Walking with Spirit to Dakota and Pluto

I’ve written about the pony before. The daughter loved riding that pony, Spirit, so much, that this was her entry for the Google Doodle.

Keena Google Doodle

I was pleasantly surprised at this entry of hers. She practiced it on her little drawing board multiple times over. It started off with a barn and then morphed into the all-to-do-with-horses theme.

Maybe an occasional day with horses could be her indulgence we thought to ourselves and arranged for another pony ride for her. But this time, they gave her a horse, and told her she could ride it herself. Tell the husband something like this and his inner hero rises automatically. “Don’t worry!” he tells her. “I will ride with you on another horse to make sure you are fine. Don’t worry!”

“But I am not worried!” laughs the daughter rolling her eyes perfectly at this (an art form that seemed to be have been honed over decades of practice, but it can’t have been seeing that she is less than a decade old)

Stung, the husband said, she did not know anything about galloping horses and he would be her savior if the need arose. So, the pair of them set off to get saddled and bridled or whatever else horse-riders and their mounts do. The first thing they were required to do was to fill a form asking if they’ve ridden horses before. The daughter proudly answered ‘Yes’.

The husband flashed his mind back to the time his parents had arranged for him to mount a well-nourished donkey that called itself a horse on the beaches of the dirty Marina Beach in Chennai at the age of 9 and decided to answer ‘No’. “That horse”,he said later, “used to stray off to eat peanuts and trash paper on the beach completely forgetting that a rider was upon it!”

keena riding

The daughter was assigned Pluto and the husband Dakota. Dakota was supposed to follow Pluto. The husband was to chase after the galloping Pluto remember? They waved their good-byes and set off. From here on, I enter the terrain of pure hearsay. The accounts of the husband and the daughter diverge a good deal, and I have taken the liberty of constructing my own sequence.

The husband says that Dakota seemed to think Pluto was his playmate and took great pleasure in tickling Pluto on his hind. The daughter says that Pluto was doing fine till Dakota annoyed him. Pluto and Dakota reached an impasse and one of the instructors had to intervene and send Dakota ahead of Pluto.

There was another problem: Dakota differed from the horse on Marina Beach in one respect only. It went for grass and not paper and trash, but that may be because the trail upon which they rode did not have paper and trash. It kept going off to eat grass and straying from the path.

The daughter had to take on the role of savior and had to shout out instructions to the husband on how to reign Dakota in and keep him on the path. The husband hotly contests this and says he knew all along how to go about horse riding, but did not want to yank at the reins for it might hurt the horse.

What can I say?! Potato – Potaato.

 

3D Arguments

I often see people at meetings, lunches, trains and restaurants looking down and screwing their otherwise normal eyes into weird angles while concentrating on their phone screens.

Looking down and looking intent achieves two purposes in public:

1) Look important : I am sorry, did I just miss something? That should be okay because I was catching up on something else and if the something trumps the s.else that I just missed, I am sure I will know when I am looking at the phone in the next meeting what?

2) Look busy: Thanks to modern technology, one has time-wasters at one’s tips. There is Facebook, Twitter and Google Plus and then there are the myriad apps for news and games. All of these allow people to zone out from their current surroundings.

As if this were not enough Samsung is looking to introduce transparent flexible 3D screens. We can look straight at people, and give them the illusion of listening to them, while the TV screen flashes in front of you. I wonder how old couples’ quarrels would like when this becomes commonplace.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2070741/Samsungs-transparent-flexible-screen-3D-real-looks-like-touch-it.html

3dtv

Of Whales, Monkeys and Bindis

I know what I am about to say can be taken the wrong way. But are we really better than whales or monkeys?

For a people that prides itself on its culture and spends hours touting its alleged superiority, Indians seem to have come in behind whales and monkeys when it comes to embracing more people into our culture. I can’t tell you the number of times the Indian cultural police have hit the headlines complaining about the influence of the Western culture on the modern youth. Yet, when the modern w. youth does adopt one of the Indian cultural practices, what did they do?

I am referring, of course, to a slightly dated story on Selena Gomez sporting a bindi. I spent a good portion of my life being pulled up by random aunts, uncles, not to mention my dear mother about not sporting a bindi.

This cartoon sums up the Bindi troubles of any South Indian Brahm lass (Got this from http://tambrahmrage.tumblr.com/ – I tried to find the link to this post, but couldn’t. Luckily I had sent it for laughs within my family a while ago)

 

pottu yenga

So, I expected the news that Selena Gomez was wearing one to strengthen their position. I mean, all they had to say was: “It is even fashionable, you still don’t want a bindi?”

I expected the Indian c.police to namaste-her, make an example of her and what not. What they proceeded to do, instead, was ask her to learn of the deep cultural ramifications of the bindi and enlightened folks like me about how it is not a fashion accessory.

http://www.usmagazine.com/celebrity-style/news/selena-gomez-wears-bindi-for-4th-time-despite-controversy-2013254

I can see your eyebrows shooting past the bindi mark now.

Bindi

Well, the news item I read had nothing to do with bindis. It has to do with how these species learnt cultural behaviors from one another and adapted to changing conditions. Bringing more to the fold was critical to adaptation.

http://phenomena.nationalgeographic.com/2013/04/25/on-copyca-whales-conformist-monkeys-and-animal-cultures/

Clearly, we are lacking there. Also, it was just cool to link the cultural adaptations of monkeys, whales and humans.

That also correlates with this study where Indians ranked near the very bottom of the pile of folks surveyed, they would much rather live near themselves than welcome racial ethnicity. Even when they wear bindis.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/worldviews/wp/2013/05/15/a-fascinating-map-of-the-worlds-most-and-least-racially-tolerant-countries/?hpid=z2

And so it goes ….

Buggy Drivers

I sometimes wonder what it would be like to have self driven cars as the norm. I would love to use the time towards things I enjoy more than driving. Reading, for instance, or writing. I spent the morning crawling across 5 miles that I could have run across in the same time. When this happens, the mind looks for options and what a beautiful option Science threw my way!

Some scientists in Tokyo got moths to drive a free moving polystyrene ball. I quote:
The moths would scramble, or dance, across the surface, moving the ball, which moved the vehicle.

http://www.npr.org/blogs/krulwich/2013/05/08/182312510/moths-that-drive-cars-really

“Awesome!” I thought to myself and read on. Already envisioning a larger moth at the wheel of my car while I lolled around in the back. I wouldn’t have to make conversation with the moth, I could even sleep! *Gasp* A smile was slowly coming across my face.

I had hardly gone past a few paragraphs with that smile when this put a stopper on my daydreams.

The problem is, they didn’t know they were driving. They are moths, after all. What they thought they were doing was zeroing in on a lady moth. Dr. Ando procured a supply of moth perfume, the pheromone scent of an aroused female, placed it at the end of a tube, turned on a tiny fan and blew the scent at the male.

Buggy Driver

I am not sure I would like to entrust my precious life to a moth who is more interested in showing off for the female species. I mean what if this moth smelt a tantalizing fe-moth in the ocean or flying t. moth above? Too risky if I intend to nap in the backseat, on the whole.

As a software engineer, I should have known to stay away from buggy drivers – sigh!

Google’s self driving cars seem to be a better bet for now.

The Amway Pistachio Flavor

One fine evening, I found myself strolling along in the bookstore, breathing in the books and smiling more than was strictly necessary, reading a page there and a page here. Mentally noting which ones to buy and keeping a stash of potentials etc. A friendly person came up to me and asked me to suggest a book for her to read. My eyes popped a bit at first, but I asked her what kind she likes. She looked at the shelf nearby and said, “Fantasy. But I am really looking for a change. So, I was hoping you will be able to help me out with some titles you like.”

Ask me something like that and I can get a bit carried away. I set aside the stash I had in my hand, flipped to my notes and got to work.

My suggestions included picks from historical fiction, non-fiction, biographies, autobiographies, business, literature, Indian authors, short stories and would have gone on. I mean I had really opened my heart up. I had my phone open and was reading her titles I had noted down earlier and was giving her the tour. I must’ve talked for 3 minutes straight before I realized that her eyes had a slightly glazed expression making her look like a Krispy Kreme doughnut. She didn’t look all that interested in what I was saying. I paused for a second and she asked me what I did. I gave her an answer and asked her what she did.

She looked at me and said she runs a business. She had one of those young, enthusiastic smiles and apart from not being interested in the list of books I suggested, seemed nice enough. So, I gushed, “Wow….that is lovely. What kind of business do you run?”
“I run a skin care business. I could suggest some things for your face right away to make you glow.”

I didn’t think my face needed any work in the glowing department given that I was standing under some harsh lights in a bookstore. I told her that I don’t really use too many skin care products. I bristled a bit. I hadn’t suggested a doughnut shop for her after all, why should she offer me help on glow or lack thereof?

Conversation languished for a bit after this. I was keen to get to my books and she was keen to get my face to glow. She talked of this and that, told me she had moved to the US recently and invited me to her home. I thanked her for the invite, encouraged her on her business prospects and moved on.

“You didn’t give her your number did you?” asked the husband later with an amused smile playing on his lips
“No…but I sent her an email so she would have my mail id. Why?”
“The Amway Pistachio flavor, that’s why.” said the h.
“What? No way she was Amway! I mean she was so friendly, and she even invited me to her home for a cup of tea.” said I.
“Oh and how many people you see for the first time in shopping aisles do you invite for tea to your home?”
The husband had a point, and I stopped midway through my retort to mull things over. The more I mulled, the more apparent it was that I had in fact been taken.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amway

I’ve lost my touch I tell you. Scalded cats used to take training sessions from me before getting scalded I mean. So, they would know what to do when scalded. I would go shopping or browsing and I could spot folks from Amway a mile away. The moment I spotted them, I would hide in nooks or clamber up shelves to avoid them. Then, reeking with pride, I would gush about the best techniques to avoid them.

But like creatures of prey, these folks evolve. I was used to looking out for apparently friendly folks who ask me if I am from Chennai based on the fact that I hollered to the errant child trying to topple themselves down from somewhere in Tamil. I would then put on a stern face and say ‘No!’ and move away. Or they would ask for some advice on products that I knew they weren’t buying just to get the conv. ball rolling and I would know.

Maybe of late, I have not lingered at store aisles long enough but I haven’t seen the Amway sales specialist in a long time. I feel bad for them. If their best business prospects are picking up folks on random store aisles by sacrificing their week-ends, the business can’t be a very enjoyable one can it?

The Real Estate Tent

I am not much of a financial-reports-reading sort of person. I can’t call myself as having my pulse in the economic hub of things, but I know the housing market is picking up in the US. “How?” you ask. You see, the market only has to increase slightly every other day and a glossy piece of paper arrives with a picture of a realtor on it.

I suppose somebody told the realtor community that posting their own pictures on pamphlets appeals to folks.

“Look friendly, look approachable and open and smile!” says the photographer before clicking away.

So, every single one of them wills themselves to put up pictures of themselves. The problem is that some people want to look sincere too. But when they have to also look approachable and open and warm, they are trying really hard to put a lot into that smile and the results are slightly bizarre. There was one realtor whose picture looked like she was pursued by a clown down a scary path that leads into a forest with a puppet party at the end of the path and the only thing to lead her to the puppet party was a nasty smell that she was sniffing out sincerely.

Every time a realtor leaves their precious picture on my doorstep, I smile (a genuine smile) and look at the pictures. I must note down what I think of each realtor without knowing a thing about them and make a collection of it. Of course, real estate is a tough business and people try all the options available to them. Mostly I bestow a benign eye at their attempts and wish them luck, but this one went a bit too far in my opinion.

This was his pamphlet:

Image

I am all for enthusiasm, don’t get me wrong here. I am an enthusiastic person myself, but I know to draw the line. Really! This is MY house he are talking about. What does he mean by saying “I want to sell it immediately?”

I suppose realtors will soon be leaving complimentary tents along with their pamphlets so we can camp out in neighboring fields while they sell our house!

I like the gall. Just for that, I am not selling my house! I should take a print-out of that and give it back to him with a picture of myself on it. You know? Frighten the fellow a bit.

Sense of Humour? Wicked!

I sometimes wonder why people have such a wicked sense of humor (How do you pluralize sense of humor? Is it sense of humors or senses of humor or senses of humors)

I remember one time walking down the street in the evening and admiring the beauty of the large moon. The next day, I see a you-tube video pasted all over my Facebook page explaining the beauty of the moon and how to make sure that the phenomenon was really a matter of perception. When closer to the horizon, it seems bigger, that is all.

The problem is not the video. The problem is the place asking one to verify for yourself by bending and observing the moon through your legs like this:

Image

Before you know it, the roads are full of chaps bending over and trying to verify the size of the moon through their legs. There is nothing more inviting for a practical joke than a person attempting that on the road. Do you think there is some kind of reality video app for everyone who clicked the video to see them bending over and making fools of themselves on the street? There was one man who was wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase. He had that prosperous-lawyer-or-accountant look about him. One minute, he was breezing along admiring the large moon and the next his stride faltered. It is hard to see whether a man is blushing from the back, but in his case, proved easy. He was blushing pretty indeed. He looked discreetly over his shoulder, discovered we were walking behind him, and might boot him on the back if he exposed himself to the risk and shelved the idea. But, had he been a man of stronger nerves, I should not have been surprised if I had seen him peering through his legs at the moon.

There are three or four methods by which people get you.

I don’t know whether you’ve seen these numerous posts that tell you life’s most wondrous things will unfold before if you cock your eyes and type ‘1’. I usually ignore these, but gave in to my curiosity just once. I cocked my eyes and sat at the edge of the chair waiting for life’s mysteries to unfold before me as I typed ‘1’. But I swear nothing happened. Nothing. I suppose that is the mystery of life.

There is nothing to expect when you expect it.

Then of course, there are these huge matrices of letters telling you that the first word you find describes you the best. I found ‘TUB’ I wonder what that means…oh well.

How Public Policy Shapes Life

Public policy is powerful. Public policy shapes our daily actions more than we realize. There are also results that are not always foreseen by the policymakers.

Take the experience of shopping for instance. Recently, the county we live in passed a decree that forbade businesses from doling out plastic bags. We could buy one for 10c if really wanted, but the idea was to encourage more environment friendly bags.

Where before, people were before doing their shopping in the most organized manner possible and sometimes preferring to finish up their grocery alone, the recent public policy of no plastic bags and charging 10c for the bags has increased family togetherness.

I walk into stores and I see large families shopping together. There is a sea change I tell you. The change is best explained in the check-out lanes where the harassed looking clerks ask you whether you would like a bag for 10c and you look him in the eye and say, “No Siree! No I don’t. You see I have 5 children of my own and I offered to babysit three of my neighbors. Then, I just borrowed a bus and came grocery shopping!”

There is a look of utter disbelief on the clerk’s face. The table is full of groceries and the customers have no bags! This is when the customers stoop in with a bugle call to the children, “So Ed, Louis, Dennis and Menace pick up the bread, milk, meats and sauces. Don’t hold the eggs and yogurt in one hand Millie! Tie a string around the goat cheese and hang it around the baby’s neck. Anne, do you have the pastas? Good! Whose that child? Does she belong to our party?”

“Yes Father.”
“Well…come here then and lend a hand with the ice creams young lady.” Nobody is spared. The produce is collected and the family outing is done without spending a dime on bags.

Image

That is economy.

PS: I like the idea of no plastic bags, and marvel at how a simple policy can change people into bringing their own bags. The environmental awareness was the same before, yet the implementation of the policy made all the difference.

The Distinguished Frog

I attended a conference recently. While there, two aspects of my brain were exploding. One was the silly part of it, and of course the other was the real theme of the conference. As usual, I am here to blog about the former, since the latter will be up on you-tube in a series of presentations in one form or the other.

The proceedings started and all the folks were busy gorging at the free Continental Breakfast Line. There is something about these breakfasts that have people starting off with a muffin, then moving on to yogurt followed by orange juice and then coffee before having another muffin. It happened right when folks were stuffing their third muffin into their mouths. A busy looking man with a shiny pate came up to the front of the room and addressed the audience. A respectful hush fell upon one and all. He said a few words about why we were all gathered there, and then said, “Well….this wonderful person here is going to facilitate the proceedings and he, as you all know, needs no introduction!”

I have been to tons of programs where people start the proceedings by saying, “Mr. Gasbag here is very famous and needs no introduction.” When this happens, I settle down deeply in my chair to listen to the 15 minute introduction that follows, ripe with details the audience had no clue about and in some cases what Mrs Gasbag did not know.

But this time it was different. Mr Shiny Pate kept mum after this, while polite laughter broke out through the room. He smiled at the poor fish and bid him to come up to the front of the room. The poor wonderful-person now made it awkwardly to the limelight. I have a feeling Mr. S. Pate might have forgotten his name, but all the same, that was quite a jar.

The whole audience gulped their muffins as one. Because, apart from a handful of folks in the room, the rest did not know the wonderful-person at all. Meanwhile, it was almost as if I could see the debate raging in his head. “Do I introduce myself? Or don’t I introduce myself? Am I distinguished enough or am I not? ” He gulped and he finally decided against it. He decided to test his popularity and it must have hurt him. He was one of those academic types who are happiest when analyzing the result of their latest research paper, not winning popularity contests.

It was the wrong choice. Just as soon as he skirted the introduction and started on the agenda instead, I saw that the room, like myself, was scrambling at the packet handed to us to see who he was.

Well, that shows us doesn’t it? One may be the most distinguished frog in the pond, but when frogs from other ponds gather, where are we?

Image

This picture is so bad, I should have actually gone for the one I liked on google images – sigh!

The Journey starts with Garbage Trucks

I spent the morning on the curb wearing a jacket over my frumpy night-clothes with an infant in my arms. The mists had not yet lifted, and I yearned for the warmth of the bed. Unlike me, the infant was fully awake and extremely excited at the sight before him. He gasped in awe and chuckled with glee. We were watching the garbage truck and the driver do his duty.

photo (2)

My mind was pulled back 15 years when the similar thing was being done for the nephew. His ambitions wavered with time of course. But the solid one for a few years was to be a garbage truck driver. The garbage truck drivers must look grand to their little eyes: Sitting high on their seats like exalted thrones, manning the wicked machines and watch as cars steered respectfully from them.

I remembered taking the nephew on trips in India more than a decade ago. He would insist on waiting for a bus with two ladders in the back. Like fools, we would let buses go by waiting for the two-laddered ones, because he believed that those buses traveled faster.

Today is the nephew’s birthday and I watch with love and pride as he looks to enter college in the fall.

A honk pulled me back to the present. The son was beside himself with glee. The garbage truck driver was honking and waving at him before turning away from our street. My star-struck son and I came home to call and wish my nephew a happy birthday!

Life has its deja-vus.