Math-o-phobia!

In all these 22 years of useless uneventful existence, there is one thing I can tell you for certain.

                                 My GENES are scared of math.

Its as much the pain and agony that Ishaan Nandkishore Awasthi goes through while finally arriving at 3 into 3 is equal to 3. I am those kinds who switch on the in-built calculator function in the phone the minute after handing the shopkeeper a 500-rupee note for easy day-to-day addition and subtraction. A pain in the posterior end is what Math is to me.

Recently, my good friend SJ aced the QA section in BILLI with a whopping attempt of 12 questions out of 20. For the uninitiated, QA stands for Quantitative Aptitude, Math, Dread(for some mathematically challenged people like me). Now, now. Any Quantophile worth his salt should be able to tell you how decent an attempt his is.

Well, by and large, I am not a huge fan of Ganith. Its like that unknown fear that sometimes grips you tight, gnaws your brain inside out, clawing incessantly at your desire to give it a good fight. Its like the Ghost of Christmas Past, tormenting me everytime I wish to run away from its clutches. I am what you call, the Math-O-Phobic. This, my dear, is not a case of Recently Acquired Mental Deficiency. I have been diagnosed with this Syndrome ever since HE decided to unfetter me into this cruel world of Math lovers, with the skills of Periplaneta americana - the cockroach.

Ironically, and agonisingly, my friends circle and family always consisted of people like SJ and others high on the math-solving quotient. Round table conferences at the canteen would involve serious earth-shattering discussions like,

"A dealer sold 200 quintals of sugar at a profit of 7%. If the ants ate half of it and the hen in the garden gave grey colour eggs, find his total profit and selling price."

Suroo aka Bat-ball, I am sure, will make headlines someday by doing 17-digit multiplication mentally while doing somersaults. Really. And then there a lot many names we will avoid here, just for the fact that their math profile makes me feel lower than a skateboard. You got the drift, right? :| My genetic code did me no good either, what with having a grandma whose hair greyed drowning an entire city in the mesmerising and bewitching pool of hard-core math that commerce had. Some real gene mutation there as you can see.

It was then that movies came to my rescue. Bollywood taught me my elementary math. Ek do teen(1 2 3), Do aur do paanch(2 + 2 = 5), Do doni chaar(2 x 2 = 4) etc. came my way. Life had found meaning. Little did I know of the games God played. "Ek Aur Ek bhi Gyaarah(1 + 1 = 11)" and "Nau Do bhi Gyaarah(9 2 11)". Dont even look at me. I am full of disgust.

Aging brought no wisdom, and life only got tougher. Sample this.

"A milkman sells the milk at Cost Price, but he mixes freely available water in it and thus gains 9.09141345%. If the quantity of water in the 1 litre mixture is 83.33 ml, then whom the bloody hell does he think he is kidding?"

My days of despair had finally come to an end, or so I thought, when I scored a 780/800 in the QA(refer above) in the GRE(Getting Rid of Everything?), comparable to the likes of Devi Durga slaughtering the demon Mahishasura. Little did I know that I had been banished away from this cruel word of number lovers. A woebegone period of upping with the lark to see the numbers dancing in front of my eyes, and all that people had to offer was a, "Ae-chal-chal, hattttta, GRE maths toh, eeeeeeeaassssyyyyyyyyyyy". Whoever said it's a beautiful world. Not cool, guys. So not cool.

Anyway, I am not built of lose-hope metal. So, I continue racking my grey cells(the few that I possess) at this demon, for the love of my life. For the sake of this guy, who has been the sole cause for me still groping in the dark for that non-existent light at the end of the tunnel. Pythagoras. Yes, that's him. I search for shades of him in every triangle problem I come across. He has helped me think straight(read 'look for RIGHT ANGLES everywhere').
He taught me not only 'Sec A' and 'Sec B' but also 'Sec C' :P Thank you Pythagoras, for making life colorful.

You can imagine my plight, in this fair land of ours, where the intellect of every living nematode is judged by - right- MATH. Is there hope?

Arbit stuff, really!

What do you do when you have nothing to say, but feel like writing a blog post. Here is what you do.

1)Go to New Post

2)Give some cheesy title - Arbit stuff, Random, Abstract, or Whatever!

3)Blabber

My attempt :

1. Metro is here in Noida finally! Yaaayyy. For someone who took 2 hours to get home after office, it'll just take 36 minutes from now on!! Beat that?? Life really couldn't get better :D Can I get a whistle for that Chotu? :)

2. How forgetful can one get? When people treat you like you are trash, and do things that can't even be put in words here, how do they expect that once they lost touch and made their grand appearance into your life a few months later, all would be nice and dandy! No trace of regret, nothing. Fine, even I think life is too short for such anathema to prevail, but h-e-l-l-o, I-have-news! We didnt get out of touch, we chose to. So please, spare me the miss-yous and keeping tabs on my whereabouts on social networking sites and everywhere else. In short, get a life!

3. What sort of a combination is rains and winter? Pah, this is not yet another spurious creation of my mind. It is happening :(

4. Yours truly made some awesome(not expected) kofta yesterday and stupefied herself. Pics of it later. The thing is, this computer of mine, is the last of what remains of the Harappa and Mohenjodaro civilisation. So it isn't that easy a job to post pics for me as it is for you guys. *sniff* This is an emotional moment for me. Please bear with me.

5. Having brought up 'pics' here, reminds me.. My car got hit recently. Well, that would be the best way to put it, I guess. To call it an accident would be too much. And you wouldn't agree with me if I said, 'Nothing much, just a scratch!', once you saw my car.

Excuse me the rant, will ya? It is the evil spirit of the blogger.

Amazing how I still don't learn!

The greatest favour you can do to yourselves sometimes is to just shut up.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

For the joy of achievement

If I were to ask you to complete the sentence, ______________ makes me happy, what would be the one defining statement you would give me? What is THE one thing that makes you happy? After 22 years of existence, I can tell you I have been able to solve the mystery of my life. All along, I really used to wonder as to what keeps one happy. A lot of us like to call it passion. Some also believe it to be the 'purpose of life' used interchangeably in most cases. Personally, I would get too lost if someone asked me what my life's purpose was. I might even run. So I'll give my inner wisdom some more time till it retrospects to those subtleties of life.

Drifting through the vicissitudes of living, it is easy to ignore what one likes and what keeps one happy and supress the voice of the soul. But it took ages till it dawned on me as to what kept the senses of my inner voice gratified. Achievement. Of course, finding this out has been anything but easy.

As a 9th grader, I remember dancing out of sheer ecstacy on the eve of the last exam. Grandiose plans of a class outing to the nearest eat-out needed to be charted out. The telephone line was constantly engaged discussing who all would be able to make it and who would not. Blackmailing sessions ensued, threatening the other of not talking if they didn't turn up. It was going to be a great day. Man, what would a world be like without a 'cool' gang of guys and girls hanging around at arbit eat-outs. Friends meant the world, really. Come exam day. Such days are the ones that constitute the vagaries of life. Now who on earth could think about studying for the exam when so many things were pending on the To-Do-List. No prizes for guessing, if I say the exam was a disaster, I would be making a gross understatement. I know God exists because I live to tell you that I passed that exam. Anyway, so it was party time now? Time to celebrate life. And where was I? Home. With a face like that of a convoluted rattlesnake, in order to stop those watery things get out

of my eyes. The 'gang', fun, chilling out.. everything took a backseat when I had not ACHIEVED my goal. Things havent changed much over the years. Just that I live in constant realisation that all these things follow when you have achieved what you set out to achieve.

I dont intend to cloud the emotion I attach with the word achievement. It doesnt always refer to achieving academically. At this point in time, I am reminded of a quote that I stick to the letter to.

Trust yourself. Create the kind of life you will be happy to live with all your life. Make the most of yourself by fanning the tiny, inner sparks of possibility into the flames of achievement.

Foster C. McClellan

College was a tale of sorts. There were relationships. And there were break-ups. There were right things. And there were wrong things(which of course seemed right back then). Phone became an indispensable element of livelihood. In all of this, died a weak soul which hardly got a chance to speak up.

Here, I pause to think of the day 'complete' in all of its meaning. Getting up at 5 in the silence of the night(5 is night in winter if you are in Delhi, though our maid would disagree), with a space for myself, when I get to take complete control of my thoughts to get a bird's eye view of where life is heading gives me more perspective than chatting on the IM client for 2 hours with a friend. I am not even remotely against spending time with friends, chatting on the net etc. After all, what life without sharing a laugh with an old bud. But I somewhere life is more than that.

Lasting happiness was indeed, possible only through personal achievement. When you and the soul, grow together. When you kindle the inner fire that lurks within you. Achievement defines me. When I achieve, I keep others around me happy because I AM happy. I live with more vitality and add meaning to my life. I make my life more richer and delightful, and thereby, yours.

I continue to advance confidently in the direction where my goals are. If I could wish one thing for you, it would be this. As for me, life has come full circle.

Abhi tumhari beti zinda hai maa!

Little girls are so cute, I tell you! One such bundle of joy is my sister. I shall fail to do justice to this post if I start writing about her and what she does, and how we argue and bicker, and then laugh and laugh till we cry for no reason, and how we have whispered our deepest secrets to each other that only we could share, and how sometimes(umm.. many-a-times), I feel she is way too mature than I am and could ever be,though I am the elder one and how she always.. always knows when I need a hug, and.. bleh!

Ok, I think I have done enough justice to the profound talent I possess - that of deviating from the point :D

*

A prelude to the narration was deemed required by yours truly and hence, here it is.
#1 : 'The little sister'(wherever mentioned) is a 14-year old who has been learning (and continues to learn) Bharatanatyam for the past 5 years. This story dates to the time when parents of yours truly and 'the little sister' had Arangetram plans for the latter.

#2 : Arangetram(the same as mentioned above), happens to be a slightly costly affair. 'Costly' would be a purely relative term, and hence, 'slightly' costly. It happens to be an event where the teacher is to be gifted 'Pattu Pudavai'(silk sarees) as Guru Dakshina. A major chunk of expenditure on an Arangetram would be the rent for an auditorium, remunerations for the accompanying musicians etc. Round about 2.5 lakhs of raw cash goes into this affair(this is again an approximation; it could get more grandiose).

#3 : 'The little sister' who happened to be listening to all of this planning managed to make mental notes of the same.

#4 : 'The little sister' is given a pocket money of Rs.500 with no fixed scheduling period, which she keeps in a little maroon purse. Apart from this fixed amount, she also accumulates what is given by visiting relatives after 1000 namaskarams that she is made to do.

*

As the story goes, this is what happened one fine day.. Yours truly needed a little money for bus fare to go to a friend's place. It is usually publicly known, adding much to the disgrace of yours truly, that yours truly would any day go trouble her little sister(read monster when it comes to lending money) for a little change than show bus-wallahs 100-rupee notes and earn their innocent sugar-coated replies. At the time of this event, 'little sister' supposedly had (or claimed to have) only Rs.200 in her wallet and hence, blatantly denied the request.

Excerpts of what ensued is produced here :

YT : Yours truly
TLS  : The Little Sister

YT : Tere paas change hai? (Do u have some change on yourself?)

TLS : Nahi. (No.)

YT(poking) : Mujhe pata hai, tere paas hai. (I know you have it)

TLS : Fir kyun poocha? (Why did you have to ask then?)

YT : Please dede. (Give it to me please) *Yes, occasionally we do beg each other*

TLS : Yaar, sorry main nahi de sakti. Main apne arangetram ke liye bacha rahi hun. Mom dad ko support karungi arangetram organise karne mein. (Sorry, can't lend it to you. I am saving all this for my arangetram. I'll support mom & dad for the arangetram with this.)

YT : *no words* :D

 *

The usage of 'yours truly' multiple times in the passage is intentional. The author of this post derives inexplicable sadistic pleasure by irritating noble readers, who would cringe at its usage.

EDIT : Some of you seem to have mistaken the 'support' part of the post. Though I agree in every way that TLS is a responsible child in the true sense of the word, 'support' here was not meant supporting our parents by providing a stable income to the family :D I dont mean to humour such a sensitive thing, but what I had really intended to say was that at that point of time, she thought of lending a helping hand to my parents for the arangetram by saing up herself out of her pocket money. That was really cute! :D

Its finger-licking good! - Creativity without bricks

Wake Up Sid - the review

A Word From The Author

When the world is hopping from Skoda Laura to Audi, a scooter ride isn't really what one goes back to. But anyday more appealing to me, than a car drive. I love the feeling of the wind blowing through my open ears and my hair flying in all directions... Somehow, at that point of time, the blob of facewash that is gonna go in order to remove all that dirt and grime and hours of conditioning that my hair would require later didn't quite make its entry into my nimble brain that time.. There's so much freedom in the open air! So off we went.

You don't have much scope on the TV on Gandhi Jayanti when they have decided to repeat Lage Raho Munnabhai and Gandhi everytime the calendar shows Oct 2.

OK, so once in a while, all of us get lucky and yesterday was my day. Defying the worth of Murphy and his laws, MY queue TOO moved pretty decently. What followed was an intense discussion amidst a solid state of confusion between the guy at the counter and my dad. Aah! So my dad had asked for tickets for 'What's up Sid?'. How can dads get the movie name almost always wrong? Beats me. Obviously, the poor guy at the counter couldn't decide upon whether it was 'What's ur raashee?' or 'Wake Up Sid!' that we wanted! Blame me and my sis for that, I say. Who asked us to turn the world upside down early morning debating over which one to watch of the two. My dad has this uncanny knack of guessing movies tht have Saif starring. It was just the other day that they were showing trailers of 'Love Aaj Kal' on the TV. And he promptly said,"Arre, Salaam Namaste!" :D

THE REVIEW

Um.. So let's see.. KJo has managed to come up with this extremely novel plot this time up.... Sid is this really cute bacchha(read slacker), who is unaware of the vagaries of life and is busy happily spending his dad's not-to-mention hard earned money on parties, friends and what not. And somehow, things happen that transform him into this responsible young man. Oh so unexpected!

 But all said and done, the movie, though very predictable from a broader perspective, doesn't fail to strike a chord with you instantly. For bits and pieces, it reminds one of Dil Chahta Hai. Maybe Lakshya too. So much so that it might sound cliched now. Don't believe it. It's like none of the two. Like any other KJo movie, this one too had brilliant colours, that cannot escape your eye. The tinge of creativity that shades the theme deserves a good applause. One gets to see a bunch of new faces like Rishi(Namit Das) and Laxmi(Shikha Talsania), who have done good justice to their roles with neat acting. Perfect.

This is Ayan Mukherji's directorial debut for you.

Aisha(Konkona Sen) is an aspiring writer and a newbie to Mumbai and its ways. She finds her first friend in Sid, who though is very very different from her and her independence-seeking self, is honest, sweet and fun-loving. Sid's life revolves around his best buds, Rishi and Laxmi and all is breezy till one day he is thrown out of his dad's house(and obviously property). And the rest is so known.

Few moments in the movie take your breath right away. Aisha's birthday celebration with Sid's bread cake, for one. You hear yourself going, "Awww....!". Rishi's and Sid's laughter moment on Rishi's break up, for another. And when he finally gets the omlette right.

The movie lost me at the climax when Sid reads the mag to find out how Aisha feels for him. But hadn't she shown him the article before itself, where he makes suggestions and edits to the story, which later get appreciated by the editor? There is an outlined mismatch.

Sid sweeps you off your feet and into his world very naturally. Most certainly, he is sure to remind you of your college days. And more so, 'coz he has mastered the art of sending across the message so realistically. Konkona Sen, needless to mention, gives the movie its calming effect with effortless yet stupendous performance. Both of them definitely look great together and the onscreen chemistry quotient is very high. But better as friends, maybe. An awesome-looking Rahul Khanna could have been used in a better way. He hasn't been given much scope in the movie. Anupam Kher, as usual, is wonderful. Supriya Pathak is nice in her own way, though a stronger connection between the mum and the son could have been portrayed. Kashmeera Shah has well-delivered her bit. The Mumbai Beats office and Aisha's house are a piece of icing on the cake. Brilliant and award-worthy creativity and an eye for detail there. Music by Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy is melodious. 'Iktara' is simply amazing.

The movie is sure to be a hit amongst its target urban audience. Anywhere between a 3.5 to 4 for sure.

Broken

Sitting across the verandah of her palatial condominium, she was lost in thoughts of her own when a silent tear found its way on to her skirt, only to get lost in the ocean of thick fabric. It was raining quite heavily outside. A headache that had been smoldering for the past half an hour finally matured and hit her hard on the middle of her forehead. An early darkness was slipping down. Her eyes settled on the pillar across in a flat, unblinking way, while the state of her mind was quite the opposite. It had been a nomad since she had grown to know about it in vivid detail. She knew she had to act like lightning, else she would sink into spaceless chasms beyond the control of her mind. It amused her how the climate was perfectly analogous with what was happening in her life. It had been pouring off late. She could only wish it were good things. This was the perfect time to treat herself with a strong cuppa coffee. Or maybe, masala chai. She headed to the kitchen leaving behind a trail of thoughts directed elsewhere. An oversized white mug emblazoned with red letters : ‘What would I ever do without you’, glared at her. She smiled. She drained the lukewarm tea.

Another little stream of drops trickled from her eye onto the basin. She realized she had been smiling to herself all this while. Feeling silly, she gave herself a tap on her head, as if talking to her thoughts. The mention of masala chai always sent her into a surrealistic world of nostalgia. Those days. Those days when they used to sneak out of hostel at midnight just to catch one cuppa ‘garam masala chai’ at Venu’s. Many-a-times, it was only the two of them at the shop at that time, otherwise usually accompanied by truck drivers on the highway. It was times like these they longed for. When they used to dance on the lonely highway, and tickle and chase each other till they rolled down in laughter. Ah, young love, sweet love. She almost had to shake herself out of her reverie each time she followed this trail of thoughts to nowhere.

It had become routine now. Coming home to a silent apartment, the silence of which, she thought, would drive her mad someday or the other. She would climb into the shower and let ice cold water course its way through her shoulders, wishing it would wash away the loneliness of the present and the doubts of the future. She would bite her lips, as she thought of all his sacrifices and all her selfish choices and of all those times when she had been wrong. Completely wrong.

She often tried to hug herself, wanting to fill him in the space between her arms. She gave up. The pain had boiled up inside her, and she feared it would keep simmering and would eventually burst out of her tubes if she didn’t find a vent. She longed for that feeling of completeness. The perfect gift that he had given her. She couldn’t have asked for anything more. He was God’s answer to her prayers. But now, there was no telling what the future held.

There was no shortage of space in the two-storied home they had built together. The Ganesha on the door was meant to ward off evil. They were on a high dosage of happiness. They would need it. The purport of it stared at her as a living irony right on her face. The house, their house, they called it ‘Swapna’ - their dream. They had yearned for it as much as they had longed for each other. There was so much to plan, so much to do. They had painted it in a theme of crimson. The study was an antique in itself, with all manner of memorabilia tacked haphazardly onto the softboards – the pictures - those of frequent group hugs, of the gang’s day at the beach, of the shadow dances they did with their hands, of the long walks they took hand in hand, of the day they decided to tie the knot and of the day they did. The lampshade was his choice. She knew it didn’t fit into the theme of the house in any way. But he had wanted it there. Just right there. She realized now how perfect it was. How differences blend and make the scheme of things perfect. The shelf held all the junk he was so fond of collecting. The things she had gifted him, volumes of letters that she had written to him and everything that he deemed precious and was ‘of her’.

So this is how it felt to lose a part of you. So this is how it felt when death crumbles your world down. And her tears started to flow all over again. It was time to declutter, not only the shelf, but also her mind.

The idea for which I live and die..

What I read in the news today was appalling to say the least!

24 people committed suicide and nearly 100 others suffered heart attacks as YSR Reddy was buried at Cuddapah yesterday. I am not delving further into the 'Why did they have to' part of the incident. This post is more of things that intrigue me and stir my soul.

For someone who had long been in the political front of Andhra Pradesh and had done so much for the people.. so much so that they would would contemplate suicide upon his death. For the records, this man had initiated free power supply for farmers, made strides in the irrigation facilities for the rural masses, and been the harbinger of a health insurance scheme that required the government to bear the price of a surgery upto 2,00,000 Rupees. He also initiated small businesses and entrepreneurships among the people from backward sections. Though I don't know much about the sort of person that he was, considering he was a politico nevertheless, I have reason to believe he must have done some real good for people, don't I? How many people will vouch for you for the same reason?

Are you sure of that one person who WILL shed a tear when you die? (I am assuming you'll be discerning enough to not say Family here)

Have you given enough to the world to be able to say, "My work is done here"?

How close are you to the ground?

Was your purpose only that of visiting this world?

Have you freed what waits within you?

Are you beyond human differences and limitations?

Are you tuned into 'Good Thought Station', 'usually' atleast?

Have you ever thought today might take you into the cottage of darkness?

Robin Sharma, in his book, 'Who will cry when you die?' says, "When you were born, you cried while the world rejoiced. Live your life in such a way that when you die the world cries while you rejoice."

Time, I guess is no more than an idea. You and I could be sharing the thickest possible bond today. Tomorrow I die. You will be nothing but a different assemblage of energy, residing on a different realm to me then. So while you and me continue talking eternally on existentialism and this apparently meaningless world, let's just do some little bit of giving back to this world too. If I have been arrogant, God, forgive me.

News courtesy : http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/news/india/For-whom-the-bells-toll-YSR-And-124-others/articleshow/4974222.cms

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/news/city/hyderabad/30-YSR-fans-die-of-shock/articleshow/4969990.cms

The Swine Flu Song

A pig's outcry! Must watch! :D