My thoughts on your screen

Far into foreign land

Vig — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 20:32:37 +0000

I’d like all of you to read the title with a classic tamizh accent, hence reading faar-into faarin.

This bootiphul post (or so I assume it shall turn out in the end), is dedicated to all those friends of mine who have bravely ventured into the western world (not just the U.S.A. any more) and have become a class of people whom I’ve termed . So here’s how you know you have friends far into foreign land (a little guide).

1. You get added on skype and make more video talks (thereby seeing more of them) than you did all your life you knew them.

2. You see albums of places unheard of (so far), in the likes of Williamsburg on the Wabash, Kirkstall Abbey, and Burlington Coat Factory!

3. You get updates on the weather forcast.

Ooh! You knowvaa? It is minus two here, and it’s not even winter. Apparently fall itself is colder than usual this year. I don’t know how I am going to survive yaar . . .

(quite an oxymoron, to have both the aa suffix and yaar in the same quote – but I suppose that covers dialects all over India – top to bottom )

4. You see some of them relinquish their religion

5. You see pictures of birthday parties celebrated in style, with Indian music being of core attraction

Cartoon brilliantly drawn on Microsoft paint, by me.

6. You hear their reminiscing of simple Indian things

Oh how I wish I could eat the parathas at the dhaba outside college, drink chikkoo shake from that juice shop, give clothes at the laundry outside, get my hair done for less than 10 euros, . . .

7. You see their patriotism rise ten fold *after* they’ve fled the country

: A fence in the middle of Carnegie Mellon University’s campus

Yes, that’s the Indian tricolour, a bit garbled though. Picture in colour courtesy Kolor.

8. They celebrate events that were once totally foreign to you (and even to them)

Easter island picture modified from Marek Zochowski’s here.

9. They attend Halloween parties without costumes

Disclaimer: I’ve been through most of these myself, so do not misinterpret this post for a rant about my being within the country – I’m loving every bit of it (well most of it, at least)!

Furthermore, it’s amazing to have friends abroad while you’re still within the country. It gives you a fair enough exposure to how things happen outside, and especially if you’re in the scientific community, it fetches you publications! Thank you all, for your continuing support!

Finally, my apologies to not having posted anything in almost a month. November began with much hope in my blog-life, and I thought that I would be posting more often. However, some amount of logical discussions with my boss drove me into resetting my priorities. I’ve been genuinely busy with my work, and blogging by all means is secondary to a few more important things (my own priorities by the way). No these aren’t some paruppu peter statements, and I shall post whenever I find time.

Posted in Ridiculous, Supposition

It’s a noble Nobel prize

Vig — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 19:31:40 +0000

Spoiler: I am not discussing this year’s peace prize. If you really really want to know how Obama did it, read Ramesh Srivats’ or take a look at Jai Iyer’s. Since it has been given away, I see no point in going on ranting about it. Not that this is the first controversy over peace anyway!

And since controversies always hog the limelight, the rest of the awards given away this year was almost hidden. Being the bio-geek that I am, I am directly jumping over to the prizes in Chemistry and Medicine this year. Two reasons why:

Nobel prizes in both chemistry and medicine were awarded to research carried out on bio(techno?)logy. One set of people for deciphering the ribosome structure & function, and another one for discovering the telomerase.
What? Wasn’t that a good enough reason? Here’s number two, then: I am somehow not all that attracted towards controversies – everyone writes about them, and a lot do way better than I do (the two referred in the opening paragraph for examples). Plus, literature is just beyond my simple mind.

Now that’s settled. So coming back to this year’s two prizes in discussion, both the groups’ got their prizes much after their work was done. I’ve read about the structure of the ribosome in every book prescribed, and I was just ignorant when we had our teachers rambling on about telomerases.

GEEK ALERT. For the benefit of those with a non-bio background, here’s your lesson:

The body’s made up of many tiny little cells, and each cell has tiny molecules called proteins which basically do all the work: talk to other cells, break down the food you eat, take care of harmful things that enter your body and stuff like that. So within a cell, proteins need to be manufactured, and these ribosomes are factories in which they’re synthasised.
I’m assuming everyone who’s seen Mani Ratnam’s Aayuda ezhuthu would be aware of Surya speaking of DNA, chromosomes, XX, XY, blah et. al. So basically all *information* about you (like the colour of your eye to your left/right hand habit) is stored in your DNA (a copy of which is present in every cell in your body), and telomerases are a certain type of proteins (refer previous paragraph) which make sure the DNA size is maintained.
See, it isn’t all that cryptic!

Ah, yet another diversion. So moving on, like I was saying: both these awards have been given away way after the work was actually done. Why’s there such a lag in awarding the prizes? Was it because no one’s done anything in the past one year or does it take so much time to recognise work? It seems that people need to stand the test of time on top of their achievements before the most prestigious award is bestowed upon them (the *most prestigious* tag still intrigues me). And in certain cases, history has shown us that certain times even several nominations are insufficient to win the prize (this one’s an interesting article I came across on the Nobel prize site itself). Furthermore, awarding the prizes posthumously has been of great debate. So with much ifs and buts running around the Nobels, what’re we all hyping it up for?!

P.S.: This post’s long been sitting in the drafts bin of my dashboard. I just never managed to complete it till the point where I lost track of where I was heading. My apologies.

Posted in Information is wealth, Ridiculous

There’s a hole in my bucket

Vig — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 18:46:13 +0000

Here’s a little ode to my alma mater, keeping in tune with the nostalgia-flooded posts that I’ve been coming up with of late. It’s been over four years since I passed out, and the visits to my school (despite living just a couple of hours away) have been thinning down. I’d read Amrutha write about how Chennai had changed over the years, and my primary school memories were rekindled.

Yes yes, we all wish we went back to those toddler days of primary schools, when all we had to worry about was passing the next tamizh tervu (Tamil test) or finishing that Hydrilla experiment without breaking the glassware borrowed from the Quest lab or the School day rehersals. No career driven plans, no worries on earning, no issues on being single, no need to drive anything but the bicycle with side wheels ensuring I don’t fall, no need to blog!

And I’m dedicating this post to a particular aspect of my school days – music! Vidya Mandir was one of the finest schools in the city (no this isn’t open to debate, and any libels in the comment section will be deleted: a warning to P.S. products), and a considerable amount of importance was given to extracurricular activities. In the undying words of K.S.R.,

Vidya mandir students are allowed to grow. PS students are made to grow. DAV paththi sollave venam.

Now, coming back to praising extracurriculars, learning music – both Indian and Western was an integral part of our school-life. The Indian music classes were invariably praises to several Hindu Gods on the likes of Muruga muruga thirumaal maruga neatly printed on a book titled Gaanamanjari, and were never enjoyed as much as the Western music classes were.

No, we didn’t have rock bands playing or Bryan Adams singing, but what we had was priceless – a nice big piano and a dedicated teacher whose name was Meena miss (often confused by parents with another teacher with the same name, but the kids knew who’s who). There were so many songs I still remember: some Christmas carols, some romantic, some just plain funny! The class was invariably split gender-wise (almost was an unsaid rule – we just never interacted until we came of a certain age, if I might put it that way), and the girls usually almost always were annoyed with the boys singing Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling, Clementine (varying the extended e at the end of Clementine making it sound more like a donkey’s bray). Another favourite was the Twelve days of Christmas, counting down to a partridge on a pear tree.

And the hole in my bucket in the title is with reference to this infinite-loop song, which usually involved the whole class being split into two – the boys playing Henry in chorus, and the girls becoming Liza. I still remember one instance when we sang it twice in series, almost like film buffs screaming “once more, once more” on seeing their favourite numbers. And here’s the lyrics for those of you who have been in that room and sung that song:

There’s a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza,

There’s a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, a hole.

Then fix it, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,

Then fix it, dear Henry, dear Henry, fix it.

With what shall I fix it, dear Liza, dear Liza?

With what shall I fix it, dear Liza, with what?

With some straw, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,

With some straw, dear Henry, dear Henry, some straw.

The straw is too long, dear Liza, dear Liza,

The straw is too long, dear Liza, too long,

Then cut it, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,

Then cut it, dear Henry, dear Henry, cut it.

With what shall I cut it, dear Liza, dear Liza?

With what shall I cut it, dear Liza, with what?

With an axe, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,

With an axe, dear Henry, dear Henry, an axe.

The axe is too dull, dear Liza, dear Liza,

The axe is too dull, dear Liza, too dull.

Then whet it, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,

Then whet it, dear Henry, dear Henry, whet it.

With what shall I whet it, dear Liza, dear Liza?

With what shall I whet it, dear Liza, with what?

With a stone, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,

With a stone, dear Henry, dear Henry, a stone.

The stone is too dry, dear Liza, dear Liza,

The stone is too dry, dear Liza, too dry.

Then moisten it, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,

Then moisten it, dear Henry, dear Henry, moisten it.

With what shall I moisten, dear Liza, dear Liza?

With what shall I moisten, dear Liza, with what?

Try water, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,

Try water, dear Henry, dear Henry, try water.

From where shall I get it, dear Liza, dear Liza?

From where shall I get it, dear Liza, from where?

From the well, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,

From the well, dear Henry, dear Henry, the well.

In what shall I fetch it, dear Liza, dear Liza?

In what shall I fetch it, dear Liza, in what?

In a bucket dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,

In a bucket dear Henry, dear Henry, in a bucket.

There’s a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza,

There’s a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, a hole.

*Book picture courtesy Boyds Mills Press.

Posted in Pheelings

The Deepavali celebrations that were

Vig — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 06:48:34 +0000

Alternate title (as suggested by Nick): Ode to pattasu!

This year, Deepavali (a.k.a. Diwali) was all too peaceful. Not a single matchstick lit, not a film watched in full on TV. Well I did watch the fast and the furious on HBO of course, but that has absolutely no relevance to theIndhia tholaikatchigalil mudal murayaaga, thirayarangugalukkae varaada dumeel thiraippadam .. kaanathavaradeergal (first time in Indian televisions, a film that hasn’t even made it to the theatres, don’t miss it!) that we usually see on TV. Most of yesterday went into reading/commenting on this post by Krish Ashok, and a visit to a temple in the afternoon. This morning, I flipped through my reader again, saw hawkeye’s Deepavali in Madras and nostalgia poured in!

Gone were those days when I used to bother Appa asking when he’d buy (let alone take me to buy) firecrackers for me (roughly two weeks before deepavali began). I used to do my homework right: collect the price sheet from every local shop, tallying who was cheaper, so that I could fit all that I wanted within the budget (which was usually about INR 500-700 – yes, we never had luxurious deepavalis). I used to take all those threats seriously when dad warned me, “if you don’t fare well in the upcoming tests, nopattasu for you this year.” Finally, we used to go over to the nearest TUCS shop (until Subhiksha came into existence of course) and buy till I’m partly satisfied (Appa just always knew how to negotiate with me – I want five, he starts at three, and stays at three). Once my precious was home, I used to sit and adore it until Appa finally decided to split it between my sisters and I, so that we would have no further discrepancies and all’s fair and square. Being the youngest at home (and the only boy) was always an advantage, all that bursts was almost always unconditionally given away to me (even my sisters’ shares).

Deepavali planning and execution used to be with this kid Kaushik, who used to live downstairs. His dad used to buy crackers from town a couple of days before Deepavali (always heard that you could get crackers there dirt cheap). We used to sit and discuss for weeks as to what all we wish to buy, as to how we would finish it up. I’d make sure I witness how the crackers are being distributed – usually fetched me a little bijli packet that would last a good three days. We used to meet up every evening bursting one after the other, trying to burst two together, trying to burst them without killifying the thiri, and when daddy dear wasn’t in the neighbourhood, we’d toss a couple of them to watch them explode mid-air.

On Deepavali day, the day used to dawn early – by four thirty I’d be at my bathed best, all set to start blasting! Appa, being the eldest one at home, used to start with a red-fort, and then I’d go mad with all the tiny stuff that I had -busvaanam, changu chakrams, stones (ever heard of them? tiny things that go on glowing), saatai, and so on. Once it dawns, I used to go home and hog all the amazing food mommy dear’s made, and then go off to visit all my relatives to start my Deepavali collection. Generous 100 rupee notes, all for one namaskaaram and a chamathu payyan expression were always worth the additional ordeal! And in the evening, an additional session in between movie breaks used to go on, and I used to save some up for Kaarthigai – which used to follow up a month later. A couple of years in the middle, I even saved some firecrackers so that I could use them up for New year – yes I was this meticulous kid who used to save stuff up for the future (note the was – mom thinks I’ve done a volte face of late).

And I always used to be particular about getting Standard fireworks. I always thought that the brand spoke for itself, despite seeing this kid go on tv, “Ayyan pattasugal vaangittaene. Ayyan pattasugal, pada pada pada pada, surr zoom, buss, damaal. Deepavali nalla venuma? Ayyan pattasugal vaangunga!”(I’ve bought Ayyan brand firecrackers, and they make all these sounds denoting firecrackers, concluding with a “buy them to celebrate Deepavali”)Appa really didn’t care, “as long as they burst, why do you care what brand name they are? Plus, kaasa kari aakaradunnu mudivu pannitae – kammiya pannaen!“

Now it’s all filled with these Chinese-like firework show! Things flying into the sky. I still remember those days when a box of 7-shots was treasured and we used to go counting the seven, and go outraged when there were only six at times. And Deepavali in Chennai has become all skyward – it’s there everywhere, so the need to buy these is lost too. And with the advent of these ones, a lot of old-time favourites have now become extinct. Here’s a little nostalgic run down to all those favourite ones I used to go on bursting all day:

Lakshmi vedi. Classic one – the sound would easily scare me almost every time it burst.
Kuruvi vedi. Sort of like Lakshmi‘s little sister. Could still be attempted to be thrown.
Bijili. 2 packets of these is what used to make the wait up to Deepavali bearable. You can go on for hours if you have one or two friends for company.
Double shot. Ah, the good ‘ol burst once at ground level, the second one tosses up and then bursts in mid-air.
Atom/hydrogen bombs. The long wicks made sure that the wait was scarier than the sound it generated while bursting. Plus, we used to put a coconut shell over it and watch it soar a good 30ft into the air when the thing burst!
Oosi vedi. These were tiny, harmless things. Just cute things that you can see burst.
Vengaaya vedi. Whack it against a wall and you’d see it burst.
Roll cape. Came with a gun usually, but when we had more shells, we used stones to make them burst. At times, even rubbing it against the wall was fabulous.
Snake. This disgusting thing that sent out so much of smoke was usually part of the ending wrapper burning ceremony, when we used to pile up all junk, throw a couple of these ‘tablets’ and set ablaze – it used to send out black tentacle-like things.

No kid bursts any of these these days. Wish I had the company to burst at least some of them! Till then, a little toast to all those wonderful days when I was younger still! Happy Deepavali to all of you!

Posted in Pheelings

Six words. Few clauses. One story.

Vig — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 02:38:53 +0000

Inspired from Manasi’s (her’s from here).

Simple logic: title says it all!

Theme: things related to Singaara Chennai.

Reliance opens new iStore. So sterile!

Naidu hall: the family store. Really?

Sterling joins College: Haddows is born.

Rajini film release. 1st week house-full.

Sathyam cinemas: expensive, but worth it!

“Mylapore to Airport auto.” “Rs. 500.” Walk.

Chennai metro underway. 100ft road halved.

Kapali temple Therottam festival. Colourful joy!

House without mummy. Full bottle thanni.

Swine flu in Pune. Chennai-ites masked!

ARR concert. Off city. Still rocks!

FB chat with Nick. Better theme:

What else, but full-time college bitching?

Four years in Hellore. Leeds. Yay! (dedicated to Nick)

Four gone. Two more again? WTF?! (my sad plight)

New ProCs. New reforms. Still sucks.

Convocation day. Party hangover pending. Whaaaa?!

Mid-night walks, random spots, missing dots. (?!)

Open ticket. Two hour travel. Home!

New IRCTC eat-out in Katpadi. Yum!

Feel free to add more lines.

Posted in Ridiculous

Reservoir dogs, anyone?

Vig — Sat, 19 Sep 2009 19:01:33 +0000

No not the movie, I’m referring to the stage-play half-movie-half-play half-home-video-half-talk-show by ASAP playing in Chennai this weekend. It was a rather interesting attempt to bring a video footage on screen – nice try guys, but it didn’t work. I’m not a great critic and all – but hey this is my thoughts on your screen – just take what you want. So here’s my comprehensive review on what I feel made the performance, err, just about average.

The stage. You guys got the museum theatre in Chennai to run your show. The place is beautiful: air conditioned, with wonderful acoustics and a nice big stage. Use the darned stage, even if you didn’t have a prop to put up. The lighting was hardly on the players – I really don’t know why Mr. Blonde was forever in the dark leaving the audience to keep guessing which part of the theatre he was in.

The video. Oh come on! We came in to watch a stage-play: some live action. Yes, there was some gun firing, blood oozing, and head slapping (well executed in fact). But when the flyers said that it was an 80:20::stage:cinema thing, I thought you guys had action packed sequences filled with stunts. However, all I saw was casual home/office/roadway conversations that could have been performed on-stage.

The opening video. I couldn’t make out if it was a promo or some opening advertisement or something. Four guys at a hotel discussing tipping waitresses – I personally found it totally irrelevant. If it had more to it, I’m sorry it was just beyond my level. The font used for titling was awful, and the camera kept shaking. Ever heard of what a tripod is?!

Sound editing & language. This is supposed to fall within the video heading, but it was big enough to be discussed separately. What was your idea behind muting all unparliamentary language?

It didn’t censor whatever you attempted to censor. The muting was like how they used to do it in WWF (yes, while it was still WWF), “why can’t you part with your f*cking money?”
If you were planning on censoring the language, why use it in the first place?! But this is more of a general theatre-group directed question: do you have to be so harsh while you’re up on stage/recording-a-video? Every f*cking word is preceded and followed by a f*cked up swear. I see you want to exercise your freedom of stage-speech, but it’s just stupid to swear every two words. Am I not right, a*hole?
Lousy sound editing on your videos – too much background usually, making what the artists spoke incomprehensible, or too jarring. If possible, run a separate re-recording session. Even better – do away with playing a video.

The characters. Mr. Red, Mr. Blue, Mr. Brown . . . totally out of sync with Ram and all the other Indianized names you had up there. Either pick pachai, manjal, etc. or something on those lines. Everyone was speaking peter English though (esp. Michael Muthu – loved his accent) – so I suppose bringing in Indian names didn’t really help.

The genre. Humour? Not really – one of the guys was being funny at times (the one with the ponytail, talking on being professionals). Tying the cop to the chair was funny – don’t know if it were intended though. Action? Perhaps – there was some kicking around on stage, there was some gun firing (very well executed), some blood oozing (equally wonderfully timed), fighting once in a while. Slapping that cop on the head was nicely done. But that video on the cop-fight was pretty poor, and the play never lived up to the action-drama it claimed to be. And those two cops discussing their drug-snatching while Mr. ?! went to pee was fabulous – loved the language! Overall, I feel that had you guys included romance in part (that psycho guy jumping on the cop was pretty BDSM-gay kinds), it would’ve been a perfect Bollywood masala flick!

The media-people. You had NDTV covering your performance?! And unfortunately, the camera guy they brought along didn’t know he wasn’t to be flashing light at the audience. I don’t really know if you are to blame for it, and it’s cool if I got to be on TV (yes I was the idiot waving at him – I thought I was asking him to turn it off, don’t know how he interpreted that as though). The computers you used to play your videos from should have been shut except when required or at least covered from the rest of the lot inside the theatre. It was very distracting and yes, annoying.

I did like several parts of your play though, especially your concluding remark: “if you liked the play, tell your friends; if you didn’t, tell your enemies.” Either way you make your business. Ashes felt your play lived up to how it were in the movie, but I haven’t seen QT’s Reservoir dogs yet. And assuming you guys put in a whole deal of effort to put this up, I’d like to say that you still have a long way to go. Good luck!

Posted in Review

Does it really matter?

Vig — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 18:27:02 +0000

Here’s my rough understanding of how the Indian education system works:

Kids are pushed into school when they’re three two-and-a-half two one-and-a-half.
They’re grown up to believe “studying” is the only way they could come up in life. All those sports people who became billionaires through endorsements playing good sports are cheats, and aren’t good enough to be considered role-models.
Class 10 is when their intellect is tested the first time. From parents to teachers, kids hear: “this is the most important exam in your life: it makes or breaks your future. Don’t screw it up.”
Now every parent’s kid needs to get into a science stream, to become a doctor or an engineer. Those who go into commerce rot in hell.
So whether they fare well or not, whether it could be afforded or not, whether the kid wants to go or not, they put them into some engineering colleges (and for the more flamboyant, medical schools).
Students pursuing engineering degrees usually get tired of the methods by the end of their first year at college, and branch out into two three kinds:
- ones that understand the system, and just run smooth. These have bigger plans in mind, and they aren’t really bothered about the system: they just run along till they get out.
- ones that just care about big grades, and to make maximum worth for the tuition they’ve paid. These arguably pursue it for the sake of holding a degree in hand, and for a job at the end of it.
- ones who really don’t care a rat’s arse, who eventually rot in those institutions till they clear their exams later or get kicked out.
So if you’re a parent, you’d probably argue saying, “at least my son/daughter has passed out with a job in hand. On campus placements make the degree totally worth it. Even if it is an IT job (which in nine out of ten cases has nothing to do with the course endured).”

Or so you think. Step out of the college utopia (?!) and you’d be slapped by the harsh reality of the corporate world. Since folks are hired in bulk (much like contract labourers who go to the middle-east), they’re made to wait.

This is to inform you that your senior batch has just been called. Do keep your fingers crossed, we will call you in due time. In the meanwhile, spruce up your computer skills and be prepped for an eternity of damnation.

After the painstaking wait is done, the call finally comes. And to help the newbies, the previous batch of people who made it to the same company give them tips on how to face the first year:

Dear Friends,

Pls carry these documents when you are going to join the company. These are very important, please dont leave behind anything.

First to Last Semester marksheet (attested xerox + original)

Consolidated marksheet (attested xerox + original)

Transfer certificate (attested xerox + original)

Provisional degree (attested xerox + original)

10th(X-th) marksheet (attested xerox + original)

12th(XII-th) marksheet (attested xerox + original)

Birth Certificate should be in ENGLISH ( attested xerox + original) if in case u don’t have your birth certificate u have to get an affidavit from a lawyer towards ur birth place and

date of birth (affidavit should be in a 20 rupees Indian non-judicial stamp paper bought in ur name). NOTE: any other proof is useless as they are very specific about this Birth certificate or affidavit.

Passport, Pan card (attested xerox + original),

An affidavit from a lawyer that there are no criminal cases pending against in u (affidavit should be in a 20 rupees Indian non-judicial stamp paper bought in ur name).

Ur service agreement in a 100 rupees Indian non judicial stamp paper. NOTE: The person who gives this surety must be an income tax payer.

Form 16 of the surety giver’s attested xerox must be brought and attested passport xerox of the surety giver or PAN card attested xerox of the surety giver must also be brought. these are the supporting documents for ur service agreement and are mandatory.

Call letter and Offer letter.

Formal dress is a must inside the training campus. better have atleast six set of formal dresses.(for gents full slag formal shirt ,formal pant, leather shoes ,belt, tie is must).

Passport Size Photograph.

The person who didnt get the call, u pls check the mail atleast once in a day. Mail may come in Spam Folder also, so check the Spam Folder too.

First to Last Semester marksheet (attested xerox + original)

Consolidated marksheet (attested xerox + original)

Transfer certificate (attested xerox + original)

Provisional degree (attested xerox + original)

10th(X-th) marksheet (attested xerox + original)

12th(XII-th) marksheet (attested xerox + original)

Birth Certificate should be in ENGLISH ( attested xerox + original) if in case u don’t have your birth certificate u have to get an affidavit from a lawyer towards ur birth place and

date of birth (affidavit should be in a 20 rupees Indian non-judicial stamp paper bought in ur name). NOTE: any other proof is useless as they are very specific about this Birth certificate or affidavit.

Passport, Pan card (attested xerox + original),

An affidavit from a lawyer that there are no criminal cases pending against in u (affidavit should be in a 20 rupees Indian non-judicial stamp paper bought in ur name).

Ur service agreement in a 100 rupees Indian non judicial stamp paper. NOTE: The person who gives this surety must be an income tax payer.

Form 16 of the surety giver’s attested xerox must be brought and attested passport xerox of the surety giver or PAN card attested xerox of the surety giver must also be brought. these are the supporting documents for ur service agreement and are mandatory.

Call letter and Offer letter.

Formal dress is a must inside the training campus. better have atleast six set of formal dresses.(for gents full slag formal shirt ,formal pant, leather shoes ,belt, tie is must).

Passport Size Photograph.

The person who didnt get the call, u pls check the mail atleast once in a day.

Mail may come in Spam Folder also, so check the Spam Folder too.

Note: This guideline is sent based on Last years call letter format. This mail is meant only for prior preparation for ur joining.

Note: This guideline is sent based on Last years call letter format. This mail is meant only for prior preparation for ur joining.

And this informative mail is followed by a lousy all the best (but the guy who sent this should be thanked: at least he gave an insight to those dorks who’re oblivious of what’s coming their way). Read once through and you’d know how preposterous the corporate world is. The apparel: wearing a full-slack formal shirt with a tie in Indian weather is the single most excruciating thing one can be subjected to. They want attested copies along with the originals? Just doesn’t make sense: if you’re going to show them your original certificates, why do they need to be attested? The intellect of these dumbass corporate bosses are just too incomprehensible. It isn’t just bureaucracy, it’s plain dumb. So at the end of it all, I’m convinced into saying, “is this really worth all the pain?!”

God save those who fall into this trap!

And another of my pet peeves: xerox is the name of a company, the copier makes photocopies. Get your English right!

P.S.: Yes, my descriptions of the corporate world have been made based on my knowledge about one IT company (biased perhaps?!). No, I’m not falling into the same trap by signing up for that offer. And yes, I’m glad to pursue academic research.

Posted in Ridiculous

First day at work

Vig — Thu, 27 Aug 2009 20:33:20 +0000

Warning: longer than usual post. And my experiment with fiction. Fiction, yeah right!

Having spent much of my life like HawkEye’s hero, there hasn’t really been much to tell others about me. Forty years of my life just passed by, talking with the neighbourhood vetti fellows, reading the newspaper, staring into the sky wondering why the stars are up so high. Had enough wealth from my father-in-law to last this lifetime.

It was all fine, until last week. After years of intimidation and mocking, my wife finally gave into my neighbours accusations of my being a danda soru, bringing up a big fight at home. I’m sure her husband will go jobless one day and my wife would have her fair share at her. Hmph. So the big fight at home led to this job. I’m new to this. It comes with a uniform, with a pretty funny looking cap, kinda like the ones cops wear. “I’m proud of you,” said the wife this, handing me the multi-level lunch carrier containing arguably the best food I’ve ever had since I’ve been married. I got a fancy enough cycle to go to work, which wasn’t far away – I’d always seen bright young faces run to that place year after year. They all go past my house with those huge bags, mattresses, almost as if they were going to start a family here.

I never really wondered how the place they all run to would look – the place where I’ve gotten my job. But somehow, despite the lack of my curiosity, I’ve gotten the opportunity to find out just what happens in there. I didn’t want to be late for my first day at work. Took the bicycle (the tyres of which my brother-in-law had promptly filled air in, so that it shouldn’t hamper my going to work this morning), pedaled my way up to work. Parked it in the lot, where I bumped into Murugan, who is also on the same shift as I am. “First day, eh?” he asked, needless to see me searching for parking space.

“Yes, do I leave my cycles here?”

“What-pa? This place only for big-people like the boss. We have to leave ours under the sun out there. You are new to wokr right, you’ll learn in due time. And be careful when you talk to our boss – he is ex-military.”

“Oh, okay brother.”

“What’s your name anyway?”

“Kandaswamy, like in that new Vikram movie that didn’t do so well.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to the big guy and help you out.”

In half minds, I followed him. There was this little orientation programme, I have to learn what I have to do, and I better learn quick. There he was – the man who could save me from possible humiliation at home by not firing me right on the first day. The though had passed by me – of getting fired right on the first day. But hey, how difficult could this job be? Time to find out. I feel like how Harry Potter would have felt in front of the sorting hat when he saw it the first time.

The retired army officer sees me. I make my upper half stiffer, and look straight (that’s what my uncle who was in the army asked me to do when I face one of their kinds). He was quite impressed with my constipated expression, gave me a little pat on my shoulder and finally let the golden words out, “you’re in boy! Just till we find out how efficient you are.”

And there was my duty: I need to stay in front of this building for six hours, and er, do whatever I was doing for the past 40 years. As he briefed me upon the responsibilities this job needed me to show, he handed me the biggest weapon: a whistle. A friggin’ whistle. That thing kids blow when they need to get attention and annoy the others at the same time! And he told me the secret behind it, “son, this has powers beyond you can imagine: the freshers would be terrified by your shrieks, and the seniors would have had enough by now; either way you get your way through; but remember: with great powers come great responsibility.” And with that he left me. Me the security guard. Me the security guard at the local university. Me:

The extended belly was always an advantage. I knew it would one day help me find a job with law maintainance. So I was put with this other guy, a bit younger than I am, a bit fairer than I am, but I was the one with a newer whistle. He was instructing me as to how I should react when people pass by me without noticing me: you see a guy walking with a staff tag, you salute; if you see no tag and the person’s young, you blow; and if you see someone with a tag, you ask them to show it to you.

And with these, he moved off to have his fag this hour. So here I was, all by myself, with a whistle in my hand. I have the freedom to exercise all my lung capacity on the passerby. First guy, out came the shriek, he pulled out his ID, and I signalled a positive thing for him to go in. Not bad at all, it was pretty easy and it seems to me that I’m in power in this neighbourhood.

So now I start wondering if it’s just if I stick to my territory – the building is boring anyway, not many people keep walking all the time. So I take my weapon and take a little stroll. There, a couple – and OH MY GOD, they’re holding hands. That does it! Wheeeeeel! The shrill almost scared me. So I decided to improvise this time: “arey bhaiya give me your ID card. You are not allowed to sit here.” And I must admit I wasn’t prepared for his response, “why anna? why not? do you know anything about human rights? I am a citizen of this country, a student of this college, and I have every right to sit here. do what you want to.”

Phew. Don’t panic I told myself, tried to stay cool, and eventually played the sorrow card. “listen bhaiya, I am also like you only. What I do? My officer tell me. I have family. I have children (I don’t). They go hungry if my job gone. Please don’t tell anyone,” and I walked off. Dodged a bullet, like they say in tamil, thalaikku vandadu thalappavoda pochu (what came to strike my head took off with just the hat). So then came along this unassuming guy with absolutely no idea as to what was happening around. So I stop him, “bhaiya stop – you can’t go in. You are student?”

“No anna, research scholar.”

“Oh, so staff?”

“Research scholar.”

“Oh, , okay sir go.”

I later got to know that they’re the kind who are actually students, but get to throw their weight around. The other chap taught me well to keep away from them. Everytime I see them – sends a shiver through my very soul. And before I know it, the clock strikes one and I’m set to break for lunch. Off I go!

*My look alike picture courtesy Docsuns Security.

Posted in Supposition

A year, gone

Vig — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 21:46:39 +0000

Been a while since I last penned down a post. After the peak in the number of visitors from my previous post, the stats have finally fallen down to baseline. But hey, I’m not writing here just for the sake of seeing more visitors.

Well I used to initially, promoting publicity with my blog address on my status message on every messenger client I had an account with, make it part of my signature while sending mails, add that to my notes on facebook, and ask people I knew everytime to look into my blog. Somehow they never seemed to work though – never had more than five comments on my post, and that too just ridicules from Ashwin (always welcomed though), the number of visitors never crossed ten a day, while I used to see a few other blogs and feel terrible looking at them. But stating this almost makes me feel like every blogger has been through this phase at some point of time. Even the Great Bong wrote about this in his 600th post (woah, that’s still a long way to go)!

Things have changed now. It’s been a little over a year since I started writing here, and now I’ve come to believe that my blogging is more for expressing my opinions, and to look back at several years later. I read a lot more than I write, gaining bits and pices of wisdom with every post I read. I see things with a wider perspective, and appreciate others’ opinions. So here’s wishing my blog a happy 1st anniversary (it’s late by about 2 months, but I’ve never been good in remembering birthdays), and a big thank you to all who’ve supported me throughout!

And special thanks to Ashwin and Nikhil, who’ve always been close to me in the blogsphere. Thank you guys, this post is dedicated to you both! Happy blogging!

*Picture courtesy microsoft clip art.

Posted in Self

Flying without wings

Vig — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 04:30:50 +0000

Mom: How was your trip to Bangalore?

I: Good, apparently they had bungee jumping put up in Bangalore last weekend, Madhu told me. But it seems it’s pretty expensive.

M: What’s bungee jumping?

I: It’s an extreme sport. Very exciting, I’d like to try it one day.

M: So what do they do?

I: They tie your legs to a rope, and push you off a high-raised bridge and you go flying down. In India, they just get a crane and hang you from that.

M: And you’ve to pay them to push you off a high-raised bridge?

I: Well, .. yes.

M: Now which person in their sane mind would do that?! And don’t you think about attempting that.

Posted in Mommie logic