Thursday, December 30, 2004

A little story...

He poured the green liquid into the test tube containing the concentrated acid, and then added this to the crimson, jelly-like semi-solid in the round bottomed flask. He quickly clamped on the stopper and watched the brown gas bubbling into the nearby retort.

The sight of the myriad chemical apparatus filled him with a sort of sadistic glee. He was fed up of society and its narrow mindedness. His painstaking research and hours of perseverance in the confines of his laboratory had been denounced by the world as the work of a lunatic. He had been shamed by being given the mocking title ‘Mad Scientist.’ He, Arvind, master of the chromosome!

Yes, he had conquered the realm of genetics. He could create creatures of his choice and bring about fearful mutations in any living organism. He had achieved what was undoubtedly the pinnacle in his chosen field – the ability to create and modify life. To play God.

Yet, unbelievably, when he had proved his theories by carefully documented experiments on lower life forms like frogs, mice, dogs, horses and TV talk show hosts, he had been condemned of unethical practices. Inhuman, cruel, sick, they called him. In the very hour of his triumph, he had been cast aside by the world of Science...

He was brought out of his reverie by the hiss of steam from the retort. He smiled and cracked his knuckles, reveling in the anticipation of what was to come.

Earlier in the afternoon, in the midst of his experiments, he had called to his wife for a drink of water. But she had failed to come to him. Consumed with rage, he confronted her only to be told that she hadn’t heard him. This enraged him to such an extent that he had caught her and tied her up in his lab. It was the last straw to his tormented mind.

He poured the contents of the retort into a test tube and drew out a few drops by means of a dropper.

He walked over slowly to his wife, who watched wide-eyed with fright. Coming closer, he squeezed the bulb of the dropper, letting two drops fall on her cheek.

He did not have to wait long.

In a minute, a small hole appeared in her cheek. As he watched, it grew into a human ear. He had punished her impudence by giving her another organ by which to attend to his summons.

“Well, well, my dear,” he said, grinning devilishly. “Happy New Ear!”

Friday, December 24, 2004

The hand that holds the baton rules the orchestra

A few nights ago, I watched the Three Tenors in concert at the Forbidden City. On Star World. And it was pretty awesome. I really don't know how they can manage to sing like that year after year at their age. (ages? whatever.)

But what struck me most about the show was the conductor. And before you think of sad jokes about bus conductors, I mean the guy who usually waves his hands about randomly while giving the audience a clear view of his butt. And takes most of the credit at the end of a piece. And always looks super-self-important.

I don't really know what it takes to be a conductor. I suppose it involves a whole lot of training. (Swing your arm... No, no, smoothly, don't bend the elbow. You shouldn't bend it more than 15 degrees). Googling for 'music conductor lessons' gave me 319,000 results. That's more than two and a half times the number of results for 'bus conductor lessons' (121,000). It's an unfair world.

The conductor at the Three Tenors concerts had weird hair. A top view (one of the few terms I remember from Engineering Drawing) of his head looks like this

Ok, I can't draw to save my life, but I hope you get the point. The squiggles represent hair, hard as that may be to believe. Pay careful attention the the squiggles at the front. These were wisps of hair that were apparently randomly placed and seemed to defy all known laws of physics. Even as the conductor threw himself about in what appeared to be particularly violent fits, these wisps jumped about merrily in the breeze, soaring and diving with gay abandon. With not a care in the world. With a life of their own. It was real fun. The hair seemed to be more in tune with the music than the conductor's arms were.

Found this nice cartoon...

Disclaimer: The cartoon above was taken from and I fully acknowledge Mark Parisi's copyright over the cartoon. And this post is not meant to be insulting to conductors. Really. (This is just so I don't get into any legal hassles.)

Thursday, December 16, 2004

A thought

Went to Singapore about two weeks back. And learnt something I had never known before. Not even on a subconscious level. Singapore has a S$ 1000 (as of today S$ 1 = Rs. 26.6321) fine for 'unnatural sex'. I guess that means doing it with animals, plants or electronic devices.

But I don't know if 'unnatural sex' includes homosexuality. That's still illegal in India. I find that pretty unfair - every adult ought to have freedom of choice to decide their lives and loves. I realise that, for some, there is an underlying revulsion or oh-weird-stay-away-from-me feeling when one meets a homosexual, but in my opinion, that's just so wrong. Inhuman and cruel, even.

Homosexuality ought to be legalized. I don't think it's right to persecute them the way society and the law does now. They aren't given the basic freedom to choose how to lead their lives and are forced to conform to the rigid expectations of a conservative society. And given the current general mindset and the fuss that is made every time a case of homosexuality is detected, it doesn't look like things are going to improve anytime soon.

Sunday, December 12, 2004

Ocean's Twelve... drowning in disappointment...

What do you do if you have a stunning star cast, a wildly succesful movie and a rather dumb and jobless audience? You make a lousy sequel.

That's all I found Ocean's 12 to be. A brazen attempt to cash in on the big names and the success of Ocean's 11. Even allowing for the fact that the first movie was a remake of a 1960 Frank Sinatra movie, it rocked for its sparkling humour, fine direction and cool storyline and screenplay. O12 is very pointless in most parts and quite a letdown in the end. This time, they're 'doing' Europe. You think the movie is really getting someplace, but at the end when you realise exactly why everything is as it is in the story, you begin to wonder why you watched it at all...

There are a lot of unanswered questions (ok, I ask a lot more questions than the average cinegoer but hey, where are the answers?). Several scenes lack logic - just wait till you watch how NightFox gets past the lasers. And the futility of the plot struck me with great force right in that sensitive spot above the bridge of my nose and between my eyes. A weaker man would have screamed. I merely glowered at the screen and squeezed the ticket to a pulp. A waste of 60 bucks and an inauspicious start to the hols (insofar as we have hols; college reopens on the 13th...)

Good things about O12: It's funny in parts. In parts. Catherine Zeta Jones looks stunningly awesome, especially with short hair. George Clooney is as debonair as ever. And the music is brilliant!

But thats about it. If you really want to watch the movie, I suggest you get a CD.

(Sorry, I could resist the pathetic pun in the title, or the awkward alliterations in this silly sentence.)

Saturday, December 11, 2004

Ahh + must watch movie + must hear song

Ahhhhhh..... no that's not relief at the end of a bout of constipation. That's relief that the exams are behind us and, what's really important, my net connection's back. Was totally disconnected for about a week. It felt lonely. Very lonely.

Anyways what follows was meant to be posted early this month, but here goes. As a wise man (no, not Confucius) once said: Better late than even later.

There's this totally mind-blowing movie called 'Kung Pow: Enter the Fist' I saw on Star Movies a few weeks ago. It's simply awesome. The movie's the brainchild of Steve Oedekerk. What he's done is take a 1978 Chinese movie, digitally replace the original Chinese lead actor with himself and redub it. And the result is bloody hilarious. It's a spoof of all chinese-to-english dubs there have ever been, with a good measure of The Matrix, Lion King and a few other huge movies being ridiculed. Full of bad continuity and intentionally lousy dubbing. And the dialogues are just plain nutty. My kind of sheer timepass no-brainer nonsense comedy. The villian, Betty, is simply incredible.

Dialogues/scenes to watch out for:
1. "Killing is bad and wrong, from now on there should be a new stronger word for bad-wrong or badong. Yes, killing is badong and from this day forward I will stand for the opposite of killing - gnodab."
2. Mushafasa, spoof of the Lion King's Mufasa. "This is CNN"
3. "Mmmm tiger tiger tiger....mmm birdie birdie birdie"
4. "I am a magician, your clothes are red!"
5. The scene where the Chosen One finds his master, his lover and his dog are dying.
6. "Tell me if you see a RadioShack."
7. "...By the way, you must beware of Betty's iron claws. They are sharp, and they hurt. And beware his song about big butts.. he beats you up.. while he plays it!!!!"
8. "That's a lot of nuts!"

Ok, I know all this won't make any sense to you when it's presented out of context, but trust me - this movie rocks! I'm chuckling as I write this blog...

Also, here's a song you've absolutely got to listen to. Bulla Ki Jana Main Kaun by Rabbi Shergill. It's in Persian or something, and is based on a work by the 18th-century Sufi poet Baba Bulla Shah. The video is currently on most music channels. Simply awesome song, very peaceful and moving. Listened to it about 30 times within 24 hours of downloading it. About 150 times in 11-12 days. I haven't loved a song so much since Allah ke Bandhe and Chinnamma Chilakamma.

Saturday, November 27, 2004

Mosquito ergo sum

"Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?" - Macbeth, circa 1040
"Hah! Gotcha! Die, lousy bloodsuckers! Bwahahahaha (evil laugh)" - Me, Nov 2004
I have beaten my own record, and it feels so good. Last night, I killed five mosquitoes with one snatch. That's just closing one hand into a fist, and five little buggers dead or fatally wounded. My earlier record was four.

I hate mosquitoes. I simply cannot stand them, and my conscience does not prick me when I kill them. Nothing barbaric, just swatting them (if the term is applicable to mosquitoes) if they are anywhere near me. I have fond memories of one night less than a year ago when I killed no less than 150 mosquitoes in the space of about 25 minutes. Pretty darn good, even if I do say so myself.

I expect some of you are horror stricken at my bloodthirstiness (I'm pretty sure this word doesn't exist, but what the heck). But wouldn't you want to get rid of /maim / kill me if I was to do the following:
a) Buzz incessantly in your ears
b) Make your skin crawl by creeping along your hands and legs
c) Occasionally enter your nasal canal
d) Suck your blood. In fact, gorge myself fat on your life-blood.

If it was Dracula, one would chop off his head and all that jazz. The simplicity and beauty of mosquito killing is that it does not require trips to Transylvania, is cheap in terms of equipment (no stake, no garlic) and is very competitive (there are plenty of mosquitoes to go around). It also spreads social and communal harmony. It isn't uncommon to see a saas and a bahu in a tag-team mosquito death match. Or hindus and muslims swatting away together. So slap away merrily and make the world a better place.

To fight the mosquitoes
Forget the mats and cream
Merrily merrily merrily merrily
Squish them to death.

Ok, the rhyme scheme's kinda screwed but you get the point. I'll try again

To fight the mosquitoes
Forget the mats and creams
Merrily merrily merrily merrily
Squish them to death. Sweet dreams.

One more point; i find far more mosquitoes near my PC than anywhere else. Why? Is there some cool radiation funda? I would definitely appreciate an explanation...

Statistically, Finland has the largest mosquitoes in the world (doesn't that just make your day). I've heard that there is this hugely popular competition there where participants vie to see who kills the most mosquitoes. I wonder how they keep count. I would really really like to go there and participate. Represent India and all that. Show that we are no less than them in bloodsport. Mera Bharat Mahaan. All I need to make my dreams come true is a sponsor. (Hint, hint)

As Tiny Tim would have said had he been plagued by mosquitoes, Kill them. Kill them, every one!

Saturday, November 20, 2004


I'm fed up of the CAT. I'm upto here with it. Everybody who's anybody (and many a person who's nobody) has an opinion on it and the phrase 'belling the CAT' is so damn cliched i feel like puking everytime I hear or read it.

Until now, I didn't quite realise just how traumatic it must have been for those writing it in November 2003 to be told the test was scrapped because of a paper leak. At that time, my attitude was more like oh ok, tough luck... but atleast they get more time to study! The incident gave me the chance to come up with a whole range of stuff like 'With the leak of the CAT papers, the country is going to the dogs!', 'What a CATastrophe!' and other stuff related to CAT catching peoples' tongues and CAT on hot bricks.

But just imagine... there are people who've been working towards this, slogging their asses off, for 18 months or more, psyching themselves up for the big day, hoping this is the one day their usual weakness in a particular section doesn't rear it's ugly head or that they don't make silly mistakes. People with fervent prayers - "Please let it be a three-section paper", "Please let the quants be easy", "Please let there be more LA than DI". It's just so difficult to close out absolutely everything else and devote oneself for two nerve-wracking hours to a few sheets of paper and a pencil that will determine one's future. And then, in a cruel anti-climax, it's cancelled. One's mindset shattered, one's preparedness rendered pointless. Especially for those who actually felt they were doing well...

I don't suppose anything of the sort would happen this time. I hope not, with all the increased security and scrutiny. I don't know how I would react if something like that happened. I just want to get the damn test over and be done with it.

So onward to tomorrow... All the best, everyone!

Saturday, November 13, 2004

E.T. - out of this world?

Hmmm... just watched E.T. (20th anniversary edition of the movie). At last. After so many years of hearing and reading so much about it. And there were some beautifully done scenes, really classy.

But I was kinda disappointed. Seems to drag a LOT at certain points, especially near the end. Very Bollywood-ish and filmi. And to think I was missing the India-Pak match for this! The effects and stuff must have been really cool at the time of release, though. I can easily imagine the original audiences (does the word exist?) wowed by the stuff in the movie. Oh well... at least I can now say I watched it... gonna watch Koi Mil Gaya next to compare!

Friday, November 12, 2004


While people are still grumbling about Bush coming back to power, here's my two paise worth... I think he's bad news for the world, and I think things are just gonna get a lot worse with him around. Decency prevents me from going into details as to why I can't stand him. So I'll just tell u a little story about him.

What follows is based on an article I wrote the first time he came to power. Some of you might have read this before, but read it anyways just to humour me...

On the 20th of January 2001, George W. Bush Jr. became the 43rd President of the United States of America. The staff of the White House had no problems with him whatsoever, until they discovered that he was more fond of the good life than his predecessor, Bill Clinton, who had been satisfied with Ms. Lewinsky and hamburgers. The new President demanded to be served a dish which no President had eaten before him - a rakatiki. The rakatiki is a flightless bird usually found in Fiji. It is short with black feathers and a small beak. Due it its low population, it ranks high in the World Wildlife Fund's list of endangered species. This, then, was the creature that George W. Bush Jr. wanted to find on his dining table.

The entire kitchen staff was thrown into a tizzy as a nationwide search for a rakatiki was launched based on information obtained from government archives that, in 1997, a few rakatikis had been brought to the U.S.A. to be cared for in a National Park. Acting on this knowledge, the F.B.I. chose four field agents to track down and capture a rakatiki for the President. Utmost secrecy of operations was required since the capture of an endangered species amounted to a national crime. The F.B.I. was successful, and the President had his rakatiki, tastefully baked by his head chef. The staff of the White House was thankful that no word of this crime on the part of the President came to the knowledge of the public. But they had reckoned without the power of the press.

On being paid a huge sum of money, a member of the President's entourage leaked the story (as is usual in Washington) of the rakatiki dinner to the press, leading to a huge public outcry against the Government. The USA was in for a full-blown political crisis.A millionaire conservationist, Mr. Andrew Chatham, offered $500,000 to the Government to be given permission to pump the President's stomach and retrieve the rakatiki, in whatever form it might be. His strange offer made the front pages all over the country. As the debate was raging, environmentalists learnt, to their consternation, that George W. Bush Jr. had eaten - yes, you guessed it right - another rakatiki! Authorities claimed there were no more rakatikis in the USA. This fanned their indignation further, and Mr. Chatham offered a further $500,000 for the second bird as well, bringing his total offer to the Government to $ 1 million.

A press conference had been arranged for the millionaire to address the media. He arrived punctually, and even brought along a suitcase containing the entire amount to emphasize his seriousness. In the midst of his speech, there was a mild disturbance as a man carrying a sack jumped onto the dais beside the speaker. As security personnel rushed forward, Mr. Chatham waved them away, and enquired of the intruder, "What do you want, my man?" "Sir, my name is James Hanson, and I have in this sack what you have been looking for." "Indeed? And what may that be?" "This," he said, drawing something out of the sack. The entire assembly stood stunned and astounded, for, in his hand, the man held… a live rakatiki! Breaking the stunned silence, Mr. Chatham immediately handed over the $1,000,000 to the man, and declared to the representatives of the press that he was giving up on the Government and the President. Thus, Mr. Hanson got a million dollars and the country got a rakatiki.

Moral : A bird in hand is worth two in the Bush.

Thursday, November 11, 2004

Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid.

Ahhh... I'm blogging at last. After months of persuasion, I'm on. Tough luck, dear reader. Yours truly isn't known for making much sense. And you're at the receiving end.

Unfortunately, you can choose to close the page or just ignore it altogether, which rather dampens the fun of coming up with nonsense and kadis. Now I don't really expect to have a wide, diverse readership, but for those who r not Tamil and/or don't know what a kadi is, here goes:

Kadi, a.k.a blade a.k.a mokkai (in some circles) is a PJ. That stands for Poor Joke, not Pumpkin Juice, Poompuhar Jetti or Jordanian Porn (Arabic is written backwards, so JP becomes PJ). It's the kind of thing that makes you want to pull out all your hair or, if you're already bald, bang your head against the nearest wall in sheer frustration. At times, these violent acts may be visited upon my person, which means people will try to beat the crap out of me. I'm telling you now, that simply won't work. I let out crap as and when I feel like it. So there.

But that doesn't mean my blog is gonna be all crap. Or is it? I don't know... I've always wondered what the hell I would blog about. And how people get the time to blog. And how people come up with names for their blogs.

But I have a very very good reason mine is called The Lord of the Things. It's to do with the Law. If I'm the Lord of all things, I'm obviously the Lord (or Master or Chief Kabazi - I use the titles interchangeably) of Anything, Something, Everything and the Althing. Now all I need to do is get people to accept this. Consider this scenario:

(Year 2010. I've write a very nasty piece about... say, Micheal Moore, and he drags me to court.)
Judge: Moore, why have you brought this fine young gentleman to court?
Me (surprised): Who, me?
J: Yes, you.
MM: He wrote something nasty about me.
J: Harrumph! Hmmm... did you say he wrote something about you?
MM: Yes, something nasty. I want you to have him hanged.
J: Something, eh? You want him hanged? Sorry, no can do. He's the Lord of Something. He's free to go. And you, Moore, I'll have you arrested for dragging an upstanding citizen, a gem of a man to court.
Me (surprised): Who, me?
J: No, me. It's a Sunday and I wanna be in bed.
(Exit MM, crying for his mommy. Exit me, humming a tuneless little ditty)

You see? It all makes perfect sense. Its pays to be the Master of Things. Plus I like their close cousin, thongs. That reminds me of my buddy Prashanth and his first blog where he presented the marketing mantra "Sex Sells". So I'll sign off with a pic of a hot nude female (close your eyes if you're below the age of 18).