Suhas says.....

Social Freak!

2010-05-04T20:36:00.004-04:00

I’m an average guy! My friends don’t think of me EVERYDAY! My cousins email me only when they have vacations. My family wouldn’t care to buzz me considering they’ll have to endure the video chat coming up every Saturday anyway! My advisor mails me once a month and my collaborator doesn’t even seem to have an ID of his own! I’m an average guy. Counting spam, looking-for-a-job-mails, the ‘n’ number of Science news updates I subscribed to when I was feeling productive and was planning to make it real BIG in my field and all the regular trash, I might get an average of 10-12 emails per day. That’s about one email every 2 hours!

And yet…

Yet, I HAVE to check my mail once every 36 seconds. I have to see my mouse pointer change to a sand-clock and then back to its original-self proclaiming that I have NO new emails … and I have to do this every 36 seconds. Why 36? No real reason… its an estimation.

This is how its with Gmail. I walk to the rest room. I run back - “Shucks! How many important messages have clogged my inbox?” I take the bus home – I’d think my laptop is screaming and teeming with new mails. I sleep for 8 hours. I wake up and run to my laptop even before I wipe my drool. I check my email … turn back to say Hi to the cute lab-tech … and immediately check my email … lest I dare miss that very important piece of information I have been waiting all my life for!

So is it with Facebook. I religiously click all the links deeply assuming that its my only source of knowledge and ignoring them meant being ignorant about the world. Everyone’s status updates scream out at me asking me to comment. I may not give a DAMN to why there’s a “:(“ depressing smiley next to your status update, more so because I hardly know you but added you only to add to my ever-growing friends list, but I have to add my comment and show my loyalty. I know your status message is a rip off straight out of Bernard Shaw’s home page just for attracting compliments, but I HAVE to click on the ‘like’ button although I don’t even remotely like you for that matter!

So is it with Google. You can Google anything. Including yourself; I trust Google to tell me more about myself than I really know of. I Google for temperature, time and location. I Google for formulae, protocols and recipes. I Google for shaving pimples and tooth aches and body posture. As you talk about a movie I have unheard of, I can Google about it and CONVINCE you that I’m cool and I know everything there is to be known about that movie, about the other movies of the same director, and the sequels and prequels of the movie that exist or yet to be released. I can do this as you talk to me with the click of a few buttons.

Sadly, I’m another of those Internet Syndrome victims! I’ve checked my mail thrice already from the time I have started writing this piece. And it has hardly been more than 5 mins. I also sadly discovered that there are no more status updates I can ‘like’ on Facebook as I have liked all of them already ;( And the darned Google home page never crashes … for some weird reason!

I know I need rehab. The healing process has begun. I have done blasphemous things like shutting down my laptop during the nights. I have closed Outlook Express each time I was done using the system. I have restricted my logging onto Facebook – thrice is all I get during my work-hours. I have borrowed huge library books and downloaded lots of papers … Google can enslave me NO MORE!

Darn! Why haven’t I got any E-MAIL from the past 8 minutes???

Bheem.Inc!

2010-05-04T14:12:00.004-04:00

Scene: Bheem enters the forests near Ekachakra with a cart of food in search of Bakasur, the demon! Bheem calls out to Bakasur in a resonating voice - “heY Bakaa! I’m not getting signal here; AT&T really sucks! Can you hear me? Come out and eat your food!

Bakasur: heY you! What took you so long? Don’t you realize I’m starving? I’m surviving the whole of morning with just one glass of orange juice!

Bheem: Sorry dude! Traffic da! Ekachakra turnpike is jammed at this hour. I had to take SO many detours. Don’t even talk about it. Why can’t you get an apartment somewhere close to the suburbs?

Bakasur: Too expensive man! And hey! How DARE you call me by my first name? The villagers of Ekachakra are such ‘darpoks’ that they even fear coming close to the forest.

Bheem: Ok! What’s your surname then?

Bakasur: I don’t have one! Do you think that’ll become a problem during visa? I got an admit from Pitt dental school ;)

Bheem: I guess so. Awright! Eat quickly; I have to get back. I’m watching this new movie - “How to train your Dragon” 3D today evening

Bakasur: Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha ! You ain’t goin’ nowhere. Hey Bheem, why do villains always have an African-American accent? Why can’t they speak plain American or Brit?

Bheem: If you keep going to Wendy’s all the time. you’ll obviously get influenced right? Anyway, I present the menu to you sir:

Chicken breasts from overfed chicken
A can of rBST milk
Beef from cattle feeding ONLY on corn
Diet Coke with corn syrup
Peanut butter sandwich with traces of Salmonella
A can of Fiji mineral water whose potability is inferior to the normal tap water
Pork from hormone-treated pig
Apples injected with grape flavor
Bagels and I-can’t-believe-its-not-butter

Bakasur: WTF ?

Bheem: Why? What’s wrong? Haven’t you watched Food Inc.? Smithfield, Perdue, Monsanto, Tyson – these are the dominant food giants. That’s where all this came from

Bakasur: Don’t you have anything organic?

Bheem: LMAO! Organic? Who are you? Some queer from the 1920s? Who grows organic these days? The corn syrup you find in batteries is the same corn syrup you find in Pepsi!

Bakasur: Don’t you have any home-grown food then?

Bheem: Did I not tell you? That soya bean you grow in your backyard – be careful … its a sure invitation to a legal battle. Monsanto has investigators!

Bakasur: Did I not tell you? The world shudders at the mere mention of my name. Lightning and thunder rumbles the earth at every step I take. The faint-hearted wither away at the sight of me. I am terror. I am vicious. I am … BAKASUR!

(waves dash against the rocks; lightning strikes a tree; mild tremors occur; Eyjafjallajokull erupts again!)

Bheem: ROTFL! Narakasur said the same things. He grew soya bean in his backyard. Then he was booked for patent infringement. Unable to bear the legal costs, he had an out-of-court settlement with the giant for 25,000 USD!

Bakasur: Whaaaaat? Oh no!

Bheem: So you eatin’ or what?

Bakasur: Of course… Bakasur NEVER goes hungry. I shall eat you Bheem. You are organic. You are my lunch today!

Bheem: Lololol! You really crack me up dude. Don’t you watch the daily news?

Bakasur: No basic cable ;(

Bheem: Verizon?

Bakasur: Yeah. Its not really bad; family guy buffers most of the times. But its ok-ok

Bheem: Oh yeah… coming to the point. I am HIV positive. Thanks to Draupadi and her multiple sex partners !

Bakasur: Darn it! I thought you were gay

Bheem: I’m as gay as Krishna… if you know what I mean!

Bakasur: Isn’t Nakul and Sahadev…

Bheem: Totally gay. Gayishly gay!

Bakasur: Hmmph! So am I gonna starve for the rest of my life?

Bheem: No! Listen to me carefully…

Eat Organic Food
Chuck Giant Eagle & Wal-mart! Go to Whole Foods
Visit farmer’s markets. There’s one in strip district. Vegetables are dead-cheap
Buy non-rBST milk
Try to cook at home. Don’t be a lazy ass
Stay away from junk. Don’t even venture anywhere close to those vending machines in school
Eat healthy
Change the world with every bite!

Bakasur: Thanks da! I really owe you one. We should hang out sometime…

Bheem: You can come to the movie tonight. But you must promise to behave!

Bakasur: You won’t regret this! Let us do the GO!

2010-03-25T09:00:00.004-04:00

There was this popular you-tube video: this big tall guy walks around the city, around traffic signals, around apartments and commercial complexes with a humongous number of people on top of him and the background score goes on to say "I've got the whole world ... in my hands". For someone the likes of me who's hands go sore the moment I lift up my little nephew for more than a minute, bearing the weight of the whole world was a little next to being whimsical.

Anyway, that's not the point. I'm more intrigued by the "its a small world after all" anecdote. Its quite amazing when you realize it. Just like how your maid-servant effectively shrinks all your favorite dresses thanks to her fetish for strong detergents, the world apparently is shrinking in size, getting smaller as they rightfully say!

Information travels so fast these days ... its no more like how it was in the days of my grandfather ... someone dies and a telegram is sent out to everyone announcing 'someone's' death ... a telegram mostly brought bad news (we have a habit of writing the word 'safe' on the top-left corner of our postcard/inland letter meaning things are fine ... don't find the word and be ready for some death material). But quintessentially, the telegram would reach the recipient much much after the dead man has departed from earthly abode and traveled to the nether world to watch the item songs of Lord Indra's item girls (of course, if he's a sinner, he'll go to hell where apparently there are item songs but homosexuals dancing for them).

Today... with things like Google Wave, your recipients read as you type. Imagine how perilous this could be for us avid bloggers ... my readers would read things as I type and would immediately put up a spam filter against my email id.

And the funny side of it all is, it doesn't take a super cool gadget or a raging technology to shrink the world. In fact, all these gadgets and computers end up doing is shrink the world but expand the paunches of people (if I spent the same amount of time working out instead of blogging, Sylvester Stallone would bum out looking at me)

Listen to this:

A friend of mine finds a cat and gives it shelter - only to find out that it was her friend's cat and the cops are out there trying to locate the cat burglar!

8000 miles away from home, on an uninhabitable place, where graduate students fight out snow blizzards to go to lab meetings, in Pittsburgh, I find a school friend on an airport train!

My good ol' Mauritian friend happens to be a good ol' senior to my room mate in college too!

I meet this new engineering student in this god-forsaken country - he not only happens to be from Bangalore, but also from a college where my friends studied, and also is the third member in the trio where the remaining two are my own friends!

I meet the great Shivaram Karanth's nephew in a bus stop!

Most of all my friends here were in Bangalore traveling in and around my locality; I could never invite them home back then coz i didn't know them. I wouldn't be surprised if I have seen them before. Some faces seem SO familiar. The brain rings a bell but doesn't come out with anything to recall or remember!

A friend and me here belong to the same native place; there is an extremely strong possibility (i'd say 999 times out of 1000) that we are related to each other through someone!

My brother and sister-in-law were strangers until they met each other; their horoscopes were written by the same person - they were meant to match!

It was a shock to see people colonizing Pittsburgh in the first place; I then went on to discover that not only do my relatives stay here, one of them also works in our university as an assistant professor right above my previous lab and therefore is into cancer research - and also follows me to the biomedical science towers the moment I move into them!

And the grand finale...

I had a problem of dialing '988' instead of '998' when I key in a cell phone number on a land-line phone. Each time, it would reach an annoyed guy who had to SCREAM into my ears that I have dialed the wrong number again. Two years later, I was busy attending seminars after seminars on 'education in the US' and met a guy over food and generally discussed with him. 6 months later, from the US, I dial a number (supposed to be my uncle's) and I bungled again. This guy picks up, recognizes my voice and says "Ain't you the guy always trying to dial 998?" Later on, I learn that he was the same guy I had lunch with during the US seminars.

Its a small world after all...

2010-03-24T16:57:00.005-04:00

So the thing is this: I have always felt that my brain is this BIG bucket; you know - not the kinda bucket you have in a potty house, that's a small one. Mine is a BIG one - the one that you'll see in your mom's native place. And my bucket, as in the brain bucket, is filled! Up to the brim, i.e. when I was born - fresh piece - virgin male - untouched by corruption or lead oxide pollution or university education (i see a homology here).

It is filled with all kinda stuff -a homogeneous mixture of creativity, athleticism, intellect, big vacuoles filled with nothing, lots of shit and everything else that's a part of living. As years pass by, I begin emptying them. My athleticism wanes, my intelligence and awareness enervates, my creativity empties. This, I was always worried of. Creativity is my defense mechanism. Sarcasm is my weapon of mass destruction. If i use too much of it - I'm deigned to empty them off one day (they ain't like sperm count which multiply each time you flush 'em out). Then i'll be left with only vulnerability and mortality. Oh my God - I disgust myself when it comes to writing! Vulnerability and mortality??? What the heck is that??? What am I trying to be - the Family Guy? Mindless comedy huh?

***************************************

So once upon a time, I met this guy whom we'll call 'Upadhyay' for obvious reasons because that was his real name. I met him on a train on a boring solitary 5-hr journey to Bangalore. He descended straight down from Aristotle's lineage - Upadhyay's great grand-father's cousin and Aristotle's daughter made love to each other when her father was busy with taxonomy. Whatever! Basically, I'm trying to say that Upadhyay was into deep-rooted philosophy.

We were talking about life. Rather, he was talking about life and I was smacking my lips because I love philosophy - I set really bad examples in that. I explained to him about my brain-bathroom-bucket concept and he took it rather personally. I'll use the letters "U, D. Phil" for Upadhyay and "S, D. Crap" for good ol' me!

U, D. Phil: That's so not true. In fact, I think every person is born with an empty bucket. It gets filled as time passes by. It reaches its peak when you are old and wise. That's when intellect reaches its pinnacle. In fact, I'd say everyone's born with a bottomless bucket. You can fill it all, but it never gets full. The brain's capacity is inestimable.

S, D. Crap: Imagine, if the bathroom bucket was bottomless. What would you do? I mean, you would literally need to sit under the tap. And technically, its impossible unless you prostrate on the ground - and that would be sick (giggles)

U, D. Phil: (unimpressed) Well, if you really want to know - you would use the water before it goes to waste. Everyday in life, man gets to learn so much, information is everywhere, love is everywhere - only when he learns to hold them in his hands and ingest them will he be able to get the benefit of it.

S, D. Crap: So, hey wait a min.! So you say use the water before it falls into the bucket. Because, it then goes to waste. Then, logically speaking, you suggest to use the information and knowledge and love before it reaches the brain - coz then it goes to waste.

U, D. Phil: Where did i say that?

S, D. Crap: Remember, the brain bucket comparison?

U, D. Phil: Oh! See - do you recall reading about the full cup?

S, D. Crap: Yeah I know, half empty is pessimism and half full is optimism. You know what I'd say if someone showed me half a cup of coffee and asked me what it is? I'd say, "Hey, who drank my coffee again?" This time, I laughed hard! Mr. Aristotle smiled at my pitiable earthly behavior.

U, D. Phil: No! So the teacher asks a student to fill a cup with anything he wants. The student fills it up with rocks. Its still not full. Another fills the remaining gaps with pebbles. Its still not full. Yet another fills it up with sand. It still ain't full. Yet another fills it with water. But its still not full. Imagine how much of air can fit in a tiny little gap. The brain is like that. But the order is important - fill a cup with sand first, and there's not much you can fill later on. Prioritize on what you fill your brain with - and its capacity is infinite.

S, D. Crap: I think I'd start with the pebbles first. If you tilt your head at the right angle and throw them into your nostrils with good force above the escape velocity, they'll hit the bottom of your brain bucket. Oh, did I fail to mention - our brain's bucket is reverse, the bottom is on top of our head, so its easier for the stuff in it to flow out. I think our mouths are like taps - open them and you can release your bucket's content. The eyes/ears/nose are inlet pipes which empty directly into the brain bucket.

U, D. Phil: I like your imagination. Now how do you explain this? Imagination doesn't come from the environment. Its inborn. They don't come through any inlet pipes. Its already inside your 'so-called bucket'. Who put 'em there? God? Why do everyone have varying amounts of imagination? Or do they? Is it an untapped potential in some?

S, D. Crap: Yes. So they are like these frozen vials of cells. They become viable only when you take them out of liquid nitrogen and thaw them. Or else, they stay untapped in the frozen state. They don't ever die out - they are just cryo-protected. Then probably the cerebrospinal fluid is like DMSO - a cryoprotectant. When you thaw them in the blood bath (or our standard water bath), they are utilizable.

U, D. Phil: Too technical for a banker like me; however, I think you agree with my statement that there are some untapped potentials within us which are not gained from the environment but which could be enhanced owing to external circumstances. Right?

S, D. Crap: Too philosophical for a college student like me; however I think you agree with my idea about the brain-bathroom-bucket? There are thousands of analogies I can give you, its fairly irrefutable a concept you know!

U, D. Phil: I said your imagination is good ... not that I agreed. There's been so much known about the brain - the least you could do is compare it to a bathroom bucket. Imaginative, but not intellectual.

S, D. Crap: Isn't philosophy imaginative? Why do you use so many analogies then? Haven't we learned from imagination? We imagined we could fly and we flew. We imagined we could reach the stars and we did. We imagined and we achieved.

U. D. Phil: The Wright brothers imagined alright. But they built a plane. From scratch. They didn't imagine how a plane would look like. They learnt about it from the environment - from the birds and the insects. If you think mere imagination would take you places, the world wouldn't be this bad - everyone would imagine it to be a paradise.

S, D. Crap: We could. Untapped potential my friend ... imagination isn't an art everyone have perfectioned.

U, D. Phil: I think you created a hole in my brain bucket. I feel all my intellect has just been hosed off and replaced with your gibberish concepts.

S, D. Crap: What did you say? Your brain bucket? So you believe me now... ?

U, D. Phil: Whatever! (pissed)

S, D. Crap: Someone draw the curtains please (bows)

***************************************

Note: This is a hypothetical conversation!

2010-02-09T14:02:00.012-05:00

After my gibberish talk about my encounters with the perilous McDonald's burger, lots of my friends/relatives probed into my sanity (or the lack of it) as to why an endangered pure vegetarian would want to trek through the chasm of pepperonis and bacons which form the crux of a McDonald burger !

"Go to Subway you idiot" they said. "That's where all the veggies go when they are struck with malnutrition".

Subway?

You think that's an easy solution?

Know what... I've been there.

I walked into Subway after I found nothing in McDonald's sometime around the August of 2008. I felt pretty cool and sophisticated. I made a mental note to myself that I have to call some uncle/aunty of mine from Subway so that I can enlighten to my overcrowded family in India of my whereabouts.

Me: HeY Uncle! HeY Aunty!

Uncle/Aunt: Can you call us back after 15 minutes?

Me: Huh? (darn! no respect for ISD calls!)

Uncle/Aunt: Ok ok, so where R you calling from?

Me: I'm here in the US; in Pittsburgh, its right below New York.

Uncle/Aunt: New York ? Wow !!!

Me: Right now, I'm at Subway

Uncle/Aunt: What's that? Those underground tunnels where mugging is not that uncommon

Me: (gasps!) No, the Subway. The cool restaurant

Uncle/Aunt: Oh Subway? Wow !!!

Me: Ok! Bye! Need to go back to my cancer lab

Uncle/Aunt: Cancer lab? Wow!!!

Of course, after this, uncle/aunty lynch their own kid for not growing up to the stature of me.

Anyway, coming back to THE issue - Subway ... I walked into Subway. This time, I see this tall guy in the counter and he looks at me (not menacingly but) with a sweet smile. He looked safe. And gay. And the conversation started. The darned conversation - yeah - started again!

Me: Can I have a sandwich ?

He: What size?

Me: Medium?

I sense that he might spit on me at any moment.

Me: Ok what sizes do you have?

He: (not accustomed to such questions) 6" and foot-long

Me: (I smile because I find the foot-long word amusing. I wanted to ask him if their sandwiches taste like feet. But sensing the hostile environment...) 6" sounds good

He: (waits... and then...) And which one?

Me: (looks up at the plethora of boards above) A veggie sandwich

He: We have the veggie delight Sir, if you'd like that

Me: (ahhhhh! sounds delightful). Sure ;)

He: Which bread would you like Sir?

Me: Huh? (what in the name of lord !) What are my options?

He: Italian/Honey/Flat-bread ... they are all right here

Me: Italian (huh! That ought to teach him a lesson ... Italian bread sounds neat. I'm sure by now he thinks I'm the inheriting son of a multi-billionaire business tycoon)

He: What cheese?

This time I was stumped! Now I never consumed cheese in India, but thanks to my inquisitiveness about the outside world, I knew what cheese was. It is produced by the coagulation of milk protein Casein. But to me, cheese is cheese. Now how can a cow product give rise to varieties of cheese? A sudden fear struck me that they may have something meat-ish. I looked at their choices - they were of all colors and shapes. No! I am not gonna eat meat just a week after landing here. I am gonna be cautious and smart, at the same time.

Me: Ok (raising my voice) Vegetarian cheese!

He: Sir?

Me: Vegetarian. Nothing non-veg please...

This time, he pauses, looks at me (with an expression of 'what's wrong with this guy' and gives me a foundation course in diary technology)

He: Sir! Cheese is vegetarian. Its a milk product.

Me: Oh! I dunno; here you add meat to everything (salvaging my pride which was never there in the first place). I'll have cheese

He: As in... cheddar, provolone...

Me: Cheddar! (the first one is always the most recommended one)

He: Ok... do you want me to change my gloves?

Me: Change your... what again?

He: You want me to change gloves?

Go change your undies... who cares? Since when did I become his honorable master that he takes my permission to change his clothing accessories? I recapitulate and remembered that he passed on bread filled with some pig-stuff to the next person before he started handling my sandwich. Makes sense. I want to give myself a pat on the back for my almost-quick thinking but then I can't reach my back thanks to my little hands.

Me: I would really appreciate it!

One of my first lessons in American lingo... when someone's nice to you, appreciate it. Or even if you don't, say that you do. They'll be so happy that they might pledge their blonde daughter to you if you want them to.

He: What veggies would you prefer?

This one would be easy. I could identify the most basic vegetables. I knew what I wanted. There were labels. This would be one answer I'd give him with such triumph that he would apologize for causing any embarrassment to me through this entire ordeal.

Me: Tomatoes, Lettuce, Cucumbers, Red Onions, Bell Peppers (I was still saving up my dollars and wanted to get the full return on my investments)

He: Anything else?

Me: (there were more?) Oh yeah... jalapenos

He: What's that?

Me: Jalapenos

He: You mean...

I point out. Unfortunately, my finger hit the glass and they couldn't be zoomed in any further. But i think he got my point

He: alapenos?

Me: (English... darn it!) Yep!

I consciously use 'Yep' when I have enervated the guy behind the counter and I need to uphold the integrity and respect of our motherland and firmly establish that even we are equally flamboyant when it comes to slang-talk.

He: Any dressing ?

Now I ONLY love ketchup in my sandwiches/burgers. But I see no ketchup bottles there. Hoping I could find it elsewhere and praying that I don't radiate more idiocy, I said...

Me: Nah!

I half expected that my lack of interest towards dressings would illustrate that I know what dressings are, what are the types and what are its nutritional constituents. Reality check: I had no frikkin clue what it meant - i kind of convinced myself that its like whipped cream which is used to decorate the top part of any food item (and now you know I failed to understand the purposes of whipped cream too)

I bill my stuff. I made sure I took the receipt (when I was new to America I took the receipt everywhere and for everything. I was always afraid that they would take away my money, hide my sandwich under their shelves and then protest that I have already taken my sandwich away). I walked off to the nearest table to dissect my new born baby which I obtained after much pain.

Now there are one of 2 things that are likely:

a) These stories are too far-fetched and adding to this the variable of exaggeration which is the underpinning of my writing, all of this is a sham

b) I'm slightly dyslexic and take WAY too much time to understand certain things. Funny things keep happening in my life and insanity rules my celestial objects.

I assure you that its the second option; those who know me well would nod their heads at this point. Exhausted though I am, it is indeed memorable to walk into an American restaurant without the slightest clue of what to order. Its like the village idiot in a corporate environment ... nobody suspects ... everyone knows he's gonna screw up! I went to Panera recently, think its my first time ... life was easier there coz they had a veggie sandwich option and they didn't look at me as though I'm from the Mbundu tribes of Central Africa.

So for all you folks who think my best bets are in Subway, remember one thing - its me they are dealing with. And in the path that I tread, insanity reigns!

2010-02-04T13:32:00.009-05:00

If you have watched the movie 'The Pink Panther' ... I can really crack you up when I say "I would like to have a hamburger". Little did I reckon that few days from watching the movie probably a 4th time, I would have to put myself in the same situation. Well, not exactly...

1) I don't eat ham

2) I'm not French and/or stupid

3) I wasn't planning on smuggling the damn burgers out of USA

So it was a usual Thursday noon when the mind was fidgeting between how unfruitful the week was and how welcoming the weekend is. I was starving; my meeting with my mentor wasn't happening; so what's the difference between a dementor and a mentor? As far as I know, both suck the soul out of you ;)

Anyway, darn it! I get so distracted when I type. What was the main point? Oh! I was starving; my meeting with my mentor wasn't happening. I took off for lunch. But where do I go?

a) Indian truck food: Eww! Too many times this week

b) Scaife cafeteria: I'd rather pick and eat worms

c) Somewhere in Forbes: Cool idea!

I walked down Forbes Avenue and stood right in between Subway and McDonald's. Time for a quick mental analysis... logical algorithms at play:

Subway has one veggie sandwich

McDonald's has none that i know of

Subway - I can choose whatever I need... customize!

McDonald's - I might be able to but it ain't easy

Subway - I won't make a fool of myself. I know what I want

McDonald's - High possibility of embarrassment

And so I walked inside... the big red M towered above me!

I guessed it right. No veggie burgers in sight. I cursed McDonald's and walked towards an old lady in the counter who looked menacingly at me. If I don't appear sophisticated, she'll put me into one of the subs and eat me off with mustard sauce. I stylishly flaunted my abilities to switch over to an American accent and the conversation began. The darned conversation began!

Me: I would like to have a veggie burger!

She: You would like to have a ... what?

Me: (adjusts my throat) I would like to have a veggie burger

She: Sir, what's that? I don't know what you are talking about

Me: (huh?) I would like to have a vegetable burger! (Clearly understanding that her blank expressions haven't altered, I went on)... you know just the vegetables; no chicken; no meat.

She: ???

I made flowery movements using my arms to describe how the lettuce looks like and how the onions and tomatoes are shaped.

She: So you need just the vegetables. No meat. A small burger?

Me: Ok!

She: What's it called?

Me: A veggie burger

She: A what?

Me: (Oh no!) A vegetable burger

She: Sir, we don't have a veggie burger. But we can make anything you want us to make. So what is it that you want?

Me: (world peace... can ya give it to me? Start off by pointing directions to the nearest subway or a mental asylum, whichever is closer) A burger with ONLY vegetables like tomatoes, onions and lettuce; no chicken or meat

She: Ok. (She calls out to the manager and repeats what I said)

Manager: He gives us our meat back, so give him extra tomatoes

She: You don't want mayo on it?

Me: No

She: Cheese?

Me: Sure

She: You want mayo but no cheese. Dairy ok?

Me: Yeah

She: (stares at me with awaited expressions)

Me: (thinking i need to say something) Ketchup!

She: (she looks aghast as though I just stepped on her toes)

Me: Ketchup instead of mayo

She: Ketchup in your burger?

Me: (no, in your %$&*) Yes

She: Ok. Sir, what do I bill your burger as?

Me: (stares blankly)

She: (annoyed) She asks me if I need anything else

Me: Small fries

She: Rice?

Me: Potato fries; small (i point to the chart with my little hands)

She: Is that all sweet heart?

Me: (a moment's shocked expression) Uh...hmmm... yeah!

Why the heck do all these people address me with "sweet heart", "honey", "kiddo" and all that? I'm doing a frikking PhD here, am not a low-budget child celebrity!

She: Swipe your card in there son

Me: (son... I sure don't resemble you in any way) (swipes)

She: You want you receipt?

Now normally I don't take the receipt coz its useless anyway. Not like my mentor is gonna reimburse me for eating burgers during lab hours. But for some reason, for some weird reason, perhaps I was too tensed as too many heads had turned already and the whole thing was turning into one big scene, and the entire world had come to a standstill to watch the touring circus and the joker, I said:

Me: Yeah

She: You want the receipt???

This time her voice screeched as though I was asking for her breast size. But if I said 'no' now, I would look even more funny

Me: Yes (i so damn need it now! I need it more than my burger)

She: Ok sir (taken aback by my persistence and conviction)

I finally get the damn burger and out I ran with such great speed that even the fastest land animals would be humbled. I made a mental pact that I'll never ever step into McDonald's again even if there was a nuclear holocaust and the entire earth collapsed and McDonald's was the only place I could find food in

I sat down and took a little bite of the burger. Music filled the air, violins played behind my back, spring was back in Pittsburgh and my eyelids fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. Damn you lady! I'm coming back for you... and i'll keep coming until you have the damn veggie burger up in your menu list. But presently, I chew on the burger and...

I'm lovin' it!

2010-02-03T17:47:00.003-05:00

He didn't move an inch.

Sweat trickled down his forehead. He felt his heart beat could be heard for miles. No one would find him here; but he wasn't taking chances today. He had left the computer facility long time ago. He will not be treading that path ever again. But he had to hide. Hide where he can never ever be located.

He breathed only when he really needed to.

"Things are gonna be ok" he kept telling himself. Flashes of past memories kept flickering in his mind ... "its all over ... its not gonna happen again" ... he kept convincing himself. It felt like it was indeed over. 2 months back things had looked so bad, there was no respite. Off-late, nothing much was happening. Things were quiet. Was it the silence before the storm? Doesn't appear so. Probably things were indeed ok. Probably he had no one to fear. Probably he could come out of his hiding place. And just when he decided to move an inch...

It happened...

...his phone beeped !

There was a message.

It wasn't over. It was coming back. It will never be over.

All of mankind is doomed for eternity!

He looked at the message again... and with a sigh of exasperation, he walked towards the computer facility.

You want to know what the message was ?

It said...

"Please check http://down-in-the-pitt.blogspot.com for latest blog updates!"

I'm back!

2010-02-03T16:56:00.003-05:00

Who's proud of their workplace? I know a person who is ... he's called 'everyone!'

Almost everyone HATE work, but all love their workplaces - at least most of them wish they did; or had an awesome place to show off as theirs even if they hated their work more than they hated their own wives!

Now being a researcher can be pretty cool (you conduct path-breaking drug discoveries wearing a hoodie and denims ... now who'd trust their lives on someone who wears converse to work?) because you get to work in really cool buildings. Now, the government thinks healthcare is one of the topmost priorities in today's world. This makes sense. The government also thinks we researchers are actually gonna bring a change to society by improving life quality and well-being. This doesn't make sense. All we want to do in a bunch of these five years are get a bunch of them publications and cool our heels in some low-wage fantasy central government research institutes where we can play solitaire during productivity hours (believe me... this happens!)

Anyway... coming back to the point. So the government gives us a LOT of money to alleviate or cure diseases of public health concern. We use a fairly large sum of this money to build a LOT of cool skyscrapers with state-of-the-art infrastructure. After all, if you want the job done ... you better give me a good place to sit first. We graduate students who fall way down the scientific hierarchy in terms of funding, priority and respect at least get to enjoy the amenities offered in these places of research. This is precisely what I'll talk about - my workplaces !

Now for safety reasons (concerning my own employment AND a means of earning my daily bread which I wouldn't want to put into jeopardy) I cannot specify the names of these buildings. Lets just say 'its confidential' and appear a lot cooler to the ignorant layman.

One place I worked actually still gives me the creeps. Nothing of what I described above. Recall those places where the 'Saw' series of movies have been shot ... I'm sure one of them were shot or at least had the potential to be shot here. The endless corridors of doom ... that's what we call it - it was a typical place you'd want to lock graduate students up and force them to perform a series of endless experiments and the day they are rendered useless - you let them graduate!

The second one was even worse! Irrespective of the fact that my lab was on the 17th floor (which was pretty cool actually), this place was also a clinic with zombie patients everywhere. It was a mental asylum (literally!). The only thing that encouraged me to redeem my sanity everyday was the project I got to work on - neurology - something I was always fascinated with.

The path to success is filled with potholes and washed bridges; in my case, extremely depressing workplaces. It was then cool things began to happen. I got to spend some time getting trained in a brand new facility. Things were SO brand new, they literally had to be opened out of cardboard boxes. I even had to take my work seat out from a box and unwrap the plastic around it. It was the best! Downtown view from the window ... cemetery across another window (did I fail to mention ... cemeteries are tourist spots in the US ... they actually look pretty neat). Doors swing in and out automatically; cool IDs that I just need to flash and the whole building comes to life; lights have minds of their own; this felt like a country kid who was tending to buffaloes all his life has been put right inside the White House!

If this wasn't good enough, I then went onto work in a center which was the most artistic research facility I had ever seen. It had fountains and gardens inside close to the lobby area. The entrance doors rotated 360 degrees and threw people like me into shock and awe. The labs were a little cramped but who cares! Its the place that counts ... we had a wishing well inside and we threw in a coin every time we conducted a BIG experiment.

I currently work in a highly secure building (which has ion sentinel scanners and all that ... are you sweating already?) and it is at the heart of Oakland where I really need to be. Its undoubtedly a place everyone wishes they were in. The views from the 10th floor is swell! I can see the river from up here where I sit and type and gloat - all at the same time. It gets connected to every damn building I ever want to get into through overhead bridges - I can travel all over without even getting outside the building. Every floor does some of the coolest research ever (actually, they sound cool) - drug discovery institute; neuro-degenerative disease research; structural biology; neurobiology; zebra fish research and so on. There is 'supposed' to be some research relating to biological warfare going on somewhere here ... but that might be a speculation too. Everything's all so hushed up - that it appears pretty cool!

So that's about it ... the stage is set for some groundbreaking discoveries to happen ... I've got my chair ... I've got my Mac ... I just need to write a program for a disease-free world. Sometimes all of these are good for the esteem of a student - the rate at which he's kicked around in lab, at least the amenities offer some degree of justice to why he needs to come to work everyday. And unlike most professions ... its not just our work places we are proud about ... its our work too! Why? Because ... its so damn cool !

2010-01-26T14:22:00.005-05:00

You know you are a scientist when you have no frikkin clue of what you are doing!

Back in college, I was privileged to meet a bunch of ignorant, scientifically illiterate, uninformed, unqualified, under-performing, unarguably un-apt and yet unimaginably beautiful acquaintances who called themselves our teachers. They haven't had the experiences of reading even a single scientific journal in their lifetime and yet they assertively describe every physiological process of the human body in a single breath.

However, America was different. You couldn't mess with these folks. They knew their Sciences. When a researcher who has perhaps spent his entire professional lifetime in cancer biology authoritatively describes a cellular phenomenon to you, you need to think twice before questioning his conviction.

My teachers back in India almost fell into a similar category - they were feminine, they were short, almost all were cute to look at, and could give a tough competition to digital voice recorders when it came to remembering and recalling comprehensive information from a textbook.

Researchers here fell into several categories. It needs no mention that most are, in their own individual respects, fairly intelligent. They have set up home in one of the top medical schools in the US - they gotta know their Science. And know it well. However, in my last almost-2 years spent in the University amidst these varied species of researchers, I discovered categories - just like how bacteria and viruses can be of a variety of types based on their natures.

There are the dorks - textbook scientists, lots of facial hair, no specific hairstyle, soda glasses falling on their noses all the time, they wear their pants up till their tummies, they burp, they snore, they make crude noises each time they laugh; their sense of dressing is humongously dismal; and they know all the biochemical pathways that exist on this earth BY-HEART!

And then there are the studs - a cross-breed between Tom Cruise and Keanu Reeves, they make the chicks go crazy! They are charismatic, elegance defines their outlook, they make the best jokes on the planet and they don't worry about not bragging about their work. Their research may not be necessarily worth description, but they know to use the right words to attract gullible cheap-maintenance graduate students into their deceptive laboratories.

There also are the third world professors - they are marvelously a wonder in their own little way. Chinese and Indians predominate this clan. Even God has his own difficulties in understanding the Chinglish (Chinese English) these guys speak - you wonder if they are choking or speaking actual sentences. They are slave drivers and do not understand the concept of holidays or vacations. The Indian counterparts carry a whip too and use them quite frequently to drive slogging graduate students out of their homes into their labs. They use the students for a variety of purposes - from accomplishing endless goals in their never-ending projects to getting coffee with '2 tea spoons sugar' whenever they are tired of making the students slog. Professors from both these clans are undoubtedly intelligent; they manage to get publications within their first year of induction itself and it does not take them much time to elevate from assistant to associate professors. Its another issue that they stand on the necks of wailing graduate students to reach greater heights.

And then there are the sweet start-ups. They are professors coming from various parts of the world who survive on the university's start up money. Their dreams are big and they actually find solace and satisfaction in being scientists. They are super nice to you, more so because they are fresh out of labs themselves and they still manage to understand that students who eat macaroni and cheese for lunch and dinner need to be treated with respect and love. Its another issue that both respect and love vanish once they get tenured; then the lynching starts.

There could potentially be various other forms of professors - their list grows by the day. There are hard-core business types, there are those who have been wedded to Science for eternity, there are those who work on application-driven research, there are those who work on the trivialest, mega-useless projects which does not mean a damn to anybody in this universe; some are on the verge of great discoveries and line up to win the big moolah like the Dickson and the Nobel prizes; some are already there gloating over their industrious past.

Its funny how taxonomists all over the world are always busy classifying organisms into hundreds of different varieties but fail to classify themselves - mine is a humble attempt at discerning the strange 'scientist' species.

2010-01-26T14:06:00.003-05:00

Failure is good. It shows your worthiness. It tells you where you went wrong. It leads you to unconventional paths. It lets you start again. It teaches you valid lessons. It hits your head with a brick and wakes you up.

Failure is good. It tells you who your true friends are. It helps you distinguish between those who are curious to those who are concerned. It builds bonds. It builds better friendships.

Failure is good. It destroys your pride. It shatters your vanity. It brings you back on the earth. It tells you how vulnerable you are. It gives you humility. It instills in you a drive to perform.

Never be afraid to fail. Success doesn't teach much - an excess of it can be detrimental. Success might build your character, but failure reveals it. Failure is the only opportunity to begin again more intelligently (Henry Ford)

2009-10-13T23:37:00.008-04:00

I wish...

... that I would wake up to see Arya sleeping next to me

... that my life goes in circles at this moment!

... that my friends and me video chat on Skype

... Pittsburgh and Bangalore were right next to each other

... I could talk fluently in Sanskrit

... I remain a teetotaler all my life!

... genetic counselors remain pretty every year!

... to show Pittsburgh to everyone I know

... my stipend gets doubled and the weekend starts on friday

... my advisor refers to me as a phenomenal grad student

... that my friends at Pitt remain friends for life!

... that I do not make any girl cry ever again from today ;)

... our Indian educational system improves

... cricket is played very rarely

... I love American football someday (very unlikely!)

... I owned an awesome DSLR camera

... to see Kemmangundi!

... to be treated normally when I go to India ;-(

... to give dad the biggest hug possible

... kids like me ALWAYS even if I'm whack!

... to sit on M's tummy and play with his beard

... to spend the entire night star gazing

... I never cry in front of anyone

... my wishes really really really come true!

2009-10-13T22:48:00.004-04:00

Blogging is not a sadistic passion I began pursuing recently; my days go back to 2006. So in 2006, a hotel in Saudi Arabia collapsed killing 76 pilgrims; a suicide bomber in Tel Aviv, Israel injured 20; more planes and buses crashed; Google bought Youtube; Saddam Hussein was sentenced to hanging; Sony PS 3 was released; Kannada actor Dr. Rajkumar dies; and RD Kornberg gets the Nobel Prize in Chemistry. That’s pretty much when I began blogging. Pretty eventful huh?

That’s like the official date – February 2006. Unofficially, I began much earlier in 2005 – but somehow ended up deleting my own blog by accident – that’s a long story into which I wouldn’t want to get into.

I had a humble beginning like most great people … there were a bunch of readers including myself … in fact, just to get the ball rolling I would leave comments on my posts hoping that would trigger off the others into doing the same. I used to be narcissistic, I would read my own blog again and again and again. Comments trickled in but were hardly worth mention. Most were restricted to – “Hey! I like your blog. Would you like to perform better in bed? Click this link”.

Reverse psychology always works … on me! But when I try it on others – it bombs! I came up with my first threat to STOP blogging sometime in 2007. I knew what would happen. The world would be aghast. Everyone would throw their hands up in the air in helplesness. There would be a storm kicking in front of my house. There would be tears. Someone would set themselves ablaze somewhere (I’m reeeealllly stretching this too far, ain’t I?). But basically, I expected to get a barrage of mails requesting me to continue, an innundation of “I love what you write!” messages, and an assault of “don’t you dare stop writing” threats.

I looked at my inbox.

It was silent as ever…

What the heck? So it doesn’t even matter to anyone. Perhaps, if someone sends a mail saying Suhas is dead, nobody would turn up for my funeral service too! This was exactly like that; the blog was officially dead, and people wouldn’t even bother to respond to the funeral service. It was mortification to the extreme! I was exasperated to even bother writing anymore.

I checked my mail again.

Still nothing.

Suddenly, the system beeped. I clicked. The mail read…

Order degree certificates. Its as easy as clicking

Order certificates? Why on earth did I slog it out for the 3 +2 years to attain my degrees!

Another beep. I casually looked.

I like the way you write. I’m gonna miss your blog a lot

WTF? Yeah, I know … the mail still did not talk anything about stopping me from stopping the blog. But it had all the ingredients in it to make my day! That was it! The fingers were back on the keyboard.

By and by, I tried nurturing a habit not to be too bothered with how many comments I receive. I started deeming it to be too trivial to break my head over. And it made sense too. The whole phenomenon of writing for myself and using blogger as a platform to vent my emotions seemed so logical. I grew up. I wrote for myself.

I don’t give a damn thought I. Should I care if people read what I write? Nope. Should I care if I get comments? Nope. Should I care if its too personal? Nope. Should I care if its helping me get things out of my system. Yep! That’s the only damn thing I’d care about. Pretty much, that was the time I even stopped sending out mails to people asking them to read my blog. It was my liberation movement; the moment of enlightenment; of totality!

This mode of mine went on for a pretty long time. I would say that there were times when I thought of quitting – maybe when I got a writer’s block, maybe when I did not find time at all, maybe when my posts were too monotonous and were following a strict pattern or maybe when there were not enough things inside my system to get them out.

Then began this new mode of mine – the new genre – I wrote for the mass! Inspite of all the gabble that I was so fond of writing, I at least gave it a proper package so that it could be presentable. And I slowly figured it out, when the package looks pretty, people don’t give a damn to what’s inside. There … I gave out a big secret to how I write what I write … make the package pretty!

On a more serious note, blogging did help me develop. It wasn’t discernible, but I started feeling that I had begun developing a broad-minded perceptive about everything in life. Things became more clearer in the head once it fell in the form of words on page. My opinions, principles and ideologies, my decisions, justifications for my decisions, my ambitions, my beliefs – I developed a large portion of these by writing. That’s the sole reason I always uphold reading and writing – 2 things I always endorse people to do. It builds personality.

Now back to my gibberish normal self. So where was I? Yeah, I wrote for the mass. Once the head is clear, the system is clean. Ergo, there is no scope for venting your emotions. At least, not so much. That’s when the gobbledygook intensified. I have read blogs that preach, that ask you to modify your behaviors, your perceptions about life; I have read blogs that write about issues; that write about sentiments – love stories, heart breaks, teary poetry; all these in terms of standard and quality are way above mine … but I figured its not really what people want to read. It makes sense if these people are writing these for themselves… the genre I was in around 2007. But otherwise, it made one really gloomy. Who wants that? I wanted to write things people would read, laugh, think I have gone whacky, and then forget about it. Somehow, I did just that.

When it comes to writing, I am somewhere around average. I’m being unpretentious here… I have read what others write and sometimes I’m appalled about my own ignorances about what’s happening around me. One feels I am totally lackadaisical about everything that needs importance. Maybe a little more solemnity, maybe a little more emotion, maybe a little more rationality might improve the standards of my writing. But somehow I haven’t been able to get myself into that mode at all. Its so easy for me to ramble on about senseless things, the thing I’m most comfortable doing, that I feel like just continuing this until someone burns out – the reader or me!

I have had a mixed journey. Strangers have walked up to me and introduced themselves saying that they have read my blog. My own good friends have swore at me and forced me to take their ids off my mailing list threatening me not to send a single blog update ever! Nevertheless, writing feels good.

2009-10-12T16:15:00.006-04:00

This is my first attempt to bring stupidity into story-writing. Where can stupidity not venture into? Its really really long for my blogging standards and I’m sure to make more enemies than already in the process. But who cares?

It was a really cold night. The breeze rumbled so hard, leaves were dropping from the trees like raindrops from the sky. Not a single soul braved to go out in such weather. The nights were usually cold, but that night was exceptional – the ravaging gushes of wind swept everything in her path. The student was glad to be under the protection of his apartment. His own apartment, for which he was paying about one-third of his stipend money. He wasn’t that upset to be on the lowest level in the pay-chain. Graduate life eventually takes over and masquerades the impoverished lifestyle one’s living.

There were sudden flashes of light. Late undergrad partygoers often were found driving their cars in unearthly hours with glimmering lights that would creep into the rooms of every apartment and disturb everyone’s sleep. But this was not a mere flash of light, it was more like beams of light being focused on his room. With inquisitive eyes, the graduate student pulled his blinds up and peeped outside. His eyes widened. Heart rate doubled. He would shriek, only if his voice came out. And before he got back to his senses, he felt himself being pulled out of his bed, across the window and thrown into the frigid sky with force. He was sucked into the spaceship. That was when he blanked out.

In other places, more people were picked up in this way. The same beams of light. They too blanked out as they were being sucked into the alien craft. The darkness seemed eternal.

“Is this America?” said the President as he scanned his surroundings. The place looked dismal. Craters, darkness, desert-like, not a soul to behold. “We must be in Texas. That’s America!” said he to himself again.

And then, it walked from one of the craters.

As the President prepared to launch a “Yes, we Can” speech at this extraterrestrial in order to fight it off, the strange creature stood up on both its legs, as though it was human. It was pretty hairy, fat glasses, unkempt hair and a shirt that would never match with the trousers. “Are you American?” asked the President. “Yes of course. I was just working on my grants when I suddenly felt air-lifted. I tried to finish off the remaining sentences, although the phenomenon of being air-lifted posed certain technical glitches to my progress. The next thing I remember is waking up here in this place, which according to my calculations based on the speed of my airlifting, the diameter of the spacecraft and the classic features of this place, is our natural satellite – the MOON” said the advisor, with impressive hold over his vocabulary. And disturbed by this verbal bantering from the advisor, more people walked out from the craters – the lab technician in the thong, the dangerous NRI uncle and finally, the graduate student himself.

The President stood on one of the bigger rocks. He tried to adjust his tie only to realize he was still in his mickey-mouse pajamas. He started off his emphatic speech.

Its apparent that five of us have been selected by someone or something to live on this place we call Moon. Whatever that selected us did so for a reason. Because the five of us represent the heart and soul of America. The advisor whose research brings bigger problems to society, the lab technician whose drinking habits build our economy and hence more employment opportunities, the NRI uncle – the shrewd engineer who knows where to get the cheapest deals in this dire time of recession, the graduate student – cheap labor from whom we can get anything done, and me, your President of course, the Nobel laureate, the messiah in distressing times, especially during these times when cafeteria burgers have become dearer by 36 cents.

“You lie!” screamed the graduate student. His voice thundered across the moon and stunned everyone. “No its true!” retorted back the President. “Burgers are dearer by 52 cents. That’s why I have been eating a lot of Ramen these days” screamed back the student. If anyone closely observed, they would find tiny drops of tears emering from his eyes.

The President continued…

As I was saying, we have been thrown into this challenging environment. America always chooses to use challenges as an opportunity to build itself. Its because we can!Yes, we can! The NASA probe has shown to us that moon has water. At least, we won’t be thirsty.

“Anyone for a drink? I know this really good place right around that corner behind that big rock. Drinks are half-priced around this time” smiled the confident lab-technician. One of two things were true. She had gone bonkers after her experiences in zero-gravity or she had no frikkin clue where she was. The advisor, who was finishing up his grant proposals by etching the moon floor with sharpened pieces of rocks, glared at the technician. She sat down with a grimace. The student was fast asleep. His concentration time of exactly 15 minutes had surpassed. He was dreaming already, of being a post-doc and coming to lab whenever he wished and yet being able to have his own Mac in the lab.

Undeterred by the disturbances being caused by the rest of the troupe, the President moved on…

So lets build this place from scratch. Because we can! Yes we can! For ourselves. For America. But let us not bicker and quarrel with each other in the process. I intend to keep this nobel peace prize for a while. The advisor can write a paper on what we need to do in order to build a society from scratch. The student can do all the labor. The NRI uncle can be in charge of exploration to find anything worth using here. The lab technician and me will be in charge of building a good population around here. She’s our only hope for civilization.

And then the wild party just started. The NRI uncle went on a wild goose chase to search for stuff he deemed would be worth auctioning if he could ever get back to earth. Or he could do it there on the Moon as soon as the Moon currency went into circulation. The advisor broke into a series of calculations, and although he came across a brilliant plan to sustain their existence on the Moon, he deicded to collect some preliminary data, get a couple publications and then implement them. The graduate student of course was flabbergasted to have found signal even at such great distances away and had begun using facebook on his iPhone. His status updates read – “I’m in moon. Check out my new youtube video where I do the moonwalk”. And somewhere behind the big rock where the lab technician’s hypothetical bar existed, Obama and the tech were taking a walk.

Very soon, all hell broke loose. It was the shrewd NRI uncle who found it first. The abandoned spaceship. The source of hope to return back to earth. Upon inspection, it was found that the spaceship was a prototype of NASA’s crafts running on Windows Vista. It came with the standard 4-seats in the cabin. One person had to be dropped out of this mission. The mission to earth!

The spaceship took off after a couple of restarts and running a few spyware scans. The graduate student watched in awe as the craft lifted off leaving darkness and silence.

He looked at his watch. It was 9pm; March 12, 2014. Something was to happen around this time. He racked his brains but couldn’t figure out. He scanned through numerous web pages and came across an article – India successfully launches Chandrayaan 3 – the first manned mission to Moon. And in the distance, he could see a speck of light coming right towards the moon.

2 weeks later…

He had quite a story to narrate. The youngest person on Moon. The graduate student was enveloped by an ocean of media personnel. His return to earth on Chandrayaan 3 was a pretty eventful one. Everyone wanted to know his story. He was winning acclaims and awards. He was winning fellowships. He was winning cash prizes. He was on Broadway. He was on Time magainze. He was everywhere!

Meanwhile…

The ruckus created by the President’s “Yes, we Can” speech, the advisor’s (mis) calculations on the trajectory to earth, the NRI uncle’s moon-rock collections (through which he intended to make a lot of money) adding to the weight of the craft, the lab technician treating the entire craft as a party hall and the blue-screen-of-death on all the monitors of the spaceship shifted its path towards the rings of Saturn.

The graduate student opened his eyes. He looked around. A pile of papers covered his study table. He didn’t even remember if it was a wooden table. His breakfast dish from yesterday was still beside the window sill. He woke up reluctantly. Brushed his teeth. He didn’t utter a word. Grabbing his cellphone and backpack, he slowly walked towards his lab thinking, “Only if dreams came true!”

2009-10-05T23:10:00.004-04:00

There came a time in my life when I had to choose between the pen and the pipette. I choose the latter. I thought I made that choice. Not destiny. I did. And I was sure my choice was right. I had to justify it. Because it was my choice. Life, now, has pushed me into making that same decision again. The pen or the pipette. Time’s changed now. I have changed. I wouldn’t believe in destiny. Now I am too confused not to. Is destiny giving me another chance to take the right decision? Or is life trying to test my determination?

I think I know the answer…

I shall write about the pipette. I think that’s the right choice. My choice. Destiny’s choice.

PS: Don’t think too much of this post. Its just introspective…

2009-10-05T18:04:00.002-04:00

One of the pleasures of coming to lab early is the freedom you get – every equipment has your name written on it, every bench eagerly anticipates that you’ll keep your samples on them, every hood welcomes you with open arms and every Mac waits for you to open facebook or read PhD comics in them.

One of those days…

I had my experiment running from 7-45am. I knew the day would go by pretty smoothly without any hitch. We generally have to schedule our time to use the tissue culture hood (in laymen terms, the hood is where we play around with cells) because we have one hood and five people. But what’s the hurry? There’s no one around. Heck! No one’s gonna be around till 9. And so I immersed myself into the magical world of farmville and other facebook games.

Folks started streaming into the lab. Ahhh… they just came now; they have to still talk about how much whisky they had over the weekend (Americans!), some incomprehensible conversations about the Steelers game (the Steeler fans defy rationality) and about some fancy new restaurant that serves awesome salads with extra lettuce. And thus, I refused to schedule my hood-time.

My advisor started using the hood first. He deserves it … after all, its his. His money. Go for it buddy! When he was out, post-doc walks in. And me thinks, “hmmm… maybe I’ll go book a slot”. And the rest was history!

It was overbooked! Till frikkin 9pm. I come to lab at 7-30am, and now I gotta hang around till night? Hunter to the hunted… I went around begging co-workers for 10-minute slots. But apparently everyone had such important experiments to carry out in the hood (as if everyone were on the verge of a great discovery), that my requests kept bouncing all over. I propose, they dispose!

I walked up and down the lab corridors hoping someone will yield. Thankfully and surprisingly, the villain of my life – my lab technician, yielded. She gave me my ten minutes at 5pm and hence my freedom by 6pm.

And I always laughed at the stupidity of the hare who couldn’t win over the tortoise…

2009-10-05T17:59:00.003-04:00

When you sit in an Indian restaurant and a white guy comes to serve you, you know that the equations of the world are changing!

2009-10-03T17:25:00.004-04:00

Blew another Friday off watching an action flick – Transformers this time, yet again. We just can’t love this movie enough. Roomie and me discussed how things would be in our lab if it was shot like an action movie.

9am … somewhere in the Cancer Center, Molecular Virology Lab

Advisor: We are all here because the time has come to choose … to choose between what is easy and what is right. The SV-40 viruses are causing tumors in mice and soon plan to attack humans and take over the universe. But we are Americans. And if true American blood runs in our bodies, we are sure to kick some virus butt today.

Grad student, do the pull-downs. Secure the beads and prepare for washing.

Grad student: Pull-down process engaged. Everyone, hold onto your butts. Ultracentrifugation begins in T -5 seconds. Sir, I advise you to stay in your bunker.

Advisor: Good luck grad student. Make me proud (retires to his chamber)

Post-doc: Mayday! Mayday! The Mac’s frozen. Does someone know how to operate this?

Grad student: There is only one person who can do this. Our lab-tech, who spends most of her hours on google talk. Jennifer, proceed 10 steps to your east and take care of the Mac you see in front of you. Centrifugation steps complete. Washing steps engaged.

And suddenly, out of nowhere…

Advisor: Team. Report status.

Grad student: Washing steps will be completed asap.

Advisor: What the heck is that? Roll in 0.5% NP-40. I repeat … alpha … roll in 0.5% NP-40. Switch on the hot plate. Proceed to boil in sample buffer. Start loading gels from 9 O’clock west.

Grad student: Samples incoming! Lets use our two-five-zero-kb marker. Bring the standard protein ladder.

Lazy undergrad: Attention all units. Ground team requesting Seeblue protein standard.

Grad student: All samples loaded. Prepare for transfer in T-60minutes.

Advisor to lab-tech: Bring the student home. Get him state-side right now and de-briefed in 15 minutes.

Lab-tech: Calling lab-tech to grad-student, do you hear me. Lab-tech to grad-student, return to home base. Sir, I think we lost him. He must have gone to Qdoba.

Advisor: Grad student, return to base at once. If you do not comply, your India trip vacation will be cancelled.

Grad student: Reporting to base at once sir. Preparing for transfer.

And the rest of the day continues in this confusion…….

Grad student: Back off! We are under attack from non-working Santa Cruz antibodies. Bring in Invitrogen, bring in Abcam, bring in Covance, bring in everything you have. Do I have orders to abort mission professor?

Advisor: Orders to abort mission denied.

Grad student: Proceed killbox 1 alpha. Borrow antibodies from adjacent lab. Use deadly force if necessary.

And in course of time, with results in hand…

Grad student: I did it ! Crazy son-of-a-bitch, I did it! Mission accomplished professor!

Advisor: All ground units to be evacuated at once. It is time to go home. It has been an honor working with all of you. (To grad student), report to duty on Saturday and reproduce this experiment. The war is not yet over. The end is just the beginning. There is more to it than meets the eye. I am the principal investigator and I send this message to all the surviving graduate students taking refuge somewhere. I am here, and I am waiting.

(Dialogues credited to Transformers)

2009-09-29T16:02:00.004-04:00

Common conversations in a laboratory setting:

Monday

Advisor: Are you sure you spun down the samples?

Grad student: Yes

Advisor: Are you sure the tube had samples when you spun them down?

Grad student: Yes

Advisor: Are you sure the centrifuge was working when spinning down the samples?

Grad student: Yes

Advisor: Are you sure that the centrifuge was plugged on?

Grad student: Yes

Advisor: Ok. Do this experiment again

Tuesday

Grad student: I do not know why this didn’t work

Advisor: It worked last time when Jennifer (lab technician) did it

Grad student: Maybe we need to order fresh antibodies

Advisor: It worked last time when Jennifer used the old antibodies

Grad student: Maybe there is no true association

Advisor: Maybe you are stupid

Grad student: Pardon me?

Advisor: Ok. Do this experiment again

Wednesday

Lab technician: Hey, pick the trash

Grad student: I am in the middle of an experiment

Lab technician: Hey, prepare the buffers

Grad student: But I had prepared them just 2 hours back

Lab technician: Hey, do my Western. I’m going home

Grad student: Hey !

Advisor: Bye (to lab technician). You are coming this Saturday right? (to grad student)

Thursday

Post-doc: Myc family of transcription factors contain bHLH/LZ domain and through its bHLH domain can bind to DNA, while the leucine zipper domain allows the dimerization with its partner Max, another bHLH transcription factor.

Grad student: Whoa! What the heck?

Post-doc: This is my desk. Get off

Grad student: That’s your desk. This is mine.

Post-doc: Now both are mine.

Grad student: But I love my Mac

Post-doc: My Mac. Use your laptop

Grad student: Sniff!

Post-doc: Are those my pants you are wearing?

Friday (afternoon 3pm)

Lab-technician: Bye

Grad student: Bye

Post-doc: Bye

Grad student: Bye

Advisor: Bye

Grad student: Bye (and starts his experiment)

Saturday (in lab)

Grad student: Is anybody there?

Sunday (in lab)

Grad student: Is anybody there?

2009-09-22T21:40:00.001-04:00

I just hit half a century with over 50 posts in Pittsburgh. The journey has been great … you have all been incessantly stopping me from not blogging … I applaud your masochistic attributes. Looking forward to bomb you with more posts in the days to come. Thanks again for everything!

2009-09-22T12:42:00.002-04:00

So Julia Roberts was shooting for this movie called ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ and she had priests performing a hawan to ensure the movie does not bomb at the box office. The hotel she resides in has a unique Yoga center; and on the first day of the shot, she wore Indian attires and ate Indian food with her bare hands. She finds Gulab Jamun the most amazing of all (atleast Julia and me have similar and good tastes). She thinks “India is really amazing” (Courtesy: Rediff.com)

And this news becomes an article in most of the Indian newspapers. So the Indians are happy that she thinks India is amazing, the Hindus are happy because she’s performing sacred rituals, the media is happy because they captured an event that can sell. As usual, I’m the one who’s not happy. And as for Julia Roberts, she probably doesn’t even know that an article was written about her in an Indian newspaper.

Lets say the King Khan – Shahrukh came to Pittsburgh and ate a pepperoni pizza using a fork and a knife. He wore a hoodie which read ‘Old Navy’ and he wore GAP denims. Can you picture an article in the post-gazzette which reads ’Indian actor dines in American restaurant; he wore an American hoodie and jeans; ate using knives and forks; and he thinks Pittsburgh is a great place to be’? I would love to see something like that.

It certainly is a wonderful thing to know that someone 8000 miles away thinks our country is great. But that certainly shouldn’t be the source of our patriotism, right? That is not the only reason why we should feel proud about our country. Why wait for some gora or gori to groove on our Indian cultures and then bask in glory for belonging to that country? I really think the newspapers should get their priorities right.

I hate to preach. So I’ll make this as short as possible. If someone tells you that they think India is a great country – just tell them you know it already. But do not run around everywhere announcing that an X or a Y thinks India is great. That’s precisely what our newspapers are doing right now.

2009-09-20T02:00:00.002-04:00

Far far away, on a mystical land where the sun rose in the east and set in the west, where stars twinkled, where graduate students toiled for free food and western blots continuously failed, there lived a great graduate student called 'Ram'. He lived in Ayodhya Apartments which was managed by Lobos - promising realtors who tried everything in their might to prevent the death of their tenants (especially due to bathroom flooding).

His advisor Dr. Dasharatha (MD/PhD) was a great man who collaborated with evil principal investigators like Dr. Kaikeyi to whom publications were more important than the funding of graduate students. On the day Ram finished his lab rotation, Dr. Dasharatha crowned him with the most coveted GSR position much to the irritation of his collaborator. Dr. Kaikeyi then reminds Dr. Dasharatha about the contractual agreements of the collaboration and sends Ram into an endless journey of finding protein interactions using Westerns and CO-IPs. Meanwhile, Bharata, the new post-doc enjoys all the limelight, the new lab coat, the personal cubicle, and more such amenities while Ram struggles with just granola bars for lunch.

Sita, the lab technician and Lakshman, the annoying undergrad accompany Ram in this perilous adventure where dangers like Santa Cruz antibodies and wrong buffers could ruin their lives. After traversing through the chasm of death filled with take-home-exams and paper discussions, and slaying the two demonic journal club presentations, Ram finally comes to face Dr. Ravana and Co. - his thesis committee!

Dr. Ravana has everything in him to make the lives of graduate students miserable. His presence and aura gives self destructing attributes to the students; Dr. Ravana himself and his army (from other departments) were all set to launch a brutal attack on Ram. Lanka Hall, the new conference room in Scaife Hall would be the battlefield. The battle has begun. Ram dodges, bends, ducks, moves, retaliates, fires, and finally emerges out of the battlefield, hurt, hungry, tired, insulted, injured, exasperated, and yet victorious and relieved !

Baratha personally comes to receive Ram and gives a piece of his half-eaten pizza to him. Back in the kingdom, Dr. Dasharatha is happy to have his graduate student back, qualifiers cleared, and looks forward to put him through another infinite years of frustration and lab bench maintenance.

Thus ends the greatest epic of all times - the Ramayan - the journey of Ram - a true story depicting the ideal advisor, the ideal graduate student, and the ideal committee, the duties of life, the duties of relationships, and the duties to be performed during incubation times (checking gmail, playing farmville, updating status messages, and for people like me, blogging!)

2009-09-20T00:57:00.006-04:00

At the end of the academic year, there is something you have to do which you'd detest to the core of your heart and yet you oblige to with an innocent smile. It forces you to dig deep and distill out your creativity until you are mentally drained. To push things for the worse, you have to do this not once, but again - and again - and again and again! Neither am I talking about examinations, nor am I talking about writing the eternal love letter to your (in)significant someone. I'm talking about filling in the slam books!

One question that often stumped me was about what my most embarrassing moment was! I would be petrified at this question - not because I could not recall any particular incident; I just do not know how to prioritize and place the worst moments of my life in order. They are so many and I need to attach supplemental sheets along with the slam book!

For the cartoonic life that I lead, I don't necessarily get embarrassed by what I do. To top it all, I have a room mate who complements me in every single way. Yet, I have put myself into certain awkward situations wherein I have realized, anything I say would make the situation much much worse!

Maybe I should write about the crazy elevator ride. Being in a country where at a given time, millions of people are on elevators all over America ... I find the elevator journey the most boring of all especially when I travel alone. Especially in Western Psych, I had to go all the way to the 14th floor - the journey would get so tiring that I'd have jet lag at the end of it. It was believed that the 14th floor fell under a different time zone but it was debatable. I had to entertain myself with a few somersaults, scratching my nails against the sides of the walls, and breathing out air into the CCD camera which was as dead as a dodo. Or so I wished. The camera was in perfect condition and the receptionist would have a great time everyday watching her personal cartoon network channel. She had 6 television screens and I was on her most favorite one every morning and every evening. I was even considering doing a ballroom dance with my laptop when the receptionist lady finally told me how amusing I was to her. That was the end of my dancing days - then on I stood so still that she must have mistook me for a cardboard cutout.

Maybe I should write about my great adventures on my palace on wheels. One thing I was sure about - no soul would care to bother me in a cancer lab late nights. There was this football match that day - Americans would be kicking away towards obesity and vocal cord damage. My samples were running across the gel and I had time to kill. One premium advantage of working in an American research lab is - their chairs have wheels. One could conveniently lie flat on his/her stomach over the chair and glide away across the room at 15 miles per hour. And glide away I did ... nothing was more exciting than that. Its true when they say that research is interesting - the incubation times are when most breakthroughs happen. Wasn't that when I figured out that I could garner more speed if I took a run up before falling flat on the chair and roll away to the end of the lab? I did it. Speed, I did garner. And also some shocked expressions from an advisor who had just walked in to grab some of his sheets. It worries me to put myself in his shoes - a respectable advisor who believes in doing Science for altruistic purposes sees a graduate student, tummy pressed to the seat, rolling away knocking against expensive instruments along his wonderful journey.

Maybe I should write about my fine observation skills that made quite a lot of heads turn. It so happened that I was way too early in the Atlanta airport and was passing away my time by rating girls as they passed (i'm generally lenient - the lowest I gave that day was 7 and only because she had too much hair on her eyebrows). The exasperated lady next to me decided to let go of some body fluids and requested me to look after her luggage. Being the two goody shoes (and secretly hoping she's a queen who'll give me half her kingdom and her daughter's hand for marriage for my good deeds), I gladly agreed. Not even two minutes had passed, there came a woman trying to tug her luggage off to a different place. Would I let her? I made it my responsibility to save the luggage from unscrupulous hands. If this stranger crazy lady wanted to steal away the luggage, she'd have to do it over my dead body. I tried to convince her that this luggage belongs to someone else and she tried hard to convince me that she herself is that someone else. I remembered her black overcoat. This lady does not have a black overcoat. I still held on to her luggage in one hand, a little confused myself. Heads were turning, people were looking up from their newspapers, there was a bit of awkward expressions on our faces. She won the staring competition. Unabashedly, she pulled away her luggage from me, wore the black overcoat given to her by her little daughter who came dancing like a daisy from the nether world and walked away and sat a good distance away from me. I wouldn't have been surprised if people moved their personal bags closer to themselves after seeing this weird me who denies people what rightly belongs to them.

What's my most embarrassing moment? When I slid on the bus on my bottom, or when my friends caught me for the possession of compact powder and a fairness cream? When i bowled my first leather ball which took 13 pitches before it reached the batsman, or when I strongly argued that the sacred cow was masculine with my coach? When i wore a semi-transparent dhoti in front of about 250 relatives, or when I lost in a running race (a relay actually) only because I ran in the opposite direction? It is said that the rate at which a person can mature is directly proportional to the embarrassment he can tolerate. I think I'm not doing that bad in this arena...

2009-09-20T00:49:00.003-04:00

The journey was to be short. Words, if at all spoken, would be very few. There was no time to make new friends. We knew we’d be going separate ways. It was highly unlikely I’d run into the same person again. Even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. We would fail to remember each other. That didn’t matter either. Some friendships last forever; some last only a minute.

It is pretty interesting to note how many strangers we meet everyday. Some end up as friends. Some remain mere passer-bys. Well, we all know how great our friends are (even though they fail to give you the money that they owe you) and we have taken their existence for granted (as in a regular part of our lives). What interests me more are these passer-bys. Their life is probably completely different from yours; perhaps they have encountered hundreds of incidents and circumstances in their lives that would really surprise or amuse you; and yet we will never be able to experience anything; just because they would remain mere passer-bys in our lives.

I met Katherine on an elevator (I generally prefer not taking names; but I have presumed I wouldn’t be meeting her again). Our conversation would be limited from the 6^th floor to the ground floor. Conversations between strangers are generally initiated because of an accidental ice-breaker. Katherine persistently pressed the button for the 6^th floor failing to notice that she was ALREADY on the 6^th floor. A burst of laughter and our short conversation began. In the 2-minute talk that followed, I learnt a bit about her crazy nature of changing majors ranging from theater to community health sciences. She had to go to the commons room while I had to catch a bus home. We smiled at each other and that was it. We never talked to each other again.

I met Chris in the Atlanta airport. Few minutes before I left to my friends’ place. Chris was waiting for his boyfriend to pick him up … he was going to Vegas. They would fly to Denver and drive to Vegas with another bunch of friends. Chris had just found a new job in one of the casinos where his boyfriend already works. He was brimming with joy at the thought of going there. I had to leave. I may never meet him again.

I had this random call from a random person. She had just decided to jumble up her own mobile number and see where the new number leads to. It led to me; on the day I was alone at home and finding it hard to pass time. She talked a lot of random stuff. To me, it was just another wrong number. But if I could talk over 2 hours on phone with my friends incessantly, I could talk at least for 30mins. with a wrong number. Moreover, she had this uncanny practice of bursting into regional songs on the phone. This went on for a while after which both of us unanimously decided that we better hang up. Today, I don’t even remember what that number was. I don’t even remember if I ever asked her what her name was. I don’t even know where she is or what she’s doing. I don’t think I’ll ever have such a conversation with her again.

I have had such short conversations - with people in the bus from Centre Avenue to 5^th Avenue; on a flight from Dallas to Pittsburgh; on the train from Thiruvananthapuram to Bangalore; during the 90 minutes of a boring seminar; during the 30 minutes spent playing flip cup! It is abusrd to even think about whether a relationship was developing – sometimes it was never meant to be!

To me, one of the favorite things in life is to know people. Every person has such fantastic stories to reveal. Every person is a walking story book. I feel privileged that I get to read new stories every single day. I think I can learn so much about myself talking to these so-called ‘strangers’. In essentiality, I eventually become less of a stranger to myself!

2009-09-01T15:13:00.004-04:00

7th std. gets a little frightening. The entire class stood in a line. It would be a random blast. Anybody could be picked. It could be him. Or the one next to him. It could be her. Maybe the girl next to me. Heck! It could be me too. It was that time of the year in school where you could not pick the person with whom you want to sit next to ... everything would be pre-determined ... by the class teacher of course.

7th std. gets unconventional. With the class strength being small, and the number of girls being relatively higher, it would naturally be one guy sitting in between two girls. Up till 6th standard, I would have probably puked at this idea... somehow in 7th std., something had changed. I had stopped looking at the opposite sex as something slimy and sluggish and one that needs to be gotten rid off with immediate effect. Something had changed within me.

7th std. gets flakier. Most of the girls knew where their seating was. The guys had to be picked. Maybe I'd be put next to 'A' - she was a lethal combination of beauty and brains. Maybe I'd be put next to 'M' ... heavens! I'd be ridiculed for the rest of my life if I was put next to 'M'. And as I tried to determine what games fate tried to play with me, my name was called. A ringing sound ... loud and clear ... "Hey you! Get your bag and go sit between P and G". The rest was history...

7th std. gets me too flipped out. Amidst all my calculations... I had totally forgotten about 'P'. She was the heart throb of the class! I was way out of the league to sit next to her ... and yet here I am ... dragging by bag full o' books and walking towards her. It took some courage actually to sit down ... what if she screams ... what if she gets up and shouts that she doesn't want to be seated next to me ... what if she cries ... she did nothing of that sort ... except smile and said a 'Hi'. 'G' whom I hadn't really talked to before... at least not so much... would later go on to be absolute fun and I cherish the one year sitting next to her too. At the same time, I'm sure I made quite a few enemies sitting next to 'P'.

7th std. gets more ludicrous. That's when the shorts have gotten the shortest... reaching their threshold. Dads usually say... "Listen, its just one more year... then you'll have pants from 8th... manage this year son". 'Manage' they say... but sitting in between two girls, one of them who's drop dead gorgeous, how would it feel to hang around with tiny little shorts ... long enough not to be called an underwear ... and short enough to expose your bare hairy legs with bruises (that you got from playing football with the high school team) ?

7th std. still gets whackier. What's with the broken voice? And hair below the nose? And on other unmentionable places? I roughly estimated that I must have about hundred hair follicles in my mustache region... so if I can pluck off three hairs a day ... in about three months ... I should be mustache-free! "Just shave it off" you say... but its taboo-ish at home!

7th std. gets barmier. Its the love season. Crushes with class-mates and junior girls are more than common. The species whom until then we classified along with the nematodes and insecta, now appear extremely cute (especially when they laugh... boy! They can surely floor you with their smile).

Its a weird phase of life after all... a mix of puberty and liberty...

7th std. eventually gets memorable. In all of our lives...

2009-08-30T17:00:00.010-04:00

There was a tea shop. Then there was a tea shop owner. There was a man in love. There was a woman who swore she wasn't in love. There was a card sharping father. And then there was the village pickpocket. There were two quirky love stories. There was Moonshine. And then there was Skytoffee.

On 28th, 29th and 30th of this August, at the New Hazlett Theater Pittsburgh, Sandhya Krishnan weaved her magic and showcased the interwoven love stories 'Moonshine and Skytoffee'.

Originally based on Vaikom Muhammad Basheer's work, the stories are about two unconventional love relationships - one between Kesavan Nayar and Saramma, and the other between Zainaba and the infamous Muthapa.

Kesavan Nayar (played by Christopher Cussat) is a pure romantic ... the 1940s black-and-white lover who could give his life to prove the unblemished nature of his love. But Saramma (played by Monica Jogi) seems to have no regret in taking away Kesavan's life. And herein lies the problem. Love's labor lost. Saramma reciprocates to Kesavan's poetic outbursts in very ungrateful manners.

However, for Zainaba (Jackie Omotalade) and Muthapa (Arvind Suresh), it was love at first sight. How could Zainaba protect herself from the titillating pickpocket's charms? It would have been a walk-in walk-out love story had not the unforgettable Otakannan Pokker (Sam Nicotero) stepped in between. How could a card sharper, a master at his art, who had amassed enough money to have any son-in-law he wished for, give his beautiful daughter away to the village scoundrel?

But very few understand the boundaries of love ... because it has none. Neither the Pokker, nor the 'playing hard to get' character of Saramma, or any other circumstance prevent this flow of love. And the love flows on... be it when Saramma blows the hand fan ensuring her Kesavan gets a good night's sleep before 'their' journey the next day ... or when the shrewd Muthapa beats the Pokker out of his own game (thanks to Zainaba actually) pushing the Pokker into yielding to this wedding.

The acting was fantastic; the use of variable shades of lighting did a lot to add to the moods of the scenes. Zainaba and Saramma were classic; you couldn't help feel for Kesavan with his mystical abilities to move mountains for his love and yet fails to impress his counterpart. Muthapa was a treat to watch ... his uncanny abilities to convince you about how pickpocketing is a selfless art must have made a lot many in the audience seriously re-consider their professions. Pokker, as I keep saying, is unforgettable.

Two adorable love stories ... two adorable couples ... one tea shop ... the unforgettable Pokker ... Moonshine ... Skytoffee.

It was a jolly good show!

2009-08-26T12:58:00.002-04:00

Music can noble hints impart,
Engender fury, kindle love,
With unsuspected eloquence can move,
And manage all the man with secret art

~Joseph Addison

Coming from a family which DOES boast of a few musicians or at least those who could appreciate good music (actually there’s nothing called good music; its either music or its noise), I was surprisingly dispassionate about it. Of course, I did admire the occasional musical flicks of bollywood but that was the ‘be all and end all’ of my tryst with music.

Don’t mistake me for those ignorant souls who cannot distinguish one musical instrument from another. I’m not that bad really. I have certainly enjoyed some ‘jugalbandhis’ especially the instrumental ones. However, I also hold the record of falling away into deep sleep in a symphony (waking up with a jerk that disgusted the eloquent limousine-owning upper class); I also am popular for dying with laughter watching the ballet; and for breaking apart a ‘veena’ (the musical instrument of Goddess Saraswathi – no wonder knowledge keeps failing me) when I was rolling around the bed in deep sleep.

But today was to be different.

Every once in a while, I had seen a girl standing near the lobby of the Cancer Center where I work, playing the violin. I never bothered to stop and listen. But today was to be different. I was frikkin late to lab and to my horror saw my professor standing close to my desk talking to a coworker. I could dare not walk in then. I had to wait till he got back to his office. So I took a stroll to the cafeteria, and right below me, the violinst played her music.

She was playing surprisingly beautiful music. Surprising because I never had listened to it before. I had heard it alright, but never listened to it. At the end of her first composition, she looked around and spotted me … I just gave her a smile. She smiled back. “She plays well” I thought. The second composition was even more beautiful. She looked up again … I gave her a little clap. And then the third was magical. And then another one. And then one more. She kept on playing … and I kept on hearing, oblivious to the fact that I was gonna be even more late to lab than I already was. It got into my head that leaving now meant insulting her music.

I finally rushed into lab, threw my backpack, grabbed my jacket and rushed down. I watched her play for some more time. It just kept getting more and more beautiful. The variations, the subtle changes in tones, the high and low pitches, some sounds gave me adrenalin rushes, some saddened me, some just made me really happy. She’d look at me at the end of every composition, as if she expects a judgment on her performance. What could I say? For a person like me who thinks ‘Do Re Mi Fa Sol…” sounds really funny, her music really shook me hard.

She said her name was Pooja and she volunteered to play at the Cancer Center. I promised her I’ll stay for one last composition but then I had to leave. I wish I didn’t have to. She’s a part of the Pittsburgh Youth Symphony Orchestra and a volunteer at the Hillman Cancer Center for Healing Power of the Arts. I never realized what power music can have … when that starts flowing, everything else in this world becomes less important. That’s one lesson I learnt today.

2009-08-06T09:21:00.004-04:00

Legend speaks thus of Lord Krishna and Draupadi:

Lord Krishna happened to get a cut on his hand (perhaps a paper cut or he fell off his bicycle) and Draupadi, upon noticing the oozing blood from Lord Krishna's hand tore off a strip of her silk sari (total filmy style) and tied it around his wrist. Krishna was so touched by this action that he vowed to repay the debt and protect her from evil. He sticks to his words when he blesses Draupadi with meters and meters of sari during the 'vastra haran' after Yudhishtir loses her out in a gamble. Lord Krishna thus pays his debt towards the 'rakhi' tied by Draupadi.

And thus begins 'Raksha Bandhan' - an unbreakable vow of a brother to his sister to safeguard her, protect her against danger and to be bound to her by eternal love. Of course, there have been different stories behind its origin; but the vibrancy of the festival remains the same. To top it all, celebrating it in America adds a complete new dimension to it.

The lamp glittered bright and resplendent. The vermilion with its bright red colors filled our eyes. And then there was the rakhi itself - symbolic of a loving and caring relationship between a brother and a sister. There were sweets, there were photographs, there was mirth and laughter, songs of happiness. There was symbolism, there was bonding - not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's lives. There was love. We were 8000 miles away from home. And yet, there was Raksha Bandhan !

Thank you so much for making this day special!

2009-07-24T11:37:00.003-04:00

Home... it just brings a smile on our face.

Its where you want to go after having a stressful day at work. Its where you want to go at the end of a fun day hanging out with friends. Its where our roots are. Its where our hearts lie.

Its where we had sleep-overs with friends, made tea, watched a movie - everyone wrapped in a single blanket, lights off. Its where we spent the night chatting... discussing everything - from aspirations to fantasies, about puberty and about love.

Its where we made teams and fought over midnight games. Its where we gossiped about all those who weren't around. Its where we grouped and vented our frustrations. Its where we comforted each other... asked each other to just 'hang in there'.

Its where we tried out our new recipes... tested whether our smoke alarm works. Its where we over-slept; tucked our heads under the pillow even as the clock struck 12 on a Sunday morning. Its where we cheered ourselves up with some good music on a Monday as we buckled up our belt. Its where we sat and watched the daylight fading as we sipped some ginger tea.

Its where we battled through leaking roofs, faulty flushes, broken windows and flying insects. Its where we laughed over our fates and joked about our situations. Its where we fought against recurring homesickness and mounting frustrations... its where we celebrated our joys and glittered in our achievements.

Its where we spent our first year in Pittsburgh. Its where we spent our first year in America. Our first home. Behind all those cracking walls lies a place which was nothing short of heaven to us. Walking down centre avenue to 4720, through the dark corridors into apartment 1E ... is our home. It just brings a smile on our face.

We are really gonna miss you a lot!

2009-07-22T11:49:00.008-04:00

When it comes to Science, it easily reminds us of the giants - the likes of Newton and Einstein, Bohr and Boyle, Watson, Crick and Pasteur; these stalwarts shaped our Sciences, shaped our understanding, and laid platforms for the surges of discoveries to come ahead of their times. They succeeded because of their visions - their thinking was beyond what most of us could comprehend.

Yet, there are those names - those you probably never heard of - probably never read about - those names that were swept away by the dust of times, and yet they brought about a difference to the lives of millions of people.

One such is Dr. Jesse William Lazear. This goes back to the 1800-1900s.

Yellow fever produced devastating epidemics with extremely high mortality rates. Normal life was just impossible! It is a viral disease transmitted by the bite of a mosquito. Three hundred thousand people have been believed to have died in Spain owing to this plague in the 19th century (Wikipedia). It causes variable symptoms like fever, chills, bleeding into the skin, jaundice, internal hemorrhages, delirium, coma and finally death. Yellow fever is almost always severe.

Cuba was a very important hot-bed for yellow fever. The British and American troops then in Cuba were struck by this disease that later on claimed the lives of 10% of the population. The statistics were that chilling - 10% of a population were completely wiped out.

Two doctors - Carlos Finlay and Walter Reed began conducting experiments to test their hypothesis that mosquitoes were vectors in causing this viral disease. Jesse William Lazear, a doctor from Johns Hopkins participated in a commission studying yellow fever transmission. He confirmed Finlay's theory that mosquitoes transmitted the disease. But there was something else he hadn't told his colleagues...

"I rather think I am on track of the real germ" wrote Lazear to his wife from Cuba on September 8, 1900. It took just 17 days from then. He had conducted the study on himself - he had allowed himself to be bitten by yellow-fever infected mosquitoes. In course of time, he developed the classic symptoms and succumbed to them at a tender age of 34. His log book became a great source of reference for Reed's studies and finally Finlay suggested mosquito-control strategies which were immediately applied in Cuba thus helping to eliminate the disease in its entirety (in Cuba). Mosquito control, to this day, remains an important method in control of yellow fever.

"He was a splendid, brave fellow," Reed said of his young colleague, "& I lament his loss more than words can tell; but his death was not in vain- His name will live in the history of those who have benefited humanity."

2009-07-09T13:33:00.007-04:00

Over the last few days, 'A' has been pounding me with questions. Questions about India. I was never this motivated to go to lab - these days I just feel like going because she'll be around to ask questions. I think I'd wipe less sweat from my forehead even if I was facing my panel during the PhD exams; this girl asks a new question before I complete answering the previous one.

None of her questions intrigued me so much as the one she asked today. It was not the question about how our languages evolved, not the question about why we eat spicy food, not the one about why we still choose to learn English from our infancy, certainly not the one regarding how a country with a population of 1.17 billion can still have a strong economy. This question was something I had never asked myself... something I never thought I'd have to answer. The question was straight and simple, yet so profound - it would define what I am today.

She asked me: "How does it feel to be an Indian?"

How does it feel to be an Indian? How does it feel to be from a country with a history dating back to thousands of years? How does it feel to be from a country where nearly 2-million criminal cases are 'recorded' under IPC every year? How does it feel to be an Indian where we worship 330 million Gods, speak over 1500 different languages, celebrate more than 365 festivals ... and at the same time ... have increasing reported mortality rates (6 deaths for every 1000 population), even more increasing reported birth rates (22 births per 1000 population), and even in 2009, every hour, at least 18 women become victims of crime?

Should we feel proud to be Indians as we belong to the land of the Mahatma - where we hold the record of not instigating war ever in our thousands of years of violent history? Should we feel proud to belong to the land where 'zero' was invented; where plastic surgery was first performed in 6th century BC; where the greatest of the epics were written and narrated; where the seat of the world's biggest democracy sits; the land of the spices which paved way to the world's greatest silk routes; the land of the biggest movie industry where almost a thousand movies are made annually?

Or are we just from yet another third world country where there are the highest number of tuberculosis infections; a place where there are highest number of deaths due to terrorist attacks almost in the world save for Iraq; a democratic country where nearly 540 Indian Parliament members face corruption charges including embezzlement, rape and murder; a 21-st century economic super power that still struggles with an ancient discriminatory caste system?

How does it feel to be from India where most people can't even sing the national anthem without erring; where our own national animal is facing extinction; where our national game gets the least encouragement; where we still find places that do not get electricity? Or do we bask in glory because nearly 40% of doctors in USA and 40% of employees in NASA are Indians; because India has the second fastest growing economy in the world; because we have a burgeoning IT sector that has made even the Westerners insecure of their jobs?

It all depends on how we see India as. Its not enough to just continue to glint in the stories of our history. At the same time, we have no reasons to stop believing that India has the potential to be the greatest country in the world - it has all the raw materials for it!

How does it feel to be an Indian? Its the toughest question I have ever faced. In a room where there are people from America, Russia, Canada, Taiwan, Japan, Colombia and China... its an Indian who's asked 'the' most number of questions about his country. Its tough being an Indian and yet the greatest thing ever. I stay 8000 miles away from home; yet all it takes for me is to see an Indian flag fluttering to give me an adrenalin rush. I still read the Indian newspaper - the story of the death tolls and the story of our rocket sciences. I still drink the Indian tea - with ginger, cardamom and lots of sugar. I live in a country whose culture differs so much from ours, yet my roots hold me firmly and defines me and my personality. I guess that's what it feels to be Indian!

2009-07-06T14:39:00.008-04:00

Cricket remains my favorite sport but I have had to play some really amusing games in the past 24 years of my life. It perhaps isn't what 'normal' guys would play ... but who said I was normal anyway?

Take for example the magical game of 'Princess'. The only way I could entertain two little girls across my street was by playing this enchanted game. It was a simple game of pictionary except that you had to enact certain words whispered in your ear which the other girl guesses. If the girl gets it right, you suddenly chase her and try to catch hold of her within a certain time period. Why on earth would I chase someone if they get the right answer is beyond my comprehension but the rules were laid down strictly by those little girls and I had to abstain from asking too many logical questions. The person with most points eventually wins and is crowned the 'princess'. I had the fortuity to be crowned the most number of times. I am the official princess of our layout :-(

I played this game of 'hopping' over numbered squares (a very common game called 'kuntu-pille' in Kannada). This is a game every kid mostly of the feminine gender plays on their streets in front of their houses drawing squares using bricks and using the nicest smoothest polished stone like a striker. This I played with a group of cousins and unfortunately again, I emerged the reigning champion! I defeated almost 3 girls who carried the experience of at least 4 to 5 years in this game on my debut day!

With this little girl cousin of mine in Pittsburgh, I play snakes & ladders, except that I'm the most miserable failure in this particular game. Ask me why. Technically, I play awesome. I get to climb most ladders, I miss most snakes, I frequently get sixes on the dice... but... and here comes the but... the number 97 (sometimes 99) eludes me the most! That's where you get to be bitten by the last snake on the board - it always bites me! Even if it doesn't ... I still lose. Ask me why again! Everyone hates losing and this little girl takes it personally and attacks me if she loses. In fact, she even attacks her parents if she loses. So, she very conveniently turns the dice in slow motion until she gets the score she wants... to make matters worse (for me) and better (for her), she also adjusts my dice in such ways that I get bitten by every snake on the board not once but twice ruling out any possibility of my victory. Makes me wonder why I even care to play ... but in the end, she's happy = I'm happy!

Then I have this little dynamite in Dallas. I have done the weirdest of things with her. One actively pursued game by both of us was to collect long twigs and sticks. Why you ask me... I dunno! We just happen to collect them... and continue to collect them... until we have lots of them... and then we collect more, all of which we assemble on a table. Then we use them as projectiles to throw them into the creek. I still don't understand what the whole point is here... but her concentration and enthusiasm in doing this motivates me to do the same thing too! She also likes to take me around and show numerous holes she dug with her friends... one fun game we both play with each other is - she writes imaginary letters on my back and I have to guess the word, and then I do the same thing to her - this is something I enjoy because it is so ticklish!

Another little girl used to give me a little Ganesha idol and asks me to tell a story with it... I had to dust off my rusty brain and create such imaginations - in my story Ganesha has played the roles of a police constable, a surgeon, a blood-thirsty villain and even super-man!!!

I wish I had more male-cousins! Then, I'd get to play with Nintendos and play stations... things would be less pinker... games would be less prettier and more competitive. Until that happens... I have to be contented in being a princess - in a land of imagination ... of a little child's mind!

2009-07-01T02:04:00.011-04:00

It has happened again! I always wondered why my blog gets so many hits? Some of my friends call the stuff I write as 'recycled garbage'. Inspite of a million blogs world over which try to make a difference to the society, people prefer my garbage to everything else. How pathetic can society get? How ignorant all of you are. How doomed the planet is!

I like to be pretty blatant (that's pretty blatant and not pretty & blatant FYI) with most of my views... and my recent take on America and her policies hasn't gone all that well with my 'white' friends (I often use stupid in conjunction with the feminine gender... call me a chauvinist pig but I refuse to care)! They think I'm anti-American! Heck! I'm anti-nothing. To prove that, I'm gonna shed off all the negative energy around me and list out the top 10 reasons why I think America's awesome!

Well, for starters, you have the ham burger! Oh shucks! Wait a minute... I don't eat that, do I? The cheese perhaps? Obese American teenagers are a big turn-off... so I'd stay away from cheese for now. Maybe the buildings - ummmm ... I can pretty much draw everything using a scale and a pencil - perhaps they could do with more of Victorian architecture! Awright! Lets get serious!

Lets begin with something I personally care about. The American 'chicks' (is that offensive?) are totally out of this world! Oh good lord! One visit to the gym and that's enough to give me concussions! They are epitomes of perfection. Yeah, there are these can-you-believe-it obese people who can scare the shit out of any of us ... but the rest are ... oh i love summer!
Pittsburgh is so beautiful! Yeah, their trees are separated by fixed distances, the lawns make a right angle at the corners, branches spread out symmetrically, even creeks are geometrically perfect - but bottomline, it is so beautiful! Green is beautiful and Pittsburgh is green all over. Take a nice evening walk at Flagstaff Hill and you'd think life is so worth living!
People are nice. I have heard more apologies and acknowledgments in one year here than in my last 23 years back home! People are simply honest. They fake smiles and attitudes; they do, but they ain't cunning. They are straight forward and don't carry a knife behind their backs all the time. They think lying and plagiarizing are actually crimes! Hilarious!!!
Their time sense is appalling! They come 'at' 8pm if they are called 'at' 8pm. Don't we all think that we need to go to a party late if we are to be considered important guests. Who cares for someone who comes on time?
For someone who sailed pass Bangalore University exams without knowing a shit of how transcription happens (replication is where I stopped studying molecular biology), this country has actually made me think. Textbook theories wouldn't be accepted, research papers were disproved, well-known theories were snubbed at; every damn academician here wants to know what 'I' think about a certain thing. They actually got me to think. Can you even imagine such a thing? And the education system is just awesome!
The civic sense is so good! I have seen kids aged around 3 to 4 years taking tissue papers (discarded by someone else) and throwing them into the bin. Vandalism is not a passion of these people, something we joyously pursue.
They are a stickler for rules. They walk on sidewalks even if the street's empty. They follow lanes; trucks don't prefer to drive in the opposite direction on highways. They stop at 'stop signs' even in the middle of the night or early in the morning. They give way to pedestrians (every visit to the post office in Bangalore was a tryst with death for me)
People are patriotic. It kills me but its true - Indians are probably the only species who bitch about both their home country and the country in which they currently stay! Here, they elect a party to power and provide their full support for it. They applaud when fire fighters or police personnel do a rescue mission.
They are really helpful. Complete strangers have given me their cell phones to make calls to wherever I needed to. Except for air-hostesses in Continental airlines who are demons in disguise, I don't think I ever met a rude American. I have certainly met lots of rude Indians in America. Ironical ain't it? And NRI uncles and aunties should be a banned species!
Their varied climate, though sucks at times, has really made me appreciate so many things I never did before. I have never before craved so much for sunlight or greenery; I had never appreciated the beauty of fall colors (hit the east coast and you'll experience one of the most amazing visual treat ever); I had never seen snow lighter than cotton; I never had hailstones as big as pebbles falling on my head; seasonal changes are those that happen in America. Our seasonal changes ain't really changes at all.

There you go! Now that wasn't hard. I probably would have compiled a post faster if I had to write about America's dying economy, but it did not take me more than 30mins. to write this one. Which country is not screwed up today? At least, I'm happy this nation is giving me, perhaps, the best years of my life ever! Because, 5-8 years from now, I'll be married... and life as you know... hits... rock bottom... then on!

2009-05-27T18:59:00.008-04:00

This one was sitting in 'drafts' for quite a while... until I chanced upon a similar article from a friend of mine; realized she's published this before I did and she's gonna get all the patents and become rich and rule the earth tyranically until all humanity dies. Very soon, I also realized that I publish my own articles and I don't really have to care how similar my article is to hers. And finally, I also realized that if I don't publish soon enough, Blogger is gonna start charging me in dollars for every post I publish.

Perplexed? Baffled? Mystified? Bamboozled? Let me clear the air a bit. So this goes back to 2008. The global aviation industry was getting poorer by the day. Just as I was hinting my chances of going to the Americas, they hit upon this novel idea of charging a fee for my checked-in baggages. At a time when my funding situation was as well known as what genitals my unborn kids are gonna have (can't I write anything straight?), and I was trying to save up whatever I could, and I was hitching on this evil plan of asking my dad for my share of the property, out of the blue comes this news - "Pay up 15 bucks for your checked-in bags" ... and I had two of them ... and I had to make a transit in Newark ... that makes it 60 bucks (quick mental calculation; 60 dollars x 50 = 3000 INR). Freakin' 3000 bucks to get MY bag into their dumb cockpit ? And would they promise me to bring it safely to Pittsburgh? No they don't! They charge you freakin' 3000 bucks and you gotta HOPE that its gonna come with you.

Venue: Bangalore Airport (BIAL) - Grabbed onto 2 trolleys from the ocean of trolleys all around... one for my luggage, another just because I like pushing trolleys and standing on them. Reminds me of those banana carts.

Venue: Kingfisher Airlines - grabbed onto a bottle of water given to me with a million dollar smile from a beautiful air hostess (Mallya - you rock dude!), coupled with sandwich and some delicious sweet (remember, all this for a 90-minute journey to Mumbai).

Venue: Continental Airlines (Mumbai) - phew! This plane is filled with senior citizens with uniforms... perhaps there's a contingent going to America to live their last days chanting the holy Bible. Oh! Wait a minute... they ain't pilgrims, they are air hostesses of this freakin' aircraft! Grandmoms with tongues lashing out at Asians and granddads with popping pupils spitting fire if you try to call them. Mallya's air hostesses perhaps would let me sleep on their laps if I had requested so... these may ask me anytime to step out of the plane in mid-air just because my skin ain't bleached.

Food was out of the question... I got snacks for lunch, snacks for dinner, no on-demand food, and water, drinking water, was scaled down to a tiny cup... the same cup in which you drink coffee in a fast food restaurant. Atleast, Indian restaurants fill the coffee upto the brim such that you gotta suck the top layer up before you actually drink 'em. Here, dare ask for a second cup of water and perhaps the airlines has to shut shop!

Venue: Newark International Airport - Few trolleys arranged in a line. A tiny quarter slot above it. I try pulling the trolley with all my effort... perhaps American trolleys are very heavy because they use solid iron to build them... after all, they are bloody rich. Or are they? What the heck? 3 dollars for a trolley? Do I get to take them home with me? Or is the 3 dollars inclusive of the lady standing behind it? Quick mental calculation (3 dollars x 50 = 150 INR). 150 bucks to rent a trolley! Isn't my transition supposed to be from a third-world country (as the Americans like to believe) to a first world one? Or have I taken the wrong plane and entered Sierra Leone? Welcome to America!

Venue: Pittsburgh International Airport - 3 dollars again! RIDICULOUS! This was just the beginning. So, all those hulla-gulla about airlines cutting down on a leaf of lettuce as a cost cutting measure wasn't exaggeration after all. The fun ride begins here...

Scaife Hall cafeteria saves up on tissue paper. Initially, one tissue paper was split into two. Now, tissue papers are stacked up in such a way that you can pull only one at a time. All those bunch of free black spoons, forks and knives piled into a big basket are things of the past. Cafeterias have invested on a mechanism in which you gotta press a button, and only one spoon falls at a time. Noon conferences don't have pizzas anymore. In short, America is going bankrupt! Automobile companies are depending on Asian companies to save their asses. Its short of impossible to get a credit card OR a loan. Crime rate is on the rise again. People are holding onto their chairs to withstand the cyclone of layoffs all over.

Looks like we'll graduate and start applying to Indian companies and pray that they take us. Reverse brain drain... wouldn't that be so amazing? Well, its not so easy, but not impossible too. When America gave to the people, it gave away more than it could sustain. And now, it holds onto everything so tightly, it even tries to deny people what rightfully belongs to them. Like this news about charging people a fee for peeing inside the plane. Perhaps this is the American way of ensuring people drink less water and ergo, profit the aviation industry, ensuring low flight costs. Perhaps I would be allowed to pee only half the quantity if I pay half the fee (to ensure even the not-so-well-off people can use their elegant facilities). I can barely fit into their toilets (for those who don't know me, I'm pretty thin) ... once I fit in, I can't even turn around, my back is stuck to the door ... and pretty much the door grazes my face when I try opening it... and they expect me to PAY for this wonderful experience.

Are they ready to compensate me for that torturous journey across the security check where I am a hard core criminal carrying weapons of mass destruction in my teeny tiny baggage (if I kill people with my socks and underwear ... why allow them in the first place?)? Are they ready to compensate me for that uncomfortable journey wherein I can't move my legs... my neighbor is stuck to me as though we were Siamese twins... the plane drones horrendously throughout the journey? Are they ready to compensate me when they ask me to pay up for any food I order on plane... I can't reach my bag of food as its impossible to move my arms... and they don't respond when I call them?

There are a million other things America can do to save costs! Keep that extra leaf of lettuce in the sandwich ... but STOP the DAMN war ! Give me more water to drink but remember to SWITCH OFF your lights at the end of the day. Let me pee in peace but buy more FUEL EFFICIENT cars. Save me the trouble of collecting quarters for your stupid trolleys but STOP polluting the planet.

Meanwhile... some distance away... Ryanair (a European airline giant) is cooking up a 1.43USD fee for letting people empty their bladder in their plane to generate revenues. And thus one stupid goat follows another stupid goat... which follows the second stupid goat... which follows the third stupid goat... which follows the fourth stupid goat... which follows...

(Also see - Post Bush Era)

2009-05-27T18:45:00.005-04:00

Oh superman! The greatest Kryptonian ever... stronger than the strongest... faster than the fastest... you can lift a car with one hand... you can stop a bullet in its path... you can fly at speeds faster than light... you have the power to move entire planets... your visionary powers stay unsurpassed... your intelligence stays unconquered...

Oh superman! What would the world do without you... you are needed everywhere... you are needed by everyone... you brighten up the lives of people... you make the earth a wonderful planet... but...

But who brightens up your life? What do you like? What don't you like? Who makes you laugh? Who makes your living wonderful? You make us happy but do you cry alone? Who do you go to when you are sad? Tell me... has anyone remembered to make you smile today? Anyone?

2009-05-26T11:49:00.003-04:00

Definitions of single on the web:

· Individual: being or characteristic of a single thing or person

· Existing alone

· Unmarried: with relation to status, sex and parenthood

· Lacking a partner; solitary

The last definition really intrigued me! I’m Suhas; 24 years, 7 months, 26 days since my birth. If I’m right about my prediction that my lifespan is just around 50 years, I have lived half my life. And I have lived it in solitary confinement if you will.

I often questioned myself … is the world’s population an odd number or an even number? Today, I can safely say, it is an odd number. Every person on this planet has found a partner … if not, they will eventually. I was created perhaps as this ‘joker’ character … a joker is a not-so-good-player in cricket who’s the odd person and ends up playing for both the teams as his presence hardly makes a difference to any team.

According to the US Dept. of Health and Human Services, NCHS, there were 2,208,000 marriages in the US in 2008. And this is just marriage … the remaining people are mostly unmarried couples. So with such chilling statistics, what the HECK will people like me do? Oh! Wait a minute … there are no people like me… it is just me and me alone!

But a little bit of introspection clears the air a bit. Do I really need a girlfriend now? Don’t my lab rats do everything a girlfriend could possibly do? Ok, maybe not in the true sense. But then, from giving me free phones to taking me out for their lingerie shopping, I am getting everything I wished for. Do you guys (especially those who have never shopped with girls) have a frikkin’ clue about the varieties of dresses a girl’s section have? It is not just about the color or the design boss… it is about the material; it is about the cuts; it is about the transparency; it is about the length (or the lack of it); the girl’s section is a world of its own. It is like the closet of ‘The Chronicles of Narnia’… a hidden magical world where dangerous things can happen (like shopping beyond your credit limit).

And it is not just about shopping. Girls tend to be possessive and expect their puppet (spelt boyfriend) to be possessive… about them of course! I DON’T have to be possessive at all. Or better put, I can be possessive about different people on different days. Or you might think I am getting the definition of being possessive wrong. But who really defined the time period of possessiveness?

And there is a certain degree of comfort talking to committed individuals. They open out to you trusting that you won’t flirt with them considering their commitment status. They have a vent to bitch about their boyfriends which is pretty amusing to hear. And there’s no effort needed to impress anybody… be unshaven, wear yellow pants, have a bad hair day, pick your nose, drink through your nostrils … and still nothing changes!

But then… yeah, there’s always a BUT; which is the BUTT of all problems. Life gets too boring if things remain calm and smooth all the time. Happiness has to be as transient as sadness. Both happiness and girlfriends are to be handled, in life, with equal poise. And it is always nice… the ‘one’ person, the ‘one’ next to whom you sit by default when watching a movie or in a bus; the ‘one’ person’s popcorn … the only popcorn you ever wish to share from; the ‘one’ person whose hair you want to feel; the ‘one’ person whose hands you want to hold and take long walks on beautiful evenings; the ‘one’ person whose hug can comfort you even if India has lost a match; the ‘one’ person who is always the ‘one’ and nothing can replace that.

To me, the ‘one’ is and has to be arranged … love is a gift I am yet to receive… I’m Suhas; 24 years, 7 months, 26 days since my birth… and I think I need to go do a Western Blot now (anti-climax ain’t it?)

2009-04-14T00:35:00.020-04:00

America has certainly made me more patriotic. Patriotic about India of course (for all ye cousins of mine who are folding up thy sleeves to attack me!) In particular, its making me like Kannada a lot more than I always did. America can do this to you ... I always keep saying. The only way you realize the value of something is when its been taken away from you. So in reality, this renewed patriotic high is not really fake as its generally considered ... its a natural reaction owing to the circumstances we have been thrown into.

Obviously ... I was on an old Kannada movie watching spree. I have watched more black-and-white movies in one week here than I have ever watched in my lifetime. I just could not help notice how much the movies have changed ... the present ones don't even faintly resemble the ones our fathers and forefathers spoke about. Its believed that ... once a person starts talking about how wonderful things used to be before and how its all got screwed up now ... he is probably reaching retirement age. On the contrary, I stopped growing after I reached 16 and yet I still endorse what I said previously.

Take a Rajkumar movie for instance. It invariably began with his childhood. Beginning a story with the hero already grown up was considered ridiculous ... a hero has to start from childhood. Then there were a series of unfortunate events which led to the hero running. The hero (in his childhood ... remember) had to run because that's the only way he could grow up. Either he was chased by police constables ... or he was running in a race ... but there had to be running. The next thing you know ... the shorts which ran down just enough to expose his thighs were replaced by tailor-stitched pants and a shirt with a horrendous looking pattern on it. That followed a song. The best part about all this was ... these songs were probably shot when the hero was traveling to his village or he was just taking a stroll along the countryside. No foregin locations ... no gaudy settings ... no goras dancing for Indian numbers ... no metro trains ... no super-expensive clothing which changed after every stanza ... no superbikes or Porsches. In fact ... not only would the song be a beautiful one ... the hero would establish himself to either belong to the poor/middle class family background. He would help old women carry their pots ... help farmers with their harvesting ... give milk sweets to kids who barely have clothing to cover their bodies or maybe not even that ... and the only prop you can see is a black handbag over his shoulder which probably contained absolutely nothing.

The houses were very simple. The hero would be struck by poverty and hence lives in a tiny shack. On those rare occasions when the director feels a little rich ... the hero is given this big house with a big porch ... two sets of stairs which leads to the same part of the floor ... 2-3 sets of sofas with a table at the centre. Means of transportation? Ranges from a cycle to an ambassador car. Compare this to the SRK movie in which he lands in his private helicopter in front of his house (which is as big as 3 football fields by the way).

Enter heroine! If Jayanthi or Lakshmi or Aarthi or Kalpana emerged from the blue waters of Seychelles in a one-piece swimsuit ... brushing their wet hair backwards ... and did a catwalk with an attitude-filled smirk on their face ... that was it ... it would probably announce the shut down of Sandalwood. In reality ... heroines were the typical ... shy, always behind the curtain characters. The duet songs used to be pretty much the running-around-trees type ... but it was filled with vivid characters ... attitude ... shyness ... concern ... lust ... satisfaction ... anger ... everything shown with such subtlety that you'd smile at the simplicity of their lives. Even after item songs weren't a taboo anymore ... item girls were generally well dressed! In fact ... they wore more than what heroines wear today.

Most villains used bare hands to halt the hero's path to victory (and hence the end of the movie). Wicked ones usually hid a knife which could be flicked open at the pull of a lever. Rich ones owned a pistol ... and extremely sophisticated ones had electric chairs ... water bodies filled with crocodiles ... infrared ray chamber ... or a gigantic man who would feel tickled even when you beat him up with all your strength. And not many villains stayed as villains till the end ... few join the hero's side ... few get transformed after they get a solid punch from our hero ... and only those rare few die in the end after making sure that they have killed the 2nd heroine or a character that wasn't needed anymore.

People who watch the movie were genuinely treated as guests. Recall most of those once-upon-a-time movies ... all the main characters grouped towards the end (as if for a group photo) and the jest always had something funny to say that made everyone burst out laughing. Most Rajkumar movies end with both him and the heroine folding their hands towards the viewers ... not with the most popular item number of the movie ... or a deep smooching scene as inspired by Hollywood.

What struck me most was the simplicity of those movies. They were real. And those people were real. Rajkumar comes home for dinner in the night ... changes his dress into a white banian and a dhoti with a towel on his shoulder. Our heroes probably sleep with an Armani suit and we are expected not to question the logic behind it. Music flows with the song ... the lyrics carried most importance ... the music just uplifted the mood of the occasion. Proposing was without any complications ... lovemaking was subtle. A kissing scene would be shown metaphorically by two roses dashing each other in the wind. Stories revolved around middle class and poor people ... the richer ones being rich enough to own one car. They never painted these rosy dreams on our minds about attaining those luxuries someday. People get influenced by the movies to a large extent ... atleast for some period of time after which the effect wears off. Earlier, we wished to mimic the characters of the protagonists ... rather inculcate them in us and attain perfection. Today ... the only thing that impresses us are his/her looks ... attire ... lifestyle ... and strength.

I won't say the movies just got bad. Parallel cinema has achieved wonders these days. Previously taboo-considered issues can be thrown into the limelight with utmost ease today. Very slowly ... although not so steadily ... the 'woman' is getting stronger roles ... for a long time ... she was always under the protection of the hero. Atleast woman-oriented roles have made their mark in offbeat cinema. Music and songs still seem to be good although they have stopped working in tandem. Yet, the movies are no more about us. It has become about those people among the stars that every one of us strive to become someday not realizing that it keeps going farther and farther away as we ascend the throne of luxury. Life's not simple anymore ... rather, we don't make it simple anymore. The story of a middle-class family, today, is the surest recipe for a box-office flop!

2009-04-05T01:45:00.027-04:00

Do you think we are a diverse species? Meaning ... do you think every person is so different from the rest? Think again. Its believed that human beings are very similar to each other at the DNA level; in other words, we share 99.5% genes from other human beings. This means that, two people anywhere on this earth are more similar than two chimps from the same troop. For whatever reasons this is so, yet the fact remains that its only by 0.5% that we differ and this 0.5% pretty much makes us look like what we are - diverse!

But what is so fantastic about all this is the amount of diversity and amount of differences that 0.5% has created. Except monozygotic twins, you can NEVER find two people who look alike (except in Indian movies of course!). Every person's nose is so differently shaped ... fingerprints never match ... the orientation of teeth never match ... a combination of nature and nuture has led to an explosion of phenotypes.

Americans ... for example ... sometimes I feel are an entirely different species. They look nothing like you. Their nature ... features ... ideas ... principles ... its all SO different. They have bigger personalities ... mature very early (who can believe Hannah Montana or Miley Cyrus is just 17yrs of age) ... they have this irresistable urge to party every other night ... their accent's weird (sometimes a little fake too) ... if their hair is black, they have used dye ... they do not know any other country apart from India, Africa (which Americans think is a country), Iraq, Pakistan, Palestine and Israel ... and they know these mostly because about prevalent diseases, existing poverty (they must have watched Slumdog Millionaire) or these countries are possessing potential weapons of mass destruction. They are a different species alright ... it feels like you are an alien trespassing on their planet.

I once tried explaining to a friend about the stem cell research in NCBS, Bangalore. He gasped in surprise and almost choked on the pizza he was gobbling ... "Isn't it true that poor kids get their eyes popped out and are sent on streets for begging in India?" asked he. I'm talking about stem cells and he's more interested to know the death toll on a normal day in India. Take these species of organisms to your country and there are only 2 things they wish to see ... the Taj Mahal ... and the slums of Juhu and Dharavi.

But there are times ... times when I think ... they are NO different from us. Its on really stupid occasions ... but its on these occasions when it actually strikes me hard that we are no different after all. We are all descendants from an Adam and Eve, if you will, and hence related to each other. Mitochondrial DNA gets maternally transferred from parents to offspring. The 'Y' chromosome in males gets paternally transferred. This means that, mitochondrial DNA of Eve and Y chromosome of Adam has linearly come down through generations and is within us now. Ever seen an American coughing? He/she coughs just like you. Ever seen one eating a banana? During a tennis match, at the time-out period, Martina Hingis was gobbling up a banana. My little cousin was so surprised at this and she innocently asked me, "Do they eat banana too?" Somehow, that process sounded too Indian for her. Seen someone crying? Seen old people in the bus? Don't they resemble so much like our grandparents except for the fact that here they know English ... and they have weird looking attires. Seen anyone get hurt? Do you recall that their blood was red too? I always know that I am way too different from anybody else ... yet sometimes, at the weirdest of moments, reality strikes and I see our similar phenotypes surfacing. Its those times I feel that we are all so much the same in so many respects ... and yet we fight, bicker, quarrel, kill, and harm ... because we are so different from each other ... and because we are so much the same.

2009-02-15T17:02:00.014-05:00

Time to introduce some fellow bloggers. I generally do this without their permission and I have been let off without a penalty until now. After all, who does'nt like FREE publicity. Do you know the word 'free' is one of the most included words in Google search? Yeah ... man is a cheap animal!

Since he's a part of family ... and carries 25% of my genes (him being a cousin brother type) ... naturally I give him precedence. Bharath's http://bharathstransientthoughts.blogspot.com/ is a portal for ... for ... for ... I dunno. He writes everything ... movies, Federer Nadal matches, VTU exams ... anything and everything that comes into his mind. He, sharing 25% of my genes, is therefore only 1/4th crazy. But he writes well ... don't trust him to blog forever ... he keeps changing his blog addresses like the email ids of spammers ... but whatever he posts, he writes damn well. And there's a variety in the topics he chooses ... the randomness, the missing theme ... that's what I like. Check that out.

Then, there is Mouna's http://mouna-creations.blogspot.com/ for the more deep readers who think I need to be assassinated with immediate effect. She reads a lot of Indian literature ... sees a lot of well-made movies ... and writes a lot of posts that get you to think. Nope ... she doesn't preach ... she doesn't ask you to pray or work for India's progress or orders the government to go to war against Pakistan or orders Dravid to try square cuts more often. She writes good articles in suttle ways ... there's a simplicity mixed with intensity. And yeah ... she paid me well to write all of these.

And then there's my personal favorite ... Janani's http://unpolishedmirror.blogspot.com/ for people who live on the earth ... meaning, you can immediately connect with what she writes. From Bangalore's autodrivers to her lab monkeys ... her posts are hilarious ... straightforward ... and makes a strong point. She tends to preach at times ... but the kind of preaching which makes sense ... the kind of articles you like to read. I love a couple of her posts and wish she writes more.

Then there's the legendary Rahul's http://missedcallfromiim.blogspot.com/ which ... defies every law that exists in Einstein's science. I dunno if he got a missed call from IIM ... but I believe IIMB is a much safer haven now without his presence. He writes intense (and good) poetry ... and some posts that motivate you to suicide immediately. He does feel threatened by my presence in the blogging world and often targets me for his taunts which I take with a grain of salt. He's got potential ... to write good stuff ... or to increase the number of suicide cases in the police files.

And do read my http://down-in-the-pitt.blogspot.com/ which breaks down all barriers of sensibility and sanity. I do realize there are more blogger friends that I have ... but I hardly get to know who blogs and who don't ... coz i'm the only pathetic one who forces people to read what I write. Thank God there is no 'Do Not Disturb' for emailing ... how will human antagonists like me survive then?

2009-02-02T12:53:00.006-05:00

Who says America is clean? When it snows here ... Bangalore's Kalasipalya is a lot more cleaner ... i mean it!

2009-02-02T12:31:00.007-05:00

It was to be a one-sided game from the beginning. It was said ... the Steelers could only lose if they beat themselves. And ... they almost ended up doing that. The match turned out to be one of the best ever with a thrilling end with the Steelers winning 27-23 in the final seconds. Santonio Holmes will remember the day for a long time ... if not for his winning touch down in the final 40 seconds ... Steelers would have had to face one of the most major upsets in their sporting history. You got to give it to the Arizona Cardinals ... they maintained good momentum most part of the game and even turned the tables against the Steelers in the last part of the final quarter. And as i keep telling ... Steeler fans are known to be the craziest in the world. It was frenzy in Forbes avenue ... the atmosphere was just like India's victory over Pakistan in a world cup ... fireworks ... parades ... dances right in the middle of the streets ... strangers shaking hands with you ... i even began believing the next day might be a national holiday ... heck! That never happens!

Back home ... its great news too. India had its best ever Australian Open. Bhupathi and Sania won the mix-double finals becoming the first all-Indian pair to win a grand slam. Yuki Bhambri became the first Indian to win the Australian Open Junior's title. Nadal once again proved he's better than Federer ... and Federer's dream of equalling Sampras' record shattered. India take on SriLanka this 4th Feb ... and with India's 2 wins behind already ... they are hard to beat. That's the sport news for the week!

2009-02-01T18:15:00.010-05:00

Mixture + Badam burfi + a Rajkumar movie ... and you forget that you stay 8000 miles away from home. Perhaps, the perfect antidote for homesickness too. It was a Sunday evening ... with beautiful weather outside that significantly explains the slow climate change from harsh American winter to a pleasant spring. I'm seeing movies alphabetically ... the ones in my laptop ... it started off with 'A Wednesday' yesterday ... and today i was sure it would be 'Batman Begins' ... but secretly ... 'Bangaaradha Manushya' slid in ... and made my day! I knew i couldn't complete watching the whole movie at once ... with loads to study ... but i also knew i couldn't be able to stop myself too ... after all, its the legend in action.

Rajkumar is a household figure in every Kannada family ... most people of our previous generation ... especially the women folk regard him to be a part of their family. They worshipped him more than their husbands ... mom used to cry when Rajkumar would return home from the fields, after ploughing land, with blisters in his hands. Coincidentally, if dad burns his hands when trying to cook (he does some exotic dishes sometimes) ... forget mom crying, dad would actually be reprimanded for being careless and also finding trouble!

Few might be surprised ... for Rajkumar was actually 'Singanalluru Puttaswamayya Muthuraju'. He became Rajkumar only after his debut movie 'Bedara Kannappa' ... he was given this name by the movie's director H L N Simha. He acted in a total of 206 movies in his lifetime ... excluding guest appearances. Two of his most famous performances were his own productions - Kaviratna Kalidasa and Shankar-Guru. What was notable is ... most of his movies carried social messages ... which explains the fact that he never smoked a cigarette or consumed alcohol in any of his movies. Ask SRK to even try not smoking for a single movie!

A Rajkumar movie, especially of the 1960-70s genre was accompanied by amazing songs ... by none other than another legend - P B Srinivas (PBS). His voice was so apt for Rajkumar that ... it was commonly said ... even Rajkumar's own voice could not be that apt for himself. Few know that, in the movie Babruvahana, while Rajkumar sang for Babruvahana, PBS sang for Arjuna. Even more surprising was the movie 'Muddina Mava' wherein Rajkumar lent a voice to S P Balasubramaniyam who had acted in that movie.

He won 10 filmfare awards for the best actor category
He won 9 state awards for the best actor category. State awards for films were started off in 1967 by which half of Rajkumar's career was over
He won a national award for the best male playback singer
He has received both the PadmaBhushan and Dadasaheb Phalke for his contributions to the Kannada film industry
He was awarded Karnataka Ratna in 1993
He received an honorary doctorate from Mysore University
He won the prestigious Kentucky Colonel award and the NTR national award

There was no role that Rajkumar couldn't do ... comedy, action, romantic, double/triple roles, mythological characters to a person fighting for modern day social causes. What makes him different (a favorite word in filmland) was his persona ... he was never 'big' ... ask your grandmom about him and she will talk about him as though he was her own son ... and Rajkumar was one ... a son to every mother ... a brother to every sister (except Parvathamma of course ... and maybe Leelavathi too ... but we will not talk about that) ... he showed what a happy family is like ... he taught people how to live ... he taught people how to love ... his movies were never a figment of imagination. Every child that sees a superhero ... like SRK for example ... wants to look like him ... have his hairstyle ... be as charming and perfect as he can ever be ... dance like him ... fight like him ... and in the worst scenario, be able to smoke like him too. But anyone who sees a Rajkumar movie certainly wants to be like him ... but also look after a family like him ... love people like him ... work hard like him ... be healthy and fit like him ... help people like him ... be noble like him ... truthful like him ... and be a great brother/son/father like him. This is what you call a true legend ... and a legend lives on forever!

2009-01-30T03:01:00.008-05:00

Maharathi - a movie which would be one of 2008's best made movie ... had they not screwed up the ending! Yeah ... this is another of those movies which you think deserves a Filmfare until you are left disappointed and hungry towards the end. A 90-minute thriller of converting a suicide into a murder is what Maharathi is all about.

Its got some stalwarts - Naseeruddin Shah, Paresh Rawal, Boman Irani and Om Puri. Also stars Neha Dhupia and Tara Sharma. Maharathi is said to be based on one of the popular plays of Paresh Rawal. I won't really bother you with what the story is about ... its got a very interesting storyline though ... but not really a tale that's not been told before. 'Behind every big fortune lies a crime' or so they say ... and that's the core of the story.

The movie, though never ever bores you for a second, is not one without mistakes. Throughout the movie, Paresh Rawal keeps you puzzled ... is he the 'good guy' or is he not? You tend to doubt Tara Sharma too ... especially because of her innocent nerdy looks. Boman Irani is not spared too ... because Bolywood has taught us ... suspect the guy who's least involved in the crime ... problem is, there's really no crime here at all. You have seen movies where murders are converted into suicides ... here you see desperate attempts to convert a suicide into a murder ... and the director successfully shows you how tough it is ... and how its exactly like walking on the edge of a sword.

But the movie concludes pretty rapidly ... with lots of things happening in the last few minutes. Creativity was thoroughly lacking there. You have been taken through the tale which keeps you guessing ... but it doesn't finish off quite the dramatic way you'd like it to. Unnecessary events and rapidly changing circumstances ruin the end. And somehow, i'm not too happy that the winner won in the end ... somehow he did not look that deserved ... he has a dark shade to his character too ... but then, who doesn't ... and who doesn't like lots of money ... perhaps thats what the director wants us to understand. But, the movie is certainly a little bit screwed up unfortunately.

Go watch the movie ... it slipped away from the theaters silently ... but its got around by word of mouth. Its certainly worth a watch.

My rating: * * *