I've found out how he died!

To start with a few things that we all know, Osama bin Laden was holed up in a two-storey house 100 yards from a Pakistani military academy when four helicopters carrying US anti-terror forces swooped in the early morning hours of last Monday and killed him. So, a rather straight forward inference from that bit of news is the not-so-simple fact that the world's most wanted fugitive died not in a cave, but in a town best known as a garrison for the Pakistani military.

US officials said the helicopter raid in Pakistan was carried out by CIA paramilitaries together with the elite Navy SEAL Team Six. The Pakistan Government first came out and said "Hell Yeah, we knew it. How could they have done it without our help??". That statement became public and suddenly an uproar kicked off in pockets towards the north west. Now after going back to the drawing board and formulating a new plan altogether, the Pakistanis decided to alter things and nod their heads to the US' claims that they were indeed caught unawares. So, the stance that they had remained privy to the whole affair was clean and clear bullshit of sorts.

Coming to the dynamics of the whole operation in general, it is claimed that both helicopters and ground troops were involved in the operations. If that is assumed to be true, I don't see any application of brains from the Pakistani side as they CANNOT rule out their knowledge about the operation (Ground Operations mate!. Wouldn't you know if someone was putting his/her hands inside your shirt and tickling your tummy or some part in that vicinity?). But if we go ahead and assume that even this fact was true, it simply means that Americans have been playing at the Pakistani back gates, at their will. Tamil, as a language, is a very beautiful one to say the least. "Ooran Veetu Neiye, En Pondatti Kaiye" naanam. (Literal translation would get close to something like 'Your wife dipping her hands into your neighbor's ghee vessel'). American military is self's wife in this particular analogy and the neighbor (Pakistan) has been a silent witness to the former's exploits.

So, I think it is pretty much safe to assume that Pakistan's military and intelligence leadership knew of his whereabouts and sheltered him. Now, if Osama was being sheltered by some really smart brains in the business (viz. ISI) (Of course they are smart, for they've successfully masterminded about 100+ attacks in their neighborhood viz. Kashmir), then how the hell did US spot him right behind the back of Pakistan's biggest military area?

Tough question I know, and media all over the world is trying to figure out that particular thing. But one of my friends on the internet seems to have cracked the code. He says it has to be one of the two following things.

1. Osama must have come out on the road for some weekend shopping for self and supporters

2. He must've missed the trick in this fast socializing world of tweets and likes and hit the wrong button.

So, with two hypotheses that are really more logical than what the Pakistan Government is rendering to the world by and large, I think some insider should go and offer one of these for an explanation and thereby aim to put all speculation to rest. They can then call themselves a sovereign nation whose primary agenda includes their resolve against "non state" actors. After all, Osama stayed under their nose for 5 years and later gave himself away. No involvement monsieur! Not a single bit of it!

P.S : Now that, would be a really plausible explanation.Think of it.The thing about one hiding under another one's nose. It is difficult for the eye to find him. Try looking down to find the center of your mustache. No, you can't. It is beyond all technological advancements mate! It is also comparable to the worldly accepted fact about Tamil Nadu Policemen and their difficulty to spot the belly button below one's belly, with one's own eyes. If you know what I mean!

Sunny Day at the Portmants

For the first time in twenty three years, I have tried my hands on writing a short story with little (or no) substance and still make it a story like the way P.G Wodehouse does with his impeccable fiction writings. So in short, i tried to imitate his style and thus goes the result:

Disclaimer: Below goes a slightly long short story which is totally open to critique and suggestions. One can choose to skip the story if there is any better job or urgency at the moment. Hence i declare the next few minutes of yours a waste of time. But if one wants to read and comment.

Sunny Day at the Portmants

It was a brilliant day and the Sun shone brightly into the drawing-room on Lord Gregory Christensen, the Third Earl of Peterburg who was reading The Great Gatsby, by Scott Fitzgerald and extended into the dining room to illuminate my Aunt Merilina who was busy making tea for the party. With a lot more warmth, the Sun peeped into the bedroom through the balcony door to wake up from slumber, the youngest soul of the Portmant Castle, Freddie Christensen. The day was a remarkable one with cute clouds moving gradually over the head and birds chirping to glory on tree-tops. I had come down to the Portmant Castle on a weekend errand at the behest of my Aunt Merilina to attend to the family get together meeting that has been an annual event for the Peterburgers since long. The inception of this AGBM (Annual General Body Meeting) could be tracked back to the period of Lord Montegry Thewsaid, my great-grandfather. I was in great mood after an energizing morning ride on my two-seater from London and my mind was chirpy to say the least. I was hobnobbing with a couple of other cousins from the female fraternity in the family when I heard a loud shriek behind my back. It would be grossly understating to the reader if I said the noise shrilled my ears and caused me to jerk a little bit. On deep examination, it was found that the devilish shriek came from the loudest cousin present at the castle for the AGBM. It was this thing about the gentler sex that I have disliked since I was a boy. The prejudice was well founded by way of a handful of experiences with their overly articulated social behavior at clubs and outings. Having been engaged to about seven or eight beautiful girls from London and its suburbs, marriage should have been a thing of the past in my life but it had held its nerve and conducted itself fairly by not coming in the way of my happiness till date. Touch Wood. The reason for such a hide-and-seek with the devil of marriage can be solely attributed to the Gwendon habit of detesting cries and shrieks at public places proceeding from the fairer sex by and large.

The sound that had thus emanated from the eligible spinster in the surroundings had caused a roar around the dining room at Portmant and had succeeded in attracting the attention of all and sundry at the castle irrespective of how far they had been from the source of the noise. “What the hell? Was that Amelia?”, I said, shocked and stunned. “I say, Tommy is a sweetheart”, she riposted. That, in general didn’t explain much to any of the onlookers at the dining hall. Everybody was understandably perplexed still and was waiting for a better explanation. “Ooooooohhh! What a beautiful necklace, this one”, she continued. It takes one ounce more than the average human brain to understand such situations completely and I, being at my best on a fine morning, saw it all. Amelia, for whose engagement, this gathering had come together had just opened her birthday gift from Tommy Fretwood, her school time pal and distant cousin. To a person whose IQ is at least 30 points more than the average IQ levels of an engineer at Harvard or Stanford this would ring a bell and it rightly did to me. As these bells and thoughts were going through my mind, I looked inadvertently at one of the other two testosterone loaded figures present at the hall, the Hon’ble Dingo Kittle who was supposed to be affianced to Amelia shortly. As he saw the reactions from Amelia with that necklace from Tommy at her behest, his eyes began to turn a darkish red and I didn’t miss that paradigm shift in the emotions of a man who has had a gala time in his stay at the Portmants till now. It was clear that jealousy was making the better of this otherwise composed gentleman in his late twenties.

It has to be noted that this is the third time that Dingo and Amelia were about to get engaged and on the two occasions earlier when such an event occurred, something had come in the way of the peacefully affianced couple. The first time, if I remember correctly, doom arose when Dingo spotted Amelia hugging Harold the vicar, among the rhododendrons at the garden behind the castle two hours post the engagement. To a newcomer to the castle, it would not be a well-known fact that Harold was Amelia’s school headmaster and that they both shared an intimate father-daughter relationship ever since the death of Amelia’s father in a shipwreck two years back. Dingo was not aware of such a thing when he spotted them mollycoddling together. He called off the engagement and rushed out of the Portmants without giving any chance to anyone for an explanation. The second time, the engagement was called off by Amelia when she got to know that Dingo had a phobia for rats since his childhood and was not able to display his manly spirit when there was a rat in his bathroom.

After two bumpy rides for these two made-for-each-others, this time luck had smiled upon them and they started addressing each other as darling, sweetheart, pimpoo and that sort of overtures after both had realised their mistakes last week. Amelia said she loved him endlessly and he had lived up to that remark by calling her the only girl of his life. Dingo’s suspicions that Tommy had been secretly wooing his wife to be and that she had just fallen for him on seeing his expensive birthday present for her was the only grave threat to the serenity between the two. But actually, Tommy had given two jewel cases to Gregory Christensen last night and told him to give the first one to Amelia and wire the second one to his neighbor Finky. He had insisted that the pendant go to Amelia as her birthday present and the necklace to Finky who had told him to get it polished before the weekend reverie at the Portmant castle.

To say that the engagement was about to be broken for a record third time would be as good as saying that doom was looking upon Gwendon. Such was the situation because it was not a secret that Amelia looked upon me as her second darling and it would be inevitable that she would ask me to buy her the diamond ring if Dingo called it quits once again. It was a sad thing to digest all of a sudden and the situation called for some witty thinking to find a way to stitch back the engagement as before. The only other person in the dining hall who understood all these complications was my best friend Hermett who had come along with me to the Portmants so as to take a look at the vintage coin collection of Lord Gregory Christensen. He was a man of action and needless to say that he wanted to come to his friend’s rescue in the predicament at all costs. The only leverage he had in this affair was the fact that he was a mutual friend of both myself and Dingo. Thus, he resolved that he was the only possibility when the person who should appease Dingo at the moment was concerned.

The fact that Lord Gregory was such an absentminded dumb head was well-known around Market Portmants and it was this that convinced Hermett to attempt the appeasement by revealing the gross mistake done by Gregory Christensen. In this world, men can be broadly classified into two varieties overall, those who understand what the other person says and those who don’t. Unfortunately Dingo belonged to the second group and he was in no position to listen to what Hermett was trying to say. He was chewing his tongue and clicking his teeth and proceeded to give a burrrppping sound to show his anger and indignation towards Amelia at the moment. Gwendons are optimists per se and usually look for a sliver lining each time the clouds darken around them. It was with this attitude that I was witness to the developments at the dining room when all of a sudden, Gregory barged into the dining room saying “Tommy, Tommy..I’ve made a blunder”.Not realizing that Tommy was at present unavailable among the gathering at the dining hall, he said “Where is Tommy?” about seventeen times as a result of his disturbed emotions before I came to his rescue. I said, “Tommy is at the moment taking a quick shower and would be back for tea and burger anytime now”.To this Gregory said “Oh alright” and stood there waiting for the man’s arrival. With the circumstances being as they were, it was as if everybody at the hall was waiting for Tommy to come and solve a couple of problems. Tommy is a man of quick wit and by means of telepathy or some other “pathy” realized the void he should fill ASAP at the dining room. He entered with a “I say, Hi Dingo, How have you been?” and it would have been a better thing to do if he had chosen any other member from the group for his greetings. Dingo was in no mood to say “Dashed good, how are you doing, Tommy old man” or some such thing. In the meanwhile Gregory who could not wait for his chance interjected by saying “Tommy, I’ve made a blunder”. To this, Tommy asked “Oh What Gregory?”, which was anyway the logical thing to ask. Gregory explained that he had confused the boxes and given the pendant to Amelia and had wired the necklace to Finky. This beat Tommy completely, for as per his instructions to Gregory, this was the right thing to do. He could not see what blunder could have been committed in this. The weaker sex are a disadvantaged fraternity when it comes to the grey mater and as expected, Amelia did not read between the lines and make out the flaws in Gregory’s articulations. As a result, she did not come forward to show the necklace and prove the absence of the pendant at the scene. But as said earlier, Gwendons are quick-witted and understood the situation well. Hence, I grabbed the necklace from Amelia’s hands and held it up in the air for everyone to see. I said, "It is a fact that Gregory has mixed the jewel boxes but after the mix up, the expensive necklace has wrongly come to Amelia as her birthday present." At this, there were two faces that became pictures. One was Amelia’s of course, as she started to realize that Tommy had not gifted her the necklace after all. The second picture was in the form of Dingo’s face to whom the last 10 minutes had sprung a pleasant surprise as he understood that Tommy had not been wooing Amelia after all. My eyes were oscillating between the two pictures with contrasting emotions when I noticed one picture move swiftly towards the other. In a split second, the dining hall was witness to a passionate lip-lock and such a wise act on the part of Hermett should be credited for having brought relief to many a soul at the dining hall. I heaved a heavy sigh of relief and proceeded to have my morning tea that was waiting and continue in my jocular mood from the morning drive into the bed room to wake Freddie Christensen from his early morning slumber for a game of Poker.

The End

2009- A Round Up

That's another fabulous year coming to an end. It has been a roller coaster ride for most of us with the world-wide recession, job turmoils, RIP MJ, Obamotopia, Tendulkar's 20, Woodsaga and a lot more. Some good and some bad. My year wasn't too different. The "one last time" visit to Pilani as a student was a wholesome experience. 15 days of ecstasy filled with assorted "highs". One last shot at The Age of Empires and Fifa, Movies, Sitcoms, Series and more. January and February went by looking forward to and reminiscing from the trip to Pilani respectively.

2009 was the year of Journalism with Digital media coming to the fore with all the might and power. One of those things what we could have done without was the hype that media created for Kareena's saree act or the Woods' bedroom act. Social networking took a new shape with the prominence of Facebook and Twitter. 09 was the year of linking and networking of course. Blogging became popular all the more and personally i was part of that Blogger revolution. The months of March and April indicated some respite after a dull ending to 2008 on the economic front.

I became a graduate in June and the eventual melancholy for missing college days ruled over me for about a month since then. First Job, Heavy work, Coding miseries, Corporate tamasha, Late nights, Team outings and other common buzzwords did buzz past me in the months of July and August. 2009 has been a 'year of reading' for me and I managed to cover a wide variety from Wodehouse, Orwell, Mohammed Hanif, Khaled Hosseini, Forsyth, Ken Follett to Gurcharan Das, Tharoor, Jhumpa and Naipaul. Later parts of the year witnessed a first order ruckus revolving around CAT and the mouse. A 'colossal failure' would more or less capture the essence of the CAT 09 saga. So after calling it 'RIP CAT09' after November, the footballing world caused surprises with the Big Four in England taking a beating. Now, the stage is set for a competitive season overall. An obsession for writing and journalism began to evolve and i started devoting a lot of time on political, economic and social writing in the month of December.

Overall, Not a great year. It did have the good's like the first job, great football, good movies and awesome books. The bad's were there too with RIP MJ, Religion and Politics, Dirty Media, Swayamvars, Hype on Climate change, Costly movies, Costly food, CAT meltdown and more......

Looking forward to a better year in 2010 with better health, better wealth and better knowledge. A Very Happy New Year to all !!

Interview Special

It is the era of "starting-up" and young, first generation entrepreneurs are a celebrated lot these days. As part of an interview contribution to The Viewspaper, I barged into the office of a young entrepreneur from Hyderabad. I felt like one of those modern-day journalists who hold the mic as if it were a scabbard and speak about all and sundry as critically as possible. They call it blade under the tongue approach. I mean, one feels empowered at such an opportunity(of being the journalist). The plight of Tiger Woods, I bet, would give an idea of what journalists can do

So that is that. Coming back to the interview under discussion, it was by and large a smooth affair. However, the parley did stand to offer an episode fraught with surprises. When asked, how he mustered the courage to quit a well paying job to start up on his own, the entrepreneur said it was slightly complicated.
He said: 'the motivation to start' came from the last discussion he had with his ex boss when the latter said "You're Fired". So the advice basically was,

• Begin the groundwork for the start-up when you still hold the high paying job. But make sure you work well enough to avoid the pink slip.
  
• Exploit the famous "Work From Home" option that most employers provide these days. It is a wise idea to "Work For Home" on such occasions.

I smiled at that, thinking it to be a nice gesture at such revelations. He didn't acknowledge though. From then on, he used the interview as an opportunity to lecture a juvenile sitting in front of him. I did ask a few witty questions to highlight the journalist at work but to no great avail. During that awfully long story, I kept doing the 'ucch ucch' and 'ummm' 'umm' regularly and said "it was tough to convince venture capitalists these days", trying to notch an opinion as a display of wit. He grabbed that chance to tell me they were looking for donations and bravely asked me if I could help him by "donating" whatever I could. To say I was shocked at this would be to cheat the reader grossly. I was flabbergasted would be a better way of describing the state of affairs. I was breathing hard (understandably) after the recent turn of events when his wife timed the "filter coffee" perfectly. I thought the wisest thing to do at that point was to cut loose and run. He tried delaying tactics on me by passing on the coffee mug to me and I acted smart by asking the wife if it was filter coffee to change topic and she replied saying it was not filter coffee but Bru. Then, I said it was really nice meeting him to close things down. I could have said I am not affluent enough to contribute by way of any donation at that moment or some such thing to that effect. But like the 'Wooster's pride' that Wodehouse talks of, there is this Sekhars' pride that emerge victorious on these occasions.

At the end of the day, I did manage to hold my purse intact by thoughtfully shooting questions like 'how much would the town bus cost me for my return journey' and 'how costly was the Hyderabad lifestyle in general' and all that sort of a thing, to prove my penury.

To say I had a tough time overall and that it was one of the weirdest conversations in life would be to grossly understate the affair. God Save these People.!

Journalism-Philosophy-Cricket-Life, My Stochastic Journey

How often has an article from the 'Times of India daily' been motivating or mentally stimulating? The question should be lauded for the humor content in itself :-P. The answer to it is 'Most often not'. Today, journalism is a field with high levels of cash flow in its arena and as is rightly said, in today's environment, 'Media means Business'. Having celebrated the luxury of being India's largest daily for ages together, the newspaper has created a new dimension in the field of advertising and media. Sex, Fun, Youth, Masala, Movies, Paparazzi news, Celebrity talk and a few more on the same lines can be termed as suitable labels for most of the articles that are covered these days. Nevertheless, Economics, Strategies, Terrorism and Politics do take center-stage in the Editorial section with contributions from stalwarts from the above mentioned domains. So I have in no way taken up an evaluation of the celebrated daily.

Having said that, what I wanted to write in this post was something completeley different. The first paragraph is more of a digression and the basic intent was to write about a full page article on a recent edition of the Times.

No points for guessing the topic chosen for discussion as terms like 'Master Laster', 'T-20' and twenty-"Ten" are ubiquitous in recent-day print and media. Yes, it was an article on 'The great Man'. A lot has been spoken and debated about his closeness to 'Divinity' in the religion of cricket and of late, even in a newer religion called 'Sport'. I am not going to grind that grain once again. What caught my eye was how motivating that article turned out to be.

I have heard of an incident in North India, which is not the sort that makes the headlines but yeah, interests a few amongst us. - "On a train from Shimla to Delhi, there was a halt in one of the stations. The train stopped by for few minutes as usual. Sachin was nearing century, batting on 98. The passengers, railway officials, everyone on the train "waited" for Sachin to complete the century. This Genius can stop time in India!!". Now how does the process of 'deifying' happen? What are the ingredients that enable one to become a candidate running for that post? Trying to figure out answers to these 'almost always' rhetoric questions, I realized the answer lies in removing the abstraction in them. Take the example of the same game and the gentlemen who've evolved in the last decade. I can think of England captain Kevin Pieterson's debut about three or four years back. In a period of six to eight months of international cricket, the 'modern media' that we were referring to at the beginning of this discussion, elevated him to a status of being compared with the master. Terms like 'Next Tendulkar' and 'English Master' did the rounds owing to his aggression and technique. 4 years into the arena and take a look at where he is now? He is undoubtedly one of the most important players of the English cricket team today. No denying that fact. But why isn't he tipped to be the next sensation any more? Genius is made out of perseverance, determination and a host of other virtues. But to me, the most important ingredient to it is 'feet on ground' and that is in coherence with the answer to the 'KP question'.

Achievement is something that every one of us encounter and come across in various stages of life. But the way we treat those encounters with 'achievement' is all that matters. The answer to that intriguing question on ingredients was in one quote from the Master himself - "Let the world think of our past. We should think of the future". An adage comes to my mind at this juncture. "You are very unique, just like everyone else". So, celebration should be a fleeting phenomenon when it comes to a bigger picture of life and its obstacles. Having said that success has to do with a combination of a variety of virtues, some more important than the others, one should stay motivated to reach the pinnacle of glory and be smart enough to keep that place until another touchstone is spotted high up the same ladder of life.

Anjali Tendulkar revealed in an interview that Sachin has sleep-walking tendencies and surprisingly, she said "Now we know what it takes to make a genius". I mused for a while after reading those two lines for i am an astute 'sleep-walker' too. But jokes apart, what was meant by usage of 'sleep-walking' is important. The determination and obsession that leads one to think of his duties day in and day out is what makes the genius. Sleep walking in most instances is associated with toiling minds and continuous thought flows during sleep as a result of the obsessive nature of the mind.

Masters come and masters go and we, for our part incessantly speak of them. But the paradigm shift from the connoisseur's role to the artist's role is what should be mulling in our minds and food for that kind of a thought comes from such great personalities and their lives.

Now, as a vindication of the levels of confidence and fearlessness involved in such instance of genius, watch this - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oez4TSdZvJI