Shek's Crib

My New Landing Page

2010-07-09T11:58:00.003-05:00

This is my new landing page: http://findingmukherjee.com

Click this to subscribe to my universal blog feed: http://feeds.feedburner.com/findingmukherjee

The India Trip

2008-11-23T22:49:00.003-05:00

I am leaving for India in two days, 25th to be exact. My bags are somewhat packed. I was laying down on my bed, staring at the lifeless ceiling fan and wondering why I am not excited about going to India. It does not seem normal. I am not excited about seeing the people and the places that I grew up watching.

On further thought, I could point out a few things that are stealing the excitement away. Home is where the heart is. My heart is firmly planted in Jacksonville. This is where my job is, this is where my friends live and most importantly, this is where Laya is. So, the vacation is taking me away from my current home. I am also missing Laya already. We took naps together and long walks. She is being boarded at a good home with loving people, soft couches and other dogs to play with. Even then, I know she will miss me and I will miss her.

I am also not happy about a few disagreements between my parents and I. They take the sweetness away from the relationship, even if it is guaranteed temporary. I am dreading the flight and no more procrastination will work. The time has come to put one foot in front of another and get on with the journey. Travel opens your mind and I am hoping for it to open mine.

I am a little excited about meeting new people during the flight though. The last few international flights have been great in meeting new people and looking at life from a different angle. I am also traveling with more savings this time than any other. That is bound to be a good factor.

I guess this journey, the next whole month is a pot-pouri of mixed emotions and uncertain experiences. It should be interesting. I hope to get some good pictures, digital and mental when I return on 29 December.

Pledges and Carbonated Drinks

2008-08-12T21:23:00.003-05:00

One chilly morning in Jacksonville Florida, I woke up to a lot of hoopla on TV about the Gate River Run. Not thinking much about it, I proceeded to my second nap of the day. an hour later, the fastest runners had already finished the 15 kilometer run while thousands more followed. Waking up to this amount of adrenalin on TV filled me up with gumption. Never before had I hated my lethargy so much.

An iPod Nano, Nike Plus shoes and a registration on the Nike Plus website later, I was pledging one of my most original, heart felt and sincere pledges. "if I dont finish 15K Gate River run in 2009, I will give up Soda and sweet tea for 2009"

I have started to run but it does not seem to work for me. The aim of finishing the 15K marathon is not a solid enough goal for me. It is a too strenuous activity for a very distant goal. I dont particularly enjoy running. Moreover, the reason for me pledging in the first place was probably not as concrete as I thought it was.

Running to protest against my laziness is very negative. It makes me feel bad about myself. My other activity of bicycling to work and errands to be more active, save the environment and be independent from cars and foreign oil is much more positive in its goals.

Hence, I quit my pursuit of the pledge. I understand that there is a penalty. I have to give up soda and sweet tea for 2009. There should be a greater penalty for leaving the effort though. Something to teach me to think harder before going into a commitment. So, I hereby give up soda and sweet tea for the remaining 2008 and all of 2009. I wont be substituing it with beer. Just water.

High End Strip Malls

2008-07-05T23:12:00.002-05:00

Strip-malls are probably the most iconic sights of North America after SUV’s and McDonalds! Jacksonville FL probably is the Mecca of such iconic sights. The vastness of the city area has given the developers and planners untrammeled opportunities to build flat out inclusive of massive parking lots to park those gas guzzlers.

Even the more recent up-scale construction projects like the prestigious Town Center Mall is nothing but a glorified strip mall. You don’t create quality by replacing a Chinese Takie-Outie with a P.F. Changs and the mom-and-pop-Italian-restaurant by a Maggiano’s. In their defense, there is a prestigious condo complex attached to the mall that even in today’s market is selling at $300,000 plus prices. There is this one lane inside this strip mall that is brick paved with no cars and a little pond with colorful fish in it. Makes it look all cool and European. You almost want to wander into those streets and shop at the designer stores and be sure that they are paying for common area maintenance for these stylish streets and are charging you for it!

The town center mall is paradise for shoppers that think more is not enough but it is a crazy place for a cyclist that is trying to shed less carbon and lose some calories by cycling to his friend’s house. Well you see that they got rid of all those trees to put some walls up and stick expensive brand names outside them. The little gusts of winds pick up speed while those trees have ended up in some print out that will be glanced at once and then thrown away for the noble cause of maintaining a paper-less society. Uninterrupted, these gusts of winds rampage through the drab mall buildings and extra wide SUV spec lanes and create unnecessary head wind for the poor cyclist who was not enjoying the view and is now not enjoying the ride.

Battling the strong head winds, the cyclist turns into St. John’s Bluff, taking shelter among a few tall trees till a gas station approaches. $4.09 9/10. That head wind feels every bit worth battling against!

The Weather and I

2008-05-18T19:23:00.001-05:00

The first few days of summer are here. Today’s winds blew in from the south-east bringing in warmth and change. I write this with mixed emotions. Praise, some rage, a little self-appreciation and a whole lot of independence overcomes me as I bring my trusty old keyboard out and plug it to the back of the laptop. Typing on the keyboard should minimize the loss of gumption in this long-forgotten venture of mine.

I moved in to a new apartment two months back. This gives a lot more time to think about the things that are really important in life: life itself than ponder over spiral dreams of horsepower, women and logistics. I moved in alone. Well, Laya is with me, the only witness to my evolution. I trust Darwin’s ‘evolution’ and Gita’s ‘change’. I trust it to happen, even if ever so slowly and all I can do is to try to push in the right direction.

I have been questioning everything only to see that people are either too lazy to think and already have made decisions or they take a debate as downright confrontation. Maybe I need to surround myself with better people but what’s better? Where do I find better? Is anybody better in an honest debate than myself? If I take a stand, shouldn’t I be responsible to prove it? Then am I my best critic?

You see a lot of questions thrown around in the paragraph above. ‘Why’ is probably the most devastating of all. Why leads to observation and observation takes you out of the environment. Just like a photographer is always outside the scenery and the third umpire is never in the field. With observation comes responsibility, with responsibility comes seclusion and with seclusion comes the responsibility to not go insane.

A few weeks have passed and the winds have changed since I started writing this. I feel a responsibility to not be lonely too. I was one of James’s groom’s men at his wedding yesterday and being among a ton of family members of the bride and groom makes me feel a little lonely today. So what do I do about it? Join a club and meet more people. I have some options and will be exploring them. More than feeling lonely is the want to do something. Something that has minimal or no ‘me’ in it. It is easy to get a little self centered when in seclusion and lonely.

The changing winds have put me back into the scenery too, if only for a little while. From being behind the lens, I managed to creep in front of it. Literally. I have been photographing weddings and yesterday, I got the opportunity to be photographed. Not that I am portraying narcissism by saying that I like being photographed but it was a soothing change. The maid-of-honor also mentioned that I have a photogenic face but it was probably the zinfandel talking!

Tomorrow, I slip back behind the lens. Literally and figuratively. Tomorrow, I start reading, learning, thinking, judging, critiquing, questioning, prodding, analyzing and inferring.

Photography and Shek

2007-08-25T18:38:00.000-05:00

I am recently doing a bit of photography. It has been one of the major reasons that keeps me from writing. My secret admirers complain that they do not get to read any more of Shek. Other than not having something significant to share with you, I do not have any motivation to write any more. If you read between the lines, you will find a hint that this post is a little serious.

Photography is like my mistress that is keeping my blood flowing when I am not in my marriage which is my job. Not getting into the relevance of the institution of marriage, I want to move on to comparing photography to a mistress. I started photography in June this year and have been fairly impressed with my liking towards it. I did manage to click some pictures that, for me, was sex on the lens. I always did see things differently but never knew that I would be good at looking at my surroundings like there was a view finder in hand. It does scare me that I am superficially good at this. Scares me because I may not be the best and I want to be the best.

How does one start photography? Take pictures and have other people review them. After this thought is processed in the mysterious brain, some words like Flickr, Blog, competitions are thrown in. I would like to concentrate on Flickr. In a business, a businessman only looks for financial advice from someone who makes more money than he does. That is my fundamental problem with Flickr. It is so infested by a bunch of amateurs that the quality of reviews through comments drop severely. Feedback is a vital part of any progress. Feedback plays a large role in molding the advancement and thinking of art. I want my mind to grow free. Photography is an expression, an art and like life, should be allowed to grow on its own, feeling its own way, finding its own counterpoint of expression. I'd rather have one professional photographer review my work than fifty amateurs. My stubborn mind does do a good job of keeping my thoughts from converting opinions to rules.

A photograph is art and should be treated like a painting is in a gallery. It is something to be stared at, something to be felt. Technically, it is not a moment in time but a small length of time, a video, a piece of moving happening life on paper. All 1/1000 th or more seconds of it. I blog to put pressure on myself to see and think and observe and then push the button. Life through a lens is completely different. Better different. You can focus on a subject and see how the background blurs out creating a completely new canvas unseen by naked eye.

My goal is to grab me an SUV (preferably a Toyota FJ cruiser, because I have a thing for cars and my dreams usually have well defined cars), grab Laya, the camera, the tripod, take a month's vacation and just go. No destination, no route.

My mistress can be visited here: Shek's Aperture and here: Jacksonville Daily Photo

Desi Boy = 15 Yr Old Caucasian Girl

2007-07-25T20:37:00.000-05:00

A freshly graduated Desi boy is the same as a fifteen year old Caucasian girl. India's sub-hundred years of independence and the over two hundred years of dependence is to blame.

I realise that the above two statements are pretty bold and I will lay down my case. I am talking about a recently graduated desi boy in the US of A with a fresh job, trying to soothe terrible wounds of being separated from those other guys that were his friends and family for the entire course of his master's education. In a new city, all people are alien, and he only has one roommate's shoulders to seek comfort rather than the ten plus pairs of shoulders he had in his little university town. He starts his social life in the new city with two commandments...all americans are the same and they have no culture. This implies that there are no American new friends to be made and no culture to explore other than movie and cartoon oriented theme parks. Then he proceeds to get himself a cell phone with unlimited in-network calls to be in-network with his lost buddies.

India is not blamed till this point.

Then calls are made. From everywhere and every time. That is where they push my 'Jack-ass' button. The phone is glued to the ear making that desparate call to his soul-mates from driving to work to eating dinner. "I understand that you need to keep in touch, but damn son, there is a difference between keeping in touch and being an active part of the life of your male friend from 600 miles away!" Americans, with their super-duper-sensitive radar for fruit-cakes call such behaviour 'Gay'. Anyway, one needs to have a riding lawn mower, a truck with either a gun-rack or a fishing-rod-rack in the back to qualify as straight in this free American society.

The worst a desi boy can do to me is talk incessantly on his cell phone about mundane stuff with his BFF while in the car with me driving or while at my dinner table. If that desi boy is an old friend, I will ask him to mind himself, but if he is an acquaintance, I cant even tell him what an asshole he is. "No one gives you the right to make me look like a damn chauffeur and isolate the rest of the occupants of the car because you decided to have your chat at this very moment." I am not talking about making or taking a courtesy call. Desis talk about everything under the sun when someone else is driving. Moreover, they do it so naturally. Did I miss a course at school or a secret all-men-clan meeting in India because that behaviour is highly dis-respecting and ridiculous.

This is where India comes in. I blame the immaturity to the sub-hundred years of independence for this dis-respectful lack of etiquette.

And when he is not on the phone, he is on Orkut scrapping the very friends he spoke to for hours or finding cute girls to drop stupid scraps to.

That is the exact equivalent of a fifteen year old Caucasian girl who, if not texting her friends is on MySpace commenting at their profile. Caucasian parents, please be a little liberal on those H1B laws and increases your chances of finding a daughter in everyone of us.

Carbon Output

2007-07-23T11:16:00.001-05:00

I took a survey here: link
My carbon output is 17 tons a year.
I am ashamed of myself.

Latina Hottie

2007-07-22T17:54:00.000-05:00

Zelaya is a hispanic name, a last name. Read about its origins here: link. That is the name my Laya came with. I thought it was one of those weird racing dog names and cut the 'Ze' part out. I think other dogs understand her heritage and that is why her butt gets sniffed the most at the dog park. She is a Latina Hottie. The doggie equivalent of Eva Longoria. I love both Laya and Eva though, in very different ways!

Anyway, she is pretty popular at the dog park. All the ruff-and-tuff dogs want to woo her, sniff her butt and run circles around her. They try to hang out together but Laya takes off after a few jogs and they are left behind in a cloud of dust, feeling dejected and humbled. Not many men can hang out with a dominating feminine partner who is genetically more proficient than them. This one time, a great dane was at the park and thought he was it. The ultimate man. The supreme dog at the park. Towering over every other dog, he was running the pack...till he met Laya. The wooing started when he tried to unsuccessfully out-grace her but trotting around her. They ran together for a while till Laya decided to sprint, and sprint she did. The great dane was left standing. Every dog and their owners were left standing as they watched Laya finish a complete circle around the doggie lake with so much grace to shame a peacock and ease to shame a Leapord. It is the effortlessness of her strides that make it so much beautiful to watch.

She is on a liquid diet now that is easy on her stomach but is making her lose her tautness. My Eva is turning into J.Lo.

stinkfist

2007-07-21T16:24:00.000-05:00

The 104 degrees hit my face like a hammer, knocking me out of my jet-lag as I left the office building after work on 19 July, the day I returned from England. I am back and a little changed. Every little trip I take, every person I meet and every post I read is making me change. I sometimes feel like a dis-formed object searching for form. This is something that I infer and not what someone else tells me. No one sees what I see. I speak to no one what I think and feel. Laya is the only close living being that is a witness to my metamorphosis.

After my one week absence from the blog world, I almost feel alien to everybody I knew before the trip. New posts, new comments, new tags floating around make me a little uncomfortable. I feel like getting out of this stinkfist and immersing myself in my own world. I have over 1300 pictures to look at from my six day trip and I think that is what I will do.

All I have to do is take the right trip, meet the right people and read the right post.

Gone Fishing...

2007-07-11T21:47:00.001-05:00

I will attempt to enjoy an 'English summer' vacation starting tomorrow till 18 July. My involvement with the blogger world would be spotty but I will guarantee to make up for the lost action when I get back.

I also discovered something today about myself. I get very annoyed and somewhat emotional when I see child abuse on tv. I saw this movie tonight and it put me in a not-so-good mood. I need to stay away from such movies. I guess I take a very aggressive stance against child abuse and abuse of women.

The Headache

2007-07-09T21:43:00.000-05:00

Eating Chewda right now. I had to buy the damn packets for $2.99 each because someone consistently refused to make and send them to me. Not only that but the someone that I am speaking about had the audacity to send me a link on how to make Chewda!!! I am Bengali. Laziness is my birthright no one should ever attempt to change regional stereotypes! Gone are the days of goodwill and charity. The world is a cold and harsh place now! Where is the love 

I wonder why they allow headaches in today’s society. Of all the things they find a cure for, mankind has not found a cure to persistent headaches. They invent Tylenol go-tabs though, to suppress that headache anytime and anywhere till it is time to buy another packet. I wonder if this is a conspiracy, because it is surely a kick-ass theory. You can not tell me that our parents got vaccinated with small pox vaccines due to which we young’uns didn’t even need to see that needle but the best they have done is sell Tylenol in a jar of 200. You can not tell me that five theories exist (Bouyancy Theory, Bernoulli Effect Theory, Horizontal Vortex Theory, The Coanda Effect and Condensation) on why the shower curtain blows inward during a shower but no one commissioned a successful study on that one super-tylenol that will eradicate headaches. Not only migraines, even simple headaches.

I dedicate the above paragraph to the fact that there was critical bit of analysis regarding a mile long list of excel files and access databases for a customer to be done with a splitting headache. I was however successful in locating the problem and finding the answer. I brought the lingering headache back home to see a letter casually jammed between the door and the frame. At first I thought it was the leasing office complaining about my dogs peeing in the grass. Yes, a few weeks back some Indian dudes (my kind of Indian, not the 'Red Cloud At Sundown' named kind) who play volley ball outside my apartment made a fuss to me (very rudely, I might add) that my dogs peeing on the grass is pollution. These guys can be found standing outside their apartment, talking on their cell phones and flicking their cigarettes casually, spreading second hand smoke and undegradable ashes. Anyway, the letter was about a fine for not paying rent on time which successfully blew off a few more fuses in my cranial matter. The fine being a total of $100, I immediately rushed to the leasing office to sort out the problem. My cheque was not processed because they couldn’t find out what apartment I was in using my name. I am on the freaking lease!

“Your name is not in our system, Sir.” My roommate made it to the ~~piece-of-shit~~ state-of-the-art-system that manages the ~~useless and inadequate~~ complicated and intricate functioning of this organisation. “We will wave off the fine this time, Sir. Please make sure to put the apartment number on the cheque the next time, or I won’t be able to help you again.” A threat! A god damn threat!!! I couldn’t believe it. By this time, more sparks had flown off my butt indicating that the standby fuses in my head have blown off. Quoting Bill Engvall, when I woke up today, I didn't want to be a Jack Ass. They just pressed my Jack Ass button! “I have been paying you rent promptly. Please make sure my name appears in the system. Your system is ~~retarded~~ not accurate. That should not be any of my problem ~~you lazy ass people~~”. In their defense, the manager did take down notes to talk to tech-support to fix this issue.

I then walked the dogs while successfully losing enough sweat to water a small back yard. That’s when I slipped into my shorts and t shirt and went to bed. Laya took the cue and cuddled in beside me. Eddie managed to find a thrash bag and I woke up to eager groans and licks on what was left of a plastic bottle and some empty cans of Laya’s food in the very middle of the living room.

Now that I am awake after an early evening nap, I have to hunt down this Chewda that I am suddenly craving so much and just have to eat. Sometimes, I feel like a spoiled trophy wife! Therefore, I had to fish out this factory made bag of chewda when I could be eating home made chewda made by someone who knows how to make it and maintains a food-blog to brag about cooking skills.

Save the Cheerleader Carbon, Save the World

2007-07-08T00:48:00.000-05:00

Just like a carbon offset, this post offsets the previous post, my fine evening out in Jacksonville. Such close proximity in posting should successfully over-shadow the last post, more so because this one is a little bit more serious than a bit of rain, a bad coffee and cognac. This one, though being written on 08.07.2007 is about my thoughts from the Live Earth Concert held on 07.07.2007

I have been aware of the green house effect as a kid and I feel unsuccessful in doing something about it when I am ~~hopefully~~ all grown up. But we humans have that problem. Being aware is one thing. Acting on it after careful thought is another. Keyword(s): careful thought. Then there are always others who act without thought and solely on ~~mis~~direction, but we thinkers are not talking about them, are we?

The concert worked. At least on me. It kick-started this dormant chain of thoughts and ideas that have been trying to bubble up for a while. I want to contribute to the effort, so here goes the list. Global warming is evident. The hypocrites argue that it needs more research or that it is non-existent on a cold day (ha ha ha), but they also accept creationism and intelligent design completely disregarding all scientific proofs and hypotheses. So, they can all eat the proverbial dirt.

I gathered the following list from the National Resource Defense Council (NRDC): link
I will go along the list and write my views under the points.

1. Raise your voice.
This is what this post is about and my voice will not stop in the confines of these css codes.

2. Chose an efficient vehicle.
This is a sensitive topic ~~for me~~ and I will come back to it at the end.

3. Drive Smart
I get my engine tuned up professionally. The monthly prompt email from my car (one of those onstar thingies) lets me know what tire pressures are and what they should be. The last one said they were the right amount. The air filter is working great. I will have the dealers check on it in another thousand miles at the next oil change.

4. Drive less
Jacksonville, Fl has a bus system that is not favourable to the everyday commuter unless your places to go revolve around the bus stop. Mine does not. The roads to the grocery store (Publix, Target) are not designed for pedestrians and bikers. It is absolutely ridiculous the route I have to take to go to Publix. Southerners love privacy too much to do effective carpooling. I do try to bundle my errands together to reduce the amount of driving. I need to try harder.

5. Buy Energy Efficient Appliances
I live in an apartment complex that is the oldest in this area. They are trying to make as much money as possible on rent before they get leveled and the land is taken over by a developer. I do try to turn the thermostat up during the day so it does not run while I am at work and is not too hot for the puppies. I will however plan my finances around energy efficient appliances when I buy my own house.

6. Replace light bulbs with compact fluorescent tubes
I will run down to ~~Walmart~~ Target tomorrow. Update: 8 July, replaced four 100 watt and four 60 watt bulbs with eight 60 watt energy saving bulbs

7. Weatherize your home or apartment
We check filters regularly. Like I mentioned, this is an older apartment complex. I will check with the management this week to see if they can do any further insulation.

8. Chose Renewable Energy
As far as I know, JEA does not have any renewable energy options. Suggestions are welcome.

9. Buy clean energy certificates
I will do that after consolidating all my credit card debt. Yes, Mr Citibank, I do not love you as much as you love me.

10. Join an awareness group
On further research, I will join a group that does the most efficient work towards the prevention of global warming. I will be a member of a group by the end of August 2007.

11. Recycle
I buy recycled toilet paper, kitchen napkins and organic food. I try not to print anything at work or at home unless it is absolutely essential. I switch off monitor screens, unplug chargers when not required and switch off lights when not in use. I have to stop using those styrofoam cups for coffee at work. Also, it will be paper, not plastic when I go grocery shopping next.

Now we come to number 2. Chose an efficient vehicle
Here it goes. The normal roads in Jacksonville are good for cruising along at a comfortable 45 mph at which my car gives me around 33 miles per gallon (mpg) or 14 Kilometers per liter to my metric readers. That is a ~~sort of~~ good mileage. I love driving long distances and thats where I get 26 mpg on highways. Not too bad. It is the crazy driving I do, the accelerations that affect my mileage. On a quick zero to whatever, the mileage drops to 19mpg which is way better than the Suburbans, Expeditions and Hummers that seem to have filled the landscape. I would really want to buy a Toyota Prius (55 mpg or 23 kmpl). Actually a Honda Insight would be ideal but Laya wouldn't fit. The problem is that I love acceleration. It fuels my life and I want it every day. It does have something to do with my age and raging hormones or maybe it is something I will grow out of. Therefore, I am presented with this moral dilemma. I want to do something for the environment but I don't want to give up my car. If not anything, I want a quicker car. Now, the option to buy clean energy certificates sounds relieving.

I do see myself in the future with a hybrid car and a motorcycle to fuel those speed-desires.

All you thinkers are tagged. I will not mention your names here but I will personally drop messages. If you are an activist, consider yourself tagged. The rules are to write down what steps you are taking today and would like to take to reduce global warming.

Glycodin Mocha

2007-07-07T21:12:00.000-05:00

Rain poured on my hopes of photographing the Dames Point Bridge today. The light was almost perfect with darkening clouds with spotty sunlight streaming through. I thought a wet suspension bridge lit by the evening sun with a background of dark clouds would be perfect. This time, the clouds decided to move in a little closer and rained stegosauruses and diplodocuses. If it rained enough to slow me down to 35 mph in a 65 mph zone, it must have rained a lot because I am usually the idiot driving at 65(ish!!!) mph in a 65 mph limit under torrential rain when everyone hide in the slower lanes (I call those ‘retard’ lanes).

I did manage to snag some pretty pictures on the way to the quite little coffee shop: link which was closed at 6pm on a Saturday! So, the owner decided to shut down a place (usually) meant for the younger generation who (usually) come out of their Friday induced hangover by noon (if not later) on Saturdays. 6 pm on a Saturday is like mid-morning. Next stop Starbucks, but who put the Moes next to it. I had to get a Quesadilla before quenching my Mocha-on-ice thirst. The special of the day in the mass-produced coffee shop was Raspberry Mocha frappuccino. Ordered that. $4.55. The person behind the counter handed the large cold drink that I accepted with high hopes and esteem. I pushed the dark green straw through the whipped cream and a foot of ice cubes before hitting the actual coffee. It did smell funny. The first sip confirmed my scent-based-hunch. It tasted like Glycodin and didn’t even cure my sore throat or get me high. I just ordered a relatively expensive coffee that tastes like common household cold syrup (that gets you high if an entire bottle is consumed. Mom and Dad, it is all hearsay!).

On the other hand, I was managed to occupy one of those comfy lounge seats in the coffee shop and probably even managed to look ice-cube-cool to the three Indians that walked in a few minutes later. In the next 30 minutes, I walked around in Target with a list in my hand and managed to look like a married (or maybe taken) desi man. Most married men end up with lists in their hands at the grocery store if they are not accompanied by the list-maker. The dudes walking every aisle with no list in their hand and no idea what they want are usually single (my girl-readers, here is your clue for the day).

Safely back home, the Hennessy is calling my name. The seductively tanned liquid requests to be let out so I can refresh myself on this rainy day. On the rocks or neat? Life is full of hard choices!

Dessert - Drink - Entre - Dessert - More Dessert

2007-07-06T22:06:00.000-05:00

I have been treating myself today. It all started by finding the all evading chicken breast pieces with bone. Publix always seems to be out of the with-bone variety and the boneless variety is devoid of all taste. That’s where the joy ride started in Publix today. Already fueled by the $5 off coupon, the with-bone chicken breasts were the perfect booster rockets. I also brought some organic minced chicken (kheema) for dinner today. Those breasts were meant for cooking only after extended periods of marinating.

Over at the produce section, I picked up some peaches for the first time, maybe just to show off to myself that I can eat healthy. Then onions, baseball-big, yellow and a promise to produce enough tears to dehydrate Nicole Richie to death. Last nights promise of Mojito pulled me towards the Mint leaves. A few frozen packs of veggie, guava jelly filled puff pastry bites and Publix’s finest Pecan Pie later I was out to claim my $5.

Dinner started promptly at 7:50 pm with munching up some (most) of those guava filled puff pastries. Those are like little drops of heaven. To die for! Then came the Mojito. My bartending diploma (I have a certificate to prove it) betrayed me when Wikipedia suggested the use of Club Soda which I did not buy. Something had to compensate for it and what better than the rum that was already going into the drink! Just hold the bottle up a little longer! The kheema was simply mind blowing, almost as good as how bad the Lamb curry was. More puff pastries after dinner pretty much anchored me to the recliner. The sight of Laya running around playing with Eddie depressed me because she probably converted more fat to muscle running around the dining table four times than I'd ever do running endless miles in the gym for a week. Anyway, the pecan pie has been warmed in the microwave for thirty seconds till the insides just started to simmer and now it sits on my plate, all pretty and fragrant. The puppies are eying the pie, now only if they could fly!

Mojito

2007-07-05T22:02:00.000-05:00

The Pot by Tool. They are singing a song that is close to my heart right now. I quit writing for a while because I was addicted to it only to replace the object of addiction by photography. Now I can not think of anything significant to write. My thinking mind is changed to an observing mind. Ideas and concepts swirl around in my head but I don’t want to write them. I want to think. The physical ‘do’, the reaction to the action of the mind is achieved through the camera.

But still I write. I actually like this week. Being all by me in the company of two wonderful doggies is very nice. The house is finally in order. The eight chair mammoth dining table finally has some usable space in it. I can finally do more in the kitchen than open the drawer to take out spoons and forks to eat ordered food. The bedroom is spick and span though Laya managed to fish out my space bag, tear it open and explore the down jacket. No, she didn’t get into the layers and I didn’t have to come home to a bedroom snowing in imitation feather.

The Cruzan pineapple flavoured rum helps. It is the perfect drink to cool me down this summer. I did get a free Muddler from the liquor store; a Mojito is on the way.

Metro

2007-07-04T08:25:00.000-05:00

Apparently a movie on infidelity in a busy metro goes well with lamb curry and rice over dinner. Well, that is the gist of the collection of electrical impulses sent to my brain looking at the array of movies while waiting to pay for the freshly cut lamb.

Anyway, the movie depicted this high level of infidelity in this busy city. People searching lust and love amongst others and blaming it on the city. The moral was probably something like looking at what you have than what you don't. It made sense to me but I couldn't stop thinking about what I dont have. I dont have tender pieces of meat sitting among this curry and rice mix. I dont have a better movie to watch to wash this one off my memory. I dont have anything sweet to eat after this incomplete meal and no, I dont want that jello in the fridge. I also dont have to watch a Hollywood film anymore to see a real sex scene, sound effects and everything because Bollywood (Hindi Cinema Industry based in Bombay) movies, probably starting with Metro managed to do away with copulation euphemisms (more information on those euphemisms here: link)

The mating scenes were executed with the fine expertise of a soft-pornography director. The presence of a delicate cross-over of talent from the Bombay Porno Industry to the Bollywood Film Industry is noticeable. No more do the waves crashing onto the rocks depict the big-O. Most of the ideas conveyed were over-emphasized from my point of view but maybe not for the common man in India. The common man relies on Bollywood for information in ethics, trends and social issues. They are probably one step behind the south-indian film industry where the people make statues of actors and pray to them. We will catch up eventually, now that Himesh Reshammiya is making movies...there is a whole new generation of 'low' that we are yet to see.

Cooking and Commitments

2007-07-03T21:59:00.000-05:00

The well marinated and cooked pieces of rubber in my wok tell me a few things. One, cooked lamb when chewy sticks between your teeth so good that you tongue can do twisters all day at the frustrating crack in vain. Two, I have doubts on my expertise in successfully cooking meat. Three, I can’t really write with a show on Porsches playing in high definition ecstasy.

Looking back in time, I have had a fifteen day sabbatical. Not too impressive per sabbatical standards but then I am no Professor at a university. The sabbatical was aimed at self revelation and awakening from the addiction, but I am not sure if I have achieved it. As a matter of fact, I am not sure what I have achieved. I do feel in more control over myself but that is just my biased opinion, that too on myself.

Today, I feel like a twenty eight year old failed cook with lots of ambition and not much hope, a thirty five year old single daddy to Laya considering I have no night life and own a family sedan and a sixteen year old baby sitter to Eddie. And these are just my evening jobs! For the record, I am twenty four years old and am exposed to commitment and relationships and multi-tasking at a very early stage in life. The makings of the perfect husband myth! Did I mention I can cook too?

All these people in the movies complain about boys to be men running away from commitments. I have locked my hopes, dreams and travel plans in some glass jar and thrown it away already. All you people who look at my profile, gaze at my handsome face, the rock-star goatee and a sexy dog and then want a dog for themselves, the grass isn’t that green on this side. Life gets divided into four to five hour slots and they don’t always match with that evening on the beach or that rave party.

Crack

2007-06-17T21:50:00.000-05:00

I am on blogger-crack. Crack is the street name for cocaine. More information here [link]. I am addicted to blogs. Reading, writing, posting, editing, templates, the whole shebang. I want to break free.

A recorded John From Cincinnati is playing on my TV right now. It is a story about these three generations of surfers: a past legend, a son of the past legend turned dope-head and the future legend who is the son of the dope-head. Till the story actually shows itself, there are beautifully captured scenes of surfers riding the waves. I wonder how it feels to do that. I cant even swim.

Anyway, surfing feels like the perfect thing to do right now. I want to get out of this blog world and do something real. I am not saying that my thoughts and ideas that I pen down are not real. They are very much the flesh and blood me. But they are words and words are only good as the person reading them. I like pictures better. A photograph changes with the light cast on it. Just like truth changes color as its narrator pleases. A photograph, unlike truth and unlike words shows what the photographer wants to show.

I am taking a sabbatical from writing only for a few weeks, maybe a month till I straighten this addiction out. I promise to be more active on my photoblog [link]. I wont miss out on reading blogs and commenting on them though.

This is Shek, Southpark Style

2007-06-15T06:04:00.000-05:00

Thanks to Rich Legg, I got my southpark style portrait done. Get yours done here: Link

Sakshi is tagged
Neihal is tagged
TGFI is tagged (no hurries)
Vagabond is tagged
Rowe is tagged
Sven and Trini are tagged

The New Dawn

2007-06-14T20:44:00.000-05:00

The last post was a vent out against astrology and related 'sciences' that pretend to guide our lives and show us the well trodden path. The real fact of life is that there is no well trodden path than the one you just walked on. All other paths will lead you to stumble on the very ditches that your leader stumbled on. It is just another way of amplifying other's mistakes. I'd sleep better if I made my own mistakes. At least I get to keep my spine.

I am at a point in life that I am finding a voice of mine, a view through my maturing mind and a new world through my lens. No longer am I dabbling in odd and end hobbies and for once I am sticking to one. No longer am I listening to music that other people say I should be listening to. No longer am I believing in what I should be believing in. I believe in myself and I believe in hope. That is all I need to take on the world with my bare hands.

I welcome the ever changing me with open arms. I am changing by the day and am not the same person I was a year back. Every day is a new beginning. A new birth. We are what we say and what we do. Our actions speak more about ourselves than we think.

This post is a new kind for me. I suddenly feel free. I bought my first tripod today to go with my new camera and I tested it out. It felt great. I felt like I have a real hobby this time. And I left no stone unturned to nourish this hobby. A high capacity, high speed memory card and a tripod that most will vote useless. For some reason, taking pictures with my camera and tripod made me feel more mature than the day I signed the paperwork for my new car. The new car was a toy, a mature and calcuated decision. This camera is something deeper.

Star Wars

2007-06-13T19:38:00.000-05:00

The way I see it, I am supposed to either talk about eight weird things about me or ten facts about me or both. Eighteen? I dont think you want to read all eighteen. Sakshi tagged me here: link. I already have a clear line of what is personal and what is public. So, these will be the most useless personal pieces of information that I can share in public.

EIGHT WEIRD THINGS
1. I am very successful professionally and financially. Actually, the real words were, "will be very successful blah blah blah" but stooping below the lofty belief that people of this day have for horror-scopes, I have to accept the inevitable and change the sentences from future to present tense. All future tense sentences will be in the present tense.

2. I have a definite divorce. Yes, the verdict has been made by horror-scope makers all over the south asian continent. Shek would like to get married to a nice bengali girl but a divorce is inevitable. Hence, Shek requests permission to conduct a live in relationship till the age of 30 after which chances of a divorce are 'minimal'. I am sure the live-in relationship idea has the same fate as of one Richard Gere.

3. I am extremely moody. So, now I am a pregnant woman in her eighth month? Mr. Horror-scope maker, please decide, you want me to be a man or a woman?! And how the hell do I get hold of a zygote?

4. I get angry very easily. Maybe I should start taking those steroids after all because I ain't nearly as angry as they predict me to me. In fact, I am the most non angry person to ever walk this planet. But that will all change! Testosterone Cypionate, here I come.

5. Jupiter is my planet and I should only get married to a girl from jupiter. Hey, I thought men are from mars and women from venus? Damn it! Horror-scopes have completely shattered my faith in other similarly useless pieces of information. I want to be from planet Zargon. Can I get to chose the planet? Please Please Please. I want to marry a fellow Zargonian because the Matrimonial Laws of Zargon clearly state the following:"Law 571, Para 5B: No financial exchanges will be allowed at a divorce settlement. Corollary to Law 571, Para5C: If antiquated prediction methodologies of under-developed civilizations prove that the separating husband may have ancestral origin of Jupiter, then he receives alimony and an Aston Martin."

6. I am destined to have a surgery of the leg by the age of 30. This surgery will allow me to carry more weight, only gracefully. By the age of 35, I will receive an extra brain as a rose day present. This will be attached to my butt to make me more productive while sitting down.

7. By the age of 26 and 2 months my you-know-what-that-cant-be-named-in-public-blogs will start growing at the rate of 1 inch per year with a standard deviation of 1/125th inch per year. By the age of 45, I will be able to open the door with my you-know-what-that-cant-be-named-in-public-blogs across the room without getting up from my seat.

last but not the least,
8. I am Manglik. Hence, if I marry a non-manglik, she will die, i repeat, die, within one year (no deviation). Hence, there is a greater chance of dying getting married to Shek than there is while walking on the streets, smoking a cigarette, flying on Air India flights and eating pani puri outside Dombvili Railway Station.

But number 8 is in contradiction to number 2. How can I have a divorce if my wife is supposed to die? Maybe it has already been predicted by the holy texts that I am destined to marry a fellow Manglik (in the female gender). H.G. Wells, eat dirt. We hindus already have in factuality what you spent all this time writing a fictional book about.

TEN FACTS ABOUT ME
1. I hate yahoo messenger.
2. I dig girls with navel rings and/or lower-back tattoos.
3. I am not a dog lover. I just love Laya and Eddie.
4. I have been extremely lazy for the past few months.
5. I have inadequate financial planning.
6. I am working on my financial planning skills.
7. I love food. Not quantity but quality. I may not be the epitome of gluttony but I am up there on the list.
8. I hate it when people don't reply to emails and voice mails. If I have the decency to take up my time to record a message for you, you must show the decency of calling me back.
9. I don't care who you are but I will kick your butt from Jupiter to Planet Zargon if you insult either of my parents or my brother.
10. I will be your best friend if you let me, I will be an acquaintance or a nobody but I will not be your worst enemy. If I cant be your friend, I will not elevate you with the respect of being my worst enemy.

Just when you thought your reading for the day was over...

Crystal Blur is tagged
Rowena is tagged
Glazed Donut is tagged
iz is tagged
Vivek is tagged

Kamakaze Driver

2007-06-10T21:24:00.000-05:00

27 May 2007
I would not be doing justice to my own first car if I don’t write about it. I already paid tribute to my dad’s 800. You all knew this would follow. Like all distant memories, this one needed a key to open up. Sven borrowed my satellite radio for the week for his trip to Vegas and I was left to the mercy of a few mp3s on my computer. This song, people, gets my heart racing for not how heavy it is but what I would do when this played. This is the key to some of the best times on a Florida freeway. 2007 VH1 Rock Honors plays on my DVR with HD picture and sound ecstasy and I am already in the mood. So, with my kick-ass shure ear buds on, I let this piece pound in my head one more time before writing…turn it up and put your seat-belts on…

1Stp Klosr.mp3

10 June 2007
I have finally decided to finish this post. A few things have changed from when I started. I cant find my Shure earbuds any more. Maybe one of the puppies got it or it is simply lost in the mess I call my bedroom and I cant remember taking it to my bedroom ever.

This is a post more about this remixed song than the drive itself. The song starts of so subtly, almost like the calm before the song. I was stopped before this red light with Arvind in my Eclipse. This song came up building up this huge potential energy that the car seemed to decipher in symphony with me. Every passing moment of the red light was just like an extending string, closing to its elastic stress point, waiting to be released. I clutched the leather clad beefy steering wheel with my left palm while my right hand tightened the leather grip on the stick shift. My left foot engaged the clutch and I ease the car into first gear. My right foot still holds the brake steadily. No inching. No looking around to see who I am up against at the thick white line of the junction.

Then the soft chorus starts off and I know the main part of the song is about to stream in full volume. My eyes see the red disappearing and the green slowly appearing. My left foot lets go the suppressed clutch and the car lurches forward. The tachometer needle responds. My right foot has already let the brake go and is pumping in octane into the six working cylinders. No tyre squeal. The feed into the hot engine is perfect and the feed onto the front axels are perfect. The low profile tires deliver exactly what is asked for. I punched in through the gears before the RPM could drop and before a few seconds are up, I am at the speed limit and others at the lights wonder if there was even a car in front. I ease the car at a comfortable gear and cruise around. That was the journey. This is my destination. No race. No triple digit speeds. Just the joy of leaving every one behind and making my own way.

Shek's Aperture

2007-06-09T23:40:00.000-05:00

I like to write. At this very moment, there are two posts that are waiting for the right emotion to come flowing back so I can start writing again. I am no longer restricted by what I can write and what I can not. That distinction is clear.

The two unfinished posts tell me something about me. This hobby of writing has its own motivation like everything else in life. My motivation to write is to effectively put into words what my mind sees. I also get motivated when others read my posts. Not being overly competitive, I do strive for quality and recognition of my writing. Shek’s Crib is like my home. Crib being the urban word for a hang-out joint. It is where I hang-out and my cyber friends hang-out. It is where my intellect hangs out. It is a canvas of what my mind, brain and heart sees.

I am quite satisfied with portraying what my mind sees. It is time to portray what my eyes see. A nice camera is already on its way. It is time to decide what type of photography I want to concentrate on. I read a bunch of photo blogs to give me an idea of what is achievable through photography. Sceneries intimidate me. They are always so beautiful; I feel my lens may not do it justice. When it comes to beautiful sceneries, I always have dumped the camera and sat down on the ground to soak it all in. Some things are best kept in memories.

I also do not want to do crazy alterations to pictures till they completely cease to exist and a chimera of nature and digital adjustments is formed. I want to be able to see what is beautiful that we see every day and not notice. I want to take nice pictures of Eddie and Laya. I want to take pictures of people. Everyone is beautiful and I want to capture that. Not models and stars but everyday heroes. I have a ton of inspirations and the sky is the limit.

Cute As A Button

2007-06-06T22:50:00.000-05:00

Eddie seems to have overtaken me on popularity, that too in my own blog. How is a 24 year old bong dude with an ocassional goatee supposed to compete with this!?!?!

This is one of the many pictures taken on his first day at our apartment. James brought the seven week puppy from Macon, Gerogia; a four hour trip that Eddie spent cuddled in James's sweat shirt. Eddie was the size of Laya's head or James's size 11 shoe. Eddie's small size did not deter him from bugging Laya then and he continues now with the same dedication.

Ok, Ok, all you girls, here is another picture:

And another one...

Twenty Questions Blah Blah Blah...

2007-06-05T21:07:00.000-05:00

I am not the one to follow on other’s footsteps. I believe in making my own way. This is a first, hence only constructive criticism is allowed.

Almost forgot, Sakshi’s post: link made me do this.

1.Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it?
This is a common answer at every immigration checkpoint. I got a scar on my left wrist when Manish Naik’s steel wrist watch banged on it outside Kulkarni Sir’s maths tuitions in 8th standard. Any more details? It was drizzling that day and I had a cream coloured umbrella.

2. What is on the walls in your room?
One poster of a lazy boat tied to a sandy beach somewhere in Thailand.
One painting of a ship with sails in the high seas.
One calendar with greyhounds in it.
One small poster (7X6) talking about how racing is better than sex.

3. What does your phone look like?
Samsung slider. I’d do anything to stay out of flip phones.

4. What music do you listen to?
Hard Rock, Hindi Classical and everything in between. Sirius plays only the Hard Rock part though.

5. What is your current desktop picture?
My home laptop has this picture and my work computer has the picture of a tiger osx theme.

6. What do you want more than anything right now?
Go back in time and kick the butt from Kashmir to Kanyakumari of that ambitious Hindu suffering from lack of occupation and who thought it would be really cool to co-relate planetary positions with people’s future.

7. Do you believe in gay marriage?
I believe in marriage. Period. The human mind is too weak to not have structure.

8. What time were you born?
Why? Do you want to do my horoscope? I will kick your butt too!

9. Are your parents still together?
Twenty six years and going strong.

10. What are you listening to?
Irritating beeps of my roommate trying to adjust his X-box 360’s time, date and what not. Oh...now he is playing newly discovered alternate music that comes built in the X-box 306 hard drive.

11. What's something people may not know about you?
I see dead people. I see ghosts.

12. The last person to make you cry?
I, me and myself. Oh yes, I cried, only in my own privacy.

13. What is your favourite perfume/cologne?
Any brand jasmine fragrance on women. I have no affinity towards rose fragrances. I wont want my woman to smell like Roohafza!

14. What kind of hair/eye color do you like on the opposite sex?
Hair – black
Eye – hazel, blue

15. Do you like pain killers?
Nope. I let my body do the fighting unless after oral surgery.

16. Are you too shy to ask someone out?
I don’t know. Never did. Remember that I said...constructive criticism only.

17. Favourite pizza topping?
Grilled chicken on the Crispani (at Panera Bread)

18. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?
Hajmola. I just stuffed myself with a bucket load of Nameless Onion Thingies and a half rack of ribs at Sticky Fingers.

19. Who was the last person you made mad?
My roommate, when I slowed down in front of him in my car to make him slow down. It was a joke, and it worked, and it made him mad, and he overtook me on his 5.6 Liter V8 Nissan Titan like I was standing still. My readers know that I drive fast but he just had too much torque. Unfair battle I say!

20. Is anyone in love with you?
Yes. Laya and Eddie are. Unconditionally.

Turn it up!!!

2007-06-05T17:21:00.000-05:00

I ponder over matters of great concern as I drive back from Costco, the full blast of cold air muffling the hot air gushing form the open car windows. The windows slide up, the left one automatically, the right one with the constant pull of my index finger on the supposedly flimsy GM switch. The warm air in the cabin is reduced to that radiating from the windshield. My brain is working on overdrive over a few short and long term calculations and decisions while the car paces through the oncoming traffic, merging with ease and then exiting off the next ramp. I tap the brakes gently to bring the speed down to acceptable limits that are still higher than the posted limit on the full circle curve of the exit ramp.

The next merge was a quick one. The oncoming ford escort didn't think some one would accelerate that quick at a merge. Before the escort could react, I was well ahead, well merged and tackling the car in front of me. That is when this song came up on the satellite radio, six acoustic strings playing a tune only for hardcore electric guitars to take over. I picked up the satellite radio unit sitting on the center console while my left eye focused on the traffic in front.

This is the type of song that is supposed to be turned up high. I let the four factory speakers and two tweeters take the moment over. My right thumb presses on the [+] volume button on the steering wheel while the noise in my brain is automatically switched off. I was getting no where with my worries. Time for hard rock to take over.

Stay heavy people!!!

Coheed and Cambria - Welcome Home

Saturday Night Walk

2007-06-02T21:09:00.000-05:00

Me, J and P(J's 12 yr old nephew) walk out with Laya and Eddie. Laya on the leash with me, Eddie on the leash with J.
Eddie and Laya pee on the first patch of grass they see.
Watching the pups in ecstacy as they disperse out over-due fluids makes little P want to pee too.
Laya: [peeing in complete satisfaction]
Eddie: [peeing in complete satisfaction]
P: [watching the puppies in complete satisfaction] I want to pee too!
Me: Walk on the grass, P. It works for the pups.
J: [Laughs]

we walk further....

P: [walks away behind a tree]
J: [whispering to me with evil grin] Shek, P really had to go, so I told him to go behind a bush!
Me: You've got to be shitting me! Haven't seen anyone do that in exactly three years!

we walk towards the tree....It is too dark and we see P standing behind the tree with a steady stream in front!

Me: [acting dazed and confused, reaching into my pocket for my cell phone] where is my camera phone!
J: [shouting as if in a shock] what are you doing, boy! What are you doing?!?!?!
Me: [shouting in confusion] How do I start the camera on this thing!
P: [stops half way on his activity and runs from the phone camera's limited range] J told me to. I am not doing anything [in denial]!!!
Me: [laughing my head off] almost got you on camera, P
James: [laughing his ass off]
P: [laughs his ass of on his recent folly]

we walk back home laughing all the way....

Moral: you've got to take life as a joke. If a 12 year old can, you can too.

ozzy

2007-06-02T12:26:00.001-05:00

Sakshi wouldn't comply with my continued requests and I am tired of booing her on her comment space here and here. She says she likes Ozzy but I have my doubts. Here is some serious Ozzy for some serious Ozzy fans. Turn it up!

Black Sabbath tribute Nativity In Black - Primus with Ozzy...

Mind Dump, 2 of Many

2007-05-31T22:56:00.000-05:00

The pressure oozes out of the sides of the pressure cooker while the dal(lentil) inside gets to a full boil. I could smell the spices in the steam but there should be no steam, not yet and not through the sides. The rubber gasket is in mint condition but the metal joints are not proper. Klap, Klap, Klap the wooden spatula knocked on the lid trying to get that subtle shift in position that seals the condiments inside. The tiny pressure cooker locked with the elliptical-lid-opening style, not the convineant-slide-on-interlock type. A few more knocks and this time the whistle starts ozzing steam almost silently. No sound for a minute, then a sudden loud hiss. Four more to go. After five, the electric cooking range is switched off and trapped steam is allowed to finish the job. I let all the steam out, then open the lid only to see about eighty percent cooked dal. A kokam is dropped in for added flavour, some sugar and more salt to taste. The disloyal lid finds its way to the pressure cooker for the second time.

I made the most impromptu Dal last night. The planned squash preparation was sixty percent done when it dawned on me that a moist vegetable dish alone would not go with rice. So, the pressure cooker came out, little oil, some mustard seeds and jeera. I have to remember to get fennel seeds from the indian store the next time. Longitudinal slices of freshly bought green chillies add instant aroma to the kitchen air when dropped into the hot oil. Then goes the turmeric powder, more dried red chilli powder and a dash of shahi biriyani powder for that added zing. The raw dal goes in with adequate water and I make the most simple dal ever till date.

James and I are trying to work on exercises that involve weights while keeping the heart rate up. He did his research on the 300 workout. It is the work out that the crew of the movie, 300 did to prepare for the movie. We are probably 2.5 on the 300 scale but it is a start. We left the gym at 7:30 pm and I knew from yesterday's experience that today is not the day to deal with the pressure cooker again. Even my cheeks hurt! Thank you Publix for fresh sushi and thank you La Choy for lite soy sauce.

The Cutest Bollywood Love Song

2007-05-29T21:38:00.000-05:00

Laya is sick today. Sight hounds apparently have very sensitive stomachs. Having spent over $2000 on her diet related illnesses, I watch what she eats so very closely. She has been having diarrhea since last night. Other than cleaning up her bed in her kennel from the smelly liquidy poop, it is especially painful to see her struggle with the number 2.

Lakshya has always been a feel-good movie for me. Mentally stressed out this Tuesday, I decided to watch it for the upteenth time. I think 'Agar Main Kahoon' has got to be the cutest love song to come out of Bollywood yet. I am slightly biased though, Preety Zinta being on the top of my favourite actress list. Moreover, this is probably the only movie that does Hritik Roshan any justice. Speaking of Preeti Zinta, enjoy the song.

Lakshya-Agar Main Kahoon

Mini-Me

2007-05-28T14:22:00.000-05:00

Conversations with my kid brother are like eating a raspberry meringue, tart and juicy raspberries on top of a dry and sweet egg white base. Sometimes I feel we are trying to have a conversation from either poles of the world and sometimes it is like speaking to a mirror.

Here is us hanging out in sunny Florida.

Tumi Horny!

2007-05-28T11:34:00.000-05:00

There have been a recent uproar of hindi movie talk in a few blogs I read here and here. Other than this song (Anusha Dandekar has gorgeous eyes!) I just wanted to watch a movie on Mumbai. Rahul Bose is a good actor, so I picked up the Mumbai Matinee DVD on my last trip to the indian store.

Loot_Gaye_Mumbai_Matinee

I think they could not have had a more funny scene of a Bengali cop lecturing Debashis Chatterjee about his quests of the forbidden fruit. "Tumi Horny" meaning "You are Horny" in bengali is probably the climax of the entire movie. The absolute peak. It cracks me up all the time. Moreover, Perizad Zorabian is always sweet.

PS:
In reference to Shashi's post: link, bengali men do appear goofy in Mumbai Matinee but it is not all true. At least they showed the actual depiction of a 'fireplace scene' euphemism or maybe it is the Waves in ocean 1 euphemism .

Puppy Pics

2007-05-27T23:32:00.000-05:00

As per Neihal's request, here are more pictures of the puppies, especially Eddie.

Bharat Bhushan

2007-05-27T16:08:00.000-05:00

Having spent a lazy Sunday morning waking up at 7 am to take the pups out followed by a good breakfast of wheat toast bread, light swiss cheese and two eggs, poached, I decided to take a mid-morning nap. I did wake up at 7 am on a Sunday! Two hours of left-over sleep later, I showered and set out for some lunch and groceries. Lunch was at the $10 buffet in the Indian restaurant. I gobbled on the chicken lollypop, butter naan, rogan gosht and chicken tikka masala while a few noisy indian kids testified Sakshi's recent post. I obviously go there for the gulab jamun and mango moose. Did you know buffets were unlimited :)

I had to return four DVDs to the Indian store that were over due by a week. While I picked up some green chillies, khus syrup to battle the hot florida summer and maggi noodles, I decided to dabble in a few more Hindi movies. I am not a Bollywood movie buff, so I don't keep up with whats coming. Standing dumbfounded in front of the seven foot tall rack of hindi movies, I decided to pick the ones that at least sounded decent enough. Knowing my lack of knowledge of newly released movies, I try not to venture into the new-movie section. Thats usually my kid brother on the phone, "Dadabhai, its an excellent movie(talking about some Karan Johar type glamour-smothered movie), but not your type. Try that one."

Bheja Fry was still virgin in its unopened plastic wrap. The cover had Rajat Kapoor's tearing his hair off and Vinay Pathak with an evil grin on his face. I was sold. It turned out to be the best Sunday afternoon movie. Light, funny and no songs. I go gaga when songs are used in the movie as a background score to compliment the story and not otherwise. I jump with joy like a three year old with a pop-sickle. Vinay Pathak plays the role of Bharat Bhushan who is called every name starting from padma-bhushan to Pradushan in the movie. He plays the role of an Income Tax officer who thinks a Naushaad-level singer is trapped in his body and displays his vocal prowess at every opportunity he gets. He is also irreparably goofy and probably has an acute condition of ADD that is portrayed extremely well.

Ranvir Shorey does a commendable job too, just like he has been in all the movies I see. All said, the hard-core critics will find flaws but this is not a movie to be critiqued. It is something that you watch on a lazy Sunday afternoon, laugh while watching it, post your two cents on an obscure little blog, shove the DVD in the box and return it within two to three days.

IN YOUR FACE

2007-05-26T18:13:00.000-05:00

It's Alive...It's Alive...
Amit got this kick-ass template done. Deep respect, bro.

I am not a classic rock lover, just more new hard rock...but Amit is.

Pound it!!!

Rob zombie - dragu...

What makes Laya the sweetest dog

2007-05-26T08:25:00.000-05:00

All greyhounds race till about 4 years of age. The best racers are taken back by the breeders to preserve the gene pool of a good racer. The others are adopted out. Laya was one such adoption. Greyhounds start racing at the age of 1 where they are constantly taught to chase 'Rusty' the mechanical rabbit. Back in the day, greyhounds were hunting dogs and had what is called prey-drive. The race conductors use the greyhound's prey drive to make them run in the circuit.

Laya raced for only five months, a race a week meaning she had 25 races only before she received the not-so-well-performing rating and was retired. She won only 1 of the 25 races and lacked prey drive. That makes her the sweetest dog ever. She wags her tail and demands to play with all little furry animals like squirrels, cats and three pound yorkies. These are animals that any other greyhound would mistake for ol' rusty and pounce on them. These are also the animals that run like hell when Laya crouches down in her classic play stance, long tail wagging and wet nose sniffing. I would run too, if I were a three pound yorkie facing another dog that was 18 times my weight and 10 times my size.

Here is a video of the race she won. I have been wanting to post this for a while but I needed a little persuasion from Neihal, thats all. Laya is in the Number 1 position (red jacket with white number) She ran 550 yards in 31.73 seconds which translates to an average speed of 35 miles per hour or 56 kilometers per hour.

Easy Friday

2007-05-25T22:46:00.000-05:00

The dry-fit t-shirt desperately tried to expel all the sweat as I stepped out with Eddie and Laya for their evening walk. It was work out day today and the puppies were especially eager to see me when I arrived an hour after the regular arrival time. A habit I picked up from James, I refer to all dogs as puppies affectionately. I had earlier noticed the half dozen girl’s jolly shrieks from the pool across the sand volley ball court in front of my apartment. I managed to get a closer look at the jolly-bunch as I walked out with the puppies. They were a half dozen or so 13 to 15 year olds jumping in and out of the pool.

I was not even close enough to the pool when one of the girls shouted:

Miss Brown Bikini: you have a very sexy dog!
Me: Thanks.
I keep walking, the sidewalk by the volley ball court gets me closer to the pool.
Miss Brown bikini: (now noticing little Eddie too) Hey...two dogs!
Me: I hope so (this has been my classic answer to rhetorical questions)
Miss Pink Bikini with Blue Polka Dots: What dog is he (referring to the bigger one)?
Me: She is a greyhound…
Miss Brown Bikini: did you say, a super hound? Giggles.
Miss Pink Bikini with Blue Polka Dots: giggles
Miss Light Blue Bikini: giggles
Mr. Green Board Shorts: (appearing busy on the phone wondering why all his friends are obsessing over some dogs)
it is funny when kids get obsessive over their friends
Me: A G-R-E-Y-H-O-U-N-D, the little one’s a beagle.
Miss Brown Bikini: Does the big one make babies?
Miss Pink Bikini with Blue Polka Dots: (interrupting Miss Brown Bikini) do both the dogs make babies together???
Me: No. But they’d be funny babies if it happened (A 55 lbs long legged all muscular greyhound crossed with a pot-bellied short legged floppy-eared beagle would definitely make a funny dog!)
Miss Brown Bikini: but they’d be cute babies (looking at Eddie who is wagging his tail standing at the pool gate facilitated by his extending leash)
Miss Yellow Bikini (or maybe it was Miss Light Blue Bikini): what are their names?
Me: The little one is Eddie and the bigger one is Laya.
Miss Yellow Bikini: Eddie is a cute name.
Miss Light Blue Bikini: ‘Laya’ as in Princess Leia from the star wars? Are you a fan?
Me: yes, that Leia but I am not a star wars fan.

Miss Brown Bikini pushes Miss Yellow Bikini into the pool. Miss Pink Bikini with Blue Polka Dots runs away from the approaching Miss Light Blue Bikini. Mr. Green Board Shorts is busy typing away on his cell phone. I walk away to the rest of my evening remembering all the reasons why I like Florida!

Friday was exceptionally good. Not because it was a Friday before a long weekend. Monday is chutti for being Memorial Day and Shek has no plans but eat, sleep and hopefully read some. This whole week has been a little hectic on all fronts. Hectic in a challenging positive sort of way. Work has been very challenging but I got all my data sorted out finally on Friday. I only wish I had the 3Ghz Core 2 Duo with a 2 gig ram in my work computer. A 19 inch wide screen wouldn’t be bad either. I have also been stressed out making, bridging and maintaining some personal relations. Every thing is sorted out now, so I decided to treat myself with some good chicken curry.

By 7 pm Friday, 25 May 2007 the 1.51 Lbs boneless breast pieces had been marinated for over 12 hours in rich yoghurt, crushed tomatoes, ginger-garlic paste and the finest Chicken-curry masala the Indian store had to offer. The onions were perfectly fried golden brown in the finest desi ghee available locally and the chicken curry simmered peacefully for a long time till the meat was just perfect. This served with the steaming basmati rice made my week a complete satisfaction. Yes, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, especially Shek’s!

Wish you were here....

2007-05-24T21:42:00.001-05:00

Heard this song on my way to work today. It is funny how a stressful week makes you remember people. I wish you were here....

Incubus - I Wish Y...

I wish Pandey was here.
I wish Maman Didi was here.
I wish Dad was here.
I wish Sven and Trini were here. He's been like a big brother to me.
I wish Twix was here and I wish we were still friends (Damn you Ipanema Girl!)

The world's a roller coaster
And I am not strapped in
Maybe I should hold with care
But my hands are busy in the air saying: I wish you were here

frands and frandseeps

2007-05-21T21:38:00.000-05:00

I wish Wikipedia would define ‘Frands’ or ‘Frandseep’ but it doesn’t. So Shek has to do it himself.

There are friends and there are acquaintances but most people confuse between the two. Some like me have a stronger definition for Friendship than most do. Some like me prefer to wait for that special bond before declaring an acquaintance as a friend. Acquaintances, I have many and then there are some that think they are an acquaintance to me but I could really do without them for ever.

Frands I have none. To have frands (sometimes spelled ‘frends’ or ‘phrens’ as in ‘Phrenseep’), I would have to be a 20 something girl on Orkut with one decent picture and a relatively common name. This is what the common Indian guy does in his spare time. He logs on to his orkut account and hits the search button. Then types in his location (usually something like a major city name where they think cute chicks reside) and the age range of the girl; hits enter and browses through. I have been guilty till this stage of activity. Your Shek is not so dudh ka dhula hua! The one time I did it (god-promise only one time); I came out with a friend who is funny, cool and very nice to hang out with.

Once a cute-chick-profile is found, most guys usually start messing up. Without being shameful enough for their name to come up on the ‘recently visited’ section, they leave a retarded ice-breaker in the scrap book for everyone to see. Instead of something smart, un-intrusive, funny and un-insulting, they bluntly say things like:

“I stumbled upon your profile, don’t ask me how.” What M.F.!!!…did you trip and fall?!?!
“Looking at your profile…I think you are an amazing person” You must be an antaryami (all-knowledgable priest) to know what kind of a person someone is by reading what movies she likes and what color her eyes are. Can you look at the share market for me please?
“Hi. I am kool and you are too. Check out my profile”. Let me complete the sentence for you, Mr Kool: “….Check out my profile and you will find a mirror in it that I look at every hour admiring my थोब्डा (face), my hair and my oh-so-gorgeous-smile”…Yes Mr. Narcissus, you are fabulous!!!
“Can we be the frand?”I am confused. Can you ispeak the English?
“Reply Plz”; “Add me to ur frnd lst plz” This is no SMS, boy. Type that extra few letters. And, how desperate can you be?
“I know you must be bored hearing this again and again, but …blah-blah-same-old-BS” This is the sensitive type. He is oh so aware of the abundance of filth in a cute-chick’s scrap page that he had to sugar coat his own so his bull-crap could stand out in the midst of other stinky turds.
“hey, u hvnt replied” Mr. SMS back again, this time he demands an answer. She doesn’t need to know if she has replied or not. She didn’t reply, so she knows.
“hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii” This bugger seriously believes the number of ‘i’s in ‘Hi’ is directly proportional to his perceived coolness factor. Dude, ever tried pronouncing it? It only makes you sound like a retarded kid. Invariably, someone will have a few extra ‘i’s among the next 10 scraps.
“hey, are you from so-and-so place? Where exactly in so-and-so place?” This is just like saying, “Hi! I like your pictures and hence am looking forward to stalking you. Moreover, I actually think you are dumb enough to tell me exactly where you live. If that does not satisfy you, I am even dumber to wait for your reply and if you don’t, I will pull a #7 on you.”

Exception to the rule:
There are guys who defy all possibilities of rejection even after sending out silly and foolish scraps and actually end up with girls falling head-over-god-dang-heels over them. They are the pretty guys who have a good game on in their orkut album.

Disclaimer: Shek is not at all threatened by over-eager little boys prowling cute-chick’s profiles. He writes this post out of his sheer respect for women and thinks that every woman deserves better, even in an orkut scrap book. So ladies, the next time you see that funny, cool and handsome blogger in Florida, ask him out so you don’t have to wait for pesky-little-boys to come knocking on your orkut-door.

Ghosts

2007-05-19T21:08:00.001-05:00

It was so easy. I asked my 18 year old brother if he has been reading my blogs and what he thought about the writing style. He easily said that he liked my writing style and it showed that I have been reading for a long time, that I have. My curled eyebrows shot back at all I have read and all I have written. Was I writing with my ghosts?

A slab of the finest Cadbury’s chocolate and some leftover Thai pasta is appointed to my table so I can prepare for the second paragraph. Robert Pirsig defines ghosts in a better way than what I am about to attempt. I am being torn between two worlds: One of rituals, customs and traditions and the other of logic and science. Maybe not torn but my mind ponders a lot. We all live with a lot of ghosts, some good and some bad. These ghosts accumulate through all the countless interactions and incidents that we have experienced since kids. These ghosts make us do crazy things like respect lifeless objects and defy logic. Then again, mathematics and logic are our biggest ghosts.

A day of Ganpati utsav in my colony flashes back. As hordes of people gather around the arati, head bowed in submission and bodies swaying in a trance, kids eye the sweets waiting to be distributed while their moms discipline them. Do the kids need to be disciplined because their lack of attention is an insult to the prayers? They are just being innocent kids. The real answer is that the moms are being persuaded by their ghosts. The ghosts are ruthless dictators that make people of all ages speak and write what they want to say and be written. Families that maintain age old customs, rituals and faiths do just that. They maintain them like a night watchman at a forgotten museum. They do it to preserve the culture. What about evolution then? Shouldn’t culture evolve and change? I can see some people jumping off their seats,”Sacrilege! You can’t change culture! Culture is our identity.” It is their ghost speaking for them while they allow culture to become their very own fantastic bottleneck. The whole galaxy is evolving as we speak except our ghosts. Ghosts don’t evolve. They merely maintain the exact form and shape of what they looked like when they truly existed.

The caste system is the biggest most evident ghost of all। Is it a good ghost or a bad ghost? Both. The caste system died the day when automated flush tanks were invented. Then, a बृह्मण (Brahmin, the highest strata in the Indian caste system) became an instant अछूत (untouchable, the lowest strata in the Indian caste system) while he flushed his toilet. The caste system created groups of people with similar job descriptions and hence similar intellect. Some were good at research and education, some at war and some at creativity. It gave a much needed structure to the society. Carry that forward and most families of the same caste have similar traits, habits and behaviours but not all. People of the upper caste prefer to feed the ghost as they get to say that they are superior while people of the lower caste feed their ghosts so they can get those nifty reservations. I don’t care who you are but if you have ever taken a reward, award, position, promotion or admission based on your caste, high caste or low caste, you are guilty in my court. I won’t hate you but I won’t agree with your actions.

I am living with my own set of ghosts. Some make me respect everyone like they were God; some make me respect the physical paper and coin money and some make me respect all elders no matter what. I am trying to break away from the bad ghosts and keep the good ones. If I respect someone abusive by not retorting back, then I am disrespecting myself and that is wrong. I should not have the right to disrespect anybody, be it me or my abusive ‘someone’. I should rather respect the use of money than its physical form. I should spare my elders the dignity by not dragging them into this 2 cent blog.

My brother lives with my ghost. I met him after over two and a half years. He was visiting me on his way to summer school in California. Spending the week with him made me realize that he still sees me as the brother he knew three years back. He lets my ghost translate and then hears everything I say and sees everything I do as my ghost would three years back. Three years back, I was 21 and just like any other 21 year old, I was stubborn, had my own ideas about the general functioning of the world and was a ruling elder brother. Three years have changed me to a hopefully more socially acceptable stubborn person and a friendly elder brother to my now 18 year old sibling. I still have my own views about the general functioning of the world and that is what these blogs are about. It is just as important for him to fight my ghost as it is for me to fight my own ghost.

Chicken Curry

2007-05-15T05:46:00.001-05:00

I wait for the onions to turn brown so I can toss in the thickly marinated chicken in a rich yoghurt marinate into the wok. Some buggers are still pink, most are white or yellow steadily progressing towards the desired brown. My brother fiddles with the computer, working his way up the social cyber ladder while this post starts forming in my head.

kaabhi aalvida naa kehna is at intermission. I am tired of the glamour dresses, the expensive shots, the fancy hair dos, the light story line, pockets of heavy emotions and outsourced dialogues. Yes, I feel the dialogues are outsourced. Only a few hold some water, the rest being lighter than a goose’s feather. After a heavy dinner of chicken curry, rice and roti and a few more hours of the slow movie, I am told that this has been a path breaking film. "The lead actor and actresses have never been flawed characters before!" I say, some famous director finally decided to pick up a real script! A real script is about people and all people are flawed. While the movie ranted about a wrong marriage, actually two wrong marriages, I wondered how many people could actually identify with the script. Not the infidelity part, just the wrong marriage part. EVERYBODY! I have known a few people that are or were in a relationship with their best friends. Some flourished while others ended up with broken hearts. I, for one, sacrificed my beautiful friendship to the failure of love. Failure of Love! It is a nice phrase if you think about it. This phrase is optimistic about failure and the many love songs, poems, novels and short stories are its living testament. We write about things we do not have. That’s why we write about the rain and about God.

I am surprised at the multitude of love making scenes in hindi movies these days. Not shocked, just surprised. Being used to old fashioned clichéd love scenes; this blunt frankness is very new to me. The directors surely want to show more realistic situations but also want to show off the producer’s deep pockets. So, they end up with a chicken curry: yoghurt, masala, garlic paste, tomatoes and chicken pieces all blended into one big medley just hoping to capture your senses. Now, you have scenes of top notch bollywood actors and actresses getting intimate, sweaty bodies glistening in the fireplace heat coupled with scenes of overstated glamorous sudden dance scenes. Moreover, sixteen and seventeen year olds watch this movie and no one burns effigies of Shah Rukh and Rani on the streets. Maybe Richard Gere should have charged the Indian government to make an appearance for his Aids campaign and then charged the general public obscene ticket prices to see him give a few affectionate pecks on Shilpa Shetty’s cheeks. It worked for Shah Rukh and Karan Johar. Must work for Richard Gere! He is Hollywood after all!!!

Enough written. The chicken curry left over needs to see the refrigerator, Laya needs to take a walk and I need to get my comforter from my car. Good Night people.

Rowe's Shrek

2007-05-09T20:11:00.000-05:00

This is a tribute from Rowena to me. I hope for you enjoy it as much as I did.

Of Jets and Humans...

2007-05-07T16:07:00.000-05:00

I now know why people strap jet engines to their cars and try to kill themselves on the salt plains of Utah. I am writing from 10,000 ft. above the sea level on my way to Atlanta.

As the plane waited before the straight stretch of runway for a signal, it felt like dejavu to me. The feelings I get when I stop at the broad white strip watching the red light from my car came flooding back. I almost knew what the pilot was thinking. The pressure of getting up to the triple digit speed before the runway ends is as enjoyable as it is nerve-wrecking. The pilot’s arms rests on the levers just like my right heel rests on the car’s carpet with a light calculated pressure on the brake waiting not for the green to appear but for the red to disappear, waiting to slam ahead.

Both cases though, the scenery watches in horror. The trees and light poles know what is about to happen. They brace themselves for the sudden turbulence. You could almost feel the mounting acceleration while standing still as the jet prepares for its thrust. The pilot gets his signal, surely in a more disciplined fashion than I get mine on the road. The plane lurches forward as I feel my back pressing against my seat. The required speed is reached in seconds. Where I start braking to acceptable speeds, the plane takes off. The adrenalin rush is inevitable even though my body aches momentarily from the increasing pressure and the g-forces.

This is a fantastic way of starting a Monday. I am visiting Atlanta with my boss to manage a start-up of a new implementation of a project. Some process improvements on the general activities of the contract are also on the cards. I will be meeting someone that I met online for dinner tonight. She happened to be in Atlanta on a project too. I am not used to making too many random friends online but she seems to be genuine, outgoing and uncomplicated. Sounds like we will be going for ribs at James's recommended barbecue joint. Mmm Mmm Mm Mm Mm!!!

Looks to me as the starting of one awesome week!! Rock on people.

Shek's Confidential

2007-05-06T08:13:00.000-05:00

I tried positing last night and the blog did not publish any text when I hit 'publish'. So, I decided to sleep on it as I did not have the energy to think any more. You see, I had blogged about a challenging experience that had happened to me at work a few months back. I am completely optimistic about it and I harness the experience in a positive way. Even then, it had its kinks, and I did not want to go though the whole ordeal of recreating the post again.

Waking up this morning, I decided to host a confidential blog available to only selected readers. This is my confidential post: Shek's Confidential. I have added a few people to be able to read this post, but I do not have the email id's of a few of my friends. Specifically Neihal, Glazed Donut and Rowe. If you guys email me at shekscribb *at* gmail.com I would add you to the invitee list.

Anybody else who wants to read this, please email me.

Nice Guys

2007-05-04T23:12:00.000-05:00

The world is a cold and harsh place for nice guys. A-holes get the cute chicks and nice guys remain 'good friends'(read: expendable). It is seriously hard to be a genuinely nice person without being branded as unmanly and weird. How many of you have been nice to others only to never be appreciated and taken for granted? I am not saying that you should only be nice so you can be appreciated, but a pat on the back helps. How many of you have tried to honestly tell a girl that you like her without being shooed away?

It has been confirmed by a certain lady friend that cute chicks actually prefer a-holes. With a-holes, no speculation is needed to analyze what kind of a guy he is. He is simply an a-hole and will probably dump one cute chick for another. Now nice guys are an unknown. The dreaded 'x' in the algebra test. Even after a lot of calculations, girls don't know what 'x' is until the results come out. Ladies, I will solve the suspense for you today. 97% of nice guys are actually psychologically challenged immature adolescents who wont grow till they are 70. Then they become teenagers. Women, not all guys are the same. I know that concept sounds real good in your head but it is not true.

What hope do the 3% genuinely nice guys have in life? Are they always supposed to hold the doors open while hordes of people walk by, let other cars in their turning lane at the last minute? They have to protect their good, and to do that, they have to be a little bad. Stop helping around ungrateful people who will never appreciate your concerns. I protect my goodness by being headstrong sometimes (I am very very accommodating otherwise). Nice people, stop taking crap from others, be a little bad, open your mouth and say 'No fcuking way!' when you don't like something. Be more confrontational but be prudent. When in doubt, use this track. Hang tight...

Mind-Dump, 1 of Many

2007-05-02T19:13:00.000-05:00

I wont call 'this' a writer's block. April has been a very productive month with respect to churning out posts in comparison to May. The main reason that I post is to go back and re-live some of my best moments. By 'best moments', I don't mean the good times, the parties, the drives, but also the pains and frustrations. I am what I am because I have risen only to be slammed down and asked to rise up. This does not upset me. We fall so we can get back up on our feet.

Let me explain 'this'. This is not writer's block. My mind is empty right now. I don't know what I want to write. There is no preconceived script floating in my head. All I know is that I have to write. This is not the time when I am writing to organize my thoughts. I guess I am writing to generate thoughts. This is the first time that I have done this. A part of me says that I am a freak...a small part. What kind of a person writes to be able to think?

As I look back at April's posts and try to see a trend of some sort so that I can figure out this excessive writing spree, I notice that it is not the topics that are of significance, it is my thinking time. All the posts were written when a rough script was ready in my mind. Then, posting was just as easy as copying in an exam. You see, at my job, there are busy weeks and months and then light weeks and months. April was one of those light months. That is the time when we engineers concentrate on training and self learning. I spent my time finishing up extra large costing sheets and almost finished up preparing training slides for a software that I am sort of proficient in. I have found that my mind is always on a thinking drive. I am always thinking about something. Mostly, it is about a project, an analysis glitch, a complicated macro or an impossible solution for a demanding client. I love to live my work. Even though I come home by 5:30, I am thinking about the project till I sleep. There have been times when I have had a break through idea while frying onions with teary eyes.

These self-learning and training activities do not come home with me and I end up with plenty of time to write a script in my head while driving home at break-neck speeds and walking Laya. That is why April has been so heavy on post content.

Starting this Monday, I have been assigned a project that I am the lead in. For the first time my boss made me a lead. It is very challenging and I almost blush like a newly wed wife when I delegate work to other engineers, all more experienced than me. It is not a hard project and it involves fundamentals that I learned last year. Plus, there looks like some tricky excel maneuvers, the kind that I so so love. We have a complex costing sheet that spans over innumerable tabs and even more formulas. This sheet has a direct impact on the finances of the project and a screw up means more than just a slap on the hands. My maneuvers will need to summon my slickest excel and macro making skills. I am pumped up about this project.

Especially today, I barely sat at my desk .In and out of meetings, time just flew by. My body is also kind of sore from working out. That is probably why my mind was in hibernate mode.

Almost forget to mention, I raced Sven's Mazda RX-8 today. Neck and neck baby!!! His little red sports car was almost a match for my heavy sedan, almost. I felt better that I was not driving a granny-car. Though he had more grunt at launch, my torque motor picked up the pace quickly. He did not make one full length in front of me. My evil mind is already thinking about getting a 'more appropriate' car (read:a quicker, faster, leaner and meaner car... of course I have one in my mind...the 2006 Pontiac GTO. 400 hp and 400 ft-lb of torque, that baby is damn affordable at under $34,000). God help my soul. Pray for me people, for I am about to go bankrupt one day buying cars.

Dream Car Trivia

2007-04-29T11:01:00.000-05:00

What is my favorite car?

I often get asked this question. People see that I am a car enthusiast and induce that I should know what exact car I would love to own. What is your dream car, Abhishek? Every time I get asked that, I do not have an answer. So, since I am convinced that my thoughts organize better when I write, let’s write. People deserve an answer. Hell, I deserve an answer. Of all the car magazines I read, I should finally proclaim my true love.

Performing a complex cause and effect analysis, my mind raises the following questions:
Q. Do I dream of a particular car? मेरे सपनो की रानी !!!
A. No, I don’t.
Q. Do I have pictures of a particular car model or even a brand stuck up on a wall?
A. Scaled models in Jacksonville and many many posters in my Thane home.
Q. Am I a fan of a particular team in a particular racing series?
A. I am not a fan of F1. I like WRC and I think Subaru and Peugeot have good cars. Do I want the Subaru Impreza WRX STI? I don’t know.

I dream about the driving experience, not the car. Remember, the journey is more important than the destination! Let’s think about the journey and we shall reach the destination. What is my dream driving experience? That, my friend, is the right question. Do I dream about the perfect driving experience? Hell yeah.

The Dream.

Location: Mercilessly twisty roads. Downhill. Tall peaks on one side, deep ravines on the other.
Weather: Spring, coolness of the shadows of the mountain interrupted by the sun's warm rays. Early morning weather. Misty.
Soundtrack: Torquey six to eight cylinder engine roaring with high and low revs in symphony with the curvy roads, continuously accompanied by a whine of a supercharger/turbo charger. Maybe an occasional tire squeal to offset the otherwise harmonious exhaust notes.
The Drive: Having set the backdrop of my dream, here is the drive part. A complete driver’s car. As I go through the gears, braking and accelerating, the car provides total feedback from the road. Every crease, bump and pebble is felt. The car accelerates when asked to, turns like on rails and stops on a dime. The car appears to have been built by one person only, not by a bunch of engineers that use statistical numbers and never leave the drawing board from concept to production. It is everything that one person wanted that car to be. If that person were to be a fast car, this is what he would have become. The transmission is manual, short throw, sequential or regular. I would like paddle shifters, only if made by a certain Enzo Ferrari or maybe by Mr. Aston Martin.

The answer is clear. I want a track car for the road. You see, Department of Transportation (DOT) requirements for a road car are different from those of a track car. When you build a track car, you can do away with stickier wheels, airbags and etc. A track car is designed to excel at a race track. It is supposed to take corners at triple digit speeds, brake hard and accelerate fast. These cars are built for racing purposes only and are built around their star race-driver. If someone like me wants to take that car out to the roads, stuff needs to be added to the car to make it barely road legal. Of all that I mentioned above about a track car, the most important is that it is built for one person.

A FEW CONTENDERS

Shelby:
Carol Shelby shoe-horned a big V8 into what was a chick-car then. The AC Cobra. Out came the Shelby Cobra 427 from a humble barn door and shook all track records.I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on the new 2007 Shelby GT 500 but I want to own my dream sometime soon, so let’s keep it real people.

Lotus Seven Replicas:
Lotus Seven was an icon. There couldn’t have been a more basic design to a car. Caterham makes the Caterham Seven today. The iconic fan following of the Lotus Seven led to many independent car manufacturers putting their own spin on the Lotus Seven's engine bay. One of special note is the Tiger Z100 MK1. With two Kawasaki Ninja 900 cc engines in it, this bad boy has two starters, two gear boxes two gear shifters and thankfully one steering wheel. No rear suspension, hard plastic bucket seats keep the driving experience very very real.

The Lotus Exige S
Tipping the scales at a mere 2000 lbs, this is the Ally McBeal of sports cars. It packs a supercharged tiny Toyota engine that would go unnoticed on any other car. This car makes 218 hp and 185 Ft. Lbs of torque. I can only imagine the driving experience of the Exige. The cockpit is very basic. Interior amenities sport a tiny CD player and a gear shifter very close to the steering wheel for quick shifts. What more do I want? $56,000 would be nice.

Shek-Mobile:
This is the option where I go El-Cheapo and make my own car. Yes, you heard me. As soon as I own a home with a garage, I am buying a rear wheel drive (RWD) old roadster, maybe a Miata. Something light with an engine compartment sufficient enough to cram in a small V8 with a supercharger. Then, I will have lived the legacy of Carol Shelby and made my own mean machine.
I could also start with a body kit of a Lotus Seven replica and build my way up.

Anil's Birthday

2007-04-28T23:04:00.000-05:00

I have cranked up the laptop volume, headphones firmly pressed on my ears. Anna Molly is streaming though. Sitting on the porch of Anil’s second floor apartment, looking at the peach row of apartments sitting behind the stagnant-water-lake and the high tree line behind it, I notice a car-compass sitting on the table in front of me. The compass points exactly north-east to the direction I am looking at; Jacksonville Straight Ahead. A warm breeze flutters in occasionally through the screens on the patio. Kids play in the pool located beside the lake, but the sound of the water fountain drowns their playful screams.

This unfinished document makes me think why I am in Orlando in the first place. I wanted to try to write how much I enjoy the company of Anil, and that I drove ninety minutes right after work on Friday only to be here for his birthday, but that’s not all the reason why I am here. Something about an open word document makes me organize my thoughts more than my heart would want. Maybe this is what keeps me posting. Writing brings out my truest feelings and ideas, my frustrations and excitements. My fingers end up typing only the truth and nothing but the truth. What I can’t share publicly, I don’t write. Something about hiding behind the curtains of CSS, RSS and VB code and remaining incognito does not appeal to me today. I have been writing what I feel and experience in flesh and blood, and hence want my readers to associate my blog to flesh-and-blood me.

So, what am I in Orlando for? Three reasons:

1) Anil is a good friend and I wanted to wish him a happy birthday personally. Especially when I live so close!

2) I would have the opportunity to drive for three hours on the highway, crank up Octane and tear up some asphalt. My blog, Driven, got me pumped up and I wanted to drive long distances again. I love driving but I can’t drive without a destination. I know that the journey is more important than the destination, but it is also the presence of a solid destination that makes the journey worth while.

3) One of our common friend drove down from Gainesville, and he has a kick-ass girlfriend. She is obnoxiously outspoken, has a pretty good sense of humor and real fun to hang out with. To all you eyebrow raisers…I do not have a crush on her.
So here it is. The truth laid out on the table.

Friday was good. We had Udupi dinner at Woodlands, came home to watch a little bit of Finding Neverland, cut the cake, went out for drinks (Moi was the designated driver, so I sipped on Coke while every one had tequila shots). Back home, we drank the most disgustingly toxic burgundy wine ever and played a very brain-taxing game of cards. I happily quit when the bunch of sevens got infected when they were placed for safekeeping by @&!£ too close to his family jewels. It was also 4:30 am and yours truly had been awake for almost twenty three hours. It is Saturday afternoon now and I want to go back to Jacksonville, to Laya. Anil wants me to stay on and hang out more.

I left Orlando at 5:04 pm, reached Jacksonville at 6:37 pm, had din din with James and his daughter.

Here are some pictures of the birthday cake (or what ever is left of it), and of the party animals taking a nap while I was writing this post.

Poor Gere...or is it Poos Us !!!!!

2007-04-26T23:21:00.000-05:00

So, Gere is guilty for kissing Shilpa Shetty in public. If that is the case, I would like to see extra police patrols in Bandstand, Bandra. I can guarantee they will get their hands full at Bandstand, especially when the tide is low during the evenings. Or just peep into the unsuspecting cars parked along Bandstand that appear to be involuntarily moving or the ones that appear to be running for over 30 minutes with heavy tinted windows. I wonder what’s going on inside? Maybe the cars are actually robots, like transformers. A strong breeze from the Arabian? There are kids making out in it dumbass!! So, where are the Hindu activists? Oh, I know, I know. They are at home watching Khwahish...and then a cell phone rings. It is an SMS from a fellow activist informing that a white man just kissed their own Bollywood actress. Infuriating! Burn!!!

The rest of the world thinks it is a stupid law to charge Gere for kissing Shetty. It is not like he stuck his tongue in her throat! Well, they don’t know the Indian culture and I don’t blame them. It is a custom to kiss on the cheeks and greet in some countries. Frankly, I give a rat’s butt the world thinks about this. Especially what war-mongering nations think about this. They have their own set of problems going into war with a bunch of countries and not being able to get out of it. Do I think it is a stupid law in India? No, I don’t. I agree with it, but completely dissent the hypocrisy. If kissing Shilpa Shetty was public obscenity, then what about all those kissing scenes Bollywood movies aired in Indian theatres, in freakin public!!! Do they even get a rating? Even if they do, who follows that rating? No one did till 2004 and you can not argue that they suddenly do.

Remember Bandit Queen? What about the adult people in the theaters whistling at the nude scenes. That is public obscenity! Where were the Hindu activist brothers then? Oh, I know, watching re-runs of Dayavan at home.

Do I agree with the court’s decision for either a three month jail or fine or both for Gere's misbehavior? Hell no! They should have made Shilpa Shetty publicly slap Richard Gere for his innocent display of affection. That ought to be enough. She is a confident Indian woman. She could do it. Hmmm!! Isn’t she defending Gere? I just think Gere was a convenient candidate for the activists so they could shake the cobwebs off their spears and flags and burn some effigies on the road.

What about Aids? Wasn’t that the motive behind the whole drama? How many people are going out on the streets shouting against aids? No body. They are busy burning Richard Gere’s effigy on the streets. Is this the India we want to live in? Is this the India we want to leave behind for our kids?

Sober

2007-04-26T18:25:00.000-05:00

I have been listening to Staind's acoustic version of this song. This is a crazy video. If you gross out easily, close your eyes. Either way this one is just as heavy as all Tool songs. So, crank it up people...this is Sober by Tool

The next one is Staind's version, a live Tool cover. Rocks as usual....hang tight!!!

DRIVEN

2007-04-25T11:11:00.000-05:00

Back in the day, when Shek was a simple Abhishek in his motherland, he didn't have the luxury of a big V6 to play around with. He drove his daddy's eight year old Maruti 800 that had seen good and bad days. Shek learned to drive on that baby, so he respected the 800 like a six year old respects his English teacher at school for teaching him to read and write. Suzuki designed the 800 to be a tiny three cylinder grocery getter econo-hatch. Shek saw it as extension of his body that never felt pain. His dad maintained the car, so Shek didn't feel the financial pain either. Convenient. With the curb weight tipping the scales at a mere 1400 Lbs (650 kg), the 800's 37 bhp is an equivalent power of 93 hp on the Aura. Feels kind of low when the Aura makes over 220 hp but the 800 was a stick shift which made driving all the more fun. Plus, the 800 was built to sustain on Indian road conditions. The GM would fall into pieces if subjected to the abuse of the plethora of port-holes and ten thousand unique speed breakers.

Shek has been spoiled in America, first with his 3000cc 200 hp Mitsubishi Eclipse[see picture>>], stick shift and everything, and then the 3500cc 224 hp Saturn Aura sports sedan. This is a post about how much he still loves and respects his carburated, old-school 800cc 37 hp Maruti 800.

The Production Engineering course at the Mumbai University is one of the nicest courses to get into if it is a good college. They have compulsory workshop training and a compulsory internship that Fr. CRCE almost provided for. What stuck out like a nail was a Finance Costing Accounting and Economics course. It was only one course in the final semester without any background in finance or accounting what-so-ever. Shek and his classmates had the entire time between November 2003 and April 2004 to finish off a good project with their internship and master the fine art of accounting (money laundering). Hence, Shek joined this accounting class in Borivali with his buddies. Three days a week, Shek drove to Godrej from home, slogged nine hours at Plant 17, picked up his friends form the other plants and drove to Borivali. The class would go on for over two hours. The drive back home was the real cherry on the cake. Here is a map of the route: link

This is just a small picture. Click here to view it on Google maps, zoom in and everything!!

Hitting the Western Express highway, speeding in and out of traffic, every pass made shaved that precious second from the drive time, Shek was always on a rush to beat his last drive time. 92.5 FM would keep company for a while till the street lights disappeared, the traffic thinned, the slope got steeper and the hills took over the scenery. Then, no radio reception, just the stretched whine of the 800 cc engine, slamming through the gears at every curve, negotiated with the accuracy of a brain surgeon, every down-shift perfectly calculated while exiting the many curves on Ghodbunder Road. All 37 horses would echo through the valleys when Shek floored the 800 thought the gears to get all the speed on a straight stretch before jamming the brakes and downshifting for that next curve...or that toll booth with three speed breakers...Rs. 10, would be thrown at the attendant, a receipt thrown back, all under three seconds, then...clutch, second...throttle...bump into third...throttle...fourth..throttle. The upshifts were just perfect, made at the right rev, easing the gears to the next in line with the smoothness of a sine curve and the quickness of a lightning bolt.

Shek's left foot on the clutch, the right on the throttle, the left hand on the shifter and the right hand on the steering wheel worked like a watch in synchronized perfection, his body twitched and shifted with the lateral G's being thrown around, his mind and soul stayed connected with the engine, sharp eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead. He was on a mission, a mission to get every bit out of the 800, feel what it feels like to command 37 horses but the bottom line was to have a good time. There would be an occasional Zen or a Santro, both capable in overtaking the 800, none with drivers that had the skill though. Some speed faster on the straight stretches and overtook Shek only to get crushed by him at the curves. Shek knew all the small pothole infested stretches and knew that exact path with the least bumps,

This constant adrenaline rush married with the cool lazy winds of the Ulhas river was a lethal combination. It kept Shek's mind just cool enough to make sane driving decisions while his blood warmed up enough to jump that extra bound. Speed limit...what speed limit! There was no ABS, ESC, Traction Control messing with the driving experience. Just plain old driving where a driver's skill is everything he's got. Shek ruled those hills for that hour. As he backed into the garage under his building, his mind was in Nirvana, his heart was still beating furiously, his breath heavy and gasping for fresh oxygen to feed those tense muscles, the 800's radiator going at full blast in agreement to his pumping arteries, the air above the engine hood refracting light in the heat, the tires cooling down from the recent abuse and the drum brake pads finally resting. You could almost feel the spent energy lingering in the thick air.

Shek abused (read: enjoyed) his 800 and the drive three days a week, for almost four months. What a year! Now, he indulges into finer automobiles that pack too much power. Too much...wait a minute, more power is ever enough. The old 800 sits in his Thane garage till this day and is accompanied by two new cars to the family. When Shek visits India, which one will he drive? His options: A new Wagon R with the new car smell and everything, a relatively new Indigo and a beaten down 800. Damn right the 800!

You can imagine that there were some equally entertaining drives with Shek's 200 hp Mitsubishi, this time with Octane on Sirius, full leather seats with lateral and lumbar supports, leather steering wheel, leather gear shift knob. None of the drives were on roads good enough to provide the experience of Ghodbunder Road. Moreover, Florida has a flat topography. A road trip is on the cards.

Disclaimer : If you think Shek is a reckless young driver, you are wrong. He is a very mature driver, does not harbor any road-rage and is strongly against drinking and driving. He is not to be interpreted as a speed freak. He loves acceleration and the adrenaline rush that comes with it. He lives his life every day eight seconds from every red light that turns green in front of him. He likes speed too, but refuses to test the prowess of his Aura on public roads because he does not want mistakes to affect fellow passengers and other drivers on the road.

Shek's plans for the 800's come back:

1. Remove the 800cc engine. Time for an upgrade, baby.
2. Put a Zen/Gypsy engine into the engine bay. Hey, they can fit a small block V8 in the Miata's engine bay.
3. Try for a rear wheel drive axle, strengthen the chassis to handle rear wheel drive torque. Shek hates torque steer at the front wheels.
4. Add a 5 speed sequential transmission. Got to have sequential!
5. Add a short shifter
6. Turbo the engine, maybe for 6 psi to 10 psi. I don't know how much a 1000 cc Suzuki engine can take before it blows the manifold up.
7. Add cold air intake and free flow headers.
8. 16 inch wheels in the rear, 15's in the front.
9. Momo steering wheel.
10. Disc brakes of course...all four.
11. Upgraded suspension.

This is Shek's dream. He plans to donate it to a needy organization otherwise.

What I've Done

2007-04-23T21:18:00.000-05:00

Minutes to Midnight releases 15 May. This is one of the new songs by Linkin Park. The video rocks just like the song does. The worst scene is the bird smothered in oil from the Gulf War.

Shek V/s Abhishek

2007-04-22T20:33:00.000-05:00

For some one who is used to names like Jim, Bob and Chuck all his/her life, Abhishek can be quite intimidating. Mukherjee is even more. I am not going to be anal about being called by my full name. I wont make it a big deal if people can not pronounce my last name. Thats alright. This is a blog about whether I let people call me Shek or Abhishek.

I was at the dog park today and met with James, his lady love, Becky and her sister and brother in law and another family friend (very cool people to hang out with). Their names shall remain anonymous for the length of this blog. The plan was a casual evening at the dog park, me with Laya, James with Eddie and Becky's sister with her two dogs. James introduced me as Abhishek.

After the dog park, we re-grouped at Becky's sister's house for beer and dinner. Now, I have a habit of adding important pieces of information to a conversation where I am not the first or second person but am included in the topic. This is perceived as annoying by my friends, as I do this to my friends only...and they term this activity as 'Shek-ing'. Now, they say that they are being 'Sheked' no matter when I speak. What the hell, they are just being friends and pulling my leg. Therefore, as per James, I 'Sheked' him while he was explaining something to Becky. Thats where Becky's brother-in-law probably picked up Shek and then on referred to me as Shek. It was weird a few times but then, it got me thinking. Should I accept this. Should I Americanize my name? It is common to convert a James to Jimmy, Charles to Chuck/Chucky/Charlie/Chester, Richard to Dick, Thomas to Tom and so on. Therefore, should I allow Abhishek to become Shek?

It is actually a little more complicated. Separate arguments can be made based on what circle I am looking at. Professional or Casual. But in my case, those circles mix. I have friends from work that I hang out with other people with. So, it is really what name I am alright with, no matter what circle.

I would like to take the stance that Abhishek is the name that I should be referred by. For one, Shek is too informal. It looks good on a blog, with close friends etc. I think Shek is kinda cool too. Further, Shrek is my favorite cartoon character and it is kinda cool to have my a part of my first name rhyme with that. I could also be 'Shake' as in Master Shake...but I am a fan of Frylock. Plus, 'Shake' is not as cool as 'Shek'.

I also interact with VPs and Directors on a daily level, so Shek would make the whole conversation kinda unprofessional. Abhishek, even if it is hard to pronounce, keeps a certain professional tone in the conversation. Plus, all VPs pronounce my name properly. I guess I will continue with Abhishek. Please feel free to comment on this. I am open.

Brief History of The United States of America

2007-04-19T20:27:00.000-05:00

I saw this video in one of the science blogs that I was reading: link
It is in my shared posts, but the video is too good to miss.

Update: 15 mins after publishing the post.
I thought I was done posting this one...till I came across this video.
Hang Tight...

Instant Upma Nights...Muhaji Lovitz

2007-04-18T22:14:00.000-05:00

Alright, the instant upma from MTR is not the best kind of upma. An unopened packet sits on my dining table (just been lazy to pick up the 200 gm packet to the kitchen closet, but actually contemplating to shove it in the thrash can) and half a sauce pan of already prepared dry upma sits on the cooking range. I ate about half the contents of the prepared upma, or at least attempted to eat it. With my tongue and upper palette of the mouth doubling as the molars and pre-molars, there was not much that I could do other than buff up my tongue. When I am done with this ordeal, I could probably pull a car with my tongue. The result: it is 11:20 at night and I am still hungry.

Saw Namastey London today. Actually, I rented out 1971, Namastey London and Nishabd so I could write nifty reviews. Nishabd is done, so it was Akshay's day. I must say that I had underestimated the movie. It actually had a few laughs. Other than the absurd dance and song sequences that most movies sport, this one added a new twist to the bandwagon...Indian actors and actresses that can not speak remotely proper Hindi...not even Bombaiya Hindi. Come on guys, Bombaiya is simple...I grew up on it. I know that the characters of Katrina Kaif and Upen Patel were supposed to be British brats and not supposed to know good Hindi, but if you can speak that much hindi, you better get the accent right. I also think that the character of Imran Khan was a तोत्ला . Seriously. It was hilarious. But the sub-title writers probably had the last laugh...or it was me who laughed most at the sub-titles. There were at least five different spellings to every word that had the audacity to appear five times in the movie. They even spelled 'Arjun' as 'Arejun'. Say it in you mind a couple of times...it makes Akshay Kumar, who is supposed to be a punjab-da-munda sound like he was born in Vellore. 'Arejun' is exactly how you would pronounce 'Arjun' with a South-Indian accent.

The American southerners have plagiarized my name though. They have had a hard time to have to say 'Abhishek' but manage it because I do not give them any choice. Only my friends call me Shek. So, my last name has been butchered to Muhaji. They all remember 'Haji' from Jhonny Quest and my boss would lose track after pronouncing 'Mu..'...so Sven added the two together. Thankfully, they only call me that when they are exceptionally happy with my wit (when my wit is used effectively against them). Sven has been mumbling for a few days that if there is any Caucasian American that looks like me, it is John Lovitz and that I should blog about the similarities. So, here you go Svenie Bunny, I have blogged about John Lovitz, and NO, I do not look like him...HELL NO.

Nishabd...the review

2007-04-17T21:28:00.000-05:00

Having spent a good evening at my friend's place, rasam, dal, some chawal, and ice-cream and having dabbled into their Sopranos marathon, I was thoroughly mentally spent. I had to leave before I got hooked on. Now, I really wanted to blog about how some people take ten minutes to get to 35 miles per hour from a dead stop at a traffic light, but the anti-biotics inside wanted me to claim the bed. The DVD of Nishabd sat on the drivers seat along with a collection of ready made and semi ready made miscellaneous food items from the indian store. Hey, I just wanted to shake some cobwebs from my head and watch what I thought was a thought-provoking-ahead-of-its-time movie. I do not go for movies based on who produced it and who directed it, I go for face values. If it looks good in the trailers, if the cinematography looks decent, I go for it and I must admit Nishabd looked nice in the trailer.I was watching Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead with Arjun back in UFL on Malkhani's TV, and watching Jimmy 'The Saint' Tosnia in his first ten minutes of glory had Arjun commenting that the movie had no scope and it takes only ten minutes for anyone to figure out how good the movie is. I argued that it may take more than just ten minutes, but he proved me wrong at least for that particular Andy Garcia movie.

Nishabd started off with Amitabh Bachchan preparing to jump off a cliff, and ten minutes later, I knew why. He probably, no, not probably, definitely felt guilty for acting in the piece of shit movie. Ten minutes and the way the scenes progressed, the dialogues, the acting in the part of Amitabh, Revathy and Jia had me scampering for my pain killers so I could feel drowsy and high. I think the only sane acting was of Amitabh's daughter, Ritu (Shraddha Arya).

Nishabd did wrong what all american parents do wrong. That 18 year old Jia needed vunn tiiight slap, not glamor shots while she drenched herself from the garden sprinklers. Then I saw Amitabh running into the house for his camera. I completely understand that the director wanted to portray an adolescent lust in its primal stage, but it ended up becoming one of the phunniest scenes in the movie.

Love happened right here (see picture >>). Till this scene, any sane 23 year old would have seen signs of a mentally unstable girl. Of course, a 23 year old would have handled the movie differently [evil grin] but lets not deviate from the topic. Amitabh plays a 60 year old. If he would have tossed her skinny arse in the back seat of the uncomfortable Maruti Gypsy and kept it there, the movie would have ended in fifteen minutes, which means there would have been no movie, just a vacation in the tea gardens for Mr. Bachchan and cast and crew and Shek here would be wealthier by $1.99

Fifty eight minutes into the movie, Jia proposes to Amitabh. There is still time to plant that vunn tiiight slap square on this off-the-hook eighteen year old...but no, they kiss while Revathy's picture on the wall watches in horror.

My recommendations to the man, Mr. Ram Gopal Varma, is to go to a neumerologist or something, add a 'd', an 'a' or whatever. Mr Ram Gopal Verma, please click here: link for help with future endeavours. Maybe the movie would have had more sense if it was spelled Nishaabd or Nishabdd. Hey, Zubeidaa worked well that way, other than the fact that it was based on a good story. Adlabs owes me $1.99 and I vow to not give it up ever.

vitrien en illumina

2007-04-17T17:20:00.000-05:00

I have been subscribing to Derek Hahn's photo blog titled vitrine en illumina. It is about time I wrote about him. I think his is the best photo blog among the ones I subscribe to. Here are a few samples of his work.

Please click on the picture for a larger size.

His work does make me want to take up photography as a full time job but I know for sure that I can not be as creative with what I see as he is. I'll harness my creativity towards CAST, the supply chain management software that I am trying to figure out.

Disclaimer:
Derek, I do not mean to plagiarize your work but putting it up is the only way I can get people to visit your site. Bloggers are known to have one of the shortest attention spans.

Re: WTF

2007-04-16T14:19:00.000-05:00

Speaking with an old friend (who knows me inside out better than most people do) made me realize that me blogging is the same as me venting out to her on the phone back in my engineering days. Only then, I would vent out to someone close, and now, I blog publicly to be read by a bunch of people I do not know. Funny? Desperate? I don't know yet.

I was really messed up last night. Not having to see a live soul for over 36 hours had made me delirious, frustrated and irritable. Watched crap repeat itself over and over on TV for over 8 hours, I even dreamed pessimistically. I ended up lashing out at the only friends that have stood by me before, without giving them the benefit of doubt. Was I wrong? Maybe. I should have picked my battles. That is something that I do not do very well, yet. I have become increasingly confrontational than is advisable. Got to pick my battles!!

I wont erase my earlier blog, even though I don't completely agree with how I felt then. As I look back to my previous blogs: Dang-Root-Canal, Fcuked up No. 31, Ignorance is Bliss, Manic Monday, The Ice Pack and lastly WTF, I see that I have given my tooth problems more screen time than they deserve...and turned my somewhat intellectual blog into a bitching zone. Well, it is time to reclaim my cribb back before my prospective lady-friends form the wrong impression about me ;)

हिंदी में पहला post

2007-04-16T10:48:00.000-05:00

कोई नया post करने का मन तो नही कर्ता...पर हिंदी में post करने से नही रह।

WTF

2007-04-15T23:01:00.000-05:00

This is the first time I have had surgery of any kind on me and therefore, my first post-operative days. Any sane adult would know how important post-operative care is...but the only sane adult is my four year old dog. Of course my parents called up to see how I was doing, but they are a little far away to be able to take care of me. Over here in Jacksonville, humanity seems to have gone cold, just like the gale force winds today. The weather seems to have taken a bad turn and has gone windy and cold...and has blown some common sense (usually an uncommon trait among humans) away from my friends.

The pain killer is supposed to make me drowsy, but my mind is not ready to let go yet. So, instead of thinking about 10 things at once, I prefer to write them down to structure my thoughts. Lets see, Sven took a few hours off form work last Friday to be able to take care of me after the surgery. He waited while I was in surgery, listened to my mumbling after the surgery, bought me my medicine and a pack of gatorades, dropped me home. This was more than anything I could ask anyone for. I don't mean to make this a formality, but I thank you Sven.

I had called up a friend to be at my apartment after my surgery for a few hours, who agreed at first, then refused. I don't think that was too much to ask for. If someone you know has three teeth surgerically taken out, and by that I mean that the doctor had to cut through the gum and break two wisdom teeth internally and take the pieces out, then sow the gum back, wouldn't you at least show up at that person's house just to say, "Hi! We thought that maybe, just maybe, you are in some pain and we came over to see how you are." Of course, I got a phone call to ask how I am doing. I am on medication, I am drowsy, my mouth hurts, how do you think I am doing? I said I am doing fine....fine for someone who has stitches on both insides of their lower jaw. What a fcuking joke! Anyway, they being true friends remembered to send me a scrap on Orkut to see how my weekend is going. Wow, I am touched.

Being even luckier than the average Joe, my room mate happens to be one of my best friends and colleague at work too. Eddie is his puppy. Don't get me wrong, I love Eddie, but taking care of him when I am drugged up is a little too much to ask for, isin't it? Here is a little history. He is a marine, discharged. He had his wisdom (all four) taken out at the Marines...with one anesthetic injection at each tooth, and a ball-pin hammer and a chisel. No jokes. So, to him, I have had a fairy-tale extraction and should be normal within 24 hrs of the surgery. I wake up, all drugged up Sunday afternoon, and see both the dogs, his and mine, playing in the living room, making a mess. Now, I am not in the condition to take Laya out for walks, even though she is perfect on the leash, let alone his hard-headed beagle. All I can say is WTF! He did not ask me to take care of his dog, but leaving Eddie out like this is wrong too. I understand that these days were critical for him to kick-off his love life, but damn son, it is a little bit too much to ask. To his defense, he got me ice cream and that is the only hour I ever saw him over the whole weekend. I weep in my heart when I see all this concern!

I don't mean to be a coward and just blog my anger. I will probably confront my 'friends' when I am a little more myself and not drugged up like this. The pain killer is still not working and I can feel this knot in my lower left jaw. WTF!

Laya is the only one that has been a true friend to me. She gets up and sits by my feet while I am up at odd hours of the night typing furiously at the keyboard, venting out to blogspot. She comes over and puts her head on my lap, looks at me with soul-full eyes, re-affirming that she loves me no matter what. I am convinced she understands my pain and is trying to show affection. She is not upset why I am keeping to myself and not petting her enough. I'd chose her over any of my human friends any day.

The real deal is that experiences like these happen to a lot of 'independent' people, and make them more and more impregnable to emotions. I see myself going that route and I want to stop and be dependent on someone. Not because I am weak, but because it is foolish to think that I (or you) can be completely independent. Humans are just not bred that way. It can be said with a high likely hood, that I will not have any expectations the next time I go in for a medical procedure, but is that right? Will I wrongfully insult my true friends by not asking for help and support? Maybe yes. But it is times like these that you know who will stand by you for sure when the shit hits the fan, and who will duck. All I can do is to thank God for throwing some shit my way.

The Ice Pack

2007-04-14T23:33:00.000-05:00

I did not want to write a post till I completely recovered from the oral surgery, but at 34 past midnight, ice pack in my hand and no sign of sleep, I think I will give it a shot.

Got three teeth extracted Friday. They gave me enough anesthetic to completely put me under. I didn't remember a thing...just like the surgeon promised. He said that the surgery will hurt (all surgeries hurt) but I wont remember it. Isin't that a funny feeling? You wake up all drugged up and try to remember if it hurt and you know it should have but not remember?

My left cheek is swollen and that is where I let the ice pack work on. The pain killers with the anti-biotics make me sleepy, but their effect has worn out. I am just awake with a slightly hurting left cheek. The medicine also probably has made my mind groggy...cant think straight and keep going into writer's block. I have been watching a lot of TV today...some shows that I wouldn't watch otherwise...like this one documentary on global warming. All it did was make me feel bad about my 3.5 L V6 engine that gives anywhere between 20 mpg to 26 mpg depending on the song playing on Sirius. Should have bought the Prius...but what about speed and acceleration...the important things in my life. I am 24 and I don't want to spend the next five to seven years doing 0 to 60 in 11 seconds. Just too many questions swimming around and not many answers. Lets blame it on the medication and go to sleep.

Preview...April 2007

2007-04-10T20:42:00.000-05:00

This will be a preview of what to expect from me in the next few weeks. Looks kinda blurry now,

...Hang Tight...

I started off this year with a pledge that I will blog once a day, but quality appeals more than quantity...so I am taking some time off to do some serious thinking/research before I post my next blog.

I attended a seminar on Ethanol fuels hosted by the Council of Supply Chain Professionals. We (USA) currently produce about 3.5 billion gallons of ethanol a year. They are aiming for 35 billion gallons to reduce their dependency on the Middle East. The seminar was about the rail road infrastructure and its capacity to handle transportation of 35 billion gallons. CSX predicts that it will only account to a mere 4% increase of rail cars from their current utilization. I went on to think at a more root level to eliminate dependency on the Middle East. I also question the efficiency of Ethanol (primarily E85 as used by Brasil) to reduce America's dependency on gasoline. My research is taking me through many papers written for and against E85, and many many more advocating fuel cell and battery operated vehicles (the Prius in USA is mandated to have a gasoline engine along with the battery motor).

I have had to deal with a rude person at work who considerably outranks me. This being my first job in the corporate sector, I would like to learn from this experience and harness it positively (blah blah blah...I also want to bitch about that first grade a-hole [evil grin] ). Having maintained personal relations with the rude individual put plenty of twist in the already ugly matter. I came across a piece on crucial conversations that spoke of an article dealing with such a situation. I will be cool enough to write about the experience in an optimistic manner soon.

It is time to do some personal reading. I am currently on Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. I read through 60% of this book while I was an engineering student in India. The book really made me want to ride a motorcycle of my own...and I could not do that (parents wouldn't let me...finances wouldn't allow). I am self-sufficient now and stand to be able to make an impulse purchase if I get too desperate. So, with my credit cards in a safe hiding place that even I am unaware of, I have started reading this book.

I wanted to finish a few chapters of the book today but instead ended up watching this story in Pierre Dulaine. It gets my recommendation.

The Manatee

2007-04-09T18:49:00.000-05:00

I read other's blogs on my google reader. This is a temporary fix till I buy a Macbook and use the super friendly Safari to read posts. I would, however, miss a convineant feature of the google reader...sharing posts. I normally go through anywhere between 20 to 30 blogs a day (50 to 70 posts) and some are interesting enough to share. I just click the share icon on the reader and the blog appears on my blogspot here: link. Some blogs, however, deserve more than just the share, so here it goes.

Shelley Batts blogged here about how Florida is planing to downsize manatee laws to promote water sports. Here is an extract:
Thing is, tourists and residents don't like the laws. They go to Florida to boat, and to boat as fast as they please, where-ever they please. Avid boaters have been extremely vocal opponents to laws restricting boat speed. When I volunteered at Mote Marine Observatory, there was palpable tension during boat races, when they expected that many manatees would be hurt or killed. Manatees are slow-moving creatures who need to surface for air--they don't stand a chance against high-speed boats ripping through their habitats. Do Florida legislators think that because there are *more* manatees they've suddenly become better at getting out of the way??

I say leave the manatees in peace.

Here is the Fair to Midland song, Dance of the Manatee. Why a video in this nature blog? It is a song about Manatees and it is hard rock. Crank it up and stay heavy...

Indians Are The New Mexicans!?!?

2007-04-09T17:47:00.000-05:00

I have been browsing though some Desi Pundit blogs and came across this one by Ash. It is a blog by Brijesh. Read the full blog here: link (as of 10 April 2007, the blog keeps getting commented on. Read the comments for the most updated discussion)

Here is an extract:
By US law it is illegal for the employer (desi consultant) to make employee pay for the H1B Visa expenses. But for desi consultants they have their own law. The way the desi consultant works reminds me the agents who work to recruit laborers to Middle East. They are fooling the educated people and the sad part is that educated people fall into this trap due to their greediness for earning dollars.

This is my comment to it:
(Brijesh, )you are right about the problems caused by these consultants to deserving applicants. Desi consultants (head hunters) are not the only ones doing it. There are plenty of consultants that hire other nationality people.

Some of the unfortunate ones that come here to get a masters fund it through loans and such...and when they can not find a job, they go to the consultants. They probably 'train' for a few months then 'sit on the bench' if unlucky or get a project if lucky. It at least helps pay the dues.

I am not in agreement with the immigration laws too. If you and I know about the consultants malpractices, you think the US govt. does not??? They will do what benefits them. Back in the day, they encouraged Mexican immigrants because they wanted interstates to be built and crops to be harvested. Once done, they shut the doors at the border and put a guard on it. Where is the fcuking homogeneity in that? I do not disagree your discontent with the consultants, but this is the ghee-with-tedhi-ungli case.

Does that make us Indians the new Mexicans. If the government (US Govt.) knows about these consultants, which I seriously think they do, are we being brought in for cheap to build their IT highway?

Disclaimer:
I do not intend to talk about Mexican immigrants in a derogatory way. If you consider me a Hispanic-hating racist, it is purely your biased opinion and I encourage you to keep it to yourself. It is not an entire fact but a part of the fact. This post is not an opinion but an argument and a debate.

Manic Monday

2007-04-09T10:16:00.000-05:00

I take a sip of the extra dark hot coffee as I reflect over the mornings events. Manic Mondays don’t happen to me, I usually take the beginning of the work week pretty well. This one, I will remember for a few days at least.

As the coffee burns through me, waking me up with caffeine high, I think about writing this post. Few of my previous blogs have been influenced by the writing style of other bloggers, it is time to find my own. Just like Bishwanath Ghosh’s Shankar in his blog: Confessions of a novelist, I have to awaken my ‘Shankar’ to find his style back.

As I sat awake last night 3 am chatting with Reshma and Chinky, trying to keep my mind off the sudden tooth ache till the pain killers got around to do their job, I was not in desperation or misery, but content that the tooth will be removed in over six hours. The appointment letter for the extraction of a wisdom tooth and its accompanying molar sits on my dresser assuring me that relief is near. My cell phone alarm wakes me up at 6:30 am, I dress up and take Laya out, then proceed to have my breakfast. I had called in on Friday to see if the surgeon needed me to take some medicines or have a particular diet before the appointment, there was no such requirement.

James drops me off at the surgeon’s office. Sven is waiting at work to expect a phone call from the surgeon’s office to pick my heavily sedated butt up. At the office, after filling up the paperwork they take me in for a 360 degree x-ray, which was kinda cool. Definitely better than the shovel they shove in your mouth and take x-rays of one tooth at a time. Then they take me in for consultation. That’s it…consultation. No extraction. Some shit broke loose in the entire communication channel and this session was supposed to be only for a consultation. The doctor, just as nice as most doctors are, asked me about my medical history and other crap like that. It is the administrative assistants that screwed up. I was raging mad for a few moments there, wanted to get on the phone with the clerk at my dentist’s office who fixed me this appointment. The consultation was a good though. The good doctor explained about the entire procedure of extraction with reference to the x-ray. Here is the x-ray. Please click on the picture for a larger version.

Now my close friends, relatives and all people passing though know how my teeth look like.

This is the graphic part of the post. If talking about medical procedures scare you, please don’t read below. If you want to dare yourself or know more about the extraction process, please do. Apparently, Number 31 created an empty space around itself. Due to its position being at the enamel-root part of Number 31, plaque got stuck in the cavity. Plaque is 95% bacteria. This caused Number 31 to decay and weaken, causing it to break off. I guess I wasn’t too ignorant after all. Alright, maybe a little. Anyway, Number 31 needs to go and Number 32 is under the gum line. Also, the roots of number 32 extend sideways, which make it difficult to pull out. It will need some ‘carpentry’ (the doctor’s words, not mine. I would chose something more subtle) to pull it out. The pen markings on number 32 show how it will have to be cut to be extracted.

This is a good picture of Number 31. You can see how it is broken off and only about 70% of it is left. Number 17, the wisdom tooth on the left side of the mouth is doing the same thing. That is something I need to take care of before all hell breaks lose in that side of my jaw too. The wisdom teeth in the upper jaw are coming out pretty well, but may need to be extracted to avoid future problems. The doctor then proceeded to explain all that can go wrong and how to cure those. He drew the nerve line and said if the surgery affects the nerve line, it may take sensation away from my lower lip and tongue for a few months. Wow, I can’t wait enough. The closest date to my ‘actual’ surgery is over two and a half weeks away. Gee. I hope the misdirected administrative assistants can put their act together and get me something sooner. It seems that the surgeon’s admin had promised to do the extraction today, at least that is the impression my dentist’s admin had. I hope they all sort it out soon and get me off these pain killers.

The whole experience has made me pretty numb, emotionally. I am taking medical matters in my hand from now on. I am also buying the books that I mentioned here: link

Update 2007_04_12
The admin to the dentist made me an appointment for Friday (13 Apr 2007)...tomorrow. Wish me luck.

Belly Rubbin...

2007-04-08T22:37:00.000-05:00

Eddie gets a good session of belly rubbing (pronounced 'rub-een' if you grew up in Michigan) from me every day. It is almost effortless on his part. Most dogs have to act cute and be a good doggie to get that. When you are as cute as Eddie, belly rubbing comes with the package.

Please click on the picture for a larger version.

I know the big blue harness feels over-the-top for a tiny puppy but it just helps him develop his voice. Most times, you will find Eddie pestering Laya, the super big and muscular retired racing greyhound that you see in the background. Laya is my dog and the fastest couch potato you will ever see. That is the reason you will see her resting and chilling (pronounced 'res-teen' and 'chi-lean' if you grew up in Michigan) in most pictures. In fact, this is she right now, sleeping on the couch 'res-teen' her head on the arm rest. Here is a picture of her right now >>>

So what is the big deal with belly rubs and dogs anyway? Dogs love to clean themselves, and they constantly lick their paws, backs, butt etc. They can not reach their belly, so when you rub it for them, it is ecstasy. Just like when you scratch a cats neck, massage a woman's shoulders etc. Eddie has a nice little rolly-polly belly and it is a pleasure to scratch it. Laya is all toned and slim and muscular. She gets her belly rubs too, not as often as Eddie does. Given enough belly rubs, Eddie will sleep on your lap. Now that is something money cant buy.

Today is the second day Eddie slept on my lap and all because of his belly rubs. I am overwhelmed by the affection and hence this blog. I am also completely irritated by listening to crappy 'Michigan' accent (which you smart readers will have figured out by now).

Things I want to do this year...

2007-04-08T02:04:00.000-05:00

I am spending a dry saturday night reading blogs of people that I haven't met. I recently subscribed to a bundle of blogs. Reading them makes me realize that I need to do something important with my life. Give it some meaning. Well, more meaning than it has already. Here is a list of things that I want to do this year or start doing this year:

1. Take Laya to the dog park at least once a week. Let her run free and work on those muscles.
2. Finish that certification in production and inventory management that I had so enthusiastically started more than a year back.
3. Buy and learn to play the electric guitar. Learn at least one song.
4. Finish reading the four novels I bought.
5. Buy a Mac.
6. Learn one foreign language, preferable German. I hadn't thought of this one till now. I think it will be a bit of a challenge. I chose German so I can practice it with Sven and Trini.

Additions as of 10 April 2007

7. Drag my whip at a proper drag strip with an equivalent car. Give it all she's got.

Ignorance is Bliss

2007-04-05T17:02:00.000-05:00

You know what I am talking about...everyone has some little thing left out in a bucket, deep in their mind, things they need to give attention to, things that are 'little' only in their perception. That little rattle in the car, that weird error message you get when you boot up your computer every day, that W2 sitting on your desk that needs to be filed..and so on.

We all have our quirks and I do not mean to bitch about yours. This is my blog, hence my story. It all started with a little irritation in one tooth, way in the back my mouth, for a month, till a part of it broke off. This I blame on the super hard spicy and roasted channas (chick peas) from the Indian store. My tooth cracked while biting on this dry channa and a little piece broke of. What bad can a little piece do, I though to myself. It was just a little piece. I was wrong. One month goes by and another piece comes off. In summary, I have 70% of my tooth still hanging on to the ligaments and the lower jaw bone and two 15% pieces have independently broken off. Now I am mildly concerned, keyword: 'mildly'. The pieces breaking off cause no pain, so I say, what the hell...it'll be fine. It is needless to say that I was wrong again. If I wasn't, this blog would never be written. I would be one happier and relatively wealthier Bong dude.

Apparently, the tooth already had a small cavity on it before I chose to buy spicy little roasted channas for snacks. The channa only helped cause a crack on the already weak tooth. I am speaking about the infamous No. 31. The broken pieces only helped the cavity to spread faster, access juicy nerves quicker and cause indescribable amounts of pain. This coupled with a super strong bone structure, kudos to my strong genetic ancestry of the Mukhopadhyay's, rendered two attempts of pre-root-canal anesthesia useless.

Add to this a wisdom tooth, mis-directed No. 32, I am going in for oral surgery. This is where you start singing a different tune...Anesthesia is bliss. Who cares if it is bliss only till anesthesia stays on you and it is all hell when anesthesia wears away? I'll be in bliss Monday morning. It will freaking suck to be me the rest of Monday and Tuesday.

Disclaimer:
I am usually not a whiny cry baby when it comes to pain. Blogging is just an easy way to vent out the negativity and frustration. I promise to provide more jolly blogs after the surgery. Rock on!

Reshma Shah

2007-04-02T05:37:00.000-05:00

My good friend, and possibly my oldest friend by far...has a website of her own. I hear she is a graphic designer of quite a repute and she has created her portfolio on her website: link

The website itself is slick and her work is vibrant, colorful and classy. Check it out and let me know which work you find the best. I like #5 Hindustan Times the best...though #8 Mooch Chap Bidi is the most funny.

HANG TIGHT ... STAY HEAVY

2007-03-31T22:27:00.000-05:00

This is what I mean by STAY HEAVY!!! Metallica has been using this piece to open their concerts since 1983.

A note to fellow drivers in Jacksonville, FL, Southside area...if you hear this piece come up on Sirius Octane and you happen to see a gold Saturn Aura in your rear view mirror, get out of the freakin way! I am not a bad driver but that piece gets me on the move...and you better make way for me.

Please find the original Ennio Morricone version here: link

Fcuked-up No. 31

2007-03-30T18:20:00.000-05:00

As the anesthesia wears away, the numbness turns to pain. I am in too much pain with my number 31 to be considerate of my language. To the dentists, I have a decaying number 31 that needs a root canal. It is the 31st tooth, the molar in the bottom jaw.

The tooth apparently had a decay on it, then it broke and probably exposed the innards to help propagate the decay even further. I now have a super-tooth with super-decay in the back of my mouth that is inflamed enough to not become numb at all no matter how much anesthetic juice is pumped into it. Two doctors with twenty years of practice each have come across probably five such cases where the nerve wont get numb no matter what.

Root Canal Attempt 1, 27 March 2007, Tuesday:
Around five injections to my gums and jaw around the tooth help numb half my head, the right side half. Then my super tooth is ground and three injections in my "super tooth number 31" later, I still quiver with pain when they put something cold against the tooth. The pain does not reduce with the injections, it stays consistent. The doctor sends me home to finish up the anti-biotics that may help reduce the inflammation internally, keyword 'may'.

Root Canal Attempt 2, 30 March 2007, Friday:
Around four injections to my gums and jaw around the tooth, I don't seem to mind the numbness like the last time. I am just waiting in anticipation for the dreaded 'cold test'. I like the idea of thinking about the 'cold test'. It will either make your whole body quiver with pain and indicate that you have a fcuked-up tooth or you will feel no pain at all and get ready for the drilling (the root canal process involves drilling into your tooth to reach the nerve attached to your tooth and pretty much drilling that nerve out). Don't get me wrong here that I may have been nervous and anxious. I was very calm and assertive though the whole session. Anxiety only makes your nerves more sensitive. First cold test and the pain is lesser than before. More anesthetic is pumped into my gums and the cold test happens again, and it hurts like hell..and the pain lingers this time...probably for a good 15-25 seconds...felt like days though. The super tooth is further ground to facilitate the injection to penetrate better into the nerve and several failed cold tests later, the dentist announced that he has met his match.

The Verdict:
The difficulty in numbing the tooth probably indicates that whats left of the tooth may not be enough to save it and provide enough footing for the crown to sit on it. Now, I got the general indication that patients and dentists strive to save the tooth first. My case happens to be at the border-line for root canals and I am reluctant to take that chance. Further, I am not emotionally attached to the tooth to want to 'save' it. The other process is to completely extract the tooth (yippeee) and let the gum heal and the bone in the jaw heal, then screw an implant on the bone and put a crown on the tooth. While the doctors have their conference to decide on the future of my tooth, I have to spend more agonizing days pumping pain killers into me.

The Moral:
The moral of the story is: Thank you Wal-Mart for $4 generic drugs and thank you Benefits dept. for dental insurance. I don't even know how much I will be spending on this whole ordeal (even with insurance, the number looks like $1400+) but it is a blessing that my state-of-the-art pain killers are so cheap.

Re: Why Your Home Isin't the Investment You Think It Is.

2007-03-29T20:49:00.000-05:00

I posted a blog with reference to an article in the Wall Street Journal (March 12, 2007) about why investing in homes may not be the best financial decision. Read the original here if you wish: link

Here is a comment on the blog:
Anonymous said...

You are missing a key point here. If you finance your home with an interest only loan, you will pay less than renting to live in a likely appreciating asset, while maximizing your tax deductions. This is teh best of both worlds. Less near term cash outflow,(which you could invest in the market), and an equity stake in an appreciable asset. Of course yoru house could depreciate, but so could your stocks. In addition, for your low low down payment on $100,000 house you can earn 2% -20% on that entire amount, while investing that down payment of let's say $20,000 ,you only earn maybe 11% in the market on that 20k. This is what the stock broker boys and girls never fully disclose, and why real estate has and always will be a nearly gauranteed form of wealth creation.

Therefore, I went ahead and made a few more calculations to my Loan Calc spreadsheet. The screen print you see on the right hand side is from my spreadsheet. It re-affirms Mr. Anonymous that I stand to make a potential profit of over 28% with my three year investment. The best C.D. that I know of gives me around 6% every six months (maybe 12% a year...I am not really sure). Even a 12% is not close enough to the 28%.

I guess my thoughts are headed towards the classic Risk-Return graphs. I could play roulette and have possibly HUGE returns on my little investments but I stand on a high risk too. I appreciate Mr. Anonymous for carrying this debate forward. I am not taking a stand that investing in houses is not right. I guess it would make more sense to read the full article on the Wall Street Journal, but I can not publish a subscriber-only article without breaking copyright laws.

The article also refers to people that bite more than they can chew only to make that killer investment in homes. Further, people borrow against their home loan to plan vacations, renovations and big-screen televisions.

I have bought the author of the article, David Crook's book on home investments. I haven't gotten around to reading it yet, but I am going to before I put my money down on a house.

Re: When Doctors Write

2007-03-29T05:04:00.000-05:00

I thought I needed to share this blog from Freakonomics Blog about these two doctors that have written about the doctors in the profession. I am undergoing a painful root canal so this topic is of particular interest to me. Below is a part of the blog:

And two men have just published non-fiction books that seem sure to enhance the literary reputation of doctors.

The first is Jerome Groopman’s How Doctors Think, which I was asked to blurb – we share a literary agent – and I happily agreed, since I love his writing for The New Yorker. Here’s the quote that Levitt and I supplied: “Jerome Groopman has written a unique, important, and wonderful book about a central paradox of modern life: even though diagnosing an illness is often as much art as science, we want our doctors to speak with scientific surety. Groopman gives a rationalist’s tour of the doctor’s thought processes – or lack thereof – and yet, unlike many rationalists, he never veers toward cynicism. You’ll never look at your own doctor in the same way again – for better or worse.” And I meant every word of it. It is not only Groopman’s intelligence, but also his humanity, that imbues this book with deep meaning.

The second book, Better: A Surgeon’s Notes on Performance, is by Atul Gawande, who also writes for The New Yorker. I haven’t read Better yet, but I loved his previous book, Complications, as well as some of Gawande’s New Yorker pieces that are incorporated into Better. (Particularly memorable were the articles on cystic fibrosis and on the origin of the Apgar test.) Gawande has important things to say about medicine and is a wonderful stylist; if I practiced medicine one-tenth as well as Gawande writes, I would seriously consider opening a little medical practice on the side.

You can read the full blog here. Freakonomics goes on to further talk about how these doctors can write so well. All I can think about is how to get my hands on these books. My shopping cart on Amazon just got heavy.

Macher Jhal (Fried Tilapia in a Spicy Mustard Sauce)

2007-03-29T01:30:00.000-05:00

After a failed attempt in cooking Macher Jhal in Florida using pure engineering instincts without parental supervision, I resorted to what we engineers consider a last resort: get a consultant. The reason of my failure is that I used the British method of cooking macher jhal, which uses english mustard to substitute for the hand-ground mustard seeds (works fantastically only in England). USA loves french style mustard sauce, so the english mustard that I bought was heavy on preservatives. I fried some fish and made the gravy using the preservative rich english mustard and possibly cooked the worst meal in my history. Living with roommates during my master's and having no money for outside food, we (my roommates and I) got pretty proficient at cooking good. We never tried macher jhal though.

My mom visited me for two months this year and she did her own little research to make mustard paste from mustard seeds. Here is how she did it and how I did it last night:

Buy a coffee grinder ($14 at Publix) and grind your mustard seeds to a powder.
Put the powder in a bowl and add water. Mix it. Strain the mustard pieces out.
Fry fish of choice. I used Tilapia fillets.
In a sauce pan, heat oil, add green chillies, add onions and fry till brown. I prefer red onions and you can use it if you wish to feel your eyes being sucked out of their sockets.
Add the mustard strained water to it, add turmeric powder and salt to taste.
Add the fish and let simmer.
Serve over steamed rice.
Enjoy, hopefully.

I am not a cook and having recipes here in my blog is certainly not a trend. All I want to do is share the americanized method of cooking Macher Jhal so my fellow Bengalis (and Bengali food lovers) can feel at home.

Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film For Theaters

2007-03-26T20:05:00.000-05:00

Sven is a die hard fan of ATHF, the series. So much, that I call him 'Master-Shake'. I tried watching it but could not identify with the genre of comedy. He grew up in New Jersey, so he completely does. I guess I did not take an effort to identify with the comedy...till I saw the commercial to the movie. I am hooked to the brilliance of the creators. Now, I completely love the concept and have willingly set my DVR to record all shows.

Here is the trailer:

Also, the Boston incident kinds helped in the publicity. Here is the news link.

Water

2007-03-23T20:28:00.000-05:00

I recently saw the movie Water. It touched me immensely. I can see why it had all that opposition. I have never been an ardent follower of Hindi movies...I just watch the good ones. Most of Amir Khan's work, Nagesh Kukunoor's work is what I like to watch. I like to watch movies that are more realistic and not over the top. Therefore, I can not stand over-glamorized movies like everything that Karan Johar makes, no offense to his work and his fans.

I have had an idea of how the widows were treated back in the day...but watching the raw hypocrisy of the Hindu culture sent a cold chill to my bone. I feel ashamed to be a part of my culture, but I also trust my teachings. Widows are no longer treated with inferiority in most parts of the country any more, but the hypocrisy continues on. No matter how much I hate hypocrisy, I think we all (Indians) have it in our blood. It is a way of life for some people who practice it without intention or knowledge...and some people like me hold dormant hypocritic views.

Yes, I agree that I can be hyporcitic at times but it is like a mirror that makes me look at myself, question my actions and thoughts and hopefully influence me to make the right decision. No matter how optimistically I direct my hypocritic energy, it can't be denied that I harbor hypocritic thoughts. Thoughts that I have to logically reason out. Logical reasoning is an easy exercise for me, being an engineer, I live eight plus hours a day with MS Access queries, Excel spreadsheets and analysis. The only thing dissatisfying about logically reasoning out every problem is that we leave emotions out. Not many ideas can sustain by themselves without emotions as emotion is nature and by denying emotions, we deny nature ( nature can not be denied).

Laya helps keep me from getting too logical. She fills the gaps with emotions. That is the reason why I love her so much. She needs me and I need her.

Dang-Root-Canal

2007-03-21T20:55:00.000-05:00

I have to get a root canal done...not fun. I also have a wisdom tooth t-boning(this is a NASCAR term though I do not watch NASCAR at all. The medical term being 'horizontally impacted') my molars...so I have to get that extracted too. In short, I am officially taking donations as I can not wait till I go to India to get it done. Cheques, cash, money orders...whatever form you see fit....(kidding obviously).

This is a classic picture of a wisdom tooth t-boning the molars. The x-ray is not of my tooth though.

Themata

2007-03-19T16:52:00.000-05:00

I was driving to the Publix by my house to get a sandwich for lunch and drop off my formals to the dry cleaners. I have been listening to Octane on Sirius Radio these days. Caffeine and Octane keep me moving. Anyway this song came up as I was parking and I had to park and blast this one before doing anything else. Hopefully everyone in a 1 mile radius can thank
(a)me for being parked and
(b)Saturn for not making manual transmission Auras because you don't want me to be driving a stick with this song playing...

ROCK ON BROTHERS!

Where do you buy generics from??

2007-03-17T10:24:00.000-05:00

Here is an interesting blog on Freakonomics. The blog speaks about the price disparity between generic medicines in retail stores. Check it out here.
I have a Costco membership and thats where I am going from now on to buy my generics.

I blogged this article so you can read it here. I also share what I find interesting on my google reader. To read what I share, please scroll to the bottom of the page.

Incubus - Anna Molly

2007-03-15T21:55:00.000-05:00

This song gets me going every day. It is clearly one of the best alternative rock songs this season. Hang Tight. Here is more information on the band.

Garden Vegetable Soup

2007-03-15T19:46:00.000-05:00

Mom visited me and lived in sunny Florida with me for two months. This also means that I had fantastic home cooked food for two months straight. She is back to her grind in India now and I have to feed myself. It takes a while to get back to the routine of cooking and managing groceries. I seem to have lost some motivation in cooking. Back in UFL, I would share cooking turns with three other roommates and we had hot fresh food on the table 9 PM every night. Now that I have moved to greener pastures with a job, I have to cook for myself and eat what I cooked for three days. Either that or cook every night. I chose cook a few times a week. Then eating out took over and thats all I did. Deep down in my heart though, I want to eat at home. Thats when Garden Vegetable soup comes in. Thats what I had for dinner, with a couple of pieces of Sesame Chicken that my room mate ordered.

What will motivate me is if I make a list of all that I can cook and plan my week accordingly. I get lazy when I have to come home after a hard day at work and have to think of what I have to cook. Making a list will organize my head enough to cook fresh every day.

Speaking of motivation, I am real motivated to finish off that pecan pie in my fridge. 45 secs in the microwave, and it will be delicious.

Who is the Hottest Mom Online

2007-03-14T16:50:00.000-05:00

'When I hear the word culture, I reach for my pistol.'...Reich Marshal Hermann Goring.

I hold very liberal views but having a 'Hottest Mom Online' competition is pushing it. Hottest Mom In America™ - The search for women who define modern day motherhood; they are beautiful, smart, talented moms who also happen to be HOT!. I am fine till the beautiful, smart and talented part (though I believe that every woman is beautiful, smart and talented), but I can't see HOT and MOM in the same sentence. Competing in a beauty contest is more dignified than competing here. Beauty contests concentrate more towards other aspects of womanhood than just hotness. I am not able to digest a contest being held to measure mothers hotness and I need help to understand it.

Am I being conservative and still claim to have a liberal mind? I am not a chauvinist and I would not like my readers to judge me like that.

My room mate's sister, Misty is competing. She has her video uploaded. You can view it here:

If you can not see the video, there is a glitch in the website. I will rectify it when the video becomes available.

Why Your Home Isn't the Investment You Think It Is

2007-03-13T03:07:00.000-05:00

I have been looking at homes and housing markets in Jacksonville to plan for a prospective home in the early future. Looking at the way the city is set up and the way of life that people are accustomed to, I should either buy a condo at the beach, or a single family home (an independent home siting on a private lot). Condos at the beach go for over $400,000 which make them above my price range. Now that I know that a single family home is my aim, what should by budget be? What drives my budget? A monthly mortgage payment, of-course. What should my mortgage be? I would be comfortable with a low $1000 mortgate payment including taxes and insurance. So, I have created a spreadsheet that you can view here .

I also came across an article in today's wall street journal that speaks about why some people bank too much on their homes as a nest egg (retirement fund) and why that is not the right thing to do. Some people think buying is better than renting.

Here is a part of the article. I hope I am not infringing on copyrights doing this:
Q: But it's certainly better to buy a house than to pay rent.

A: That depends on when you buy, and how long you own. Buy at the wrong time -- like during the kind of buying frenzy that much of the country has just experienced -- and you could well end up wishing you had rented instead.

Boom market or bust, home buying has so many extra costs -- from upfront "points" paid to a lender to title insurance and appraisal fees -- that over the first five to seven years, a renter who invests the equivalent of a down payment in stocks could easily do better overall than a house buyer. Compounding that problem: Most homeowners move within seven years.

As the ownership timeline stretches out to 15, 20 or 30 years, however, the buyer will almost certainly do better than the renter, especially given the tax benefits of paying mortgage interest over traditional rent and the big rebate when the owner finally sells.

But the typical buy vs. rent argument clouds the more important point: A house is an inefficient way of building wealth.

Q: But I have to live somewhere! And I have to pay something for a place to live. Certainly it's better to pay "deductible" mortgage interest than rent.

A: Buying a house with a long-term mortgage is just another form of renting.

Mortgage interest is rent that you pay to your lender for the use of its money rather than to a landlord for the use of his house. Yes, the government picks up a portion of that with the tax deduction, but most of your monthly payment neither builds equity nor is deductible. It just goes down the same black hole that sucks up any other renter's money. And it takes 20 years before a typical borrower pays more principal each month than interest.

"I have to pay something" is a rationale that home buyers use for going deeply in debt and paying tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars in interest to buy a house that, they mistakenly believe, will make a big profit for them down the line.

These two answers made sense to me and got me thinking. The spread sheet was an outcome of that thinking process. I just hope I make prudent financial decisions. I thank all my friends and colleagues for their patience that are current home owners / renters that I keep pestering with my many small questions on home-ownership.

Update, April 2007:
My further investigation here: link

Ma in Jax

2007-03-12T20:39:00.000-05:00

My mom visited me for two months. I have been in the United States for over two and a half years without seeing my family. It was about time for my mom to visit me. Hopefully she had a good time. I enjoyed being with her after so long. She got a taste of the american way of life and some american food. Here are some pictures of her during her last week here. I dont have to write much about how I felt to have my mom with me for two months. Any good son would know how it feels to be with your mom after a long and hard time. I would like to know of her experience, though. It is something that you have to write, Ma, and send to me so I can post it.

Ladies and Gentlemen, here are some pictures of the Mother of the Year!

Miami Downtown Sky

2007-03-07T22:27:00.000-05:00

The Miami sky looks beautiful in a warm May evening in the midst of older buildings and perpetual constructions!

Marginal Revolution: The real questions behind global warming

2007-02-08T23:06:00.000-05:00

I found this interesting:

Marginal Revolution: The real questions behind global warming:

The key issue is what we can expect from China and India. As I understand the evidence, if China and India continue to grow, the United States cannot succeed in much limiting global warming on its own. Let us assume, somewhat dubiously (many European countries are further from Kyoto targets than is the United States), that Europe is already on board, what are the options?

1. China and India are less locked into fossil fuels than is the United States, and as Brazil has done they will take the lead in moving toward energy alternatives. America does not need to get them 'on board,' and given their cooperativeness American energy policy will matter at the margin.

2. We can cut a deal with China and India at a suitably presented international convention. China and India will enforce this deal and abide by it, overcoming previous problems they have had ruling their provinces and avoiding excess decentralization.

3. Forget about the international conference, we can pressure China and India by twisting their arms. Like we've done with the Chinese currency. We also can threaten them with trade taxes, as has been discussed in Europe.

4. We are best saying nothing to China and India and calling no conference. There is some chance they will act unilaterally, out of pride and the desire to upstage the United States. External pressure will be counterproductive, remember British imperialism and the Opium Wars?

5. China and India will continue to be major polluters. If we tax American-generated carbon we pay a big price in terms of economic growth but make no real progress on global warming.

6. We do not know what China and India will do, but the United States is a world leader and ought to move first, set a good example, and do the right thing.

Do we know the relative merits of 1-6? I don't. Keep also in mind that what works for China may not work for India, and vice versa.

Of course #5, however ignoble it sounds, is the most serious argument for doing little or nothing. #6 sounds good, but at what point is the chance of #5 high enough to scare us off?

What would it cost China and India to make progress on global warming? Yes Stern estimates it would be a relatively small percentage of gdp, but that is naive. A major problem is institutional, not technological.

I am reminded of some estimates of the costs of cleaning up avian flu in Asia. Measure how much it costs to kill (or vaccinate) one chicken. Not much. Multiply by the number of sick chickens. You have your number.

Not. Many Asian countries simply can't get rid of avian flu. Their institutions are too weak, too lacking in transparency, too decentralized, and too lacking in accountability.

Or how much would it cost to improve the standard of living in Haiti? A few cops, some rule of law, free trade at the ports, and set up some real schools, right? Under one plausible view of the world, that is only a few billion dollars or so. But if we consider some of the very tight institutional constraints faced in Haiti, most of all the almost total unwillingness of the elites and the common voters to support a better politics, the price can seem almost infinite. Which perspective is correct?

The bottom line: When it comes to global warming, the most important question is how China and India will behave, and what kind of leverage "the good countries," if indeed there are any, might have. The correct answer is not a simple matter of fact, but rather rests upon deep questions of how to measure the costs of institutional change and what we can justifiably take as an open variable amenable to change.

All other issues aside, that is why global warming is such a tough problem. I don't like #5, but if you want to sell me on your solution, talk to me some sense about China and India.

Addendum: Jane Galt has a lengthy post on discount rates.

The Common Cold Virus

2007-02-08T22:45:00.000-05:00

I thought I was impenetrable when it came to cold weather. Growing up in Bombay, I was really cold in temperatures less than 10 Degree celsius, but that was just the first winter. My second winter, I got away with a light fleece jacket and a wool cap. This is my third winter in Florida and I get the common cold virus. I have been spending more time outside this winter with lesser clothes on too. Walking the dog at 6-freakin-30 in the morning, and at 10 pm at night with shorts and a light fleece jacket definitely shows that I have been overconfident with my cold-surviving requirements.

A half day off from work and a few medicines later, I think I have learned my lesson. To all out there, stay warm and drink some hot tea every now and then.

Habijax

2006-12-24T15:45:00.000-05:00

“HabiJax is the local affiliate of Habitat for Humanity International. We are an ecumenical Christian housing ministry that builds affordable houses with God's people in need. Established in 1988, HabiJax built its first three homes and has quickly grown to be the largest U.S. affiliate.”

Bob Carr has a senior engineering position in the team I work with. He has been volunteering with Habitat for Humanity in Jacksonville, Fl (Habijax) to assist them in their new home-building project. Having built houses for a long time, this volunteering work comes naturally to Bob. Having seen homes built by my dad, I have been inclined towards this project. Being an engineer, I raise questions to all things that interest me and answers lead to more questions. I am trying to validate Habijax through this blog.

Why build homes and not condos? Who is it for? Why this cheap? How does it help? Most answers are found on this link but digging into the details completely amazed me. The county has donated them land (free land) in deprived areas. The building materials are being donated by other organizations. Labour is voluntary. Qualified home buyers buy these homes with a zero percent interest for 25 years. They also have to put in a certain amount of labour in building other homes.

Back in India, I had come across a project of building complexes for relocating the needy people living in illegal outfits (slums). They had one such project in Bombay, close to Chembur, but the people who were given these one/two bedroom flats (condos) started selling them off illegally to other people. Easy money. I don’t think they had to put in hours of labour against building their flat, and/or other’s flats. This example is very different from building a 1400 to 1800 sq ft two/three bedroom independent home with yard all around and no garage. That is what Habijax is doing. Owning a home is a very prestigious and important goal for the people of this country. It is a dream and goal for a lot of people. I think, it is more of an ambition for people in USA than for people in Bombay. Once a family gets qualified for a home in Habijax, they are required to and willing to put in extra labour hours on evenings and weekends towards building their house and other’s houses.

I see this as a bigger challenge for America than for India because labour costs in India are so low. Habijax, with its high labour costs builds a home and fulfils the dreams of a family. Also, they improve the property value of deprived areas by having home owners build houses and pay real estate taxes.

I intend to design fool-proof processes for receiving and storing donated home-building materials, and possibly do some hard work building those homes too. I am interested to know is of similar initiatives in India.

The Swamp

2006-12-05T23:04:00.000-05:00

Gators rule the swamp. To the uninitiated, the Swamp is the Gator football (not soccer) field in Gainesville, FL. This season, we haven't lost a single game in the swamp. The stupid Auburn team beat us.

Why am I writing about the swamp? When I said that I might go to Atlanta for a few days this Christmas vacation, Reshma asked me what was to see and do in Atlanta? Well, there aint no beach there for sure (thats why I live in Florida). Plus, I get to see the ocassional Lamborghini and Ferrari in Atlanta which is why I never looked further. Her argument was that in India, if you go from Bombay to Pune, there are new things to see and do. Puneites do some things that you can never see in Bombay and vice versa. So, I went on to explain her the whole thing about the three main cultures of the mid-eastern United States: southern, yankee and people from Texas. Other than that, you pretty much get the same food, clothes, language and way of life all over North America.

Then, there is the Ikea store in Atlanta : the National Gallery in my world, the Coca Cola Bldg etc. I wasn't happy giving these miniscule evidences of diversity. I went to work the following Monday wearing my Gators polo shirt and I was the star. Then I realized: Sports is the culture here. And there is so much variety: college football, NBA, NFL, NHL, PGA and on and on. Just like we have one Cricket in India, they have a dozen sports here.

Southern Sweet Tea

2006-11-19T16:49:00.000-05:00

Sweet tea is a very popular beverage, at least in the southern states. This is my statistically inadequate study of the sweet tea drinking community and its significance in everyday life. I hope you all liked reading about Indian Masalas...now you can wait to read about the sweet tea that Americans use to cool down their mouth, tongue, throat and stomach after a hearty meal of Indian food.

Just returned from a nice thanks giving weekend from West Palm Beach and have to many things to think about. Don't get me wrong, I am fine. Just meeting new people and driving 700 miles opened my eyes to other important matters in life. This also makes me not so interested in writing about sweet tea though I had sweet tea with almost every single meal I had in restaurants and I quite enjoyed it. For more information about sweet tea please visit "History" and "The Wikipedia definition"

Southerners swear by their sweet tea and the Yankees have no ideas about it. My good friend while driving down from Chicago found sweet tea an alien concept till he entered the borders of Kentucky.

I will just be happy with my Limbu-Pani (freshly squeezed lemonade) and if I had my way, would have it at every Mc Donalds, Moes, Sticky Fingers and Outbacks. So, you all southerners, limbu-pani is what we Indians drink.

For the record, the best limbu-pani that I have ever had was the Rs. 2.50 full glass after the Rs. 5/- "Vada Pav" from Kunj Vihar outside the Thane Railway Station. This worked out perfect as it saved me just enough bus fare to go home. A Rs. 10 well spent. I would give the world to have those days back.

How the Indian Masala is perceived in The-Land-of-Opportunities!

2006-11-14T17:55:00.000-05:00

Cilantro (Dhania) is to Sven what Parmesan is to me. I can’t stand the taste and hate the smell. Only that I can not escape Parmesan because every American person true to his country bathes his pizza with parmesan while all Sven has to do is stay away from the Indian Restaurant. So, he hates cilantro but fears “Masala”.

Now, I don’t meant to pick on you Sven, and if you are reading this, no apologies as always. It is perceived here, in America, that Masala is a spice. It is referred to more as a proper noun than a collective noun. I tried at first, that the Chicken Handi Masala has a blend of many different spices that add more to flavour and aroma than anything else. The hotness is from something else. That scared them even more. The word “Curry” shares a similar status (not the scary part, just the collective noun part) in London’s Brick Lane but we will talk about that some other day.

Realising the popularity of the word “Masala”, I set out on a venture to the local Indian Store, the House of Spices. Indian stores and restaurants are mostly called one of three: Taste of India, India Gate, Taj India. This one is an exception to the rule, but the difference stop at that. Everything inside is the same, including the absurd prices. A packet of 12 kachoris - $2.99 (Rs. 134/-); Mothers Recipe mango pickle - $3.99(Rs. 179.55); Parampara Masala packet of Egg Curry - $3.99(Rs. 179.55) and so on. So, I look for all the items displayed and pretty much everything has Masala written on it. The khakra, frozen parathas probably send on their cryogenic journey years before they can see a tawa, the pickles, everything.

Now, if my friends happen to venture into this store, they see masala-this and masala-that, they will think all Indian food is masala. This implies that Indian food is no longer the subtle art of blending spices with carefully chopped and marinated food items coupled with a balanced diet. It is a spicy blend of Masala that will get you running for the super-bowl, if you know what I mean ;-). This is true to an extent. In the Indian restaurants, you will find food that you normally find in restaurants in India: Tikka Masalas, Biriyanis and Koftas. The food that makes Indian culture, that we grow up on, the Shukto, Aalu Bhate, Dal Tadka, aalu bhaja, Saguti Wade, pomfret fry and finish everything off with kokam kadi is not available in restaurants. Southern American cuisine, however, is available in restaurants just like they are at home. Of course, they lack the Mother’s touch, but they are at least available.

I wish the local Indian restaurant would serve shukto and saguti wade. That’s the Masala I want. That will be a good portrayal of the Indian Culture. For the time being, I settle for Cajun stuff and country fried chicken. That is a good southern American meal. Give me some pumpkin bread and butter with the country fried chicken and mashed potatoes and I will eat till my buttons pop out.

Most Indians do a mean thing when they come into this country; they think and believe that Americans have no culture. That is downright unfair. If you want to know a culture, start with the food. I believe culture influences food to a great extent and if you start with the food, not only will you have a good time, but will also find a culture that you didn’t think existed.

Nidradevi

2006-11-13T02:08:00.000-05:00

Dont you have one of those days that you can not sleep. This is the second time this year that I am just not able to sleep. The mind is too preoccupied. Preoccupied enough to not rest at all. I close my eyes but nothing. The mind is breaking speed records at the salt lakes of Utah. I just lay down and think. Think about the day that lies ahead and about all that has gone by.

I have a busy day ahead. I start by taking Laya to the vet by 7 am. Then an early start at work. I have a deliverable by 10 am, then a meeting with one of the Directors and my boss. Back to the vet at lunch to pick up Laya..she is having her fleas treated. Drop her home and back to work to crunch numbers and bring costs down. This time, we are talking in millions.

Dont get me wrong. I enjoy my work. It is just that the day I needed Nidradevi to co-operate, she doesn't. The last time I could not sleep, I took a drive to the beach. The beach was empty. The sky was dark. The sea was dark. The waves crashed invisibly. They sound more intimidating when you are by yourself and all you can hear is the sound of the breaking waves. Those waves rule the beach at that time of the night. Before the joggers and walkers with their dogs can arrive to claim the beach one last time, the waves rule. It was like the waves were talking to me. Weighing in their power over me. I had run to the beach because I couldn't sleep that night. I could not sleep because I was upset and pondered over a matter of great concern. An event in my life at that time that was important to me. I was seeking recluse at the beach beneath the pitch black sky. The waves were like God's voice saying that he had his power over me, instantly making me feel better.

I went home that night to catch a few winks before showing up for work. That morning, the Sun looked bright and warm as ever.

Tonight's lack of sleep is not for any mental agony. I am just thinking of too many things and my mind is traveling all over the place. I think I need that sunshine today. Weather.com says sunrise at 6:50 am today. I will be at the beach with Laya to catch the first rays of warmth.

Laya

2006-11-12T20:41:00.000-05:00

I have finally solved the mystery of what my dog’s name is. She is a retired racing greyhound. I adopted her from the racing kennels. Now, if you have been to the greyhound racing kennels in the United States, you would know that the dogs have funny names: Potrs Rachel, Gsi Susan, Oliver Cromwell, DG’s U Too, Pat C Thanks etc. My dog was named Zelaya. So, you can guess that behind every weird name is a nicer name…like Rachel, Susan, Oli, DG, Pat and Laya. For some reason, the adoption people called her as Layla. Now only if I knew where Majnu was!

I was moderately satisfied with the name thinking that she lived with it for three years that there is no point in changing it now. If you are thinking why she is retired at 3 yrs of age, well, greyhounds only race till about four years of age. Then they are either bred after that or left to be adopted. Two months into her adoption, I have finally received all her papers, birth certificates, names of her parents and both sets of grand parents and a CD with her racing videos. All have her named Zelaya. So, as of today, 12 November 2006, I name her Laya for all practical purposes. My friends that live by the Jedi code love that name as it rhymes with Princess Leia.

There are other reasons for me to revert to Laya from Layla. The image I get from the name Layla for a dog is some show dog like a Pomeranian or a Poodle that’s dainty and showy. My dog is downright lazy. Lays down on her favourite spot on the couch all day. That’s Laya. Don’t think that she is not a good dog to be lazing around like that all day. That is how greyhounds are. They are sprinters and then they relax for the rest of the day. I wanted a laid back dog because I am laid back too. I did not want a Labrador or a Beagle who are on play-mode all the time. And frankly, Laya gives me some competition in being laid back. She used to follow me around the house before, if I went to the kitchen or my bedroom. Now, she just watches me, maybe props her head up a little. I can almost hear her say,” Where did you go? Is there any point in following you? I guess not. I will be right here if you need me.”

So, coming to the point of why I wanted a dog in the first place. I never had a dog in my family ever and was downright afraid of dogs. What changed? Well, I got too cold in the heart and wanted some warmth back. Got cold in the heart trying to get to where I am today. My one and a half years at the University of Florida was very challenging. My father paid for my tuition fees but I lived by myself, worked twenty hours a week in the middle of ten credits of gruelling master’s courses. I made less money than what I needed to live on. I worked at the Taco Bell frying nachos, empanadas and tacos, and then graduated to making pizzas and pastas as a cook for Gator Dining. They eventually saw potential and gave me a 20 cent raise and let me handle the grill. Now, I was cooking salmon, pork and chicken filets. Next, I was a lab assistant to work in the corn fields for two months. The research eventually ran out of funds and I was laid off in the middle of the semester when every other part-time job on campus is full. Then came summer and being unable to secure an internship at what I do best – Industrial Engineering – I resorted to being a student assistant for $6.50 and hour. The icing was that I could work 40 hours for summer. Having made some savings, I blew it up on medical insurance for fall 05 and the numerous car rentals for job interviews. You see where this is all going? To add on that, I haven’t been to India in over two years. Come December, I finally managed to secure a full time job position as a Logistics Engineer in a firm with an international presence.

This was my first time with a stable and high paying job after the numerous hits and misses as cooks and lab assistants while a student. Not every job was bad. Fall 2005, I worked as a student assistant with the Map and Imagery library. To any UFL student that reads this blog, it is, by far, the coolest place to work at. I had the nicest supervisor at the library and to this day and I visit the library and her any time I go to Gainesville.

None the less, this whole experience of living on a tight budget had made me quite cold and I needed the warmth back. That’s where greyhounds came in. My buddy got Streaker and two months later, I got Laya. That’s the time it took me to overcome my fear of dogs and get one myself.

Now, I do sometimes think if it was wise of me to get into a binding with the dog because when you get a dog, you pretty much reconfigure your schedule around your dog. Wake up at 6:15 am and walk the dog, come home for lunch and walk the dog, come back from work and walk the dog, walk the dog before bed time. It is almost like being a single daddy. Hats off to all the single moms out there! Laya has brought the warmth back to my heart. She is my family now, at least here. She gets all happy and excited when I come home, runs around me, tries to play with me, then I take her for a walk. Back from the walk, she just lays on the sofa watching me. She sits by the kitchen when I cook and outside the bathroom when I shower. When I sit by her, she just puts her head on my lap acknowledging me as her friend and companion. After all, I gave her a home and lots of love. Dogs understand love easier than we humans do. They have a beacon for affection. They get pulled towards warmth and happiness like a magnet and in my case, Laya brought warmth and happiness to me.

Probashi

2006-11-12T20:38:00.000-05:00

Born in Chandernagore, WB...grew up in Bombay. That makes me probashi. Never understood why there should be a distinction between bengali's in West Bengal and those that migrated to greener pastures. To the uninitiated, 'Probashi' is a term in Bengali that means that a person/persons is/are not living in the home state and are Bengali's, but in another part of the country.

I grew up in a bengali rich family. My parents had always been big into Bengali literature and Bengali music. Always attended Durga pujas in the various pandals in Bombay. Then moved to Thane and had our own little community, and our own Durga pujas, Saraswati pujas etc. Helped around with the festivities. Distributed Bhog after the puja. Still wondered what the difference was between the non-probashi's and the probashis. Other than the fact that every calcutta trip reaffirmed constantly: people there are lazy and the life is real slow, I did not quite grasp the reason to call us probashi's probashi. Speaking of my trips to calcutta, my cousins and friends always thought that I see Sachin Tendulkar and Amitabh Bachhan on a regular basis. Do you other probashi's living in Bombay get that when you visit Kolkatta.

Three years later in a cool Fall night in Florida, I decided to find a 'Mukherjee' group on Orkut. Orkut is today's more popular net-friend-finder site. Though everybody wants to convert me to GAZZAG. Already a failed member of Facebook and Hi5, a dormant member of MySpace and a somewhat active member of Orkut, I think it is enough for me now. Back to the Mukherjee group. It was happy to see that some mukherjee had decided to form a group on Orkut. I later found out that there were two more groups. So, I joined the one that looked most popular. This is another funny thing about joining groups on Orkut. Your groups tell more about you than your profile does. And all groups do is send you a bundle of emails that you delete anyway. Alright, so I am browsing through this group and all my thoughts about being Probashi comes back at me. This group spoke in a language that I am not aware of. It might be the case that I have been away from India for a while now..2 yrs and counting...and probably the same amount of time away from Bengalis and the Bengali culture. Now, I can not even identify myself to this group.

There is someone asking what surname goes well with mukherjees..as she is considering it for marriage. Here is the introduction to the discussion topic:

ideal match...
tomader ki mone hoy..kon surname amader shonge shobtheke bhalo match kore..maane biyer byapaare....
Translation: What surname according to you matches best with our (mukherjees) surname with respect to marriage! Alright...some one with too much time and hopefully too many choices for marriage is trying to choose one person like choosing earings to match with a saree.

Another post. Ghoti na Bangal.
What is Ghoti, what is bangal. I almost called up my mom 10.5 hours and 6000 miles away. What did you forget to mention about me ma? What am I? Ghoti or Bangal? Apparently it is important as every member decided to declare what they were and there is an active count going on.

Correction. I just called up my mom. She is a bangal, dad is a ghoti, me born in west bengal that makes me a ghoti. What a relief!! I was lost for a moment. Lost enough to start this blog. What if I was born in bombay? What would that make me? This is getting too complicated. So, I am a ghoti first, then a probashi, then an NRI now. I flip through the forums on that site and all those people (most based in and around Kolkatta) speak this lingo that I am unaware of. This culture that I am distant from. It is these forums that make me understand what probashi means.

But why the distinction? Havent we had enough? Men - Women, Gay - Straight, Hindu - Muslim, Black - White, Yankee - Southern. Now, we want to take it to another level of Probashi - Non-probashi. Not satisfied yet....Ghoti or Bangal? But I see hope in our generation. I see more people recognising these distinctions and working with them instead of building bigger walls.