The Really Fake first day at the IPL

The contract was signed and I was to represent the Thanjavur tigers. It was literally a rip roaring team. All of them spoke very loudly and inconsolably at all times. Given that my connection with Thanjavur was very ancient, I quickly got into the stride and started talking loudly as well. All of my team mates were decidedly well built and very muscular. It was very easy to identify me in the first team picture. All you needed to do was to sight the lamp post amongst the trees. 

A day later we were given our official dress. Pink t-shirt with Thanjavur written in gold. Ofcourse the trousers were purple. The tailor, it turned out was colorblind. After seeing us, most of the photographers who gathered also turned colorblind. Not to be outdone, our team sponsorer also put a tinge of lipstick on our lips to make us look like Tamil Matinee Idols. We even had a team punch line of sorts a la Nike style. It was written in Tamil on the front and back, loosely translated to "Keep doing it". I still have not been able to figure out what we are supposed to be doing. Post the photo shoot, our mascot, a pink tiger, fainted due to sun stroke. I am not sure it was a great idea to conduct the photo shoot outside a temple at two in the afternoon. Even worse considering it was the peak of summer.

We reached Johannesburg and quickly after alighting, there were many security guards running towards us. I soon realised that my zealous team mates were falling on the ground and praying at something. They soon realized that it was a mistake. It was covered in black alright, it was certainly huge alright, but it certainly was not "amma". I might possibly be killed for reporting this but you sure know whom to interrogate in case this happened. Mr. Vel Well Muruku, our team manager managed to find out the only hotel in town that strictly adhered to vaasthu. It was run by a man queerly named "Sube se Maniyan". I thought he was a local, but when he started to welcome us, the volume decided his origin. He was one of us.

Our first game was against Mizoram missiles. Thapa, their captain gave us a strong thapad by sending us in first to bat. I was busy savouring the sights of the stadium that I forgot that I was the opening batsman. They timed me out and we lost a wicket even before a ball was bowled. I was interviewed by enthusiastic reporters and was very happy that I had started making headlines. I was determined to prove my worth. My princely contract of five rupees and twenty five paise per game was at stake. I think I earned back a lot on day one.  We made great progress and very soon all our batsman progressed to the middle of the ground and back into the dugout.

Not to be outdone, our opening howler, sorry bowler - Searing pace muthukrishnan seared in and flung the ball hard. He had to be reminded that he needs to bowl on the pitch. The injured spectator was carried to an emergency ward where to our great relief he recovered. The missiles thrashed our bowlers around. It was a savage attack. I could not bear to see it. I promptly pulled a muscle in my head (Yes, with legends it is possible) and went back to the dug out. There I flexed my arms and showed off my muscles. The children started crying and women ran away. 

During the strategy break, I gave my ideas to the captain. They needed motivation and I told them that there was a great idly joint and they served sambar to the table through hose pipes. The effect of my genius was seismic to say the least. Our chief spinner Tension Natarajan spun out the Mizoram Missiles and we won with lots to spare. We then had to unwind Tension as he himself had spun into a bundle after spinning so much. The Idly joint did great business and the hose pipe ran dry. We only paid half the bill and ran away after they called the cops. 

We are preparing for our next game, this is going to be a real nasty one. It is against our arch rivals, Guntur Gunners. We saw them at practice.... at a nearby shooting range. I only hope they miss their targets.

In the meanwhile, please do popularise this team as you have done to other blog about Fake IPL players. How he got my variginal idea is beyond me. My arms and legs are aching from standing at that dugout and flexing them to unflattered audience. Got some work ahead of me. Catch me sometime soon.

Really Fake IPL Player

I got knocked up pretty early in the morning. From my standards, blasphemously early! 6 AM!!! It did not exactly help that I had been relishing vodka till about 4 AM. But my fragile constitution has grown tired and weary of the same drink going in since circa 2004 AD and hence did not resist too violently. I joined my friends on a cool Saturday morning for a game of cricket and decided that it was today that I am going to reinvent myself. By what measure and by how much, the day would later add those details.

Since I missed my car very much, I threatened by much larger friend with hours of boredom and my singing if he did not let me ride his car. With a sinking feeling of realization, I saw that the threat worked. It seemed my dreams to top Indian Idol was going down the drain. I held some solace that may be "Indian Idle" might still be up for grabs. May be I could send in pictures of my fielding skills to back my claim :)

The old car listened to me and often I felt like driving a truck as I struggled to change the gears. Onlookers looked in awe... not at my driving, but at the various distortions that I was making with my face. I did not win too many friends on the ride to the stadium. And by my guesses, I lost a few I had made in the car that morning. We reached the ground and fell out like logs out of a truck. It is not often a very pleasant ride when you have six people crammed in a place barely enough for four. Added to that, their chauffeur was not exactly Micheal Schumacher. 

I have been going to the gym and hence was very insistent that I have remodeled my shapeless body into a fine piece of aerodynamically designed piece of weapon. I swung my arms and pelted a few stones into vacant spaces to pronounce my newly found power. Some of the audience duly dispersed and others said I was very funny. I felt a searing pain in my shoulders. To my great joy, I got to bat a few minutes later. Mostly because the kid who was to bat at that number had gone searching for smokes. Ever the great opportunist, I jumped on the bandwagon and raced to the middle. 

I can imagine the sinking feeling my partner must have had when I walked in instead of his regular partner in crime. He came and did the customary bat tapping and told me to look out for his call. He also asked me to go for my shots and that he would stay put. I smiled to myself. Go for my shots??? Yeah.. nice good phrase.. I must try that sometime.. I did not get the strike for almost an over. My clever partner made sure that I was always at the non-strikers end. I made many cricket poses and chewed a gum and made a face when spitting it out. At last I got my turn to face the music.

To my great horror, a young chap tumbled on and decided he was going to do a warney! I could not have hit a bowling alley ball, leave alone a ripper on a spitefully turning track!!! As it spun past me, I made the legend acknowledging  a rookie "look". The bowler responded in kind. Fiercely determined, I swung my bat hard at the next one. The ball went about 60 degrees away from its intended direction. As far as I was concerned, I did not intend anything. I ran as though my life depended on it and got a run! My day was made. So if friends called me later that day, every run can easily be multiplied by about 2 or 3 and be told with great tales of the effort that went into making it. For those who know me..... "Big Fish" :)

My increasingly irritated partner gestured that I need to get a move on. He was afraid that I might bat out for more than an over or two. Inspiring partnership. When he got the chance, he played to the galleries. I did not because..... guess there were no galleries in the ground :) Well finally after about three overs since I started to bat, I realized that I had far exceeded my expiry date on a cricket ground. Something had to give... I was run out backing up too far from the bowlers end. It turns out I was the only one the whole day who was run out like that. 

Honest to god! I did get into double figures... Ofcourse you need to keep in mind inconsistencies that might creep in, especially since I was the one counting my own scores. Okay! Lets settle it! I made about 5! And comeon! every run counts! 

Thanks to the heroics of a great player, we made a good score. They chased it very well. It was very nice to see, especially when you quietly sneak into a part of the ground where there was ample shade and the ball was rarely hit in that direction. I think the captain was happy thinking that I had gone home. To his utter dismay he found me lurking in the shadiest part of the ground. Perhaps realizing that I would do the least damage from there, he let me be. :) Then it started to happen.

A high catch resulted in my colliding with another fellow and left my fingers very sore. I brought upon myself the great burden of bending my lithe frame to pick the ball up, it hit a stone and then hit my face. Greatly embarrassed, I tried to throw it back. I found that it bisected the wicket into half. I could see that my chances of playing in the IPL was fast diminishing. Never one to loose hope, I thought I was still due a great bit of fielding. It did come, as I fielded one ball properly. It was the one they made the winning run from. Then I put on my "Legend congratulates rookies" look as I went about shaking hands with my opponents. Some were smiling when they shook my hands. I had a strange feeling that they were mocking at me. How was it possible??? Twenty five overs in the sun (and shade) and then three overs of mind boggling histrionics with the bat. Some Jonty-be-proud fielding.... What am I missing???

I waited that day till about six in the evening. There was no call from Priety Zinta or Shilpa Shetty. They are my favorite IPL players. After that I had important appointments to keep with Ms. Smirnoff and Mr. Sprite and ofcourse where there is wills there is gold flake. I did get a missed call, but being the legend that I am, I do not talk to people who miss their appointments.

Watch out for more.. from the one true legend.. The Really Fake IPL Player :)

The courage to be your own Janitor

I recently watched a movie titled - Seven Pounds. I am not at any rate promoting or demoting the film. All opinions here are my own and infact have nothing to do with the movie. Perhaps just with the message that it brought out to me. It is a story of a person who impersonates to help people he affected in the past. As I watched the movie, I realized that the protagonist was actually trying to clean up. Atleast that is what it appeared to me. Trying to clean up after his own mess. Whether accidental or by design.

It takes a lot of courage to be your own Janitor. "Cleaning" up situations created in the past is often a task that many humans do not attempt to try. They fear the repercussions so much that they often give the responsibility to time to heal them. However, time is what you make of now.  A more closer look at the task is not what we need to do in these situations. Perhaps a more closer look is needed towards your own courage. The repairs might be simple enough and may be the tools are available too. But if you have trembling hands, your repair work can be quite clumsy and you may end up creating a bigger mess than the one you set out to clean.

A more pertinent question is - what are you afraid of? - The cleaning up task or the time that it would take to complete it or the difficulties that you would face when cleaning up.

Cleaning up should ideally not be a major problem, that is, if you know exactly what you want to clean up. So if there are pieces of your life that need mending, then you often also know how to mend them. The task of cleaning up is more about purpose than intentions. Before you choose to clean up, you need to know what purpose you are doing it for. You do not have to justify it, just be sure that it will help bring a sense of peace into your life.

I cannot know or prescribe a time frame for such emotionally draining and sensitive clean up acts. It may take a day or a life time, there are no guarantees. As long as there is a sense of purpose as mentioned above, time will not matter. As they say - Rome was not built in a day. Your clean up act might take the toll of your life as a price. Just be sure of your purpose I guess and I think you will be just fine.

It is not the two above that cause much heartache when such clean up acts are conjured up. It is the sheer fear of the difficulties in the path that make the task more onerous that it actually is. Mending the fences of the heart is a very tricky business. Not everyone will think alike and not everyone will understand you. As you mend the fences, you may end up breaking some other fences that you did not count for. Guess the only way to look at it, is to be very careful and level headed. Else you not only increase your difficulties manifold but also increase the number of things you now have to clean up.

So being your own Janitor needs a lot of courage, purpose and time. If you do not have either of these and you have had a messy trail behind you, then pray for a miracle.

I HAVE THE POWDER!!!!!

To my great joy, I find that there has been support to my continued literary pursuit! Well, I stand clear of all charges hence forward. I have sent out subtle warnings that have not been received. So let us all suffer in this happy mess! :)

I used to be a very plumpy child. The credit for the dollops of flesh I had around my cheeks and hands were purely due to the loving indulgence of my mother, who never knew what a healthy diet was, clinically atleast. Apparently and much to my delight, I remember that being a fat little waddling mass meant that you were in the "sooooo cute" bracket. My friends now will surely not believe it, but there have been stranger truths. I was happy to be the center of attention and perhaps became quite a "Ladies man". All of them wanted to hold me and fondle me :) Even though these are nice memories, there is only one that I am reminded of most often.  It is funny how I remember it because I was very young at that time. Perhaps about a year old. Don't ask why I remember it, I just do.

After giving her first child a nice warm bath my dear mother proceeded to empty a whole box of baby powder on me. So much that passersby could have easily mistaken my house for a kid store. I sneezed half of it off and the remaining, I decided to roll on the floor and get it off. My heroic efforts came to nothing since all the cleared spots were filled in again. My mother is a very resourceful woman, she kept another box handy. Tired of my attempts I decided to laze around. Laziness was an art that I had acquired very early on. My mother narrates with horror of how I could sit still in one spot for hours where as other kids would be as fidgety as they can get! She once thought I had died since I had not moved for about half an hour. 

With the baby all decked up, I was given or let us say shown a choice of two pieces of cloth to wear. One of them was a thick looking red coloured baby t-shirt, and the other was a flimsy piece of undergarment. For all her care to cover her child from prying eyes, my mother knew that if I got into that t-shirt, I would have melted. So me the little Tarzan had only my underwear for moral and physical support. Since I was a messy eater right from that age, my mother knew better than decorating me with nice clothes. So after half the food was fed to my cheeks and some to my neck and some to even my eyes, I was full. I must have been thinking, ahhh, nappy time!

But woe betide my cuteness :)) I was to be paraded around for the neighbours to take a look at the talcum powder baby! Like He-Man would say, I must have said - "I HAVE THE POWDER!!!" :) Soon my cheeks were mercilessly pulled and I was passed on from hand to hand. For a moment I thought I had forgotten who my mother was! But thankfully maternal instincts are hard to let go off and soon I was in her secure hands. I was hoping the parade would end. But when babies are done parading, it is the talk that resumes amongst women. 

I was a heavy child and my mother did not want any more burden on herself than I was already. So I was made to sit on a small wall with many hands around me to prevent the fall. They need not have bothered if they had known my immense powers of concentration to stay put on my ass for hours together. As they chatted around me in an alien language, I sensed danger. I looked around my legs to see if there were ants. Nope all clear. Ok... what else do we have.... any sticks or thorns... no sir.. clean wall.. hmm... what else??

Little did I know that I was to be attacked. Can you imagine, poor me, all sweet and cute to be attacked, who would even have the heart to do that. Well, dont bother thinking.. It was a sly crow! The fiend circled above me for a while and dived down and scratched my head first. He must have known right then - "Hey! there is nothing in there!" He came back to take a second look at my genius head. This time he pecked. I yelled as loudly as I can. The poor crow was not ready for what came next. He was driven away by all the fury summoned by women power. I was defended that day by the four bravest crow fighters I have known :) The eldest one even offered that it was one of my ancestors checking on me. He must have been disappointed.

I was rushed to the hospital and the doctor cleared me immediately. My defenders were happy and that evening there was a meeting held to clear the area of crow menace. I think it must have been a hard task to clear Chennai of crows, but anyways, there was a resolution taken and it was passed without opposition. Six to none. The other two ladies were not in town that evening.

I still dab some powder on, blame it on the old habits, but they still remain. I have not been pecked since then and I am sure as hell that there are still crows in Chennai! Ofcourse, fall from the cute, I do not even fall in the yuck bracket! I am a little below that now. But hey! What the heck! my Mommy dear still loves me just as much! :)  

There is a crow circling my house just now, perhaps it is one of my ancestors. I am sure he is not planning to scratch my head or peck it. Guess he knows that I may just about survive on the powder and my mother's undying love!

I love you Mom! :)

The Greatest Critic

The narratives are particularly long and often seem to loose relevance towards the end of the sentence. It appears that the author has taken a particular liking to using words as and when they pop up in his mind. Its forced use in a sentence where it has no relevance can be quite excruciating to the reader. This is perhaps the first of the many follies that has prevented the author from being popular. Further, all of his writings being lengthy proses do not lend itself to a generation that finds its calling in more pictorial representations of a message.

It is very evident that the author is hardly well read. I cannot see his book collection extending beyond Sherlock Holmes, a few comics and some well meant but hardly read inspirational books. If it was not the case, there would be interesting anecdotes that could have interjected his miserable ramblings. There are even the sporadic smileys as if telling the reader that the sentence that was just read was supposed to be funny. At any rate, a book like "Kamsin Kali" will no doubt enjoy a better audience than his writings will ever attract.

There is almost an exasperating attempt on the part of the writer to spread optimism. While the intent is good, the repetition is alarmingly diabetic. The author appears to be trying to tell the world that he is one of the most positive guys in the world. His life has had his share of tribulations but he always has had his chin up. One reading may pass, but repeating the same message through various stories kills the goose. Talking about stories, it is a trial to read through some of them. The best way to get a person to read a story is to make the beginning very compelling. The only thing compelling about these writings is the urge to click the mouse out of the screen. I suspect that the only readers of this writing would be those who either patronize his non-existent talent or stumbled on to it and were consigned to read it because there was nothing else to do.

Often times, a gist of the writer can be found in the confines of his literature. However, the author cleverly (in this case, knowing his abilities, Inadvertently) hides his own true self. All stories are attempted to be as generic as possible. Thus leaving little clues about his own self. I am completely certain that the author is a very boring person and possibly aimless. One of his pieces of literature has his photograph and it more than confirms my suspicion. There has been an attempt to try and write about too many things. This is a clear evidence of a very unstable mind with extremely low levels of concentration. There is hardly any continuity to this thoughts. This robs the writings of those few readers expecting something from the author. Guess with literary abilities like his own, I can understand that there is hardly anything that the few readers can look forward to.

His sense of humour is a damp squib. Clearly the author chooses some kind of physical activity in every story to try and even get a smile to the readers lips. Subtle humour is unknown to him. Apparently thinking that by laughing at himself, others will also have a laugh. Little does he know that they only smile thinking - how true.... He is very ugly indeed or like - How true..... he is one of the most dim witted people I know... and so on and so forth.... He has taken self pity to an all new level. So low that only he can be there. All the best to him.

Funnily enough there are some comments here and there. I found this very interesting. For a time I really thought he himself posts them, but the fact there are so few of them means that there were actually from readers! Gosh! I truly pity them. I am sure that each one of them has been only a one time reader of his writings. If this site were to have a visitor count, it would get into double figures after the machines take over the humans Ala The Terminator. So quite some way I would imagine.

I would say that there has been a terrible misuse of technology and it must be stopped before the faith in blogging evaporates. All due to the indulgence of an outright amateur with skills lesser than those possessed by young children who have just learnt how to write. I urge you to visit this site to see and understand for yourself how this mischief monger continues to linger like a bad smell from the loo, long after the task has been done!

Site - http://karthikinblogs.blogspot.com

Critiqued by - Karthik Krishnamurthy

:) - You are your own best critic :)

Phatey hue Jeans aur Harmonium

My friend and I were very incompetent students. Both of us were academic disasters and our skills at other art forms and sports ranged from the very minimal to non-existent. Our parents put us in a reasonable school and gave us every exposure to every kind of "schoolish" torture :) My well oiled curly hair kept the most modest of plain Janes away from me and his very identifiable squint meant that he would look one way and wink the other. Most girls would have given him a shot, if only they could decide which one he was winking at.

I used to be a fair sportsman...well I guess when you are a boy... you are just good at sports.. you are not a sportsman.. well... i am wondering.... if there is a term called a sportsboy or sportsgirl... sorry.. for digressing...

It was a hot Tuesday and our promised "Games" period turned out to be a rehearsal time for the school's annual day function. The drill was very confusing for me and half the time, I would either have my hands up in the air when every other was down or I would have inadvertently stomped on my neighbour's shoes doing the wrong drill. It was not going anywhere and I needed to get out of this. The oldest trick in the book was "The Loo", but it can hurt if asked in unison. My dumb moron friend timed his request to perfection with mine. The request was turned down. Now the master would not even heed to genuine calls of nature, further compounding the agony. I felt like pelting him with every stone I could find around me.

The master relented after about an hour and said that we would break for 15 mins and start again. We ran, we relieved, and we escaped :) We slid into the library since I was sure that it would be last place to be searched. Even if we were found, "us Einsteins were looking up reference for our physics project". I congratulated myself on this great brain wave! My friend stood looking at me admiringly, not understanding an alphabet of my reasoning. I gave up. We strolled across the hallway and soon were standing in front of the school's only functioning musical instrument. A Jurassic age Harmonium! My joy knew no bounds and I told that we should try our hand at it. He quickly agreed. I told him that learners need to work as a team. He was to dedicate the entire prowess of his clumsy hands to the movement of the front portion of the Harmonium, while I with my nimble fingers was to play the keys.

He started of frantically and the initial pressing of the keys resulted in the sound of clumsy air coming out from ,where, I could not tell. I looked at him questioningly, clearing the air around my nose and he pleaded absolute ignorance. He went hard at it again, this time, one sound came from the 10 million key combinations I had tried in those 10 seconds. It sounded like two steel chairs moving on the black board. He was crestfallen and I decided to whip up a symphony to soothe his nerves. I told him to pull it back and hold it there. He did as instructed and out of no where, there came a clutter of sounds! Each as loud as it could get and I remember our Sanskrit teacher wailing as loudly as she sang, "Aeeee kaun hobe! (She was a Bengali)" or something to that effect. I remember running through the back door yelling "Aham Gachati! Aham Gachati!" (I am going! - in Sanskrit)

Another time, a classmate of mine was deeply absorbed in the experiment he was conducting in the chemistry lab. And my energies were focused on getting to the watchman's house next to the lab to see the score of the cricket match that was going on. He made quick notes and in that inimitable adolescent way, made fun of me by saying that I was a thorough incompetent fool and that I would fail every exam that a first grader could pass. I usually do not argue, especially if it is the truth you are staring at. Sigh... the story of my life...

I yawned twice before starting the "Salt Test". I did not have the faintest idea of what was to be mixed and how the result was to be procured. What followed was surely fun! :) My chemistry teacher knew my name only because there were only so few of us in that batch :) She tried to help me a lot. She told me she prayed that the weakest students in my batch and then Karthik should pass chemistry in the board exams. Well, I was happy, It does not matter where I am in that list, atleast I am there. :)

My friend was staring at the beaker as he held it over the Bunsen burner. I was purposefully looking away, trying very hard to hear that faint commentary. Then I smelt something burning... I quickly turned around and saw that our friend here had his tie in flames! Our "Faster Fennay" here tugged at his shirt instead of the tie. I could not help smiling initially and then decided that I must rescue him. By that way perhaps, that girl I was hoping to speak to would know that I studied in the same school as hers! :) Before I could claim my heroism, he tore his shirt off. The tie was later pulled out and flung with such alarm that for once I heard those typical "Girly Screams". Our dim wit forgot that it was the chemistry lab and his shot put could have landed anywhere.

Well, we all survived that evening. He boarded that bus like a pregnant lady. His bag covered the huge gaping hole the fire had made on his shirt. I actually tried to persuade him to keep it open saying that it looked like a style statement. He glared and locked his fist and I made a fast exit.

Brings a smile when I think of those days. I could be careless and yet get away with what looked like murder at that time. Today I think many times before saying or doing anything. Perhaps with childhood goes innocence. Jog your memory and I am sure that there are many smiles hidden in your more innocent days than there are now.

Inflammatory Aspirations

It was an exceptional Sunday. The chill in the air was wrapped in gentle sunlight and there was only one colour when you looked up, Blue. It must have been around 7 AM and after a hot cuppa, I was wondering what to do. The morning was just so gorgeous that I could not help going out into the veranda to just soak it in. It was time to get vintage I thought. I tuned into the satellite radio. Searched until I found a station that was playing old jazz and reggae. No questions please! I just about know the spellings of these great art forms!! :-)

There are times when your spirits are lifted by something most ordinary. The music was nothing I could understand. But hey! that does not mean you cannot enjoy it. That is when i decided to do something I have mostly refrained from doing. It is a matter of safety and environmental hazards. It demanded dexterity of the fingers and the mind. It is like a potter at work. As he moulds the clay with finesse, you can almost see the shape getting life. It is like an artist with a brush in hand, as the white changes colors, you see the larger picture. An amalgamation of your creativity as you set out to create something that is entirely yours. The sequence and the consequence. This a ballet where you are the orchestra and the grand master. A wrong lyric could send out waves of disharmonious notes that can jar your ear. A melodious one can delight the heavens....

In case you have just yawned, I was thinking of cooking..

Hmm.. So where do we start, I wondered. The web yielded many recipes, but none that I could feel were simple enough.
"8 ounces cream cheese, 3/4 cup apricot preserves or strawberry jam, 1/4 cup finely ground pecans" - There are at least 7 words in the above line that I did not know the meaning of and even if I had the above ingredients at home, I would not know without them being marked so.

As you would have begun to realize, my culinary skills never developed like the 100 million other skills that also did not. As a human being, I think I have about 4 or 5 skills and most are developed well below average. The funny thing is that I cannot list beyond 2 or 3 of the 4 or 5 I have mentioned above :) So, life can be very hard for a person like me. But that Sunday deserved better and I set out to make Dosa's. You get these instant dosa mixes at the local groceries, I have friends who can vouch that there is always a stock of "Instant this", "Instant that" in my kitchen.

Armed with that paste, I added some more water and decided to go for creativity. Cut tomatoes and spread the paste on the pan.

Sunday means WWE time :) and it was King of the Ring! Undertaker v Triple H!!! Lord was it captivating! After sometime the smell from the kitchen was also captivating.

First dosa was harder than a diamond, so I named that fellow - Black Diamond and said - "Yeah , Yeah "- with a pathetic Afrikaans accent. The next time I was more careful, Thank god for commercials :) allows you to take your eyes of TV. The second one was spread well and I was standing right there to ensure that our Black Diamond did not have a twin. My ENIAC age memory meant that something was again forgotten and it meant that though this one was Black Diamond's German cousin, it still was stuck at many places and the over all figure could accurately describe the hole in the ozone layer. I named this fellow - "An Inconvenient Truth" - "How true," I sighed.

The next one was "Casino Royale" and then the last one was "The Departed". The music that Sunday morning was exceptional, the weather still glorious. The match on mute was rousing and I thought it was a perfect ending. My last attempt at adding some spices to the dosa mix resulted in a small fire on my frying pan. As it raged, I stood shocked. Like "Courage the cowardly Dog", I picked up the vessel and threw it in the sink and opened water..... Well... life is always about learning. I learnt that afternoon that "Burnol" helps, but slowly..

So my dear reader. It was a great Sunday. I quickly recovered from my inflammatory aspirations of cooking. My ambitions are more modest now and are restricted to coffee making and maggie. The rice is cooked too, but I stand at a safe distance until the "My- mother-mandated" four whistles of the cooker are not over. Then I run and switch off the gas and run away again. I ate my "Black Diamond, An Inconvenient Truth and The departed" with a lot of water. Most of the morsels were swallowed like tablets, but "Casino Royale" was eaten with a lot of satisfaction.

I do wish another Sunday like this came and I was able to cook up another breakfast like this. Only this time I will douse any inflammatory Aspirations that I may have before I literally "Burn my fingers" :))

Rural Verdict

I had a hard time explaining where I was working. The old man sat on an old chair in the porch and with a frown harder to remove than grease stains, the task was onerous to say the least. "GE, General Electric," I cried. "Chee Chee, your father educated you so much and with such expense for you to turn out to be a lowly electrician??? ", was the informed reply. Not that there is anything lowly about being an electrician, it is just that if you are educated in the cities, then the only job you should be having is a government job. I did not pass that judgement, our dear old chap did.

"No, No, I am not an electrician, I ...... well..... I fix computers, "I said. Well, I thought it was close enough to say that I was a help desk support technician. It did nothing to improve matters. He was convinced that I was bluffing. In my part of the town, the "electrician-next-door" often doubled up as a computer repair man. At the time of this incident, there were about 10 computers in my home town. So you should be beginning to see how difficult the task was getting. I then tried explaining the whole contact center thingy. He now howled that I was after all a phone operator. Gosh! this was demeaning! Though thoroughly frustrated, I vowed to have it explained what my job was.

Well, how do you even start telling a seventy year old man who has not seen much beyond a 50 KM radius of his hometown, what being technical support analyst was. I then resorted to talking about how big the city is and the different kind of jobs that are available for young people like me. He listened without the slightest trace of interest. I told him the diversified business interests of the company that I worked for. He blinked twice and spat out the remaining tobacco leaves. He nodded his head as if to say, "Go on, I am listening". I had to bring out a super weapon. I told him I had been to America to get trained on the job. He looked slightly interested. "Very cold there?", he asked. "Yes, we went in December", I explained. "Did you see Ice (snow fall for the uninitiated)?" "Yes"

I was beginning to hope that he would now start showing some interest in the job I was doing.

He yawned and asked me how much I was earning a month. I blushed a bit, but said it was nice and things were looking up. He then asked sternly what the number was. I don't know why I did it, but I told him. He looked up startled. I was grinning inside.

"Who the hell will give you a wife!!?", he suddenly announced.

"Madan earns three times, why? He is with the municipality! Narayanan's dad is going to retire from the postal department. Guess who gets his job?? Narayan ofcourse!"

A few other examples perplexed me. I suddenly felt myself in the middle of a court sentencing me to life time service of this old man. The only solace I thought would be the small number of years he had left. The death knell came soon afterwards. A small talk resulted in me saying that I work odd hours. Well, I think you know what happened afterwards.

I failed miserably to impress the old man. I was not there asking for his daughter. The one's he had were already expecting grand children. He died sometime later and when I was told about it, I remembered this conversation.

This rural verdict on urban efforts of a "modern" lifestyle.

I have long since moved on from that job. I must confess that I am slightly lucky. I do have a decent job, and the hours are not all together odd. There are varying degrees of learning to be had from this event.

The old man thought little beyond his convention and I thought little beyond my own. He was used to a languid stroll to a rundown building at 9.30 AM in the morning after a heavy breakfast. I was used to my cabbie wailing the horn for me at 9 in the night. He would come home to coffee in the evening and doordarshan's serials in the night. I would come home to coffee and breakfast in the morning and sleep till the evening. Contrasting, yet conventional for both parties.

The point is that it would have made little difference if I were the old man and he the young I. So much for different personalities :)

Purani Jeans aur Guitar!

have always believed that happy memories are perhaps the strongest reason why a human being wakes fit and fine everyday. If not for them, the mind has to be willed with infinite power to do the basic things in life. I have had the luck to associate myself with some very happy memories in my life.With rivalry at its peak and fire spewing out of adolescent eyes, cricket matches between boys are nothing short of war. We had two teams in the colony we resided in and ofcourse there was no love lost between us. We never spoke to each other and played in different areas of the playground. Funny thing was not many of us knew why the animosity :) But like in politics, knowledge is not always required, just a heightened sense of alignment to one group. Typically lasting between 4.30 PM to 7.00 PM in the evening. Post that it was a marriage of convenience to acedemics. Typically October and November of an acedemic year affored the maximum laxity from our parents to indulge in sports. Great advantage was taken out of this leniency.A cricket match on Saturday! I was owefully out of form and my captain decided to drown me further down the batting order. To most swashbuckling colleagues of mine, I was an eyesore with staunch defensive cricket. Add to that my form and I was hoping to be lucky enough to carry water to the middle. But since it was a bet of 220 rupees, we had to find every boy who could shell out 20 rupees. That is how I got into the playing eleven. Money does talk! :)We were asked to bat first and I dont remember anything of our batting or mine. I believe we made a modest total, half of which were made two batsmen and then a lot by extras and then some by what we call "Tondi" :) (let us just say unscrupulous means). By devious means we managed to make them bowl about 22 overs in a 20 over game. Duly there was a fight, duly things pacified. At the break between innings, my captain looked at me disdainfully and wondered aloud where to have me field. That was embarrasing enough, he then remarked that I also dont run well after the ball. So after many "brain storming" sessions, I was sent off to field at third man where they thought the ball would come the least. For the first few overs, life was a bliss. I stood there often collecting harmless balls and rolling them back to the keeper.Virgin islands dont remain undiscovered forever, they soon found out the Jonty Rhodes of the side. I suddenly found an increased frenzy of balls coming my way. Twice I hurt my elbow, courtesy my clumsy fielding. The captain grew desperate and in a strange move, put me in slips!What is the worst he can do? He must have thought, drop a catch? The surface was so slow that the only catch a slipper could take was one when the keeper threw him the ball. Well, guess what?A batter poked at a ball and it came my way, I went to my right before realising it was going to my left. Like a blite gazelle I turned and grasped the speeding ball which was travelling at close to 20 kms an hour and flicked it back towards the stumps. Ofcourse I was looking somewhere else when I threw it. A few moments later, my astounded team mates rushed to me to congratulate me for my exceptional effort. The bloke was run out and I also found that my antics had hastened the end of my worn out shirt near my armpits. Ofcourse I never gave a high five the entire match with my right hand :)Miracoulously, I also took another catch a little later. This time, I was determined to protect my ugly face and got hit on the shoulder in return and the balls dobbled into my hands. Nothing else came my way, except standing there and irritating the keeper. He soon grew tired of me and stopped talking to me. I havent met him after that, so in many ways, those were his last words....... to me :))The same devious means employed by our "friendly" opposition meant that we were bowling the 23rd over in a 20 over chase. It all boiled down to the last 2 balls and they needed 3 to win. The batter skied one and I gasped as I saw that it was falling around me. The keeper looked at me once and decided that there was too much investment at stake to risk a rookie with this catch. I still remember vividly that he pushed me off the ball's trajectory and completed the catch. He claimed his heroisim. I was just glad that I got my 20 rupees back. The extra earnings were ofcourse to be contributed to the "development" of the game at our club. Development included small eats and some cold drinks.I still do remember very vividly the glorious sense of joy that engulfed the entire team. The boys rushing from all parts of the ground. Hugging each other and shouting as loudly as their vocal chords would allow them to. The smile was hard to remove from our faces. More joy came when we saw our "arch" enemy vanquished. We did shake hands later but it was hardly meant :)This remains a beautiful memory till this day. I will write in more when the time comes.

Hail a Belly :)

No, really, pardon the pun here. It is not for a moment pointed to rhyme with the name of a very talented actress in Hollywood. Just a rhyme to my little muse here.

As I stared at the strange looking contraption in the mirror, I could only sigh deeply with resignation. I was now qualified to apply for the foster's adverstisement for beer titled "Australian Belly Dance". I can run the onlooker the peril of staring at the gateway of india if I opened my mouth; and God forbid If I decide to don swimming trunks, then hippos will look positively handsome. My maker must have had a specially bad hair day when he was at it. May be he was working overtime, it must not have been one of his greatest pieces of work. Well, it is hard to make amends thirty years on. It becomes even harder considering that my maker also bestowed me with laziness and a very weak will. Well done sire! :)



So let us see what we can do about this. Many months ago, the fear of apprearing like one of those early morning ad models worried me immensely. The similarity between the 60 year old man and me was unmistakable! I tried to find solace in the age difference, but my receding hairline more than adequately compensated for that. I also realised that the side view of the ad model closed resembled my side view in the dirty mirror in my house. There was my imposter lying on the ground with his feet apparently stuck in a contraption that shook him upto his waist. He would come gleaming after about 2 minutes claiming that he could now woo college going girls! I fast loosing this epic war and I needed to do something about it. So the brave heart that I am , I plunged headlong into the whirlpool of excercising and gyming.

These ad makers must be very creative. The old man had become even more younger. He had added to his reportiore, a sleek waist and also black hair. The more the products the company made, the younger he seem to become. I immediately checked on the internet to see if the company was into vampirisim and if they added human blood in their products to reduce age. My adversary had gained a formidable lead.

Day 1 was nice. It lasted 45 minutes. I was asked to first do pushups. I am hard of hearing (a very handy convinence); he must have said anything above 10; I heard about 10; I managed 2 and also an uncontrollable laughter from a very good looking girl working out nearby. Well, I quickly changed my attention to something more humane. The cycle seemed a more welcoming prospect. This one did not need to be balanced and I could ride it without injuring anyone. I sat on it and started pedalling with great fury. Apparently someone had set the settings to operate the cycle as if on an incline. 3 minutes into this drill, I found myself gasping and gulping down water and looking for a place to sit. My trainer asked if I would like to go home.

Damn those ads! The old man was now actually jogging in the park!



Days 2 to 5 are inconsequential, incase you have read till here to wonder why, dont try too hard, I never went to the gym. Suddenly I got a bank statement, which showed I had paid a certain gym a good sum of money. I visited them again that evening.

The trainer looked away with disgust and the girl went away with someone I could never beat at arm wrestling. It is a fair world. After doing some strange circus tricks that were being rehearsed by others, I found to my glee a treadmill. That day I was in the gym for close to an hour, 50 minutes. I sat for about 30 mins and cycled and walked for the rest of the time. After this intense excercise, I went and slept well. My dinner contained enough oil to turn me into something like Shiek Karthik.

The trainer decided that he would have nothing to do with me. So he avoided all contact with a product, he knew he could nothing about. Not many good samaritans are left who would like to lend a helping hand to ugly bettys. So I went from machine to machine trying to see which one made me look as if I had been working hard and also at the sametime did not make a fool of me.

Each passing day, I had pain in a new place in my iron constitution. Must have been the rust!

The girl was apparently so disgusted with my face and built, she changed her timings. I work for a company that asks - How many lives have you changed today?.......... No, It is ok, there is no point answering the obvious. The old man from the morning ad, had now gone to look for a girl for himself and he was discussing marriage dates. Damn!

While at this, I decided if I could do something about my face. Hmmmm................... I thought for sometime, and then somemore, and then somemore. Then had a heavy lunch. And again thought for somemore. Naaahh! Plastic surgery is way too expensive. Moreover, what will happen to all those lovely people who have always had a good laugh at my looks. So in the greater interest of mankind, I decided that I would give them every joy i could by appearing as good as possible. The possibility was just like my good looks, both of them never existed. In the meanwhile, the count of women who spoke to me declined and those that smiled at me needed to be searched using a radio telescope. Those that liked me..... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!! (Dont strain yourself, I will do the laughing for you!)

Well, the next morning, I waited for the newspaper and then scanned them to see if the old man had published his marriage dates. Not yet, but he was already meeting the third girl.

Two weeks into my gyming, I created a record of sorts by discovering that I am actually good at two machines. Both were easy to try and my hands would also not get swollen. I soon became a laughing stock at home. I request the dear reader to part with some valuable sympathy. Come on! this is tough life! I cannot sing, My face can get me to kabul, my physique can get me back to hyderabad. People at work were very happy to see me every morning. Perhaps I was their stress buster.People at home could not do much so they laughed in silence.

I thank my friends for allowing me to come with them. Perhaps my uglyness enhances their photos :) anything to make them happy :)


In the meanwhile, my belly grew and is still growing inspired by the booming indian economy. So I told myself, even if this belly goes off, there is no escaping my face. So might as well, take what life has to offer. Life has been kind and perhaps I am getting what I am getting due to fact that my belly ensures that I only do work that can grow it.

So hail the belly :)

A Brooding pipe and the perfect foil

"Its elementary my dear Watson". These words echo in my ears as frequently as does the reality of their being ficticious. The world of words have many decorated characters that have absolved themselves from the test of time. Every individual has his favorite character based on his proximity to a subject. My favorite is Sherlock Holmes and his eloborate and extremely lovable chronicler Dr.Watson.

When you write about them, you tread a very perilious path. A path that has been walked by such illustrious owners of quills and pens that my attempt may never see the light of a critic's censure. I have read the adventures of this legendary duo since my childhood, but to this day they are my favorite sleeping pill. Dont get me wrong ! They alone have the capability to send me into a dream of that aristrocatic and stiff upper lipped and orderly british society that does exists ever so scarcely today.

I will try to tell you today what I think of these sleuths who upheld the law with reasons as varied as day and night. With due respects to Sir Arthur, this whimsical piece of litreature will pen my thoughts of them.

For an retired medical surgeon of the British Army, who has seen the war in Afghanistan and has seen a jazail bullet pierce his body, what could Sherlock Holmes offer? You must remember that the best of partnerships in any trade is formed between the most unlikely of individuals. John.H.Watson is a practical man. He worries about his finances but scarcely mentions them after his illustrious association with Holmes begins. Does it mean that Holmes cared for him from the monetary credit he received for his adventures? Its a debateable topic when seen with the eyes of a economist. But you need different an different eye for this kind of friendship. Forget not that its the good doctor who has been his life saver in many occasions. He is the fuel to Holmes's genious. He asks some simple questions. These questions give way to the author to unleash the immense power of Holmes's grey cells.

Dr. Watson draws upon his reserviours of medical knowledge to warn Holmes of the dangers of opium. Holmes considers them as stimuli on dull days. " The London criminal is certainly an unenterprising fellow", he remarks. This forms an excuse to consume the harmful drug when the great sleuth is out of work. Our dear Doctor's remonstrances have a slow but deciding effect as it manages to wriggle our hero out of the clutches of that dreaded drug.

Inspite of being a medical man, he is seen as a man of action. Often in combats with hideous villians whom Holmes desires to append to his list of criminal trophies. In the "Three Garidebbs" he takes a scratch from a bullet. " The adventure of the Empty House" is another shining example of how he instantly falls into Holmes's symphony after a long hiatus. This and many other demonstrations help me understand the deep loyalty that Watson possesed towards Holmes and in no uncertain measures. There have been umpteen number of times when i so wished to be transported into that era and gain an entry as an apprentice to the great sleuth. For my inspiration is found to a slightly greater extent in Watson than in Holmes.

Our dear Watson is also at the end of many a humourus tirades by Holmes. Holmes wakes him up one morning saying - "The young lady knocked on Mrs. Hudson, She knocked on me and I retorted on you !! " He bears all those harmless tomfoolery with such diginity as can a character of Watson alone can. He makes you subtly smile without making you laugh. This ingenunity is rare to find in all the Detective duo epics that encircle the world of litreature. Holmes often nudges him for the slowness in his methods when entrusted with some detective work. But there is absolute accuracy of execution of directions by Watson as shown in the final adventure of Sherlock Holmes when facing a vary adversary called Professor Moriarty.

About Sherlock Holmes to pen is blasphemy itself. Rarely has a character won such public acclaim as has Sherlock. He has been depicted in numerous reels of cinema and in umpteen reproductions in print. Still his aura lives on. When you read his adventures today, you often are left eliminating the modern era equipments which would have helped him immensly. If he had the benefit of their use, then I may safely say that atleast the greater part of England would be fairly be rid of crime. For a pre ameature penner like me, I find his behaviour extremely fascinating. He loathes the commonalities that are abundant. He seeks the extra ordinary, his powers of deduction and observation are exemplary. In a famous extract, he ventures to unveil the truth about the life and character of Dr.Watson's brother by the sheer examination of his watch. When you read them, you are often left wondering how it would be to see him in action.

Of his abilities there is enough foolscap to last a man's lifetime. There is one aspect that I felt has been subtly over shadowed by his other prowesses. That is his true passion for the art of detection and absolvement of crime. He is shown as a person who is willing to work purely for the sake of art. He does not insist on credit when he solves another of those baffling mysteries. However, as Sherlock as he is, he too is human. For Dr.Watson, rightly observes on one occasion - " Holmes was accessible on the side of flattery". Can we not concede that? This super sleuth has one chink in his armour and its harmless enough not to come in the way of upholding the law.

I wish to end this epilouge with my personal homage to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for having introduced to us a character which will stand the test of time. Even if this script is read another 100 years from now on a mobile screen when you are on a flight from here to Mars on a family occasion.

Will we ever forget him?

Are they good? Are they bad? Do we need them?

There are about a million opinions on this topic. Each as varied as the other and yet echoing similar sentiments. Profiling a workplace is a task laced with peril and must be undertaken under the strict supervision of an unbiased and mature mental state of mind. The point being that while you draw inferences about things around you, you conveniently forget yourself.


Ofcourse you can try to paint yourself to be the very cornerstone of austerity and dignity or you can be honest about your abilities to bitch about one and everyone. The choice is yours and there is no need to feel bad about either. We need characters in this story called life. If all were virtuous, the dictionary would suffer a great loss called - Adventure.


A good writer writes about the times he lives in. There is a saying that compliments this behavior - "Hit the iron when it is hot"( or something to that effect). He derives mileage by doing so. When you write about a topic that has been recently discussed, you advertise your efforts well. It is to that extent that I will extend my liberties and try to improve upon my frail abilities as a documenter.


Of these insignificant and unflattering performances with different enterprises, I have spent the most in one, counting upto five and some half. Its there that our rigmarole of human classification at a workplace starts. Ofcourse all characters will not be named and all inferences on your part are to be done on your own accord. I will humbly subside from taking all responsibilities arising and occurring out of reactions to this simple monograph.



He/She is the silent one. Has only one friend and three acquaintances. Is never seen in public ceremonies and loathes cultural performances demanding profound reflexes of the human body. The supervisor rarely acknowledges his/her presence and never misses his/her absence. Timing is of the utmost importance to this person. May come in late at times much to the agony of the co-workers, but always leaves on time compounding the agony further. This person only gets calls from one person in the day and during the days off. More often than not, it’s either home or his/her only friend. If you hear them talking, it would be about the same topic that they were talking a week ago. A peculiar characteristic of this kind of demography at the workplace is that they never seem to progress beyond the yearly increase to their wages.



Are they good? Are they bad? Do we need them? They do their work. They rarely complain. They are not too ambitious, at least on the face of it. They don’t backbite. Plainly, they are not even interested with anyone else. I wont answer it.. take your time and answer it yourself.



He/She is often the court jester! Bringing much needed relief to the team. Often at the high end of their vocal thresholds. Their humor is often physical but mostly harmless. Their activities involve from making distorted faces to pulling out network wires, to extremely perfect imitations of more sober colleagues. They are friends of everyone and yet may not have a friend for life. He/She will get many calls but important ones may be none. They often hide their ambitions behind their loud humor. Often turn out uncontrollably bitchy. People will smile at this person and will only remember him/her for the office party of the year. Project of the year may not list this person on the credit roll.



Are they good? Are they bad? Do we need them? They are a curious mix of virtues and vices. Which side the balance tilts is very opiniated, and therefore inclusive to me. What about you?



Then there is the mixed fruit jam. This person tastes differently to different people. They smile and they can sulk. They have many friends and a few close ones. They are mostly introverts by nature but can muster up courage for a public performance. They have pockets of comfort zones and moments of brilliance. They may grow in their roles or stay put on one for a long time until luck changes it for the worst or better. They are often termed dependable and mostly are known for their positive qualities. Creativity and attention to details are admirable qualities of these individuals. Lack of ambition may sometimes be a inconsolable folly.


Are they good? Are they bad? Do we need them?
This Jam is a good spread until it spreads too much. How much you want on your bread is your call..


They might claim to have known about gravity and relativity much before than Isaac or Albert did. They often chew gum and after a month at work, resent it in public. They seek attention and will bully new comers with their exaggerated knowledge of the work. They will help you discover failings in the supervisor and co-workers that never may have existed. They will also think that the chair in the cabin is as much theirs as it is of the manager. They would have received a few awards for the brilliance they once had and many bitchy tales of the attitude that they now display. Their resumes are released in most job sites with the regularity of a cinema release at the box office. They might grow in their roles or succumb to their negative tones.



Are they good? Are they bad? Do we need them?
I sometimes feel that they lend themselves to the balance of the workplace. They either fuel a healthy competition or change themselves over the years to sober into a more efficient machine whose abilities are chronicled with great imagination. What do you chose competition or imagination?



A Banyan tree in a rustic village square would be more apt for this person. He is almost troubled deeply that he has to move his fingers to drink the glass of water in front of him. The only muscle he is pleased to work is his jaw. Their ramblings can range from politics to domestic chores to land rates in prime areas. Often directionless on their own, they will follow the compass of another man's drive. They would only be too glad to shed their workload to other more enterprising colleagues. They are remembered for the great tales that they had spun on a lazy day at work. And also for the embarrassing errors that they may have committed on an important errand. Often their exit from the system is quick and non negotiable. They somehow manage to leave with no bitter taste on any tongue.



Are they good? Are they bad? Do we need them?
They are like camels at a horse race. They may not be the stars of the show but they sure can transport people around the arena. How you mould these camels to do your bidding can be a great learning to our developing minds.


There are many more facets and personalities that a mere blog can never do justice to. I too may be in one of the categories that I have ventured to dissect. Who am I to pass these judgmental and biased opinions? I don’t know..


Will you identify yourself with any of the characters mentioned above? May be.. Would you know people who suit the characteristics mentioned above? Almost yes... That itself is an interesting question...


Isn't it easy to judge a person into a category and at the same time try not to fit ourselves into one, because of some of the demerits mentioned for each? More often than not we will subscribe our character to the best possible fit. Is it a folly? Not at all.. After all a half filled glass is better than a half empty one...


Are you thinking yet??

An Absence of Logic

It is with great fervor that a close friend of mine and I argued one warm night about the existence of intelligent life outside the thores of this solar machinery. Its a topic dear to me. It allows avoiding the shallow problems that life presents to me periodically without failure. The very thought of alien worlds instigates a profound flow of imagination in me and allows me to take leave of other trivialities.

Of course in this radical and rapidly evolving world, time for such fantasies is incoherent. To dwell on such thoughts by a man on the wrong side of twenty will be viewed with as much suspicion to his sanity as to his lunacy. This part of life's journey is to be spent in establishing oneself as an ideal citizen of the society and attempt to claim as high a grade as is possible on the counts of being a self made man.

I have scored poorly on the above subjects. Thus having attained an alibi to exhibit my immense love for this intriguing puzzle, I will venture to put logic to it and be sure to be defeated for my endeavors by a more intelligent public. So it is for a lost cause that I will subscribe to in the coming lines.

"Is it not possible that another sun should exists with the same dimensions as can physics define in another part of the universe", I queried.
"Very much so.” replied my friend knowing fully well that he had his defense well prepared.
"Is it also not possible that such a sun should boast of a planetary system", I quipped with an eagerness to make a point on deductive logic.
"Yes."
"And some of those solar satellites should be of rocky constitution?"
"Quite possible"
"Can one of those rocks be at the same distance from the sun as our little home is from our sun?"
"Yes!” came a tired reply.
"Then should not life take the same form of evolution as it has in this world!!! ", I cried. I felt I had scored one over my dear friend.
"Well, what you say is a complete theory with no biological, zoological or physics behind it", he remarked.
"But surely, probability has its merits", I insisted.
"It has and it ends here, it does not prove anything", he closed my argument like a razor on a chicken's neck.

I suddenly found myself gasping for more reasoning. Ofcourse if it were to be taken literally, I would still be short of breath.

It pays to get good grades in science, which Ofcourse Yours Truly never got. I firmly believe that I would have been well positioned to pitchfork my argument into more scientific directions had I those qualities.

Like a poor loser I will tell you that he mumbled some scientific aberrations in my logic. He was definitive and built his argument on concrete as he assaulted my sandcastle. As is my wont, I reclined back on the large bed that I occupied and tried to help myself to another drink.

There he sat all victorious knowing fully well that he had beaten me yet again. He is a dear chap with a generous sprinkling of intelligence that lies beneath the mire of rebelisim that he outwardly displays. He is pompous of his ken and does not shy away from using it to beleaguer someone whose own knowledge is limited to sensing whether to leave the ball or not.

But I chuckled inside me. There is a scorecard that is never displayed on a playground. It is there in the player's mind. No matter how hard a defeat the public one displays, the internal one merrily points out the moments in the game where the loser had the upper hand.
And to this scorecard is what I turn to. He beat me no doubt, on the counts of my feeble logic that I still pride myself on. However, even he would concede that there is a thing called hope.

To tie science and mysticism in matrimony is inconceivable, but think long enough about it and you will find that it is this alliance that provides the fodder for the existence of this universe.

So having reclaimed an ounce of the vast land that I lost, I retreat to my world again. I will peep in awhile to see how sympathetic you have been to read my wasteful foolscaps.
Having reached the end, I will scour my mind for a question to pose to you.

Is your "hope" of a better tomorrow based solely on "Science”?