My work timings usually show a canny pattern. Late Monday mornings, early Friday evenings and mid week absconding are clear indications. I have never hit the accelerator anytime before 9:30 AM when it comes to a Monday morning after 2 full days of lazing, typical TGIF, OGIM (Oh God, It's Monday) syndromes, so to speak. But today marked a rather deviating phenomenon. I opened the 'gmail.com', facebook.com', 'football365.com' and 'onlinefootballmanager.co.uk' in that order, as early as 9:10 AM. Reason : I couldn't sleep. I missed the massive Man U - Arsenal clash yesterday owing to travel and though I knew the scoreline and other statistics since I was following it live from my Android application, I wanted to take a look at the highlights as soon as possible and my fingers were itching to hit footytube for a quick look at the highlights.
The last time Arsenal conceded 8 goals was back in 1896. We all know that the Arsenal team that played yesterday night was a very weakened one. But nobody is going to remember that night as a hiccup for a weakened Arsenal side. It would rather be remembered as "That great 8-2 mauling by United". And more importantly, it was not Men vs Boys but was an "average age 23" vs "an average age 23" affair.
What strikes me most is the fact that Arsenal are staring at this "not enough players who are fit" problem so early in the season. Usually, they do so towards the end and more often than not use it as an alibi for their shambolic displays from February to May.
I noticed some bizarre transfer market stats somewhere on the internet. It read as follows:
Net spending done by Arsenal over the last 10 years : -4224000 pounds (They've made money if you notice the minus sign)
Net spending done by United over the last 10 years :172651600 pounds
Net spending done by Chelsea over the last 10 years :540095600 pounds.
Competing for the title, winning trophies and other allied pleasures and accomplishments, that Wenger considers trival and pointless, are just not achievable with these kinds of numbers. I remember Arsenal fans calling names at players when they left for money. Ca$hley, Moneybayor and many more. Look at City. They spent, tried, spent more, tried more, spent even more and now have a formidable team, which on paper, looks like the best team in Europe. You can call Ashleys as Cashleys and all that sort of thing but to those players, it is after all work and what's the point when the team doesn't do well on the pitch? We quit our jobs and move on for better money and better prospects. Don't we? So many fans who are already in a state of disarray have started shouting at the top of their voice yet again. Spend some F**kin Cash. But this time, unlike earlier, Wenger cannot turn deaf ears to those cries. Looking at the league table now, with 1 point from 3 games, Arsenal are close to being in the relegation zone. It is now or never for Arsene, Arsenal and their bunch of self proclaimed "learned" fans. Money is money and Sport is sport and all that crap can gaily come to a close. To win, one needs money and success comes with intelligent investment (borrowing from management jargon). So, Hell yeah! Splash some cash or look down the drain.
On a different note, Manchester looks like the new football capital of England and with both the big guns throwing some weight this season, it sure looks as if the trophy shall stay at Manchester. But it'd be interesting to see if Chelsea (or Mata to be exact) can offer something of a fight to the title.
United fans, get the ball rolling and enjoy the moment, for this is one of the best times to be a United supporter.
Monday, 29 August 2011
Tuesday, 23 August 2011
To her, the daughter of the mountains, with love!
The morning was fresh and beautiful with the sun peeping out of the clouds and the dew on top of the grass reflecting wonderful colors. He was walking along the footpath to get an auto and go to one of those beautiful catholic churches in God's own country. The autos were the old 80s style. They caught his attention. Much of the place had a serene rural outlook and it looked strikingly similar to those pictures he saw in the museums. The ones from the colonial era. He had always been a victim of those lovely magic potions that Kerala has to offer. The lovely weather, the beautiful backwaters and the stunning girls with their hair flowing free, fresh from the head bath.
Ernakulam is a small town, seen as a part of the larger Cochin, though like most twin cities, there isn't a border or line to separate their facades. It is all in a wonderful blend. The long corridor in the church had an air of peacefulness in it when he entered it for the first time. Many groups of people had gathered and they were chatting incessantly. He was a secret admirer of malayalam and those nasal sounds of chatter acted like magnet to him as he could understand some parts from those discussions. Towards the end of that long corridor stood a girl, who had come in with her parents and the three of them were eagerly looking at a lone lily that stood with all class and charm in the middle of a small artificial pond besides the passage. There was nothing more beautiful than the white lily and the school of fish that swam in the mini pond. But as he moved closer to that small congregation of three, it was not the lily that caught his eye, It was the girl who was admiring the lily. He stood like a statue for a passing moment, stunned by her appearance. The straight, dark hair flowing flamboyantly over her shoulders. Her charismatic eyes. Her mesmerizing lips were a thing of beauty. He felt an unprecedented joy when she suddenly gazed back at him, though only for a fleeting instant. At the moment, he was witnessing one of the most beautiful sights that have ever unfolded in front of him..all his life.
It was barely minutes before the congregation reduced in size from three to one and she was waving her hand at the departing couple. Her parents would come back to pick her up late in the afternoon. She stopped waving as they disappeared and noticed him as he briskly walked past her, back and forth. He never knew the art of breaking wonderful silences and even now it was the girl who just uttered something. He didn't believe what was happening around for an instant and blame the shock for his inability to comprehend those sweet set of syllables in malayalam. He paused to check if it was all real and to his joy, it really was. He said he couldn't speak malayalam and she quickly shifted to English. Conversation kicked in and they spoke animatedly for a few minutes. In the process, he lost himself completely amidst the sea of her charm.
The beautiful morning gave way to a humid afternoon as the function at the church went on without much attention to this romantic sonnet. The only activity he was engaged in was a series of stares at this new apple of his eye. A few of them noticed and many of them unnoticed. Einstein once said "Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute." And the words were so true to their meaning and in no time he was staring at the prospect of leaving the church when the function was over. Her parents were there again to take her back to the small town that she hailed from, a few miles south of Alapuzha.
He couldn't gather anything besides her name in the few minutes of conversation he had with her in the morning and as he saw her getting ready to move, he experienced a gush of blood flowing into his heart. He felt a need for some chivalry and courage at that moment though those aforementioned traits were very uncharacteristic of him. He took a credit card bill from his wallet and tore a small part from one of the rectangular edges. He was groping for words to write on that piece of pulp when his fingers jumped the gun without his cognizance. He looked down to see that he had already written his number and name on one side. The Adam in him wasn't that big a poet like Keats or Wordsworth. But he managed to write half a sentence on the rear side of the paper- "If you think we should be in touch...."
He slipped it under her cute pink bag that lay on a nearby table and started walking back home in quick strides as the function was over and the gathering had already dispersed. He didn't have the courage to look back but his heart started beating faster and faster as he made his way out of the church. He was wondering if she would see the note and pick it up. But he was afraid if it was too small and would go unnoticed. He slandered in whispers for not doing the act a bit more vividly. But the moment had gone and he couldn't get back anyway. He reached home and sat back in the reclining piece of furniture gazing at the fancy chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Minutes felt like hours and the ashtray slowly filled to its brim. But the beep from his mobile that he was so dearly yearning for didn't seem to appear. He woke up from the idyll that was going through his mind as his phone beeped about an hour later and for an instant he had his heart in his mouth. Words fail me as I try to describe his emotions at that moment. But the words on his mobile screen read "Hi. I picked up the note. Didn't expect one there though. How's the day? -" His joy knew no bounds and his fingers floundered as he drafted his reply. He was trying to speak his heart by way of the text message and as he was groping for poetic phrases, he heard yet another beep. But it was not from his phone this time. It was the sound of his alarm clock. He opened his eyes and surprisingly, found his mom with a cup of coffee standing beside his bed indicating something with her finger pointed at the clock. The clock read 14 10 hours. But he was looking at it upside down. So it was 7 40 am and it was time for him to wake up.
P.S : Apologies for the abrupt ending and a badly crafted anticlimax. But sometimes truth is bitter as the old adage goes and it is better hidden than confessed at large.
Ernakulam is a small town, seen as a part of the larger Cochin, though like most twin cities, there isn't a border or line to separate their facades. It is all in a wonderful blend. The long corridor in the church had an air of peacefulness in it when he entered it for the first time. Many groups of people had gathered and they were chatting incessantly. He was a secret admirer of malayalam and those nasal sounds of chatter acted like magnet to him as he could understand some parts from those discussions. Towards the end of that long corridor stood a girl, who had come in with her parents and the three of them were eagerly looking at a lone lily that stood with all class and charm in the middle of a small artificial pond besides the passage. There was nothing more beautiful than the white lily and the school of fish that swam in the mini pond. But as he moved closer to that small congregation of three, it was not the lily that caught his eye, It was the girl who was admiring the lily. He stood like a statue for a passing moment, stunned by her appearance. The straight, dark hair flowing flamboyantly over her shoulders. Her charismatic eyes. Her mesmerizing lips were a thing of beauty. He felt an unprecedented joy when she suddenly gazed back at him, though only for a fleeting instant. At the moment, he was witnessing one of the most beautiful sights that have ever unfolded in front of him..all his life.
It was barely minutes before the congregation reduced in size from three to one and she was waving her hand at the departing couple. Her parents would come back to pick her up late in the afternoon. She stopped waving as they disappeared and noticed him as he briskly walked past her, back and forth. He never knew the art of breaking wonderful silences and even now it was the girl who just uttered something. He didn't believe what was happening around for an instant and blame the shock for his inability to comprehend those sweet set of syllables in malayalam. He paused to check if it was all real and to his joy, it really was. He said he couldn't speak malayalam and she quickly shifted to English. Conversation kicked in and they spoke animatedly for a few minutes. In the process, he lost himself completely amidst the sea of her charm.
The beautiful morning gave way to a humid afternoon as the function at the church went on without much attention to this romantic sonnet. The only activity he was engaged in was a series of stares at this new apple of his eye. A few of them noticed and many of them unnoticed. Einstein once said "Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute." And the words were so true to their meaning and in no time he was staring at the prospect of leaving the church when the function was over. Her parents were there again to take her back to the small town that she hailed from, a few miles south of Alapuzha.
He couldn't gather anything besides her name in the few minutes of conversation he had with her in the morning and as he saw her getting ready to move, he experienced a gush of blood flowing into his heart. He felt a need for some chivalry and courage at that moment though those aforementioned traits were very uncharacteristic of him. He took a credit card bill from his wallet and tore a small part from one of the rectangular edges. He was groping for words to write on that piece of pulp when his fingers jumped the gun without his cognizance. He looked down to see that he had already written his number and name on one side. The Adam in him wasn't that big a poet like Keats or Wordsworth. But he managed to write half a sentence on the rear side of the paper- "If you think we should be in touch...."
He slipped it under her cute pink bag that lay on a nearby table and started walking back home in quick strides as the function was over and the gathering had already dispersed. He didn't have the courage to look back but his heart started beating faster and faster as he made his way out of the church. He was wondering if she would see the note and pick it up. But he was afraid if it was too small and would go unnoticed. He slandered in whispers for not doing the act a bit more vividly. But the moment had gone and he couldn't get back anyway. He reached home and sat back in the reclining piece of furniture gazing at the fancy chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Minutes felt like hours and the ashtray slowly filled to its brim. But the beep from his mobile that he was so dearly yearning for didn't seem to appear. He woke up from the idyll that was going through his mind as his phone beeped about an hour later and for an instant he had his heart in his mouth. Words fail me as I try to describe his emotions at that moment. But the words on his mobile screen read "Hi. I picked up the note. Didn't expect one there though. How's the day? -
P.S : Apologies for the abrupt ending and a badly crafted anticlimax. But sometimes truth is bitter as the old adage goes and it is better hidden than confessed at large.
Sunday, 14 August 2011
Yours Fervently, An Ardent Cricket fan
The Saturday meant a start to an amusing long weekend of sorts after quite some time and the self had woken to a rare rooster that crows late generally. Resting on the armchair like an octogenarian, I had breathed a lot of fresh air and was running through my mind the sequence of events that would follow in the next 3 days. That contained the following : read something to lift the spirits, drink a lot of coffee, eat to the stomach full, get the 11 hour sleep that has been evading for a while now and repeat the same in the order stated. Such was the beauty of the thought flow when the mind was particularly disturbed by a wayward sound that arose from somewhere in the neighbourhood. After curious onlooking, I found to my surprise that it was the gigantic wall clock that had caused the upset of the mind as the gong was doing its hourly duty at 3 hours post noon. Half an hour before the proceedings of the 4th day of the third test between India and England at Edgbaston.
It has been quite a while since I got myself deeply interested in a cricket match by and large. The last time such an instance was recorded was way back in March 2003 when Sehwag and Sachin entered the field to chase a mammoth 360 and Glenn McGrath had the shining red piece of leather to start the proceedings. After a considerable hiatus, the same interest started growing in me just before the ongoing series against England. What good parenting and modern pedagogic techniques that exemplify moral high ground have taught the growing youngster is that thing called maturity. As the body expands vertically and horizontally when man wakes up each morning to drink his cup of horlicks or viva or whatever suits him, the mind ought to expand. That, my ancestors used to call "maturity".
It has been well documented by learned people in the scriptures and elsewhere that mental maturity is quintessential for the uplifting of an individual. Though much has been talked about in this regard, what was visibly missing in my self as I got the bunch of potato chips and the plate of ground nuts in a move to gear up for a day of pleasing test cricket was the same thing that I have repeatedly lacked - maturity. To cut a long story short, what my heart ached at that particular juncture was for some legendary batting display from the few legendary batting names we have got on the roster so as to save the match and save our number one status by some hook or crook. This particular thought is a good example of an immature one at that. I call the very idea of the whim to be singularly childish. One cannot expect such a huge turnaround after two devastating performances at Lord's and Trent Bridge. But the heart ached for it in the same way it used to do back in 2002 and 2003 when Indian cricket was one of my highest priorities in life. I used to be an ardent fan way back then. But things have changed ever since and I moved on to other more intellectual addictions namely football, spirit, love and the rest of the things that G.K Chesterton used to talk about at length. So, this cricket fever recurring after such a long while was more of an aberration.
The end result? A big disappointment. Nothing that can be classified under the banner called sport has disappointed me to such a great extent, though I remember one instance when Benfica or some equally infernal force from Portugal knocked Man United out of Champions league and if my memory doesn't fail me, it was in the year 2005.After that one, now this particular disappointment from edgbaston made an impact on me and it was a sore one to say the least. The three matches that have taken England to summit from where India just toppled, were just a vindication of the visible listlessness in the Indian camp. There are cries and shouts inside the minds of the players and fans to abandon these humiliations and get back home, in the same way the Flintoff-led English team did during the 2008 terrorist attacks in Bombay. But we Indians are made of sterner stuff and it is not in our blood to call something off cheaply like that. We can continue to be distrait for ages and eons together but we shall not abandon. That fact being a given in the current scheme of things, the only logical thing to do is to somehow get over the fourth one as quickly as possible and start getting geared up for the five match one day series that is to follow. We could have been a very disheartened lot in the last 3 weeks, but the fact remains that it is not the end of the world and the one day series can help to make up for the shame quite a bit. So, along with the Indian team, I am telling myself after yesterday's horror collapse that all is not lost and that English August could after all culminate in an Indian September.
In Cricket, class is permanent and form is temporary. Let us hope to roar back in the one day series and worry about the test shambles in an introspection later in the year when we go down under.
It has been quite a while since I got myself deeply interested in a cricket match by and large. The last time such an instance was recorded was way back in March 2003 when Sehwag and Sachin entered the field to chase a mammoth 360 and Glenn McGrath had the shining red piece of leather to start the proceedings. After a considerable hiatus, the same interest started growing in me just before the ongoing series against England. What good parenting and modern pedagogic techniques that exemplify moral high ground have taught the growing youngster is that thing called maturity. As the body expands vertically and horizontally when man wakes up each morning to drink his cup of horlicks or viva or whatever suits him, the mind ought to expand. That, my ancestors used to call "maturity".
It has been well documented by learned people in the scriptures and elsewhere that mental maturity is quintessential for the uplifting of an individual. Though much has been talked about in this regard, what was visibly missing in my self as I got the bunch of potato chips and the plate of ground nuts in a move to gear up for a day of pleasing test cricket was the same thing that I have repeatedly lacked - maturity. To cut a long story short, what my heart ached at that particular juncture was for some legendary batting display from the few legendary batting names we have got on the roster so as to save the match and save our number one status by some hook or crook. This particular thought is a good example of an immature one at that. I call the very idea of the whim to be singularly childish. One cannot expect such a huge turnaround after two devastating performances at Lord's and Trent Bridge. But the heart ached for it in the same way it used to do back in 2002 and 2003 when Indian cricket was one of my highest priorities in life. I used to be an ardent fan way back then. But things have changed ever since and I moved on to other more intellectual addictions namely football, spirit, love and the rest of the things that G.K Chesterton used to talk about at length. So, this cricket fever recurring after such a long while was more of an aberration.
The end result? A big disappointment. Nothing that can be classified under the banner called sport has disappointed me to such a great extent, though I remember one instance when Benfica or some equally infernal force from Portugal knocked Man United out of Champions league and if my memory doesn't fail me, it was in the year 2005.After that one, now this particular disappointment from edgbaston made an impact on me and it was a sore one to say the least. The three matches that have taken England to summit from where India just toppled, were just a vindication of the visible listlessness in the Indian camp. There are cries and shouts inside the minds of the players and fans to abandon these humiliations and get back home, in the same way the Flintoff-led English team did during the 2008 terrorist attacks in Bombay. But we Indians are made of sterner stuff and it is not in our blood to call something off cheaply like that. We can continue to be distrait for ages and eons together but we shall not abandon. That fact being a given in the current scheme of things, the only logical thing to do is to somehow get over the fourth one as quickly as possible and start getting geared up for the five match one day series that is to follow. We could have been a very disheartened lot in the last 3 weeks, but the fact remains that it is not the end of the world and the one day series can help to make up for the shame quite a bit. So, along with the Indian team, I am telling myself after yesterday's horror collapse that all is not lost and that English August could after all culminate in an Indian September.
In Cricket, class is permanent and form is temporary. Let us hope to roar back in the one day series and worry about the test shambles in an introspection later in the year when we go down under.
Thursday, 28 July 2011
Mallu 007
Disclaimer : I spoof a lot of things on my blog and elsewhere and this is only one of those which are totally pun intended. So I request my mallu friends to take it like a man with whiskers. I mean, in that rightly valiant spirit that defines a man. I have pieces for other states too. Leaving them for the future, he is this one on Kerala.
We do this annual trip to Sabarimala and I have been doing it for about 20 years or so. It would do injustice to my diary if a page doesn't go towards Kerala and my observations there by and large.
We do this annual trip to Sabarimala and I have been doing it for about 20 years or so. It would do injustice to my diary if a page doesn't go towards Kerala and my observations there by and large.
- Both the CPI and Congress in the state have done nothing whatsoever to make amendments to the rule that men should wear a mustache to get their name on the state census. In fact, babies born with mustaches (One happened in July, 1968) are considered true and patriotic malayalis without any additional levels of screening.
- Shaving, as a routine or time pass is more or less considered criminal and as people from civilizations like ours do not wish to commit sins by and large, they brush aside the need to shave. Last time they saw a razor is recorded around 1848, when razors were much talked about owing to the period of French Revolution.
- Talking of razors and the historical bit associated with it, school text books in Kerala have a chapter dedicated to this lethal weapon and it has been gathered from underground channels that that particular chapter is to be marked with a double star and pages highlighted with a permanent marker. The razor subject is a very important question in the state board exams.
- Jesudas is a guy who non keralites find it tough to identify though he is a famous name and all that in musical circles (not musical chairs, the circles where those oldies talk about Kalyani, Sankarabharanam and the like). Simple reason : The beard. It has triggered an identity crisis in the state.
- Malayalam is a wonderfully sexy language. My first ever crush was on a malayali girl way back in my 4th grade or something and ever since, the language flows like music in my ear when someone speaks it. I am like, I go wowwww..so cute.... when someone says something like nyaan toylet poyi ippo kazhuvi vannu. The only other language that I classify under the 'sexy' category is bengali. (My second crush was from Calcutta)
- They don't cook in Kerala. Period. Unless one considers fish, meen, karuvadu and those related things as food, that is. Nothing else is edible, including their rice (The big, thick grains that I have always found heavy to carry from plate to mouth.)
- The way they put garlic and chilli powder in all and sundry eatables in Andhra, these chicks from the Kerala kitchen like to have their servings with coconut. The dishes may categorize under 'sweet' or 'savory'. Doesn't matter much.
- The lungi is one thing that is strikingly common between the tamils and keralites. But the color in the latter's is mind boggling. They are artists by birth. I mean, that category of modern arts and the corresponding artists. With all colors and nothing else on the canvas. But there is one stark difference. They don't prefer the pattapatti (striped boxer) under the lungi unlike tamils.
- Owing to the proximity to Kerala, tamil, which is an otherwise not so beautiful language in my humble opinion, sounds sweet in Kovai and Nellai districts. But no, I have not had girl friends from those areas broadly.
- The architecture of houses and villas in Kerala are just too good and they give an optical illusion of gulf money on their facade at first look. Glittering outers, just like currency notes.
- The amount of vegetation in Kerala is second only to the amount of vegetation on the upper lips of protagonists in Wodehouse novels. Bertie's occasional vegetation pips theirs once in a while. But otherwise, Kerala has a clean record of being on the top.
- One of the many reasons why I respect Kerala as a state is the vast difference in the quality of banana chips. They are not like the ones we get from the Kerala Bakery on Usman Road. Speaking of food, Nairs there, are just too good in their chai recipe. The nairs with shops on street corners in Chennai are mere imposters.
- Kerala stays close to my heart for one more reason. That is the only other state (first one being tamil nadu) on the map of india where the alphabets 'z' and 'h' make sense in combination. As in Kozhikode and Alapuzha. No one else can say it right. One of my colleagues from Bihar is taking a crash course from me on that, but he is not a bright student and not coping too well, I should say.
- Last but not least, how can I miss the 'koooffi', 'oomane', and other similar pronunciation patterns, if you get the drift. Sweeeeet! I can give anything for those sweet syllables uttered by that hot
Menon babe..I forgot her first name.
Wednesday, 20 July 2011
Human Capital
I stumbled upon a recent report somewhere on the internet, published by Rutgers University and Tata Institute of Social Sciences which said 53% of Indians, who had gone to the United States to pursue higher studies, want to come back. Or at least, they have said so. The report gave another number that could be of interest. Only 8% of them felt "they wanted to stay back". So the important thing to notice here is that 92% of people are either not happy or they just don't know if they are. This fact is interesting and it triggers a train of thought. Folks like me, who have chosen the alternative route by not opting to take an educational loan and get a Masters Degree from an ivy league university think these guys over there are having some good fun and they are not home-bound any soon. I mean, at least their avatars on social networks hint something of that sort. The trips and fun and frolic and what not.
One possible reason for this popular choice of moving abroad after under graduate studies is definitely explained by the money factor. The other is the plethora of "high-skilled" job opportunities out there as opposed to the situation here, where we still count more low-skilled ones, though we see ourselves as a "maturing economy" by the day. Basic economics suggests that a more educated population will bring prosperity to any economy. And that will also help the betterment of many other social indicators that define a country's growth. I read somewhere that though we can be happy about something like an 80% literacy rate in our country, there are only 4% of people who are "computer-educated".That is alarming.
With "local entrepreneurship" being the buzz word of modern times in our country, I think folks over there, on that side of the Atlantic, have a dilemma to ponder. It is probably one of the best times for them to walk back with their pockets loaded and try to make well advised technology investments in their homeland. Now, coming back to where I started, if 92 percent of them want to come back sooner or later, then what are they waiting for? What with the rumors about a possible second wave of recessionary times in the west, one should probably count one's silver and look up the air fares. What we as a country need right now, to avoid something like the middle east crisis where high rates of unemployment hampers growth, is for some quality people and quality jobs to sustain themselves inclusively as part of our growth story.
One simple reason why a country like ours still has so much more low-skilled opportunities than the high-skilled ones is the fact that most higher management positions in niche sectors are reserved for the advanced markets like the US and the Europe. But that situation is, more likely than not, prone to change because of the stunning increase in the number of quality entrepreneurial ventures emerging each day. One other aspect of this ideal scheme of things that I am defining, is how the government and the the educational system in India can do their part. About 20% percent of our population drop out after primary school, as yet another survey elsewhere points out. So to make people stick to the educational system to complete their studies, the system should mature and evolve. That will in turn apply the brakes on the battalion of under grads who were heading westward hitherto. I know I am not doing justice to practical sphere of politics, so to say, by weaving an extraordinarily ideal growth story for the future, like in those Shankar movie climax sequences. But I think that is the way forward.
P.S : I am not against going abroad and making a career out there. Neither am I claiming to be someone who would not put himself on the next flight if the situation calls for. I am just saying if a good number of people who want to come back, really come back and contribute to our story, then that contribution will definitely be one that will count.
One possible reason for this popular choice of moving abroad after under graduate studies is definitely explained by the money factor. The other is the plethora of "high-skilled" job opportunities out there as opposed to the situation here, where we still count more low-skilled ones, though we see ourselves as a "maturing economy" by the day. Basic economics suggests that a more educated population will bring prosperity to any economy. And that will also help the betterment of many other social indicators that define a country's growth. I read somewhere that though we can be happy about something like an 80% literacy rate in our country, there are only 4% of people who are "computer-educated".That is alarming.
With "local entrepreneurship" being the buzz word of modern times in our country, I think folks over there, on that side of the Atlantic, have a dilemma to ponder. It is probably one of the best times for them to walk back with their pockets loaded and try to make well advised technology investments in their homeland. Now, coming back to where I started, if 92 percent of them want to come back sooner or later, then what are they waiting for? What with the rumors about a possible second wave of recessionary times in the west, one should probably count one's silver and look up the air fares. What we as a country need right now, to avoid something like the middle east crisis where high rates of unemployment hampers growth, is for some quality people and quality jobs to sustain themselves inclusively as part of our growth story.
One simple reason why a country like ours still has so much more low-skilled opportunities than the high-skilled ones is the fact that most higher management positions in niche sectors are reserved for the advanced markets like the US and the Europe. But that situation is, more likely than not, prone to change because of the stunning increase in the number of quality entrepreneurial ventures emerging each day. One other aspect of this ideal scheme of things that I am defining, is how the government and the the educational system in India can do their part. About 20% percent of our population drop out after primary school, as yet another survey elsewhere points out. So to make people stick to the educational system to complete their studies, the system should mature and evolve. That will in turn apply the brakes on the battalion of under grads who were heading westward hitherto. I know I am not doing justice to practical sphere of politics, so to say, by weaving an extraordinarily ideal growth story for the future, like in those Shankar movie climax sequences. But I think that is the way forward.
P.S : I am not against going abroad and making a career out there. Neither am I claiming to be someone who would not put himself on the next flight if the situation calls for. I am just saying if a good number of people who want to come back, really come back and contribute to our story, then that contribution will definitely be one that will count.
Friday, 8 July 2011
1 Person -1'd this
I would definitely not be a fan of this particular product fron Google. Being in the IT industry makes each person a techie, like it or not. So, I have forcefully convinced myself to choose a side when it comes to this banal Google vs Microsoft war of the 2008s and 2009s (Those cubicle mates call you a fool if you can't make a point in an argument like that). I chose to be on the former's side. Still, this product especially doesn't seem to bring home the bacon, in my humble opinion. The argument is many fold. Examining each one in a bit of a detail,
Firstly, I don't seem to like the idea of someone telling me to form circles. I mean, I was that rebellious kind of blighter at school and I used to get pricked instantly when my PT master called the class to form circles for a republic day drill or an aerobics performance. It somehow sounded to me like a girl thing, this forming a circle business. Boys, in general, prefer other shapes, like square (as in four square) or triangle (as in love triangle). Circles are definitely not the preferred ones. Secondly, I have a serious problem with this new parlance that Google is trying to introduce. "Hangout". Sorry? I didn't get that. Hitherto, I have not appreciated this "Tooottaally Rrroocckkinnngg Ddduuuddeee!!!!!!" kinda behavior that is common amongst today's youth. I am not trying to act like that gaffer sitting at the bar parlour, narrating stories from his childhood to poor twenty-somethings. But then, this idea of "Wassup mannnn", "Kewl dood", "Yo maannn" et al. never seemed to give me any sort of high. So this "hangout" thing makes me throw in the towel.
The other major problem is this tendency of assorted scientists from random universities in the United States to barge into this platform instantly after it was labelled as "one for the geeks". I am referring to these PhD pursuing, french beard sporting, wannabe scientists who are by and large not my cup of tea. I have heard from various sources that words like "publish", "research", "nerd", "geek" and the like give orgasmic pleasures to these young gentlemen and that explains why the "Google + for nerds" campaign caught their attention. But, to hell with my wall full of these blokes? Tests my patience, if I choose to euphemise exact facts. What with the XXL size images that Google has chosen to use for pics on walls, it gives me nightmares to see dozens of french beards on one single page. I am not that bravo kind of guy who girls dream about in their dreams, picturing them on black horses and what not. I am that pince nez kinda guy who is afraid of dreadful sights after 11 pm in the night. So this business of scientists' profile pictures does give me nightmares for sure.
This man here has spoken at length about how moms wouldn't like Google +. He says she would have difficulties in having her text bold or italicized while she posts about her latest hair-do or her new piercing. The argument is that it is not as simple as clicking that 'B' button or the 'I' button. That thing pisses me off too. I am not that aunty kinda person, don't mistake me here. Just that I think text editors need to be plain and simple. This business of adding asterisks and hyphens in my text box is not an easy task for me. I prefer the click B fundamentals.
Now, I am running out of points to support my anti Google + stance. But I think it is important to drive home my point before that chick in the green tee yawns for the third time in as many minutes. Heyyy! that guy in the red formals, hold on..just a bit..I am kinda wrapping it up.
For a bachelor like me in his twenties, the one, all important and primary reason to be on FB or any other equivalent social media website is the amount of color and variety he gets to gaze (read as ogle) at. I mean, this "Google + is for the geeks" thing is threatening to drive away those female flies. (I seem to have so few girls on my friends list). In that case, where is our motivation to hold on? The PT master calling for a circle formation?? or the scientist from Purdue uploading his display pic?
Monk! I need a monk!
Tuesday, 5 July 2011
Of Marguerite St Just, Sir Percy Blackeney and those golden days!
Disclaimer : For those who are uninitiated with "The Scarlet Pimpernel", here's where you can get your copy. The rest of you, here's a piece dedicated to that marvel.
And for those to whom, these names do ring a distant bell, welcome back to the age of English I (Prose) and English II (Non Detail). 'The Scarlet Pimpernal' was among the non detail books that we read during high school. It surely has been one of the best reads for me till date, though I have matured from the school book reader to the regular bed-time reader. I vividly remember the opening scene of the novel portraying the busy guillotine at its ghastly work. The carnage ceasing only at the late hour of the day, so that people could move on to spectating another amusing event of sorts..viz. the massacre and abuse of the aristocrats who have been exercising tyranny hitherto. The Calais to Dover ferry is another thing that comes to mind when one thinks of those 3rd period English classes, where people took turns to step onto the teacher's dais and read their assigned chapter out loud. The ones who gave a lyrical and musical touch to the narration were an instant hit among the girls and our beautiful English teacher who used to test those boys from the back bench frequently for their language skills. Of course, those lucky ones who stood out by way of narrating it musically, became articles of scorn from fellow last benchers. But it never stopped one from trying one's best to catch the eye.
My personal favorite from that beautiful novel has always been this prose that repeatedly appears through the narration.
"We seek him here, we seek him there,
Those Frenchies seek him everywhere.
Is he in heaven?—Is he in hell?
That demmed, elusive Pimpernel."
I still remember the way I used to finish that paragraph stressing the "demmed elusive" with all the fervour and respect for the guy in command of the 20 member secret committee. The war between the secret society of English aristocrats and the conspirators at the guillotine was an enthralling one and the narrative of the spy novel was too good to resist for any high school guy. The eloquent blend of espionage and romance between the Scarlet and his wife makes for a wonderful ending. Chauvelin was probably one of the most successful villain characters of that era and his portrayal brings to mind Col. Hans Landa of Inglourious Basterds fame. Still, the literary character (Scarlet himself) who captured the imagination of many generations of readers from around the world was definitely the hero for many boys in my class and I remember how we used to steal scenes from the novel and enact it with modifications during those interval recesses in between classes. In fact, theories suggest that the twin lives of Zorro, Batman, Superman and the like have been copied from this one time and again since Orczy put pen on paper. Though the celluloid adaptations of the book didn't bring home the bacon, they become known names in the period drama genre as the movies and series captured something as sensitive as the French Revolution and espionage during that period.
All said and done, this one has been and will always be the most convincing book I have ever read and I would do injustice if I write a punch line to finish my lengthy acclaim of this novel.
Baroness Orczy, apparently wrote sequels to this masterpiece later on. But none of them made such an impact as this one. Here we are, talking about it 6 years later, on a fine monsoon afternoon, just because of the impact it has made in the minds of readers. I am sure those who have read the novel aloud in class, along with me, will second my opinion on this stunning book.
And for those to whom, these names do ring a distant bell, welcome back to the age of English I (Prose) and English II (Non Detail). 'The Scarlet Pimpernal' was among the non detail books that we read during high school. It surely has been one of the best reads for me till date, though I have matured from the school book reader to the regular bed-time reader. I vividly remember the opening scene of the novel portraying the busy guillotine at its ghastly work. The carnage ceasing only at the late hour of the day, so that people could move on to spectating another amusing event of sorts..viz. the massacre and abuse of the aristocrats who have been exercising tyranny hitherto. The Calais to Dover ferry is another thing that comes to mind when one thinks of those 3rd period English classes, where people took turns to step onto the teacher's dais and read their assigned chapter out loud. The ones who gave a lyrical and musical touch to the narration were an instant hit among the girls and our beautiful English teacher who used to test those boys from the back bench frequently for their language skills. Of course, those lucky ones who stood out by way of narrating it musically, became articles of scorn from fellow last benchers. But it never stopped one from trying one's best to catch the eye.
My personal favorite from that beautiful novel has always been this prose that repeatedly appears through the narration.
"We seek him here, we seek him there,
Those Frenchies seek him everywhere.
Is he in heaven?—Is he in hell?
That demmed, elusive Pimpernel."
I still remember the way I used to finish that paragraph stressing the "demmed elusive" with all the fervour and respect for the guy in command of the 20 member secret committee. The war between the secret society of English aristocrats and the conspirators at the guillotine was an enthralling one and the narrative of the spy novel was too good to resist for any high school guy. The eloquent blend of espionage and romance between the Scarlet and his wife makes for a wonderful ending. Chauvelin was probably one of the most successful villain characters of that era and his portrayal brings to mind Col. Hans Landa of Inglourious Basterds fame. Still, the literary character (Scarlet himself) who captured the imagination of many generations of readers from around the world was definitely the hero for many boys in my class and I remember how we used to steal scenes from the novel and enact it with modifications during those interval recesses in between classes. In fact, theories suggest that the twin lives of Zorro, Batman, Superman and the like have been copied from this one time and again since Orczy put pen on paper. Though the celluloid adaptations of the book didn't bring home the bacon, they become known names in the period drama genre as the movies and series captured something as sensitive as the French Revolution and espionage during that period.
All said and done, this one has been and will always be the most convincing book I have ever read and I would do injustice if I write a punch line to finish my lengthy acclaim of this novel.
Baroness Orczy, apparently wrote sequels to this masterpiece later on. But none of them made such an impact as this one. Here we are, talking about it 6 years later, on a fine monsoon afternoon, just because of the impact it has made in the minds of readers. I am sure those who have read the novel aloud in class, along with me, will second my opinion on this stunning book.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)