Life and other weird things

Ever since I was maybe four years old, I have heard from my grandparents how much they had enjoyed seeing King Kong way back in 1933 with their respective families. I was periodically transported into worlds of fantasy with fantastic tales of the giant ape battling dinosaurs, playing with his live-girl toy, rampaging through New York, and finally being mercilessly brought down by the US army planes. Even in the face of death, I was told, Kong fought on, and in the words of my grandfather 'brought down helicopters and planes like flies'.

After having been fed on these tales, I was naturally EXTREMELY dissapointed when the first time I was introduced to the giant gorilla through the 1976 version of the classic. Where were the dinosaurs ? - I asked myself. What about Kong plucking planes out of the air ? What I saw of Kong was a cartoonish figure, no more menacing than a oversized pup. In fact, the 1976 Kong was a vaguely lecherous beast, with a seriously un-ape like expression on his face as he proceeds to disrobe his toy - played tolerably well by Jessica Lange. I finished watching the film with a sense of regret. I was surprised that my grandfather had been so enamored by so mediocre a story.

Then, sometime in 1998, I had the chance to catch to watch the 1933 version. Which made me sit up. Oh boy! This was a film all right. There was MENACE, and a well thought out story to boot - not like the mindless disaster movies of those times.














Kong stood out as the hero of the film, battling brontosaurs and pterodons. His rampage in New York was as I had pictured in my mind. And the climax was as climatic as it could get - with the marauding ape plucking out planes from the sky like those metaphorical mosquitoes.




Since then, I have considered King Kong as being one of the best disaster movies, actually one of the best movies, ever made. Ray Harryhausens wizardry retains its ability to fascinate even today. It boggles my mind just to imagine the phenomenally taxing process stop motion animation is. I didn't doubt that people of my grandfather's generation were so struck by this piece of movie magic that they could recall scenes of it perfectly, more than seventy years since they walked into that theatre in Calcutta.

All this is why I'm seriously thinking of starting to worship Peter Jackson. The man has managed to lead a team that has brought back Kong in his original spirit to life again. In my books, this is nothing less brilliant than any medical research which tries to curb a disease, or any scientist making a breakthrough in nanotechnology.
For his version of King Kong is not about a marauding ape, or villanous rascist humans. It's about a clash of personalities. The clash between the free mind of Kong and the mind of a man making the most of a free market.

The film has one of the best opening sequences I have seen in movies, with a nostalgic song, and scenes of New York's toughest times. Men waiting in queues for food, artists ekeing out a meagre living, a pervading sense of gloom everywhere with people stuggling to laugh. In this gloom, we are introduced to Carl Denham, a filmmaker with a passion last seen in Orson Wells, and Ann Darrow who in Denham's words is the 'saddest person he has seen'. These people, form part of a crew setting sail for a hitherto undiscovered island where Denham plans to shoot his magnum opus.

What they don't bargain for is the fact that the island is home to a host of creatures extinct from the rest of the world. And there is Kong. The twenty five foot gorilla.

Jackson has filled the film with battle sequences that are, to put it mildly, magnificent. The scenes of Kong fighting three huge dinosaurs are right up there with the all time classic sequences like the chariot race from 'Ben Hur'. In my second viewing of the movie, I managed to look around the audience during these sequences and found the entire lot rivetted in their seats, eyes glued to the screen. One guys cell phone was ringing but he was too enrossed to answer it.





Added to these are truly scary scenes of men men nearly trampled to death in stampede and later being eaten alive by giant slugs. These scenes were present in the 1933 screenplay but never found their way into the movie, as the test audience was found to be 'too disturbed' by them.

The final act of the movie, where Kong is brought to New York is amazingly crafted. After Kong finds Ann, they have a quiet moment on a pool covered with ice. The background music at the time is simply marvellous.

And yes, Kong does pick out biplanes from the air (though not like mosquitoes) at the end. His heroic fight to death had me at the edge of my seat.

I guess people enjoy this movie so much, as there's something of Kong in all of us - a desire to be free and unfettered. A desire to look down on the world from somewhere above. And we also are aware that this desire is most likely to be thwarted by someone like Denham, who being the epitome of capitalism, will use all means nessecary to turn all opportunity he comes accross to profit.

Peter Jackson is a genius. I can't sleep well till I see this again on IMAX.






If only I could take my grandparents to see this movie.

Clarence was a great phase. When I got into the school I was in Class 3. I remember my first day in school very well. Mrs.Leo, our class teacher made us all line up and divided us into our houses. The school had three houses at the time (now, fourth house, Wilcox has been added) - Barton, Redwood and Theobald, after three important people to do with the school. I was in Theobald house.

Clarence had(has) a beautiful campus, with a mixture of old and modern architecture(the old architecture is all but gone now). What excited me at the time is that I got to sit in the newest block in the school. Class 3A. Sounded big at the time. There were a lot of trees in the campus and we were warned, by Mrs.Taylor, against upsetting any of the potted plants that lined the passages in the school.

I remember Mrs.Horton, in charge of the kindergarten section, who was respected by all and sundry in and around the school campus. She had been in Clarence since anyone could remember, ad was originally from Canada. At the time, she was surely past seventy, but used to drive around in an Orange Fiat! To us, it seemed that her day used to be devoted to teaching children the importance of cleanliness. I remember her picking up discarded toffee wrappers every time she saw one on the school grounds, and then disposing them into a nearby dustbin.

A typical school day at Clarence used to start at 8:30 am. The whole school from class 3 upwards would assemble on the basketball court with our Bibles and hymn books, where the school captain would give us instructions to move to the auditorium for the morning assembly. The school captain at the time was Venkatesh Prasad. At the assembly, the drill was to sing the morning hymn, which would be announced at the podium. After this, the teacher who was taking the assembly for the day would read a passage from the Bible and then give a short message for the day. This would be followed by the announcements for the day by the Principal (Mr.M.T.Thomas at the time), and then the assembly would disperse to their respective classes.

Needless to say, this routine used to get on the nerves of many students early in the morning. Some of the common distractions during the morning assembly was to parody the speaker, or play 'book cricket' with our Bibles when the 'how-to-come-closer-to-Jesus' talk was on. 'Book-cricket' is played by randomly opening a book and taking the 'runs' to be the last digit of the right hand side page number. A 'zero' meant that the player was 'out'. Teachers used to be sitting nearby, some with explicit instructions to curb the growing menace of 'Book-cricket' during assemblies. The assemblies were a sobering experience though, and in hindsight, were a wonderful way to start the day.

Classes were largely what one would expect a normal school to have, except for one thing. In Clarence it was compulsory to study the Bible. We used to do one book of the Bible each year, and have tests and exams on it with all the other regular subjects. In Class 3, the scripture tests was held orally. I was always into stories and books, and staying with the Rajans had already given me a fair idea of what the Bible had to offer, so Scripture was always a breeze.

During summer, our school timings used to change. School used to begin at 8:00 am and classes used to wrap up by 2 in the afternoon, as opposed to 3:00 on normal days.

Summer vacations lasted for roughly 2 months. A vivid, and somewhat horrifying, memory of this time was the summer holiday homework. I used to always think of it as a plot by all grown ups to take the fun out of holidays. I used to visit Calcutta during the holidays where I would have to carry my books along. Another oddity of Clarence was something called the Flack Memorial Scripture Memory Contests they would have on the first day of every school year. It involved students memorizing set inordinately large passages of the Bible and writing them out on paper on the day of the contest. Somehow, my parents thought this to be a good idea, and I took part in this event till when I was in Class 5. I even won prizes for it a couple of times, a fact that never ceases to amaze me now.

Class 4 was the first year I took part in an elocution contest in school. I don't remember exactly, but I think the poem was 'My Shadow' by R.L.Stevenson. I won the first place that year. The Cultural day in Clarence always used to be fun. It was a basically a fund raising event. I was never a part of the cultural programme until a few years later. In class 4, the only thing I remember is an incident when my friend Jeremy and I decided to remove a set of stickers from another guy's bag. Then we went and stuck those stickers on our own bags. This other guy, Alan I think his name was, promptly complained to out teacher, who called us up for an interrogation. Jeremy capitulated quite easily and there was no need for third degree for him, but I, being a pathological liar kept at the tale that the stickers were really mine. Eventually, Mrs.Lobo announced to the class that 'The Devil has gotten into Soham making him tell these lies', and she proceeded to writing a long letter to my mother in my school diary. Well, that pretty much ruined the day for me. Mrs.Lobo was a nice lady though. I remember her reading out the story of 'The Patchwork Girl of Oz' to our class. It was the first time I was introduced to the works of L.Frank Baum, and was excited enough to grab a few books of his from the local library and poring through them.

Class 5 was the last year in Junior School. Mrs.Moses was our class teacher. We started learning Kannada as a third language, something I was out of touch with since Class 2. I drove the sanity out of most teachers' minds with my restlessness in class. The only memory of this year is when I finally made our Kannada/Scripture teacher Mrs.Aaron snap, and she recommended to our class teacher that I should stand outside class between lessons after a teacher went out and before the next teacher came in. Apparently my mere presence in class was enough to raise Cain.

The worst day of the year for at any time were the 'parent teachers' meet'. This day was when all the utopian ideas parents had of their kids came crashing down to terra firma. I used to fare tolerably well at studies, but my behavioral record was anything but flattering. Complaints, and more complaints were the rule rather than the exception in my case. And my mother, being the sort who used thought my behavior was taking me on the fast track to a jail term, didn't make things much easier. It was a nightmare living through the aftermath of a parent-teacher's meet.

All is not over. Far from it.

I stayed in Calcutta with my parents for about a year and a half. Class 1 was spent at a school called National Gems School ( which specialized in churning out national gems like me ) in Behala. The only thing I remember about the place was a super strict science teacher, whose main preoccupation, it seems to me in hindsight, was to kill the interest of her students in any aspects of science. Oh yes, I also remember the rickshaw man who used to ferry me to school. Bablu-da, I think his name was. Our school had this system, where the person coming to collect a student from school had to carry a card (provided by the school at the time of admission) with the student's photograph and address on it. I remember Bablu-da forgetting to bring this card, which meant I couldn't get out of school with him. It meant staying in school for an extra 45 minutes while he went off to collect the card from my house. It was a pretty good system, I think, to ensure that children went out of school with authorised guardians. I have never seen this system being followed anywhere else.

I started studying in Class 2 at Vivekananda Mission school in Behala. My mother used to teach at the same place. It was a good school I guess. I remember having fairly good teachers. Again, very few memories of this place, except for the Bangla classes. I think we had books like 'Shohoj Path' and 'Bornoporichoy', or maybe Bornoporichoy was earlier. I guess, I remember the Bangla class, as I was so bad at it. Another thing I remember about Vivekananda Mission was that it was where I read a reasonably detailed edition of the Panchatantra for the first time. It was a fat red Bengali book, and I remember being so fascinated by it, that even now when I think of stories from Panchatantra, the pictures from that book come to my mind. Finally, if there's anything more about VMS that I recollect, it's the fact that the students there spoke such horrible english. I still recollect a chap called Atanu - admittedly not the smartest cookie in the box - yeliing to the teacher at the daily 'roll-call' - 'I is present! I is present meeeess!'

Abruptly, in the middle of class 2, my parents and I moved back to Bangalore. I was back studying in St.Francis Xavier's. Most of the teachers, and students still remembered me from 2 years ago, and it was a fun place to be. My class teacher was Miss Jennifer, who left in the middle of the year and was replaced by Ms Noronha. The teachers at SFX were great, and the atmosphere was in sharp contrast to that in the Calcutta schools. Learning was a lot more fun! My most vivid memories of Class 2 at SFX are of my Hindi classes. Our teacher - I don't recall her name - was great. The terrifying subject was Kannada.

I can't recall exactly when, but my family used to stay at a flat in Bachammal Road, near Wheeler Road in Bangalore for a while. I don't know why I can't remember too many things about this house, despite having spent quite a while there. I clearly remember my grandfather (mother's father) coming there one day and shouting out to us one morning from the road below. He had brought home a cooking gas cylinder and a pipe to fix it to the stove, which I picked up and proceeded to hit my mother on the back with, who in turn proceeded and gave me a hiding. That house has a special place in my life, because it was there I was introduced to a great friend of mine. One that has remained with me ever since through thick and thin. His name is Tintin. Mecca Circulating library - strategically located right outside our apartment, was a storehouse of comics. My mother was a member there, and many a night was spent there with her reading out the exploits of Tintin and Asterix to me. The house at Bachammal Road also had a landlord from hell. I used to be alone at home for a while each day, and for most of the morning on Saturday when my parents were out at work. As soon as my mother returned, I remember this old chap coming up to out apartment with tales of how 'Chinna' Banerjee completely buggered his day by making noise in the house. I remember occassions when I used to jump up and down in the flat just to spite the old crank.

We soon shifted to a place we would call home for many more years - No.2, First Main Road, New Pottery Town. This was where our old friends, the Rajans stayed. It was a place which would become synonymous with Bangalore for me.

At SFX, at the time, boys were allowed to study only up unil Class 2. After that, the norm was to shift to St.Germain's School, which was just down the road. St.Germains, at the time had Father Hilary Periera as the principal, a reputed one at that. He was known as a strict disciplinarian, and we, at SFX had heard many stories about how he went about with a cane hidden in the sleeve of his cassock.

I however was being sent to another school - Clarence High School. I remember telling this to people at SFX, all of whom were headed to St.Germain's. One guy, Ashwin, I think his name was, commented, 'Clarence !? That's St.Germain's enemy school! Don't ever go there !' Things got real emotional, and we had a long scuffle and fistfight that day, and after being discovered by our craft teacher, we were both asked to kneel down in class as a lesson. As the line from Braveheart goes 'It did not have the effect that Longshanks desired.' We finished our fight after school.

To quote a phrase I have seen at the end of many english letters written by Indians, 'More in next'.

A pleasant memory of those days (about 1984-85 I think) is of the Durga Pujas.
My parents used to attend Pujas at Joymahal in Bangalore. It was great fun. There was (still is) a huge ground, and the pandal for people to gather in used to be at one side. The idols used to be in another pandal at a slightly elevated portion of the ground, and it seemed that the idols used to look down at all people entering the pujas. The color and lighting made it all awesome.

I used to be good at reciting poems, and I remember the first time I got a prize there. I had stood first, but was given the packet with the third place prize by mistake. I think the prize was exchanged the next day, and I was given the correct packet. It was my first Moby book, David Copperfield. I still have it with me. Over the years, I collected nearly the whole series of Moby books (also called Illustrated Claasic Editions) but somehow, the David Copperfield book seems to look newer than the rest.

I remember that the governor of Karnataka at the time was a bengali, A.N.Banerjee, and he used to come to our puja each year. One, while climbing up the steps to the idol, he fell, and the picture was plastered all over the front pages of Deccan Herald and Indian Express.

One friend I remember from the time was Rick, who still lives in Bangalore. The first poem I recited on stage was Tagores 'Birpurush', and Rick used to call me 'Money koro' for a long time.

My teacher in upper kindergarten was Miss Brown. She was, as I remember, a wonderful lady. I used to be quite a favorite of hers as I used to do well in my studies.

My mother and I used to go to Calcutta every summer for about 2 months. My grandparents used to stay at a place called Sen-palli. My younger aunt used to scare me silly with her stories of ghosts at the time.

There is weird memory of this time. My mother used to work at Modern English School Annexe near the Gymkhana grounds at Sindhi Colony. I distinctly remember I used to attend that school as a student after my morning sessions at SFX. Maybe there was some arragement so I wouldn't have to stay at home alone.

Soon after this, for some reason we shifted back to Calcutta. By now we were staying at Biren Roy Road in Behala. My father was working at WEBEL. My grandfather was still working. I don't know where he used to work, but they had allowed him to keep his job well after his retirement age.

Most of my memories of Calcutta are from the Behala house at Biren Roy Road. The owner of the house had a daughter who was the same age as I was, and she and I used to spend hours playing/fistfighting in the building. It used to take our mothers' collective enregies to calm the situation.

My elder aunt's son became a close friend of mine during this time. Aritra, alias Priyam used to be left with my grandparents while his parents were off at work. He and I used to have a glorious time playacting everything from London Boys to Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne.

The thing I used to love about the Behala house was that when I was there, I could sleep next to my grandparents. I don't know why, but till this day, the idea of sleeping in the same bed as my grandparents is thrilling to me.

During my vacations in Calcutta, two things were routine. One was a trip with my grandfather and Priyam to the zoo. The other was a trip with Priyam and his mother to the Birla museum. The zoo trip used to start at about 5:30 am, when we used to take a taxi to Alipore. I still get goosebumps to think of the excitement of those days.
The trip to the museum used to be no less thrilling. A lot of small things about science was introduced to me in those trips.

This routine went on, as far as I can remember, for about the next 8 or 9 years.

There's more.

I am a dim witted idiot. I keep thinking of something new to write about and nothing comes to me.

Not having anything better to write, I've decided to write about myself - which is, well, just about the only thing in the world I can write about with a sense of authority. I was there, you see.

I was born in Bangalore in May, 1980. I don't know where - in which nursing home, that is, and I haven't bothered to find out from my parents. (Update: Found this out. Shankarambala's nursing home near Residency Road). My paternal grandmother was there in Bangalore at the time of my birth, and from what I hear, she was the first person who held me in her hands, after the nurse who helped me out into this big bad world. My grandmother stayed on with my parents in Bangalore for a few months after which I arrived in Calcutta for the first time. The pictures I have of my grandmother in Bangalore in the summer of 1980, make me think of Bangalore as some kind of semi paradise. My grandfather was at the Howrah station to recieve us - and again, from what I hear the first thing I did, was to vomit on his nice clean white shirt.

After a while, I was back in Bangalore with my parents, in our rented house in Hutchins road. I hear this was the place my parents met the Rajans - who became our closest family friends.

None of what I wrote, I actually remember. All of this has been heard from various members of my family.

I don't know why my mother and I went back to Calcutta to stay, bacause I clearly remember that my father used to still live in Bangalore.

The earliest memory I have of my life is in Calcutta, in a house in the suburb of Haltu. Today, I have no idea where in Calcutta Haltu is, but somehow. I remember the house, as it existed when I was three years old. It was a huge (well, at least for me, it was) house with a large compund. My family, comprising of my parents, and my father's parents used to occupy the ground floor. The top floor of the bungalow was where the landlords used to live. I remember there were a lot of coconut trees in the compound. An old lady (I think she used to come to the compund to pick flowers, or coconuts fallen on the ground or something), used to come up to me and say in a weird accented Bengali, 'May you live for as many years as there are hair on my head'. Fortunately for me, I remember she had a head full of grey hair.

I think I remember a maid who used to come to work for our family in that house, and her favorite stunt was to amuse me by standing on her head, on the large red steps leading to the entrance of the ground floor. I can't seem to recollect what the maid's name was.

I remember my aunt, my father's first sister, who used to pamper me greatly. I remember I used to ride an old tricycle with red cushion seats. It had place for another person to sit behind the rider. I haven't seen a similar tricycle since in all these years.

The house owners at Haltu had a daughter who was roughly the same age as me. I think they used to call her Shontu. She and I used to have real violent fistfights, and I think it took all the abilities of my father's younger sister to stop one of us from terminating the other.

I was enrolled in a school called East End School, and vaguely remember being very excited to be going to school at last.

I can't remember exactly, but it was roughly a year after this time, that my mother moved back to Bangalore with me.

In Bangalore, I was enrolled at St.Francis Xavier Girls' High School. Yes. Girls' High School. In those days, boys were allowed to study in the school till Class 2, after which, by convention they used to move to St.Germains school near Coles Park.

My first teacher at prep in SFX was Mrs.Neomi. To her, all her students were 'Baby'.
There was a rather interesting incident I remember that happened to me in her class. I was a terror for the teachers. They just couldn't get me to sit in my place and quit disturbing the hell out of all the other students. In this scenario, I managed to dislocate my neck. Yes. Dislocate my neck. My neck was stuck in a pose which can be best described as an 'eyes right' posture. I just couldn't turn my head to face forward. I think I stayed like this for a couple of days. My mother was probably frantic, but I don't remember. I used to come to school though, and sit sideways, to look at the blackboard. I had a classmate, Ritesh, who mother Mrs.Zechariah, was a pediatrician of some repute. She suggested that the best cure would be to give me a sudden shock and make me turn my head myself. This trial to give me a 'sudden shock' went on for about a day. Eventually it was Miss Neomi who managed to yell at me at a time I wasn't doing anything, making me shake up so frightened, that I whirled my head round and clicked the dislocated bone into place. I still remember being exhilerated.

More to come.

This post is just to like to an article my friend Subhendu wrote.
It's a nice attack on the Intelligent Design freaks.

Last evening I got out of office a little earlier than usual and went roaming aimlessly for a while.
Some thoughts. As is appropriate, any thoughts on Mumbai should begin with some reference to local trains.

------------------------------------------
I will never understand why the passengers in Mumbai locals will always hang on at the entrance of the compartment, even when the bogie is fairly empty. It's one of the weirdest things. Enpty bogie. Ten people hanging on for dear life right at the door. Why ?
------------------------------------------
There are some brand new local trains in Mumbai. I mean spanking new. And they are actually damn good. They have a display unit in each compartment which flashes the name of the next station, and also anounces which stop is coming up next. Very very thoughtful, and I always wondered why the hell no one came up with this earlier. I think it would be a fairly simple arrangement to have an intercom system in all the coaches, and the driver could just announce the name of the station coming up. There are numerous people in the trains who are new to Mumbai who have no clue when their station is coming, and this would be of a huge help to them. Anyways, hope they have more of the new locals soon. Now if they could only come up with a way to inform the commuters on which side of the train the platform would lie in the next station, travelling by locals would become a less tension-filled experience.
-----------------------------------------
Every auto rickshaw driver in India needs to be brought to Mumbai once in their careers for a lesson in professionalism. I mean, I have NEVER - EVER argued with a Mumbai auto guy as far as fares go. It's always the prescribed fare. When I come to office, and the fare comes to 18 rupees or 23 rupees, its exactly that. The exact change is always returned. The other day I had to drop my friend at the airport at 4 in the morning, and the auto driver charged me EXACTLY 25% extra on the normal meter rate. I mean,, for me - coming from Goa, Bangalore and Pune - this behavior is nothing short of incredible. In Pune I have regular duels with autowallahs on the issue of 'half return' at times like 10:30pm or 11pm. In Bangalore, the auto guys just don't want to go anywhere. And if they do, you often hear the phrase 'One and half'. In Goa, instead of getting into an auto you might as well go around roaming with a placard 'I have money. Take it from me.'
-----------------------------------------
I don't know why people call the part of Juhu next to the sea a 'beach'. It should be 'Huge Juhu Rubbish Dump'. I have never seen so much filth on a beach ever before. And the surprising thng is that in the middle of this muck, there are people doing their evening walk, couples romancing away, and people generally contributing to making the place muckier. I just took one look at the place, thought of Palolem beach in Goa, stifled a retching feeling that was welling up within me, and left the scene.
------------------------------------------
Bandra West is turning out to be my second favourite place in Mumbai, after the Marine Drive. It's really scenic, and - most important - clean. The bandstand is a great place to spend the evening.
------------------------------------------

Saturday
Went to Pune in the morning thinking about Friday night. Had a bitch of an evening on Friday, with my client messing up my brains.

Reached Pune at 10 am and went straight to my friend's place. Had some work to get done. Rode down to JM road and paid my credit card bill. Feeling nice after repaying my debts, went down to Apte road and finished some more bank work. Bought a present for a friend's daughter. Back to my friend's flat at 1 pm.

My friend had come from Goa and had some documents I had asked him to get. In Pune he was staying at his place which was exactly at the other end of town from where I was. Went there at about 5 in the evening, apent an hour with him and his parents chatting, picked up my docs and left.

Drove stright to INOX, and with two friends went to see the 8 pm show of 'The Exorcism of Emily Rose'. It's a well made movie, which unnerved me at some points. Some scenes were seriously freaky. What I liked most about the film was the way it kept an open mind about the whole issue of demons and posession. Worth a watch for sure. My friend had a very concise review of the film. 'Ei film-er ektai matro effect hobay amar opor. Raatay jodi jol khete hothath uthi aar dekhi je tintay baje to bichi mathay uthe jabe.'

Post movie - ate at MacDonalds and returned home.
Chatted with my friend for a while on topics varying from religion, to girls, to porn, to studies and dropped off to sleep.

Sunday
Got up at 5:30 am, in preparation for the Charity Run event of the International Pune Marathon. Had to almost kick my friend out of bed. Exercised for a while and after a quick breakfast, set of at 7 am to Garware Chowk, Deccan where the marathon was set to begin. Huge tunout. Great feeling. The charity run started off at 8:30. The finish line was in Nehru Stadium near Swargate. Was running a long race after 4 years and was right exhausted after the 3km charity run. At Nehru Stadiun I spotted Leander and Vece Paes in the stands. Since we commoners were not alowed to the guest stands, I asked one hep looking lady if she could please get my friend's and my cap autographed by the two of them.
She went - 'Leander and who ?'
I was like - 'Vece Paes ?'
She (typical Page 3 type) - 'Who is that ? '
Me - 'Leander's father.'
She - 'His father has come ?'
Me - 'Yeah. He is the gentleman in the red shirt.'
She - 'OK. Wait here'
After this she goes up to Leander, get's his autograph on the caps, and walks to Vece Paes, air kisses him and chats up some crap which basically shows that she or her father was such an admirer of his. Hmmm. At least she got us our autographs.

After this we went home and chilled for a while. After gulping down a hurriedly prepared lunch, we rushed off to E-Square for the 1 pm show of Apaharan. Good movie. Bit stretched though. But packs a punch and made me think about the abysmal state of Bihar politics and that guy Shahabuddin.
ESquare is getting to be a shitall place to see a movie. More then 10 minutes before the movie ends the lights come on. They never show the end credits. And worst of all, the manager Satvik Lele doesn't seem to take feedback very seriously. Well, nothing I can do except watch my movies in INOX or Adlabs henceforth.

After the movie, went to Dorabjees and Planet M. My fried picked up a Yanni tape which we blasted in his car.

At night, yakked around for some time, and boarded my bus to Bombay at about 9.
In there, they were showing No Entry AGAIN. Damn it. It must be the tencth time I am watching it in the bus. I can see a scene of the movie and say 'Ok, Lonavla is coming' or 'Achca, Salman aa gaya. Dadar chala gaya lagta hai'. I will bring something to cover my eyes next time.

Was thinking of this song a lot these last few days.
Beautiful lyrics.


Rafi:
Aye dil hai mushkil jeena yahan
Zara hat ke zara bach ke, yeh hai Bombay meri jaan
Ha haa, ha ho ho, ho hi haa ha haa
Hm hm hm hm, hm hm hm , hm hm hm hm hm
Aye dil hai..

(Kahin building kahin traame, kahin motor kahin mill
Milta hai yahan sab kuchh ik milta nahin dil) -2
Insaan ka nahin kahin naam-o-nishaan
Zara hat ke zara bach ke, yeh hai Bombay meri jaan
Aye dil hai..

(Kahin satta, kahin patta kahin chori kahin res
Kahin daaka, kahin phaaka kahin thokar kahin thes) -2
Bekaaro ke hain kai kaam yahan
Zara hat ke zara bach ke, yeh hai Bombay meri jaan
Aye dil hai..

(Beghar ko aawara yahan kehte has has
Khud kaate gale sabke kahe isko business) -2
Ik cheez ke hain kai naam yahan
Zara hat ke zara bach ke, yeh hai Bombay meri jaan
Aye dil hai..

Geeta:
(Bura duniya woh hai kehta aisa bhola tu na ban
Jo hai karta woh hai bharta hai yahan ka yeh chalan) -2
Tadbeer nahin chalne ki yahan
Yeh hai Bombay, yeh hai Bombay, yeh hai Bombay meri jaan
Rafi:
Aye dil hai mushkil jeena yahan
Zara hat ke zara bach ke, yeh hai Bombay meri jaan
Geeta:
Aye dil hai aasaa jeena yahan
Suno mister, suno bandhu, yeh hai Bombay meri jaan
Rafi:
Aye dil hai mushkil jeena yahan
Zara hat ke zara bach ke, yeh hai Bombay meri jaan.


Salaam Bombay !

Was browsing through the rediff archives just now and came across this article by Prof.Uday Damodaran, faculty at XLRI, Jamshedpur.

The article is based on the following table.

Name	Max Strike	Rank Strike 50	Rank Strike 100	Prob of Strike Rate of 50 or 100
Tendulkar	168	2(7/331)	1(8/331)	4.52%(15/331)
Kumble	200	1(10/128)	2(9/128)	14.84%(19/128)
Ganguly	200	1(11/254)	5(5/254)	6.3%(16/254)
Dravid	228	2(5/222)	1(6/222)	4.95%(11/222)
Agarkar	268	3(2/83)	2(3/83)	6.02%(5/83)
Laxman	133	1(5/80)	5(1/80)	7.5%(6/80)
Harbhajan	167	1(6/47)	2(4/47)	21.28%(10/47)
Sehwag	260	2(4/101)	1(5/101)	8.91%(9/101)
Zaheer	291	1(3/45)	1(3/45)	13.33%(6/45)
Yuvraj	211	3(3/95)	1(5/95)	8.42%(8/95)
Nehra	350	2(1/20)	1(5/20)	30%(6/20)
Kaif	172	4(1/66)	4(1/66)	3.03%(2/66)
Karthik	92	1(2/8)	--(0/8)	25%(2/8)

(Ya, my eyes popped outa my head. No clue as to why Blogger put this HUGE BLANK SPACE before the table *blinks in astonishment*)

Anyways, he tries here to see why, in cricket, it's more likely that one would have a strike rate of 50 or 100, than say 49, or 98.

Actually I was a bit overwhelmed by the article at first, with all the statistics given it it, and me not being a big fan of cricket. Sure, if I show this article to my friend Indrajeet, he might be able to decipher all this cricket figues in a jiffy; but then, I'm me, and it took me three reads to fully appreciate the amusing nature of the observation.

I do not have the intellectual capacity to sit and think why figures have a habit of converging to certain values. What I do have is a sense of wonder to appreciate that it does. And I'm happy with that.

The last few months, I have been reading a lot of Carl Sagan. He was one of those guys with a mammoth brain, who still had the common thouch. His writings are so lucid, they just make me want to read his works again and again. Works like Cosmos, Broca's Brain, Contact, and Demon Haunted World are some of the books which are actively being read by yours turly.

I read about the Divine Proportion in da Vinci code a few months ago, and actually tried measuring some everyday things to see if it was true. Damn! PHI is everywhere. I tried measuring myself - ratio of length from head to foot to length from navel to foot. Goddamn PHI. Ratio of length from shoulder to fingertip to length of elbow to fingertip.PHI.One point six one eight etc. It's amazing.

Sometimes I wonder how anyone spots these things. I remember reading in my Resnick and Halliday Physics book in class 11, that Johannes Kepler had to actually OBSERVE the skies for nigh around 20 YEARS to come up with those famous laws of his. Shit. How does it happen ? What genius lies in people ? Or should the question be - How much curiosity and wonder should one have to have it lead one to the path of being a genius ?

Some sites which contitute my daily fodder in the mornings these days are this, and this.
Quite basic, yet fascinating. This site here is a good one too. Again, it leaves me wondering who the hell observes these things.

Anyways, here's me going to start off the day's work. Day dreaming over.

PS. Another article by Uday Damodaran that made me think.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

By the way, my friend Rick Banerjee has posted up some good pics of this time's Durga Pooja in Kolkata. Having missed it myself, I took a picture tour of the place. The link to his blog is up on the right side of this page, listed with the blogs I read regularly.

Happy first birthday to you, Blog !


One year, and only 50 odd posts ?
I have to do better than that, surely !

Cheers to the world !