Deer and the midnight drama!

On Friday evening I was browsing through Star trail pictures online and got all enthusiastic about it. So, I tried setting up my tripod and camera in my balcony and took a few test pictures (each exposed for about 10 minutes), even liked one of the pictures and uploaded in Flickr. But I was not hugely satisfied due to inherent light pollution in my area (due to shops and commercial establishments). I wanted to go a remote place that’s fairly dark. So, I went to Valley forge national park (though the website said they'll close at dark, I took my chances).

Once I reached there, I expected at least one cop car, but I saw none. So, I entered the park and as I drove very slowly through the park, I saw about 10 to 15 deer every few yards. It was slightly weird as I have never seen so many deer at one place. Most of them were asleep on the roads and got up to move on after staring at my headlights for a moment or two. There is this strange behavior in deer, they stare at you for a few seconds before they make up their mind. The problem is during those few seconds, you can’t say what they are thinking!

I reached the spot where the star trails photograph will be better (or at least so I thought to myself!). That particular spot had completely open skies and a soldier's hut in the foreground (which is important from a reference point perspective in star trails photography). I stopped the car, but was very reluctant to get off the car as there were deer everywhere. I contemplated for a while and then said to myself 'what the heck?! These are deer after all! It’s not like they will attack me!'. Still to be on the safer side, I left my headlights on and took my camera equipment and started walking towards the deer.

In about 5 seconds, my headlights went off (damn those auto off feature!) and I froze right there. Earlier when I mentioned that deer stare at you for a few seconds before they make up their mind, change it to minutes. I stood there and waited for the deer to move out of my way. So did the deer. I wouldn’t say it was pitch dark, but I could not see much except for hazy things (which I assumed were deer!). After a few minutes, I lost my patience and slowly started walking towards them. As I was walking, it dawned on me that deer can see very clearly in the dark. Yet those shitty creatures were staring at me without making any move. As I walked closer, I saw them getting up and slowly moving away from me. Good for me, I setup the tripod and spent the next one hour trying to take photos from different angles, lighting (or the lack of it), etc., It was quite silent and an eerie experience.

As I was taking pictures, I kept all my senses on high-alert observing any slightest movements in the bushes or any noise around. Though the deer pack never came back, it was quite a humbling experience.

A few lessons I learnt from this short adventure of mine:

1. Never try star trail pictures on the day next to a full moon day.
2. Start a little early rather than at midnight. I think around 10pm might be the right time.
3. Select a place which has zero light pollution.
4. If you can, try and stay away from the sleeping deer.

Anyways, this is the picture that turned out:

I most likely will try this again some time!

Baseball World series!

I was having a light phone conversation with a desi friend who lives in New York. He was watching Phillies vs Yankees baseball match on tv and as Phillies was on the verge of winning, he said something that a typical yankee fan would say when their team lose. I laughed at his reaction and said "okay!!! what difference is it going to make to us as to who wins these games anyways?"

He patriotically replied "Hey, I'm a yankee!". I laughed again and said "He! don't talk like a local" for which he replied "Yeah! I have lived in New york for about 5 years now!". I asked him "So, that makes you a die-hard fan of yankees, huh?! Its like when my friend asked all the H1s and F1s to control their emotions when they were talking too much about Obama and US elections. He asked them 'do any of you have voting rights here? Then shut up!"

My New york friend laughed at this and said "Baseball fascinates me, I even have a baseball glove in my house". I smiled, he continued "knowledge of baseball helps me have intelligent conversations at work". I agreed.

But this whole drama behind the Phillies victories in the world series is completely incredible. Most local tv channels mention Phillies at least once an hour, there is no single FM radio channel that does not talk about Phillies world series win. Wait a minute, did I say 'world series'? Shouldn't 'world' mean 'all countries'? The first time I heard the term 'world series', with my poor knowledge of baseball then (as much as I knew India doesn't play the game), I thought at least European nations paticipate in such series. Later I found out that only US states participate or even better, only US cities participate. Fantastic.

I'm not against the game, but the whole concept of having about 30 teams or so (all within US and a team from Canada) and then calling it a 'world series' is a little funny. Calling it 'National series' or 'American Championship', etc., would be a little apt. Though I hear that there are other countries that play baseball, they don't participate in such 'world series' making the whole term and American nomenclature debatable.

Nevertheless, I respect the enthusiasm and the fanfare behind the game. Living in the Philadelphia area, there has been so much going on because of recent Phillies sequence of victories. People come dressed in red most of the days to work and the HR gladly welcomes it. They even recommend every employee to sport a red phillies attire on friday and if one is not a fan, they say its a shame! Well well!

Getting acclimatized...a little too much!

Uncle sam's land seemingly influences some of their inherent traits to immigrants so effortlessly, even without one's apparent realization. I see this happen mostly to students/IT professionals, because they seem to interact with more Americans in a day than with desis.

I did not have this habit to saying 'You too' for many things when I was back in India. But this country has taught me enough to do so at least a good 10 times a day. This has become a habit, making me say it, even when not completely necessary.

Couple of months ago, as I was boarding a flight, the flight attendant, looked at my boarding pass and said 'You seat is on the left aisle sir'. I said 'Thank you'. She then added "Have a good flight sir'. I instantaneously said 'you too'. She gave a blank and a puzzled look. I moved on without looking back, feeling slightly stupid.

The other day, during my visit to a temple nearby, the priest offered me the 'crown of blessing' (or satari if you will) and mildly said 'Aayushmaanbhava'. Instantaneously I said 'you too!' He gave me the weirdest of looks, as if to ask 'are you ok?'. I shamelessly smiled back, realizing what a douchebag I was. He muttered something that appeared to me like 'hopeless!' and moved on.

The western traits seem to catch on desis after a prolonged stay in this place (in some cases after about a month or so). And where else is this evident if not in desi temples?! A visit to a desi temple in Uncle sam's land has always made me come home with a tinge of self-smiling humour. The various people I see, the way things are organized, the discipline people exhibit and of all, the priests themselves!

Most priests, either because they stay here for a long time or because they interact with 'American-turned-Desis' way too much, get acclimitized to the US culture so well. They tend do demonstrate some characteristics which one wouldn't get to see otherwise.

The other day, at a temple nearby, an old priest (who looked like he hailed from kumbakonam) asked me, "how you doin'?"

I said "Fine, how are you?".

He answered, "I'm good!".

I doubt if he would have cared as to how I did, if we both met in kumbakonam.

Later, when he distributed prasadham, he asked the person next to me "Are you good or you need more?" That seemed indigeniously American to me. After a while, as I was doing my pradhakshanam, I overheard two young priests talking enthusiastically about Yahoo-Microsoft merger and how it affected their stock prices. wow, I thought.

It's interesting to see how people catch up on local culture and get used to the land. Not that there is anything wrong about it, it just seems a little funny when the 'getting used to' part becomes a little too much at times!

Calling Names...

Today at one of the meetings at work, I heard somebody on the phone say a name called 'Shaayaamaala'. She seemed to be our client contact and soon everybody started calling her 'Shaayaamaala'. About 10 minutes into the meeting, somebody uttered her name once again and I had a sudden realisation that the person's name could actually be 'shyamala'. It never occurred to me that it could be an Indian name. As I was secretly laughing at the discovery, my super-smart project manager called her 'Shaayaalaama'. God help the names!

The way people named themselved and places must have gone through some complicated algorithms somewhere in the past. It can't be this tough for people of one geography to clearly say the name of someone from a different geography.

One of the my collegues (a desi who got his citizenship in this country recently) said that he is going to 'kali-fornia' that upcoming weekend. I asked myself 'really???!!'. I know people can screw-up certain names because of their cultural differences and language problems. But someone who has lived in this country for a long time should be able to say 'California' pretty neatly. I have never understood the logic behind people mispronouncing 'California'. But atleast I guess it's better than those middle aged desis who call it 'kali-porn-ia'!

One can argue that being a proper noun, names of people and places can be called however one likes to. But thats just plain stupid. This basic cultural difference can go a long way, I still get a hearty laughter when I think of this Cindy-Guindy episode and habanadha episode. Language is a great source of humour I think.

Nevertheless, I like blogging more than ever these days. The more meetings I attend at work, more thoughts I get. I'm telling you - people are so funny!

Company - most needed, perhaps!

One's life changes in more than one way, when one lives with company.


A while ago, I used to live this 'give-a-damn-about-anything' life, where nothing seemed like a big deal. Watching 3 movies a week used to be a minimum requirement. Back to back movies and regular midnight shows used to be more than habitual. For the last three years, I could almost count the number of fridays I would not have gone to the movie theatre. One could bet and spot me at a Loews/AMC on any friday somewhere between 8pm and 12am.

Now, for the past 2 months I have seen 2 movies - UP and Hangover. It would be funny if I attempt to say I was busy. I was not.

A while ago, eating out regularly in restaurants has been a norm in my life. Thanks to kavitha, not many restaurants in Phili area has been left out. During normal workdays, I used to have breakfast at dunkin, lunch at subway/Chipotle/Quiznos/Pizzeria and dinner once again at Subway/Chipotle/Quiznos/Pizzeria. I have spent months not visiting my kitchen.

Now, for the past 2 months I have harldy eaten out more than 10 times. It would be funny if I attempt to say I was cooking. I was not.

A while ago, sleeping in the evening hours used to be a mandatory activity like bathing and eating. I used to come home from work and sleep away to glory for about 4 to 5 hours. I wake up in time for my offshore call, yak for about half hour and then watch tv/talk on phone/browse for the next 3 to 4 hours. I used to hit the bed around 3am. Weekends are only worser.

Now, for the past 2 months I would have slept in the evening hours maybe twice and I goto bed not later than 1 am. It would be funny if I attempt to say I have changed my habits. I have not.

A while ago, I used to write blogs without recursively typing the same stuff over and over. I used to write one line movie reviews. I used to write short stories. I used to post comments on fellow bloggers blogposts. I used to tweet more often.

Now, for the past 2 months I write the same type of sentences over and over in a single blog (like this one). I can't control my laughter if I attempt to say I'm trying something different. I am not.

I have my parents with me. I don't miss movies. I dont miss abnormal sleeping habit. I dont miss being active in the web. Yet, I feel good. I'm happier.

One's life changes in more than one way, when one lives with company.

B2...

By virtue of inviting company, one graduates to a coveted position of a respectful son and in the process, obviating even the slightest house hold work done otherwise and basking in the seduction of opulent meal three times a day (at times four), to ultimately end up as one seasoned lazy bum.

Cell phone driving - What's your IQ?!

This afternoon, I was driving back to work from lunch and I was talking on cell phone. No hands-free, no speaker phone. Regular hand held style. State-law here restricts usage of hand-held phones while driving. I saw a cop in distance and immediately switched to speaker phone.

A strange thought occured to Kabali. He has been driving cars for about 6 years now. He loves driving so much and believes strongly if one loves to do an activity, one performs well in that field. Also, because of cell phone driving, he has never committed any mistakes such as having the car shift lanes without control nor run over the curb nor miss a traffic light.

But not all people may be good at such multi-tasking. Some people do screw up. It was mentioned in the web somewhere that more than 30% of accidents in the UK last year were due to cell phone driving.

Kabali's argument is that the IQ level of such people must be quite low. Yes, IQ level!

Here is his recommendation: When a cop pulls over, he should conduct a quick IQ test on the driver. If the IQ level is good enough, the cop could conclude that the person is capable of multi-tasking without any problems and should let the driver go. If the IQ level is low, then he can issue a violation ticket for cell phone driving.

I'm basing the argument on the logic that every single human being is different and that their capability on doing different things vary too. Having said that, I don't understand how the law and order can be so generalised. Atleast in areas where it could be customized for people, it should be.

Kabali honestly thinks so.

What I didn't want to happen...

Last saturday, for the first time in this country, I felt deprived. There are certain incidents in life that we hear about, but it never bothers us because we'll be certain that it'll never happen to us. But apparently, at times, it does.

As a welcome break from the winter, the recent weeks have been bright and sunny. Past saturday was no exception. I set off to Longwood gardens with Kavitha, had a great time clicking pictures of tulips and lillies in the 1200 acres of garden land. Some of the photos turned out quite well, made me one real glad dude.

I had planned to end the day watching the movie 'Soloist'. There I was at King of Prussia mall movie theatre for the 7.30pm show. Movie was very good. I came out of the theatre at around 9.40pm laughing away and cracking jokes, only to see glass pieces strewn around the sides of my car. A chill ran down my spine.

I rushed to the car and found that my rear window was broken open. My backpack with the camera was not seen. My heart almost stopped. My camera being taken away is the last thing I wished in my life. And there it had happened - I could do nothing. I felt a strange fear. And my friend's laptop bag was missing too (not with laptop, but with books et al).

I immediately called 911. Ten minutes later, a cop arrived, enquired about the theft, asked some basic questions, prepared a police report and gave it to me.

I asked her about the odds of getting my stuff back. She calmly replied that the closest surveilence camera was quite far from the place I parked my car and that it rotates, creating abundant blind spots. Also, such thefts happen in less than 30 seconds, making it impossible to capture clear evidence in the surveilence camera. In my mind, the answer translated to a 'You wont get the camera back'. That, from a cop in the second largest mall in US.

Of all my gadgets, there are two things I love the most - my camera and my phone. I would have given most of what I have to get my camera back. But at times, life appears to hit hard. Very hard. Along with the camera, I also lost my bluetooth headset (a gift), my iphone earphones, work ID card and such day-today stuffs. Hearty good bye to all of them.

I have applied for claim through my renter's insurance and hope I get some money back - keeping my fingers crossed.

And in parallel, I'm researching for my next camera, hopefully a better one! And I promise to myself that I'll never keep bags visible in my car.

All said and done, I just cant forget this day that easily. Life seems bitterly unfair.

Update: Couple of weeks later, I got a new camera and did a super cool trip this weekend. I'm feeling happy!

An episode at the hospital!

Falling sick is the last thing one wants. And visiting a Doctor is the thing after the last thing one wants. And if the doctor carries a injection, thats the thing after the thing after the last thing one wants. Ok, you get the idea.

Last week I was down with cold and fever for a good 5 days. What started as a mild cold graduated itself into a matured cough-attack which then blossomed into a solid flue-stint and then stagnated itself showing no signs of growth nor exit. 

"I'm a survivor" I said to myself and fought the germs. Evenings they would seem to subside and as I feel better and sleep, they attack with full blow. Those germ bastards.

Attempting to work from (not for) home did not offer the solution. Sleeping in the bed for hours together (alone!) did not help either. For a guy who normally says "Aeemm, I'll rough it out", this fever seemed one of its kind.

I realized I was fighting a losing battle and decided to go see a Doctor (inspite of a well-wishing friend who warned that the doctor most likely say 'It's nothing. Go home and take rest. You'll be fine').

Being somebody who hates appointments (and the gargantuan wait time associated with it), I walked into the Emergency care center at a hospital right next to my apartment. After registering my name, I waited in the reception area for about 20 minutes. I was then ushered into one of the emergency rooms and made to sit in a stretcher. 

A nurse stopped by and asked me 'what do we have here, sir?'. I said 'I have fever and cold that wouldn't subside'. She asked 'Anything else?'. I said 'No'. She asked  'Are you sure? do you have breathing problems or any such emergency?'. I said 'No'. She looked at me a for a moment, as if she was going to ask 'why the hell did you come to ER then?!'. Instead, she said 'A doctor will come and see you shortly sir', and disappeared.

Two hours passed by. Before I fainted with a mixed feeling of hunger, tiredness and angst, an old doctor entered the room saying 'Hi'. I returned the pleasantry. "So, what brings you here today?!", asked the doctor. I offered the same reply for the third time. 'Just fever?', 'Yes'. 'Okay' said the doctor and got into action.

He took a torch with a pointed lens and he inserted that into my ears to see what's happening inside. He jerked out immediately saying he can't see much, but as far as he can see, I was all clear. He moved to the next ear. This time, he did not even enter - he slowly said 'Interesting!'

'What?', I asked. "On the outside rim of your ear, you have a pimple. We need to get rid of that first" said the doctor and walked out. Before I could realise, he came back with a small injection. I freaked out. He understood and said 'No, dont worry - it'll be a small prick'. Knowing that's the universal doctor's language of saying 'you are gonna be punctured dude!', I said 'I hate injections doctor, should we do this now?!'.

'Oh definitely' he replied as readied himself with the torch light and the injection weapon. I closed my fist and my eyes as tight as I could and expected a prick. One hell of a prick it was. I screamed mildly and thought it was done. The doctor attempted again and 'bang!', another prick. I almost called him names, when the doctor mildly said 'whatever is in there doesn't want to let go that easily'. So are you, I thought. 

He then threw the injection into the trash and I saw blood on his hands. F*ck! "Is that my blood?' I asked the doctor. He replied 'yes, but don't worry. I'll go get some bandage' and gave me some cotton to try and hold the blood. My fever was long gone.

Doctor came back with a bandage and put it across my ears as he said 'a slightly awkward place for a band-aid, ain't it?!' He laughed. Damn your humour, I thought. He then said 'your fever is a minor viral infection. It's nothing. Go home and take rest. You'll be fine'.

I thought of my clairvoyant friend, as I walked out of the hospital with a bandage on my ears and my wallet emptied by about 80 bucks.

Anxiety!

"Good morning, sir" the 60-year old security guard wished me as I entered my workplace this morning. "It is, isn't it?!" I replied, with all enthusiasm.

Today is certainly one of my happiest days - this evening, I'm leaving for a 10 day road trip across America. Anywhere anytime , I crave for driving, photography and travel. If I do this trip right, it would be sort of like three birds in one stone!

I have always been an enthusiastic planner - at times I even wonder if just the planning would give me enough satisfaction, even without doing whatever I was planning for in the first place.

This cross country trip is no exception - I sort of completed all my planning activities diligently. In the last few days, I have spent evenings sitting on my couch, staring at my laptop, persistently trying out multiple route options in Google maps, optimising the driving distance, choosing the best hotels to stay, selecting the right places to visit and jotting down the entire itinerary in a google spreadsheet. Ofcourse with the able help of her.

As much as I'm excited, my friends and colleagues at my workplace have been too. They have been suggesting places to visit, restaurants to eat and knowing me, a list of 'dont even think of doing that' stuffs!

After having heard all that and trying to curb the ever growing anxiety, I'm all set for the trip now. I'm hoping to write my daily experiences here. Do follow the action!

Cant figure out why, but I feel like a Pirate now!! Aye!

My other eye...

I give ample importance in life to friendship, travel & photography (necessarily in that order). Friendship has always been integral to me. The passion for photography in the recent times has increased proportionately with my penchant for traveling. As a measure of expressing all the three to a greater extent (than done otherwise), I take a step forward and start another blog. But wait, it’s not just me.

Looking back, I remember the excitement during the first few days of my acquaintance with one of my favorite bloggers. The excitement slowly turned into unadulterated joy, when I found we have myriad of common interests. And of all the interests, the biggest one is our love for traveling. From then on till date, we have spent a lot of time together to call ourselves very good friends.

She writes extremely well and the other day, in one casual moment, she asked ‘We travel a lot. We both write. We might as well start a travel blog together. What say?’ Bang! we started “Footloose on the Freeway”, almost instinctively the same evening.

Going forward, I’m planning to blog my travel experiences there. Encourage you to visit the blog.

[P.S: Arunsundarthinks would still be an active blog, throwing the same-nothings for lets say, a few more decades till the author gets either amnesia or euthanasia]

Motor Pun'ire!

Indian restaurants in the US are strange in more ways than one. Though most of them do a good job in serving the food right, some simply don't. They rather specialize in screwing up things like professionals.

Outside India, most Indians know enough not to compare home food (or even food from restaurants in India) to food in US desi restaurants. Restaurants capitalize on this very idea. They effortlessly let the quality of food slide, but try in despair to infiltrate into other areas.

Maybe the hospitality matters.

Most restaurants make sure the guests half-way through their meal need to be asked 'how is everything'. I wonder what might happen if one says 'the food sucks!! '. Most waiters are uber-confident about the reply that they don't even wait to hear from the guest.

There have been times when I have asked for water and got looks as if I was asking for a good share in the thousand shares of Google the waiter owns.

To get a better feel of the (in)hospitality, one should enter a restaurant at 9.45pm, when the closing time is 10pm. The waiter might expect the guest to decide till the dessert, before even one is shown a menu card.

It eventually becomes a discovery that quality of food and hospitality are perhaps not the only reasons one goes to restaurants. Like most others, I have this habit of not eating the same variety of food in the same restaurant for the second time.

The other day, as I was browsing through the menu at this Indian restaurant, I found something called “Motor Pun'ire”. I almost thought it was a new dish, before I realized the intended name is actually “Mutter Paneer”. Whowould imagine mis-spelling to this extent?! Looking through the other items such as “Alu Motor”, “Chicken Mosolla” the laughter was more satiating than the food in the first place.

One infers the name of the food hardly matters either.

Despite all these, I for one consider going to an Indian restaurant a regular activity - as I believe "eating Indian food is the best thing to happen, especially when one does not have to cook them". I happily let go on a few other things.

Doppelgänger - III

Continued from here.

Carl did not know it was going to be the longest night he has ever seen in his life. 

He climbed down the stairs as fast as he could and when he reached Aunt Natasha's room, he stopped. The living room to his left looked eerily silent and unperturbed. So did the hallway. Absolute Silence. He held his breath for a moment and he could hear nothing but his pounding heart beat. He was not sure if he should knock the door. 

He heard something behind him in the stairs. In the spur of the moment, he pushed open Aunt Natasha's room and stormed inside. Aunt Natasha was not there in her bed. 

Utterly panicked, he looked around the room. Finding no movement but for the swinging ghostly drapes, he thoughtfully made his move. He knocked the door to the bathroom and called out for Aunt Natasha in his shaken voice. Receiving no response, he slowly opened the door. The lights were ON, but he did not see what he half-expected. The bathroom was as tidy as it could be.

He quickly turned around and walked towards the closet. He examined the closet doors one by one, when he noticed the third closet door left slightly ajar.

Scared and bewildered, he opened the closet door as slowly as he could. He saw her there. Aunt Natasha looked pale and her eyes were wide open. Her hair was awfully disheveled and blood was still oozing out of her head on the right side. Aunt Natasha was dead. Carl screamed and felt his head spinning. 

He ran to the living room and lifted the phone to call his mom. He heard somebody walking down the stairs. Carl slowly kept the phone receiver down and remained silent. In a moment, he saw his own image walking down the stairs slowly looking directly at him. The image increased its pace and hurried towards Carl. 

His senses urged him to run, but he could not respond. His legs refused to cooperate. His brain was numb. He knew he would be killed. He was out of tears. He realized he was totally helpless. 

The image kept walking towards Carl. 

The next 10 seconds seemed unceasing. The image took every step cautiously. There was no mercy left in it. No sign of love. No smile. Carl suddenly thought of his piano, his only obsession and desire in life. He wished he played his piano one last time before dying. He could not figure out why he thought so. The image almost neared him. Carl hated the image, oblivious of the fact that it’s his own. 

In seconds, the image came close enough to touch Carl, but stopped. Carl closed his eyes. He waited. He waited for pain. He waited for death to beckon. But nothing happened. 

Carl opened his eyes and saw the image still standing at the same position. He raised his eye-brows. So did the image. He raised his hands. So did the image. He smiled slowly. So did the image. 

He suddenly heard his mom shouting "What the hell are you doing at the bathroom for so long?! It’s getting late for school!"

 

The author, being inspired by Manoj 'Night' Shyamalan attempts (vainly) at writing horror stories. And dreams of being called Arun 'Day' Sundar. 

Being Prodigal - a good deed

I read about the falling US economy in more than one daily. There is not a single news channel that does not mention the job losses and the "financial down-spiral" in the US, as the experts call it. As much as I wish for people's happiness, there is pretty much nothing I can do to save the economy.

Knowing me, from the day I started earning I have been excessively extravagant. As a matter of fact, a stronger adjective than 'excessive' would fit the above sentence better. I always say to myself "There is only one life - I might as well live it the way I like it!" And saying so, I try to master the art of spending and strive to become the 'Lavish Lord of Philadelphia'.

Having said that, I revisit the first paragraph to say "As much as I wish for people's happiness, there must be something I can do to save the economy." That's right.

I spend more and attempt to save the economy.

By virtue of expending more, I'm left with not just a bank balance that's hitting the floor, but also a great mental satisfaction of uplifting the economy (?!). I can explain. The much-needed cash is put into churning the economy. I travel more, I gas up my car more, I buy a lot of clothes, I watch many movies, I buy a lot of electronics. You think I'm doing all these for myself? Not one bit!

All for the economy.

I tell people they should travel more often than they normally do. They should travel by flight and avoid buses and trains. I ask people to periodically change their mobile phones to the latest and expensive ones. I ask people to upgrade their laptops every year. I ask people to stop cooking at home and eat out everyday. I ask them to stop walking and take cabs, even for short commutes.

And by indulging in such activities, people spend more. Because of more money being put to use, more services are needed in turn. More people are employed. More job opportunities. More cash inflow. Increased spending. Increased Rate of exchange. Higher GDP. Saved economy.

My dad always tells my mom "Your son is unbelievably prodigal. He should be more calculative." My mom expectantly replies "Not so true. He is always right. If he does something, there would be some good in it!" I smile.

Being prodigal is indeed a good deed!

Doppelgänger - II

Continued from here.

Carl thought he saw something moving at the last moment, but he was too scared to turn back. Instead, he started running. Suddenly, something held his legs and he tripped. He fell flat on the floor. His nose hurt. He couldn't breathe with ease. With the heart rate refusing to go below 120 bpm, he looked back at what made him trip and fall.

The carpet edges were worn off and were folded up. Could the carpet have tripped him? He wasn't sure. He quickly got to his foot and raced towards Rachel's room. He switched on the lights and almost called her out, but only to find she wasn't there in the bed. Puzzled and confused, he looked around in the big room. The room was silent and untroubled - he was not sure what he is to do next.

Rachel must have gone to the restroom, he said to himself. Someone touched him at his shoulder. He jerked heavily and almost screamed. But out of reflex, he turned back. Deep inside, he was expecting Rachel. But he was aghast at the sight he saw. It wasn’t her. He choked for a moment and his body started shivering tremendously. What he saw made him gasp for breath. He saw was his own image staring right at him, quite diabolically. He couldn’t believe he is seeing himself standing right in front of him.

He cried out for help, but words wouldn’t come out. He was trembling and the tears were already rolling out of his eyes. He couldn’t process any thoughts. As he was shaking, he felt one more touch at his shoulder from behind. He turned back and this time, it was Rachel. Carl turned back once again, but the image was gone. Rachel asked "Carl, what are you doing here? I thought you were asleep. And why are you crying?" with all concern and mild panic. Carl talked for the first time in the last couple of hours. He said "I'm scared Rach…"

Rachel was about to say something and Aunt Natasha came. "Aren't you kids supposed to be sleeping now? Carl, what happened? Why do you look so pale?" Rachel pitched in "No Aunt Natasha, he was going to the restroom and he tripped. I heard the noise and came to see him. He is ok". Aunt Natasha wasn't convinced, she looked at Carl, who was still trembling "Carl, are you alright?" "I...I should be ok", Carl said. "Ok kids, go back to sleep. This is close to midnight and it’s not healthy to be up!" After Aunt Natasha went, Rachel looked inquiringly yet empathetically at Carl. Carl slowly asked "Can I sleep in your room today?" Rachel nodded without second thought.

Rachel had the reading lights on. Carl could not sleep. He could not understand. Fear was more apparent than anything else. In about 20 minutes, Rachel dozed off. Carl still couldn't sleep. As much as he tried to shut the thought of the image out, he couldn't. He still heard the crackling of the glass windows. He rolled over to lie on his chest, his face buried tight inside the pillows. He heard nothing for 10 seconds. Silence. This is better, he thought.

Suddenly, he felt someone jerking his legs in one fast motion.

He quickly turned over to saw all the lights switched on. Windows and doors were wide open. Not being able to understand a single bit of what's happening, he turned his face to Rachel. Rachel was lying in a pool of blood with her neck split open. There was not a sign of motion. There was no sound. His heart stopped for a moment. He felt like screaming at the top of his voice, but his senses did not cooperate. He felt numb.

He shook and got up from the bed to run towards Aunt Natasha's room. The image appeared behind him, smiled and followed.

Carl did not know it was going to be the longest night he has ever had in his life.

Continued here

Vacation-o-mania!

Work is the only known entity, which can make one feel miserable and mirthful, both at the same time, most of the times. As dubious as it sounds, I wonder why I like what I do with fervor. When I step into most meetings at workplace, I feel like a Gladiator stepping into an arena. I have no idea of what might come from which door.

I work in an environment which demands agility, responsiveness and deftness which would otherwise be required only in the Space station building team at NASA. But I don’t work for NASA. And we aren’t building a space station. Yet I strive.

These days, I have started wondering how much of a fit is the verse 'Life comes at you fast' to my life. More surprising is the fact that this statement fits like a charm when the word 'life' is replaced with 'work'. 

I'll not be the only person in this world if I say I look forward to vacation desperately. And I'll say exactly this when asked any time of the year, no matter how the days look like. Apparently, seeking vacation seems like a universal birth right. 

An average IT professional gets about 2 weeks of vacation an year. At times, I wonder if it'd make one happier when work and vacation switch roles.  That is, every year one should be granted about 2 weeks of work and 50 weeks of vacation. 

Though hypothetical, would one have enough stuff to do for 50 weeks an year and call all that as part of vacation? Doing nothing in life is as challenging as keeping oneself sane while being busy. I reckon doing nothing has to be one of the toughest things in life. 

My imbecile brain invents that humans hate idling as much as they seem to love it. One needs to be occupied in their life. The seek for vacation and the thirst to slug is shallow. Being busy is the solace. 

To earn or to learn, one needs the brain to be put to use!

Rewind and Rejuvenate!

Re-experiencing the past days of life always gives one a nicer feeling. Going back to the past, reliving those happy moments, forgetting all about the present makes one a happier person. The other day, I took off to New York City to meet a friend. Pressingly short, yet incredible vacation right in the middle of an otherwise hectic work week it turned out to be. I used to work in NYC for 3 years and after I moved out of the city, in spite of so many weekends I go there to meet friends, its been a while I spent a week-day there. It indeed gave me an incredible feeling to witness the same fast life, where there is an untold haste in every body's lives. I reassured for the nth time that nothing is slow in this city, except for the hobos.

After a sumptuous meal at Saravana Bhavan, my friend and I decided to get out of the city and go to Long Island beach. As we were passing Queensboro Bridge, I saw the building we used to work and I instantly felt the surge of nostalgia inside me. Without giving much of thought, I took the exit and in minutes, pulled over in front of the building. I found the number of an ex-colleague and called him. He was fortunately still working there and he said he would be more than happy to meet us. He came down to the lobby and we met for coffee. A few minutes later, we called up another colleague and he joined us too. The four of us spent more than an hour, talking nothing but old memories. It was like school-kids talking fondly of their previous years as they grow up.

In a while, I enquired for our ex-boss and one of the colleagues suggested we go up and see her. He signed us in. We went to the 37th floor to meet her. I knocked her office and peeped inside. She was still for a short second and her face lighted up instantly. She enthusiastically screamed and gave me a huge hug. That her scream did make a couple of other folks open their office and check if everything was alright did not bother her. She enquired about my well-being and said she is really happy to see us. She wanted to go out for a smoke. And we all went down - another one hour passed in a jiffy.

Overall, it turned out to be such a wonderful evening. I honestly never knew I would be such a wanted guest at my previous workplace. I have busted my ass off for a good 3 years there and opted out of the place myself, because of fear of career stagnancy. The decision of moving out has been good for me, but to revisit the place for one day was absolutely great! When I stepped into the elevator and walked among the cubicles, it gave me such an inexplicable happiness. I have felt such a strange felicity only once before when I went to my school. Rewinding the days of life is indeed nice!

The other thought that I had, as I was driving back home is the gratitude that Americans show. I know it’s a tad silly to compare Nations in this regard and invoke generalization. Yet, as much as I hate to say this, I have not seen many desi managers who are great vis-à-vis western managers. Maybe it has got to do with the basic instincts or ethos.

My plan of going to the beach was messed up, yet I felt so satiated to have met people from the past. That immediate happiness my ex-boss showed or the excitement my colleagues displayed - I guess I cannot forget for some more days to come.

Rewinding in life does rejuvenate! Big time.

Pets and Door banging!

Animals are one of the those creatures in this world, who can make me happy only when they pose in a wallpaper or be inside the cage. Definitely not when encountered in person. I like watching Animals on TV - I can watch the life history of even a hippopotomus in National Geographic for 4 hours. But when it comes to humans moving closely with animals, it sort of subtly freaks me out. I have this strange habit of being a totally different person while watching animals/pets on TV against seeing them in reality.

And yaa pets...when I see a dog on a leash being walked by somebody and when they come under proximity, a mild tension creeps in uninvitingly. I make all efforts to conceal my fear, or for lack of a better word, restlessness. Yet I resort for a detour. The other day, I saw Chandler saying in 'Friends' sitcom that one can never say what a dog thinks. How true!

Whenever I visit people who own dogs and consider them as more than family members, I make sure that the dog keeps a safe distance from me. Howmuchever they find it difficult to understand, I keep emphasizing 'dogs have to be kept where they should be'. I have a strange feeling that most dogs in this world hate me and somehow or the other, plan on attacking me one day.

One of my friends (while being caressed all over her face by the tongue-lick of whatever-dog-she-has) offers me an explanation. For her, the dog is more than a sibling. The only companion who can identify her. The only comrade who never changes color. The only friend who is loyal, honest and trustworthy. I laugh her out. Considering me, other than the reality that a dog can never talk back, I find nothing spellbinding.

During many of my regular visits to Central park in New york, I have wondered how small a grown-up dog can get and how much of love and affection can it withstand, no matter how small it is. No exaggerations - I have seen dogs smaller than the size of my sneaker. And it is funny when they bark. I laugh at my own joke of imagining telling one of such dog-owners to take the dog out of my way or I might mistakenly stamp on it! As per many of my friends, 'Stamp on it' is considered a blasphemy. Should be 'stamp on him or stamp on her'. It is amazing how much of affinity, love and affections humans show for pets.

And yesterday, the salesman at the guitar shop while talking to me and walking, tripped and fell on the floor. One of the on-lookers mockingly offered a comment that the salesman has the eyes of a cat. He gets up and asks her not to compare him to a cat. Per him, the cats are partially blind. He extends an unsolicited explanation - how his pet (a cat) runs across his living room and the kitchen at lightning speed when there is no need for such a real hurry. And most of the times, he says the cat at such a blinding speed would go bang herself straight on to the door. Not a glass door, not a transparent door - but a plain hard wooden one. BANG! He says he can never explain such a behaviour. One more person joins in saying how his lazy dog would be sleeping in the couch - And all of a sudden, out of the blues, she would toss herself up from the couch and sprint like a lightning.

Such maddeningly-crazy-running-episodes in the house are okay. And so are the annoyingly jarring barks. But there is much more pets can do. As much as they invite incredible love and affection of some people (like these babies do), they lead to the opposite too for others.

Without even their knowledge, pets can easily give one a phobia, one is not born with. Funny. Indeed.

[P.S : Pet lovers, please take this post in the lighter sense, as this is my 150th post!]

On being busy…

One finds the subject of being busy, as a matter of fact, very immanent. But in the general notion, the definition pertains to one's work. The work, which pays for the bread and butter, which in turn leads to the want of more bread and butter. And when one is occupied with heaps of work, everything else seems to shift to lower gears. The frequency of hectic days spilled with strenuous schedules in crescendo turns one to be habituated to the same.

The journey of 'work for home' to 'work from home' seems fluid. The occasional scream of the US open applauses amidst rallies on the TV does not seem to bother, strangely. The saga of such feverish days makes one a little upstage from an otherwise social life. One finds it difficult to fit the tasks of writing stories or tweeting, in the always-less-than-sufficient 24 hours. Needless to say, the whole befalling leads one to hope for a serene weekend.

Oddly, the thirstily anticipated weekend ends up less placid than the weekdays. And the weekend radar is replete with variegations of flashing laziness by idling away comfortably in the couch, watching TV aimlessly, staring at the clouds from the balcony, listening to music avidly, fiddling with the phone for hours, talking on the phone for minutes and the likes. Some might call exactly this a defined form of relaxation. Yet, one considers doing all these diligently as being busy and absorbed.

However occupied weekends are with aforesaid activities, just to think of Monday morning and the week ahead rapidly throws up a flare of alarm. Life suddenly seems brilliantly mundane. But this seemingly incidental thought is attempted to be hazed under the hoods of being busy.

Yet another week beckons. One teaches oneself the art of being busy.

Tennis and Rafael Nadal

One follows tennis for the sheer energy and the agility in the sport. No other sport known to mankind seems to give the 'feel' of the game like this one does. That, even for one watching the sport in TV. Yesterday, I was watching the 2nd round US Open Men's singles between Rafael Nadal and Deheart. There are only a few sportsmen in this world that has the capability of making you jubilant with every move of theirs during the game, if you support them and cringe with frustration, if you support the opponent. Most of you would not disagree when I say how it feels to be a fan of Sachin when he is in full form in a winning match against let’s say, Pakistan. At the same time, you know how it feels to be a Pakistani supporter, while Sachin blasts the kookaburra all around. Rafa is the only other player who in my opinion can give a similar feeling to the audience, depending on if one supports him or otherwise.

I used to hate Rafa for the very fact that he played almost every Grand slam final in the last couple of years. And mostly against Federer, who was incidentally my Fav only after Sampras. Rafa getting to the finals almost became a routine, just like how frustrating it was to watch Venus and Serena play almost all women's grand slam finals. As much as I hated to watch Nadal play, his sheer aggressiveness and the attitude on and off the field made him seem more like a real fighter. Or in better terms, a gladiator. No matter whom he plays against, he makes sure that he doesn't let go that easily. If he gets beaten by a good volley or loses a tough rally, he comes back hard. He approaches the next point with aggression mixed with finesse and wins it, mostly. Just like how Sachin (in top form) goes after the bowler when beaten by one good lucky delivery.

If the opponent is easy, Rafa crushes him, showing little mercy. Over time, Rafa has reached a position where it leaves one in surprise when he makes an unforced error. He strives for perfection and that’s exactly what it takes to be a No.1 player. Federer is more a composed and yet, a compulsive player. As much he is considered to be one of the greatest players in the tennis history, a much younger Rafa is taking over the throne after much of strenuous hard work and discipline. As much as one hated Rafa, it is admiring to observer the way he is climbing up. The very body language of his shows no pressure on winning whatsoever. That is something I have seen in a very few players. Winning seems easy for him.

For the sheer love of the game, one might think 'No matter who wins or loses, the sport is the winner!', but certain players like Rafa redefine. They invariably ascertain what the game is all about. And I love it.