes holding the hands of their loved ones, for a change relieved that there is justice in the world and although too late, there is atleast one storywriter who truly understands how to write a good and just story. Hence, I would rule all over the place.

The allure of not reading, among other things

At the cost of inviting incredulous gasps from my much learned friends, let me admit today that I have never read Godfather nor have I seen the movie ever. Infact, I have not read the book thrice and have actually not seen the movie atleast 4 times.

The first time I did not read the book, I was in my 11th class when my friend gave it to me and he just wouldn't stop praising Mario Puzo and almost forced my head into the preface. I was not really a fan of fictional thrillers back then (I am not even now but there was a phase) and my repertoire primarily consisted of the canon of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (4 times complete). Sitting in the back seat of those monotonous and frankly quite pointless science classes, I usually tried to while away the time sifting through the hallowed pages of the book. There was something about it that always made me stop at about the 20th page. The 2nd and 3rd time I did not read the book was when I had all the leisure in the world while I was in the 3rd year of my undergraduate course. I started with the best of intents and managed to reach the all time high figure of 43 but gave up there. While shifting through some old stationary, I happened to come across the old book which has stood against me like my own personal Holy Grail, my own Shangrila to discover. I turned the pages and all the forgotten memories came rushing back. I could see the scribbles of Physics equations up-till page 20 and the dog eared parchament up-till page 43. The paper had turned a bit yellow and the binding a bit loose. I looked at it, thought for a second, chuckled, closed and placed it from where I had picked it up.

This brings me to the point of this post. There is a wierd sense of achievement in not doing something. While happiness and satisfaction are the residues of monumental achievements, there is this queer sense of pleasure in not succumbing to a particular temptation, especially when that course of action has been largely followed and highly advised by the world. There is no dearth of mountain climbers or dancers or snowboarders. People have pushed the limits of x-games and life threatening activities. But here I am, snugly cosying in my warm blanket admiring them but never wanting to be them. We often do not admire the resolve of the non-snowboarder. We choose to overlook the sacrifice of the bloke who chose to spend his life testing banking softwares in a cubicle when he could much rather have become a shark catcher. It is not easy to not fall down to the temptation of living the life of motoGP racer but then who is going to listen to the wail of the customer who has been wrongly charged 122$ on his credit card ?

My case is similar. I could have read the book and seen the movie. I could have felt exhilarated at the panache with which Mr. Corleone plugged the lead in another skull or thrilled at the awesome command exhumed by Mr. Brando. I could have been a better person, more wiser in life, much more aware of life's possibilities, another book wiser, a film more experienced among other things but why ? Why should I ruin my perfectly clean slate ? I know the book and the movie are brilliant to say the least but I have my virginity (for lack of a better word) to defend. Its the same reason I do not drink. Earlier I had made myself believe that there has to be some higher/nobler reason as to why I do not drink but its a lie. I just never happened to drink and now I do not want to tarnish my perfect record by succumbing to 2 drops of temptation. There are so many people who drink and I have absolutely no problem with them but now I have become far too stubborn to join the ranks. Its a quirk of human nature which forces people to behave irrationally in this fashion and everyone has them. It can be annoying and frustrating at times but such idiosyncracies surely add differentiating tinges to an otherwise monochromatic facade of individual character.

P.S: Trying to play Moolight Sonata (Beethoven). You can listen to this beautiful composition here:
Moonlight Sonata

Things to ponder

Here are some things which have so often in the past, perplexed me and forced me to ruminate over the nature of life and reality and what not:

1. Donkey : Whats that expression on a donkey's face ? Its like, he is perpetually trying to solve an immensely difficult problem, his eyes fixated on the ground below, his jaws constantly chewing upon the last bit of garbage he ate and his posture unperturbed by the inconsistencies of weather. He doesn't care whether you stand there watching his medidative self. He doesn't give a damn about the dog that is shouting himself hoarse. The only thing he really seems to care about is that immediate problem at hand. And he thinks and thinks and thinks. I am not sure if he is ever able to solve it but after much meditation, you see him walking away, contended, satisfied and visibly happy.

2. Why do adults use illogical language in the presence of babies ? You see a perfectly normal couple who would otherwise easily make it into the list of homo sapiens but give them a baby and my god, all hell breaks loose. The lady will start with "oomchhs" and "aaafs" and the man will start making monkey faces. I just dont get that how is a baby, who is inept at understanding normal language, expected to understand a language which even fully grown adults cannot ? How can distorted, ghastly faces make him feel happy ? It happened to me once. I was in presence of a 1 year old baby and I, like a perfectly well mannered gentleman, shook his hand and asked him how he was and everyone started laughing. Wierd.

3. "Every rule has an exception" is a paradox. Does this rule have one ?

4. Snails : Where are they going seriously ? No, seriously. You see ants moving and you know that they are going to their home and they will most probably reach it. You see snakes move and you think maybe its a prey. But where are the snails going ? You see a big open ground which has nothing but harsh concrete for meters and meters and you see a snail in the middle of it all and it is moving in one of the generic directions at .03 mm/hour and you wonder, WHERE THE HELL ? There should be a new rule which will prohibit movement if you move less than 1 mm/s because of the humungous futility of it all.

5. In a disaster flick, how come its always the case that all those who survive at the end also happened to be the main characters and had the bulk of the screentime ? Why don't you ever see that generic cabdriver survive ? How come its always the minnows who die ? If ever I get a chance to make a movie, I will make one which will primarily consist of a giant lizard eating up main characters. Just when the audience would be forming their theories about who of all the heroes and heroines should live, my lizard will come kicking asses everywhere and finishing up all the important stuff in one gulp. Rest of the movie will comprise of generic looking people running here and there with the lizard munching away with fun and frolic and in the end I will show 10 people who had nothing to do with the movie previously, killing the beast and celebrating. Yes, thats how it will end. It will be the victory of the average joe over celebrity worship, nepotism, favouritism and partiality. Man, the movie would rule all over the place.

Enough for now. I think about many more things. Saving them for later.

Something Beautiful

After so many days, I feel like writing something beautiful. Since my writing does not permit me to venture beyond my own limitations, I shall try to compensate my shortcomings by writing about something beautiful.

Deep down, I somehow feel that beauty does not differentiate between the agent through which it is expressed. In its purest form you cannot compartmentalize its domains. Neither can you objectively analyze its effects nor can you explain human susceptibleness to it. It stands there on its own, totally unaware of the thousand entranced gazes probing it, entirely ignorant of the million senses soaking it. Pure beauty has a sense of timelesness to it. An infinity constrained in the limitations of the border of a photograph if you will. It refuses to die of age and it haunts and enchants at the same time.

The beauty I am talking about does not concern an intricate piece of art or an elaborately ornate model. Its simpler. Much simpler. Its the allure of the smell of wet earth after the first monsoon rains. Its the enchantment of hearing Vande Mataram on a lazy morning. Its the seductiveness of a pair of especially beautiful eyes brimming with innocence and helplesness. It breathes in the magnetism of a foggy evening walk along the Mall road of a hillstation or a beautiful piece of music or even a breathtaking display of nearly superhuman atheletic ability. It reaches to you from the bichromic depths of a black and white photograph depicting an old dilapidated house and cries for your embrace in the hollow expressions of a mother whose child is dying of malnutrition. Its the nostalgia you feel when you walk on the familiar campus of the school you went to 8 years ago. Its the pain which the searing heat of a summer afternoon on the deserted roads of a sleepy town brings. Its the satisfaction which a starry, full moon night provides when you sleep out in the deafening silence of the rustic embrace of your village. Its in the myriad colours of a dew drop and the pointlesness and innocence of the stolen glances with you loved one. Its in the tones of a familiar tune, in the crescendo of a brilliant opera, in the consummation of love, in the commencement of estrangement, in the glory of nature, in the infinite human creativity, in the small details which we miss often, in the celebration we call life and the final parting of death.

Stop Please

So India lost against Bangladesh and was kicked out of the world cup in the first round itself. Agreed that it was worse than pathetic watching the team surrender meekly to Sri Lanka without ever looking as if they could give them a fight. Conceded that the players have let down a nationful of emotionally charged affocionados and accepted that in the pale shadow of an illustrious past, the senior players mirror the agonising death of a beautiful dream. But stop, please stop.

I have been diligently following the stories that have been building up after the world cup debacle and I was confused as to who is really to blame. Was it the coach or the senior players ? Greg Chappell, or Dravid or Tendulkar ? On one hand, Chappell was voicing his reservations about the attitude of the senior players, on the other, effigies of Tendulkar and co. were being burnt in Gujarat. On one hand, Sharad Pawar was giving hints about an impending fundamental change in the team, on the other, newspapers were dissecting the last shreds out of the team's performance. At this point of time, I was thoroughly convinced that the defeat had among other reasons, the attitude of the senior players. All of this changed this morning when Tendulkar hit out against Chappell for his comments. This is all I need really. Tendulkar saying it.

I am ready to believe that Tendulkar is far from what he used to be. I am also ready to concede that he might never attain all that he promised as a youngster but I shall be eternally damned if I ever question his commitment towards the team and the nation. The problem with the country today is that far too many teens have a much more vociferous and credited opinion than they deserve. They comprise a generation that has not woken up in nights to watch Tendulkar score a century only to find India losing by 15 runs because everyone else in the team was just a spectator. They comprise an age that has not been heartbroken at watching Tendulkar struggle to score a century on the day next to his father's death. They haven't felt the rush of blood while Tendulkar alone braved the fearsome Aussi attack in the midst of a desert storm. They haven't been witness to the neutering ceremony of greats like Warne and Qadir at Tendulkar's hands. Neither have they lived those 10 years when this man alone carried the burden of expectations of a billion without ever seeming to be high and mighty and conceited and proud.

This generation belittles Tendulkar and praises Dhoni. It incriminates Sachin and celebrates Sehwag. I just want them to open their mouths when Dhoni makes a century at Perth against bowlers of the caliber of Mcgrath. I just want them to shut the hell up till Dhoni is even able to make a doosra from a top spin out of Muralitharan's hands or till Sehwag hits 1900 runs in one calendar year. I just want them to keep their wretched mouths closed till the time people like Dhoni stop whoring themselves out to media and start to really think about their country and the game.

So if you say that Tendulkar probably hasn't done as much as he should have or that he hasn't won enough matches for India or that his best years are past him, I will listen with a clenched fist and subdued voice of dissent. But if you ever question his commitment and motives, leave me your address so that I could come and beat the hell out of you. If you have never seen Tendulkar struggling with cramps against Pakistan to bring India close to victory (within 15 runs), you frankly have no right to bitch. As for Greg Chappell, I am thoroughly convinced that he is an _______ (yes, that's right, that's the word).

U.P. roads kick ass

Look at the third paragraph of this article :

http://in.rediff.com/money/2007/mar/29speed.htm

For the convenience of the reader, I am replicating the lines here:

"While Haryana and Rajasthan have fixed a limit of 90 km on highways for cars, the UP government has not specified any limit."

So, now that all those of you who have had the misfortune of taking birth in any other state than Uttar Pradesh are thinking, what to make of this sentence, let me drive the point home with all the force it deserves:

"U.P. roads kick ass !!!"

Huh... speed limit is for wimps. UP does'nt even have a speed limit on its roads. UP is like Germany and its roads are like the famed autobahn. The only thing that controls the speeds of the vehicles in UP is the cold fear that the possibility of a sudden death brings while you are going at 20 km/hr maneuvering around strategically placed potholes and stray dogs and cows and negotiaing drunk drivers and looking out for men sticking their heads out of their Marutis to shout at the rickshaw with a flat tire in front, cyclists trying to slither into that 23 inches you forgot to fill in between your vehicle and the one in front, ladies driving their lunas and scooties in manners which makes you believe that god is almighty and luck all powerful, aunties fighting with the autodrivers for the last rupee he tried to charge them more, half naked kids trying to sell you everything from flowers to corn to peanuts. I can safely say that there is no other state in India which presents so many challenges to a driver and places such high demands on the performances of the vehicles. Lest you disbelievers jump upon my ass and try to kick it, I am presenting some hardboiled facts to support my view:

Seriously speaking, there is only one state which presents any sort of challenge to UP in this field and that is Bihar. States like Maharashtra, M.P, southern states, Punjab, Haryana have far too docile roads and the bottom line is that they just do not kick the requisite amount of ass. For ages, the residents of these states have been using the euphemism of defining their roads good. Let me just clear the slate now. ACCEPT THAT YOUR ROADS ARE BORING and YOUR PEOPLE, WIMPS WHO CANNOT DRIVE ON REAL MACHO ROADS. NE states have pretty 'good' roads too and the only tension you have there is not related to stray dogs and cats but stray bullets and frankly speaking that should not be a worry since you just cannot outmaneuver those. Same is the case with J&K but you can add the small dangers of landmines too there. Orissa would have been a worthy candidate but then I don't think people of that state are wealthy enough to buy vehicles. Now that everyone is walking on foot, how challenging can that be ? So now we come to Bihar. Bihar would really have kicked all the available asses if there was not this one problem : BIHAR DOES NOT HAVE ANY ROADS !!!. Even if you are extremely generous and are ready to grant the status of roads to intermittent asphalt patches which seem to be lying here and there between two major cities (does Bihar have cities ?), I am not ready to grant the status of vehicle to bullock carts.

So I win. UP roads are the best of all. A fine blend of transportability and adventure. I say, what are the giant auto-manufactures doing. Don't they see what I see ? Why are they wasting their millions building elaborate testing facilities for their latest car models. Come to U.P and if you car can survive the roads there, it can survive anything that the world has to offer. Hell, U.P. even gives great possibilities for crash testing your vehicles. Too good to be true, huh ?

Our Cricket Problem - Shashi Tharoor

Recently Shashi Tharoor, an under secretary to the UN, wrote a blatant article on the incomprehensibility of the intricacies of cricket to the Americans. Through the article, he basically surmises in very eloquent terms what I have always had it in my gut, "Americans, in general, are incapable of appreciating anything having a high enough degree of complexity and sophisitication". Its not that I woke up one morning and decided that this is how I was going to believe henceforth but this is how I am really led to believe after I have seen enough of the American society and culture. Traditionally, my character has not been like one of those open-minded people for whom no point of view is too stupid. I like to make opinions based on my observations and if there is enough evidence to the contrary, I would be more than ready to change them but never will I ever lurch in the diplomatic quagmire of "Well both a and b can be true". This time, rather than just rumbling my way through heated witticisms, I am going to provide you with some examples which I have come across and which serve to accentuate my point of view :

1. Sports : The most famous games in America are Football and Baseball. Now I am not very sure about baseball (having never seen a single game) but I think I have some idea about American Football. The most fundamental problem I have with the game is this : "Is there any talent required to play it ?". Barring the quarterback who atleast has to be good at throwing precisely, everyone else can qualify for the team just based upon his physique and his ability to run fast. There must be a certain game sense required to play this game but then these are required in all other games also. The difference between other games and American Football is that in addition to all these qualities, you also require atleast one special skill pertaining to individual games. Tennis requires wielding a racquet and much more, Cricket requires bowling talent and batting technique, Hockey and Soccer require control over Stick and ball respectively. What American football lacks in technique, it tries to make up for in animal aggression. Its not much different from that quintessentially American mind-dump of a game they call pro-wrestling. Riding high on baser emotions, American games try to blind their followers with maniacal shrieks and chest thumping and fist pumping and cheerleading. Am I missing something ? I guess it was supposed to be a game. (I give Basketball to Americans which, surprisingly, sticks out as the one saving grace.)

2. Food : The idea of good food for the general American is this (from what I have made from the ads): Take the largest seasame bun you can find, put 3 patties of extra large bacon, add 4 strips of beef then add 2 more, add a lot of mayo and 4 slices cheese, top it off with a slice or 2 of tomato, name it something masculine like 'Double Quarter Pounder' and sell it out to unsuspecting American public which is already bursting at its seems due to rampant obesity. I am principally against 'health foods' but this is just criminally offensive. What happened to those requirements we called taste and deleciousness. I would have understood that America, due to its relatively new society, hasn't been able to develop a traditional brand of food but what it has developed is just crap. No subtleness, no talent required to prepare it so no taste. I used to love chocolates before coming here (I still do) but after eating Hersheys and M&Ms, I have become principally against American chocolates. All quantity and no quality. Its everywhere. They tend to produce everything in bulk and in that pursuit forget the basic tenet of good quality.

3. Television : I think I have already dwelled on this topic enough so I will just cap it off by surmising my position. Most of the American ads and shows seem to target an IQ range of 80. Whereas on one hand, an obnoxiously loud car seller shouts on screen to gain the attention of prospective buyers, shows like Friends want you to laugh at completely stupid jokes.

All said and done, I would still say that the American society probably gives more freedom to experiment than any other. This is the freedom that drives mavericks to create special things and innovations and this is the reason why America leads everyone technologically. Even culturally, this is the freedom that has supported the rise of music as varied as Rock and Blues and Jazz and path-breaking movies. This is the freedom which allows races to co-exist peacefully (well, this and free market capitalism) and create a melting pot of various cultures brimming with creative possibilities. I must say, what America lacks in history, she is trying to make up in diversity. Breadth for length.

By the way, here is the article by Shashi Tharoor:

Our Cricket Problem

I completely agree with you Mr. Tharoor.

5 things which deserved a more critical eye

There is an extremely queer phenomenon with most of us including me which I find hard to describe. We tend to become biased with our judgements when something pre-established in terms of popularity comes up for debate. Its not that we like that thing but perhaps we are too occupied to give it a real thought and perhaps we are too blinded by general conception. In due course of time our stance takes the form of a prejudice and we tend to amalgamate ourselves into the flow of mass acceptance, all the time forgetting our duties as rational human beings. Following is a list of some of those things which have come to punctuate our generation and age but which probably deserved a more critical examination on an individual basis. It is by no means comprehensive and by no means universal (just my opinion):

1. Garfield : I must say, if they ever decided to make a cartoon strip with its main character being played by a charred log of wood and its subject mainly consisting of showing that log of wood lying lifelessly in different positions, they could not have made a more morbidly stupid and intellectually dormant strip than Garfield. The strip has come to be accepted widely across the world but nothing takes anything away from the fact that Jim Davis is probably the most overrated retard and his creation Garfield, the most stupid cat even by the standards of dumb cats and Garfield's owner, probably the closest human ever got to be labelled as Jellyfish.

2. Star Wars : Now people may take offense at this but let me just put it this way: The premise of Star Wars is so incredibly stupid that I would rather bang my head on the sidewalk than watch Star Wars. Hell, I would even think about watching KKKG once since that way I can atleast make fun of the movie. If I try to make fun of Star Wars, my comrades, hopelessly caught in the myth that Star Wars represents something deeper than what they show on screen, will sneer at my lack of artistic standards. Here is a newsflash: Star Wars is not any of the following:
a. Social movement
b. Philosophy of life
c. Breakthrough in the art of movie making (watch 2001, A space oddysey)

What Star Wars really is - the incoherent, extremely boring ramifications of a confused mind which when loosely put together, vaguely represents a movie. I say if Star Wars is deep then so are Harry Potter and Eragon.

3. Anything that Mel Gibson does and Forrest Gump: I don't know why Mel Gibson is kept in such high regard artistically but frankly speaking all of his work is pretty darn mediocre. He seems to have perfected the art of playing upon basic human sentiments and emotions just so that people won't be able to pinpoint his glaring failures as a competent actor and director. Whenever I talk about movies like Patriot and Braveheart, people go crazy about how well the movies were made. When I ask so what was so good about those, I am generally met with incoherent explanations elaborately interspersed with Ahs and Ahems. If you have to think twice about whats good in a movie you love, you are just following the tide. Finally, Passion of the Christ is the most blatant exposition of mediocrity elaborately dressed to cash in upon human feelings I have ever seen. If showing the torture of a person for 2 hours is Gibson's idea of a good movie, I for one would be ready to provide him with a roundhouse kick anytime. And yes, FORREST GUMP. I could never really suffer through the complete movie. Ooooooo, "life is like a box of chocolates", I am impressed. Now will you please execuse me so that I could go ahead and commit suicide ? Watching the escapades of an IQ 70 person as he sloths his way through childhood, adolescence and adulthood is not my idea of intelligent entertainment. For those people who have sympathy for Mr. Gump, I have a newsflash: Mr. Gump is not a real person. The probability of a such a person doing the things Mr. Gump does is lesser than my that of my getting the next field medal. Hell, you should have sympathy for me because even though the probability of my getting a field medal is higher, I am still not getting it.

4. Apple : Let me just mention here that I own an Apple laptop and an iPod so I am blaming myself more than anyone else. The problem with Apple's philosophy is that it is trying to sell a lifestyle more than a product. Its products are not necessarily bad but they intend to encourage trend following and elitism in society. Their customers are supposed to be hip and 'in'. People try to find their own individual identity by owning Apple products and forget the inherent contradiction which arises from trying to define your own separate personality upon definitions created by a mulitnational conglomerate. Companies like Apple, Abercrombie and Fitch, fashion designers etc. try to cash in on the basic human necessity of forging individual identity in a society marred with uniformity. They present a universal ideal (Apple presents the hipness, Abercrombie presents sexuality and fashion designers present exclusivity) and drive people to buy products that they would otherwise not need in order to attain that ideal.

5. General trend following: This is one of the most potent weapons if you want to flip me out. Ask me this : "Where is F1 held in US ? " I would say:

"Indianapolis" (and I will pronounce it as Indiana (as in Indiana Jones) + pol (as in pole) + is)
and then correct me with the following pronounciation:
"Indianapolis" (as in India (with the stress on Indi) + NA + polis (as in police but with much less stress))
and I would say:
"You may kindly go to hell"

What the hell man! First of all, Indianapolis is a proper noun and howsoever stunted my knowledge of English language might be, I am certain that no son of a gun in the whole wide world can command me as to how a proper noun should be pronounced. Secondly, whats the point copying someone else's accent if you can convey your meaning properly with your own ? And who the hell decides whats the correct pronunciation for Indianapolis anyways? There is only one person who can have any official jurisdiction over the matter. The guy who first coined the word and I am guessing he is dead now. So while your pronunciation might be more socially conformal, I think I am good.

Oh! meanwhile, I know that some of you might be gunning for my head after reading this. So I have conveniently removed the comments sections :)... Send me your comments at ankit_iitg@yahoo.co.in if you are pissed enough.