The Verdict is Out

Hypothesis:

H0: Men do not realize when they are being stared at intensely, even if for more than 2 minutes

H1: Women realize the same in less than 10 seconds

Testing Methodology:

Identify a sample set and stare (what else)

In order to give leeway to starees:

Ensure that more than one tester stares at the man or the woman so as to increase the intensity of the stare and help them notice

Procedure and Findings:

• Pick up a sample (in our case – 4 men and 1 woman) which is happily standing and chattering away to glory.
• Identify the first bhakra (Manage), who is standing slightly sideways such that the corner of his left eye can actually notice anyone staring at him. Stare intensely at him from a distance of 10 feet for more than 2 minutes.
• Next, identify the second bhakra and repeat exercise. This time choose the guy who is standing such that the corner of his right eye can notice anyone staring at him (Katrix), and stare, for more than 2 minutes, of course.

Neither of them notices the stare

• Now, stare at the only girl in the group (Tuls) who is standing right opposite the testers, at a distance of 12 feet. Keep in mind the fact that the girl is not having direct eye contact with the testers but is actually doing some hyper animated conversation with the rest of the sample. In 10 seconds, the girl turns behind her to check whether there is anything else worthwhile to stare at, and then gives us a questioning glance.

She has been standing bang opposite the testers. So, to make it fairer

• Observe the guy who is standing opposite the testers (Samba). Stare right in to his sun glass worn eyes for 1 minute, then 1 more minute, then even more for a minute (that's totally 3 friggin' minutes!)

He looks right in to the testers' sun glass 'unworn' eyes but does not see the stares!

Conclusions:

1. Men cannot multi task; that is, if they are talking, they can do just that and do not have the capacity to notice if anyone stares at them
2. Men are not as used to being stared at as women are

Implications:

If this was not just two nut-cases testing their hypotheses, this sample of men would have lost out on some major opportunities. Implications enough?

Credits:

Rohini – For conceiving these brilliant hypotheses

Tuls – For assisting in execution (by not bursting in to hopeless giggles when she was told about why she had been stared at)

Me, an Idiot

After almost 15 years, a movie bowled me over so much that I looked forward to watching it second time in the theater; and enjoyed it as much too.

Much has been said about it, it has been reviewed and re-reviewed by thousands of people, and has been running to full houses even in a Hindi – deprived Chennai.

Not withstanding the recycled yet stale jokes, the accusation that it is a complete copy of the Bhagat story (which claim I do not agree with, but that is not the subject matter of this post) and the absurd vacuum cleaner induced delivery, 3 Idiots is a lovable movie. More so special, because it has been filmed on home ground and brings back wonderful memories of our campus.

Great message and all that, education for the sake of education and that success will follow excellence. However, I have my reservations with how the movie defines ‘Success’ at the end of the day.

We could have done without Phunsukh Wangdu, Mr. Hirani. We could have definitely done with Chatur just walking away with the agreement signed by Rancho stating his failure and the precious pen. We could have most definitely done without Chatur having to bring down his trousers and say “Jahapanah.. Tussi great ho!” If a school full of children learning science that induces passion is not enough to define success and Rancho needs to be the scientist with those 400 patents, I really have my reservations with your take on success. ‘Butt’ah has put this thought in great perspective here.

A regional magazine in Chennai writes, “Amidst Tam movies with heroes spouting punch dialogues and portraying themselves to be larger than life comes 3 Idiots, where the story and performances bring in the victory.” Oh, no, but you are wrong my magazine friend. Aamir has just done it in style, sans the punch dialogues – psueder yet larger than life.

But, like one of my colleagues says, it is a commercial movie. The audience might be ok with the Rancho who runs a school somewhere near Leh, but they will be jumping with happiness even after they walk out of the theaters if Rancho is actually the Wangdu that companies the world over are pursuing to sign business deals with.

Maybe, even I could repeat the watch because of the feel good factor. After all, commercial movies are expected to do just that, make one feel good and idiotically happy.

My Dearest

Hey!

I have not said this in as many words to you before, though I have given you inklings on and off as to how I feel about you. Perhaps, you have not been able to perceive those hints, perhaps you decided to ignore them. However, I have decided to write here, in white and bold, how I feel about you, for not saying this is not the most honest way of continuing our relationship.

It started off in 2006, quite innocently, as any relationship would, very benign, very understated. Actually it was not even a relationship. I got acquainted with you and then forgot all about it, for you were just that, an acquaintance to me, back then.

I do not know when I became so serious about you, or why for that matter. Guess it was some time in early 2008. I was lonely, deprived of campus life, sitting at home, not knowing what to do. And, suddenly, reminded of you, I started talking to you. Thank god for that. Or, maybe not.

I started sharing with you, almost everything about my life – my fears, my happiness, my favorite things, my friends… In the process, I realized that I have grown to be fond of you to the extent of being possessive of you, I have got so attached to you that I spend hours, and sometimes whole nights thinking about you, I have become addicted to you to the extent of talking about you and just you in all conversations with my other friends.

I tried considering the possibility that it might just be a temporary obsession. Then again, temporary obsessions don’t grow in fervor exponentially with every minute. So, I decided to come out and blurt the truth, in whole and to the whole world.

I love you, my dear blog, like I have loved no other diary ever before in life. And, I hope the madness and passion continues and grows for ever so many more years.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Pictails

R is a one of a kind colleague. Referred to as C1 in an earlier post, R is known for his whacky humor, albeit unintentional mostly. What else can you say about a man who generates quotable quotes like “I have played tennis both before and after B-school and during B-school”.

Another salient feature of R’s is his willingness to go for tea, whether before tea or after tea or during tea. To put it in a nutshell, when other people are asked, ‘How are you?’ their reflex reply is ‘Fine’. When R is asked, ‘Tea?’ his reflex reply is ‘Chalo’. No matter what time of the day it is, whether he needs tea for the sake of tea or to give company to others, R is always game for the break. And, these tea table conversations are hilarious to say the least, you must very well have figured out owing to whom.

Though I cannot give you inside jokes and not-to-be-shared-in-public office anecdotes out here, there is something else I am dying to share. R is so serious about these tea breaks that every time there is one looming around the corner (which is extremely frequent – 11, 3, 4.30, 6.30), he invites us through e-mail with innovative pictures or text messages. Actually, one can expect a ‘pictail’ (pictorial mail) from R at the most unexpected of times, not just during tea breaks.

Here goes some unlimited fun, which is so totally not attributable to me except for having patiently collected the pictails over the past 5 months.

Starting with the tamer ones:

Lunch Invite

Tea Invite

Tea Invite to a colleague who is busy and says, “Let’s go after 10 minutes”

Sub: P stop acting busy!!!

And come for Tea….

After 10 minutes, when P says “Let’s go for tea”

Green Signal!!

And then, when we are all busy and are not able to make it to tea sharp at 4 a really angry mail

When a new employee joins office, the pictail is

Folks,

After a long drought almighty has blessed us with a new sheep. Let’s use this opportunity to fleece the sheep. In other words, treat time!

Regds,

R

Finally, when there is some secret gossip to be shared amongst the gang,

The Baasha fight to fame

As the readers of this blog are slightly aware from here, my Hindi is thoda khamzor. That was my tagline in Mumbai, when I spoke to anyone ranging from the doodh wallah to the taxi wallah to the apartment security guard.

“Bhaiyya mera hindi thoda khamzor hai”

That would sound weird to the normal reader. However, people who know me well know quite well the extent of my fluency in Hindi. Ok, forget them, any of you tell me how I possibly can converse with the apartment’s Marathi security guard this way:

“Bhaiyya, oopar paani nahi aa raha hai. Motor mein kya problem? Motor wallah nahin aaya repairing ke liye? 4 hours hua hai abhi tak koi nahi aaya? What the hell will I do without water?!”

Or, with the Bihari taxi wallah like this:

“Bhaiyya, yahan se seedha jaayiye, phir aage second right pe white car ke paas ek shop hai na, wahaan ek minute stop kar dijiye. Uske baad Bandra mein ek friend ko fast pick up karna hai.”

Half the time, I would forget that jaldi is what should replace fast. And, of course, there is always the eternal dhed, dhaai problem. I am still not sure which one is 1.5 and which one 2.5. It is quite some magic that I remember that aadha is 0.5.

Aisi haalath mein I could never have risked walking down the roads of Mumbai without a sticker on my forehead saying “Thoda khamzor Hindi, Beware!” Well, almost! I started warning everyone I met with the Thoda Khamzor tagline. The very predictable response I always got (accompanied by something between a smile and laugh) was “Aap Taaaamil hai kya?!”

A story on that will be quite a digression, let’s save it for another day.

The point of this post was to let all of you know that I have come miles from the thoda khamzor girl I used to be, so much so that I have started composing wonderful poems which might some day become famous songs in Bollywood movies.

As faithful readers of my blog, I thought you all should get a sneak preview of these masterpieces before they go public and I start earning millions.

Here goes my favorite:

Hamare Rashtra Basha ko Zindabad

Main nahi bulaiya tereko, Sinbad

Zindabad hai Zinabad

Uske bad

Sab kuch Barbaad!!!!

Manage, on reading this poem, was all praise. He said no one could ever have started the first line with Zindabad and ended the poem with Barbaad. He is still in awe of my immense exponential progress with the Hindi language.

The next one is something I thought up today, while I was struggling to finish some damned Excel work.

Khatarnaak hoon mein

Hindi mein bolne ki pehle

Khadak hoon mein

Hindi mein bolne mein

Joker hoon mein

Hindi mein bolne ki baad!

I need to own up to something here. I actually do not know the meaning of Khadak, just added it for the ‘rhyme value’. And, when I came to Joker, I was stuck with no Hindi equivalent for hours. And, having a bunch of pure blood Tams working around me did not help the cause. So, readers, please bear with it till Kavity is back with the next set of khatarnaak‘ly’ improvised poems!

Thab Thak Pyaar se Aap sab ki dost,

Kavity

(Edit: Thanks to 'Butt'ah for advising me to change 'ka' to 'ki')

P.S. Definitely dedicated to FinalsPrep_Marketing (Nice Try) (same guys linked above) for having encouraged me to talk all the nonsense Hindi in the world :D

Just another day..

I am at work, sitting in front of my laptop, having my n^th Google tab opening up on the Explorer. There are other windows visible on the Taskbar – an Excel, a PowerPoint, a couple of PDFs and a folder. I am rummaging through the folder for some ‘prior knowledge’, not as efficiently as Google which is busily processing the work delegated to it.

I have a STRICT 12 noon deadline for the morrow. I am lucky today. I usually have ASAP deadlines, which are actually deathlines. On such eventful days, at least 3 people stand behind me, peering in to my laptop with tensed looks and grief stricken faces (quite weird and funny), saying, “Boss has closed the laptop, he has put on his blazer, he has picked up the BlackBerry, he is coming towards us”, while I do a quick “sense check” before hurriedly clicking the magic word ‘Print’.

Today, I am bored. There is no one breathing down my neck, no one calling me over to their desks for ‘quick meetings’, no phone calls, no hundred thousand mails. I check ‘BookMyShow’ for tickets to plays and movies. I find everything to be most uninteresting, even Kareena’s bare back. On second thoughts, I guess it is perfectly alright for me to not be interested in her back.

I wonder whether I should Tinker again. There are a couple of ideas floating around in my mind. But, I need YouTube. Oh, damn! It is blocked here.

I check Google Reader once again for some shared items, may be an ‘It Made My day’ link, maybe a ‘Laugh It Out’ picture. I find none and feel let down by my Google Reader pals, who have been inactive for the past 3 hours. I refresh Gmail for the thousandth time. No luck there either. What the hell is everyone doing?

Maybe work?? I suddenly am enlightened (yet again). I open the n+1^th Google window. The presentation is waiting to be repopulated, restructured and generally jazzed up (screwed up). The graphs are hanging around aimlessly, the ‘dabba golas’ are at war over which of them should stay and which of them should die. I can hear the deck groaning in agony and pain.

I do not have an option.

It is a STRICT 12 noon deadline.

Hey.. Goodbye Nanba!

'Nanba' is Tam for Friend. The title of this post has been borrowed from the first line of a song from the Tamil version of the popular Maniratnam movie 'Yuva'. The song, incidentally, is about the girl's "special friend".

Sleepless I have been,

Romancing you every night

Music has become oppressive

Books have become painful

Internet does not enthuse me any more

My feeble, almost broken heart,

Thinks of you and you alone

Day in and day out

It has been a short

Albeit vigorous relationship

Between us

Though it is sad to concede

You must have got weary of me by now

How about trying someone else, Mr. Flu?

Why I love you as I love you..

I was having a long argument with P (who loves having long arguments over everything on Earth), about why everyone should love Mumbai. Ok, that is a tall claim. Not everyone can love Mumbai because, like he says, it is too crowded and too expensive!

P says that I love Mumbai only because I have good memories from there, because I have had the right set of people there. I vehemently disagree.

P says that we have a Marina for a Marine Drive, we have a substitute in Chennai for everything we have there! Again, I vehemently disagree.

And, I decide to list down why I actually love Mumbai, beyond just hanging out with friends, walking along Marine Drive and shopping till I drop down dead.

Here we go, all over again, about Mumbai Meri Jaan.

• The crowd thronging VT station and Elphinston bridge, focusing only on the train, not caring about what you are doing and where you are going ‘cos it is just too busy running on its feet.
• The city that never sleeps, literally! The sheer independence and security that Mumbai gives its dwellers at 2 in the morning – I have no more words!
• The infectious spirit. In my Manager’s words, “I land at Mumbai airport and something gets in to my blood. The adrenaline rush is faster, the mind asks for challenges. I just want to keep going, on and on, unmindful of the road blocks and the speed breakers.” He stole the words from my heart totally!
• I take a rickety cab from Lower Parel to Matunga, the meter shows 3.5. The cab wallah is old, he is wearing a pair of really old looking, dull spectacles. He flips out a card slowly from the dashboard and we check how much 3.5 is. It says Rs. 48.50. I give him a Rs. 100 note, apologetically stating, “Bhaiiya, mere paas change nahi hai”. He says, “Koi baath nahi Beti”, takes out his wallet gives me 5 ten rupee notes and a one rupee coin. I take it and turn around to leave when he says, “Ek minute beti” and fishes out a 50 paise coin.

I rest my case.

Right Ho!

A colleague of mine, C (mentioned elsewhere in this blog, for asking crazy questions and to be mentioned many more times in coming weeks for ‘adding value’ big time to our otherwise existential life in officeJ) is a major Bertie Wooster fan, to the extent of considering him a role model. In his own words, “What would you have prayed for as a school kid? Good marks at the max? I used to pray for a large inheritance so that I can just sit back and enjoy the well nourished life, very like Bertie Wooster. And of course, it would not hurt to have a Jeeves by my side. What more can one want out of life?”

He is right. He is thinking about the larger picture when he talks about the well nourished, laid back life. Somehow, that is what many of us are striving for, to run around and earn so that we can have a peaceful old age, the Jeeves factor being more of an add-on than hygiene, of course.

I digress, as usual.

I too am a big P. G. Wodehouse fan. However, when discussing Bertie Wooster with C, I realize that I am actually a major Jeeves fan though I am not sure of the ‘role model’ part. In all of P. G. Wodehouse’s works, while I have laughed my head off over the antics of Bertie Wooster, Gussie Fink Nottle and others of the clan, it is Jeeves who has always attracted me the most. Precise and in control of every situation, quoting from things unheard of by the general public, thinking miles in advance and planning and manipulating situations, knowingly and unknowingly making himself indispensable, networked enough to know the darkest secrets and latest gossips – in one word, or rather two, Jeeves rocks! Thinking back, inadvertently, I have strived to be a Jeeves in real life, trying to be in control of situations, thinking and planning to pounce miles in advance, networking big time yada yada with little or no success. I strive nevertheless.

Jeeves is a character I can never tire of unlike many other novels and characters. For instance, when I read dear Agatha Christie’s murder mysteries back to back, I get bored of the murders and the thrills and the evergreen game of suspecting the most non – obvious suspect. Beyond a point, even enjoying the smart moves of the indomitable Poirot and the petite old Miss. Marple becomes a weary exercise. However, I can read on and on about anything that involves P. G. Wodehouse’s Jeeves and still crave for more. My nearest term goal is to stack up the Wodehouse collection in my small in – house library, stand back and give a satisfied smile.

And, yes, I have been very nostalgic about my books today, all that I have been reading since the age of seven, ‘cos I was poring over them and arranging them in my book case through out last evening. The touch, feel and smell of books! What an enriching way to spend an entire evening!

The Lov(n)ely Road

It was a never ending road, noiseless, devoid even of the occasional bark of the dog and the buzz of the bees.

It was a never ending road, pitch black and plunged in darkness, having escaped the clutches of the silvery moon light and the many twinkling stars.

It was a never ending road, bound by no fence or wall, slave to no tree’s roots and falling leaves.

It was a never ending road, uninhibited by the scorching heat and the freezing cold likewise.

It was a never ending road, with no way back to the start, with only one way ahead, and that, towards the never ending end.

It was a never ending road, out of the world, peaceful, lovely and lonely too!