tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13205882748097452952024-03-19T10:21:23.711+05:30In Phasecelebrating the spirit of the internet era and also parts of my lifedeostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-79860004845342487842024-02-21T23:32:00.000+05:302024-02-21T23:32:57.000+05:30xeno's lullabyYou are an adult male on child duty. The child is reasonably young - think 2 or 3 years old. You are seated on the bed and you next action is to make the child anticipate being thrown over the bed. And then you count...<div><br /></div><div>1.........2........2½........2¾.........🤔</div><div><br /></div><div>What comes after 2¾? Is it 2⅝, or 2⁷⁄₉? 🤔🤔</div><div><br /></div><div>Fortunately we can calculate this. But for brevity think of a line of numbers - aka the real number line. You are at a some point on that line. numbers behind you are smaller than numbers ahead of you (including the one you are standing on).</div><div><br /></div><div>Or, if you look at it from another perspective, numbers to the left of you are smaller than numbers to the right. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is the "real" number line. Some of the points represent fractions. In mathematics they say there are infinitely many real numbers...But...we won't be exploring that.</div><div><br /></div><div>So let's take an interval on this line - say 0 to 1. We know that half (i.e 0.5 or ½) is a point in this interval. Correctly at the midpoint. There is a formula to get you there, but we usually learn it as part of cartesian geometry. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>If you got two numbers on a numbers line, A and B such that A is less than B, you can find a number exactly equidistant from both by computing (A+B)/2. </i></div><div><br /></div><div>There are numerous proofs for this. We are not doing that today❗</div><div><br /></div><div>Now you play the game of iterative substitutions - plug A = 0 and B = 1, and, you get (A+B)/2 = ½ = 0.5</div><div><br /></div><div>What is between 0.5 and 1? Substitute A = 0.5 and B = 1, and, you get a result 0.75 = ¾</div><div><br /></div><div>But we humans don't say 2, 2.5, 2.75, ... 🚫</div><div><br /></div><div>We use the number-with-fraction form. 2 ... 2½ ...2¾... ✅</div><div><br /></div><div>Do you see the pattern?</div><div><br /></div><div>What comes after ¾? Use the formula to calculate. The result will be ⅞</div><div><br /></div><div>The next one will be 15⁄16 , ³¹⁄₃₂, ⁶³⁄₆₄, ...</div><div><br /></div><div>Do you see the pattern? </div><div><br /></div><div>Now you can say the numbers and never reach three, just like xeno's paradox. I know I have left you haning on xeno's paradox. that is easily searchable in the modern day. </div><div><br /></div><div>However, I will pray that your skill of multiplying by 2 is good. 👍😉</div>deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-39498272765198459722022-06-12T13:28:00.000+05:302022-06-12T13:28:17.748+05:30The right to repair<div>Right to repair. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is little technical subject. At least, in my opinion, it has its origins in the tech community. I don't usually talk about tech stuff here. I blog most of my tech stuff elsewhere. But today I thought otherwise. </div><div><br /></div><div>I classify "right to repair" as a kind of consumer movement. Its probably meant to end certain business monopolies certain giant corporations have over their products which locks consumers, deny them of certain freedoms governing how they are able to use/repair that product.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am all for it. I like the idea that my mobile phone, for e.g. can work the same way 30 years from now, and, if at all there were some problems, it is going to be "fixable". Same can be said about, say, a microwave oven that belonged to a grand mother that lived two or three generations before ours.</div><div><br /></div><div>But just think about consumers for a minute. Its a small segment of humanity; people who earn, buy things, homes, cars, medicines, health care, etc. To them "right to repair" sounds like some kind of freedom. There is some meaning in fighting for a cause, admist such like-minded "similar" group of people. </div><div><br /></div><div>But please don't rub this "right" into the faces of the other half of humanity; they are not this relatively "privileged". Many "such" people simply struggle to make it through the day.</div><div><br /></div><div>What is more dark is that I can only shrug at this sad state of humanity, and, move on with my life. Because, that is what is practical. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yes, it is sad. </div><div><br /></div><div>When you try to confront the challenges of people suffering from various vices of humanity - like poverty, disease, injustice, etc and their problems become yours, there is some risk. You'd either end up estranged from your family, friends, or, loved ones. Or worse, you could end up putting them in danger.</div><div><br /></div><div>But what can we do?</div><div><br /></div><div>I am stopping short here. Perhaps I might get the inspiration to continue on this thread in the future. Perhaps not. But in any case believe that "life is good".</div>deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-53455214330761366462020-08-25T00:40:00.000+05:302020-08-25T00:40:47.637+05:30National Education Policy 2020<p>If I actually write about it I will eventually sound political. Now, due to its ambiguity, my current rating on this framework: i.e. a framework which is meant to better equip the upcoming generations and revolutionize India, is only something like 1/5. And this is how I have come to interpret it. People can always have different scores or ratings depending on their outlook.</p><p>All that aside, what is an education framework that I would rate 5/5? What is a framework that you would rate 5/5? This is something all Indians especially teachers must have some say about...</p><p>I am no teacher. But I implore you to watch Carl Sagan's famous documentary series titled "Cosmos: A Personal Voyage"</p><p>And this is the internet. I don't have to write anything about Carl Sagan that wikipedia doesn't already know...</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">The Great Library of Alexandria </h3><p>This is something Carl Sagan talks about in one of the episodes. Many historians believe that this was one of the greatest libraries in the world. It is said that if those libraries were not destroyed by the Roman empire, then we probably would have made key discoveries a lot earlier.</p><p>Imagine what effect would the Laws of Planetary motion, or, the law of gravitation, have on our human civilization if the ideas behind those laws were discovered earlier. (It may not have been Kepler or Newton who discovers it. It could be other people). </p><p>And if that was the trajectory human civilization took, I believe I would be writing this blog aboard a Star Trek enterprise space ship... 😁</p><p>Perhaps the Star Trek enterprise is an exaggeration. But the loss of human ingenuity that prevailed at the time, cannot be measured. All of it; the whole place was burned to the ground... 😔</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">So what's this got to do with NEP 2020?</h3><p>Absolutely nothing.</p><p>Star Trek will still be a tv entertainment programme for the next 3 generations...🤪</p><p>Good Day</p><p>Ps: I apologize if the title was misleading...</p>deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-25250389240641485142016-08-08T21:14:00.000+05:302016-08-08T21:14:15.488+05:30indian railways - exchanging confirmed berths - things to take note...This happened recently.<br />
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My mother and I were travelling to Bangalore from Calicut. She had a confirmed berth - but it was in the middle. At the time of reservation, I had no choice; there were no lower berths available. So out of the urgency of that travel I had to accept what the system auto-allocated. I did what any other Indian would do...exchange with other passengers for a lower berth so that she could sleep comfortably.<br />
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Fortunately, there was a group of women travelling along with their kids. They had their seats reserved in the same coach, but different, but adjacent compartments. When I requested they casually obliged. And the exchange happened peacefully. I made sure I exchanged with a party that was going to drop off in Bangalore. And they had confirmed tickets. I never bothered to check their tickets however.<br />
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But later, after probably Shornur station, the berths we (my mother and I) were occupying got allocated to another party (who were in RAC status). When the ticket-checker came and allocated, he did ask about the seats and my ticket. When he understood that I had a confirmed ticket, he asserted in the most callous way: I have allocated the berths...all of you please co-operate among yourselves and see that you are berthed. He never made an attempt to find out if the berths were claimed. According to him, he has diligently marked those berths as 'not allotted'. It was nearing Palakkad. The station where the ticket-checkers usually interchange as their shift comes to an end.<br />
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The people who were alloted the berths were students. I explained them the issue. I was sure that the checker made some mistake. Even they were sort of convinced. But we couldn't find the checker anywhere. He disappeared. Even those three didn't make an effort to find the ticket-checker. Finaly we agreed we'll clear it with the next checker.<br />
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And the time came, with a little trouble waking everyone up, we presented the tickets. Thats when I understood the problem. The lady who I had exchanged with presented her tickets. They were two tickets. But they were stapled together. So when she presented it, it looked as if she had presented only one ticket.<br />
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That diligent (b*****d) of a ticket-checker (who was in the previous shift) only marked the berths in the first ticket. He marked the ones in the other compartment (the one which I occupied, and which were in the second ticket) as not allotted. And he, obviously not guilty of the previous crime, further went and allotted them to three RAC passengers.<br />
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Well, the now on-duty checker thankfully realized this problem. And he gave consideration to the family and told the three students to kindly adjust. Luckily those three, only asked for one seat so they could adjust and travel. He also gave the story of how someone from S8 coach, without getting his ticket checked, went to join his family in a different coach, and finally got his berth marked as not-allotted. Thus problems ensued. I don't know how they resolved it.<br />
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Such screw ups happen inside of trains. I only pray the ticket checkers are more considerate...Hope this story has given you an idea of things to put in your checklist before exchanging berths.<br />
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Now what if you don't have a physical copy of a ticket? What if the ticket was just an sms? How will you ensure that the ticket was checked by the checker?<br />
<br />deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-12864082372961116922016-01-06T00:38:00.002+05:302016-01-06T00:38:30.124+05:30the star killer baseWhile watching Star Wars the Force Awakens, it looked like I was the only one who was left curious about the Star Killer base. And, dear lord, I was...<br />
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Watching a lot of these scifi movies lately it just gave me the impulse to get curious about it.<br />
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It sucks up the whole star, yet people walk on it like people walk on earth (with normal gravity).<br />
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Okay, according to present astronomy knowledge, what do we know that can practically suck up a star. A black hole - a body of immense density that is capable of sucking light too.<br />
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If you are a space documentary fan boy like me, you'd also probably have imagined accretion discs, and gamma ray bursts.<br />
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People over at scifi stackexchange have some pretty convincing answers touch.<br />
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If you are fascinated with providing theoretical answers, fascinate me too.<br />
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Au revoir.deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-57121690425881187772014-10-05T11:15:00.000+05:302014-10-05T11:15:00.112+05:30ARP date calculator - indian railways - irctc - train reservationWTF is ARP?<br />
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Advanced Reservation Period...<br />
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Something indian railways use so that their reservation system knows what is the maximum future date a person can reserve his ticket for...<br />
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As of now its 60 days from the current date...<br />
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I have made a small jsfiddle page to help you track this...<br />
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http://bitly.com/deoirctcarp<br />
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Hope this enriches your indian railways journeying and ticket reservation experience...<br />
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Disclaimer: I and/or the above app to which I've linked to is in no way affiliated with indian railways. I am just a frustrated passenger like you...<br />
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<br />deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-54635401678808485702014-06-02T06:29:00.000+05:302014-06-02T15:09:31.728+05:30a pic is now worth 140+ words...Well, most people hate twitter for its crazy 140 word limit...<br />
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<a href="http://insego.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/there-is-app.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://insego.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/there-is-app.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
Actually there are many. It definitely not another service like tweetlonger or <a href="https://www.google.co.in/search?q=tweet+longer&oq=tweet+longer&aqs=chrome..69i57j69i65j69i60.2224j0j4&sourceid=chrome&es_sm=93&ie=UTF-8">similar</a>.<br />
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All you need is an image editing software which can write text on images. For best experience, start with a blank template, and just write some text on it using your favourite image editing tool. On windows, even MS Paint will do. I've found one for my android device.<br />
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Quoting this tweet as reference.<br />
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<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" lang="en">
A pic is worth more than "140" words...Edited with <a href="https://twitter.com/search?q=%23Phonto&src=hash">#Phonto</a>. <a href="https://twitter.com/Phontograph">@phontograph</a> <a href="http://t.co/kQselzloYo">http://t.co/kQselzloYo</a> <a href="http://t.co/KuLCPfVywY">pic.twitter.com/KuLCPfVywY</a><br />
— Arun Jayapal (@deostroll) <a href="https://twitter.com/deostroll/statuses/473256617467600896">June 2, 2014</a></blockquote>
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script>
Happy browsing, tweeting...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuM35TvmZ2hWikkyGgS7usvfN6GY_8px9ib8H_tst7dgr57nFz0i24fulmUBH-lY34FhEUBOaAp8ztQ-NImLltv0JMP8DFh_hIXGWVF6l9qvgh91G3NJZVWMTHge0dJBBHo8Hs-q_H8S8W/s1600/i2symbol_180.151.120.202+(1).png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuM35TvmZ2hWikkyGgS7usvfN6GY_8px9ib8H_tst7dgr57nFz0i24fulmUBH-lY34FhEUBOaAp8ztQ-NImLltv0JMP8DFh_hIXGWVF6l9qvgh91G3NJZVWMTHge0dJBBHo8Hs-q_H8S8W/s1600/i2symbol_180.151.120.202+(1).png" height="138" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><i>Update:</i></b><br />
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Although you can post more than 140 characters in an image, you still are limited to an upper bound. I don't know what that is, but hopefully someone will discover that one day. As for an experience POV, people who are used to 140 characters might welcome this. However, if you hated twitter in the first place, I guess you can hate it a little relatively lesser now. I am not telling those folks to like the service, at least, like the fact, that I am writing this blog to let you know of such hidden features!<br />
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Meanwhile, here is an infographic which talks about sizes and dimensions for images that can be used on twitter:<br />
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<a href="http://freshtakeoncontent.com/wp-content/uploads/Twitter-Image-Sizes-and-Dimensions.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://freshtakeoncontent.com/wp-content/uploads/Twitter-Image-Sizes-and-Dimensions.png" height="320" width="261" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">( Source: <a href="http://freshtakeoncontent.com/twitter-image-sizes-dimensions/">http://freshtakeoncontent.com/twitter-image-sizes-dimensions/</a> )</span>deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-51223699607673775282013-09-29T18:19:00.003+05:302013-09-29T18:19:41.208+05:30life of piWeirdest dream ever!<br />
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Standing at the back of my house looking to the direction of the beach (you can't actually see the beach), I noticed the clouds above looked pretty gray. There was enough daylight to make the whole scene look gloomy.<br />
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All of a sudden a sprout of water in the air. It wasn't a continuous stream; it was as if someone tossed a huge glass of water into the air. And it was at a great distance. It was not a tsunami either.<br />
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Then all I can remember is ending up in the middle of a vast ocean, all alone. There was no tiger. I deduced this fact since I wasn't actually floating on a boat. I really don't know what I was floating on...<br />
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And then I woke up from my sleep. The movie Life of Pi was better a movie; its frightening to imagine how it would be in real life - stuck in a calm sea with nothing around you but a vast horizon on all sides. I actually woke up to this part - sensing the vast horizon.<br />
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Imagine this. Wee hours in the morning and you wake up from a semi Life of Pi like dream, except if that was made into a movie or even a book it would not sell. Then you relate to the movie. The beautiful calm ocean on which you can see your own reflection. The vast horizon at twilight. The carnivorous island. The whale. The fluorescent algae you get to see at night...<br />
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I thought to myself<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
...at least you could have dreamt of the fluorescent algae...</blockquote>
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...and dozed off!deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-82558022745425895192013-05-15T00:57:00.001+05:302013-05-15T22:04:59.726+05:30so whats in a name...?So everyone used to ask why the name deostroll? What does it mean?<br />
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Frankly it doesn't mean anything per se.</div>
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It was back in the second half of the year of 1998, while I was doing my schooling (9th Std) in Hill Top Public School. The movie Titanic was popular then. For some boys Jack Dawson was a character they wanted to be more like...and hence the craze of maintaining long hair ensued. God knows how business fared for the barber shops back then; but I was a pseudo Jack Dawson back at the time. </div>
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My hair was pretty unmanageable to maintain, and more difficult to keep it well kempt. Leonardo Di Caprio's hair was blond; yet it was always smooth. So I had to improvise...</div>
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I found a spray can at home I could refill. Filled water into it and took it to school. Whenever head felt dry enough took it our of the bag, and did the required business. And then the whole back benchers I sat with joined the lingo; not that everyone had long hair, but the spraying was fun.<br />
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That was also a time I had created my first email id. Was doing a small MS Office course over at NIIT in calicut. The instructor was teaching us how to create one. And when he kind of stressed on the fact that the username should be unique, I kind of pondered for a while. <i>A funny guy like me, who used to walk around with a spray can (much like a deodrant can) to maintain my hairstyle - <b>deostroll</b>!</i><br />
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And thus the name.<br />
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So even after 13 years, why did this silly name stick?!<br />
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I don't attach so much of significance to what the name means...that time is what I attach significance to...because those were the best days of my life. I can't begin to describe the crazy things we did in our school but I can safely publish the fact that we busted an amplifier system which some famous personality had donated for school assembly use. God how we stood for assembly that day! :)</div>
deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-4842073051361484822013-05-11T20:42:00.000+05:302013-05-11T20:42:23.773+05:30when sometimes "I make chicken curry"...Learned the art of making edible and "safe" chicken curry while I was living in Chennai. This was fairly easy due to a very ingenious invention called the pressure cooker. However, I haven't been able to make chicken curry that way for a very long time; ever since I've moved to Bangalore.<div>
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But a few weeks back I met a woman; she was someone who has a future plan of being a chef (which I wasn't aware of at the time) asked me if I knew how to cook. And me being modest and all said "I only know how to make chicken curry".</div>
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Thus unfolded a whole chain of events...and I ended up explaining her the method anyway. </div>
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Most IT folks would be aware of the term BSOD (aka blue screen of death). Its just a blue screen you get when windows encounters an error. You'd normally see a blue screen with some text which is dumped onto the screen. At a time when Windows 98 was in vogue, everything about that operating system was slow, but this was known to happen super fast. </div>
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My recipe came out even faster than that.</div>
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However, how that conversation ensued was even more embarrassing...</div>
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To explain I'll need to share a bit of the preparation technique: you saute onions in a kadai, add chopped tomatoes to make it somewhat consistent, then you add your spices, then you add your chicken and other vegetables. After you feel the spices has been absorbed by the mix. You just dump the whole thing into a pressure cooker for one whistle.</div>
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I never get it right however. You need to proportion your spices correctly to get the magic, if you know what I mean. </div>
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But most people do it the hard way. They actually use the kadai for the whole preparation. The pressure cooker is faster, and much easier to manage. And I find that the probability of such people (in that particular age group) not knowing that you could use a pressure cooker to cook chicken curry, is very high. The other person. to my surprise, was actually listening...</div>
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By all means I wanted to stop the narration, but I just went on...at the end of it was a strange emotion. </div>
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I was thinking to myself, "Hey maybe I'll ask you for my Nobel prize for that narration later... <i>but really?! You never knew you could use the damn pressure cooker</i>!!!"</div>
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Then I was feeling a sense of accomplishment: "So I have successfully pressure cookerized another soul"</div>
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Then the most awkward thing happens:</div>
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She asks: "Why use the kadai?!"</div>
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Then I thought, "Yeah sure, the straight answer to that was - to mix the spices. But why couldn't I do it in the pressure cooker before putting all the chicken? The chicken had to go in there anyway..."</div>
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The embarrassing bit is...in all my 3+ yrs since I knew how to make...I never asked myself this question!</div>
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So naturally where was the answer?! I paused for a while shrugged and said, "I never really had that much of kitchen sense", and smiled.</div>
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Days later I when I started reflecting on myself, who really handed me down the recipe; it turns out that my mother and sister both don't use the kadai for preparation. Now this was getting seriously like WTF.</div>
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There is only one person responsible for all this. and I am sure to whack him the next time I meet him. :)</div>
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Ps: on a serious note, never ever invite me over to your place for preparing chicken curry. You kitchen is not a lab; and I am not a chef.</div>
deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com4Electronics City, Bangalore, Karnataka, India12.8399389 77.67700309999997912.7780114 77.596322099999981 12.9018664 77.757684099999977tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-40658792083600929332011-02-18T16:33:00.001+05:302011-02-18T16:33:21.112+05:30MishapsWhat seemed like a normal day turned out to be a series of mishaps.<br><br>It was a friday night. And I was on my way to Kozhikode to spend the weekend. The Chennai Central Railway Station seemed nominally crowded. Got here with ample time to verify which coach my berth was, but I didn't do that right away. I just had small dinner after which it became around 8 pm. I went to the coach and checked for my name against my berth; to my horror, it wasn't my name. It was only then I looked at the date in the ticket print out; it was for a future date.<br> <br>So then I decided I must get the correct ticket printed out immediately, and rushed to the internet cafe inside the railway station. I informed the guy (the cashier cum cafe-employee) out there I just wanted a printout. I couldn't believe what he told me next: "The printout would cost you Rs. 30. Is it ok?". The train was scheduled to leave @ 8.25 pm. I had to say "Yes". He said that the printer wasn't free for the moment; so I had to wait. The printer was at the cashier's desk too. The cashier looked at me and told me that I can browse using anyone of their free machines. He elaborated that the browsing rate was Rs. 30. So I confirmed that this was inclusive of the printout charges. He confirmed that too. There was a little, if negligible, sigh after he said that.<br> <br>So I gladly did. I assumed that the computers there were networked somehow so I could adapt the ticket to a word document, and then give that for printing. I quickly browsed to the IRCTC website, logged-in, and found the correct ticket. I selected the option to print. Normally on Internet Explorer you'd be prompted with a Print Dialog box. But the dialog box showed that there were no printers installed. I canceled the dialog, and selected all the text in the page which showed me my ticket, opened up Microsoft Word, pasted the whole thing out there, and was about to hit Ctrl+S to save, when all of a sudden, POOF!<br> <br>All the UPSs were whining like "I want my power supply". But they didn't have enough backup to power the computer. And it was already 8.10 pm. <br><br>Okay do I have to pay Rs. 30 to the cashier or not. Maybe he will ask for it. Maybe he will not. For some strange luck the cashier told me to go to the next building to see if I could get the printout. I ran.<br> <br>I gave up looking for a cafe, at the other building. In fact I don't think there is one. This was when I decided to go die-hard and board the train. I did make note of my berth for the train I was supposed to be travelling in. So I went to my coach, looked out for my name, and made note of my PNR number. There was a TTR standing behind me. He was answering queries in Malayalam. I went up to him and told him about my problem. He replied that I can occupy my berth, but I'd have to pay a fine of Rs. 50 for not presenting the ticket. And therefore I went and sat in my berth.<br> <br>After 1.5 hours of traveling the TTR comes. Assuming that the TTR would have forgotten the problem, and, not even caring to see who the TTR was I spoke in Malayalam, I explained my problem. At the end of the explanation, the TTR said that he'd have to write a charge sheet, <i>in tamil.</i> That was the only time I noticed the TTR's face. He wasn't the same person I spoke to before.<br> <br>Next morning, while still in the train, and only few hours remaining to where I had to get down, I came to realize that without getting the charge sheet I might face a problem if I'm caught in the platform. So I resolved to find a TTR, and get the charge sheet. There were two TTRs I met in the process. The first one was quite alarmed when I told him I didn't have a ticket. But after explaining the whole situation, he told me to meet the second TTR. <br> <br>The second TTR was even more dramatic. For starts, he wasn't usually in his seat. I had to check every half-hour if he was there or not. Finally I found him in his place and approached him. When I told the person that I needed a charge sheet, he too was surprised. He moved from his berth to the coach entrance door. I told him I had taken the wrong printout; took the printout for the next month instead of the current month. He looked at me and asked: You've reserved a ticket the next month also?!<br> <br>I was stumped. I mean why was that question even called for? There are probably millions like me who reserve at least one ticket every month. That TTR's astonishment was like he had discovered that I had stolen his favourite berth or something. I didn't was to react to his question. I simply told him "Yes I did".<br> <br>That TTR then started to red tape the whole affair. He wasn't informed by the previous TTR (the one who came to my berth) that there was someone traveling without a ticket. From what was actually said, I gathered, all the TTRs who board from chennai, get down at Palakkad. That is their end-of-shift. TTRs belonging to a different shift aren't supposed to fine people who have boarded the train before that shift. The TTR admitted that he cannot issue the charge sheet. <br> <br>This wasn't good news to me. I had to pay a fine of Rs. 250 plus the whole train fare. I only had a debit card at that moment. I accepted the fact that there was no use talking to this TTR. And I was on my way back to my seat. The TTR humbly iterated that he can't do anything about it. And he also told me to try not to get caught by the platform checker. <br> <br>I sighed again.<br><br>I got down at my station. Took the foot bridge which lead to the exit on platform 1. And as i descended the last flight of stairs, the checker was present. I was too frustrated to look scared. I walked normally. He was taking a call on his mobile phone. A few feet from the exit, and his hand was pointed at me. And then all of a sudden, he turned away. I was never checked! I fled the scene as fast as I could.<br> <br>I am still choked up with the hangover of what happened that cruel day. But then what can one do about it:<br><br><blockquote style="margin: 0pt 0pt 0pt 0.8ex; border-left: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); padding-left: 1ex;" class="gmail_quote"> Every dog has his day.<br></blockquote> deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-33208737603073082672011-01-12T23:56:00.001+05:302011-01-12T23:56:11.797+05:30The surreal status updateThe most strangest thing happened. <br><br>I had visitors. They kept on asking me if I knew them or not. And finally they said that we are related! All of a sudden, a funny feeling like, I have known them before, comes up. This usually happens when people say that they are related, in front of people I know; like my parents or close family. So either, I pretend that I know them, or, I am usually encompassed by that strange feeling of being acquainted earlier.<br> <br>But the fact is, I get this a lot; especially when meeting distant relatives. That brief episode left me in a state of mild embarrassment. These were people close to me, yet I couldn't place them! However, I wasn't so bogged about it. In fact, I was so determined to "share" this experience via a facebook status update. I began thinking what to write. Perhaps I should say something like "...Must update database; can't place my own family relatives. Now searching for the photo album..."<br> <br>I really liked the stuff I quipped up for the status update. To me it seemed witty, and humourous. Hence I was determined to post it right away. But I wasn't near a computer; and my phone was out of reach too. And as I made a start for it, I quickly seemed to take note of the environment I was "actually" in: the room was dark except for the light coming from the window. I was staring at the ceiling fan, lying on the floor, only to realize I had been dreaming while asleep. <br> <br>I might have sighed, or, I did not. Its hard to say: I <b>was</b> relieved all of that was a dream. I was equally <b>ashamed</b> of the fact that I was about to update my facebook status, <i>in the same dream</i>.<br> <br><br> deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-3050541936658574292010-11-09T12:41:00.001+05:302010-11-09T12:41:54.989+05:30Leaving your word docs open too long...When I was a kid I remember my mother used to scold me if I left my textbook open and went to bed. She explained that if you keep your textbooks open for too long Lady Saraswathi would punish you for this. <br />
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For the curious lot: Lord Saraswathi is the Goddess of Wealth and Knowledge in the Hindu religion. So those days I figured She might not like it if I left the books open. Although I never really understood the actual reason behind it, I used to think this and dutifully close my books and go to bed.<br />
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Nowadays I have to say that the times have changed a lot. Today when I logged-in to my onsite machine and upon noticing so many open applications in the taskbar (pending work) I also seemed to notice a few RQSDs (Requirement Specification Documents) opened in MS Word and went...<strong><em>OMG!!!</em></strong>deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-53501763718319293742010-10-28T12:18:00.001+05:302010-10-28T12:21:05.903+05:30The bar stupefactionI’ve been in and out of bars several times before with friends. However don’t mistake me for an alcoholic. I don’t frequent to bars that much. And frankly people won’t ask me to booze because, well, lets face it, I look like someone who gets stoned easily. And if that happens that’s half their fun-time wasted on me!<br />
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But one fine evening an old school friend who had been to Chennai suddenly asks me over the phone:<br />
<blockquote>dude where is a good bar in town? </blockquote>The feeling was like googling. You typed in a query and got entries. This is analogous to the fact that I have visited several public bars before. But the search results I’d clicked on led me to only blank pages – this is analogous to me, after all these years in Chennai, and having been in and out of bars, didn’t know <strong>where to find one</strong>!<br />
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Well, this was a bit embarrassing. Not knowing how to find a bar, but acknowledging the fact that I’ve been to many bars, the best thing that hit my mind was: to call a friend who took me to a bar for the first time. <br />
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I don’t mean to purposefully allude to this but the ‘first-time at anything’ can be useful to get you through very peculiar situations sometimes.deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-60622219890929482952010-09-18T00:42:00.001+05:302010-09-18T00:42:40.093+05:30R.A PuramFor those who have lived far away from home, trying to make a life out in another city, there is always the very first time you've ever done so. Getting used to the town, the people, what they speak, the names of various places, etc are all part of the package of being young, & 'lost' in another town. And thats how my first few months in Allsec went about.<br> <br>I heard of a place called R.A Puram for the first time, when I was in training in Allsec. They have another branch in R.A Puram. Sometimes a new batch of trainees go there to attend training. There were a couple of mallu folks I was friends with. Most of the then were comfortable speaking & understanding Tamil and had been in Chennai more than I have. But as the evaluation day just got over, some of them didn't have enough scores to make it through. Some people I know left the job because of better opportunities else where. The others went to re-training to R.A Puram.<br> <br>So one in that small group (of people I knew) was trying to keep in touch one day. That person was not in Allsec at the time. He was enquiring about another friend who was in re-training. I texted him something in the lines of: yeah he is in R.A Puram for retraining.<br> <br>But what I actually typed was:<br><br><blockquote style="margin: 0pt 0pt 0pt 0.8ex; border-left: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); padding-left: 1ex;" class="gmail_quote">yeah he is in <font size="4"><b>aaraepuram </b></font>for retraining<br> </blockquote><br>The friend I was texting to never bothered to correct me. I am guessing he figured out where exactly that place was, or he must have thought it was a new town in Chennai.<br><br>And I later learn about this mistake, in the most astonishing fashion ever. I was probably on a 21L bus heading to Guindy/Velachery (don't remember). I was probably travelling through Adayar. I just took my nokia 6021 out of my pocket, just to know which locality I was in, and read:<br> <br>R.A PURAM<br> <br><br> deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-89239740340711391562010-09-12T03:54:00.001+05:302010-09-14T21:28:35.661+05:30Those stupid 1st time thingsEver since tht bus trip bck 2 chen frm calicut (last dec - t 1st f the unofficial lonely wandrer.com series) things hve changed. At least I keep chanting, no matter wht happens: "Life is a celebration; a bizzare inspiration"<br />
Last nyt i ws watching t movie "resident evil - afterlife 3d". Somewher in t mov i just realized tht my ph ws in outdoor mode. I happily took t ph out f my pocket, set it 2 silent, n then slid it bck into my pocket, n went bck 2 watch t movie.<br />
Then i realized tht i ws lukin @ my ph wearin 3d glasses! <br />
I took my ph out and took a gud luk @ it again.deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-88169451578396650262010-07-23T23:13:00.002+05:302010-07-23T23:14:56.661+05:30TurtlesA fun episode I recall in my life was those initial training days at Allsec. We were doing accent training. And you've probably already heard how these things go. Everything thing is 'American'. You've to learn something about their culture everyday. We were doing a fun session one day - dumb charades - on American movie title's. Its usually played with two teams. A team thinks of a movie title, and picks a target from the opponent team. The person from the other team has to enact it in front of his/her team until they figure the movie. <br />
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This activity is really fun. The only sad part was, that day most people were only getting to know what dumb charades were - they were being 'trained'. (Sigh). So, my trainer was the one who enacted a movie she thought of. There were several teams in this case; and I belonged to a team way back in the last seat. <br />
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Most of the people there were not exposed to this 'american movie culture'. Hence they were slow at figuring out movie names. But there were a few who were quick at it too. The trainer, took a bit of a pause trying to figure out what to enact next. She began; she hinted the title contains 4 words. She was going to enact the 4th one. She put her hands one above the other, and started moving her thumbs. She was trying to convey its a fish; she was hoping people would figure out the word 'turtle' eventually. <br />
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I began to think:<br />
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<div style="margin-left: 40px;"><i>Fish?...Do I know a movie with a "fish" in it?</i></div><br />
Then someone accidentally spurted 'turtle'. By now, I thought, damn, any one could have guessed this by now. The excitement in the trainer's eyes was proof enough.<br />
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I laid back. The trainer was actually enacting it to some other team if I remember correctly. It seemed to me that they'd pass. <br />
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And they <b>did</b>. <br />
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Still no one could figure.<br />
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She started doing the "fish" again. She couldn't <i>speak</i>; it was how the game had to be played. <br />
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I finally did it. I shouted <b>TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES</b>. <br />
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Dead silence in the room. Everyone turned their heads towards my direction. Everyone was probably thinking <i>how can he guess that movie from a "fish"</i>? Someone posted a doubt quietly: <i>did he go to college or the cinema theatre for graduation</i>?<br />
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I on the other hand wondered how was she going to enact the word 'mutant'? - She was still standing there, surprised, doing the fish...<br />
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Damn, I could have had more fun! :)deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-58697197566374360732010-07-18T20:47:00.000+05:302010-07-18T20:50:56.222+05:30A Trip to Hill TopI did my 9th & 10th std frm hill top public school, puthiyara, calicut. V were on our way bck 2day frm our classmate jamshad's marriage; en route to my plc, i suddenly thot, 'hey y don't give our school a visit?'<br>V went up the small 'hill' tht leads 2 t school's entrance. Found tht ther ws no lock on t gates. Opened it, took our car inside. Got out of t car n headed straight to t basket ball court.<br>At t bck f our head v knew all f this ws illegal n v cud hve gt sacked big time fr this...but tis ws a common activity v used to do while v were doing school ther - barge in2 t school on sundays!!!<br>All v evr wanted 2 do ws taken some pics w/ t cam, visit n then leave. <br>V were just getting started w/ our photo session vn t security guard appeared. V politely told him hu v were n wht we intended to do. He ws adamnt. Told us v r nt supposed to do such things her. After several retries v thot it ws best v let him do his job.<br>V had already taken sum photos. Aftr he told us nt to v bluntly said 'oh no v hve 2 delete those photos immediately'.<br>V decided v close the gates b4 we went down. So 1 of my frnds went to the gate. We kinda started t car, n approached him.<br>Our frnd started yelling at us...'don't u knw 2 day is sunday, n no 1 is supposed to take photos here. DELETE ALL THOSE PHOTOS I SAY'. Don't knw wht t guard felt. Mayb t nxt time v c him v'll send him a sorry card, probably even a bottle f rum.<br>Altho v knw its illegal, if he hadn't shown up, v wud hve had an awesome nostalgic evening.deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-68561383277449452752010-07-05T00:57:00.001+05:302010-07-05T01:01:07.289+05:30center of attentionLast evening I was walking through crowded streets for some shopping. It was sometime long after sunset. I was getting tired of carrying my helmet with my hands. So I just put it over my head such that it exposed my face. So picture this - me in black jeans, black round neck shirt, and a black helmet sitting on top of my head. The only thing not black were my shoes. (Even my socks were black)! I removed my glasses and let it hang on the neck of my shirt. It was kind of disturbing me because of how I wore my helmet. My friend didn't notice me wearing the helmet at first; and then, when he saw it he couldn't help smiling. <i>It won't be difficult to find you in this crowd</i> he said.<br />
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I didn't mind the occasional stare I got from people. What was important at the moment was they noticed me and let me pass. They noticed my head and sometimes even stopped to take a good look at it. But people who enjoyed it the most were the women. I noticed a woman was walking through the crowd speaking on the mobile. Her eye sockets weren't so distant. She had a huge head. I could notice from the distant her pupils were transfixed onto my helmet, and she carried a smile. She was probably on her way back home after work. And, when she passed me, she gave a light, playful, knock on the helmet.<br />
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I noticed a lot of smiles from a lot of woman that day. Most of the smiles I got made me assume that they thought I was <i>young and crazy</i>. Kinda realized, what the heck, its not something they see everyday. However I remember the last smile I got. This woman was probably 30-something. She looked kinda in a hurry. I was just ascending up the stairs and almost jumped into her path. She looked at me, smiled and bobbed her head in approval. Yeah! She realized what I was up to...and so I smiled at her back.<br />
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I was just celebrating life...deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-77850710440580623022010-04-23T08:51:00.001+05:302010-04-23T08:51:32.210+05:30The Con-Call ExcitementI participate in a lot of conference calls as part of our work. Coming from a BPO where I had actually been an agent talking to customers in the US, I know there are some etiquettes you have to follow on call. Because its a telephone conversation, and the other person is more probable to cut you off if you break those etiquettes, I tend to stick to them like they are my ten commandments or something. And American people (not to sound racial in anyway) are 'hard' to keep engaged in a telephone conversation.<br> <br>Well, this post definitely ain't about America or its people. We have a project manager (Indian) who works abroad interacts with the client, gathers requirements, clarifies our queries to those requirements, etc. This person stays with his wife and child in US and has been doing so for the past 3 years. One day we were trying to reach this person. My team mate (a female around my age and my senior) and our team leader who sits in the adjacent bay to where my team mate sits were involved in this conversation. The project manager lives on a different time zone. So when we call it'd be usually be 9 or 10 pm their time. <br> <br>My team leader wasn't exactly with us when we were about to make the call. He was busy sitting in his bay and doing his work. My team mate called the reception and asked them to dial our project manager in the US. The call went through. The phone rang. A lady's voice went "Hello". This was our manager's wife. Now look at this conversation from his wife's perspective. Its almost 11pm in the night. Her husband has gone out for getting some medicines (I believe) for their son. The phone rings. She attends and says "Hello"...a lady's voice from the other end says "Hello...uh...Subbu??!"<br> <br>Subbu is our manager's nickname. We don't even know if his wife calls him by this name. (Perhaps she might refer to her husband as someone more elderly and call him with respect). She was silent for a while. My team mate and I were staring at the phone. Suddenly even my team leader joined in to experience the telephonic drama about to unfold. I guess my team leader and I was excited about Subbu's wife going to explode and give my team mate a nice lesson. But the wife didn't do that. She said her husband has gone out to get medicines. Team mate asked when can we callback; the wife replied, after half-an-hour. And then that conversation ended.<br> <br>I looked at my team mate, and said 'Thank God she was Indian. She was kind and at least she understands!!! But if the wife was an American woman, she would have given you nicely over the phone". To this we all ended up laughing. <br> deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-54874143517149903842010-04-11T01:23:00.000+05:302010-04-11T01:23:20.911+05:30Yet another indian railway passenger reservation enquiry site...This sounds "usual". There are probably many sites out there which do the same thing...hence no surprise. However I couldn't find one that was designed for mobile phones; so I went and built one!<br />
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And it ain't all that great. In fact it shares a very simple relationship with the actual site. When the actual site is down, my application might be down too :(<br />
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Sure as glad that I didn't get the opportunity to go ahead and design the actual<a href="http://www.indianrail.gov.in/"> Indian Railways Passenger Reservation Enquiry</a> site. Else for every "network connectivity failure" I don't know from which direction I might get incoming...<br />
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This application will not run on all mobile browsers. It should work on those phone browsers that has some special capabilities . But I am thinking of extending support to those unprivileged phones. <br />
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The url to the application is:<br />
http://deostroll.appspot.com/pnr<br />
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Clicking on the title of this post should directly take you there directly. (Yes, it will run in your ordinary browser, but I'll warn you it won't look all that good). I'll pray it looks good on your phone though. I encourage comments if you've got ideas to make it look better.<br />
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I enjoyed the exercise though. It did fascinate me to <a href="http://deostroll-developer.blogspot.com/2010/04/stint-at-building-mobile-web.html">think</a> like a mobile web developer for a while<br />
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In order to prevent spam I've decided to moderate comments. Commenting won't be the same...but this shouldn't discourage you in anyway I hope. Please do comment till your hearts content! Just don't spam. I hate to say this, but Google isn't the only thing the Chinese annoy these days. :) (Wasn't sounding racial there). Take care.deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-17894507924790486072010-02-08T01:38:00.000+05:302010-02-08T01:38:11.631+05:30The unofficial lonelywanderer.com adventures: the kid, professor and me<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Well the last journey I had back to chennai was a sort-of planned one; so there wasn't a lot of things happening. Just the usual stuff, and the usual “small” things. Else this post would have had to run into an even bigger mega series again. But I guess the length of this post kind of compensates the need for running this into a series. Like before this post is again not related to the actual <a href="http://www.lonelywanderer.com/">site</a>. The characters in this post are real, just like any ordinary passengers you'd meet while on a long journey. I don't know the names of the passengers involved in this narration, nor do I have that strange policy of just getting to know all the passengers in the train just for the heck of it. Reality check: I was a passenger too! </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">By writing this post I don't mean to mock what other people (I am familiar with or otherwise) firmly believe in. I also want to let my readers know that I don't usually judge other people this way. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Train No. 2696. The most arduous thing I recall about the last journey was the chilly night. I just wore a tshirt. Somewhere in the night I had to wake up, pull out a used shirt out of my bag, and wear it over my tshirt. And in spite of doing so I have contracted an elegant cold. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The next morning I was quite lazy to wake up. But I did anyway. Couldn't go back to sleep anyhow. So I sat with my legs crossed in the upper berth and began to read. Below in the side berth a cute girl, probably in her early twenties or something, was playing with what seemed like her nephew; or it could even have been her little cousin. I didn't care. There was a slightly elder looking woman sitting opposite to her and the kid; this would have to obviously be the kid's mother. After reading for some time, I decided to brush my teeth and opened my bag to take the brush and paste out. I noticed a lean woman wearing a blue churidar, again probably in her twenties, reading a book. She looked as though she was of some late Maharashtrian descent. I was searching for the damn tooth brush and looked into my bag. And on finding it, I looked below again; this time she was reading another smaller book. It probably had something written in sanskrith or hindi. But from the upper berth it looked like chinese. It really didn't matter. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After freshening up a bit, I returned to my place. I decided I'd sit in the berth like how passengers normally do on a day-time journey. On the lower berth, below which I had rested for the prev night, were seated three men. One looked slightly elderly than the other two. The other two were probably in their mid 30s. There was a fair & slightly plump bespectacled lady wearing a yellow churidar; she sat in the same berth the lean lady had, on the opposite berth; so the men and these two ladies were facing each other. The stout lady was sitting at the edge of the seat; the lean lady was seated next to the window. There was space for one person to sit in between. I reached for my bag, put the brush back into it, and kinda expected the stout lady to huddle close to the lean one - you know the saying birds of the same feather huddle together. The stout one looked stone cold. She didn't budge. I thought: Well, this one must have evolved. And so I had to occupy the space in between. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I looked over to the side berth to catch the cute girl and the kid playing. Was even expecting the girl to be even more naughtier than the kid. But she was quiet, calm, cute, yet playful, and damn good looking! I envied the kid for a while. That little chap was so lucky I guess. But I thought she'd probably already be in a relationship. Why else should she be so radiant and good looking?! And even if I were in some strange fantasy relationship with the girl I can't imagine the length of horror scenes I'd have to face. And if God directed a movie based on this relationship he'd probably want to give it another silly lunar title: <i>Black Moon. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">And then the makers of the Scary Movie series would eventually mock it and probably even call it </span><i>Funny Moon</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Then I seemed to notice a conversation was going on beside me. Eaves dropping would not be the technical term to call it; I was being subjected to listen to it. Each time I look the other way the conversation goes another way. Apparently the first book the lean one was reading was written by </span>Sri Mata Amritananadamayi (aka Amma). I noticed her photo on the book. The person the lean lady was having conversation with was the old man, eldest of the three men seated opposite beside the window. He spoke highly of the book and what was written in it. What caught my attention was the topic: these people were discussing about farming. I didn't get the connection.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The old man went on to explain how modern methods of agriculture actually degrade the quality of our fruits and vegetables. The lean lady seemed to be intently engrossed with this topic. I was wondering why would Amma write about farming; I thought she was a spiritual leader. She should talk more about spirituality. Then the old man went on to explain that the use of pesticides and fertilizers destroys the natural order of things; the earth is bound to react one day to this. The lady seemed to concord; she even tried giving a corroboration. She said, the earth is already reacting! Every month you can see some calamity somewhere on earth. This conversation was getting highly illogical to follow.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The lean one was a conversationist. The old man had told her that he owned a piece of land and cultivates some crops there. He only uses cow dung and bone powder for manure. No pesticides. No artificial fertilizers. The poor man's flow of English was broken, but his points were coercive; convincing. The lady beside me asked him about crops the old man cultivated on his stretch of land. He said a lot of things. His dialog suddenly changed into fruits he cultivated. The lady also intently joined in saying she always had problems eating fruits like mangoes or pineapples which she purchased from the shops because of the pesticides. The conversation went on and on. I was getting a little tired; the allergy pangs were rising and falling. I was holding the hanky to my nose and trying to breathe through it. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I noticed the kid was playing quietly now. He was totally external to this conversation. The people next to me also showed gestures at times as they found parts of the conversation interesting. Suddenly as the old man was talking about his cultivation he said loudly and defiantly, I don't sell my crops to any one. If they want my crops they'd have to pay me high. I cannot give you quantity, but I'll give you quality, but at no point I'd give you poison!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Everyone's attention was focused at him for a while. Even the cute girl who was shuffling in her seat and who was totally disengaged from this conversation looked at him. The two other men sitting in front of me looked at each other. Their eyes kept rolling around in their sockets as if the part of their berth in which the old man was seated was about to get violently torn off or something. I noticed the stout lady beside me was holding her mobile phone; she kept staring at it from time to time. Wanted to ask the stout lady if she had some music in her phone, and headsets to accompany with it. For me, it didn't even matter the choice of music she might have had. I would have listened to Carnatic music too if that was the only go.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It was quiet for a little while. The lean lady offered to ask the publishers to send the old man a copy in his regional language. It seems she had connections with many swamijis and all. The lean lady and the man got to know each other better. This was when I learned that the old man was a professor. The lean lady worked in Citi Bank. Her name was Minu, I think. She claims she was settled in Chennai. But her lineage doesn't seem to suggest it however. The old man talks about his wife and son. He says the wife is staying in Idukki. She always had health problems because of eating fish and meat. The son too followed his mother's suit. However this old man kept to his ways; he was a staunch vegetarian who got his vegetables from his own land. He kept saying all these things about our teeth, intestines, etc were not designed to eat meat. He later went on to saying that we don't need Veterinary hospitals. We domesticate the animals. Had they been in the wild they'd know what to do if they fell sick. Now they don't know what to do. Time and again he had some valid points we could all debate about. But time and again he'd conclude it with some stupid pompous remark. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The train was nearing the Chennai central railway station. I think at the time we halted at basin bridge junction. And now the train slowly started to move forward. The kid grew more active all of a sudden. His entertainer was on the phone. He happily and boisterously kept repeating whatever she said over the phone. She was probably talking to her uncle. She couldn't stop with her laughter, and the kid's antics. The little kid stood on the seat, stooped near to her face and shouted everything the girl said into the phone. She was trying to shield the kid, but he stood pretty strong and shouted happily. And then finally she hung up on the call, and started to fight with the kid. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The train was a few kilometers away from the Central Station. The lean lady beside me started getting ready for the arrival. She took out her only bag from underneath. The old man asks, only one bag?! This woman was travelling alone. It was as if the old man was expecting a whole family of baggages, and instead found only one. He then pats his own baggage. It was a linen bag (we traditionally call sanji), and it was packed. He said, do you know whats in my bag? He seemed to be very excited about telling this. I am carrying 1 kg pepper, and 3 kg of green tea!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I instantly looked at the kid dispassionately. I envied him deeply now. The professor has 1 kg of pepper, and 3 kgs of green tea; you are lucky kid, 'cause you don't even give a damn and finally happen to listen to this.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I don't want to dampen the old man's spirit. In fact I respect his ideologies. I would have even chipped in a few points had there been a few more people who willingly sort to participate in this conversation. It was not just farming they talked about. They talked about history, the Spice Route, how pepper was discovered, how the egyptians actually built the pyramids; they touched a lot of things like this. At one point of time I did want to relate to all of this. Heck, imagine if everyone were talking, and then the kid suddenly spoke about global warming, wouldn't you want to say something too?!</div>deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-7823727784597520942010-02-01T23:41:00.000+05:302010-02-01T23:41:17.060+05:30My roomate, corn flakes & the min swipe amt comedyOne evening me and my room mate (Libin) stopped by at Spencer's Daily, Velachery. He wanted to buy Cornflakes! He never knew what Cornflakes was until about a few weeks back. That was when I decided to have Cornflakes for breakfast before going to work. This wasn't my idea of an ultimate breakfast however, so when the pack of Cornflakes I bought got exhausted I never bothered buy one again...<br />
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But my roomy was convinced that this was an ultimate breakfast solution. After my pack of cornflakes got over he brought a new one; and started having it for breakfast each morning after he'd come back from work. I thought well, nice that he actually loves it. He'd pour half litre milk in a 1 litre mug; saturate it with the flakes to give you the illusion that there aint no milk at all! And then he'd spoon into it as if he's literally trying to fish the cornflakes out. Everthing until this point is watchable, until the spoon goes into his mouth; its like a sad nirvana, you don't want to know! But at least he enjoys it.<br />
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Today was the day he decided he replenish his stock of cornflakes. So we were at spencers to buy the only thing - Kellog's Cornflakes. It was probably about 7.30 pm in the evening. People were listlessly waiting for their turn to pay in the queue. My roomate also joined this queue. I went and stood afar. It was when I observed the queue from that position that I remembered a strange quote: if you think God doesn't have fun, just look at people waiting...<br />
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I wasn't actually laughing out loud per se. I was thinking to myself: we are such a mess and sometimes we don't even know we actually enjoy all of it.<br />
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My roomate reached the end of the queue. He waved out to me. Seemed like it was a matter of having no money. He wasn't sure he could purchase the pack of cornflakes with just the debit card: your purchases should total a min of Rs. 150/- if you want to swipe your card. He looked clueless. I went behind the cashier and politely enquired about the min amount to swipe in. She confirmed it was Rs. 150/-.<br />
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The cornflakes costed around Rs. 125/-. Damn, he thought. I just gave him a gesture of confusion out of realizing something, and told him that was what the two ice creams were for...He forgot about them. Before I broke off from the queue, I thought, why not an ice cream; picked up two moderately expensive cone ice creams, and gave it to my roomate. He happily received it and kept it in the basket beside the cornflakes. <br />
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He scanned the price on one of the ice creams and looked amused. Hell, even I was amused; I never thought about the minimum amount you had to swipe for...I just thought about having an ice cream. And incidentally this was what saved him from the immediate embarassment that was to come.deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-44202772899277224372010-01-27T18:37:00.000+05:302010-01-27T18:37:52.684+05:30Class Notes on the History of Accounting - MS Word<div><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Class One</i></span></b><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Class Two</b></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Class Three</b></span></i><br />
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</div>deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320588274809745295.post-1771651386614730452010-01-08T10:29:00.004+05:302010-01-08T15:38:44.550+05:30Why he fainted...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-2hcCqebOLzl0dWnveH-fvc6menLTA6eiSWw4VUYf_XiEOHO-e7RI5aOeq5D_fIK9ahli2_XX4W8SAN-19k67mxU91dAL1gEfSuANxr7KV0vCnFed5CYKYsOVlDf-D9TPjNnf4zmDEaby/s1600-h/img1.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 144px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424307825793010242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-2hcCqebOLzl0dWnveH-fvc6menLTA6eiSWw4VUYf_XiEOHO-e7RI5aOeq5D_fIK9ahli2_XX4W8SAN-19k67mxU91dAL1gEfSuANxr7KV0vCnFed5CYKYsOVlDf-D9TPjNnf4zmDEaby/s200/img1.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div>Firstly I would like to openly congratulate my friend and colleague, <em>thalaivar</em>, R.Karthikeyan and his wife; his wife just gave birth to a healthy baby boy last week.<br /><br />Now here is a small drama I am writing to probe my writing skills. The main character (or protagonist) in this story is real. Though the whole story ain't true, parts of it are actually fact. So here goes:</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>Prelude:</strong> 8.30 am. Our Hero is hurridely going to the hospital... </div><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 149px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424308020501553138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4hfhRYdSt43ULwBR6dOwHO91_lSHAKetxa_LZfhhgP0njuP_OseS2cGZxenRavzIftFdaR9JhQljL-1WHe4Aq6cEpxE4-M1xQjOrHyt__VEHN75Pnp-iZS9QVhug2zbj6ySmoP_VzbTrI/s200/img2.JPG" /><br /><br /><strong>Scene 1:</strong> Trichy. Hospital. 9.05 am. Nurse's station. R.k is roaming about tensed. Nurse enter's the scene and occupies the desk.<br /><br /><strong>R.K:</strong> Is the baby out yet?<br /><strong>Nurse:</strong> No.<br /><br />The poor nurse began to recall how his wife was struggling earlier with the contractions two minutes apart and all. The nurse looked at R.k.<br /><br /><strong>Nurse:</strong> Is this her first child?<br /><strong>R.K:</strong> NO this is her HUSBAND!<br /><br />The hospital Mother enters the scene. She was on her daily rounds. Today she just happens to pass the maternity ward where R.K was roaming about impatiently.<br /><br />R.K looked up through the window nearby into the heavens.<br /><br /><strong>R.K:</strong> Lord. Please I hope you can launch the baby soon.<br /><br />The holy Mother stops in front of him.<br /><br /><strong>Mother:</strong> The Lord aint like you my son who has launched 35 RBI outbound campaings...<br /><br />On listening to his our hero's face looks perplexed (confused). The holy Mother exits the scene.<br /><br /><strong>Scene 2.</strong> The same hospital scene. 9.30 am. Nurse's desk.<br /><br />There was a cry of a new born infant from outside the scene. The nurse enter's the scene with the new born in hand who is crying. There is a little, just a little, excitement on our hero's face. But he is still tensed. He walks towards the nurse to hold his first child.<br /><br /><strong>Nurse:</strong> This one is a healthy baby boy. 3.5 kgs!!!<br /><br />A loud crash. Our hero falls unconscious. All the othe nurses enter the scene to make our hero stand up right. And finally he sits on a chair with his apparent unconsciousness clearing. The nurse who held our hero's son shifted the child a bit to hold him tight.<br /><br /><strong>Nurse:</strong> What happened? Why did you faint?<br /><strong>R.K:</strong> I thought...I thought, the child weighed <strong>35 </strong>kgs. He weighs more than me. I didn't know how to carry...<br /><br />And thats the end of the scene. We all hope our hero can feed his son properly, and hopefully himself too.deostrollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02445597059149292139noreply@blogger.com5