Tag: News

The Joy of Quiet

2011 seems like a blur. An important blur on the timeline of my life. The year my Tucky was born. I savour the beauty of my pregnancy, the occasional impatience to see my little one while pregnant. Then, the beautiful moment of seeing his face. I shall always remember my daughter traipsing into the delivery room dressed in a fine party dress. When I quizzed her about the choice of clothes, she gave me an exasperated look and said, “Amma, Tucky is seeing me for the first time today. Of course, I have to wear my best clothes!” She quickly added that she knew I couldn’t help being shoddily dressed for the occasion since I was in hospital (Always considerate for my feelings, my little one is!). Oh! The innocence and beauty of it all. The essence of all I admire about life.

We get but one life and what we choose to do with it is our choice. There are so many venues competing for your time and attention that if one is to become a decent success at anything and make the commitment of time, we feel it had better be worth it. But how does one determine what draws the lottery of the limited time available?

I think this is the best past-time and the one that is most prized. Enjoying the maze of our own thoughts, a calm in the chaos.

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/01/opinion/sunday/the-joy-of-quiet.html?pagewanted=2&_r=2&nl=opinion&emc=tya3

I quote:

Nothing makes me feel better — calmer, clearer and happier — than being in one place, absorbed in a book, a conversation, a piece of music. It’s actually something deeper than mere happiness: it’s joy, which the monk David Steindl-Rast describes as “that kind of happiness that doesn’t depend on what happens.”

Here is to finding that calm and that peace in us in 2012.

Happy New Year all!

Zero email policy!

I suppose it is an occupational hazard of being in the echelons of upper management. Let a flowing river flow and pretty soon people start questioning why you are there, if the river is flowing perfectly well by itself. Put up too many dams and you have environmental groups shouting that their dearest wish is to see you drown in those very dam’s waters. So, what is a person supposed to do? I’ve noticed that anyone who comes in sees an immediate need to do something.

Give a child some clay and he will blend and mould the clay into flowers, or worms. Give him some building blocks and he will build something. Give him people and he will re-organize. There is a sort of dull resignation to these re-organizations that come over the ages.

But, this is new.

http://www.linkedin.com/news?actionBar=&articleID=946724522&ids=0Vc3oSd3oSd3AId3kRdP8Od3gVb38Sej0PdPsPeiMOczkQczsSd3AIcPARdj8Od3gV&aag=true&freq=weekly&trk=eml-tod2-b-ttl-1&ut=3MAoDOEErfnR01

This company decided the change is not in making Paul report to Tom instead of Harry, but to make Paul, Tom and Harry stop emailing each other. Email can be a waste of time, but it isn’t without its advantages. Any day, give me email over SMS and pagers. I mistakenly thought that what these visionaries were going for was increased efficiency because of the barrage of emails throttling their system. Turns out I was wrong. I quote:

That’s why he hopes the company can eradicate internal emails in 18 months, forcing the company’s 74,000 employees to communicate with each other via instant messaging and a Facebook-style interface.

I don’t understand how this is supposed to work, but isn’t this a bit like saying “I will throw the wood chunks in the river, and you stand along and fish for those that have an interest to you.” Some days, you can stand fishing or wooding all day and come up empty, so, you decide that enough is enough and get down to do some work, when the crate of wood meant for you flowed down the message river, leaving you looking pretty stupid.

There is this though. One can always rely on the echelons to give us musing material.

Art & Science of Idli Making: Foreword By Shri. Kapil Sibal Ji

http://india.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/12/05/india-asks-google-facebook-others-to-screen-user-content/

When I read articles such as this, I have a lump in my throat. Such altruistic cabinet ministers we have. They spend all their lives just giving and giving. In the article, Kapil Sibal (acting Information Minister in the Govt of India) summons representatives from Facebook, Google and Microsoft and asks them to use humans to scan and approve content before it is posted.

“In the second meeting with the same executives in late November, Mr. Sibal told them that he expected them to use human beings to screen content, not technology, the executive said.”

I don’t blame him. Kapil Sibal is auto corrected to Kapil Sins. Now, we all know acting cabinet ministers don’t sin. They don’t even ask anything for themselves – all they ask for is increased employment. In a country of a little over a billion people, why can’t Facebook/Google/Microsoft employ all of them to scan all the content being generated by the World Wide Web and approve only what is not objectionable?

Since people are touchy on the topics of religion and caste, let us take the case of idli batter for this exercise. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Idli)
Case : You are a staunch believer of the theory that idli batter needs eight hours to ferment and thereafter needs 7 minutes of steaming on cloth for the best results. Your idlis have been proclaimed to be the best in the country by admiring neighbours, nephews and nieces. Rose petals have gone away scrubbing moisturizer on themselves because they feel hard in comparison. You have spent a good 56 years and 3 months making and giving idlis. Therefore, you are deemed the idli expert and given the daily idli content of the web to review, correct and approve.

The first one is by a girl who calls herself “Dimmi” (“The name you give a dog!”, you think disparagingly and her name has already set her back in the idli content quality in your mind.) To make matters worse, Dimmi says it is best to use a mixie and ferment for 6 hours leaving the oven light on.
The lips purse a bit. Does everybody have an oven? Lips pursed, you continue.
Then, take the batter and make idlis she says.
The pursed lips purse a little further and the need to correct the procedure is overwhelming.
Use a pressure cooker for best results she says and has photos of the whole process!
There being no more space for pursing the lips, and no opportunity to meet Dimmi to correct the procedure by lovingly showing her how best to make idlis, you think it preferable to not allow these dubious idli recipes on the web. “Best if I write something on the best method to make idlis”, you say to yourself. But after reviewing the 67000 pages of idli content, you are tired and the 6000 that did pass your stringent standards were still not up to the mark. Yet, they would have to do.

One day, you would write a whole book on the Art & Science of Idli Making, and the foreword would be written by none other than Shri. Kapil Sibal Ji. Till then, all the youngsters can continue using the sub-standard idli recipes. It makes Dimmi want to try harder….

Sigh…..

Less work * Less stress = More Money

To prove: The product of less work and less stress equals more money later in life.

The month of the Nobel has passed. I don’t know about you, but for me the Nobel month seems to tick me off robustly in the ear when I am popping balloons and being frivolous and wasteful. All nobel laureates are apparently hard-working, have worked all their lives and shall work rather hard till the day they die. Losers!

I shall tell you why I classify them so harshly.

There is a news article that is getting so much attention, it makes us young folks quiver. Think of the facts: I thought I had a system going. Do an honest day’s worth of work everyday as long as your mental and physical faculties allow you to and life will go on. It will take care of you in its own way. When the head needs hair and/or dye and the skin needs ironing and the back needs straightening, we should still be able to eat, live and love. Work now and enjoy the fruits later – Karma Basics 1.

But that is not what the news article tells us. It tells us that older Americans are at least 47 times richer than younger Americans —-> Exhibit 1

http://www.businessweek.com/ap/financialnews/D9QRMR800.htm

There are scores of articles claiming stress has increased and workload has increased dramatically in this generation as opposed to previous generations. —-> Exhibit 2

http://www.stress.org/job.htm

Putting two and two together, or rather 1 and 2 together; I place before you theorem number 1:
The product of less work and less stress equals more money later in life. [Q.E.D]i.e.Quod Erat Demonstrandum

I have a plan so brilliant in place that I might easily land the Nobel Prize – all I need is for someone from the committee to read this blog.

I just plan to grow old. To occupy the vast amounts of time that I will have at my disposal, I shall jog the odds of getting richer than previously imagined by taking up regular correspondence with those optimistic fellows who claim that I am in the unique position of inheriting what half the country of Lisuavia craves for. I have in my list around two score countries just waiting to tip their wealth into my bank account.

Then when I grow old, I can be 48 times richer than someone in the work force and laugh.

What? 7?

Regular readers of my blog know I had a second baby this summer. They also know that it is the first summer I stayed home with the now-school-going-daughter. One afternoon as we sat on the bed reading while the baby slept nearby, I asked her how she felt about having a sibling. Her face lit up and she said in a rush “Finally I got a brother amma!” and proceeded to plant a rather wet kiss on his face, waking him up dutifully.

“Okay, so we just have to do this for another 7 years right? One baby every summer for the next seven years and we’ll be done.” I said putting my book down for the umpteenth time to soothe the baby. (I don’t know why I bother trying to read really.) She dropped her book and shrieked “WHAT?”

“What? My grandmother had nine children. So….”
“My god! NINE children? She had a baby, gave inga, had a baby, gave inga – that is all she did?” (“Inga” is her talk for breastfeeding and I think she said ‘had a baby, gave inga’ nine times for clarity)

I laughed at her extreme reaction and thought of my lovely grandmother again. Her dimple, the gray hair that she pulled into a tight knot and the nine yard saree. “One yard for each child” she said as she hopped, skipped and jumped while tying her nine-yard saree. My simple brain asked her why she didn’t just switch to a six yard saree then and she gave me a vibrant laugh as an answer.

I have been thinking of her almost everyday since I had my little Tucky. I love babies, but I will also sigh at the amount of work (This… when I am lucky enough to have diapers, washing machines and help from parents) The poor lady had nine children one after the other, and the rigour of it all may have ruined her intestines, but did nothing to diminish her love for children. She still loved talking to us.

The only thing she ever asked of us was to massage her legs and I feel so guilty that I did not indulge her enough.

A friend had posted this link on the effect having children has on us and I couldn’t agree more.
http://www.codinghorror.com/blog/2011/10/on-parenthood.html

As we celebrate the 7 billion mark on 31st Oct along with Halloween, let’s hope Mother Earth remains bountiful and as accommodating to her most demanding species.

PS: I really need to get my diagrams-act together. Any pointers appreciated.

India and Love

I wonder if folks remember the wholesome entertainment of Doordarshan (DD : India’s state owned television in the pre-cable era) Doordarshan was aptly named – sometimes it was more entertaining to stare at the door.


The Entertainment gurus deemed it inappropriate for young minds to see a lot of things, top among them being hot love scenes. I remember Chitrahaar and Oliyum Oliyum bearing the brunt of these ‘edits’. You see, love songs are (and were), a part and parcel of Indian cinema. You have to see a heroine shiver in the cold, hug her hero and sing while prancing around trees (preferably Eucalyptus trees – the scent will keep them from catching cold). But the DD powers felt family entertainment must not contain any scenes of kissing or cuddling in love songs. Consequently, every time something mushy was on the cards, a static picture would appear.

For example, whenever Roja songs came on with Arvind Swamy mooning over Madhubala, the scenes were replaced by still photographs of the Himalayas. Instead of listening to the songs on tape, one could see a beautiful photograph of the Himalayas and listen to the songs. Visual effects can affect one you know?

I remember an Aunt of mine telling us about how her warden would accompany them to movie viewings and tell them all to close their eyes whenever a middle-aged-hero-dressed-like-college-boy wooed a woman on screen.

I thought all those days were behind us, till I read this news item telling us airlines routinely censor their in-flight entertainment
http://www.news.com.au/travel/you-censored-what-curious-cuts-to-in-flight-films/story-e6frfq7r-1226127272232

I suppose it makes sense to air appropriate content for in-flight entertainment. I mean, no one wants a lethal combination of an idle mind and airline food, getting food for thought from a terrorist movie. Imagine what this man would have going in his mind if he had got on the plane?

https://nourishncherish.wordpress.com/2009/10/07/what-next/

But even there, Air India stands out. I quote:
Air India passengers are forced to squint during the screening of romantic comedies, with the airline policy of blurring out any signs of romance on TV screens.

We love India.
All Indians are our brothers & sisters.

Old DD folks absorbed at Air India perhaps?!

How low is too low?

Clothes are a personal choice. But that doesn’t stop me from wondering about how some clothes defy the laws of Physics.

Many a time I sit on my train wondering what to wonder about, when teenage boys walk in and fill the void. When I say walk in, I use the term loosely. They waddle in like ducks with athritis. Their knees are bent in an awkward manner and their feet land as apart from each other as possible – you know making an obstuse angle like this.

\ /

\ /

\ /

Why do they walk thus you ask. To keep on a gravity defying bit of clothing, that is why: Their pants hanging on for dear life to the waist. I suspect it must be pretty rotten being the pants in question. I mean imagine living every moment wondering whether one is going to fall down. I suspect they use belts to keep them where they are, but I haven’t really looked. It seems indecent to look at people’s pants especially if it means catching sight of their underwear instead. Coming to which, what do these boys call their underwear? It is clearly not “under” any other piece of clothing. Most of the time the pants are more than midway down the thigh. Sigh!

http://www.mercurynews.com/san-mateo-county/ci_18468273?source=most_viewed – pants below bottom

Rebellion takes many forms – the pants in this case. Nobody says anything of course, but merely look away discreetly. Which is why this news item intrigued me – the crew asked this man to deplane since his pants were below his bottom. The man did not comply and created a fuss before being whisked away.


But that leads us to the question – how far is too far and how low too low?

A Cryonics Question

http://www.clickondetroit.com/news/28730691/detail.html

The Cryonics Movement Founder, Robert Ettinger died. He had his own body stored. When his first wife died, he stored her body. Then, the poor man lost his second wife as well and of course stored her body too. He must have loved them both dearly.

In the future(possibly hundreds of years from now), when technology does develop enough to resusciate a man’s life from his remains, imagine the shock the man will get on springing to life in an unrecognizable world. As if this was not enough trouble to be getting along with, what would happen when he finds his wives’ spring on him er … spring back to life. Which wife is his legal and binding partner? Is it the one who comes back to life first?

I am not sure as to their ages when they died, but what happens to to seniority in the family? Love will triumph – maybe the women will continue to love their man, but will they love each other? Maybe, they should have stored Osama Bin Laden’s body to find out how he managed with three wives under one roof without so much as an opp. to step out for groceries….

The World may change, but it’s worries not much…..

Sundaes: Sorry – what flavor?

My mother is an accomplished cook (A well documented fact in these chronicles). She came during the precious last weeks of my pregnancy and let her culinary talents flourish. Meals I prefer to classify as feasts were produced at the slightest drop of a hat. Then, I went into labour and had a baby. About the same time a terrible metamorphosis seems to have happened to her as well. There is a distinct degenerative trend in her cooking.  She spurns the occasional chilli, recoils from spices, and classifies half the vegetable kingdom as unfit for consumption. As if this weren’t enough, she upped the frequency of feeding me this cuisine. I only have to remain half awake to have some bland soup, or drink thrust at me with loving hands. The theory being that the extra nutrition is needed to feed the baby. She tells me of post partum mothers of the post Indian Independence era making ghee their best friend and drinking cups of it, while subtly deploring that I don’t accord it the same treatment. The general rule of thumb being that bland is the formula that is safest for mother and baby.

In spite of all this, there is the occasional discomfort that the newborn exhibits. Guess what this loving mother of mine does? After the immediate task of alleviating the discomfort of the infant, she then spends her considerable mental faculties evaluating and tabulating everything she fed yours truly in the past 24 hours. Then she proceeds to rank them by taste, and she boots the tastiest of the lot from the already shrinking list as the potential offender. Once, the tastiest thing I had eaten was an orange and they were on the potential list to be banned. They only survived because of my vehement opposition.

Why am I telling you all this? To prove that breast milk is one of the most thought about items on the post partum agenda. Grandmothers, mothers, aunts, great aunts are all full of tips on breast milk. So imagine my surprise when this rare commodity was featured in a news item alongside commercially sold icecreams?
http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2011/02/25/134056923/breast-milk-ice-cream-a-hit-at-london-store


To be teased as the cow in the house is one thing; to make a career of it quite another.

To follow up on this news item, UK banned breast milk sundaes soon after.
http://allweirdnews.com/breast-milk-sundaes-not-allowed/

One thing still nags me : who is the target audience for this icecream? It can’t be the infants surely ….

Over the Top

Waiting in a room with a slew of magazines affords you the luxury of browsing through topics, one might otherwise overlook, like how the most luxurious looking hair belongs to the Asian community (around Hongkong and China). The article went on to state that the Asian obsession with luxurious hair might be attributed to the average Asian hair strand being 5 times thicker than the average Western strand.

http://www.aralifestyle.com/article.aspx?UserFeedGuid=cda9e966-c488-4a23-91fa-52aff308fb6b&ArticleId=2254&ComboId=5471&title=The-Asian-secret-to-strong-lush-hair&origin=222838-APP12

This simple statement caused my mind to go into full drive. Have they not seen the Indian obsession with the tresses? In fact, the theory most rampant in South India is: the shinier the plate, the thicker the hair. Entire coastlines of coconuts are crushed by the millions, just so men can look bald and shiny while women can squirm with the oil tightly braided into plaits that are supposed to ensure the quintessential South Indian beauty look.

Let me be very clear that I hate the shiny hair-oil look – it haunted my childhood more effective than a bunch of spectres escaped from the local cemetery. My mother is/was a strong proponent of the oiled hair syndrome. In fact, had you interviewed me then, I would even go on to say she had a theory that unoiled hair induces moral turpitude in teenage girls, and thereby did the best she could to make sure that all good looks are wiped out with the sleeziest oil look. This, in a school, where none of my friends applied oil to go out in Public. Horrendous I tell you – horrendous.

At one point, our school (a residential one) decided that those in the Inter School Athletics team needed more nutrition to take up the physical challenges posed by a rigorous sporting career, and decided to give all the athletes an extra egg in the morning. While the boys seemed to gobble the eggs up with little effort, for the girls, it was a different matter. What should have meant more strength failed to manifest itself. What did happen, was that the girls on the team ran with a bigger bounce in their hair, flouncing up and down like those advertisements on television. Quite the Sunsilk princesses we were. Our coaches found to their horror a theory that eggs acted as a wonderful hair conditioner and had to undertake drastic measures such as boiling the eggs, so they could not be used for over-the-top purposes.

That was how much good looking hair meant…..