We all got to decide whether we want to be Disneyland workers or Nuclear plant workers. In every sphere of life. Heres what it means...
Disneyland...
... has the "Disney Happy Face" work culture. Come what may, employees are supposed to wear happy faces. Doesn't matter if you have a tragedy at home or work, doesn't matter if you had a flat tire on your way to work, doesn't matter if your boss refused a raise...wear a happy face to work. If you don't...you are fired.
So Disneyland means, no matter how things are...wear a happy face.
Nuclear plant...
...has a "Whistle Blower" culture. No matter who you are, no matter what you do, when you see something wrong, big or small, blow the whistle. Because if you don't, and so does no one else, things can blow up real bad.
So Nuclear plant means, no matter how small a thing it is...blow the whistle.
...so now...either be a disneyland and let things go out of control, or blow the whistle early on and fix it when you can.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Friday, March 24, 2006
we all love living in the past...its the only luxury we can afford...the present is too bitter...the future too uncertain...
Friday, March 17, 2006
The Savera Regulars
I am a Savera regular. Savera is such a central part of my regular existence that I cannot imagine life without it. Sitting here by This roadside resto, over a single cup of coffee, mulling over life, watching the Fergusson kids, the buzz of ever busy F.C. road, hours at a stretch. It’s strange, if not idiosyncratic, but it’s something that I find extremely fulfilling. Its one part of my life that has some amount of permanence. And amongst the maddening transience and fleeting lifestyle that we live in, I find that permanence priceless.
I am not the only one who partakes of this unique gift that Savera offers. There are this whole set of people who I meet daily. We share an unspoken, yet strong bond. We never speak, we don’t even know each others names, but with the glance and a nod, and an occasional smile, we acknowledge our brotherhood to the Savera clan. And I am sure that at some way or the other, they would all agree to this sense of belonging that Savera offers.
The Savera regulars are a motley lot. This aged gentleman who always dresses formally, this pony tailed fair chap who looks like the guy who played Jesus in Passion of the Christ, this set of smokers who sit at the corner tables, barely speak and continuously smoke, this gang of first year Fergusson kids - and this is the latest entry to the club - the girl who usually wears jeans torn near her bums, the teenage boys who are just discovering the freedom of college life and are evidently thrilled by it, the sales guy, who usually sits here in the afternoons and makes copious notes in his small book - I assume they are accounts - and don’t ask me why I think he is a sales guy. Yes, the Savera regulars are a motley lot.
There is a set of things that distinguish you from a visitor and make you a Savera regular. For starters, you must be found sitting here at any odd hour of the day, any given day of the week, for hours at a stretch, sipping coffee and doing just about anything ranging from staring into empty space to writing your history assignment. Second, you must like the coffee at Savera, and to like the coffee here you must understand that Savera coffee is not about the coffee itself, it is about the spirit of Savera. And third... but the third will follow on its own, once you start doing one and two.
Everybody probably has different reasons to be a regular here. Some need a place to smoke and lounge with friends, some need a place to have cheap food; some need an urgency to belong to somewhere. For me personally, Savera is a haven. This is where I am at my creative best. I am not a people's person and yet my muse must feed on people. I am a constancy freak, and yet my muse must have variety to stay alive. And in the lap of Savera I find the perfect mix of loneliness and crowd, of acknowledgement and anonymity, of constancy and change. And there my muse and I are both happy.
I am not the only one who partakes of this unique gift that Savera offers. There are this whole set of people who I meet daily. We share an unspoken, yet strong bond. We never speak, we don’t even know each others names, but with the glance and a nod, and an occasional smile, we acknowledge our brotherhood to the Savera clan. And I am sure that at some way or the other, they would all agree to this sense of belonging that Savera offers.
The Savera regulars are a motley lot. This aged gentleman who always dresses formally, this pony tailed fair chap who looks like the guy who played Jesus in Passion of the Christ, this set of smokers who sit at the corner tables, barely speak and continuously smoke, this gang of first year Fergusson kids - and this is the latest entry to the club - the girl who usually wears jeans torn near her bums, the teenage boys who are just discovering the freedom of college life and are evidently thrilled by it, the sales guy, who usually sits here in the afternoons and makes copious notes in his small book - I assume they are accounts - and don’t ask me why I think he is a sales guy. Yes, the Savera regulars are a motley lot.
There is a set of things that distinguish you from a visitor and make you a Savera regular. For starters, you must be found sitting here at any odd hour of the day, any given day of the week, for hours at a stretch, sipping coffee and doing just about anything ranging from staring into empty space to writing your history assignment. Second, you must like the coffee at Savera, and to like the coffee here you must understand that Savera coffee is not about the coffee itself, it is about the spirit of Savera. And third... but the third will follow on its own, once you start doing one and two.
Everybody probably has different reasons to be a regular here. Some need a place to smoke and lounge with friends, some need a place to have cheap food; some need an urgency to belong to somewhere. For me personally, Savera is a haven. This is where I am at my creative best. I am not a people's person and yet my muse must feed on people. I am a constancy freak, and yet my muse must have variety to stay alive. And in the lap of Savera I find the perfect mix of loneliness and crowd, of acknowledgement and anonymity, of constancy and change. And there my muse and I are both happy.
Changing Colors
It’s that time of the year again when the UoP is changing from dark green to light yellow, to dull brown. Summers are coming to Pune again – each time a degree hotter, each time a month earlier.
But weather is not the only thing that is changing color. Everything else is changing color around – India is changing her socioeconomic color – for good and for bad – in ways unprecedented.
While starvation deaths, droughts and failed crops plague large segments of our village population, in the cities there is a false sense of security, prosperity and general wellbeing. While our basics go from bad to worse, while our fundamentals rot, we are on the highway to fast paced growth. We are like a monster with a weak underbelly, which will burst open at the first big prick into its bottom.
We seem to be losing perspective and sense in this mad rush to westernize. Egged on by greedy capitalist forces our lifestyles are becoming increasingly money frenzied and our vision myopic.
While our villages are still dealing with female infanticide, dowry and equality of gender, women in our cities are redefining roles and boundaries. For a society which is largely unequipped to handle sexual liberation and gender equality, these uncharted waters spell trouble.
While the average Indian male struggles to find a balance between a bahu and a bar companion, his female counterpart looks for a man who is willing to give her the freedom of 21st century and yet provide for her security like in the 18th century. Our legacy of social values is directly at odds with our new found treasure of individual independence.
All generations that preceded us had role models and icons in the true sense of the word. The baton of the Indian idol from the ages of Ram, was passed on successfully. Every age had its superhero – who was the epitome of all things good – and all Indians of that age aspired to follow him or her.
With the advent of the internet, investigative journalism and sting operations, our age has been cursed with the loss of all such icons and idols. All superheroes have been stripped naked and all gods have been thrown off their high seats. The Indian of the 21st century knows that even the Indian idol is actually not a superhero, not a model of all things good, but a mere mortal, equally susceptible to failures and falsehoods like them. In the absence of nothing to follow, we are at a risk of losing our aspiration to be great.
Paradoxical and confusing this sounds – and that is the very essence of the life and times we are living in. India – and Indians – in AD 2100 are a fast changing, confused yet resolute lot. As we take the mantle of Indian ness from our elders and pas it to our young, we are hell-bent on altering the very fabric and meaning being an Indian in an unprecedented way.
But weather is not the only thing that is changing color. Everything else is changing color around – India is changing her socioeconomic color – for good and for bad – in ways unprecedented.
While starvation deaths, droughts and failed crops plague large segments of our village population, in the cities there is a false sense of security, prosperity and general wellbeing. While our basics go from bad to worse, while our fundamentals rot, we are on the highway to fast paced growth. We are like a monster with a weak underbelly, which will burst open at the first big prick into its bottom.
We seem to be losing perspective and sense in this mad rush to westernize. Egged on by greedy capitalist forces our lifestyles are becoming increasingly money frenzied and our vision myopic.
While our villages are still dealing with female infanticide, dowry and equality of gender, women in our cities are redefining roles and boundaries. For a society which is largely unequipped to handle sexual liberation and gender equality, these uncharted waters spell trouble.
While the average Indian male struggles to find a balance between a bahu and a bar companion, his female counterpart looks for a man who is willing to give her the freedom of 21st century and yet provide for her security like in the 18th century. Our legacy of social values is directly at odds with our new found treasure of individual independence.
All generations that preceded us had role models and icons in the true sense of the word. The baton of the Indian idol from the ages of Ram, was passed on successfully. Every age had its superhero – who was the epitome of all things good – and all Indians of that age aspired to follow him or her.
With the advent of the internet, investigative journalism and sting operations, our age has been cursed with the loss of all such icons and idols. All superheroes have been stripped naked and all gods have been thrown off their high seats. The Indian of the 21st century knows that even the Indian idol is actually not a superhero, not a model of all things good, but a mere mortal, equally susceptible to failures and falsehoods like them. In the absence of nothing to follow, we are at a risk of losing our aspiration to be great.
Paradoxical and confusing this sounds – and that is the very essence of the life and times we are living in. India – and Indians – in AD 2100 are a fast changing, confused yet resolute lot. As we take the mantle of Indian ness from our elders and pas it to our young, we are hell-bent on altering the very fabric and meaning being an Indian in an unprecedented way.
Monday, March 13, 2006
life is a tragedy
Nothing profound in that. Just wanted to make it a formal statement. Like earth is 3 parts water, 1 part land. Life is 3 parts sadness and 1 part melodrama.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Mobile observations
Its jst a coincidence that ths post too is about mobile phones. But the similarity of ths post and the one below it ends just at the subject - as u wl see.
Cell phones have been around us now for rufly close to a decade. Bt while there usage has multiplied exponentially, as a nation we collectively lack mobile etiquette and good sense.
The list of mobile offenses is pretty long for a device this small - there r public offenses such as loud, obnoxious ring tones, taking calls in theatres, clicking pictures without permission, etc. Then there are private offenses like breaking off into frantic smsing in the middle of a conversation, talking away to glory while at a dinner date (or no date)
But theres one offense that crowns them all - and that is taking calls while driving.
I see ppl doing ths all the time. At signals, heavy traffic, changing lanes. Most people dont even bother to stop driving, others stop in the middle of the road.
What baffles me the most is why people find it so difficult to avoid the call and return it later. What cud be possibly more important to risk lives?
As is the case with all other appendages of mordern living, Indians use cell phones without giving a two penny to its usage etiquette. Its like how we have the most jazzy cars but no clue of traffic manners.
Monday, February 27, 2006
kal, aj aur kal
Its abt 1 at nite. I cant sleep so I decide 2 rite anothr post.
No, i m not sitting wide awake and staring into my laptop. i m very much in bed, typing furiously wth my thumb into my new nokia 6681. I wl then post ths directly via GPRS 2 blogger.
I bought ths neat little nok last sunday. It cost me a bomb. Bt it lets me do so many thngs i hve alwaz wantd 2 do. Like blog anytime anywhere anythng.
Yes. We r a crazy generation. We do thngs tht evn 5 yrs bak wud b considerd outrageous.
Whn I was buying ths set I cudnt help thnkng bak 2 a day 4m my childhud when i had gone wth my mom and dad 2 a special winter fair for quilts. We must hve been havng a really hard time bak then, 4 i dstinctly remembr ma and pa buyng 2 lal imli dhariwal quilts after much deliberation, on emi. (dont remember ths part very clearly though). Thre was quite a crowd at the fair I remembr. For yrs aetrwards, those 2 quilts remained our prizd wintertime assets.
I knw it sounds very bizarre, ths post on nokia and quilt. Bt those of u who have made a connection, let me jst close ths wth one last statement.
Its nt about jst me and my family. Its abt an entire nation moving from kal into kal via aj. ;)
u get me?
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Bikes bikes everywhere, not an inch to move...
If they wanted to make another "Deep Impact", they could just come to Pune for the shooting. No hassles with creating artificial traffic jam or road block sets.And this was 10 AM on saturday - on Fergusson square. So you dont even have to wait for a weekday for the shooting. :)
Come here, have a cofee at savera, pan camera once or twice - and bingo, you have shot that would look like the whole city is in panic and is trying to escape an impending meteorite strike.
We probably hold the record for the highest density of vehicles per squarefeet of metalled road, in the country. A zillion bikes and still counting...Way to go Pune!
Mahashivaratri
Who said God doesnt exist? Who said God doesnt do anything?
In a state battling with severe power crisis and regular scheduled power cuts, God can ensure a day sans load shedding and complete license for electric thirsty zillion megawatt loud speakers.
Yes. Mahashivaratri meant that we had no 8 to 10:30 powercut. Infact thats how I realised it was mahashivaratri today - when the light didnt go, and a nearby temple loudspeaker blared bhajans.
Then ma called. It reminded me of my childhood. Mahashivaratri meant a holiday - usually in the middle of final exams. A trip to the local shiv mandir with ma was a welcome break from the prison of books. I used to readily accompany her.
I was still not the atheist that I am now. I would do whatever ma instructed me. Collect wildflowers for the pooja, carry the pooja thali, pour milk on the shivaling and do the seven rounds of the linga. It was all fun and the longer it lasted the better it was - because back at home were waiting the textbooks and notes for next days exam. :)
In a state battling with severe power crisis and regular scheduled power cuts, God can ensure a day sans load shedding and complete license for electric thirsty zillion megawatt loud speakers.
Yes. Mahashivaratri meant that we had no 8 to 10:30 powercut. Infact thats how I realised it was mahashivaratri today - when the light didnt go, and a nearby temple loudspeaker blared bhajans.
Then ma called. It reminded me of my childhood. Mahashivaratri meant a holiday - usually in the middle of final exams. A trip to the local shiv mandir with ma was a welcome break from the prison of books. I used to readily accompany her.
I was still not the atheist that I am now. I would do whatever ma instructed me. Collect wildflowers for the pooja, carry the pooja thali, pour milk on the shivaling and do the seven rounds of the linga. It was all fun and the longer it lasted the better it was - because back at home were waiting the textbooks and notes for next days exam. :)
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Savera days
So one day they decided to pull her down and bring up a big red and blue steel structure. That was the day they killed the spirit of pune – or at least one part of it.
But then that’s how all things are – mortal, transient. When such is the lot of earth itself, then what is savera? When such is the fate of earth her.
Lazy savera Sundays
Sat here all day. 11 to 2 and then 3 to 7. that’s like most of the day I guess. And watched people. About 20 pairs of different shaded denim clad legs. Denims rule this generation. Nothing new with that – but its amazing if you think of it. An entire generation clad in a single type of clothing. Like about 100 years back our forefathers clad in white dhotis.
A low cleavage t-shirt wearing girl is crossing the road from the Fergusson College side. I can see her cleavage from across the road, where she is standing near the divider.
Makes me think – things that mark this generation – less clothing on women, denim, cell phones and internet centered, money frenzied life styles.
I read somewhere some article on how the hemlines of women’s skirts move up or down with the economy. Don’t remember much about it right now, but I think there definitely is a relation between women’s clothing and the state of a society’s economic prosperity.
Generally speaking a strong economy means more women wearing less clothes and vice versa. Think about it. A strong economy means general prosperity, lower crime rates, lesser frustration or pent up desires, lesser chances of men behaving like animals etc etc.
But then that’s how all things are – mortal, transient. When such is the lot of earth itself, then what is savera? When such is the fate of earth her.
Lazy savera Sundays
Sat here all day. 11 to 2 and then 3 to 7. that’s like most of the day I guess. And watched people. About 20 pairs of different shaded denim clad legs. Denims rule this generation. Nothing new with that – but its amazing if you think of it. An entire generation clad in a single type of clothing. Like about 100 years back our forefathers clad in white dhotis.
A low cleavage t-shirt wearing girl is crossing the road from the Fergusson College side. I can see her cleavage from across the road, where she is standing near the divider.
Makes me think – things that mark this generation – less clothing on women, denim, cell phones and internet centered, money frenzied life styles.
I read somewhere some article on how the hemlines of women’s skirts move up or down with the economy. Don’t remember much about it right now, but I think there definitely is a relation between women’s clothing and the state of a society’s economic prosperity.
Generally speaking a strong economy means more women wearing less clothes and vice versa. Think about it. A strong economy means general prosperity, lower crime rates, lesser frustration or pent up desires, lesser chances of men behaving like animals etc etc.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Notes on India and her world - preface
What is a historian? Who is a historian? What propels men to be one? To observe, record and preserve - what is there motivation. Perhaps there is none. Except an inner desire to immortality the times that one has lived in. A desire to beat time in her game and last long after dying. For if a man rights about himself it does not matter much. But if a man rights about mankind - that is what becomes history.
And so, from these desires and some others, I start this document. Not with any grand intentions. My bits and pieces of text, notes, blog entries and smsed thoughts may never amount to much. Long ages hence, a bored granddaughter somewhere may read this. That alone would be my claim to immortality.
Kings and prime ministers I will leave worthier heads than mine to document. I shall document the simple people around me. And the simple events in my immediate surroundings - intercoursed with mega events in the world at large. With my intended audience a grand daughter many ages hence.
But before I begin - a few lines to what made me start - howsoever unrelated or trivial it may sound. Rang De Basanti - watched it twice. And ofcourse as an Indian I felt all the things that other good countrymen of my age and mental disposition felt. But I felt something more. Something that escapes expression in words. Something that I will try to hint at time and again as I keep recording. But I am not sure I will be successful.
so my reaction to Rang De Basanti are these pages - my notes on India and her world
And so, from these desires and some others, I start this document. Not with any grand intentions. My bits and pieces of text, notes, blog entries and smsed thoughts may never amount to much. Long ages hence, a bored granddaughter somewhere may read this. That alone would be my claim to immortality.
Kings and prime ministers I will leave worthier heads than mine to document. I shall document the simple people around me. And the simple events in my immediate surroundings - intercoursed with mega events in the world at large. With my intended audience a grand daughter many ages hence.
But before I begin - a few lines to what made me start - howsoever unrelated or trivial it may sound. Rang De Basanti - watched it twice. And ofcourse as an Indian I felt all the things that other good countrymen of my age and mental disposition felt. But I felt something more. Something that escapes expression in words. Something that I will try to hint at time and again as I keep recording. But I am not sure I will be successful.
so my reaction to Rang De Basanti are these pages - my notes on India and her world
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Because I havent blogged in ages
I dont diary blog. I need issues to write on. There are no dearth of issues. But theres been a serious dearth of time for the writer in me over the past few months. I havent been able to sit and compose a complete post for many weeks now - no concentration, no time, no mindset to write.
Not that anyone ever visits my blog. My blog is like a remote land, where once in a long while, a web-weary visitor drops by - either by chance or intention. One or two leave comments so I know, most dont. Anyway, I write for myself and for this rare visitor.
And for this rare visitor, I decided to write today. Lest he think that I have abandoned these lands. So this is just a proof of life...a shake of hands without any purpose...this post is about nothing in particular.
I could diaryblog too...but I hate diaryblogging. For me the idea of baring my soul or life in front of the world and allowing this smart digital monster to capture my secrets silently, is a preposterous idea.
Anyway, enough for the moment. I am alive and I havent abandoned this blog. This post is a proof of that. Bye Bye. :)
Not that anyone ever visits my blog. My blog is like a remote land, where once in a long while, a web-weary visitor drops by - either by chance or intention. One or two leave comments so I know, most dont. Anyway, I write for myself and for this rare visitor.
And for this rare visitor, I decided to write today. Lest he think that I have abandoned these lands. So this is just a proof of life...a shake of hands without any purpose...this post is about nothing in particular.
I could diaryblog too...but I hate diaryblogging. For me the idea of baring my soul or life in front of the world and allowing this smart digital monster to capture my secrets silently, is a preposterous idea.
Anyway, enough for the moment. I am alive and I havent abandoned this blog. This post is a proof of that. Bye Bye. :)
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
TGIF
If you are ever a tad depressed, lonely or upset on a Friday evening and have near-suicidal feelings or self pity, take my advice and go to the nearest VCD store to get a VCD. Doesn’t matter if you don’t have a VCD player. Just go there. You will realize that there are people like you or worse off than you, and may be you will even pick up a good title or two in the bargain.
Friday evening 9 PM, VCD Express, Aundh. I go to get a copy of Lord of The Rings Part III. They are about to close the store (they have a life). There are at least 8 people in the semi dark store, besides the three store guys.
In one corner, two girls are arguing whether they should watch a romantic film or a horror film. In another corner, a group is having a debate on whether to watch an English classic or a Hindi thriller.
I go in and ask for LOTR part III. The store guy is so happy with my decisiveness that he makes the mistake of asking me whether I want something else too. Three minutes and 10 titles later I am glued to the place. The conversation around me has me terribly interested. I don’t want another film. I just want to watch the fun.
In this group of two girls and a guy, the guy is terribly bored and least interested in films of any sort except porn (you can see that by the way he is eyeing the adult film titles), but of course he can’t watch porn with his wife and sister around. So he doesn’t give a damn about what they r going to see. He just hollers every 10 seconds "guys pick a film fast".
Meanwhile the girls have a serious problem. Every film falls into one of three categories - either one of them has seen it, or they have heard of it and it is a bore, or they are not sure about it bcos they haven’t heard of it.
It’s hilarious just to observe these people, on a Friday evening, at a VCD store. The way there faces are, you'd think somebody would hang them if they picked up a wrong VCD. People probably go through more mental permutations while picking up a VCD, than when they are choosing a college or choosing the nations prime minister.
Sometimes having a choice can make your life so much more difficult and unpleasant. I see these people and can’t help but pity them. Here they are on a Friday night. Surrounded by 300 VCD titles and they can’t pick up a film. And they can’t go home either. Their evening is ruined anyway. The moment they pick a film and come out of the store, they will feel shitty cos they will remember the hundred other films that they always wanted to watch and were better than this one. And if they don’t take a film, they will feel shitty anyway bcos there were so many nice films and they didn’t pick any and now they don’t know what to do with the evening. Believe me; having choices sometimes ruins your life.
Reminds me of my days in college. Every weekend we had this big argument about which films we would see over the weekend. For starters no one could remember a single good film that everyone had wanted to see. All 10 of us suffered a simultaneous selective memory loss. Then there was this huge controversy about almost every kind of topic that could be controverted on - Hindi or English, porn or not porn, action or romance. It was crazy to see everyone arguing intensely as the evening rolled on.
Finally, after a couple of name calling and brainstorming sessions, we'd decide to go get a particular VCD. The normal routine was for the VCD store to either not have that film, or have it on a camera print. So the two of us who'd volunteered to go get a film, would be a huge life shattering fix, having to decide a new film on the spot that would be acceptable enough to the others, or risk being crucified.
Sometimes life would be good to us, or seemingly so, and we would get the VCD. Happily we'd get on our bikes, buy some chips and cold drinks on the way, and with expectations raised, get back home. The lights would be switched off, the junta would gather and start bickering about the most comfortable places, and there would be a lot of commotion and excitement in general. Two of us meanwhile would be trying to get the computer up (we had an old old box in those days that took ages to do anything) and put the CD in - only to find that the CD was corrupt.
That started another round, of troubleshooting and computer gimmicks - none of which of course would work. A corrupt VCD was a corrupt VCD. And every one would curse the computer, then curse the volunteers who had gone to get the VCD and the volunteers would reply back and everyone would be insulting everyone else’s mothers, fathers or sometimes even neighbors. In general it would be much fun. The brunt of this would have to be faced by the person who was unfortunate enough to own the old old box that refused to play VCDs that had been scratched, eaten upon or stuck together with cello tape.
Most of these VCD viewing sessions culminated in our giving up the entire exercise, returning the VCD and then whiling away the remainder of the evening through other means. In retrospect I find it rather weird that this entire episode repeated itself so many times through the two years we were in college. But I guess everyone had more fun in going through these motions and ending up not watching some stupid film. We usually ended up hanging around the tank bund (in Hyderabad) or on the terrace of our flat. That was anyway much more fun than any film on earth. And we all knew that in the back of our minds always.
Friday evening 9 PM, VCD Express, Aundh. I go to get a copy of Lord of The Rings Part III. They are about to close the store (they have a life). There are at least 8 people in the semi dark store, besides the three store guys.
In one corner, two girls are arguing whether they should watch a romantic film or a horror film. In another corner, a group is having a debate on whether to watch an English classic or a Hindi thriller.
I go in and ask for LOTR part III. The store guy is so happy with my decisiveness that he makes the mistake of asking me whether I want something else too. Three minutes and 10 titles later I am glued to the place. The conversation around me has me terribly interested. I don’t want another film. I just want to watch the fun.
In this group of two girls and a guy, the guy is terribly bored and least interested in films of any sort except porn (you can see that by the way he is eyeing the adult film titles), but of course he can’t watch porn with his wife and sister around. So he doesn’t give a damn about what they r going to see. He just hollers every 10 seconds "guys pick a film fast".
Meanwhile the girls have a serious problem. Every film falls into one of three categories - either one of them has seen it, or they have heard of it and it is a bore, or they are not sure about it bcos they haven’t heard of it.
It’s hilarious just to observe these people, on a Friday evening, at a VCD store. The way there faces are, you'd think somebody would hang them if they picked up a wrong VCD. People probably go through more mental permutations while picking up a VCD, than when they are choosing a college or choosing the nations prime minister.
Sometimes having a choice can make your life so much more difficult and unpleasant. I see these people and can’t help but pity them. Here they are on a Friday night. Surrounded by 300 VCD titles and they can’t pick up a film. And they can’t go home either. Their evening is ruined anyway. The moment they pick a film and come out of the store, they will feel shitty cos they will remember the hundred other films that they always wanted to watch and were better than this one. And if they don’t take a film, they will feel shitty anyway bcos there were so many nice films and they didn’t pick any and now they don’t know what to do with the evening. Believe me; having choices sometimes ruins your life.
Reminds me of my days in college. Every weekend we had this big argument about which films we would see over the weekend. For starters no one could remember a single good film that everyone had wanted to see. All 10 of us suffered a simultaneous selective memory loss. Then there was this huge controversy about almost every kind of topic that could be controverted on - Hindi or English, porn or not porn, action or romance. It was crazy to see everyone arguing intensely as the evening rolled on.
Finally, after a couple of name calling and brainstorming sessions, we'd decide to go get a particular VCD. The normal routine was for the VCD store to either not have that film, or have it on a camera print. So the two of us who'd volunteered to go get a film, would be a huge life shattering fix, having to decide a new film on the spot that would be acceptable enough to the others, or risk being crucified.
Sometimes life would be good to us, or seemingly so, and we would get the VCD. Happily we'd get on our bikes, buy some chips and cold drinks on the way, and with expectations raised, get back home. The lights would be switched off, the junta would gather and start bickering about the most comfortable places, and there would be a lot of commotion and excitement in general. Two of us meanwhile would be trying to get the computer up (we had an old old box in those days that took ages to do anything) and put the CD in - only to find that the CD was corrupt.
That started another round, of troubleshooting and computer gimmicks - none of which of course would work. A corrupt VCD was a corrupt VCD. And every one would curse the computer, then curse the volunteers who had gone to get the VCD and the volunteers would reply back and everyone would be insulting everyone else’s mothers, fathers or sometimes even neighbors. In general it would be much fun. The brunt of this would have to be faced by the person who was unfortunate enough to own the old old box that refused to play VCDs that had been scratched, eaten upon or stuck together with cello tape.
Most of these VCD viewing sessions culminated in our giving up the entire exercise, returning the VCD and then whiling away the remainder of the evening through other means. In retrospect I find it rather weird that this entire episode repeated itself so many times through the two years we were in college. But I guess everyone had more fun in going through these motions and ending up not watching some stupid film. We usually ended up hanging around the tank bund (in Hyderabad) or on the terrace of our flat. That was anyway much more fun than any film on earth. And we all knew that in the back of our minds always.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Rajasthan (April 2005)
The bus winds its way through the newly built six lane expressway, amidst dry arid expanses, thatched huts, semi pucca whitewashed houses, camel drawn carts, run down tractors, buses and cars. The journey from Delhi to Jaipur is anything but scenic. Perhaps for a foreign traveler it might be interesting, but the interest is more from the novelty of the view rather than from any inherent beauty.
The summer sun beats hard against the blackened windows of the AC bus. I glance at the dryness and barrenness of my surroundings, snug in the artificial comfort bubble of the bus as it whizzes through the hot dusty road. I look out the window with an unattached, faraway gaze at the men toiling in the fields - dry, brown fields. We cross behror, which people here call midway. It isn’t exactly midway between Delhi and jaipur, but somehow the name has stuck. Behror hasn’t changed in the last 20 years that I recall going on this road. The same pink, semi palatial architecture, cheap imitation of the jaipur style of architecture. The same counters, the same food menu, the same garden layouts. Twenty years and not a thing has changed. But then that is the way most of Rajasthan is - change is slow here - like a desert camel sifting its way amidst the sand dunes of the thar. Losing direction, halting many times, altering courses. Progress here is slow, unsteady and superficial.
This used to be my home once. All this and every bit of it. I remember as a child when I used to travel to Calcutta for my summer vacations, returning home always made me feel glad. The site of the brown arid fields was then a pleasure to my senses after the overbearing greenness of Bengal. Everything about Rajasthan and specifically about Ajmer made me immensely proud and happy. People leave Ajmer with a happy heart and a light foot. Who doesn’t want to escape from the rut and moribund of a small semi urban town into the modern world. But I remember having left it with a leaden heart and moisture in my eyes.
I was leaving my city beloved. My land, my people and my customs. My streets, my playfields and my markets. My school and school friends. I was leaving behind a part of myself here. I promised to return.
The first year of college I looked forward to returning home. Every homecoming in those first few semester ends has given me unparalleled joy. I remember them and I know that I have never felt so much excitement ever in my life earlier. Those were emotionally charged homecomings. Staring out the window to collect as much of the land a possible, trying to recollect insignificant incidents that happened on place along the road, egging the driver to hurry.
But today, after five years of staying away from home, a strange disenchantment has set in. There is definitely no emotion, no excitement in these returns. In its stead I find a critical, condescending, impatient feeling. I can no longer relate to this place, try as hard as I would. And I can no longer relate to the people. Worse still, I cannot refrain from looking down upon them as organisms existing in a stagnating quagmire of social belief systems.
Five years of living away from home has given me this outsider’s perspective to this land and its people. And I cannot help but be critical of it. Of late, every time I return to Jaipur and Ajmer, I notice the superficiality, the emptiness of the people. The lack of vision, the absence of sensitivity to ones surroundings stares at you squarely in your face.
For the average Rajasthani progress and development have extremely materialistic connotations. Nice clothes, bank balance, a sleek car, a swank address, the latest mobile phone, the list is long. But nothing on this list has anything to do with mindset changes. The average Rajsathani will give you a strange look if you ask him whether he has a personal library. The average Rajasthani still thinks women are second grade citizens, who should live in homes, cook, clean and bear children.
The average Rajasthani still sees the world through the glasses that his or her grandfather wore. The world hasn’t changed a bit since then. Except of course for the cars and mobile phones.
Education too has a different meaning here. Education is BA, MA, MCA, BE, MBBS. It’s measured in degrees. By the number of alphabets that are suffixed to your surname. Education has nothing to do with learning. Education has nothing to do with civic behavior and social sense. Education is not an end in itself. It’s just a means to an end. A ticket on a flight to riches and better life.
The summer sun beats hard against the blackened windows of the AC bus. I glance at the dryness and barrenness of my surroundings, snug in the artificial comfort bubble of the bus as it whizzes through the hot dusty road. I look out the window with an unattached, faraway gaze at the men toiling in the fields - dry, brown fields. We cross behror, which people here call midway. It isn’t exactly midway between Delhi and jaipur, but somehow the name has stuck. Behror hasn’t changed in the last 20 years that I recall going on this road. The same pink, semi palatial architecture, cheap imitation of the jaipur style of architecture. The same counters, the same food menu, the same garden layouts. Twenty years and not a thing has changed. But then that is the way most of Rajasthan is - change is slow here - like a desert camel sifting its way amidst the sand dunes of the thar. Losing direction, halting many times, altering courses. Progress here is slow, unsteady and superficial.
This used to be my home once. All this and every bit of it. I remember as a child when I used to travel to Calcutta for my summer vacations, returning home always made me feel glad. The site of the brown arid fields was then a pleasure to my senses after the overbearing greenness of Bengal. Everything about Rajasthan and specifically about Ajmer made me immensely proud and happy. People leave Ajmer with a happy heart and a light foot. Who doesn’t want to escape from the rut and moribund of a small semi urban town into the modern world. But I remember having left it with a leaden heart and moisture in my eyes.
I was leaving my city beloved. My land, my people and my customs. My streets, my playfields and my markets. My school and school friends. I was leaving behind a part of myself here. I promised to return.
The first year of college I looked forward to returning home. Every homecoming in those first few semester ends has given me unparalleled joy. I remember them and I know that I have never felt so much excitement ever in my life earlier. Those were emotionally charged homecomings. Staring out the window to collect as much of the land a possible, trying to recollect insignificant incidents that happened on place along the road, egging the driver to hurry.
But today, after five years of staying away from home, a strange disenchantment has set in. There is definitely no emotion, no excitement in these returns. In its stead I find a critical, condescending, impatient feeling. I can no longer relate to this place, try as hard as I would. And I can no longer relate to the people. Worse still, I cannot refrain from looking down upon them as organisms existing in a stagnating quagmire of social belief systems.
Five years of living away from home has given me this outsider’s perspective to this land and its people. And I cannot help but be critical of it. Of late, every time I return to Jaipur and Ajmer, I notice the superficiality, the emptiness of the people. The lack of vision, the absence of sensitivity to ones surroundings stares at you squarely in your face.
For the average Rajasthani progress and development have extremely materialistic connotations. Nice clothes, bank balance, a sleek car, a swank address, the latest mobile phone, the list is long. But nothing on this list has anything to do with mindset changes. The average Rajsathani will give you a strange look if you ask him whether he has a personal library. The average Rajasthani still thinks women are second grade citizens, who should live in homes, cook, clean and bear children.
The average Rajasthani still sees the world through the glasses that his or her grandfather wore. The world hasn’t changed a bit since then. Except of course for the cars and mobile phones.
Education too has a different meaning here. Education is BA, MA, MCA, BE, MBBS. It’s measured in degrees. By the number of alphabets that are suffixed to your surname. Education has nothing to do with learning. Education has nothing to do with civic behavior and social sense. Education is not an end in itself. It’s just a means to an end. A ticket on a flight to riches and better life.
Random Thoughts on Goa
They say time stops in Goa. You come here, forget the past and stop caring about the future. You are in a sort of time warp. You lose track of days and nights. You start living in the now, the moment. They say this, I don’t. They who? Don’t ask me.
Maybe time really stops here. Maybe it doesn’t. But you desperately will it to. Sitting in the lobby of the Taj Fort Aguada, that overlooks the Arabian Sea, you wouldn’t want time to move on. The Arabian Sea stretches as far as you can see. Close your eyes and it’s the sea you can hear. The monotonous whoosh of the waves washing in and out, beckoning you to come and immerse yourself into them.
The sun sets gradually, turning from hot yellow to cool red. The sea changes from clear blue to dull grey. Hazy outlines of ships on the horizon emerge into clear focus. As if someone has slowly adjusted the lens of some giant binocular. One by one bulbs appear on the shoreline, earthly stars of yellow.
Its 7 in the evening and the Sinquerim beach is slowly disappearing. What the low tide gives up is claimed by night's blackness. Soon all will be dark and only the constant call of the sea shall be heard.
If my eyes were a camera and I were shooting the view from Sinquerim, the wrecked ship would always cover 25% of the frame. The wrecked ship is a constant prop on this watery stage. For 25 years it has stayed here, this rusting mass of iron and steel. Now it is impossible to imagine the sea here without it. Its one with the sea, the sky and the beach at sinquerim. It stands silently, like an ancient mariner, too old to go home, breathing its last in a distant land. As night falls, it puts a black cloak on this old man too. The curtain has fallen, the show is over till tomorrow morning. Only the music remains. And the lights of the stars above and the distant lights below.
*******************************************************************
"sussegado" pronounced "Soos gaad" roughly translated to english would mean "laid-back". It’s a Konkani word that summarizes the Goan attitude towards life. Nothing is in a hurry here. And nothing ever hurries you. So Goa has become the ideal destination to escape and lead a laid back life for few days. People come here to escape from whatever it is that they are trying to escape.
I see these people everywhere around me. On the golden beaches of the Sinquerim, at the swimming pool in the hotel, out in the sea, up at the hotel lobby, in the bar, they are everywhere. They are all in this great act of escaping. I try to figure out why they want to escape from things that they all have to return to eventually. And I try to figure out whether escaping really helps and whether they really manage to escape. No, I haven’t figured that out yet. It’s really not important actually, because most of these people wouldn’t give a shit about it.
I love the lobby of the Taj Aguada simply because of the view it commands of the sea and the complete serenity that it offers you at all times. The serenity that is right now being violated by loud raucous music from a dance party around the corner. I can imagine some 200 people sweating it out on the dance floor, amidst unpleasant music and intense humidity and heat. It beats me how that can be someone’s idea of fun, but I guess it takes all kinds to make this world. I just try to shut out the noise in my ears.
So I was talking about the lobby of the Taj fort. I am not an expert on interior decoration. But I am making a rough guess that this is seventies style, with cane sofas and marble or glass topped tables. Huge bay windows open out into the Arabian sea and minus loud DJ music you can hear the sea at all times and see it during the day.
*************************************************************
Goa is a writer's retreat, a lover's retreat, an artist's retreat. It all means the same I guess. Writers are artists and all artists are lovers. All true lovers are artists too. And Goa is earth's gift to them. As I sit in the lobby of the Taj (I am fixed to this spot) and look out into the sea, a strange delight fills my heart. A pianist plays in the background, the
notes float through the breeze and land on my ears. Music has never seemed so heavenly.
God's canvass stretches in front of me. I am an atheist, but the writer in me keeps reverting back to theism. The artist in me refuses to believe that so much beauty can be the result of just happy coincidences. It refuses to accept that such perfection, aesthetics, rhythm and colour balance is the result of random evolutionary forces. And that is why I like to see this as the work of God. I know that once I am home I will revert to my usual cynical atheism. But for the moment, for the sake of my ever romantic muse, let there be a god in heaven and let this beautiful blue sea, with a ship on it, a clear blue sky, with a bright yellow sun in it, golden beaches stretching far into the horizon with happy people on it, and this wonderful lobby of the Taj with a talented pianist, let all this be god’s handiwork, his painting, his stagecraft.
Such master craftsmanship probably comes at a huge price. Such a superhuman artist cannot possibly be balanced. God the artist, is perhaps given to extremes of character and wild mood swings. The power to create also brings with it the potential to destroy. And the urge to keep creating new things results in the destruction of the old. Probably that is why where there’s a beautiful tranquil sea there’s a possibility of a tsunami, where there are beautiful mountains and hills there’s a possibility of earthquake. "The old order changeth, yielding place to the new; and god fulfills themselves in more ways thanone..."
Maybe time really stops here. Maybe it doesn’t. But you desperately will it to. Sitting in the lobby of the Taj Fort Aguada, that overlooks the Arabian Sea, you wouldn’t want time to move on. The Arabian Sea stretches as far as you can see. Close your eyes and it’s the sea you can hear. The monotonous whoosh of the waves washing in and out, beckoning you to come and immerse yourself into them.
The sun sets gradually, turning from hot yellow to cool red. The sea changes from clear blue to dull grey. Hazy outlines of ships on the horizon emerge into clear focus. As if someone has slowly adjusted the lens of some giant binocular. One by one bulbs appear on the shoreline, earthly stars of yellow.
Its 7 in the evening and the Sinquerim beach is slowly disappearing. What the low tide gives up is claimed by night's blackness. Soon all will be dark and only the constant call of the sea shall be heard.
If my eyes were a camera and I were shooting the view from Sinquerim, the wrecked ship would always cover 25% of the frame. The wrecked ship is a constant prop on this watery stage. For 25 years it has stayed here, this rusting mass of iron and steel. Now it is impossible to imagine the sea here without it. Its one with the sea, the sky and the beach at sinquerim. It stands silently, like an ancient mariner, too old to go home, breathing its last in a distant land. As night falls, it puts a black cloak on this old man too. The curtain has fallen, the show is over till tomorrow morning. Only the music remains. And the lights of the stars above and the distant lights below.
*******************************************************************
"sussegado" pronounced "Soos gaad" roughly translated to english would mean "laid-back". It’s a Konkani word that summarizes the Goan attitude towards life. Nothing is in a hurry here. And nothing ever hurries you. So Goa has become the ideal destination to escape and lead a laid back life for few days. People come here to escape from whatever it is that they are trying to escape.
I see these people everywhere around me. On the golden beaches of the Sinquerim, at the swimming pool in the hotel, out in the sea, up at the hotel lobby, in the bar, they are everywhere. They are all in this great act of escaping. I try to figure out why they want to escape from things that they all have to return to eventually. And I try to figure out whether escaping really helps and whether they really manage to escape. No, I haven’t figured that out yet. It’s really not important actually, because most of these people wouldn’t give a shit about it.
I love the lobby of the Taj Aguada simply because of the view it commands of the sea and the complete serenity that it offers you at all times. The serenity that is right now being violated by loud raucous music from a dance party around the corner. I can imagine some 200 people sweating it out on the dance floor, amidst unpleasant music and intense humidity and heat. It beats me how that can be someone’s idea of fun, but I guess it takes all kinds to make this world. I just try to shut out the noise in my ears.
So I was talking about the lobby of the Taj fort. I am not an expert on interior decoration. But I am making a rough guess that this is seventies style, with cane sofas and marble or glass topped tables. Huge bay windows open out into the Arabian sea and minus loud DJ music you can hear the sea at all times and see it during the day.
*************************************************************
Goa is a writer's retreat, a lover's retreat, an artist's retreat. It all means the same I guess. Writers are artists and all artists are lovers. All true lovers are artists too. And Goa is earth's gift to them. As I sit in the lobby of the Taj (I am fixed to this spot) and look out into the sea, a strange delight fills my heart. A pianist plays in the background, the
notes float through the breeze and land on my ears. Music has never seemed so heavenly.
God's canvass stretches in front of me. I am an atheist, but the writer in me keeps reverting back to theism. The artist in me refuses to believe that so much beauty can be the result of just happy coincidences. It refuses to accept that such perfection, aesthetics, rhythm and colour balance is the result of random evolutionary forces. And that is why I like to see this as the work of God. I know that once I am home I will revert to my usual cynical atheism. But for the moment, for the sake of my ever romantic muse, let there be a god in heaven and let this beautiful blue sea, with a ship on it, a clear blue sky, with a bright yellow sun in it, golden beaches stretching far into the horizon with happy people on it, and this wonderful lobby of the Taj with a talented pianist, let all this be god’s handiwork, his painting, his stagecraft.
Such master craftsmanship probably comes at a huge price. Such a superhuman artist cannot possibly be balanced. God the artist, is perhaps given to extremes of character and wild mood swings. The power to create also brings with it the potential to destroy. And the urge to keep creating new things results in the destruction of the old. Probably that is why where there’s a beautiful tranquil sea there’s a possibility of a tsunami, where there are beautiful mountains and hills there’s a possibility of earthquake. "The old order changeth, yielding place to the new; and god fulfills themselves in more ways thanone..."
Friday, March 18, 2005
sex...a debate
why is sex bad?
No sex isnt bad. Not at all.
Yeah rite. Will you sleep with me tonight?
ummmm...
See...why cant we treat sex as something normal? As a normal human urge that has to be satisfied? Like food and thirst?
And wats the big deal about it?
theres no big deal. whats with you? I think you are suddenly horny.
OK. what if I am horny? Maybe I am horny. Maybe I aint. But I am sick of this "we dont care about sex" attitude that folks like to hang around their necks. While all the while, thats whats on their minds.
hmmm...its certainly not an issue to wear on your t-shirt. "I Love to Fuck"...you want them to roam around in shirts like those? whats your point?
my point is, when you are thirsty, you go ask for water. You dont walk around assuming you never heard of water. You dont act as if drinking water, except from one particular glass, is sin. Tell me, do u?
you are oversimplifying things. sex and thirst aint the same things.
they are. we are just conditioned to think they are not. we are conditioned to think that sex is something mysterious, deeply sinful yet something that everyone does in secret. and by doing this we have blown it out of proportion.
i think you are blowing it out of proportion. if people have their private lives, whats the problem? civilised society demands some order. equating sex with water will lead to chaos. we would behave like animals.
And are we doing any better right now? are we really? under our high-brow, puritan stance, arent there so many dark desires and hidden truths? Why not have the courage to accept? To admit to the desires instead of lusting secretly.
and do what? sleep around? be unfaithful? be loose?
Thats upto people. I feel you should be honest rather than be a hypocrit. If you ahve thought about it, you have as good as done it. And theres nothing wrong in admitting to it. Whats wrong is to play the moralist. to fake things. that sucks.
No sex isnt bad. Not at all.
Yeah rite. Will you sleep with me tonight?
ummmm...
See...why cant we treat sex as something normal? As a normal human urge that has to be satisfied? Like food and thirst?
And wats the big deal about it?
theres no big deal. whats with you? I think you are suddenly horny.
OK. what if I am horny? Maybe I am horny. Maybe I aint. But I am sick of this "we dont care about sex" attitude that folks like to hang around their necks. While all the while, thats whats on their minds.
hmmm...its certainly not an issue to wear on your t-shirt. "I Love to Fuck"...you want them to roam around in shirts like those? whats your point?
my point is, when you are thirsty, you go ask for water. You dont walk around assuming you never heard of water. You dont act as if drinking water, except from one particular glass, is sin. Tell me, do u?
you are oversimplifying things. sex and thirst aint the same things.
they are. we are just conditioned to think they are not. we are conditioned to think that sex is something mysterious, deeply sinful yet something that everyone does in secret. and by doing this we have blown it out of proportion.
i think you are blowing it out of proportion. if people have their private lives, whats the problem? civilised society demands some order. equating sex with water will lead to chaos. we would behave like animals.
And are we doing any better right now? are we really? under our high-brow, puritan stance, arent there so many dark desires and hidden truths? Why not have the courage to accept? To admit to the desires instead of lusting secretly.
and do what? sleep around? be unfaithful? be loose?
Thats upto people. I feel you should be honest rather than be a hypocrit. If you ahve thought about it, you have as good as done it. And theres nothing wrong in admitting to it. Whats wrong is to play the moralist. to fake things. that sucks.
Mindless ramblings part I...
Since no body seems to be visitng my blog anyway, I can ramble mindlessly here. Not care about the grammar and the style, not try to sound like a pompous fart, not try to feign intelligence.
I can be myself here. For a change? No usually I am myself all the time. But the problem is that I have so many selves that everyone doesnt get a fair chance.
Like right now I am the mad self...wanting to ramble. Listening to Comfortably Numb (comfortably numb myself) , installing exchange servers and domain controllers on four machines at one time (wow what geek - naah, it sucks honestly).
I chose a lead role in a cage and gave up a walk on role in a war.
Damn. If I had listened to floyd for 1 hour daily in my childhood instead of going to school, I would have had all the edcation I ever needed.
I can be myself here. For a change? No usually I am myself all the time. But the problem is that I have so many selves that everyone doesnt get a fair chance.
Like right now I am the mad self...wanting to ramble. Listening to Comfortably Numb (comfortably numb myself) , installing exchange servers and domain controllers on four machines at one time (wow what geek - naah, it sucks honestly).
I chose a lead role in a cage and gave up a walk on role in a war.
Damn. If I had listened to floyd for 1 hour daily in my childhood instead of going to school, I would have had all the edcation I ever needed.
Friday, March 11, 2005
The Day Mona Lisa Wanted her Smile Back
MSN Messenger users will recognize the title of this post. Throughout last week, millions of MSN messenger users lost their smiles to a Trojan (a malicious program that masquerades under another name) that infected their computers using the guise “Mona Lisa wants her smile back.pif”.
Officially named W32.Serflog.A, it spread across the globe through messenger and other network access programs. Serflog was a medium threat Trojan. One of the hundreds (if not more) of its kind that are appear on the Internet every week.
What calls for attention though, is the manner in which Serflog spread. Within hours, it had spanned continents and infected networks – using one of the biggest loopholes in any security system – humans. Everyone in the security business (whether making it or breaking it) knows the tenet - “The weakest link in a security system is the human link”. The spreading of Serflog is a classic example.
Consider this. It is 10:30, Monday morning. You have just entered office and connected your laptop to the Internet. As you log on to MSN messenger, you receive a request from your spouse/friend/colleague’s MSN contact to download a file titled “my topless image in skirt.pif”. You don’t think twice before accepting the request. Your antivirus tool pops umpteen warnings; your antispyware tool starts blinking. You ignore all of them and continue. Five minutes later your hard disk has crashed. Whose fault was it? Who compromised the system? Was it smart code or smart mind reading on the hacker’s part?
Social Engineering is an old term in the hacker community. Experienced hackers and security pros will tell you that the best way to enter a system and steal information or create damage is not by writing smart code. It is by fooling the users of the system. If you can enter the user’s mind, you can enter their systems.
From a 120 Rs/hr luxury, today the Internet has become a part of our personal and work lives. This has tremendous privacy and security implications. The internet is an immensely powerful tool. And like all powerful tools its use can be potentially dangerous, if we don’t understand what we are doing.
I have a friend who is an avid blogger. His blog, apart from being a sensual and intellectual treat for visitors, is also a hacker’s delight. It’s full of little interesting details and insights into his personal life that if carefully pieced together can create a complete psychological picture of the man. Using this picture, it is theoretically possible to narrow down the kind of passwords that this guy is probable to use for anything online. When I told him this, he scoffed at me and asked me to stop reading sci-fi books. You can choose to think like may friend too.
But look at where technology is headed. Every single word that you type on the Internet is being tracked and archived by numerous Web Crawlers and search spiders. Storage technology has evolved to the point where it is virtually costless to store terabytes of data for some future undefined use. Intelligent search bots - software that can read and piece together disjointed information from disparate sources, and consolidate it for humans – is under development. Every time you go onto the Internet, you are throwing open a dozen odd doors and windows for people to listen and see your private world, without your even realizing it.
If you aren’t already, you should start worrying. Because it’s a war out there. And it’s being taken directly into your homes and your personal lives. It is impossible to predict the exact threat and information breach possibilities of the future. But the fact that immense possibilities exist, cannot be denied.
While you are leaving seemingly harmless, small tidbits of information all over the web – your age-group on one website, an email id at another, gender and nationality at a third place and your personal thoughts and problems on a blog - a web spider is scanning and archiving all this into a database somewhere. Someday someone might be interested and resourceful enough to pull out all that information put it together and use it against you.
Antivirus companies, law-makers and security professionals are fighting a losing battle. For one, it is difficult to account for all the permutations that software provides hackers. Second, misinformed, ignorant or careless users render all attempts at security and privacy protection virtually useless. Most users think that the Internet is completely anonymous, impersonal domain. The truth is that there was never a technology that is capable of being plugged into your personal life as much as the Internet.
The problem is much more acute in countries like India. We have an ever-increasing net-user population, a majority of which uses the internet like the television or the telephone. For them it’s another new entertainment and communication tool. With very little clue of what it is all about, they are sitting ducks for hackers and cyber-terrorists.
The problem is aggravated because most of us are using pirated software and have little or no security measures in place. With users out of the security network of software companies and hackers loose, thanks to little or no legislation, India is set for a major cyber-tsunami to strike it. As with all large scale catastrophes and emergencies in the past, the government, media and people in general will be caught napping.
The result will be a series of knee-jerk reactions, ad-hoc legislation, mass-scale paranoia and finger pointing. Apart from the financial, personal or physical damage of a mass-scale cyber attack on our networks, the freedom, trust and openness of the Internet will probably be lost forever.
It is time netizens realized the power and impact of the Internet and gave serious thought to security implications. Its time we started learning basic Internet security guidelines, essential protection methods and implications of specific actions on the internet. Apart from your favorite blogs, online journals, mail accounts and shopping sites, start paying visits to security sites. Subscribe to newsletters on security. And think about making allocations in your budget to buy legal software. We need to realize that we can no longer depend on the family geek for maintaining our PC. That’s as much our job as servicing the car. We need to educate ourselves and people around us. Education and awareness is the only long term protection that we will ever have in this war.
Revolutions bring freedom. But they also bring responsibilities. The internet is mankind’s biggest revolution after the wheel and the fire. It’s our responsibility to protect it from being hijacked and abused. Much as you would like to think, your PC is no longer an impersonal box that sits on a table in the corner. It is now an important part of your life, and by protecting it you are doing your bit to protect your own and the Internet’s future. The internet is an information superhighway. Driving blindly at 180 kmph is going to get you killed one day. Open your eyes before it’s too late.
Officially named W32.Serflog.A, it spread across the globe through messenger and other network access programs. Serflog was a medium threat Trojan. One of the hundreds (if not more) of its kind that are appear on the Internet every week.
What calls for attention though, is the manner in which Serflog spread. Within hours, it had spanned continents and infected networks – using one of the biggest loopholes in any security system – humans. Everyone in the security business (whether making it or breaking it) knows the tenet - “The weakest link in a security system is the human link”. The spreading of Serflog is a classic example.
Consider this. It is 10:30, Monday morning. You have just entered office and connected your laptop to the Internet. As you log on to MSN messenger, you receive a request from your spouse/friend/colleague’s MSN contact to download a file titled “my topless image in skirt.pif”. You don’t think twice before accepting the request. Your antivirus tool pops umpteen warnings; your antispyware tool starts blinking. You ignore all of them and continue. Five minutes later your hard disk has crashed. Whose fault was it? Who compromised the system? Was it smart code or smart mind reading on the hacker’s part?
Social Engineering is an old term in the hacker community. Experienced hackers and security pros will tell you that the best way to enter a system and steal information or create damage is not by writing smart code. It is by fooling the users of the system. If you can enter the user’s mind, you can enter their systems.
From a 120 Rs/hr luxury, today the Internet has become a part of our personal and work lives. This has tremendous privacy and security implications. The internet is an immensely powerful tool. And like all powerful tools its use can be potentially dangerous, if we don’t understand what we are doing.
I have a friend who is an avid blogger. His blog, apart from being a sensual and intellectual treat for visitors, is also a hacker’s delight. It’s full of little interesting details and insights into his personal life that if carefully pieced together can create a complete psychological picture of the man. Using this picture, it is theoretically possible to narrow down the kind of passwords that this guy is probable to use for anything online. When I told him this, he scoffed at me and asked me to stop reading sci-fi books. You can choose to think like may friend too.
But look at where technology is headed. Every single word that you type on the Internet is being tracked and archived by numerous Web Crawlers and search spiders. Storage technology has evolved to the point where it is virtually costless to store terabytes of data for some future undefined use. Intelligent search bots - software that can read and piece together disjointed information from disparate sources, and consolidate it for humans – is under development. Every time you go onto the Internet, you are throwing open a dozen odd doors and windows for people to listen and see your private world, without your even realizing it.
If you aren’t already, you should start worrying. Because it’s a war out there. And it’s being taken directly into your homes and your personal lives. It is impossible to predict the exact threat and information breach possibilities of the future. But the fact that immense possibilities exist, cannot be denied.
While you are leaving seemingly harmless, small tidbits of information all over the web – your age-group on one website, an email id at another, gender and nationality at a third place and your personal thoughts and problems on a blog - a web spider is scanning and archiving all this into a database somewhere. Someday someone might be interested and resourceful enough to pull out all that information put it together and use it against you.
Antivirus companies, law-makers and security professionals are fighting a losing battle. For one, it is difficult to account for all the permutations that software provides hackers. Second, misinformed, ignorant or careless users render all attempts at security and privacy protection virtually useless. Most users think that the Internet is completely anonymous, impersonal domain. The truth is that there was never a technology that is capable of being plugged into your personal life as much as the Internet.
The problem is much more acute in countries like India. We have an ever-increasing net-user population, a majority of which uses the internet like the television or the telephone. For them it’s another new entertainment and communication tool. With very little clue of what it is all about, they are sitting ducks for hackers and cyber-terrorists.
The problem is aggravated because most of us are using pirated software and have little or no security measures in place. With users out of the security network of software companies and hackers loose, thanks to little or no legislation, India is set for a major cyber-tsunami to strike it. As with all large scale catastrophes and emergencies in the past, the government, media and people in general will be caught napping.
The result will be a series of knee-jerk reactions, ad-hoc legislation, mass-scale paranoia and finger pointing. Apart from the financial, personal or physical damage of a mass-scale cyber attack on our networks, the freedom, trust and openness of the Internet will probably be lost forever.
It is time netizens realized the power and impact of the Internet and gave serious thought to security implications. Its time we started learning basic Internet security guidelines, essential protection methods and implications of specific actions on the internet. Apart from your favorite blogs, online journals, mail accounts and shopping sites, start paying visits to security sites. Subscribe to newsletters on security. And think about making allocations in your budget to buy legal software. We need to realize that we can no longer depend on the family geek for maintaining our PC. That’s as much our job as servicing the car. We need to educate ourselves and people around us. Education and awareness is the only long term protection that we will ever have in this war.
Revolutions bring freedom. But they also bring responsibilities. The internet is mankind’s biggest revolution after the wheel and the fire. It’s our responsibility to protect it from being hijacked and abused. Much as you would like to think, your PC is no longer an impersonal box that sits on a table in the corner. It is now an important part of your life, and by protecting it you are doing your bit to protect your own and the Internet’s future. The internet is an information superhighway. Driving blindly at 180 kmph is going to get you killed one day. Open your eyes before it’s too late.
Sunday, March 06, 2005
Of Opium and Fire Water
Human history is replete with colonial expansions and military conquest of one nation over another. From cathartic events in the lives of the people of those times, and turning points in the course of world affairs, these expansions or military conquests have now been reduced to mere chapters in history textbooks, to be learnt by rote and reproduced in exams.
Unfortunately, our school colleges and universities, although good in making its students learn chapters, fail in making them see the underlying lesson, the moral in those chapters. And that is precisely why history gets a chance of repeating herself.
As I observe 21st century India around me - in her youth, in her new incarnation - I cannot help but remember two murky lessons of the past. One relates to fire-water. The other to Opium.
In the early 1700s the first British colonial expansion started in the Americas. Here was a vast, untamed, untouched (by the white) continent, rich in all kinds of resources required for the Industrial revolution. But there was a small problem. The Red Indians. America would never have been conquered by the British if the fierce, battle ready Red Indians had prevailed and won. But they lost - they lost their land, their culture and their identity - and are today reduced to a minority in their own homes.
However the point here is not that the natives lost to the British. The point is the manner in which this conquest was brought about. The victory, a gradual, bloody one, was brought about more by fire-water than by gunfire.
Alcohol or firewater as the Red Indians began to call it, brought about the slow but steady destruction of the socio-economic structure of the Indian tribal system. This led to a weakening of their military might. For the British, it was a systematic twin-pronged campaign. On one hand, in the name of friendship they made drunkards out of entire nation's youth. And their armies attacked and destroyed the drunk and dazed braves on the battlefield.
The second chapter that I mention is again about the British. It could be coincidence, but I like to think of it as an encore of a tried and tested formulae.
More than a century after the British expansion into Americas, a certain trading enterprise, by the name of the East India Company, started trading operations with China. Chinese tea was in great demand in Britain. But unfortunately Britain had nothing to offer China. This was a highly sophisticated, cultured civilization that had no use of the white man or anything that he had to offer. Until someone in the British camp thought about Opium.
And then began another systematic decay of an erstwhile well-organized, mature society. Trade imbalances swung the reverse way and demand for opium far outweighed the demand for tea. Chinese youth found themselves caught in a vicious cycle. Opium brought about their economic ruin. To escape mental trauma they indulged in more opium. Finally, the British used opium itself as a pretext to put the final nail into the coffin of the Chinese nation. The Opium Wars themselves are well documented in history.
In both these incidents, there are certain distinctly similar traits. A highly advanced, industrial, capitalist society, driven by its socio-economic urge for higher profits and larger markets or resources, approaches a society that is industrially less advanced but socio-economically mature and independent.
A full fledged armed conflict at the first instance is avoided. Rather the aggressor resorts to subversive ways of weakening the foundations of the society - by intoxicating (decapitating) the youth or making the society economically weak or unbalanced through artificial means.
For a long time, the incumbent society is not aware of the big picture. People react in knee jerk ways, lacking long term vision and trying to escape from the situation. There is both a lack of coordinated efforts and a willingness to take up responsible decisive actions for the entire society. By the time this subversion is uncovered and the aggressed society cries foul it is too late. Its youth are caught in a mire of apathy and intoxication. The social structure is crumbling. A small extra nudge from outside and the entire nation falls in front of the aggressors like a house of cards.
I know your are wondering by now that we are neither Red Indians nor Chinese. We have intoxication and drug addiction but neither is as widespread. We live in a much equitable world order where no nation aggresses another nation just like that - unless it is in the middle-east or is Afghanistan or Libya, Sudan. Then too, colonialism as such is a word of the past. And finally, India is an emerging economic superpower and our youth are anything but intoxicated on a mass scale like the red-Indians or the Chinese.
But this is not about opium or alcohol intoxication. Wish it were that simple. Then it would be much easier to fight. But this is much more subtle. So subtle that even though I can feel this aggression, I cannot identify the aggressor, cannot point out the subversion or the modus operandi.
I only see the symptoms - the early signs of the oncoming disease. A growing apathy of the youth for anything other than concerning themselves, an increasing desire to escape from the present, absolute unwillingness to confront issues, an inability to see the long term, lack of compassion for the society and vision.
I conclude by putting things into context. I live in Pune – christened as the Oxford of the East. A student city – its economy and social-ecosystem dictated by the youth. Pune is alive, happening, culturally active, politically aware. Or is it? I am trying hard to belive it is. I look around for symptoms of life.
In the pubs and bars of pune, amidst loud music and partying, I strain hard to hear someone planning something for the street children of the city. In the posh multiplexes I look hard for young boys and girls gathering to spread social awareness on AIDS. On college campuses and canteens I try to eavesdrop on discussions on trying out radical and brave new ideas or new technology.
But I hear nothing. The words that I am trying to hear, the ideas that I am trying to listen to, the awareness campaigns, students movements, cultural activities, that I am dying to see, are not there. In there stead is just plain apathy, mental languor and a desire to escape to reality by any means. It just reminds me of opium and fire-water. And I fear that history is about to repeat herself – albeit in a completely new way.
Unfortunately, our school colleges and universities, although good in making its students learn chapters, fail in making them see the underlying lesson, the moral in those chapters. And that is precisely why history gets a chance of repeating herself.
As I observe 21st century India around me - in her youth, in her new incarnation - I cannot help but remember two murky lessons of the past. One relates to fire-water. The other to Opium.
In the early 1700s the first British colonial expansion started in the Americas. Here was a vast, untamed, untouched (by the white) continent, rich in all kinds of resources required for the Industrial revolution. But there was a small problem. The Red Indians. America would never have been conquered by the British if the fierce, battle ready Red Indians had prevailed and won. But they lost - they lost their land, their culture and their identity - and are today reduced to a minority in their own homes.
However the point here is not that the natives lost to the British. The point is the manner in which this conquest was brought about. The victory, a gradual, bloody one, was brought about more by fire-water than by gunfire.
Alcohol or firewater as the Red Indians began to call it, brought about the slow but steady destruction of the socio-economic structure of the Indian tribal system. This led to a weakening of their military might. For the British, it was a systematic twin-pronged campaign. On one hand, in the name of friendship they made drunkards out of entire nation's youth. And their armies attacked and destroyed the drunk and dazed braves on the battlefield.
The second chapter that I mention is again about the British. It could be coincidence, but I like to think of it as an encore of a tried and tested formulae.
More than a century after the British expansion into Americas, a certain trading enterprise, by the name of the East India Company, started trading operations with China. Chinese tea was in great demand in Britain. But unfortunately Britain had nothing to offer China. This was a highly sophisticated, cultured civilization that had no use of the white man or anything that he had to offer. Until someone in the British camp thought about Opium.
And then began another systematic decay of an erstwhile well-organized, mature society. Trade imbalances swung the reverse way and demand for opium far outweighed the demand for tea. Chinese youth found themselves caught in a vicious cycle. Opium brought about their economic ruin. To escape mental trauma they indulged in more opium. Finally, the British used opium itself as a pretext to put the final nail into the coffin of the Chinese nation. The Opium Wars themselves are well documented in history.
In both these incidents, there are certain distinctly similar traits. A highly advanced, industrial, capitalist society, driven by its socio-economic urge for higher profits and larger markets or resources, approaches a society that is industrially less advanced but socio-economically mature and independent.
A full fledged armed conflict at the first instance is avoided. Rather the aggressor resorts to subversive ways of weakening the foundations of the society - by intoxicating (decapitating) the youth or making the society economically weak or unbalanced through artificial means.
For a long time, the incumbent society is not aware of the big picture. People react in knee jerk ways, lacking long term vision and trying to escape from the situation. There is both a lack of coordinated efforts and a willingness to take up responsible decisive actions for the entire society. By the time this subversion is uncovered and the aggressed society cries foul it is too late. Its youth are caught in a mire of apathy and intoxication. The social structure is crumbling. A small extra nudge from outside and the entire nation falls in front of the aggressors like a house of cards.
I know your are wondering by now that we are neither Red Indians nor Chinese. We have intoxication and drug addiction but neither is as widespread. We live in a much equitable world order where no nation aggresses another nation just like that - unless it is in the middle-east or is Afghanistan or Libya, Sudan. Then too, colonialism as such is a word of the past. And finally, India is an emerging economic superpower and our youth are anything but intoxicated on a mass scale like the red-Indians or the Chinese.
But this is not about opium or alcohol intoxication. Wish it were that simple. Then it would be much easier to fight. But this is much more subtle. So subtle that even though I can feel this aggression, I cannot identify the aggressor, cannot point out the subversion or the modus operandi.
I only see the symptoms - the early signs of the oncoming disease. A growing apathy of the youth for anything other than concerning themselves, an increasing desire to escape from the present, absolute unwillingness to confront issues, an inability to see the long term, lack of compassion for the society and vision.
I conclude by putting things into context. I live in Pune – christened as the Oxford of the East. A student city – its economy and social-ecosystem dictated by the youth. Pune is alive, happening, culturally active, politically aware. Or is it? I am trying hard to belive it is. I look around for symptoms of life.
In the pubs and bars of pune, amidst loud music and partying, I strain hard to hear someone planning something for the street children of the city. In the posh multiplexes I look hard for young boys and girls gathering to spread social awareness on AIDS. On college campuses and canteens I try to eavesdrop on discussions on trying out radical and brave new ideas or new technology.
But I hear nothing. The words that I am trying to hear, the ideas that I am trying to listen to, the awareness campaigns, students movements, cultural activities, that I am dying to see, are not there. In there stead is just plain apathy, mental languor and a desire to escape to reality by any means. It just reminds me of opium and fire-water. And I fear that history is about to repeat herself – albeit in a completely new way.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
A Chat Transcript
this is a discussion that I had with a friend after she read my post on love ( the one immiediately below this one). I posted this so that all those folks who will come with the dagger after me once they have read that post, can further sharpen them after reading this. And aslo so that I dont have to speak the same things repeatedly.
So before you read this post, read the one below it.
-------------------------------------------
My Friend Thats partially true
titash neogi :) completely
My Friend nope
titash neogi yes...
My Friend because thats how you think u are Titash and because I think what I think this is me :)
titash neogi :) see if u have a point u ahve to prove it
My Friend and how did u prove it ?
titash neogi look around yourself..
My Friend I would suggest the same to u
titash neogi :)
titash neogi the point is...u have to tell me..if love isnt ego then wat is it?
titash neogi can u do that?
My Friend dont u believe that there can be love without expectations and without having to pamper ones ego ?
titash neogi ego = self. when u do something selflessly, u r still catering to an inner urge to be a martyr...subconciously u r telling urself ...i am in love and i will do this for him or her .....
My Friend no !!!
My Friend u do it because u want to
My Friend love is a relationship
My Friend it may not be completely selfless
titash neogi thts y i sed ki it works in devious ways...u dont realise it....when u r sacrificing....thinking tht u r doing it without expectations...ya exactly..YOU want to....its an inner urge....the urge to be selfless....
My Friend thats not ego
My Friend an inner urge to do good, do u call that ego?
My Friend or being selfish ?
My Friend I wouldnt
titash neogi ego = self.....its a broad defintiion of ego
titash neogi :) u wont bcos its a very alien concept to u....
titash neogi most ppl wont
My Friend dont be so cynical
My Friend things can be nice..........ppl can be nice
titash neogi bt thts basically it...its impossible to do anything in this world without thinking of the self... :)
titash neogi lol...i never sed tht they cant be....u r a nice person...bt tht doesnt have anything to with ur thinking first for urself
My Friend ohhhh pls !!!
My Friend and why do u think am I talking to u now
titash neogi bcos there r no calls coming in :)
titash neogi and bcos u like talking to me...
titash neogi u get emotional/intellectual/ or any other sort of entertainment...
titash neogi simple....
titash neogi :) and thts nothing wrong either
My Friend so its ME that I am entertaining with u as an object .........?
titash neogi ofcourse :)
My Friend is probably what u think
My Friend !!!!!!
My Friend I wud probably not chat with u after this, nothing personal
titash neogi lol...thts fine...thts bcos i have hurt ur ego...if speaking the truth is something tht stops u from talking to me...i cant help it...thts probably wat a lot of ppl wud do to me...
titash neogi bt i too am catering to my self..my ego.... :)
So before you read this post, read the one below it.
-------------------------------------------
My Friend Thats partially true
titash neogi :) completely
My Friend nope
titash neogi yes...
My Friend because thats how you think u are Titash and because I think what I think this is me :)
titash neogi :) see if u have a point u ahve to prove it
My Friend and how did u prove it ?
titash neogi look around yourself..
My Friend I would suggest the same to u
titash neogi :)
titash neogi the point is...u have to tell me..if love isnt ego then wat is it?
titash neogi can u do that?
My Friend dont u believe that there can be love without expectations and without having to pamper ones ego ?
titash neogi ego = self. when u do something selflessly, u r still catering to an inner urge to be a martyr...subconciously u r telling urself ...i am in love and i will do this for him or her .....
My Friend no !!!
My Friend u do it because u want to
My Friend love is a relationship
My Friend it may not be completely selfless
titash neogi thts y i sed ki it works in devious ways...u dont realise it....when u r sacrificing....thinking tht u r doing it without expectations...ya exactly..YOU want to....its an inner urge....the urge to be selfless....
My Friend thats not ego
My Friend an inner urge to do good, do u call that ego?
My Friend or being selfish ?
My Friend I wouldnt
titash neogi ego = self.....its a broad defintiion of ego
titash neogi :) u wont bcos its a very alien concept to u....
titash neogi most ppl wont
My Friend dont be so cynical
My Friend things can be nice..........ppl can be nice
titash neogi bt thts basically it...its impossible to do anything in this world without thinking of the self... :)
titash neogi lol...i never sed tht they cant be....u r a nice person...bt tht doesnt have anything to with ur thinking first for urself
My Friend ohhhh pls !!!
My Friend and why do u think am I talking to u now
titash neogi bcos there r no calls coming in :)
titash neogi and bcos u like talking to me...
titash neogi u get emotional/intellectual/ or any other sort of entertainment...
titash neogi simple....
titash neogi :) and thts nothing wrong either
My Friend so its ME that I am entertaining with u as an object .........?
titash neogi ofcourse :)
My Friend is probably what u think
My Friend !!!!!!
My Friend I wud probably not chat with u after this, nothing personal
titash neogi lol...thts fine...thts bcos i have hurt ur ego...if speaking the truth is something tht stops u from talking to me...i cant help it...thts probably wat a lot of ppl wud do to me...
titash neogi bt i too am catering to my self..my ego.... :)