Gokarna - The Beach Paradise

I had been to Gokarna in last weekend (17th - 18th September). It’s a wonderful place to be. Especially for those who love the coast and the beach. It’s not as crowded as the beaches of Goa are, which are only a few miles away as this is place very close to the Goa border. It’s also much cheaper than a Goa trip. The experience is unforgettable. This post might be late, but I thought I will put up the details / travel tips so that it might me useful for others who want to do this trip.

It’s better I say nothing more. I will let these pictures do the talking.

Gokarna - Travel Tips:

To Gokarna (from Bangalore):
- KSRTC (actually it is NWKRTC (North West Karnataka Road Transport Corp)) Rajahamsa Class Bus. (I heard there is also a sleeper bus by Sugama Travels, Bangalore. Do check it out, but might be costlier.)
- Leaves Bangalore at 2100 hrs (daily)
- This is the only direct bus to gokarna, and it reaches Gokarna the next morning at around 0700 hrs (app 9-10 hrs journey). (if you miss the bus then u have to catch a bus to Mangalore and then go from there to gokarna. This extends the journey by another 3-4 hrs).

Fro:
- same KSRTC/NWKRTC bus.
- leaves Gokarna for Bangalore at 1900 hrs.

So you can plan you trip with this detail for 2/3 days.

Things to carry:
- a sleeping bag (available for rent at "GET OFF YOUR ASS", Indiranagar or "Wildcraft", koramangala)
- lots of change of clothes
- a bottle to carry water
- sun-tan / sun-screen lotion
- a small umbrella
- liquid soap / your own soap bar
- good powerful torch lights.
- Caps

Places to stay in gokarna:
I suggest you either take up Huts in "Sunset Cafe, Kudle Beach" or Rooms in"Namaste Cafe, Om Beach". Everything else is at least a 5 minute walk from the beach. In these 2 places, you can actually live on the beach.

From the bus stand, you can walk to Gokarna beach. That is the topmost and closest.
From there the path will be something like this:

Gokarna Beach
Hill
Kudle Beach
Hill
Om Beach
Hill
Half-Moon Beach
Hill
Paradise Beach

Have breakfast there and start your trek to Kudle. If you choose to put your stuff in Sunset cafe there, do so and play in water the rest of the day and have lunch there.
In the evening walk to the Om beach, have dinner and walk back in the moon-lit night (with torches) , or else you can play in Kudle beach and then goto Om beach and stay in the rooms in Namaste cafe.

The next day, get up early and trek to half moon and paradise beaches, and return to Om beach so that you can have lunch at Namaste cafe.
Take water and caps with you.

Laze around the rest of the day in the beach of your choice and then head back to the bus stop. Make sure you start your trek back to the bus stand by at least 1700 hrs, as the bus is at 1900 hrs.

That's about it. To read more about our trip, you can check out these links:
Anita’s Post
Anita’s Album
Anshul’s Pics
Tony’s Pics
Kavitha’s Post

En-cyclo-paedia

• FRAME:
• Brazed lugged track racer frame
• FORK:
• Swaged / Brazed crown type rugged fork with sleek Appearance & Sturdiness inherent in Design.
• HANDLE:
• Ergonomically designed drop-down racing style handlebar.
• Foam type Soft Synthetic Resin Grips.
• BRAKES:
• Cable operated Caliper type brakes.
• Friction-free cable casings for effective braking.
• Steel sheet formed brake levers for effective braking.
• MUDGUARDS
• Sleek Mudguards with longer length
• HUBS:
• Steel CP, Thin Barrel Hubs.
• PEDALS:
• Reflectorised molded-rubber type pedals with steel side plates.
• SADDLE:
• Ergonomically engineered extra cushy, Integral PU foam Molded
• STAND:
• Pistol type extra origid with Black powder coating finish.
• CHAIN WHEEL AND CRANK :
• 44 Teeth x 165mm Crank, Black.
• CHAIN COVER :
• Elegantly styled Steel half Chaincover with combination of rotating plastic chain disc.
• WHEEL SIZE :
• 27 * 1-1/4.
• RIM :
• Endric, Steel CP.
• CARRIER:
• Specially designed, stylishly engineered wire type carrier with Black powder coated finish
• OPTIONAL ACCESSORIES :
• Specially designed arm-rests for leisure riding. Arm-rests adjustable to many positions suitable to the rider.
• Water bottle.
• Hand operated pump.
• COLORS & GRAPHICS:
• Available in attractive Graphics & Colors.

Wondering why I am advertising the Hero Hawk in my Post? Well…I got myself another cycle.

Yup…Another…The list goes like this:

• BSA Champ (Blue) – 1^st Standard
• Street Cat GCX (Again Blue) - 6^th Standard
• Hercules MTB (Blue) – 9^th Standard
• Now, Hero Hawk Nu-Age (I broke the jinx, this time it’s a black and silver combo)– 18^th Standard (Hahahaha!!!)

Someone said “Aim for the stars and you will end up on the tree-top”. That’s exactly what happened. I dreamt of getting myself an Enfield Thunderbird, and ended up with a different bird. I am proud of this racer that I have now (despite the fact I’ve to transform myself into the engine of the bike, especially while going uphill….phooof..phhooof..pant…pant).

And you know what I cycled to office today (Source of inspiration: Kiruba ).11 kilometeres (That’s right. ELEVEN… 6 kms uphill and 5 kms downhill.The journey back should be 1 bit easier I guess), 50 minutes…I didn’t know cycling could be fun (I haven’t got over the new-cycle-syndrome yet I guess). I plugged in my earphones, listened to Shankar Mahadevan’s Breathless and cycled all the way (Psst..I realized I was singing on top of my voice, only when I saw the traffic policeman laughing at me)….I have decided I am gonna cycle to office regularly. Lets see…

Thank God I have 8% above...

It also said:

8% scored higher (more nerdy), and
92% scored lower (less nerdy).

What does this mean? Your nerdiness is:

Supreme Nerd. Apply for a professorship at MIT now!!!.

ROFL....
And you know why I got this so called “Supreme Nerd” appellation….

Ø I own none of these: microscope, telescope, graphing calci, laser printer, laptop.
Ø My office PC has 2 Gb RAM.
Ø I identified Issac Newton.
Ø I don’t subscribe to any magazine.
Ø I have 4 to 6 good friends.
Ø I use FireFox.
Ø I identified James Clerk Maxwell from his pic, with the other options being Einstein, Newton, Kepler & Plank.
Ø I knew the value of C (velocity of light).
Ø And answered some questions from 10th Class Science Text book….

Please don’t ever take the test.I am sure the site gave Pamela Anderson a 99%...
I have lots to blog, but no time to even log on....

Honnermardu - bLOGOUT - Collector's Edition ;)

Date: June 18-19, 2005

My Photo Album

PHOTO ALBUMS

Anita
Kavitha
Adel
Suman
Sathish
All

TRIP REPORTS:

Suman’s take: Part 1 and Part 2
Anita - Honnemardu Blogout Weekend
Kavitha on water
Adel
Arnab
Sathish

Nehru Dynasty - The one that ruined India

Some Interesting facts from the site:
"Sanjay was the son of another Moslem gentleman, Mohammad Yunus. Here, in passing, we might mention that the second son was originally named Sanjiv. It rhymed with Rajiv, the elder brother's name. It was changed to Sanjay when he was arrested by the British police in England and his passport impounded, for having stolen a car."

"Coming back to Rajiv Gandhi, we all know now that he changed his so called Parsi religion to become a Catholic to marry Sania Maino of Turin, Italy. Rajiv became Roberto. His daughter's name is Bianca and son's name is Raul. Quite cleverly the same names are presented to the people of India as Priyanka and Rahul.! What is amazing is the extent of our people's ignorance in such matters."

"Sonia too had the same benevolent treatment. She was stated to be a student in Cambridge. Such a description is calculated to mislead Indians. She was a student in Cambridge all right but not of the University of Cambridge but of one of those fly by night language schools where foreign students come to learn English. Sonia was working as an 'au pair' girl in Cambridge and trying to learn English at the same time. And surprise of surprises, Rajiv was even cremated as per vedic rites in full view of India's public."

For the whole story, read:
http://www.nehrufamily.com/nehrudynasty.php

Souce: www.nehrufamily.com

Collective Chaos

"Collective Chaos is a non-profit forum of filmmakers, artists, writers and film enthusiasts to promote meaningful cinema. The collective promotes values of a multi-cultural and a plural world."

That's where I had been this weekend. They screened four films, all by Bangalore based Film makers.


^ Rashtriy Kheer & Desiy Salad (National Pudding & Indigineous Salad)


^ Mungaaru Mugilu (Monsoon Cloud)


^ Dus Ka Bees


^ Stagnum

They had a small theatre that could hold 50-60 people (I didn't count) consisting of a huge screen, a DVD player, a digital projector and one centralized speaker. Just about all that a screening needs.

Mungaara Mugilu (Monsoon Cloud) by M.S Prakash Babu was the one that impressed me the most."Often what we imagine turns out to be unreal. What we believe turns out to be false. What we see does not exist. But do we stop imagining?" That was the message it intended convey and it was amazingly put forth…..If at you get a chance to see it, don’t miss it.

Rastriy Kheer & Desiy Salad in black and white gave it the look of the 60’s. “Recent history was distanced and treated as excavated past.” The sound effects, the fast-forwarded actions, and the textual narration in between scenes gave it the Charlie-Chaplin touch. It offered eleven minutes of humour for a change.

The directors of these films were present at the venue too and they added a few words to their films that needed none.

All in all, I was impressed with the organization and the films they screened.

More details about Collective Chaos:

1. They have 2-3 screenings every month (on 2^nd and 4^th Saturdays mostly).
2. Venue: Centre for Film and Drama (CFD), 5th Floor, Sona Towers, Millers Road (off Cunningham Road), Bangalore.
3. Film festivals (for about 2-3 days) are held regularly. (There is one coming up this month).
4. Annual Membership: Rs.500 /- (for students its Rs.250/-) (Ya…If you join now you will have to pay only 400/-). This membership is valid till Dec 31^st.
5. For those planning to take up film making as a career, they have an amazing reference section of DVDs too.
   

Source: www.collectivechaos.org

Flowed out of the cup

Continuing from my previous post… (Read Saving Bapu Privately – a DreamWorks production for context.)

I climbed out of bed, as early as 7:30, brushed my teeth and decided to make myself a hot cup of chocolate. I had a good number of pages left to turn and needed something to put me on track. I put the milk on the hot plate. With nothing better to do, I stood gazing at my coffee cup.

Putting shape,
to an amorphous cloud,
here I was,
drawing lines out of
drawn lines and curves.

Top-left, I saw -
Rain,
pouring down,
encasing,
putting behind bars,
the past and the present.

Bottom-left, I caught -
Rivers,
of freshness and fertility,
of thought and joy,
flowing,
quenching,
meandering,
surrendering.

Top-right, I envisioned -
Ra himself,
As a wily merchant,
selling warmth and light,
for valuable vapours,
to adorn his abode.

Bottom-right, I imaged -
something incoherent,
with the rest,
something incoherent,
with itself,
for the lines met,
further the lines crossed.
It was out of place.
It felt human.

Just as the flow from the cup stemmed, (you guessed right :o ) the flow of milk began. It was a rather generous overflow. I ended up spending the next half an hour with the electric hot plate, struggling to get the dried cakes of milk off the coils and the crevices. My Sunday morning was going as per plan. A plan governed by Murphy’s laws.

Saving Bapu Privately – a DreamWorks production

It was the 30^th of January, 1948. The sniper was crouched up between two huge branches of the pupil tree that stood outside the garden, where Gandhi held his daily prayers. He had found his target – Nathuram and was following him closely through the scope (with Mk3 telescopic sight) of his World War II Rifle. He adjusted and repositioned every second, to make sure he had Godse, exactly at the point of intersection of the perpendicular lines.

The sniper also kept an eye on Apte, whom he was sure, would give a signal when it was time to make the move. Eventually none came. Finished with his round of interviews, Gandhi was returning for the evening prayer, and was surrounded by a human corridor. Mr.Sniper was dead sure that before Nathuram made his way through the crowd his bullet would make its way through Godse’s skull. Unexpectedly, Nathuram started moving. “This was not a part of the plan” thought the sniper, and fearing the worst he loaded the 10 round detachable box magazine into his No.4 Mk1(T), aimed and positioned his index finger on the trigger. Godse entered the corridor and mingled with the crowd. “Damn that bastard!” cried the sniper, as his fears realized and he lost his target. He could feel his heart beats on his stock, and the blood gushing to his brain on his cheek rest.

An era of seconds later, he found his prey again, but to his astonishment Godse was already in front of Gandhi, bowing down with his hands clasped. Before the sinper could steady his rifle, Nathuram brutally pushed Manu, who came forward to say something, with his left hand and exposed the black Beretta pistol that lay in his right. For a second the sniper wondered, “Will my bullet travel the distance fast enough to save the Mahatma. Mine had a good three hundred metres to travel, while his had to travel only the barrel length, that too a Baretta”. The trigger was pulled………Teeen wooon teeen wooon teeen wooon teeen wooon, went the siren alarm-tone of my mobile, freaking me out of bed. It always gives me the feeling of being chased by the police, and invariably I wake up at its first ring. I snoozed it and saw the time. It was 7:00 a.m. What was wrong with that? It was 7:00 a.m. on a Sunday.

Why the f*** dudn’t I disable my wake-up alarm? Telling myself that I had to buy a mobile with “Only on weekdays” alarm, I went back to bed (I know that sounded stupid, but I guess one can enjoy the luxury of being stupid, when he is sleepy). Why is that dreams never have an ending? Determined to dream-direct the climax, I closed my eyes. The images were loading and the stage was being setup, and Kraaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennnnnnn went my door bell.

It was the maid. My room-mate was not in town. I had to open the door. Punching the bed, and kicking the floor, I got out of bed. With closed eyes (to avoid the sunlight), I walked to the door, feeling my way like a blind man, unlatched it, and sleep-walked back to bed. The maid, industriously, took the broom, came right into my room, switched on the tube light, opened the windows, switched off the fan and started sweeping. Arrrrgggggghhhhh…..Like a drug addict seeking his needle, like a “-10 spherical” looking for his glasses, I searched the floor for the blanket that I had kicked off, and covered myself up to the head. Did I scare the maid? What would she have thought? How did I look doing it the frantic way? – I didn’t have time for these. Come on, Gandhi’s life was at stake.

Result of the manoeuvre: Realization of the fact that my blanket and my eye lids were translucent :(. Gandhiiiiii…..if you wanna save yourself pray to thy lord to give me sleep. The bullet is out of my rifle. (identity revealed huh! ;o ). The video is paused. I am not even able to do the 360 degree Matrix kinda camera work to see the state of Godse’s trigger… Sweating under my blanket (why the hell din’t she switch on the fan and turn off the lights after finishing), I tried to mentally shut my eyes. Gandhi’s three monkeys flashed in my mind. Concentrating hard I was about to get the video to stream…..and dhud dhud dhud sirk sirk sirk sirk dhud dhud dhud clug clug clug clug sirk sirk sirk…. Well what can I say? She washed away every trace of sleep in me, and with it went the dream like the bubbly foam into the gutter. Hey Ram ;-(

PS: Prelude: I was determined to finish “Freedom at Midnight” by midnight yesterday. This book seems to have a wireless link to the circuits at the power-station. Every time I sit down and open the book, the circuit there opens up too, and pop goes the power. The same sequence of events happened last night too. I was not going to accept defeat and resign to bed this time. So I lit up two candles and placed them on the window sill behind, on either sides of my chair and started reading. I was hardly through 20 pages and one source of light burnt down. Now I had to position the book in such acute angle, so that I could avoid the shadow of my head and at the same time get maximum light onto the pages. How far can a flight with a failed propeller, limited fuel and poor visibility fly? I had miles to go before I sleep, but I managed to cover only two more, and zzzzzzzzzzz I crashed.

Am sure the artist had a hearty laugh...

This is just an interpretation of me by a caricature artist.
The only things that we (me and the caricature) share:
1. Table Tennis
2. Spectacles
3. Hair Style (to some extent)
....nothing more.


^ My Caricature

“I can’t believe I spent those 9 months of mine in brine..."

“I can’t believe I spent those 9 months of mine in brine…
and Olives. If not for their uncertain origin, I would actually eat them.”

Wondering? Well these were lines of Giovanni, the protagonist of “Can’t Pay! Won’t Pay!”.
Before I get into the details of the play…

Half the fun is in getting there…Isn’t it? So here goes...

Aware of the code that the gates would be closed by 7:30 p.m., we (me & K) left office early. From the strong petrichor cooked and from the beautiful rainbow painted by you-know-who, I knew he was right behind us. The past five evenings of storm, thunder and lightning had made him predictable. So much so, that I have even made a calendar entry in Outlook. “Meeting with Mr.You-Know-Who. Location: Bangalore. Time: 7:00 p.m. – 9 p.m.”. Since we (me & you-know-who) have an IST synchronized calendar entry, just as the reminder comes up on my screen “Ding”, it precipitates on him that, it’s time he took the leak, and off he starts pelting poor Bangalore.

Coming back to where I was, I had no intentions of sitting through a play in the air-conditioned auditorium for two hours, squirming with wet jeans, soaking feet and a dripping T-shirt. Fearing this, I stepped up the gear and put my foot on the gas pedal. Zoooooooom we went. (before you put a picture to it, its better I tell you that it was only an auto-trans scooterette).

“Ranga Shankara”, it was called. The first impression I built from the name was somehow equivalent to the one I had after reading “Satyabama Engineering College” in “UG colleges that I could join” list (I had no intentions of being associated with it for four years. It would have been even worse if it had found a place in my resume, for life. My reflex action was: Satyabama. Satyabama-ites, please disconnect your heart from the web, take no offence). When K shared this same opinion (about Ranga Shankara) with me, the reply I gave her was a totally different one.
“Hey, don’t you dare! Ranga Shankara sounds just like Kripa Shankar. And nothing is wrong with it.”

“What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” - William Shakespeare
That reminds me…
I will take yet another detour here. Last week I saw this film titled “Kya Cool Hai Hum”. Its very easy to share my experience with you. All you have to do is:
Step 1: Take a huge piece of ginger (who after taste will last for 3 hours).
Step 2: Put it in your mouth.
Step 3: Go look at yourself in the mirror.
That’s exactly how I was throughout the movie. There was this one dialogue in the movie that stayed in my mind though. It’s between Tushar Kapoor and his manager and it goes like this:

TK: Sir, here are my designs.
M: Good.
TK: Will you put my name on these, this time atleast.
M: Don’t you know that William Shakespeare said: “What's in a name?”
TK: Yes Boss, I do. But even below that quote he put his name. Didn’t he?

Returning to the main road. Hmm…ya, we reached the place, and went searching for this person named JAM for our tickets. Thanks to Mr.S that we got to book tickets in advance. We didn’t have to search for long, as we found a person at the entrance with a bunch of tickets, two of which had our names on it. Peace.

We entered the hall, well before the first bell and took our seats at the front. I was impressed with the place. My friend quoted again: “It is such a stupid name for such a nice place”. True. It was a small auditorium that could house 300 (we actually counted the people in each row and the number of rows..LOL!). Dim lit. Wall of bricks painted in black and dark brown. I had the all the three things that it needed: the air, the ambience and the audience. I liked the rules they wanted audience to adhere to; like – switching off mobile phones, being punctual and entering the hall before the third bell, not taking eatables inside and stuff like that. You know how annoying it gets when you are trying to concentrate and imbibe the words that are being spoken and you hear the ringtone of the “Manmada Raasa”s, or the crunch-munch-glurg-burp. Since it was a small theatre it did not need the artificiality of the microphones. Lights, music, sound effects all were exactly of one kind, "mild, pacifying and soothing".

Now about the play. It was actually a work by Dario Fo. To sum it up in a paragraph:

Fed up with high prices in the supermarket? (Antonia)

Frustrated by constant strikes? (Giovanni)

Frantic at rising train prices? (Luigi)

Take the law into your own hands!

That’s the message it conveyed.

Can’t Pay? Won’t Pay! was a hilarious, sharply satirical take on individual responsibility and politics, challenging today’s audience to abandon political cynicism and take to the streets. It depicts working class women who have rebelled against the cost of living by taking goods from a store without paying. The plot concerns their efforts to conceal their bold decisions from their men folk and the police who are blundering figures of fun.

Vijay Arvind’s portrayal of Giovanni was outstanding and natural, and Surabhi Herur (Antonia – Giovanni’s wife) carried herself fluently across the verbose and long-winding sentences that her character had to deliver. Malathi Nayak’s (Marguerita) “Hoooaaauuuuuwwwww” version of the word “How” that she kept crying kept bringing the laughs.

The poster presents a few scenes from the play, like the women trying to hide the stolen goods from the super market in their bellies (In one of the scenes Marguerita and Antonia try covering up their steal from Giovanni by announcing that Marguerita is suffering from labour pains and it leads on to a situation where a packet in her stuffed belly breaks and it starts leaking brine and olives…That explains the title of the blog. Read it again. Haaahhhhaaaahhhhaa).

There was this other scene where Giovanni and his friend Luigi (played by Sanjeev Nair) are running away from the police on a bicycle. They actually managed to get a real bicycle on stage and Giovanni was cycling (with the stands on) at such a pace that I was waiting for the stand come off. Instead of enjoying the scene, my eyes were focused on the hinge in the stand and I was expecting a crash. Good for them that no such thing happened. In fact the stand was so strong that they had trouble taking it off even when they had to drive the cycle off the stage.

All in all it was very good play for a good cause too (as the proceedings went to a charity organization named Dream-A-Dream).

I managed to get a few pictures of the same play enacted at the Derby Playhouse by a different group though. Those who have seen the play, rewind, play, reminisce, and enjoy.

^ Antonio & Marguerita

^ Giovanni, Inspector and Luigi

^ Giovanni and Luigi in a moment of peril

I came out of the theatre, and saw that my old pal, you-know-who was awaiting my return. He had tired down after waiting for 2 whole hours. Though a mere drizzle now, he was cold enough to make my ride back home a teeth-chattering, goose-bumpy one. Nature always has the last laugh doesn’t it?

Short & Straight

He brushed himself up,
and peeked at the mirror.
The mirror could view itself on him.
He was ready.

Turning to his mate,
He gave an approving nod.
It was play time.

The playground was dark,
The drizzle had moistened it.
I could hear him say,
With a glint in his eye,
“Just the way I like it”.

Briskly, he started warming up.
While his collaborator was busy,
Grazing, evaluating,
and plotting a plan,
that they were going to execute.

They entered the field together.
The beast in him came to life.
He was a juggernaut on a mission,
with a partner in crime,
who was more than willing to abet.

Making all the necessary moves expertly,
He cut across the field swiftly,
grinning as he progressed.
The more he advanced,
The more he gleamed.

As the boundaries drew near,
He slowed down.
Cognizant of the end,
he knew he had to finish,
all the good work done,
with an expert touch.

Through with the game,
pleased with his crusade,
he retired,
back to his bunker.

He was smiling,
mouth wide open,
with his teeth,
reflecting and radiating light.

He was always a winner.
And symbolizing him,
with fingers,
I could see that,
he depicted victory.

You might ask,
Where was his ally all this while?

That fellow was busy running,
ironically ahead of the victor,
giving him all the opportunities,
to do the damage.

You might ask,
Where was I all this while?

I was a silent spectator,
sitting right under the playground,
waiting impatiently,
to hear some understandable* music,
from the radio at the hairdresser’s.

*My language competencies are: English, Hindi & Tamil.
And it kept playing Kannada songs, followed by Kannada songs, followed by Kannada songs…

Thinking Machine 4

Have you seen the computer think?
Go to: Thinking Machine 4

Try out our Vish. Anand's opening of NF3. Watch computer go bonkers.

About Thinking Machine & What you have to do:

You're white. To begin the game, move one of your pieces...

When it is your (White's) turn to move, the chess board will gently pulse to show the influence of the various pieces. in the left image below, you can see waves over the squares around the king and (very lightly) over the squares where the pawns might capture. When the machine (Black) is thinking, a network of curves is overlaid on the board; see image at right. The curves show potential moves--often several turns in the future--considered by the computer. Orange curves are moves by black; green curves are ones by white. The brighter curves are thought by the program to be better for white.
Courtesy: Shibin

"2 minute doodles" - Explained

Stating only the not obvious.

The doodler here is not me. It’s my mind. This fellow is a very restless character. I force him to be with me all the time when I am doing work or concentrating. When I am not doing any work (which is most of the time), he jumps at the opportunity, and goes wandering. He is one hell of a nomad, trust me. One moment he is in one world and the next second he manages to time travel into another world that is light years apart.

In between this aimless wandering of his, he does something even more aimless (at least that’s what I believed he did). He doodles into his imaginary notepad (and NOTE: only for 2 minutes, he does not have time you see).

Some days I let him drift off into his own world, giving him all the time that he needs. That’s when I get to spend time with him, that’s when I get to know him better. The difference here is that; it’s not him with me here, it’s me with him. I open his notepad, go through his doodles, trying to figure out what this guy has scribbled. It takes time to decipher. Yes, but the picture that gets uncovered, needs to be described. Further, it needs to be shared. That is what I am going to do here…verbalize and caboodle the doodles.

Petrichor

Yes that’s the smell of rain on dry ground.

On the parched mind of mine,
when there is a downpour of shine.
out come such lines.

Woven on my countenance,
a distributed rainbow too can be seen.
Its colour dispersed across my cheeks,
And the arc inverted over my lips.

How to name it?
The “it” here is my blog.
The answer lay in the word “Petrichor”.
A perfect Greek word,
for this Indian’s English lines.

This guy who wrote the above lines did not exist 21 years ago.
All my past, all I’ve been is this guy who would manipulate sentences spoken into funny jokes.
Always believed that dreaming and writing was a jobless poet’s job.
Used to wonder how a person can be so damn unproductive.

I guess the word “unproductive” gave me away. Hmm..trueI’ve been an engineer all along.
It’s in the genes you see.
Never been the kind who wrote anything.

@ College as an electronics and communications engineer, I engineered stuff with diodes, transistors and resistors.
@ Work as software engineer, am engineering stuff with code.
Even when I started writing, I did not write it, I engineered it. That was the first time, I saw the product. “Saw” is not the word. “Felt” is the word. (Psst..Psst..you know what…I was thinking of calling the blog “Felt Pen”….It was only later did I that realise such a word did not exist. It's “Felt tipped pen”. How ignorant of me?). I felt the product. Not a tangible one though. As a friend of mine once told, "it is better left untold".
The experience was in one word, “satisfying” -as bold as it gets.

I have not written much. I don’t know if I will continue to either. The irony is, I am being a true modern civil engineer here (not Mr.Roark). I am building (note the word) a home here, totally ignorant of the future inhabitants, totally unanswerable to the question that I ask myself “Will there be any inhabitants at all?”.

Coming to the point, if I was a true poet / writer (I doubt if I can even imagine being one. That explains it. When I cannot even imagine, how can I be one? Keyword: Imagine – (effect of reading technical papers) – and this braces inside braces funda tells you how much of a mathematician I am), I would have named my blog Petrichor.

Looking at the above sentence philosophically, an engineer / mathematician lives inside “(“ and “)”, and the poet…???

Kripa……Where have you been hiding this philosopher in you? Or is this too a manifestation of the poet? ..... I am getting goosebumps.

Continuing from where I left, ya…..My past surfaced as I was typing the name of my blog in the small text box (it did not feel like me) and I decided to call it “2 minute doodles”. (I guess people who know me, will be able to relate to it better when I say “my past”).

Mr.so-called-writer told Mr-so-called-engineer, “Hey, you took your space with the font-size of 24 alrite...Better put me at least in the area with a font of 12”..So that explains the reason behind this blog.

I feel like a person enjoying the Multiple Personality Disorder.

Let’s see what future holds…

The Bus Shook…….

Here I am,
sitting at the window,
on a trip back.
A journey ahead awaits me.

I just went over the speed breaker.
Yes I am at the turning,
What brings out a swear word,
today, at this moment,
brings about a smirk,
Hump, I don’t believe this,
I am going miss u too?

The light from a speeding lorry blinds me,
I close my eyes,
I start smiling.

I see a glowing name board,
I turn my head,
Flex my neck muscles,
till it goes out of sight.
I realize I have not read a single word on it.
I‘m still smiling.

The sound from the radio,
The same noise that did not grant me the peace,
to read a single page,
Today fades away,
I’m still smiling.

I shake myself into reality,
from reality.
Looking up, I see a pole,
that seems to have bent itself,
to shower me will all it can offer.
I‘m still smiling.

Right ahead, is a creature,
Looking at me with its red third eye,
I know it’s going to let me go,
turning green as I pass by,
But this time, it is going to be a different way.

I turn behind, to look at all the buses,
that have come with me, all along,
Am I wondering?

I start moving.
I start moving away.
I see the back of the rest,
The numbers in the circles tells me….
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know?
Every number takes its own route.”
I shake my head,
I’m still smiling.

To greener pastures?

A good bye mail. My first attempt, I would say.

To greener pastures? I was asked,
Here is what I have to say.

Very much,
But from a meadow full of evergreen shrubs.

Shrubs? You might ask,
That's a lot of growth in six months,
I would say.
Come on....hear the stress on "evergreen"

Life is taking this Ferdinand,
to a different arena,
only few hundred miles away.

The bubble that pops up,
in between my two horns,
will hold those wonderful memories for ever..
Learning to clear the fence...
Watching the other bulls and cows, make the jump across...
Waiting for the turn in anticipation...
And after the feat,
Chewing the cud for a month,
Basking with the rest...
Then pulling the plough.....

Every moment will be remembered and cherished.
Thanks to every one of you,
for being with me in this herd.

I owe you this....one big..."MOOOOOOO" :-).

Day after tomorrow is my last day at Wipro.

The roads that we take might be different, but better keep in touch, for all you know we might meet at the crossroads. After all, its a small small world.