Of Vince's Death And Clients' Breath

“Dude, Vince McMahon died dude. Did you see that? Bad dude…”

Huh? I mean, like, WHAT? Now I really have seen it all. The chappie who said that stuff to me was a 29 year old Engineer. Heck, he refused to believe me when I told him that the WWE was all fake. He actually believes that the little twit John Cena really does all that stuff and that the Undertaker really is what they show him to be and all that… And there I was thinking that guys learn about the WWE being fake about a year before they’re told that Santa Claus doesn’t exist… Just shows you how much I overestimate the IQs of my fellow humans…

Well anyway, this incident – happened yesterday in case you are wondering – prompted me to look back upon some of the time I have been working and recall all the stuff I have been forced to listen to over the past year that has been at such a level. Surprisingly, I find that there is an over-abundance of riches in this regard and that’s what has prompted me to jot them down here. The intent, quite honestly, is not to get a laugh, but to record these here and be able to read them later and laugh rather than bang my head against the walls and tear my already thinning hair out… Oh and yeah, none of this is doctored… It’s all written verbatim.

During client interactions:

V: M, in this field on this screen where it asks me to enter the coupon number, can I enter alphabets instead?
Me: No V. As it says there, you need to enter a number.
V: OK. But is it case-sensitive?

V: M, how could you miss out this feature in your design yaar?
Me: Miss out? You never asked for that at all!
V: Oh come on M. If I am expected to tell you everything I want, then what are you here for?

V: But M, while I acknowledge that you are right, I can’t accept what you are saying.
Me: But V, someone here needs to be logical!!!
V: Yes. But I can’t be.

Me: See, compare the Parent and Child Items given here with the values for the Child and Parent given in the other place and if they match then blah blah…
(2 weeks later, in the middle of chaotic scenes where the stuff is just not working)
Me: But what the Hell? Isn’t it made as I said?
R: Yes, I matched the Parent here with the Child there and the Child here with the Parent there…
Me: Yeah, sue me for thinking you were higher than 1 on the IQ scale…

Me: V, you said that this was what was needed last week! Now how on Earth can you ask for something completely different???
V: M, don’t talk about last week yaar. I forget things after 4-5 days… Just go by what I tell you… That’s all…

V: Guys, but why has work on Phase 2 not started?
C: Because work on Phase 1 is not yet complete.
V: That’s ok yaar… Just make Phase 1 later. Right now ,just make Phase 2 properly…

V: M, is that document complete?
Me: Eh? How can it be? I don’t yet have any of the detailed process parameters you are supposed to give me… What will the input parameters be?
V: Actually, we are not aware of the input parameters right now…
Me: Hmm… OK… And what is the output required?
V: That we shall decide next week… But please design the process flow for the system by tomorrow…

At a client meeting:

A: Hmmm… So, from the BCS side, M will be handling this. Who will handle this from our side?
V: (raising hand) Me! I’ll take care of it!
A: OK. Now, in the next two weeks we’ll need you to prepare the initial documentation with M and then taking M’s inputs, you will need to make the presentation for the SMC.
V: Yes… Yes… Will do.
A: So, can we set the presentation date as being two weeks from today?
V: Yes. Absolutely! One thing though, from tomorrow, I am going on leave for 3 weeks…

Yeah, I swear these incidents really have happened. No kidding. Then of course, there are the delightful exhibitions of intellect that I endured in my classroom sessions in college that I have detailed. And what can one say about the experiences I have documented in my Mars posts? All in all, I think I can deem myself to be fairly fortunate going by the share of hilarious experiences that life has hurled my way… Like this one at the Airtel showroom the other day:

Me: I’m having a problem paying my bill online.
Rep: Oh sir! (sorrowful expression) Sir, may I ask what the problem is?
Me: I’m unable to login. It tells me to reset my password and says that the new password will be SMSed to me, but I never receive the SMS!
Rep: Oh sir! So sorry sir. Sir, then, can I ask you to please login using your password and then lodge a complaint online?

Or a great bank:

Me: I need to
Rep: Oh sir. Sir, for this you need to have your PAN number associated with your account and that is not done as of now.
Me: Oh! Can you do it right now then?
Rep: No sir. For that you need to use the online banking facility.
Me: Ah! OK. Now, I have forgotten my password for that.
Rep: No problem sir. You can apply to reset it and we will mail you the new password within 5 working days...
Me: Mail me for an online thing? Damn! I need this urgently. Can’t I get it faster?
Rep: Yes sir. You can visit the nearest branch and request them. Then they will complete the task…
Me: And how long will that take? It's faster you said. So will it be reflected immediately?
Rep: No sir. Not immediately, but it will be done within 7-10 working days…

And a classic from the client to close:

V: M, yaar, don't say that this is not within the scope and it's impossible and all yaar. I am also human yaar. I also breathe. So, think of that and try to help me and do this not for my sake but for that sake...

Yep. Thanks guys… It’s been a pleasure…

A Man's Journey Through HelL - VI

“See, in fact, depending on the method you use in fact, your calculation can give you different answers for the same numerical”, spewed the emaciated Wall Street wannabe. Strange though this would undoubtedly have sounded to him before he had entered the hallowed campus, by this time, he had been rendered immune to such hilarities and he barely paused in mid-snore as these words whizzed past his barely-conscious brain. It was the last class before the mid-terms and all he could think of was just what he would write in that endemic irrelevance of his campus, called the ‘Feedback Form’. Comments like “In Term1 he merely shredded my interest in Finance…in Term3, he truly massacred the remnants…” were rife in that, but everyone knew that it was merely more fodder for the shredder… Ah well, how the cynical had fallen…

The first lecture after the mid-terms was decidedly different though. It was, all of a sudden as if everyone had returned to that bright-eyed and wide-eyed attention of Term1 and then some. As the Hunchback of Notre Campus entered the class, so too, it seemed, did the Angel of Doom, for there descended upon the room a deathly silence and upon the faces of the students, a pallor that matched. Reputations, they say, precede one and for this Quasimodo, the reputation was that the deformities that mattered were hardly those that were apparent to the eye…

“Understanding? Or confusing?” he sneered from the elevated platform, gazing upon an offender who had dared to lower her eyes to her notebook for a second. “That’s an F for sure,” whispered someone. Not surprisingly, the lady in question happened to score a very respectable B, but the very fact that this happening was not surprising is the beginning of the mystery and enigma that is called Baba. Rumour of course was very inaccurate about him, citing reasons like mental instability and a deep-seated sadism coupled with a lack of understanding of basic statistical rules. The deep and dark truth was actually quite different. Hunchie, it was ultimately discovered, took all the uncorrected answer sheets and stood at the bottom of the staircase of the Faculty Block. Then, at the stroke of midnight of the first full-moon night in March, he took the name of Devi…oops, Satan (That was the beginning of Devil, you dim-dums, before you get any ideas), swigged a double scotch, slit a rooster’s neck and tossed all the answer sheets high up in the air. Then, depending on which stair the sheets landed on, he awarded grades… Marking was then completed by him to ensure that the results were fair…

This of course was all very fine with the mid-graders as suddenly a chappie with only a D and an F to show for his first two attempts at Statistics, landed up being the topper, while of course, J Pappoo ended up with a remarkable D…although the Math Olympic Gold Medalist topped him as well…with an F. 29 Fs, 17Ds and no A+s or As…now THAT’s what constituted a REAL normal curve… It was only now that the people of the class began to understand the true depth of that seemingly innocuous question that someone had asked in Term1 (“But why do we use the same normal curve for all the questions???”). Here, at long last, was evidence… They didn’t… Normal is as normal does, it would seem, eh?

All, of course, was not dark and morbid in these days. The college fest had been and gone and had been quite spectacular in terms of the spectacle it provided…depending of course on how much you cared for it… The inauguration had set the tone really, when the opening address began with the immortal quote, “I welcome you to IIML, the best B-school in Lucknow…” Thereafter of course, the fest followed this honest tone, with an introduction going, “I would like to welcome Mr. S Raha, the Chairman of IOCL”. “Psst…sir, that’s ONGC!!!” went an usher… “Yeah, yeah, same thing” announced the illustrious speaker. These two, quite sadly, formed the acmes of the fest…along with the amusing reality that the website that carried the fest’s name, seemed to be a gay porn site… Ah well, the effects of being late with registering an oh-so-creative name…

For the remainder of course, the term ‘drogged’ on and enthusiasm ‘dropped’ just like the ‘drog and drop’ that they were subjected to in the classroom… The bright spot of course was that the Fin Prof had changed after the mids and they now had a Bong who seemed at least, to be aware of what he taught. The fires in their Financial bellies now had a new vigour…until that fateful day… “Too-day, bhee will laarn the Oraan-gootaan thyo-raam. There was an experiment in bheech there was waan team of phinaancial ex-paarts and the aather team was sitting with an oraan-gootaan and a dart-board with stock names written on it. The phinancial ex-paarts made and aapdated their portfolio on phinancial principles and the aather team invested on the stocks that the oraan-gootaan’s darts were hitting. Aapter three years, there was a dipherence of .25% in the retaarns…”

It was fairly raining Bongs of course…what with their penchant for the Methodolgy of Research… “Iph a paarticular question is not quaaanteetative…” went this one, “than it eez saamthing aather than quaaanteetative.” It was just the orgasmic smile on his face that prevented the brighter sparks from perhaps pointing out to him that this may actually not be as big a revelation as he believed it to be. Not, of course, that it made any difference in the bigger scheme of things, but these brighter sparks always seem to be on the lookout for things to discuss with the professors after the lecture…

HR of course, was a totally different cuppa. The prof quite obviously shared the students’ view on what a classroom really was made for, but that was about where the similarities and the prof’s sympathies ended. Sleeping in class, when one is a prof, presents one with the slight, although easily surpassed, difficulty of just how to ensure that the class is not disrupted more than normal. The pre-mid guy had apparently perfected his strategy over the years though. It was simple and effective and ensured that any lack of sleep elsewhere did not in any way hamper his productivity professionally… The strategy was so surprisingly simple, that it’s a wonder that the others in the Faculty had not thought of it yet… Get the students to conduct the lecture, occupy the seat of one of those conducting the class and then do exactly what the student would have done, had the prof been the one talking. Smooth and simple…and vindictive of course, but hey, who’s complaining? Oh wait, nobody’s thought of it? Hmm… I think VG may have something to say about that…

Post-mids of course, things had stabilized with a guest lecturer who believed that he would rather see the students sleep than bother himself with the tedium of listening to them… But hey, he did reveal the questions before the paper, so one is probably safe in saying that he was one of the more popular figures on campus…till he reneged of course…

Quotes of the Term: (Taken from the written material handed out in the course regarding the Management of Materialistic ‘things’.

“Temperature is measured in ‘Celsius’. Earlier it used to be measured in Centigrade…”
“Simplification reduces the nature of parts of a product.”
“Parts and components can be defined as parts and components that are used.”

Perhaps the one real hallmark of the Institute though was that those in positions of authority did not seem to consider it at all necessary to believe in the importance or the necessity or indeed the veracity of the topics they taught. How else could one explain a Communist teaching Keynesian Economics or an MIS professor who believed that ERPs were the worst thing to happen to the corporate world or a Quant professor who did not, seemingly at least, know what a normal distribution was or, of course, a Marketing professor who spoke for an hour on the importance of listening? Ah well, summers were approaching and with them came the promise of a new experience…one of freedom, professionalism, learning, stipends, networking…and most importantly, beer…plus of course, the opportunity to meet, from a position of considerable advantage, all the girls that had gained admission into the new batch… Yes indeed, pride goes before a fall…

A Man's Journey Through HelL - V

Hmm... A few days ago, sombody asked me if I was in possession of a fifth installment. As it happens, I now am. I shall not, of course, for reasons of not wanting to be arrested for treason, divulge who exactly it was that authored these pieces, but suffice to say, that I know him well and he has not objected - thus far at least - to my using these on my blog. Should you care to read the previous ones of course, they are at the links below:

A Man's Journey Through HelL - I
A Man's Journey Through HelL - II
A Man's Journey Through HelL - III
A Man's Journey Through HelL - IV

“And in fact, in this in fact, we can use simple in fact, compound interest formula…” He rose, bleary eyed in a state bordering on disbelief as he heard the emaciated monstrosity on the classroom platform spew this as the response to how a certain case in Financial Management was to be solved. They had faced this commando trainer in the first term, yes, but surely this was beyond the realm of the slightly-more-than-mild insanity they had believed the clown to be suffering from!

It did not stop there of course, as there was more to come in the next class…and the next one… Yes indeed, if Term 2 could be called the Crowning Glory, this term was definitely making a case for itself to be christened Reclaiming Glory… There was incident aplenty to be found now, so much so that the oddity now was to have a sane moment…whether within class or without.

The Finance Professor of course headed the pack out of the blocks. With unforgettable gems like, “Of course we can use in fact this CAGR. In fact, can you tell me in fact what is this CAGR which you are talking about?” to “In fact the case says that interest is 5%, but in fact we will in fact assume it to be 14% so that in fact we can reach this solution which I have in fact solved in this Excel…” But the nadir of the nightmare session was perhaps endured by the then not-so-Express American who approached him to request a relook at a quiz paper.

AE: Sir, in this question, you have given me a 0…
SCB: In fact beta, what is this a/(a+b) and b/(a+b)???
AE: Sir, in a weighted average question, that is simple arithmetic!
SCB: Hmm…ok, come to see me tomorrow…leave this here with me…

The next day:

SCB: See beta, in fact I looked at your solution in fact and I saw that after the third decimal place in fact your answer is wrong… So, I think that you must have got this far by accident…

Ouch!!!

Oh yes, there was a lot of fun to be had in this term…if one could first wake up in time to reach class…and then stay awake through lectures! There was the fat, little geriatric cove that the administration had dug out of his grave to teach how Materialistic Management students had become and of course, there was the quintessential HR professor (Which term could be complete without one?) who was quite obviously leading a troubled life at home…

“Materials Management is about learning how to manage materialistic things…” said old Geriatrix (Sorry G&U, but I couldn’t resist lifting that one) as he kicked off his course; the same course in the course of which (sorry, but once again, I just couldn’t resist that one) he was to ensure that his resurrection - approximately four centuries after he was interred - was not in vain and that the authorities that had sanctioned his exhumation would never have cause to complain that he did not provide entertainment. While it would take more than a few volumes to encapsulate the wisdom of the ages that the old cove endeavoured to spread, a few samples would surely be in order as one attempts to eulogize the hallowed One.

“If I have to explain to you a supply chain, I can do it best with a comparison. Mere bachchon, imagine a cycle. A cycle uses a chain. Why does a cycle use a chain? We can use something else. Imagine a long short rod. If it pumps up and down, it will not move the whole thing efficiently. So, we use a chain. Now, a supply chain is like a cycle chain, because both are having links that make the chain move smoothly as if it was lubricated… So now, you know what is a supply chain. So remember that if you ever have to think of a supply chain, just first think of a cycle chain and your solution will be complete and obvious…” I swear by all that I hold sacred (like my Jennifer Aniston poster and my pink knickers) that he actually said this in these exact words…

“Mere bachchon, I want you to be like the Taj Mahal. After my classes, all of you should be like Taj Mahals. Lots of Taj Mahals…” Yeah rrrright! Like, housing dead souls, perhaps?

While all this and more transpired within the walls of the classroom, there was yet more entertainment to be had on the ‘other’ side. With their departure nearing fast, the senior batch seemed suddenly to have become acutely aware of the fact that the junior batch was blessed with more than thrice the number of girls than their own batch. This phenomenon of course, coupled with the knowledge that they hardly stood (ok, I don’t even know if there is a pun intended here!) a chance in an environment where women were not solely restricted to the specimens on campus, led to yet another round of the - by now – routine exposure of the depths that the male gender can plumb when faced with the hugely favourable odds of 1:500 rather than the 1:5 billion that would be faced outside campus. (The fact that the female gender may be willing to wait for more favourable odds for themselves, has never really struck the male gender. This is perhaps aided by the fact that Jerry Seinfeld summed up in the words, “We men seem to end up with women anyway!”)

DG: Wow maan! She’s hot. I think I shall propose to her before I leave campus.
DM (spilling coffee all over my jacket in my shock): Whaaa? Errr… as in…WHAT?
DG: Yeah! Can’t hurt… I mean, this is my only chance after all…
DM: OK, so you think you have a chance, but like, isn’t it true that you’ve never spoken to her?
DG: Yeah, but she must surely know who I am…

Then of course, there was the Students’ Council election that was coming up. That was brilliant of course, what with the fact that only the ones with the lowest absolute IQ seemed to deem it fit to ‘stand’ for election. Not that anyone was complaining of course, given the manifestos that were written and the deep and philosophical thoughts that the candidates revealed themselves to be in possession of. Like this candidate, who revealed that her top priority if elected would be “to ensure that there is student representation on the Faculty Council.” Of course, in her esteemed opinion, it was a completely different proposal to that of having Faculty members being on the Students’ Council, but hey, perhaps the rest of the campus was just not smart enough to see her point… That she still ended up second in the polling stands as testament to the fact that even IIM students have senses of humour…and compassion…and libido…

The Term was not even half-way through and already there was plenty to talk about…unless you were the HR prof of course. For want of any other evidence, it was never alleged too seriously, but there were serious doubts over his state of affairs (No, no idea if the pun is intended, but his appearance would suggest it isn’t anyway) at home, but he did seem to have a major point in common with the students… The opinion that classrooms were quite definitely contraptions that were invented by those that had a very good idea of what surrounds would stimulate the best sleep…

Till later then… The mid-terms are here and surely that merits a break… and no, not of a leg…

An Experiment in Stretching It

It is with not just a little trepidation that I begin this assault on my keyboard and by all accounts other than my own - and the list of those accounts is undoubtedly led by the device in question - any attempt I make to generate an electronic record of those feeble electrical impulses that I euphemistically choose to call thoughts, can only be called a brutal assault…and that is not just on the sensibilities – if there are any – of the unfortunate souls, who being devoid of any better and publicly acceptable activity to entertain and pleasure themselves with, choose to actually attempt to wade through my wild ramblings…

Now, in case you have not noticed it already and have still managed to get this far, or of course, if you have been sensible and just decided to skip that rambling introduction, let me point out to you an ability of mine of which I am immensely proud – specially as by virtue of the sheer confusion it causes, it is the one skill that saw me clear B-school at first attempt without ever flunking a paper – and that is that this sentence that you are currently skimming over and pretending to read happens to be just the second in this post of mine that already seems to have assumed epic proportions judging by its sheer volume. Oh yes, I am reasonably adept at continuing to add meaningless words to rambling sentences that lead nowhere. It’s an art that I have found to be completely ineffective in Mathematics papers (leading to my flunking one of those confounded monstrosities while in Engineering college), but a skill that takes near-scientific proportions in B-school.

Getting to what prompted me to write this however, I wonder if you have ever remarked at the remarkable irony of the situations that life seems to present one in a seemingly endless stream. Take for example this person I happened to chance upon a few days back who assured me that he represented the Society of Free Thinkers. Now, before I begin my narration, let me assure you that I bear these Free Thinkers no grudge and would willingly let them be as free as they like as long as they let me enjoy the same freedom and of course, as long as specific appendages of their male members (pun fully intended) are deprived of that very same freedom. After all, while not quite a member of their free society, one does always endeavour to be looked upon kindly by those that one sees as wishing to believe themselves to be above one.

Well, getting down to the incident then, this particular specimen of the society was attempting, as I remember the scene, to persuade me to part with some of my employer-given (and Tax department spared) gravy for a cause that he assured me was imperative for me to champion if I wanted to retain control over the free nature of my blog. I was, not unnaturally a bit concerned, given that I am quite often accused of being quite a miser (I have actually ventured as far as to install pedals inside the chassis of my Esteem to save on the petrol costs and I kid you not on this), but ventured to enquire from him why he believed that this was necessarily so, to which he responded that this was quite necessarily true as the Elders of the Society of Free Thinkers had decreed this to be necessarily true which necessarily necessitated the belief that this was necessarily true and also necessitated the fact that people must believe it to be so!

Now, as you can well imagine, I was quite astounded at the depth of his arguments for a moment, but thereafter it began to dawn on me that there was perhaps no real free thinking involved in this process…or well…not at least, on the part of any person or persons other than the ones he so reverently referred to as the Elders, unless of course, one is to look upon his decision to believe their decree as an expression of free thought in itself, which in my opinion would be stretching the thought a bit thin and stretching, to me at least, is something that is best left to appendages best left unmentioned and not to points that tend to get thin from the stretching, much in contrast to the afore-mentioned appendages. (Another one sentence paragraph! Damn! I’m good at these ;-) )

Well, to cut a long story short, I decided to conclude that while there may be a lot to be said for free thought, the idea of a society of those that follow it’s philosophy seems a tad ironic. Something like a governing body for the Anarchists almost, you might say ;-). To top it all of course, he revealed to me that the Society of Free Thinkers apparently had an admission fee if one wished to join it, which in itself seemed ironic given that I viewed it as him telling me that I needed to pay something in order to declare myself a member of a society that essentially proclaims itself as pioneering something that, for all practical purposes at least, is ostensibly free!

Yes indeed, irony is something that seems all-pervasive. Just like a certain professor who, in an Innovation class, happened to say, “This is the solution to this case and no, your point of view is not relevant to the school of thought that needs to be followed to arrive at the solution for this case…”. Hmm…or of course, if I were to draw on the paltry time I have spent in my workplace, I’d refer to the time I was told that the ‘Employee Satisfaction and Retention Workshop’ that I was scheduled to attend had been postponed as the Human Resources manager who was conducting it had quit his job…

Yes, life is quite entertaining in its vagaries and of course the ironies that accompany them. Take if you will the fact that I, despite my protestations to the contrary am taken by most to be quite a hard man to please! I do, of course, take that as quite a compliment given that hardness when pleased is something that any bloke would be content to display, but hard to please?

Oh and lest you are still searching for the point that I was trying to make in this post, as apparently a particular commenter was in one of my previous posts, hey, quit while you’re ahead! I’m a GUY!!! There is no point to this one… I did try to make one, but found the entire job a bit too hard to finish on my own… Ah! Now that’s a nice one, eh? ;-)

Just a Dream (Beyond Words)

Been a while since I blogged and it’s not at all due to that mysterious entity we call work, let me assure you. Indeed, I have discovered over the past few weeks that work happens to be the one quantity that one can actually compress to as little as one wants with no significant impact on that other mystical entity that is termed as productivity. Apparently I had it figured out correctly all through… Nice feeling to know I was right.

What though is it like at the time that one does not really have any facts on which to base one’s opinions? However rational one may be – and I certainly like to delude myself with illusions of my own ‘rationality’ – there are always certain notions one holds; certain ideas that are created and that reside solely in the realms of our own selves and that really have nothing more to them than the mind.

What of these notions, the possibility of attainment or existence of which, one can never really be sure? Time, of course, as is its wont, eventually rears its head and reveals all on most occasions. The aftermath of this is something that I would rather not dwell on at the moment, as that would possibly take up a few more reams of paper (ok, e-paper ;-) ), but the period spent in that state of animated suspension is in itself quite an experience.

The highs that accompany the conviction of being right as well as the lows of fearing the seemingly inevitable; the hilarity of watching the optimists who envision the details and the despair of not knowing just what even the attainment may be like. All of these seem to roll into one at times and at other times, each can provide an agony or conversely an ecstasy that is not quite matched by the real.

Even more confusing are some of the random events and situations that confront one from time to time; each offering the hope of fulfillment and yet each creating the risk of losing something that one never really had, but something that is perhaps dearer than anything one does. After all, a vision is never the easiest to give up on…and yet, how can one be said to possess it?

But visions are a must if one is to achieve true exhilaration. After all, how could one exult the same way in winning an objective and concrete reality when compared with achieving something that may so easily have remained just a figment of a mortal brain’s limited and poor imagination? Some things just so completely exceed words…

Forever Champion - Farewell to The Greatest Ever

Some 13 years ago, for the very first time, I saw on my television a young man in blue and green overalls, pulling off one of the most fantastic moves I had ever seen. It was the moment that marked the beginning of an addiction that I thought I’d never lose. For the next 13 years, for 16-18 Sundays a year, I was glued to my seat for two hours of electrifying entertainment…seeing in action the greatest sportsperson in the world plying his trade and mesmerising one and all who were fortunate enough to be alive and witness to his feats.

There were of course the huge rants that I had to bear initially. My travel plans, my playtime, jamming, my entire schedule, regardless of exams, hell or high water had to be built around the race. Dad was hardly a fan and the only words I heard on those days would refer to how I was wasting my life pursuing ‘these vicarious thrills that would never help me in life’. Didn’t last too long though. Today, it would be hard to tell who between him and me, the bigger fan is.

Come B-school admission time and every single interview I gave revolved around F1. Every question, including which the last book I read was, was met with a response that drew the interviewer into the world of F1 and Michael Schumacher. Hardly hurt that even the most clueless interviewer had at least heard the name of the man who is undoubtedly the greatest driver ever seen in any form of racing and who may well be the greatest sportsperson at least of our times, if not of all time. Talk about a vicarious thrill that never helped…given that I cleared all the interviews…barring the lone one where the interviewers (bless them) consciously stayed away from the topic despite my best efforts… Ironic :-).

Tiger Woods recently labelled him the greatest sportsperson in the world and the reasons are hardly difficult to see. For four long years after 1995, Michael was not Champion. Yet he always carried the label of the best driver in the world. In 1997 and 1998, despite the horrendously slow machinery he had to work with, Michael made the fight for the crown a close one and both seasons went down to the last race of the Championship.

The genesis of the label though has to be the defining 1994 World Championship, when in a Ford V-8 powered Benetton, Michael beat off Damon Hill in the Renault V-10 powered Williams. That too without having raced in 3 of the races that season. The man was in town and there was no disputing who the demigod of the sport was.

The canter in 1995, followed by the shock move to one of the worst teams on the grid at that time, were the moves that would define the man later. Unlike Senna, Prost, Mansell and the rest before him, Schumacher had chosen the difficult path. He had chosen to reject offers from the best teams on the grid and rack up the wins and the records with the best machinery on view, choosing instead the mission of restoring the glory years to the sport’s most glamourous and storied, legendary team.

While Prost had attempted walking the same path (towards the end of his career), he gave up in a year. Michael was made of sterner stuff. Winning with a car that in Eddie Irvine’s famous words, “handled like a bullock-cart” is no mean feat. Winning when your team-mate, in identical machinery is not even in the top 10, is the stuff of legend. To do so repeatedly is folklore. To do so for over a decade is Divine.

Inevitably there are comparisons with Senna. Tosh! Look at the win/race ratio. Look at the pole/win ratio and you realise how silly the comparison is. Schumacher has rarely had the fastest car on the grid. Senna almost always did. Yet, Schumacher has comfortably more than twice the number of race wins Senna had. All said and done, Senna is who Senna is more because of the romance that is always associated with ones who die in the manner that Senna died in. Had Senna not died, he would probably have been forced to quit by the dominant German anyway.

As Michael retires from the sport, so shall I from viewing it. People speak of how I should mark my respect for the man by continuing to view the sport that he gave so much to make. Yet for me, F1 is Michael. Without him, there is no joy in the sport any more. I know of several who feel the same. That is perhaps the most worrying thing for Bernie Ecclestone. Never has the sport known such a phenomenon and the dip in the viewership when Michael was not competing in 1999 with the fracture is sure to be on Bernie’s mind…possibly that is what has fuelled his hopeful statement that he believes that the Red Baron may race with Renault in the coming season.

A dip in viewership is a foregone conclusion. How major of course, remains to be seen. Perhaps F1 will now be more about the sport than anything else, but that can only hurt. None of the current crop of drivers has anywhere close to the charisma that Michael does. None has his aura and none can even think in their dreams of comparing any aspect of their ‘talent’ with the Maestro…

As Michael leaves, perhaps the biggest wrench I feel is due to not having seen him race live. I had planned a trip to the Bahrain and Malaysian races next summer. That plan now lies in tatters. I hope though that Michael leaves as 8-time Champion. It would be justice. It would be the only deserving farewell to the greatest sportsperson to have walked the planet.

Thank you Michael for lighting up all those years and making the weekend so truly worthwhile. Thanks for all the brilliance and the exhilaration. Thanks for giving us the opportunity of seeing history being made and seeing the marker being laid down. Now make that 8 Championships and give us the high that you and we deserve to see you go out with.

Forza Michael. Forever Champion!

Intent Is Everything

Office seems fast to be replacing the L classrooms as the place where I doodle and ramble on...much to the dismay of those that are later forced to read of course, but then again, it's a matter of choice to read...and not that much a choice to write...somehow, my hands get restless...and then they can't be held down...

It was not without mild trepidation that he considered what he was doing. He was not entirely renowned for being the fastest driver around. Indeed, it would be fair to say that he was perhaps the most cautious that one was likely to find; a man loath to pick up speed unless convinced completely about the lack of any setback, foreseeable or otherwise.

Yet, today had been an entirely different experience for him. Looking back on it, perhaps it had been inevitable, considering the way the circumstances had played out their role. The drive had begun in perfect weather, weather the kind of which he had not really seen before...not in as long as he could remember at least. It seemed inviting; inviting to the extent that he had been conscious almost from the very start, of an irresistible urge to throw caution to the winds and surrender himself to the will of what seemed like a higher power that was willing him on. It had still taken him a bit of time, but he was now rolling merrily along, at a speed that he had not known before, but that seemed not to trouble him in the least on this day.

The estate-owner had heard of him. Not particularly known for moving at any kind of speeds, was the reputation that had floated in. True, the source of the information had been the subject himself, but there seemed little reason to doubt the veracity of these words. At this moment though, it would seem that either the reputation had been left behind, or else the driver was possessed…not that there were too many reasons to complain about that of course.

He had been quite slow when they started the journey and the trip home had begun to seem as if it would take a frustrating while longer than earlier thought. Then, all of a sudden, the Devil seemed to have come over him and he seemed to have floored the pedal. He was taking the curves with an effortless ease now and it was pleasantly astonishing to see how he seemed to be relishing this new experience. A flick of the wrist and a step further they hurtled on. Speed, it would appear was definitely a high he was not disliking…

As they approached the gates of the estate, he became acutely aware of the fact that the journey should really be drawing to an end. There were issues that cropped up, he knew, and decided that it was perhaps best to bring them up now…albeit in a roundabout manner. He slowed abruptly and turned to his co-passenger who seemed to be regarding him with an amused smile. “Err…I think I’m running out of gas”. “That’s alright. I didn’t intend to let you in anyway…” "Oh...ah...well, fine then..." He was conscious of the embarrassment he had caused himself, but was also relieved in a certain way.

On his way, he decided to drive around the outer walls. It was lovely…the sheer beauty rendered him speechless. The contours of the surface, the richness of the surrounds and of course, the exhilarating feeling of bliss and peace were not something that he had experienced before. It was as if time stood quite still and for once, he didn’t want it to move on. Drinking in the experience was like staring into the eyes of Infinity.

Jerking abruptly back to consciousness, he became aware suddenly of his phone ringing and drew to the side to take the call…

“Like what you see?”
“Yes, but it must be said that it reminds one quite a bit about the iceberg.”
“Surely there is less unseen than with the iceberg.”
“Very true, but looking at it from another perspective, perhaps what is hidden is – as with the iceberg – more important than what is so visible to the eye.”
“Well, then it may just be the eyes that need a slight refocusing, or of course, it could well be that the viewer sees but little right now and a slight change of perspective, or of course a shift in the fourth dimension shall bring more wisdom to the beholder!”
“One does see the point you make and must admit that given what has passed and the conviction and belief that one possesses - apart of course form one’s prided appreciation and devotion of all that is so exhilaratingly beautiful - that there is no doubt in one’s mind that what needs to be done, shall indeed come to pass.”
“And why would there be so much faith in such a conclusion?”
“Well, as I would say, ‘Intent is Everything…’ ”

With Twilight Will Come Bliss...

Frozen dreams and a day that stays,
While days roll on and dreams still die,
Would you call me a dreamer still,
Just for my dream was not a lie?

One rainbow shines and another comes to life,
While my eyes still fail to rise up to the sky,
I can see what the clouds sweep,
But it’s in those oceans that life lies

Some moments are born to be made,
Some made to be reborn,
And then some are found in a place in time,
When life becomes a dream of a song

The picture may speak of a thousand dreams,
But could a dream be just a framed reality?
I closed my eyes and dreamed away the cage,
Did that make the real a fatality?

Awake, alive and with open eyes,
I dreamt me a life, for them denial,
A lie a dream could never tell,
When did that dream I befriend?

The stars may shine on,
But it’s the mind that’s alive,
For while the miles are real,
The distance is a lie...

Mid-Midnightmare

I doubt if there is anyone who would remember this, for I am sure that reading even one of my ramblings is generally more than most sane people can handle, but anyway, I once mentioned in a post of mine how I have the most amazing luck when it comes to mobile phones.

Anyway, I really should have known when August began that it was time…time for me to start looking at the new handsets on the market. I mean, it was 8 months since I had purchased the last one and quite frankly that’s about as long as most of my handsets last… This one was working alrite actually, barring a couple of keys that had decided to take a bit of a break from work, but that’s ok. I don’t particularly resent employees taking sick leave and this was not really impeding me on a basis that was regular enough for me to get unduly perturbed and issue show-cause notices or the like.

Being the Crab that I am though, I obviously forgot all about this and chose to look instead at the beauty of the fact that my phone was indeed still functioning. End result of course, is that I am in Bangalore now, while my handset is gallivanting around Singapore, having reached there in Business Class aboard a Lufthansa flight. OK, now don’t ask me how it happened and how I know this, but just accept it. It’s me! And it’s technology that we’re speaking of here. I can hardly be blamed if our relationship is slightly dysfunctional!

Well, I hope that this explanation mollifies all those that may be nursing a grudge against me for now calling back or anything… I don’t think there are that many people of that variety anyway, but still… I mean, I can’t really be expected to have had a backup of my contact list! I mean, I tried to have one, but it was too damned tedious jotting all the numbers down on paper…and technology scares me beyond reason, so expecting me to Sync with the Nokia PC Suite etc is something that I really can’t be expected to do. Sorry, but that’s the way it is :-).

Anyway, there are people who have asked me what I think of Bangalore and how I like it here. Well, here are a few snapshots of Bangalore…some that make me wonder, some that make me smile…and some that make me contemplate how bad it could be to be in the gas chamber after all!

- Auto drivers here don’t seem to want to go anywhere. You can ask them about any place in the city and the answer is a common, “No saar”. If you’re really, really, really lucky, it’s a “Saar, dubbal meter”.

- Real estate agents here don’t work on Sundays and work only half the day on Saturdays… Yes…that’s a fact.

- Shops here shut after working hours (7PM) and stay shut on Sundays…

- ToI has launched it’s ‘Refresh Bangalore’ Campaign… The tagline reads, “Put the ‘bang’ back in Bangalore”. Err…yes, this is true as well…

- Above one of the traffic signals here, there is a HUGE signboard that reads, “Red Means Stop”.

- There is no left, right or straight in this city. It’s leftaa, rightaa and (get this right) stry-taa”. Yep, the last one being pronounced as rightaa with an ‘st’ at the beginning.

On the positive side of course, since this isn’t home, there are no restrictions…then again, given the deadlines of this city, who needs parents? Oh and before I forget, I have also managed to coerce (for want aof a better word) my folks into promising me an N-series or something 30+ anyway, in return for buying a cheap handset this time :-).

Oh and just another point of similarity. That last post I mentioned at the start of this one, was made at a time that I had launched a pre-doomed attempt at quitting. Twas five days then. Over 3 weeks now...life's good...even better than the real thing...

Overadequate Inadequacy

There seem to be a thousand thoughts that encircle my mind at the moment, which of course is a massive departure from situation normal which normally is a huge void in that part of the body that is called the male brain. Anyway, this isn't a normal day perhaps, but be that as it may, I find myself unable to type anything remotely coherent given the fact that there seem to be no two sentences that I am able to string together that are not on quite different topics.

In a strange kind of way, that paragraph leads quite neatly onto one of the things that I was contemplating. Reading what I had written left me quite lost about what, if any, point I was trying to make and that is only reinforced the belief that was driven home last night by a question that I found myself faced with. Quite simply, words, for all their adequacy in certain situations, are so woefully inadequate when they are truly needed.

Could you define the expression on the face of a person who looks upon the endless sea and sees therein simply the concept of complete and absolute freedom? Could you describe in words the feelings of parents casting their eyes for the first time on their first-born? Could you describe in words what you mean by perfection and your emotions if you were perhaps to be confronted by it or him or her in your astonishingly short lifetime?

That of course, is another issue at hand, for what is it that deserves a superlative? Being, as I am, a follower of the school of thought that would have us believe that superlatives are best used sparingly, a subject I find worth contemplating is about what - if anything – constitutes a person, situation or happenstance that would warrant the use of one of those words that I am so disinclined to use.

And then what exactly is it that causes one to pause and look around and then feel like one in a dream looking about as Barrett so beautifully summed up “on the outside looking in”?

Then too, one wonders why a dream can’t be made to follow the direction one wishes it to take. Why for instance, does my noble steed always seem to end up either tripping over my shoelaces, that seem to start growing inordinately in my dreams, or rear up and neigh in fright at the sight of a hedgehog or some such? Why does it always happen that just as I find myself in a lovely place, there’s a truck that runs me over?

That of course is so different from the waking dreams one has that seem to follow the straight and narrow, so to speak, without any real conscious effort. In that drowsiness, somehow one is always smiling as the dream meanders down the path one would have wished it to…without one actually knowing what is happening. Even the silken touches seem more real at that time… Strange perhaps…and then again…

Talking of silken touches, has anyone ever quite understood the sheer joy of standing by the seaside and feeling the reality that is the mystery of everlasting and never-ending bliss? Just that one moment of connection, while gazing out at the setting Sun seems to last forever. The sea, afire and alive and yet so astonishingly silent as it roars out with the smashing of the waves on each other and on the walls of the sea-front…

However, while so woefully inadequate at times, words seem to possess a life of their own when woven by those who seem to create an interwoven mesh of pure magic. At times, a verse can scream out thoughts; thoughts that nobody could word or mouth, but which through that verse seem to take a life of their own. To be honest, I envy such persons and can only bow down and hail their extraordinary and blessed talent and wonder whether such a level could be attained by another who wasn't perhaps born with that magic touch.

It is not of vivid descriptions I speak here, but of abstract thoughts, worded in seemingly simple lines. Herein lies the true art, for the words by themselves are apparently masking nothing and stating but simple facts. As is quite obvious, I find myself unable to express just what I am thinking, yet not attempting to do so seems impossible. 'The essential dilemma of the reluctant ignorant' would perhaps be an apt statement of my state of mind on this one.

If dawn was all and dusk never fell,
Would the farewell last no more?
Would you still await the morn?
But then, there'd be no night at all...