The art of bus-riding

Today morning, a fellow student accidentally held on to my backpack to steady himself when the bus turned a corner. He looked up at me with a worried expression on his face and said apologetically "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to.. I, I, I... was out of balance.." I looked up at him and smiled.

In the state where I hail from, school kids have a free-ride in government run buses - provided they are able to produce their
bus-pass within a micro-second to the bus-overseer (colloquially: 'kandectaar annan' - big brother conductor). As I was to learn in my undergraduate courses later, this was the speed at which early microprocessors used to operate. Therefore, keeping it folded in the wallet or inside the backpack is both infeasible and unacceptable. I'll avoid getting into the intricacies here, since carrying backpacks while riding a bus requires metier and is a topic requiring an intense treatment on its own. Losing the bus-pass is an expensive incident (as you don't get a replacement for that year) that earns severe rebuke from all affected parties. An exceptionally unfortunate situation is when teh kid realizes that he had lost his bus-pass when asked to produce on-board the bus. Elder co-passengers suddenly realize their social responsibility in educating the already shattered kid on the "art of carefulness".

Often, what clothing to wear when you ride the bus is a great dilemma, especially for the youth. In fact, it puts your morality, up-bringing and social-status at stake and determines where you end up in the social chart of your co-passengers. For instance, a young looking fellow by default is a good-for-nothing vagabond who apparently can have no respectable social status what-so-ever. A fellow with a neatly pressed shirt is tolerable and anyone with a ripped jean has no salvation, ever.

To top it up, bus-riding has a bunch of innate protocols associated with it. Any person who is occupying a double-seater is always required to offer the seat when he sees a couple standing. The decision to offer a seat when you see a couple is intricately complex and a direct confrontation of your morality. The worst part is, the correctness of your decision is never influenced by the ensuing behaviour of the couple. If they are married and abide by the socially accepted protocol of having non-mushy conversations, then your decision to offer the seat makes you earn a scornful look from your co-passengers. In case, the couple seem happy enough, you earn disdain. And if they turn out to be unmarried or just friends -  congratulations, you just got promoted to being an uncouth fellow and an object of sheer contempt for having allowed them to sit together.

With a billion people, buses are the life-line of public transportation in India and it is natural to expect them to be crowded. Bus-riding without jostling or stepping on someone is therefore a rare event and if you manage to get out of the bus after accidentally step on someone without having to put your all your known ancestors to shame, you should definitely buy yourself a lottery ticket that day. As a kid carrying a heavy backpack, my life was always in an unstable equilibrium when riding a bus. Enriching experiences have trained me not to worry too much about what goes on around you when in a bus.

But today, I looked up at him and smiled.

PS. Just in case you were wondering where I managed click this photograph, it was taken at our own Chennai a few years ago when I had been there visiting my friends.

2brnt2b is the question!

It is when you need to concentrate the most does your mind play all the tricks up it's sleeve and more often than not, the mind emerges the winner. Most of my writing is an artifact of such moments, but I'll let that be since that is definitely not the theme of my write-up today. I have always advocated that 'annoyance' is a perfect example of an intangible creation of our own mind, something that you can completely avoid. And yet, I infallibly fall for it every single time. But enough said about the mind, which I know is a product of my own contradictions. The anguished linguaphile in me had to seek solace by writing his agony targeted towards everyone and none in particular. It would be nothing short of being perfectly idiotic to fight for a lost cause, especially when the entire world is against you. But I'll stand up now and dish out a piece of my mind  to the world  in which mutilation of languages is considered fashionable.

Today, I was woken up by the muddled hooting of my phone on receiving a text message which said "tst" which was followed by another which said "txt d msg". And there it was - annoyance on two counts. The first being the most obvious - someone apparently chose me as the lucky person for his random testing of the new features of his/her phone. To explain this in terms of the butterfly effect, a few days ago the 'half-bitten fruit' folks released a new version of their iOS (to be pronounced ayyos), the impact which I had to bear now with some random person's experimental text messages. Following the two minute silence spent ruminating over my ill-luck was a half-an-hour nostalgia session recounting the undergrad days when free text messaging had been in vogue. Back then, it was the bread-and-butter communication strategy for students for a variety of recreational* purposes. The second reason for my annoyance was the content of the message - not the semantics but its syntax. The blatant non-availability of vowels in the message was just the icing that the cake needed.

That brings me to my chosen theme of the day - spelling. I can possibly understand the intent of robbing the words off its heart, if you were sending a Morse coded message hundred years ago when every alphabet communicated (or perhaps spoken too) was costing you money. Or if you were effecting a will endowing your million rupee property to an orphanage right before your very last breath^. Or if you were preparing** for an examination. But even the gentleman in me just cannot accept an email missing the vowels in a professional setting like requesting an appointment or writing to someone whom you do not know personally.

Very recently, an update appeared on my Facebook notifications; a comment that read thus "gr8,u 2 cum... pls du sumthn awsum dis wknd 4 dat." How in the sweet heaven do you guys even manage to do that! Every single word in there was perfectly misspelt! It has become fashionable to spell 'date' as 'd8' and 'time' as 'tym'. "To be or not to be" becomes "2 b r nt 2 b", "awesome" becomes "ossum" and "right" becomes "rite". And then there is "Choooo chweet" that pops up in all diabetic conversations between couples. And this list is endless. To misspell a word has sadly become a measure of cuteness in writing. If you end up spelling "do" as "du", I really think you should rather spend more time in middle school than on social networking. 

While there is one faction who splendidly mutilate the spelling by truncation, there is the other group who believe in perpetual repetition of an alphabet as a perfect equivalent for punctuation. So apparently, the length of grunting encoded using 'r'  in a "grrrrrrrrr" or the depth of disappointment in a "booooooooo" is a perfectly acceptable measure of your emotion. To say 'cooooool' is super cool and 'beautifullllllll' becomes extra-beautiful. On a similar note, the level of excitement in a "Superrrrrrr" or the measure of awe in a "Woooooooooow" is totally justified too. Sometimes, the length of repetition is so appalling that I often suspect their keyboard could possibly be the miscreant.

To all those who take pride in writing such sentences - Yes, I do appreciate your exceptional ability to comprehend sentences encrypted using phonetics and without vowels. But words are spelled in a language in a certain way for a reason - please let them be.

End of rant.

* includes SOS calls and soul-searching
** if you know what that means
^ if you don't understand this, you really need to watch more Hindi/Tamizh/Telugu movies. Don't look for Kannada, apparently even Google is not able to find any such thing called kannada movie.

dmr - a true titan

Last week-end, one of the great minds of our time, a true Titan of Computer Science, someone whom I respect from the bottom of my heart for his contributions to the world, departed this physical world. He revolutionized the world of computers - a true pioneer, a superlative mind and a great person. He invented the language that formed the fundamentals of the computers that we so freely use today. He laid the foundation for an operating system that fuels the world we live in. It is on his giant shoulders that millions ride on today and will do so for ever. He won the Turing award and the Hamming medal, something that can only be dreamt by most people. Being the intellectual giant he was, he kept contributing to this world, until his very last days.

I hate making comparisons, but it pains to see such a great person like dmr departing the world unnoticed while that of an corporate innovator gets flashed in the headlines and is being mourned by millions. By what standards is a Turing award winner lesser than the corporate wizard? But then, this is how the machinery of the world works. I guess, it doesn't matter anymore. That said, I do hope there would be a few who will recognize the magnitude of his contribution to the world. I do. 

You are one of the few people whom I shall repent not having known personally despite being almost in the same building.  Your emails signed with the famous dmr will no more reach us. You will be missed, Sir. The world will most definitely miss Dennis MacAlistair Ritchie.

http://cm.bell-labs.com/who/dmr/

Beyond the golden urn

So that's that. And we have the golden urn once again. And it doesn't end there.

The last few weeks have been an excellent avenue for columnists to mass-hypnotize a humongous audience and it is not surprising that they had milked it dry. I had run across many an article that elaborates why cricket is a religion in India. Numerous theories were churned out to proffer explanations about how a sport could bind a billion strong nation. Look at it from a hundred feet and it's just another game involving a few people. Generation after generation have warned us about the banality that surrounds the sport and how fragile the sentiments behind it are. It is also imperative that a sport cannot feed a country that has been fighting hard to establish itself on the world map. It was a dream come true for an entire nation all the same. A billion hearts beat as one today. And therefore we needed to win.

A friend of mine said she felt a sense of belonging every time India plays cricket and the things people do when they are passionate about something. There cannot be anything more honest than that statement. The thinkers have put it simply - the nation needed something to cheer about, to be passionate about, something that would help sail through disappointments that each individual is facing every moment in his life. And thus Cricket became a religion and Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar its God. A religion to a country in which you have to constantly compete - compete to progress, compete to prosper, compete to survive. We have to constantly fight against dominance from the rest of the world, fight against our own systems, fight against bureaucracy, fight against corruption, fight against mediocrity, fight for pride. A mere outlet for our passion in the form of a sport would never suffice. And therefore we needed to win.

While it is plain that cricket has been the glue that binds Indians together, a billion people coming from all obscure parts of life, it has remained just a symbol of hope and not of confidence. It is true that the flame had burned bright at times, but never consistent enough. And no, I'm not speaking of just cricket, but of a spectrum beyond it. We needed much more than a faint 'hope' to cling on to, something that can inspire us, motivate us, give us something to cheer for and aspire. And therefore we needed to win.

Today is definitely going down as one of the most historic days in Indian sports. Today is the day when we declared that the heroes of 1983 are not legends. We can do a better job of what they did earlier. They too are mortals and today, we ground them. Today, we declared that it wasn't just a lucky chance that we won. Today, we declared our will and grit to compete, fight till the finish. Neither was it an associate nation that we beat on our way, nor was it a result of a contrived complex interplay of politics. We blasted our way through the champions of the game and resoundingly declared that we are no less. And therefore we needed to win.

We needed to show, we learn from mistakes. We needed to show, we have the consistency and courage to stand up, aspiration to succeed. We needed to show that we do not merely stand and stare. This transformation in Team India wasn't an overnight process. It started ten years ago with a man who ripped off his shirt at Lord's and declared his grit and will to win.  And we never looked back. The last decade stands an immutable testimony. And today, we needed to show that irrespective of the future, we shall keep our will to compete burning bright as ever. And therefore we needed to win.


It is totally justified if you think of this to be a thought of mine that comes from the heat of the moment, a flash of inspiration that comes from passion rather than an instilled confidence. Trust me, I have been waiting for this right moment for a long time. I have had times of quiet satisfaction and pride when I have seen India stand up and command its authority and will to fight. How many of us remember our shooters and pugilists quietly wrapping up accolades in the Olympic events over the past decade? We had a time when India was huffing and puffing about a single medal that we won "long long ago, nobody knows how long ago" and now are at a stage where we take as many as 10 for granted every time. How many times have we been able to afford a contented chuckle when a coach from a pugilist powerhouse like Cuba comes over to the changing room and says, "I'm certain your boy would win the bout hands down".  We needed to show it wasn't just in a bunch of sporting events that we are competing. We needed to show that it is our indomitable spirit to compete and progress as a professional and as a peer to the rest of the world. And therefore we needed to win.

We all connect to cricket in a way that we do not connect with any other. Shedding their differences in social or economic status, Indians unite when it comes to cricket. We identify ourselves with cricket to the extent that we feel actually feel good about ourself when Team India wins. We let our thoughts and spirits fly high with intensity when we watch our team play. The Men In Blue resounded the nation's spirit today at the Wankhede Stadium. And then they lifted it. At that moment we realized what we gained was much beyond just the golden urn.

The holy dip in the trough

 Owing to the state of shock that beheld the moment, I was caught frozen adoring my mobile phone which at that precise moment was undergoing ablution in the deep-dish Sambar container that our household covets as a piece of priceless possession. The LCD screen provided by Sony Ericsson was ever so refulgent from underneath the translucent liquid that topped it. And no, my cellular phone definitely wasn't an ingredient in the new recipe for Sambar that I was trying out. How it came about to be in this bedraggled position is a story that expresses as much mystery as any typical Tamil or Telugu movie would and so I have benevolently decided to spare my readers of that trouble. In an instinctive reaction, I matrix-pulled the phone out of the container though it was now the phone's turn to get frozen, but irradiate all the same. All the electronics-common-sense that my brain had managed to understand and index through the past decade was swept away by the puerile joy on seeing the phone alive despite the debacle it just underwent.

Murphy and the other genuine laws of physics were not so benevolent though. Fighting my initial adolescent euphoria, I had to try flip the lid down to see if that augured well with the phone. And there it was - the deadly flicker of death, like the sparks of a dying candle, the phone showed a final flare of its former glory before shutting itself off. Damn! I need to get a new phone now. But such kindness was deemed unwarranted to me.  The phone came back to life when I restarted it, but took an enormous amount of time to become operational. And that has been the problem ever since - it has become an obstinate child that needs to be entreated with tenderness, fortitude and oppressiveness all at the same time. It requires careful and delicate touches required of an eye surgeon to make it respond to the charger, an aeon before it responds to an key press or a flip and an equal amount of time to make it stop from any of the random action that it choses to take on receiving an impulse.

The pinnacle of my misery is when someone calls me - the phone keeps ringing despite my earnest attempts to keep it quiet. No amount of pacification helps - neither attempting to take the call nor drop it seemed to work with my phone. It couldn't have chosen a more opportune moment to embarrass me than at the birthday party of a friend with a room full of people pristinely talking and exchanging pleasantries. The volume of its ringing mutated from a mild purr to an ominous hooting proportionately attracting as much audience with every passing moment. I changed colors faster than a chameleon - from white to yellow to pink to purple to blue to green. And then, there had to be this brilliant suggestion from one among the audience while I was trying my best to convince the onlookers about my incapacity to deal with my phone - "Why don't you try silencing it?". Oh, yeah! Thanks! Like I didn't think of that.

But there are somethings that the phone started doing excellently, sometimes a tad too steadfastly. Alarm, for instance exerted itself beyond its expectations to wake not only me, but also my room-mate whose threw me a few fiery glances powerful enough to cook my breakfast. At that moment, I realized how much I missed my previous room-mate who used to promptly set alarm in his mobile phone and benevolently slipped it underneath my pillow when I am fast asleep. And then there is the MegaPixel camera which I had been once so proud of that no longer wants to turn itself on and the music player which I had grown to love as a soulful companion that has departed never to arrive again. Such dolor forced me to endure the ordeal of looking for a new mobile phone which I assure you is no easy task requiring all the financial tact and wizardry that one could conjure. My provider has this strange policy of extending step-motherly treatment to its existing customers while treating new customers lucratively. It actually took me a few minutes to digest the fact that a new connection would be less expensive than upgrading the existing connection. Take a bow for customer loyalty!

And so, here I am writing the woeful story of how I ended up with a punch-holed wallet and a semi-mortified phone that isn't open to any deal anylonger. On the brighter side, I'll be gifting myself with a new phone absolving myself of all the crime that I had committed and all the trials undergone as a result. Just the fairy tale end that was required to bid adieu to the decade!


Have a great year ahead folks!!