Today, I am extra happy. I've been happy for the last two months. Perhaps its the weather. But I'm happy.
You know, it seems sometimes funny, how people become happy for the most trivial things. Maybe money, a song they heard on the radio, whatever. Seems funny. Doesn't it make you want to have something like that? Okay I'm being a little too vague, but thats the way the rest of this post is going to be - only to blurt out to everyone about my happiness.
I was riding back home, at about 3PM, and for the first time, I knew how it was to be hallucinating - maybe its a pseudo effect of the happiness that I experienced, but close enough anyhow. Probably was the images of hallucination(s) portrayed by the several media I had in my head from before. I remember riding down Bellary road, toward Mekhri Circle. Suddenly, when I looked up at the sky, there were flowers, of strong colors, and rainbows too. I remember seeing crows flying through them, through the strange nirvana colored flowers and pretty rainbows. I remember seeing the same patterns on a Maruti Omni that overtook me. - I was riding real slow, just in case. And I was like whoa....
Strange post this one, no? Yeah, today is also the day of a partial eclipse passing through here, which won't even be seen by anyone lower than 10,000 feet above ground level. Another thoughtless provoking blog? I don't care, I'm happy. :-) :-)
Friday, August 1, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
The Traveler
This new one talks and describes of a traveller through my eyes.
It all started with an idea, an idea that would transport a very average human on an almost-monumental trip. The idea was formulated by that human himself, but then, like most things big, it is questioned, not only by peers around him, but also by people who would normally otherwise believe in him. How the hell are you going to do this trip? Alone? Oh god, thats......remarkable. Won't you feel lonely at all? I'd never do this alone man. Doubts appeared from every other corner, from every other person's intricate little minds, from every single one who would imagine themselves in this person's situation. It would still not shake him, and finally, it pulled through. He would have his way, a way of relative stubbornness, of an unshakeable mind to his own.
An idea always has a beginning, a first step toward its execution. The execution, now without doubt, started with research on http://www.indianrail.gov.in/. A day later, he, who from now will be referred to as Steve, went to the Bangalore Cantonment Railway Station, to book his means of traveling the distance that he planned to. Half and hour and a few thousand rupees later, he walked out of the colonial era building, with four printed pieces of paper in his pocket. The railways were always respected, and loved, by Steve. As far as he could help it, he would try to travel by rail, and this wasn't too different. His "monumental" trip, though, would not be completely covered by means of the Indian Railways, but also by other means, especially to places where connectivity of this government body, that had a separate budget of its own in the nation, was low. And he realised, sooner than later, that the first leg of his trip would have to be completed by means other than by rail.
His home was Bangalore, or Bengaluru, a city that had a reputation of growing faster than rabbits could reproduce. It was the capital of the state of Karnataka, the land of the Kannadigas, a people who, fortunately or unfortunately, accepted the "outsiders" - the other people of India. The state ran both of the only two profit making government road transport services in all of India, one, the KSRTC, and the other, Bangalore's local bus service. Anyway, Steve knew that the only "decent" way to get to the franco-tamil town of Pondicherry (or Puduchcherry) was by means of the KSRTC. He always offered open invitations to other people who wanted to join him, and this time, there were two other people who would. So he went, to one of several KSRTC ticket-booking centres in the city, and booked three tickets on the luxury bus service called the Airavath, considering that the roads to Puduchcherry were terrible; the Airavath line of buses were manufactured by Volvo. So it was set, the date that his travels would start was 18 Dec 2007.
18th Dec, 2007, 2200hrs : Steve, and two others, arrived and waited at the City's main bus terminus, the Kempe Gowda Bus Stand. It would be another half an hour before the bus was scheduled to arrive, so they walked into the cafe nearby. Things in India normally had the reputation of doing everything late, though it did not make such a big difference, the bus did arrive ten minutes late. Their luggage was put into the baggage hold of the Volvo, and the space was large enough to carry two full jacuzzis, and got into their seats. Steve had traveled in these services before, and so did one of his accompanists, but not the last one, and so, save the last, they were not surprised that the government run service gave them a blanket and water bottle. The bus left, ten minutes later (twenty minutes from its actual departure time), and began its seven hour journey toward the franco-tamil town. The ride, as expected, was rough.
The next morning, Steve woke up, still shaking from the vibrations, to realise that it was raining outside, and quite heavily. His large glass window had water flowing down its side, like as though it was designed to be a water fountain. It was five o'clock, as communicated to him by his watch. The rain was unexpected when he finalised the date to Puduchcherry, but just a day earlier there was a sudden depression over the Bay of Bengal that exposed the eastern coast to some heavy showers, which Steve was not prepared for. The bus reached Puduchcherry Bus Stand about an hour later, and the rain had let up for a few minutes as though welcoming the three to the former french colony. Steve knew very little tamil, but knew enough that he wouldn't get fleeced by the auto drivers there. He wanted to head to Rock Beach, where a certain Ajanta Guest House was located, where he'd lodged before and knew was a great place for the facilities and the money. Steve and his two travel mates got into an auto, with their baggage - they could just manage to fit in. Unfortunate for the three, the guest house was still not open (it was 6AM), and so they had to find a different place to stay. His limited knowledge of tamil got the driver to look around for any place that would lodge them, and three-four closed gates later, they landed near a building with a rusting sign board that read Sri Krishna Guest House, which for 700 rupees gave a tiny tacky four-bed room. It was obviously far from ideal, but it had to do, just for the next ten hours, as decided by Steve. They slept, for four hours more, except Steve, who woke up at 9 to hire two wheelers to get around. He got a deal for 80 rupees per day per vehicle, and he took two. It would be 12.30PM before they were all ready to leave anywhere. They didn't have much luck with the rain either.
Since it was about lunch time, Steve decided to go toward Rock Beach again, where a restaurant called La Terasse was located. Steve rode one of the vehicles while the other was ridden by the better skilled rider of the remaining two. He had had a meal or two there before, and he found their food to be some of the best he had had for a long time. The day of Wednesday didn't seem to be very friendly with Steve, for it was raining, as hard as ever, and the restaurant had a large "CLOSED" sign at its gate (which he'd later learn that the place is closed on wednesdays). So he and the women went to a pizzeria called just "Pizzeria", and when they were done, though the cheque pushed them back 600 rupees poorer for just two pizzas and some beverages, they were satisfied that those were the best pizzas they'd had in their lives.
The afternoon went to walking around what was locally called Rock Beach, where a rock curb was created along the coast, probably dating back to the french times, for many franco inspired decorations donned the buildings there. It was a beautiful stretch to walk on. They felt a peace in the midst of the many poeple that were already there, a peace that they could possible not find anywhere else anytime soon. The latter portion of the day they spent was back at the dingy lodge. Steve, as planned, got themselves lodged at where he initially (at Ajanta Guest House) wanted to, by early evening. The deal for Rs.900 a night got them a nicely furnished four bed, with running hot water, in addition to air conditioning. And as he'd realized even before arriving at Puduchcherry, alcohol was not taxed and shared the distinction of being sold at the lowest price in the nation. So, as would've been expected by anyone their age, the night was spent with a good movie, good company, room service and alcohol.
Alcohol has the effect of making one sleep in. It was 10 before first of them awoke, Steve, along with a painful hangover. Women, as Steve realized only lately, spent too much time at anything that they believed would by anyway make their appearance relatively better, whether it was an outfit change, or a makeup stint, or even the simple activity of tying hair in a certain way. They were ready to leave only at 1, and they did, finally, toward La Terasse. The food there, as promised by Steve, was exquisite. Steve had fish while the other two stuck to pizzas and pancakes. A good hour later, they were done. They later moved toward Auro Beach, and again, Steve's ten-percent knowledge of tamil helped them get there. Steve describes the beach as - "beautiful, unspoiled, but beginning to get filled by unruly behaviour", and that was what it exactly was. The area was clean, with hardly a presence of any manmade material, and the only reason that turned them off was the unruly male 'horny' crowd. Two hours of the beach did not seem enough for them, they wanted to stay more, but the situation didn't allow them to. So they left, back again, toward the lodge. It was 5PM now. While one of them napped, Steve and the other watched a movie. The latter part of the evening was spent at "Pizzeria" again. This evening, however, Steve decided to stay away from alcohol. Another good movie later, they slept.
The third day was no different from the second in the fact that they'd slept in, again, and the women took equally long (if not longer) to get ready. It almost seemed as though La Terasse and Pizzeria were the only places that would satisfy their appetites, for again, they went to La Terrasse for lunch. A good meal later they left to Auroville, the place of humanity. Just before they got there, Steve and the others stopped at stores that sold textile articles that they'd not find for the price in a thousand kilometre radius. As unlikely as it seemed, Steve was the biggest shopper of them all, spending a whole six hundred rupees on kurtas, while the others spent lesser than half of how much he did, put together, though one of the women did spend a bigger amount on one single skirt much later. So they moved on now, to Auroville. Steve could remember quite clearly, the last time he was there, because a couple of white women "adam-teased" him, while he was looking around for what was called the solar kitchen - it didn't affect him, it was more of a compliment, but what was glaring was the fact that there was a part of the female population in the world that DID indulge in such activities, considering he assumed the activity was exclusive to males. Anyway, when they did reach Auroville's Visitor's Centre, they realized that the president was to arrive the next day, to visit Auroville, and that explained the tight security arrangements, which meant that some places in Auroville were off limits to them, including the solar kitchen. Steve told the others about the visitor's centre that had a very good bakery, about the good food there. And good it was. A caramel custard, a brownie and a lemon pie later they left for the Mantrimandir, the centre of Auroville. It was a spherical temple that represented humanity, and for anyone to live in Auroville as a permanent resident would mean renunciation of religion. The temple was clad with gold plated plates, and was a structure that awed Steve only the first time he was there. The awe stuck to the women only, and pretty soon, they had to leave Auroville. They didn't leave in a hurry, probably because it was their last day there, but it could've been that they were tired from two and a half days of freedom too.
They rode back to the two wheeler rent shop to return the scooters to their owner. Anyone would think that the Puduchcherry episode was coming to an end, but no - one of the women HAD to stop by a clothing store and buy a skirt that gave shivers down Steve's spine - a skirt for an amount that Steve would never spend on for just one piece of clothing. "You had to live up to a girl's name" Steve recalled saying to her. They then returned to their guest house, and did their business to get ready to leave for home. Steve's mission was to check out by 7PM, so that they didn't have to pay for an extra day, and thats what they did. The hotel manager was friendly enough to let them leave their luggage there for the next two hours so they didn't have to lug them around. Another dinner at La Terasse and a "last" walk at Rock Beach later, they were back at Puduchcherry bus stand. The Airavath back to Bangalore was not late, and the crew managed to get every passenger seated and ready to leave in less then ten minutes.
The bus ride back was bumpy, but not as much as it was on its way there. The driver was what could be called special, or rash, depending on point of view, for he managed to get them back to Bangalore by 5AM, while the scheduled arrival was 6AM. The trip was special for Steve, not only because he was able to embark on the first leg of his monumental trip, but also because he had woven the friendships he already had with stronger threads, stronger bonds. Steve admitted he had fun, though he also disliked one small part of while he was at Puduchcherry, and that was that he thought he went there like he was on holiday; he'd have rather thought he was travelling. He never regretted what he did, so, quickly, he dismissed that as soon as it came into his head. Steve promised that he would write about Puduchcherry,and he wouldn't get too far the first time. Pretty soon, he would forget the "miss-you" feeling he had for the sea town, and get on with looking forward to going to where he'd go next, Udagamandalam, or the anglo version, Ootacamund (Ooty).
It all started with an idea, an idea that would transport a very average human on an almost-monumental trip. The idea was formulated by that human himself, but then, like most things big, it is questioned, not only by peers around him, but also by people who would normally otherwise believe in him. How the hell are you going to do this trip? Alone? Oh god, thats......remarkable. Won't you feel lonely at all? I'd never do this alone man. Doubts appeared from every other corner, from every other person's intricate little minds, from every single one who would imagine themselves in this person's situation. It would still not shake him, and finally, it pulled through. He would have his way, a way of relative stubbornness, of an unshakeable mind to his own.
An idea always has a beginning, a first step toward its execution. The execution, now without doubt, started with research on http://www.indianrail.gov.in/. A day later, he, who from now will be referred to as Steve, went to the Bangalore Cantonment Railway Station, to book his means of traveling the distance that he planned to. Half and hour and a few thousand rupees later, he walked out of the colonial era building, with four printed pieces of paper in his pocket. The railways were always respected, and loved, by Steve. As far as he could help it, he would try to travel by rail, and this wasn't too different. His "monumental" trip, though, would not be completely covered by means of the Indian Railways, but also by other means, especially to places where connectivity of this government body, that had a separate budget of its own in the nation, was low. And he realised, sooner than later, that the first leg of his trip would have to be completed by means other than by rail.
His home was Bangalore, or Bengaluru, a city that had a reputation of growing faster than rabbits could reproduce. It was the capital of the state of Karnataka, the land of the Kannadigas, a people who, fortunately or unfortunately, accepted the "outsiders" - the other people of India. The state ran both of the only two profit making government road transport services in all of India, one, the KSRTC, and the other, Bangalore's local bus service. Anyway, Steve knew that the only "decent" way to get to the franco-tamil town of Pondicherry (or Puduchcherry) was by means of the KSRTC. He always offered open invitations to other people who wanted to join him, and this time, there were two other people who would. So he went, to one of several KSRTC ticket-booking centres in the city, and booked three tickets on the luxury bus service called the Airavath, considering that the roads to Puduchcherry were terrible; the Airavath line of buses were manufactured by Volvo. So it was set, the date that his travels would start was 18 Dec 2007.
18th Dec, 2007, 2200hrs : Steve, and two others, arrived and waited at the City's main bus terminus, the Kempe Gowda Bus Stand. It would be another half an hour before the bus was scheduled to arrive, so they walked into the cafe nearby. Things in India normally had the reputation of doing everything late, though it did not make such a big difference, the bus did arrive ten minutes late. Their luggage was put into the baggage hold of the Volvo, and the space was large enough to carry two full jacuzzis, and got into their seats. Steve had traveled in these services before, and so did one of his accompanists, but not the last one, and so, save the last, they were not surprised that the government run service gave them a blanket and water bottle. The bus left, ten minutes later (twenty minutes from its actual departure time), and began its seven hour journey toward the franco-tamil town. The ride, as expected, was rough.
The next morning, Steve woke up, still shaking from the vibrations, to realise that it was raining outside, and quite heavily. His large glass window had water flowing down its side, like as though it was designed to be a water fountain. It was five o'clock, as communicated to him by his watch. The rain was unexpected when he finalised the date to Puduchcherry, but just a day earlier there was a sudden depression over the Bay of Bengal that exposed the eastern coast to some heavy showers, which Steve was not prepared for. The bus reached Puduchcherry Bus Stand about an hour later, and the rain had let up for a few minutes as though welcoming the three to the former french colony. Steve knew very little tamil, but knew enough that he wouldn't get fleeced by the auto drivers there. He wanted to head to Rock Beach, where a certain Ajanta Guest House was located, where he'd lodged before and knew was a great place for the facilities and the money. Steve and his two travel mates got into an auto, with their baggage - they could just manage to fit in. Unfortunate for the three, the guest house was still not open (it was 6AM), and so they had to find a different place to stay. His limited knowledge of tamil got the driver to look around for any place that would lodge them, and three-four closed gates later, they landed near a building with a rusting sign board that read Sri Krishna Guest House, which for 700 rupees gave a tiny tacky four-bed room. It was obviously far from ideal, but it had to do, just for the next ten hours, as decided by Steve. They slept, for four hours more, except Steve, who woke up at 9 to hire two wheelers to get around. He got a deal for 80 rupees per day per vehicle, and he took two. It would be 12.30PM before they were all ready to leave anywhere. They didn't have much luck with the rain either.
Since it was about lunch time, Steve decided to go toward Rock Beach again, where a restaurant called La Terasse was located. Steve rode one of the vehicles while the other was ridden by the better skilled rider of the remaining two. He had had a meal or two there before, and he found their food to be some of the best he had had for a long time. The day of Wednesday didn't seem to be very friendly with Steve, for it was raining, as hard as ever, and the restaurant had a large "CLOSED" sign at its gate (which he'd later learn that the place is closed on wednesdays). So he and the women went to a pizzeria called just "Pizzeria", and when they were done, though the cheque pushed them back 600 rupees poorer for just two pizzas and some beverages, they were satisfied that those were the best pizzas they'd had in their lives.
The afternoon went to walking around what was locally called Rock Beach, where a rock curb was created along the coast, probably dating back to the french times, for many franco inspired decorations donned the buildings there. It was a beautiful stretch to walk on. They felt a peace in the midst of the many poeple that were already there, a peace that they could possible not find anywhere else anytime soon. The latter portion of the day they spent was back at the dingy lodge. Steve, as planned, got themselves lodged at where he initially (at Ajanta Guest House) wanted to, by early evening. The deal for Rs.900 a night got them a nicely furnished four bed, with running hot water, in addition to air conditioning. And as he'd realized even before arriving at Puduchcherry, alcohol was not taxed and shared the distinction of being sold at the lowest price in the nation. So, as would've been expected by anyone their age, the night was spent with a good movie, good company, room service and alcohol.
Alcohol has the effect of making one sleep in. It was 10 before first of them awoke, Steve, along with a painful hangover. Women, as Steve realized only lately, spent too much time at anything that they believed would by anyway make their appearance relatively better, whether it was an outfit change, or a makeup stint, or even the simple activity of tying hair in a certain way. They were ready to leave only at 1, and they did, finally, toward La Terasse. The food there, as promised by Steve, was exquisite. Steve had fish while the other two stuck to pizzas and pancakes. A good hour later, they were done. They later moved toward Auro Beach, and again, Steve's ten-percent knowledge of tamil helped them get there. Steve describes the beach as - "beautiful, unspoiled, but beginning to get filled by unruly behaviour", and that was what it exactly was. The area was clean, with hardly a presence of any manmade material, and the only reason that turned them off was the unruly male 'horny' crowd. Two hours of the beach did not seem enough for them, they wanted to stay more, but the situation didn't allow them to. So they left, back again, toward the lodge. It was 5PM now. While one of them napped, Steve and the other watched a movie. The latter part of the evening was spent at "Pizzeria" again. This evening, however, Steve decided to stay away from alcohol. Another good movie later, they slept.
The third day was no different from the second in the fact that they'd slept in, again, and the women took equally long (if not longer) to get ready. It almost seemed as though La Terasse and Pizzeria were the only places that would satisfy their appetites, for again, they went to La Terrasse for lunch. A good meal later they left to Auroville, the place of humanity. Just before they got there, Steve and the others stopped at stores that sold textile articles that they'd not find for the price in a thousand kilometre radius. As unlikely as it seemed, Steve was the biggest shopper of them all, spending a whole six hundred rupees on kurtas, while the others spent lesser than half of how much he did, put together, though one of the women did spend a bigger amount on one single skirt much later. So they moved on now, to Auroville. Steve could remember quite clearly, the last time he was there, because a couple of white women "adam-teased" him, while he was looking around for what was called the solar kitchen - it didn't affect him, it was more of a compliment, but what was glaring was the fact that there was a part of the female population in the world that DID indulge in such activities, considering he assumed the activity was exclusive to males. Anyway, when they did reach Auroville's Visitor's Centre, they realized that the president was to arrive the next day, to visit Auroville, and that explained the tight security arrangements, which meant that some places in Auroville were off limits to them, including the solar kitchen. Steve told the others about the visitor's centre that had a very good bakery, about the good food there. And good it was. A caramel custard, a brownie and a lemon pie later they left for the Mantrimandir, the centre of Auroville. It was a spherical temple that represented humanity, and for anyone to live in Auroville as a permanent resident would mean renunciation of religion. The temple was clad with gold plated plates, and was a structure that awed Steve only the first time he was there. The awe stuck to the women only, and pretty soon, they had to leave Auroville. They didn't leave in a hurry, probably because it was their last day there, but it could've been that they were tired from two and a half days of freedom too.
They rode back to the two wheeler rent shop to return the scooters to their owner. Anyone would think that the Puduchcherry episode was coming to an end, but no - one of the women HAD to stop by a clothing store and buy a skirt that gave shivers down Steve's spine - a skirt for an amount that Steve would never spend on for just one piece of clothing. "You had to live up to a girl's name" Steve recalled saying to her. They then returned to their guest house, and did their business to get ready to leave for home. Steve's mission was to check out by 7PM, so that they didn't have to pay for an extra day, and thats what they did. The hotel manager was friendly enough to let them leave their luggage there for the next two hours so they didn't have to lug them around. Another dinner at La Terasse and a "last" walk at Rock Beach later, they were back at Puduchcherry bus stand. The Airavath back to Bangalore was not late, and the crew managed to get every passenger seated and ready to leave in less then ten minutes.
The bus ride back was bumpy, but not as much as it was on its way there. The driver was what could be called special, or rash, depending on point of view, for he managed to get them back to Bangalore by 5AM, while the scheduled arrival was 6AM. The trip was special for Steve, not only because he was able to embark on the first leg of his monumental trip, but also because he had woven the friendships he already had with stronger threads, stronger bonds. Steve admitted he had fun, though he also disliked one small part of while he was at Puduchcherry, and that was that he thought he went there like he was on holiday; he'd have rather thought he was travelling. He never regretted what he did, so, quickly, he dismissed that as soon as it came into his head. Steve promised that he would write about Puduchcherry,and he wouldn't get too far the first time. Pretty soon, he would forget the "miss-you" feeling he had for the sea town, and get on with looking forward to going to where he'd go next, Udagamandalam, or the anglo version, Ootacamund (Ooty).
Saturday, November 24, 2007
A fork on the road with riches on either side.
This is an article I wrote for my college newsletter describing....um.....well, you'll find out when you start reading.
PS - I bullshitted a lot when I start praising what I praised.
PS - I bullshitted a lot when I start praising what I praised.
August the 6th, 2007. I had just returned from a very rainy holiday from the serene beaches of Goa three days before. A beautiful day this day was, not for the fact that the sun suddenly smiled down on India’s carnatic land that day considering that it hadn’t presented itself consistently since June ended; but because it was a new day for me, a new experience – for I was to start my first full time job in an architectural office. Somehow, I didn’t feel the butterflies that one would normally associate with new experiences, though I did see a few of the beautiful creatures fly by my window. I remember I had told Architect XYZ that I would be able to show up to work on the first week of August, tentatively on the 6th; and this I had told him sometime in May. The thought that he might have forgotten crossed my mind, so, due to this reason (partly) and partly because I didn’t know what else to do, I called him, at 8 in the morning. I think I woke him from his sleep. Why he was still asleep is none of my business.
So I was expected to show up at the workplace at 9.30am. Unlike college, I DID show up on time. As a matter of fact, I actually arrived there 5 minutes early. Again, unlike college, there was no one and the door was locked. I waited a full half an hour before anyone else showed up, and it was my new colleague who led the way into the office (more like a residence, but anyway). I had seen the “office” before during my interview, but now the workspace seemed somewhat weird. Maybe because there were a lot more people then and the silent absence caused an eeriness in me. Then the day went on, with my other colleagues showing up (I knew them from college, they were my seniors), and later with the principal architect making his presence known by giving his first words in the office to me- telling me that that I should watch how work goes on in there for a day or two before I was assigned anything so that I was acclimatised to the situation.
The day went on and on and on and on till dusk arrived. And the next day came and went, so did the next, and the next, and after a LOOONNNG time it was two weeks. I was beginning to get more work, and I had “acclimatized” myself to the office. I went on my job duties as regularly as an architectural employee would, and then, with a warning time long enough for me to go to Alaska and back, it struck me. WORK WAS TERRIBLY BORING!!! I just couldn’t imagine how monotonous work could be before I joined there, especially because I always thought work would be my liberation from college. How wrong I was. It was not fun- it never was. The thought didn’t only strike me once, it struck me again and again till it began ringing in my head. Why was the feeling that all software employees get felt by me? This isn’t right, it couldn’t be. The reason I didn’t do engineering was because of this insane boredom of a desk job. I pondered on, and I just couldn’t imagine why I felt what I felt. Earlier, I had friends to block monotony from creeping into my life; now I had nothing, save my downloaded movies.
I speak for myself when I talk of this boredom. You’d think it this is a one off case. No comes the answer. Judging by what my friends told me, I can safely say that they went through the same phase with little or no difference. Some say they had fun, some didn’t – but then fun is a very loosely used term these days. Yes, sure, we don’t have ANY college work this semester, no design, no ACM, no submissions, no reviews, no internal tests, no exams and only one jury questioning us what we did at work. But still, the work just lacked that teeny weeny bit of character, that little unexplainable thing that could be compared to what makes you like a certain someone - romantically or otherwise - for no obvious reason at all. At college, one has the liberty to take off (read bunk) anytime they want. Not the case here. Maybe the grass is always greener on the other side. If that was the case though, my colleagues wouldn’t be telling me that college was always more fun than work. How could it have gotten so undesirable?
But then again, come to think of it, WORK was not ALL that bad. It was just a little uneventful – like I said, it lacked that oomph. Let me take for example – the amount of time freed up every evening because you don’t have to work on that first floor plan that will be reviewed the next day. Or like the sites you visit (trust me, in college you’ve learnt NOTHING). Or like the times you tell your working engineering friends you get to wear anything you want to work (they have to wear formal attire, for the most part). Or like how you can show off to everyone that you’re working on the airport/supermall/skyscraper/celebrity’s house. So, work at an architectural office is not bad at all, not as bad as it began to sound here at least. It just takes a little getting used to, after all the times you had with your friends. After all, everything good normally has a tiny evil side to it. J
Anyway, its just a matter of a few weeks before I quit work and live a happy holiday for two months (no exams remember?). It feels good and bad at the same time that I have to leave work, and eventually get back to college. Maybe in the future I will look back at this day and laugh at myself. Good (and bad) things always come to end , and pretty obviously, I will miss work and my new friends.
But like most amateur philosophers say – you have to move on. Cheers.
Friday, November 9, 2007
This Diwali
I wish everyone a happy fun festival. Just try not to spoil the environment around me next time round. Yes I admit it, I am a selfish person - I cannot accept smoke and dust in the air, though this "festival" means a lot to you. I can't care any lesser if you pollute the air, kill animals, or spoil everyone else's health - go on and make this place a more difficult place to live in for your kids - but just don't smoke MY ROOM up, and/or pollute MY AIR. Thanks, and have fun.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
My Job - A quick Description of the Frustration
This semester takes me away from college for three and a half months. It may sound like a brilliant thing, and let me tell you - it is. It surely is one hell of a time to be away from classes and lectures and exams and all things undesirable related to studies. There is so much to training under a qualified "architect", so much to know, and I have to experience it in person to understand. There is a reason why I enter this post today - and it is not to celebrate the happiness about my being away from college, but is to tell everyone about my work related disease.
Surely, and obviously, I am NOT frustrated by how my "colleagues" are. They are nice people and considering that they used to study with me once upon a time, it makes things even more comfortable for me. It is not that the principal architect treats me bad either. He's a nice fellow, who has never ever raised his voice against any of us (sad to say that ain't the case with his wife) and has even allowed me to take leave off the office for two days so I could participate at jipmer's spandan. Office hours are also favourable, it doesn't demand stress on me, and the number of breaks per day exceed the number of fingers on any one of your hands. What the fuck am I cribbing about right?
Again, i say, the office is not the issue. It is not the people. It is what they ask of me.
What they ask of me may seem make a layman react - "SO WHAT?". You know, being asked to render images - thats OK, it ain't a big deal. Being asked to detail out drawings - OK. Being asked to estimate values - is OK. Being asked to draw elevations - is also OK. --------------BUT, and a big big but at it, being asked to "design" interiors of a building referring to images downloaded - that is NOT OK.-------------- The worst part is - I could risk saying NO and get myself fired. The frustration of not being able to say "no" to the "design" assignment is something that is undescribable, but obviously thats not what causes my work related disease, and is actually the refer part that gets onto me. Though the word refer and design sounds quite normal to anyone reading this, it sounds more like copy to me. This illness will probably die down after I'm done with it, but finishing this assignment is going to be like flogging my own arse.
There is absolutely no design ethics in this office - and though this sounds like an absolutely chauvinistic remark, I say that women can't design (again - there ALWAYS are exceptions). They can't expect other people to design either, just like whats happening now. Design involves creativity, not just good aesthetic sense - a lesson I want to teach to all students of architecture. If the creativity in an architectural project goes missing, then from it the label "art" is going to be struck off, torn and mutilated. Which - by the way - I hear happens in most offices. :-( But let me give due credit where it belongs - the designs that enter this office from elsewhere - i.e the building plans that come here from other offices to let us finish the interiors, are absolutely gruesome. It is a shame that those plans are even approved. So - the "designs" of this office aren't THAT bad either. Somehow, I am in a place thats at the bottom of the design ladder - at the feet of this design being if i may call it that, and the others around are below in the shit thats stuck onto the chappals of this design-being.
Nobody in the office will realise my pain, because I am going to hide it. It is not an easily comprehended situation. Anybody related to the field of design - ANY sort of design - may just be able to understand how and what I feel. When will this world change???
Another one of my posts describing what I loathe. :-) Until next time, Bye.
Surely, and obviously, I am NOT frustrated by how my "colleagues" are. They are nice people and considering that they used to study with me once upon a time, it makes things even more comfortable for me. It is not that the principal architect treats me bad either. He's a nice fellow, who has never ever raised his voice against any of us (sad to say that ain't the case with his wife) and has even allowed me to take leave off the office for two days so I could participate at jipmer's spandan. Office hours are also favourable, it doesn't demand stress on me, and the number of breaks per day exceed the number of fingers on any one of your hands. What the fuck am I cribbing about right?
Again, i say, the office is not the issue. It is not the people. It is what they ask of me.
What they ask of me may seem make a layman react - "SO WHAT?". You know, being asked to render images - thats OK, it ain't a big deal. Being asked to detail out drawings - OK. Being asked to estimate values - is OK. Being asked to draw elevations - is also OK. --------------BUT, and a big big but at it, being asked to "design" interiors of a building referring to images downloaded - that is NOT OK.-------------- The worst part is - I could risk saying NO and get myself fired. The frustration of not being able to say "no" to the "design" assignment is something that is undescribable, but obviously thats not what causes my work related disease, and is actually the refer part that gets onto me. Though the word refer and design sounds quite normal to anyone reading this, it sounds more like copy to me. This illness will probably die down after I'm done with it, but finishing this assignment is going to be like flogging my own arse.
There is absolutely no design ethics in this office - and though this sounds like an absolutely chauvinistic remark, I say that women can't design (again - there ALWAYS are exceptions). They can't expect other people to design either, just like whats happening now. Design involves creativity, not just good aesthetic sense - a lesson I want to teach to all students of architecture. If the creativity in an architectural project goes missing, then from it the label "art" is going to be struck off, torn and mutilated. Which - by the way - I hear happens in most offices. :-( But let me give due credit where it belongs - the designs that enter this office from elsewhere - i.e the building plans that come here from other offices to let us finish the interiors, are absolutely gruesome. It is a shame that those plans are even approved. So - the "designs" of this office aren't THAT bad either. Somehow, I am in a place thats at the bottom of the design ladder - at the feet of this design being if i may call it that, and the others around are below in the shit thats stuck onto the chappals of this design-being.
Nobody in the office will realise my pain, because I am going to hide it. It is not an easily comprehended situation. Anybody related to the field of design - ANY sort of design - may just be able to understand how and what I feel. When will this world change???
Another one of my posts describing what I loathe. :-) Until next time, Bye.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
This is What??
Orkut, the social networking site, has done something for many of us in the world what we probably thought was never possible. To keep in touch with people we haven't seen in a long time, or to meet strangers - that was something impossible in the "India Post" days, or for that matter, even e-mail days.
But there is one thing i absolutely hate to see on www.orkut.com - it maybe a personal opinion, i dont care, but there is this one thing that makes me laugh my arse off, and angry to the deepest of my heart at the same time. Let me not start with what i have noticed, but with what I feel is the total opposite of my understanding of "society".
Do we really respect women? Though I always thought that the Times of India was not very ideal as a news media, it didn't do too badly with local news. I read about eve-teasing, dowry harassment, and all kinds of nasty things done to women - which pisses me off - and I'm not trying to win an election with this speech anytime soon. Women are women and need to be treated respectfully. Here, we bloody live in a city where there are Kannada activists who "activate" against non-Kannada elements - and the same bloody people cant care a shit about the same women they read about in the Sanjay Vani - even if the women are Kannadigas violated by non-Kannadigas.
Even the Muslim society is a lot better off in this view - atleast they respect their women (here in India atleast). The burqa works for them. In this country - we have a sex ratio thats about 860 women for a 1000 men. Where are you going to get yourself brides you freaking jackasses? Oh right, you'll be cloning them from now? By the way, its illegal to be gay in India. And to think of why the population is like that, is so spine chilling, it makes u wanna strangle the sinister perpetrators, then run over their dead bodies with buses. Unborn girls are aborted and girl children are thrown into dustbins - this is in a country where there are NGO's pleading the govt not to kill dogs. Look at the children out there - you friggin animal lovers. I think the last girl who was attacked by dogs here in Bangalore (Bengaluru) was let out to the dogs on purpose. Maybe if the Muslim people did to the rest of India what they do to people violating Indian women, something would go into the heads of these no brainers.
Then there are the eveteasers. OH MY GOD. Do you get an orgasm when u whistle at that woman on the road? Does your family get food if you pinch that girl walking home from college? Does your God give you a ticket to heaven if you felt up that lady in the bus? WTF? I tell you, these things that you do, maybe something that wont get into your heads right now - but wait till that day when they do that to your daughter - oh wait a minute - you aborted her didn't you?
All this for just an observation I made on Orkut. Okay, now I laugh again with that bit of anger boiling up inside. This may not be as sinister as what I have blatantly described just a moment ago, but is a hidden quality that many "males" have, that is also the same point I try to prove - that people don't know how to respect women anymore. Here is the start of my observation.
Please notice girls' / womens' / females' profiles scrapbooks. You notice things like
- Hi.. will u be ma friend?? or
Hi ! ... Can we know each other as Friends ? or
hiiiiiiiiii.........
can i ve a pleasure to v eu in my frnd list... or
(I feel the best of all) Hey.. Was going through ur profile, found it interesting, so am writing to u..... As a normal routine, I know u must be tired of people saying,"hiii there, u r cute, u r pretty, i like ur smile,i like ur eyes....... and stuff"......and i can imagine how irritating it can be when someone out
of know where jumps up and says....... "DO u wanna be my friend, or can i be ur friend" and u feel like, Man DO i KNow u ..........Hence i would definately not do the same, neither would i ask u to be my friend...All i shall say is, "WHy dont we start a conversation and
let friendship develop on its on....." Hope u would
I pulled this off of a friend's profile, from two pages of scraps (thats 20 scraps, so about 20% of it is filled with shit like this). See how i say "friend's" profile. The word is singular - so imagine how many women / girls are being treated this way. (though the funny thing is sometimes i come across this on my own profile too). Half the people are just oblivious to all of this. What a waste.
So this was what I noticed and then all this other miscellaneous stuff started flooding my brain. How jobless. But a point I really feel strongly on. And a kind request to all reading - respect women, for you are otherwise worth lesser than a quark. This has probably been my most thought-less provoking subject, but a matter of great deal of controversy, and I dont fackin care. Plus, I am not driven against any society, culture, or any such thing that could cross your mind.
Till my next post, tata. hog malkollu. tumbaa odhidre naale hudugigella sariyaagi nodakagalla neevella. rofl.
But there is one thing i absolutely hate to see on www.orkut.com - it maybe a personal opinion, i dont care, but there is this one thing that makes me laugh my arse off, and angry to the deepest of my heart at the same time. Let me not start with what i have noticed, but with what I feel is the total opposite of my understanding of "society".
Do we really respect women? Though I always thought that the Times of India was not very ideal as a news media, it didn't do too badly with local news. I read about eve-teasing, dowry harassment, and all kinds of nasty things done to women - which pisses me off - and I'm not trying to win an election with this speech anytime soon. Women are women and need to be treated respectfully. Here, we bloody live in a city where there are Kannada activists who "activate" against non-Kannada elements - and the same bloody people cant care a shit about the same women they read about in the Sanjay Vani - even if the women are Kannadigas violated by non-Kannadigas.
Even the Muslim society is a lot better off in this view - atleast they respect their women (here in India atleast). The burqa works for them. In this country - we have a sex ratio thats about 860 women for a 1000 men. Where are you going to get yourself brides you freaking jackasses? Oh right, you'll be cloning them from now? By the way, its illegal to be gay in India. And to think of why the population is like that, is so spine chilling, it makes u wanna strangle the sinister perpetrators, then run over their dead bodies with buses. Unborn girls are aborted and girl children are thrown into dustbins - this is in a country where there are NGO's pleading the govt not to kill dogs. Look at the children out there - you friggin animal lovers. I think the last girl who was attacked by dogs here in Bangalore (Bengaluru) was let out to the dogs on purpose. Maybe if the Muslim people did to the rest of India what they do to people violating Indian women, something would go into the heads of these no brainers.
Then there are the eveteasers. OH MY GOD. Do you get an orgasm when u whistle at that woman on the road? Does your family get food if you pinch that girl walking home from college? Does your God give you a ticket to heaven if you felt up that lady in the bus? WTF? I tell you, these things that you do, maybe something that wont get into your heads right now - but wait till that day when they do that to your daughter - oh wait a minute - you aborted her didn't you?
All this for just an observation I made on Orkut. Okay, now I laugh again with that bit of anger boiling up inside. This may not be as sinister as what I have blatantly described just a moment ago, but is a hidden quality that many "males" have, that is also the same point I try to prove - that people don't know how to respect women anymore. Here is the start of my observation.
Please notice girls' / womens' / females' profiles scrapbooks. You notice things like
- Hi.. will u be ma friend?? or
Hi ! ... Can we know each other as Friends ? or
hiiiiiiiiii.........
can i ve a pleasure to v eu in my frnd list... or
(I feel the best of all) Hey.. Was going through ur profile, found it interesting, so am writing to u..... As a normal routine, I know u must be tired of people saying,"hiii there, u r cute, u r pretty, i like ur smile,i like ur eyes....... and stuff"......and i can imagine how irritating it can be when someone out
of know where jumps up and says....... "DO u wanna be my friend, or can i be ur friend" and u feel like, Man DO i KNow u ..........Hence i would definately not do the same, neither would i ask u to be my friend...All i shall say is, "WHy dont we start a conversation and
let friendship develop on its on....." Hope u would
I pulled this off of a friend's profile, from two pages of scraps (thats 20 scraps, so about 20% of it is filled with shit like this). See how i say "friend's" profile. The word is singular - so imagine how many women / girls are being treated this way. (though the funny thing is sometimes i come across this on my own profile too). Half the people are just oblivious to all of this. What a waste.
So this was what I noticed and then all this other miscellaneous stuff started flooding my brain. How jobless. But a point I really feel strongly on. And a kind request to all reading - respect women, for you are otherwise worth lesser than a quark. This has probably been my most thought-less provoking subject, but a matter of great deal of controversy, and I dont fackin care. Plus, I am not driven against any society, culture, or any such thing that could cross your mind.
Till my next post, tata. hog malkollu. tumbaa odhidre naale hudugigella sariyaagi nodakagalla neevella. rofl.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
A new song a new song!! Incomplete, but still fun to publish. And actually describes exactly what I wanted to write about once, and since its in this format, let me not strain my fingers typing a full essay about it (carpal tunnel syndrome?! :-o )..
I think I'm gonna call it All Hail..
You hear those bells around and,
and you bend down in prayer.
You know he's around and so,
you ask in fear -
For something you know you can't do on your own -
so you turn to him..
John likes to call him hope,
and Anita calls him faith,
The rest of em call him God,
some don't care anyway,
Whatever he is - he maybe just a state of mind
but he's right in here.
All Hail, All Hail, he's right in here.
All Hail, All Hail, you just don't know it yet.
Its right in front of you, open your eyes
All Hail, All Hail.
Thats it.. i did mention that it was incomplete..
I think I'm gonna call it All Hail..
You hear those bells around and,
and you bend down in prayer.
You know he's around and so,
you ask in fear -
For something you know you can't do on your own -
so you turn to him..
John likes to call him hope,
and Anita calls him faith,
The rest of em call him God,
some don't care anyway,
Whatever he is - he maybe just a state of mind
but he's right in here.
All Hail, All Hail, he's right in here.
All Hail, All Hail, you just don't know it yet.
Its right in front of you, open your eyes
All Hail, All Hail.
Thats it.. i did mention that it was incomplete..
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