Busy doing nothing. Hence the post.

-I am guffawing everytime I recall this bit from Jezza's column featured in the Times today:

"..Nor could I understand how someone from Tooting could possibly support, say, Manchester United, a team sponsored by those hateful bastards at AIG and made up of players from Portugal, France, Holland and, in the case of Wayne Rooney, Walt Disney. Where’s the connection? What’s the point?"

The Wayne Rooney bit is fan-effing-tastic!


- I finished reading the Hamster's autobiography - 'On the Edge : My Story'. Great entertainment, much like the man himself!


- Saw the trailer of 'The Fast and The Furious : 4' whilst channel-surfing. It's got a rather unimaginative tagline which goes : 'New Model. Original Parts'. If somebody tried to sell a car or a bike with such a tagline, the message sent out would be screamingly obvious : "When we first made it, it was hopeless. In fact, it was so bad that no one noticed. Giving it a new set of snazzy decals and new marketing bullshit in the product brochure, we expect to sell more units than we sold last year. Err...we sold none last year. We have an overflowing inventory." I sincerely hope I can laugh as much at this movie as I did when I saw 'The Fast and the Furious : Tokyo Drift'. Muahahahaha.


- I just discovered that my 'Scientists and Innovators' course presentation is on the 1st of April! We'll be doing a presentation on SN Bose. Or was it JC Bose? Damn.


- I watched a rerun of the BNP Paribas Open semifinals on Star Sports. The one involving Federer and Murray was... weird. Federer played brilliantly in the 2nd set and in the 1st two games of the 3rd. Then, inexplicably, he caved in, making a string of unforced errors. That was extremely disturbing. How on earth did his game fold up after he had clearly settled into a good rhythm? I don't know. Neither does anybody else, including Federer.
The other semifinal ensured that normal service was resumed. Nadal beat Roddick 6-4, 7-6. The strong winds made things a little dicey, but every time Rafa let that forehand rip he made A-Rod look slow-witted and ponderous. Duh.


- Saw the 'Every Second Counts' commercial aired by Star Sports as a part of the 2009 Formula One season's advertising campaign. Liked it. Looking forward to what promises to be a cracker of a season! Rock it, boys!


- As you must have realized by now, Star Sports has been my companion for the day.


- I need a new pair of aviators. Now. I need 3 grand to pay for them. I don't have 3 grand. So I shall shut up.


- I am also wondering why I never talk to my parents for more than 90 seconds. This is in stark contrast to my other hostel-mates. I just mutter a few 'hmm's and 'yeah's, followed by long silences, until my mother says,"You don't have anything to tell me. Bye.". And hangs up.


- Checked out the wedding pics of my maternal cousin, who got married on the 14th of February. I wasn't there. Darn.


- I learned that there exists a racing series called 'The Middle East Rally Championship'! Surreal, I say!


- I added the tags for this post, clicked on 'Publish Post' and sat back to watch 'Engine Block'. On Star Sports :D

Happy birthday, sie biest !

The Porsche 917 at the Daytona Historic Event

Over the years, there have been many manically fast and technically magnificent race cars which have now become part of automotive lore. Enthusiasts discussing them do so in hushed, reverential tones and manufacturers lovingly preserve surviving examples in their heritage museums, or even the hallowed precincts of the factories in which they were conceived and built.

Presently, I’ll go in a completely different direction. As a 4-year old, I remember my favourite toy being a dark blue pull-back toy car – it had stickers screaming '69' on its flanks and several others saying ‘Gulf’, ‘Koni’ and ‘Tag Heuer’ – I didn’t know what any of that meant. It was my most prized possession and I had a great time playing with it all over the house.

It was a model of the Porsche 917, THE Porsche 917, the fabled Porsche 917, the car that annihilated all its opposition and occasionally its own self in a fiery ball of aluminum, titanium and magnesium. Apart from blitzing the Le Mans, the Can Am, the Targa Florio, and several other racing classes, it was also immortalized on celluloid in the Steve McQueen starrer, Le Mans(1971). Endorsement from the King of Cool, no less! 2009 marks the 40th anniversary of the 917, and Porsche is commemorating this occasion at the Goodwood Festival of Speed in July. The world is celebrating and so am I!

It was born under interesting circumstances, to say the least. The FIA, in a way, had a hand in this. In those days, Le Mans witnessed insane speeds and cars like the Ford GT 40 MkIV and the Ferrari Ps (the 250Ps, the 330Ps, the 412 Ps, etc) with their massive engines and immense power outputs were the undisputed kings. The FIA then tweaked the rules a little to allow cars with smaller engine capacities to be a part of the World Sports Car Championship and to entice more manufacturers to line up on the starting grid. There was a catch, however – the manufacturer couldn’t just set up a race team, devote the finances and manpower and build a precious few cars to compete in the championships. The cars had to be homologated as well. That is, they had to be built and sold as road-legal machines to people like you and me. A manufacturer could take its cars to race as long as it had made at least 25 units for road use.

Ferdinand Piech(right) and Gerhard Mitter(left) at the first presentation of the 917

So, Porsche got started on its project. A super-lightweight 42 kg aluminium spaceframe, several titanium and magnesium alloy components, a glass fibre body-shell and a 4.5 litre flat-12 naturally aspirated engine putting out a substantial 520 horsepower were thrown into the mix, and the 917 was born. It was not without its share of pitfalls, though – the spaceframe was barely able to contain the immense power that the engine belted out. It was riddled with mechanical and aerodynamic faults and if it were not for the iron-will of Ferdinand Piech (currently President, Volkswagen AG), it would have most certainly died a silent death. It was not good at changing direction, and was extremely unstable at high speeds. Drivers did not want to drive it because it was a total bitch to drive. This called for a revision of its specifications and the aero components. The result was the 917K(Kurzheck) which got a choppy, wedge shaped tail, which was the idea of engineer John Horsmann. Later, an LH(Langheck) version was developed for the high-speed circuits, with enhanced aerodynamic efficiency and greater stability. These days, engineers with their laptops, wind tunnels and CAD simulations sort out these problems in the conception stage itself, before a single body panel has been created. Things were slightly different back then. They had to tack on new components and test it on the racetrack. Still no luck? Go back to the shed and try again!

And when Porsche got it right, boy oh boy, did it deliver! It won Porsche it’s first Le Mans Championship in 1970, and then again in 1971. Its speed, as Jezza would say, was biblical. 0-60 came up in 2.5 seconds and it maxed out at over 250 mph. Shudder. However, it is remembered not just because it made winning a habit – many cars have done that. It was the manner in which it did it – by blowing all the opposition to the weeds, by making them look limp wristed and clumsy. It lapped Le Mans at a record average speed of 222.09 kph, a feat which no other car has been able to overhaul ever since a chicane was added to the Mulsanne straight. And talking of the Mulsanne straight, that was where it did 386.24 kph, driven by Vic Elford in 1970, that too at night in wet track conditions. After conquering Le Mans, Porsche set its sights across the Atlantic and entered it in the Can Am Series in 1973, where it became the 917/10. The 917/10 was slightly different from its elder sister – Porsche uprated the power to a nuclear 1000 bhp (as if 520 was too weeny). Needless to say, its rivals could only watch it walk, no, fly away with the title . Porsche came back the next year with another 500 horses in its powerhouse, and won again, before the FIA had to change the rules again to try and control the rampaging monster that was the 917. Eek. Bow down.

So, was the 917 the greatest, most balls-out racer ever?

You bet!

******

Today, seven of the most important 917 models – among them the Le Mans-winning cars from 1970 and 1971 and the 917/30 CanAm Spyder – are currently on exhibit in the new Porsche Museum in Stuttgart-Zuffenhausen. Most of the other 917s are in the hands of proud collectors around the world, and have been seen – and heard – at the most prestigious vintage events, including Goodwood, Amelia Island, Monterey Historics, and Porsche’s three Rennsport Reunions in the U.S. in 2001, 2004 and 2007. Porsche Motorsport North America, the racing arm of Porsche in North America, services, restores, rebuilds and maintains many of these 917s for collectors at its shop in Santa Ana, California.(Source - http://993c4s.com/)

Nonsense

As I lie sprawled here
On this burning hard shoulder
The midday sun in my eyes
I feel a hundred years older

My ride's wrecked, it sure seems like 'tis all over
I'm only hoping for a miracle, some lucky clover

A pick-up looms in the distance, from the heat haze
Thought it changed colours a few times,
before it went stable on red

She pulled up alongside my battered machine
And beckoned me in
I staggered into the passenger seat
Wondering where to begin

Her looks could burn asbestos, I thought
And never could I have imagined
The ride was going to be disaster-fraught

The next thing I know, I'm gulping down my own blood
My mouth felt like it was full of gravel
Which actually were the powdered remains of what used to be my teeth
I've lost my left hand, and am unable to make my legs do my bidding
The pick-up is wrecked, the gearlever's gone through my gut
And I don't know what became of her

I am waiting for the end
Waiting for my pain to go away
Not too different from my state a little while back
Except that I want to be put out of my misery




Thoo. Never again. Sorry.

Someday, I'll be Sunday morning

Hell, this is good. The Sunday Afternoon Syndrome has taken over me. There’s nothing to do, it’s 5:20 PM, I’m sitting in front of the laptop, listening to ‘Always’, reading Graphiti online, wondering how to raise Rs. 1080 for 'James May's 20th Century', sipping some soup I made a little while back and trying to suck in the vegetable pieces which seem to be in love with the sides of the coffee mug (??!!) for good. All this after doing something for the first time – washing clothes.

Time’s ticking over slowly, like an engine idling. No hurries, no worries. Not for now, at least.

Looking around my room always gives me that sinking feeling. It’s in complete disarray – the bed is not done, the cupboard is a picture of utter chaos; clothes, books, and magazines are strewn all over the place, etc, etc. Adding insult to injury are the $%#^@#*&@& pigeons outside my window, who’ve shat all over the clothes-hanging bar. Eeek.

Haven’t been to 41, 5th Cross Street this weekend as well. It’s been a long time now. Strangely, the urge is missing nowadays, unlike the first couple of months, when I’d run off everyday. Haven’t roamed around the city on foot in ages. It was something I so often used to do during the first semester. Can’t forget the evening I walked from IIT all the way to Palavakkam – took me 2 hours, two cans of coke, music on the iPod and a pair of extremely tired feet. By the way, I must say these oat-sesame crackers are quite good.

One line from 'Someday I'll be Saturday night' weirdly stands out:
‘I’m sleeping in my car, my dreams move on.’

What’s happened? What has changed? Has something gone wrong?

I’m as clueless as you are. I think I’ll just have a cup of coffee. And move on.

Of a school, a racing series and an implausible dream...

Indulging in rumour-mongering is one of the guilty pleasures we all enjoy – those who snub this ‘disgusting’ and ‘cheap’ habit feel smug and those who do partake in it, well, their pleasure knows no bounds.


Anyway, one more thing rumours do is that they give us a more often than not interesting topic to discuss with our friends – they are responsible for kick-starting many lazy afternoon conversations over the phone, or even a boisterous, pointless natter over beer-mugs among friends in a pub. And that’s generally because people do tend to have an opinion. The rumours, then, give us something to chew upon, something to kill time with, something to ensure our life stays as meaningful or meaningless as we want it to be.


And one such rumour is responsible for this post. And my gut says it will probably turn out into speculation on an extremely fanciful scheme. More on that later.


Babai called me sometime back and told me St. Patrick’s are probably thinking of making the +2 section co-ed. My instantaneous reaction was, “WHAT. THE. FUCK?” Seems people at the SPOBA have lost their marbles. Or is it the SPAI (I still can’t forget how they ruined our last official day in Class X. Almost.). Retards that they are, they will definitely extend this ‘cooperative effort’ to the other junior classes. And then?


Nothing. When I thought about it later, I realized that the school would be more or less OK. With the girls coming in, probably the number of 90-pluses will increase (albeit the equal increase in the number of dumb, dumber, dumberer females-which will restore the average). And probably being seen together in random places downtown in school uniforms will be less scandalous for those who want to move their love-life into a higher gear. But my question remains. WHY? Ever heard of the saying, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”? Of course you have. How daft of me. They should definitely encourage inter-school interaction through any number of events – like those dance parties they used to have years back, but sleeping with the enemy (sorry about that) is a strict no-no. Please. See some sense. STOP THIS.


One more thing struck me. It shouldn’t come as a surprise after all, but still. If the school thinks it wants to be innovative, to be a trend setter, it should invest in my grand scheme. With all the right moves, I’m sure we will get all the visibility, the popularity and the reputation we could ever want. Or need.


They should start the SPS GP Challenge, which will be a racing series for the under-18 class. This could be held during the winter break. Standard go-karts could be made the norm, with 4-5 HP 2-stroke engines, a barebones chassis with (a trifle expensive, I agree) slicks bolted on to them. Or we can use engines from the stupid lawnmowers which have rattled our brains out while we were in 9th and 10th. The steering racks could be welded together in some local foundry. Stop smirking. I know it’s not particularly high-tech, but it’s not at all about the technology – it’s about nice, old-school racing, wheel banging and trying to ram each other off the racing line on the corner entry and exit segments. And I think I am safe in the assumption that the most balls-out racer will take home the Gulmohar leaf trophy.


Of course, all this is very well, but what about the racetrack? Don’t stick your stinky sock into my pine-fresh dream studio yet. We have one right inside the campus!


If you don’t believe me, continue reading. If you do, do the same as well.


The Start/Finish line will be in front of the large manual bell(which we fooled around with occasionally); the machines then accelerate up to the large oak tree(with the 2-tonne pitch roller under it); next comes a medium right past the canteen and the disused building behind it. Just as the curve straightens, there’s the Triangular Section (Traffic duty….thoo) with a hard 90 degree right – hard on the brakes here, and this is one of the overtaking zones, a section which will be extremely critical to the lap times. My favourite part comes next, a delightful high-speed section at full throttle, past the senior school, towards the junior school, as the cars, sorry, karts fly past the middle school building and the parking lot. This brings us to another stand-on-the-brakes hard right. And then, it’s smooth sailing all the way – it’s all about finding the best possible line and straight-lining the final section, past the school auditorium and back to the main straight and across the line.


Think about it. The guys in town will kill to be a part of the race, whose entrants will have been rigorously screened by time-trials, and selected from (hopefully) hundreds of other aspirants. The girls will also probably fancy a guy in a racing suit and a helmet a wee bit more that your average Dick. The mothers would have something better to bitch about to each other than their children’s grades and their love interests. I have no doubt that the standard of racing here will be superior to the standard of the football they play in the Salt Lake Stadium and also to the performances of the Kolkata Knight Riders (sorry Shahrukh). If all goes well, the money will flow in as well. TV coverage would probably work it’s way up from the Asansol Cable Network to no less that Star Sports (I’ll take TEN Sports as well, thank you very much). It will, god-willing, be a top draw event in Eastern India. It might catch the eye of individuals and corporates who would like to support good talent instead of being part of stupid poverty-alleviation schemes which usually benefit no one. If it were to become the pre-eminent racing championship in India, then it would become the breeding ground for the future generation GP2 and…wait for it…Formula One race drivers … the possibilities seem endless to me(though you won’t be wrong in thinking that I’m too carried away at this point)…


Who knows, the next Formula One World Champion might probably be in Asansol right now, busy with Mr. S. Chattterjee’s math homework.

Tera Emosanal Attyachaar...

“Kal mera bebaaak tha,
Aaj magar kamzor hai..
Khud se aankhein hi na mil paayein.

Aankhon ka hai dhokha,
Aisa tera pyaar
Tera Emosanal Attyachaar”

What the hell are these lines doing here?

I’ll tell you. During one commercial break in the middle of the Roger-Rafa final at the Aussie Open today, I randomly switched to MTV where the DevD trailer was being aired – and I couldn’t help but connect these lyrics to Federer’s surprising breakdown in the post-match presentation ceremony – OK not the ‘Aankhon ka hai dhokha, aisa tera pyaar’ part, but the rest of it!

It was understandable – he really, really wanted to equal Sampras’ record and doing that in the Rod Laver arena in front of Rod Laver himself and other legends like Ken Rosewall, John Newcombe, Tony Roche and Andreas Gimeno would have been perfect. Everything leading up to the match looked just right – he had been in supreme form through the quarters and semis, he had a good two and a half days off after his easy-peasy semi-final and he was desperate to add to his impressive trophy cabinet his fourth Norman Brookes Cup . He had every right to think that he would be able to do it. So did Sampras, Laver, Borg, Pat Cash, John McEnroe and some other former greats – they had all put their money on the Fedex.

Except that it wasn’t to be. El Matador had other ideas. Rafa ne de hi diya ‘lafa’! The guy never ceases to amaze me. It baffles me how he managed to have so much in reserve after the epic Verdasco Semi-Final. Playing against Nadal is, in many ways, similar to playing against a wall!

But I’ll talk exclusively about Nadal in my next post. In the presentation ceremony, after collecting the Runners’ Up thaali, Roger started, “Hi guys!! I…..God….it’s just killing me…”, and started sobbing uncontrollably! The Emcee then said that they’d hear from the new champ, Rafa and called him up to the mike. Poor Rafa for a moment didn’t know what to do! He accepted the trophy, lifted it and then…went back and put an arm around Federer, prodding him back towards the mike! That was when Federer somewhat collected himself, “I think I will try again. There’s no way I could have the last word here. This guy deserves it.” He moved away and resumed crying. Then Nadal, who seemed genuinely sorry to have shattered Federer, was effusive in his praise for the Swiss great: “I'm sorry for today, Roger. I really know how you feel. But remember – you are one of the best players of the history and you are going to improve the 14 of Sampras. It is always a pleasure to play you and best of luck for the rest of the year.”

Everybody went weak, teary-eyed and appreciative at this great display of comradeship between the two, but it evoked mixed feelings in me… I think Federer, by breaking down like that completely ruined Nadal’s moment of triumph. The poor guy couldn’t celebrate his victory properly... It’s extremely nice of Nadal to have said such soothing words to Federer after that…he might as well have ignored all that and celebrated boisterously instead. Which wouldn’t have been improper at all. He’s such a modest and sensitive chap, Rafa.

Federer, with his experience of having featured in 18 Grand Slam Finals and won 13 of them should have done better. He’s still only 27, has a long way to go and many more finals to play. The demons of winning every match that he unknowingly created over his years as the undisputed World No.1 are finally getting to him, it so seems.

I’ll end with a few lines from another song – Coldplay’s Viva la Vida :

“I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own

I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing
‘Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!’

One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand.”

Of course, things are not this bad for Federer, but it sure looks as if that’s the way he’s thinking!!! C’mon Roger, BE A MAN! Show them next time out! And one more thing : Stop crying.

Destination Exasperation

OK, thanks to this nifty typing feature on the iPhone, I'm blogging on the move. There's a nice background soundtrack of 'Pyaar Se Pyaar Hum'(playing in my ears). In addition, some laptop-toting Papa is making his jumpy toddler listen to songs from SRK's movies. Which is infinitely better than trying to make the kid shut his mouth.

This one is arguably the boring-est of all the train journeys of my lifetime. It was doomed right from the beginning. One, I could have chosen to leave home a good two-and-a-half days later. God knows which notice from the IIT said we have to show them our ungainly faces on the 28th. I learn that I'm most probably the first non-Chennai-ite to have arrived in the city. Things back home were just beginning to warm-up : my pals had begun to come back from their respective colleges on and after the 19th which was the day their first semester exams ceased to exist. So, all we got was short of a week-which we tried to make the most of. However, as 'Yeh Dil Maange More', I'm still pretty cross.

To make it worse, as I was about to make myself comfortable in my compartment, I tried to size up the other people who were sharing it with me. They were all old farts. I pray for forgiveness, uparwaale, but this is how I felt. Buggers is even more apt. Unfortunately, one of them turned out to be an acquaintance of my father's. Babai was spot-on when he said, "Eibar ei lok ta toke puro chaatbe". He tried to strike up a totally pointless conversation with me. Pointless became annoying when his first question was, "So, you study English and Economics at IIT Madras. Is it better than engineering?" With the best deadpan expression I could manage, I retorted, "It will take me at least four-and-a-half years to answer your question". That made him shut up until bedtime, when he said he wanted the lower berth(MY BERTH) for his wife. You obviously think I readily gave up my berth, being the epitome of decency and politeness.

You are wrong. I was polite in my refusal, because I had stowed away my brand-new fifty grand laptop under that particular seat. But I gave them the middle berth, I did.

Uh...I don't feel like writing any more. This journey is much too painful and arses like these don't deserve any more importance...

My apologies...

An old DVD and a ton of delight!

It’s an overload, these memories. They just come. They seem to have a mind, a whimsical nature of their own. Having befuddled my mind with the unfathomable sociological theories thus far, I sat down to write some stuff. Stuff, eh? That settles it. I seem to have lost it.

Anyway, we shall continue with our endeavour. There’s no harm in trying.

Was a normal evening, until I brought out my data DVD that I had made back in March. That was when my system was ravaged by ‘New Folder.exe’(that bastardly worm) and all hell had broken loose. The internet connectivity was shot, so were all the system utilities. Couldn’t just say the magic (??!!) words “Format the HDD” before contemplating how much of my valuable data would be lost. So I sat about the task of cramming all the important bits of info to a single 4.7 GB DVD. Wanted to see how adept I was at separating the necessary from the unnecessary, the grain from the chaff.

Turned out it wasn’t such a big deal at all. The music files were not important, as I had most of my music on other media. Just some select songs (worth about a GB) were transferred to the DVD.

EBooks. Oh well…they were even more important. There were around 400 novels in the form of word and pdf files. They went in too.

Then came the images. Most of the images were wallpapers of various automotive works of art. Important. Very important. In they went. I then came to the digicam images. And I had crammed them in, without another thought.

Cut to this particular afternoon, the 22nd of November, 2008. I slotted the DVD into the PC for the music, but ended up spending the better part of the evening trying to relive the golden ’07 days. The cricket match at Cuttack, Holi, the Party in June, then the shots of our last three days at SPS…No, it wasn’t a walk down memory lane…It was a BLAST down the memory freeway!!!

One movie file had me in splits. The usual stars of the show were Niladri, Shubhrapratim, and to a certain extent, Souvik. Some quotes of these iconic characters have been preserved on digital media for posterity:

Mainak: Hey, ami padini!
Niladri (echoing Mainak’s sentiments): Ami shotti padini…ami padle tui ekhane thaktish na!!!

Shubhrapratim: Aajkal Souvik er asholey ‘ling parivartan’ er symptoms dekhachche…
Souvik: Babai ke dekhachchi.
Niladri (jumps like a feral beast on Shubhra): Mujhe cheer, mujhe cheer!!!
Souvik (joins in): Aare Babai…
Niladri: Dara…toke dekhachchi…aaj tor ling change kore toke bari pathabo…
Mainak: Tumi pechhone takate paro…drama korte hobe…
Souvik (interrupts): Please…Let me help.
Mainak: E ki re??!!
Shubhrapratim cries in anguish owing to the torture…and we collectively laugh our heads off.

I ended up laughing loudly in the solitary confines of my room. People outside must have thought I had gone nuts. They weren’t very far off.

After replaying the clip for god-knows-how-many-times, I sat back with my eyes closed. And not much was left, except for the sepulchral hush that descended on my thoughts. If anything, I was happily looking forward to the December of 2008. Not the Chennai shorts-and-t-shirts winter with the warm, even hot sunshine, but a proper quilt-muffler-jacket-mittens-thermocot winter with dense fogs and starry nights.

Bring it on!!!

Life. Will never be the same again.

It's a cliche, isn't it? 'Life will never be the same again'. How very true. But if you think about it, nothing, ever has remained the same. And a cliche comes to be known as a cliche because it's something that keeps happening, regardless of the day and age!! All that we are surrounded by, all that we are, all that we have been and all that we want to be is never what it was, is, or will eventually be. Even our past looks different from a distance. The thing is, time has a fantastic knack of throwing away all the bad bits, those which we wouldn't like to remember or give much importance either way, and retain all the good things about our life 'back then'. Maybe that's why we tend to view our past a little leniently. More often than not, you'll hear people tell you, "Those were the days!!".

And I am talking about all this because I experienced it recently. I had this urge to (finally) go watch 'Jaane Tu...Ya Jane Na'(a strictly OK-OK movie. That's my review.). And not because I really wanted to, but because it had already been three weeks since the movie released, but I hadn't watched it till then. I was chastising myself, thinking that I was the only sub-20 guy in town who hadn't seen the film, when all my friends were gushing about this 'masterpiece'. And I picked up the phone, and dialled Shubhra's number. 2 rings later, I suddenly recalled something and hung up.

Shubhra's classes had already begun the week before. He was already in college! And I was cooling my heels at home... I would have ended up looking like the greatest idiot alive when I would have asked his folks, 'Is Shubhra home?'

There are a lot of things we take for granted. And that's only natural.

'Koi cheez jab khud se chhin jaaye, tabhi uski aehmiyat ka ehsaas hota hai'.

There was a time when we, a bunch of 5-10 St. Patrick's guys, would go for a dinner, a lunch, even a tuition together. It was the 'normal' thing back then. All we had to do is make a few phone calls, and we louts were on our way, accompanied by our horrible sense of humour, our outrageous shouting and our intolerable wisecracks. On any normal day, that was a given. And now, it's hit me like a train. The fact that it's no longer going to be a 'given'. In fact, we'd be extremely fortunate if life has even one small occasion like that in store. The thing is, my definition of 'normal' has to change. Staying here in Chennai has to be normal. Not meeting up with old friends has to be normal. Making new ones has to be normal. Will I succeed?

Yes. Because I must.

Vanakkam Chennai. Chollam, Asansol!! Pore dekha hobe!!

A helmet in time...

I’ve had many bad days. And this one ranks as one of those. My train to Asansol was cancelled. So this post too is from Bhubaneswar.

You are sniggering at my opening lines. You’re thinking I haven’t got anything to write today, eh? I do. Sort of.

It was the trip to the railway station that brought up the issue. The issue of rider safety on Indian roads. To be more precise, it’s the issue of wearing an adequate cranium-protecting-cum-face-shielding device while riding a motorized two-wheeler. To be even more precise, I’m talking about wearing a helmet while riding a bike.

OK, let’s get this straight. An ISI approved helmet costs some extra bucks when compared to one that has probably been put together by a bunch of 8-year old kids in sub-human conditions. I agree. And you buy those helmets to indirectly give the families of those poor kids a meal to live on for one more day. I agree. You’ve thus done some social service which you can be really proud of. It’s all good up to this point.

You wear that helmet when you ride your bike the next day. I SHALL DESPISE YOU FOR THAT!!! And I shall also take the liberty of calling you a brainless twat who can’t find his own buttocks with his two hands. You, by wearing that helmet and believing that it is going to save your skull and face in the event of a 100 mph crash, will have obtained the exclusive distinction of crossing the Rubicon of lunacy. You would be much better off wearing a Gandhi cap! You should be bright enough to understand that cheap helmets are neither ergonomically designed, nor are they made of materials that are sufficiently rigid to protect the head in case of high-speed crashes. What’s more, they splinter in the event of an impact, and are responsible for more fatalities than the accidents themselves. In short, you deserve to be dead if you put such an abysmal price on your life.

In recent times, the honourable state government in India has made wearing a helmet compulsory while riding a two-wheeler in major cities across the country. And this is what I really detest. This, in my opinion, is unnecessary meddling of the Government in people's affairs. No, I’m not retracting my stand on the issue of wearing helmets. I am only saying that I disapprove of the Government telling its adult citizens what to do and what not to do.

The government should realize that not forcing people to wear helmets can work for the benefit of everyone in the long run. It is understandable that those who dislike wearing helmets have an IQ that hovers around the 20 mark. So they are mostly useless when it comes to being part of a society, having the right to adult franchise, etc. Such people are more useful in death than in life. Why should we bother ensuring the safety of such idiots? So, let them vacate their place on earth for good. Once they kill themselves off, they leave the roads for safer and more sensible riders (you don't have to tell them, force them, or beg them to wear helmets, see?) who know how to enjoy the thrills of motoring without killing themselves or others. To add insult to injury, the families of the deceased shall not be able to recognize their faces! Serves them right! Besides, the traffic situation in the country will also improve tremendously.

It sure looks like a win-win situation to me!!