Thursday, November 22, 2007

Life Experience

Experience is nothing but the ability to know, how to act upon a certain situation by drawing from the collective knowledge of the actions and consequences of similar past actions.

Today while going for a brisk walk for a couple of miles, I came across an elderly gentlemen, powered by my enthusiasm to remain fit and by a Shakira number, I was literally jumping on the pavement. This sprightly gait of mine startled him and he stopped in his step. I quickly pulled out the white wires out of my ears and I promptly apologised to the gentleman for scaring him. He just gave me a kind smile and told me that nothing scares him anymore. He told me that he was 93 and I complemented him on keeping so fit. After wishing Happy Thanksgiving we parted and I continued with my pace but sans the ear plugs to blow my ear drums ajar.
I started thinking that this gentleman must have experienced so many things in person, had seen both the World wars, the mass production of automobiles, the industrialization, the Great depression, Birth of computers, Beginning of space program and what not.
It seems to me that basics of human life have not changed, men still fight over women, they still love to dominate over others, they want to increase their territory. Just that means of proving ones supremacy have changed.
I guess it would have been good, if we could draw upon the rich experience of elderly folks to reduce the chaos in our lives and bring more happiness in it.But, it seems that it is not happening anytime soon, as it is fashionable to write them off, as past generation. Well, till that date, we will keep on reinventing the wheel out of our sheer arrogance and ignorance and keep on paying the price dearly with the quality of life.

Sunday, November 11, 2007


Careening... a fancy word used onlye by people who speak English english... I always wanted to use this word but, somehow was never sure of what it exactly meant, so I used simpler substitutes like swerving or the more in-lingo skidding.
But, today I learnt its true meaning, and that too letter by letter... Yes, Sir (or Ma'am) ... You heard me right... I really learnt the meaning of Careening today.
Now why is it so important that I am wasting my time(n yours) about a single word. Well, have some patience and it will be rewarded. It so happened that today around noon time, I decided to visit the temple and instead of taking the mundane traffic light infested route I decided to venture onto the free flowing highway and utilise the Taxpayers money and save sometime. I am not a greenhorn at diriving neither I am a rash driver. But, a light drizzle couple of hours ago and some loose rubble did the trick. On the serpentine intersection that connects 2 Highways, my corolla gave way and suddenly started changing directions on its own. I instantaneously released the breaks and applied my mind to steer it on the road.
Thankfully, I was able to bring it to a complete halt on the shoulder of the highway ramp. The first thought that crossed my mind was that I had managed a flat tire. But, the quick health check-up revealed that nothing was wrong. The change of tires half an year ago ruled out the grip being bad on road. Anyway, I managed to wipe of the cold sweat on my brow and managed to reach the temple safely. I thanked my stars that I did not hit something. But, I surely remembered to check the tire pressure on my way back.
Takeaway - Frugal machines like mine are not meant to be thrown around in corners. They are not beasts who should be explored leisurely, but timid creatures which provide decent transportation. So, the NFS(Need For Speed) streak should remain confined to PS2 and the mundane existence should not be tested against nature or machine.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Me and the Art of Motorcycle Riding

The pleasure of riding a bike is contagious, the high of tight cornering, the zing of acceleration, the controlled high speed braking gets the adrenaline in your blood going and the composite feeling is truely ecstatic.
One of my initial rides was Hero Puch. With a 65 cc engine I used to lift both of its wheels in air. I loved the acceleration of that bike tcompletely. In its prime, I could easily take on a yamaha in 0-40 km drag race. I maintained it myself, changed the oil, cleaned the carburator, de-carbed the silencer, removed the silencer filter to enhance the Power(n the sound a bit ;-))...). It was my babe and all my friends envied it. Very faithful, frugal and snazzy ride it was.
I really wanted to take it to my B-School, but was advised by my more (supposedly) worldly wise brother-in-law against it, lest I be branded as a "Moped Vale Bhaiya". So, my Dad bought me a 100cc Black Hero Honda Passion. Though I admit that it was my decision to choose the bike as I was smitten by its Grand Prix styling looks. But, I soon realised, I had made a blunder as soon I rode it for the first time. It was anything but spirited, the gear ratio was beyond my understanding and its handling is one of the worst in its class. Nevertheless, I needed transpotation and after a little tweaking, it delivered enough power to ferry me(80Kg) and my friend(95Kg) Arijit to and fro to the Pubs of Saket(Delhi) and Gurgaon. Officially, it still holds the title of being my current bike. But, somehow I do not intend to keep it so for long, as I am done with it.
Today, somehow, ventured into the Craig's bikes segment today and started looking what's up for sale. It was truly a dreamworld unfurling before my eyes. Amongst the Kawasaki Ninja's, Honda CBR1100xxs, Honda CBR600RR and a couple of Suzuki GSXR-600s. I found the CBR1100xx most exciting, and given there wasn't much difference in price, I decided to read a review for this bike, trust me mid way during the reading of the review I decided that this bike was beyond me and decided to quit the idea of owning a bike altogether. For the first time I had looked at a ride and decided to give up, what's happening to me. But, still life is precious. So, I decided to look around further and I discovered comparatively sober CBR600RR with its stunning looks. I went through its comparison with GSXR-6 and others in the line. By the end, I was smiling knowingly and admiring. I have already made up my mind and will be going for the CBR600RR. It won't be happening anytime soon maybe in a couple of years.
Till I succumb to the call of the wild, I will try to remain contended with my trustworthy 4 wheeler ride - Toyota Corolla

Thursday, August 9, 2007

My Way or HighWay or is it Amway/Quixstar

Episode 1 - Within a week of landing in US my friends took me to a Shopping Mall so that I can get of Caucasian eye tonic. While they were shopping and I was busy absorbing the local scenery. Suddenly an enthusiastic Hello from a stranger, Giri, brought me back to reality. I embarrassingly tried to match his enthusiasm pleasantly surprised at the warmth. After animatedly conversing for 25 mins we exchanged phone numbers and parted. During this whole conversation I kept on receiving phone calls from my friends. I found it strange as they already were in visual range. I chided my friends for giving missed calls as if I were talking to a gal. They never replied but just smiled at my ignorance.

Episode - 2 - Later in the day, I was sitting at the dinner table and both of my friends were taking turns to play Morpheus, telling me about the menace of Amway/Quixstar Agents in the Bay Area. These agents are viral marketing Zombies who can come in the garb of distant/not so distant relatives, friends, friends of friends or simply strangers. The only way to save your life from them was to run as fast as you can. I, the chosen one (Neo), felt more confused, cheated rather than enlightened. For the record I was hounded my friend from Episode -1 for around a fortnight by numerous phone calls. The Agents keep on hitting at us on our visits to public places and we, out of regard for fellow countrymen, made polite conversation to them for 10-15 minutes and then excused ourselves.

Episode - 3 - Everything was moving fine, till one fine day I received a scrap on Orkut from one of my so-called "B-School Senior". Now, delighted to hear from someone from my Alma Mater, I couldn't refuse the Tea invitation. As I arrived, he was waiting for me, with a cup of tea and few biscuits. I felt strange because every time the conversation steered towards our B-School, he developed amnesia citing – it was long time back. Within minutes of the opening of conversation I was pretty sure that he was an impostor. With in 15 minutes he told me about this wonderful way of becoming rich and subjected me to start watching a CD at exactly 31st minute. He invited me to this wonderful meeting of his business friends, where more about this scheme was to be shared. By now, I too wanted to have a first hand view of the Dark inner chambers of nagging Agents, so I agreed. At the gathering I saw young men with 70s look of Gelled hair, Black Suits and Red ties roaming around like Zombies and Shooting Bombastic greetings at each other like the chants of "Hail Fuhrer". Everyone at least tried to dress up immaculately, but most of them overdid it, especially the ladies show seemed to have snacked on their lipsticks. The "Interesting and Experienced" speaker invited us to share what would we like to do with all the additional money we'd earn. Some publicly drooled how they left their jobs after they replaced their current jobs of 3-5K by this wonderful concept. I failed to understand why any sane mind would trade the security of a job with insecurity/legal risk of Chain marketing, if the remuneration is the same. Anyways, I managed to stay sober and didn't throw punches at my "Senior" for wasting my time, irritating me with his foolish talks and risking my life by his dangerous driving. I came back fully enlightened and aware of my capabilities.

Episode - 4 - On my subsequent visit to a Mall, one of the Agents again targeted me, but instead of becoming uncomfortable, I simply smiled at him. I listened to this gentleman admiringly, until the time of exchanging the contact details. Precisely at this point I gave him my number and specifically told him "I hope you are not from Amway/Quixstar". The ear-to-ear grin vanished from his face and he wore a sullen look of a rejected whore. Curtly, he excused himself and paced away. I, on the other hand felt a micro orgasm at my victory of burning an agent. I practiced this drill ones more in the evening and the reaction of Agent Smith was even more histrionic soldier of the Quixstar matrix. I enjoyed all of it with a sadistic pleasure of taking revenge for all the polite people who are pestered by these folks.

Takeaway - Magnanimity has its limit, and for sure I am not going to let some complete stranger waste my time and fool me for joining up his Swindlers Army. Just because someone has committed a foolish act once, doesn’t mean its necessary to keep on putting his foot in the same Manhole again and again and coax other people to try the same to discover enjoyable it is.

These agents will have to understand it, and the best way to make them understand it is tell it straight in their face to stop pestering us.

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

Journey or the End

Doin what u like, Like what u Doin...

As the title says there are two kinds of people in this world... right... Wrong... none of them lies on one of the ends. All of us lie somewhere in between, whether you are a street urchin or a CEO, U luv some component of your job and U hate most of the others. Every child basically is the Alter Ego of his parents and this comes into play while he chooses his profession. The transition in choice of profession is like -

1 - Age 5 - I wannabe Pilot/Detective - The ones with Black Coat and Hat.
2 - Age 15 - Doctor/Engineer are the only feasible options, if you don't own family business
3 - Age 25 - I don't give a damn, just want the job which pays highest, wht Paris Hilton's personal gigolo got fired just now... can I apply ?
4 - Age 35-55 - We are content in our life, a loving family, a second hand car, a house(if lucky). What else does on want in life to be happy(No one says a great job... huh).

Well, I never liked studies, it was infra dig for me to subject myself to the monotonies of cramming the Social Sciences, but on the other hand I enjoyed the practicals very much and trust me I was better than some of the Professors at handling the Lab Equipments. But, like every sad love story I had to part ways with my beloved subjects. I loved Chemistry, but had to drop it in favour of Comp Sc in Graduation, n when I started liking Comp Sc, I again had to part ways to be subjected to the annals of Management. Life sure has a consistency in dark humour.

To put icing on cake, I never work hard unless their is a dire need to and as I recall I just had done it twice in my academic life. Once, when I was in 8th standard, when I was madly in love(one sided) with an older girl in my colony. I worked very hard and got good marks as I thought the only way to bag her favours would be to have a gud job. But, somehow I realised the futility of it by the time it actually would have made a difference. I was humbled pretty bad when I royally screwed the Engineering Entrance exams. The agony of sitting in the Exam halls for 3 hours and not being able to solve even one questions was too much for my self respect, a splinter was driven deep into my heart which announced anything materialistic as a dire Sin.
After 3 painful years, the rigorous routine bore fruit and I made it to some of the prestigious B-schools. Immediately, I shunned the self imposed Spartan life style and got back to my old self. In B-school the CGPA system ensured that my grades remain respectful, even if I attend the classes half awake with a nasty hangover. The booming economy and some gud sense landed me a job in IT industry and I started a new journey.

Whenever, I look back I still ponder, which time was better, the one in which I worked hard and continuously tested myself or the one in which I enjoyed the fruits of my labour. Perhaps, the fruits appear good for the society, but for myself I definitely prefer the journey rather than the end.

Gradual Distortion

Cream, Cheese, Butter n lots n lots of it for 7 months. Occasionally sprinkled with a couple of pegs once or twice a week combined with a lethargic lifestyle can turn a strappy man into a Fugu-The puffer fish.

I admit that I never have been lanky ever in my adult life, but, my body shape oscillates between athletic and slightly paunchy. But, now the situation has become a bit more interesting. Instead of carrying a single tyre, it seems that I am carrying a set of them and am moving towards a complete set of four.

I can and do excercise, but my vice is irregularity, which I practice with relegious virtuosity. I started running 4 miles on alternate days. But, the run lasted on only two alternate days and then woosh I am back to my couch potato lifestyle.

Due to my thick hide, I couldn't care less about sundry comments on my gradual change of shape from cylindrical to sperical. But, when the remarks start getting written in Scrapbuks and when your friends don't accept that this residual shape is the resultant affect of distortion from the web cam. Then, I guess its time to act.

Planning doesn't work unless and until your ass is on fire. So, no point in making flowery plans and never acting on them. This time it wil be like okay go and act. Hopefully, by the time I plan my India visit I will be able to get back to my strappy shape to get the damsels drool over me.

Monday, July 9, 2007

Just like that...

I am experiencing Writer's block... or whatever that was which a fatso faced in the Dumb movie "Lady in Water", everybody acted as if it was a term which originated from the Latin... the flowery word "Writer's Block"... whereas most of them wondered with the same awe as that of lowly citizens in the Fairy Tale "The Emperor has no clothes".
I have made two really wonderful trips one to the Vegas and another to the Sky Diving. But am not motivated enough for writing any of them. Seems the publicity and the appreciations which I received have got to my head and I will have to shake them off before I could pen something which would be readable by masses.
One of my Gud (read Beautiful) friends, told me that I try too hard to sound funny... well is it so... EGAD... I meekly+dumbly scrapped back saying "I agree, but ain't laughter is so scarce nowadays". Within 1 day of scribbling this in her scrapbuk... I came with a better version... I could have walked into her scrapbuk with James Bondish confidence(+sm arrogance) and wrote "Maybe I try to hard to sound unny, But, ain't this a coincidence that I normally succeed also...).... Man, why these brilliant ideas come to me only when I have made a complete fool of myself... Phew... I agree that God deserves some fun, but why always at the cost of some meek, harmless creatures like us...
So, readers or imaginary readers. Keep checking this space for more aimless wanderings like this one. Till, I rediscover the master blogger in me and turn out a Masterpiece like the earlier ones.
Auf Wiedersehen....

Friday, May 18, 2007

Tango on the Beach

For the uninitiated, paper Dance is a competition in which a couple dances on a sheet of paper and every 1-minute or so when the music stops, the sheet is folded into half. So, Post 3 iterations, every concept of personal space falls asunder and the couples are practically into each other's arms and the outcome of competition is decided by the amount of time a man can hoist the lady, with loud cheering from the crowd as if some wardrobe malfunction has took place

Preface - Through the haze, someone in the distance inquired my name. I replied, and was promptly jolted back to reality by the echo of my sound on PA System. I wanted to call him, choicest of the names. But, consciousness of being on the PA system kept me pinned down helplessly. Consciously, pulling myself back from the drunken stupor, I opened up my lead laden eyes and saw a smiling young lad in the silhouette, who said - Congratulations you are our first volunteer.

Content - Criticizing the transportation department for not arranging adequate transportation for reaching Hosabettu Beach- The Venue for Company party, along with my friends, I squatted on the stairs of the Bus, gibbering about lack of beautiful gals in Mangalore, little aware of the what lay in store for me. The routine of going to Company parties, grabbing some beer, downing it until taste buds go dumb, gobbling at some tasteless food stuff, washing it down with some more beer, was practiced with religiously.

The evening started with the usual games HR dept is told to organize to justify their salaries. Instead of subjecting ourselves to the torture of wearing a woman's garb for a Fancy Dress event or participating in some Antakshri, we swaggered to the watering hole and sought refuge with our old friend Mr. Foster. After downing two, the world again seemed to be a good place and I was swinging my head to the beats of Carnatic Music, for which I suddenly seemed to develop an appreciation. Out of the blue, the music stopped and the "Preface" took place. Perplexed and annoyed I got up giving angry looks to the guy who carried out this stunt. Helpless look in his eyes, and the hyena-ish laughter of my friend sitting next to me, gave me a fair idea of who orchestrated this episode. Giving -Et tu Brute - looks to my friend, I started my long march towards the makeshift stage, barely able to keep myself vertical. As my senses reluctantly started coming to life... I saw 5 girls and 5 boys, expressing emotions ranging from glee to melancholy, gathered for a surprise event. Soon the reality sank in, that this would be a paper dance event. The face expressions on some of the newly wed gals, whose hubby's were till now giving them appreciative glances, changed instantly. A few requests to withdraw were entertained. To plead mercy, I too tried replacing the drunken foolish grin on my face with an innocent expression, only to be encountered by coy hostess who told me - C'mon, u sure wud enjoy it. So, here I was finding it difficult to maintain my own balance and they expected me to match steps with a lady.
Now, I had been in close proximity of some femme fatales many times and sometimes I was even more sloshed. But, every time I had a fair idea of their respective permissiveness quotients and here I was holding a girl, I barely knew, at such close quarters. The event started with a quick Swayamvar, I was first one to be picked up by a tall, smiling lady (MS). I gave her a long hard stare and thought - Good that you are light, would be easier to lift, if need arises (Strictly and only for the event... u &*%$#).

In a jiffy, 5 newspapers were spread out and we started ball dancing. Every time, the music started the paper was folded into half, forcing the participants closer, much to the embarrassment of participants and amusement of audience. Any normal Homo Sapien would enjoy such encounter but in a more private surroundings, and here we were entertaining the crowd, similar to a censored version of "Educative" movies. Maintaining conscious control on my senses (and more importantly my hands) I managed to pose sober and landed up in the final round. With paper size good enough for only one pair of feet, the Men were now supposed to lift their partners. Now, lifting a lady is no big deal, but maintaining this posture for a few minutes, God, I am no Sunny Deol. To relieve me of this situation, my partner told me that-I don't have to lift her if I didn't want to, instead she would stand on my feet and we both would dance. A bit too close for comfort and trying to find a grip on the least objectionable parts, the nice damsel gaily kneaded my toes with her feet swinging to the beats of Macarena.

The victory came quick and easy as the other couple lost balance midway. I thanked my bubbly partner profusely for being so sportive and returned quickly to the echoing banter from my friends after collecting a wristwatch as a memento for the event.

Aftermath - I woke up the next day with a groggy head and pulsating toes thinking this was a dream. But, the stylish watch (a cheap replica of Movado) and throbbing toes reminded me, it was not. Throughout the next day and for the better part of my assignment in Mangalore, my mischievous colleagues kept asking me - What's the time Dude?
I accidentally played cupid also, when some of the friendly cups of coffee with MS, were interpreted by one of her shy friends as serious competition. Losing no further time, he mustered enough courage to confess his true love to her, to be pleasantly accepted. As for me it was added up in one of my sweet memories of Sun, Sand and Water.

Wednesday, May 9, 2007

Sex on the Blades

In our childhood, in days of DD, we all had seen some ice skating events (Olympics), aired once every 4 years. The concoction of our teenage hormones and the lithesome figures gliding effortlessly across the ice was never short of blissful hallucination. Somewhere, deep down, we carried a strong craving for this sport which combines poise with beauty. So, as soon as I got the wind, that one of my senior colleagues was practicing this sinfully ecstatic sport. I went barreling to him, and requested him to enlighten me. He welcomed me to join and gave me the basic survival instructions as well.

With some roller blading experience, I went straight for the Ice, and tried to gain footage. But, soon came the realization, that my confidence was parallel to the kid who memorized 4 basic rules of maths and started attempting Irodov Problems. Shaking in my legs, I tried moving forward, looking through the corner of my eyes to find out the admirers of my latest additions to "Elvis-The King" style dance steps.

In sometime, I was gliding along peacefully at slow pace without much effort and absorbing the surrounding scenery. Lots of Cherubs(toddlers/kids) were gliding smoothly in brownian motion, shrieking with joy much to the contentment of their expectant parents, a fair number of teenagers were practicing first lessons of courtship along with turns and glides. A bunch of friendly hockey players along with their coach were practicing speed and a young Indian couple - the husband continuously instructing his wife to practice skating backwards and the wife wearing the look of poor kid who just got a dressing down from his Head Master reluctantly following him.

Master and the Zen - This is precisely the point, where, I must leave my usual neutral observer role and enter as an active participant. Most of the fellow skaters give buffer areas to rookies like me to facilitate a smooth transition. But, this tall gentleman, who happened to be the Coach of hockey team, believed strongly in the Darwinian Selection principles. Left to him,he would have banned all rookies from entering the arena and desecrating the pristine ice rink of "The Home of Cougars". But, in lieu, he contented himself by making sudden moves, to unsettle the rookies, and having sadistic pleasures of watching them fall. Well, I also caved in once and lost balance a couple of times. This went on till I noticed a twitch in his lips indicating a smile. Suddenly, old red mist came to my eyes and they narrowed like a Cougar on Prowl. Next time when I went through his practice area, I had a meaningful smile on, and even after he stopped right in front of me, I continued at the same speed. He must've judged my intentions and hastily cleared my path shaking his head. Better sense prevailed and we stayed clear from then on.
But, the best was yet to come. Coach(MASTER) had demarcated an area to practice his aggressive moves, in which commoners were only welcome at their own risk. Suddenly, there appeared a Toddler(ZEN), with utter disregard for authority, who went straight for it and started enjoying himself. Sensing intrusion, MASTER started displaying his aggressive style in order to ward off ZEN. But, instead of getting scared, ZEN shrieked with joy and went after his every move with double speed and dexterity. Driven to desperation and anguish at failure of his attempts, MASTER attempted a spin and ended up prostrate with a couple of horizontal spins. Quickly he gathered his Bruised ego and relinquished his territory to ZEN.
After this amusing incident, I spent some more time practicing my newly learnt braking skill and admiring the skills of the Swans on ice Team, before calling it a day.

My legs were pulsating after being after being subjected to such a torture after a long time. But, the whole experience was truly ecstatic. I called it a day with a determination to pursue this sport. Given my record, such infatuations last only one night. But, since, I had already attended 2 sessions. So, I guess my romance will last a bit longer this time.

Monday, April 30, 2007

The Man, The Machine and The Toyota Corolla - First time Buyers choice/Guide

Freeways are an exhilarating part of American Experience. Where else in the world would you find such huge spreads of Asphalt on which the elegant and powerful roadworthy automobiles parade in perfect co-ordination. Well, these were the Freeways as envisioned by its planners. Enter the Indians; well we come from a society in which wastage is a severe crime. So, naturally we tend to extract each drop of utility from everything around us. This, Gents, is also reflected in the automobiles that are possessed by us. The ownership of the car can be told to the accuracy of 90% by the Model and Make of the car. By empirical observation the following parameters are considered while buying a car by an Indian -

1- Resale value without accident - 40%
2- reSale value after minor accident - 35%
3 - resaLe value after Major accident - 25%
4 - Safety - Well we come from a country of 1 billion, so anyway who cares.
5 - Price - What,... do I have to pay for such old car, can't I get one free in the dumpster... okay... okay, I will manage somehow to gather some money. But, not a cent above the company loan limit.

Given these parameters, the best cars that we manage to buy are from the following -

1- Toyota Corolla and Honda Civic and Nissan Sentra/Maxima
2 - Toyota Camry and Honda Accord and Nissan Altima
3 - MPVs/Mini Van - Honda Odyssey and Toyota Sienna and Nissan Quest (1995-2001)
4 - Sundry - Mustangs/Pontiacs/Diamante/Mirage

The relationship between the cars and the owners can be best understood by K-Serials. Just transpose the cars in place of Leading ladies and put the Indian Owners in place of the Heroes. Even if, the IT organization rotation policy ensures that the Indian guys go back to India after completing their extent here. Their trustworthy corollas are sold off to their colleagues only to be bought back when they come back. In this way, the cars like the leading ladies keep changing husbands (owners) and sometimes coming back to the previous owners.
Given that the average driving done by Indians is one-third of that of an average American. The Old ladies retain their virility (if their was any in the first place) as they progress across the years.

Looking at the Make/Model of the car. You can also accurately predict the owner's demographic data.

1 - Toyota Corolla and Honda Civic and Nissan Sentra/Maxima- The older models (93-2000) are owned by bachelors who have kissed the American soil for the first time and are unsure about the length of their stint (read dollar savings to be accumulated). The price, depreciation and fuel economy are the foremost things on mind while buying these cars and safety, usually the last.
Simple policy of don't fix until its broken is followed, Maintenance and Service schedules are religiously skipped, as they don't add up to the value of the car.
Later Models (2001-2003) can be safely assumed to be possessed, by people who are married and have their spouse working. These folks simply want to be a bit up in the social status ladder and hence have to spend a few extra bucks on their cars.

2 - Toyota Camry and Honda Accord and Nissan Altima (1995-2001) - No Indian would have bought these cars, if and only if, there would have been a law, which prohibited, sub-ordinates from buying a car of the same model as his Manager's. Well, agreed that these cars have a more powerful engine, so what, do you want to race them at NASCAR?
Fine, they have a better safety record, but, who will pay for the increased insurance premium, comparative higher gas guzzling habit and higher maintenance cost of these stupid V6 engines? (Miss my economical Santro.... soooo... much...)
These cars are bought out of the sheer compulsion that the Indian managers refuse to own something similar to their reportees. Okay, the managers have milked their organization for longer periods as compared to the Green Horns, but have you factored in the how expensive is raising kids in this Yankee land and these fuel prices are killing.
Man, all this could have been prevented only if there would have been a law. Some Good Samaritan, please come forward. At least try to table a Bill.

3 - MPVs/Mini Van - Honda Odyssey and Toyota Sienna and Nissan Quest (1995-2001)
I firmly believe that an effective way of dealing with India's population problem is to prohibit Men from driving and let Women exclusively drive for sometime. Agreed, that the number of road accidents would go up, but someone always has to make a sacrifice for greater good.
But folks, I couldn't stick to my views for long, as I witnessed homely looking Indians Bhabhi-jis confidently driving around gargantuan vehicles. Their dexterous and crisp maneuvering of these giants, powered by huge V6s, could even put Schumacher to shame.
So, I also swallowed my pride and agreed that if everybody stuck to the rules while driving, the women could be as good as, if not better drivers than men.
Most of the MPVs are owned by families with kids, who have accepted the fact that rearing kids is an expensive job in US. The higher maintenance and the lower fuel economy of MPV also goes under the same head. These vehicles are sturdy, have a better safety record and ample space for making a small baseball stadium inside. These are mostly driven by Mommies to ferry their children to schools and hubbies to office and for running errands.
Apart from all these "Good Qualities " of MPVs, owning this category of vehicles bears testimony to the fact that, you have reconciled, that you will never have fun in your life again, have agreed to the traditional Indian logic that watching kids grow is the greatest pleasure of life and unlike Americans, who live in present and retain their individuality by driving SUVs and have loads of fun, we Indians live always live in future, toiling hard in present missing out on most of the chances of having fun to perhaps have a comfortable and enjoyable future, which again is a wild goose chase.
To summarize, it in one line, you can say that owning a MPV is effectively getting "Neutered" in Social and Literal sense and succumbing to destiny.

4 - Sundry - Mustangs/Pontiacs/Diamante/Mirage - These cars are bought out of sheer passion or sheer frustration of being unable to find a good car in any of the above categories. Whatever may be the root cause? The end result is the same in both the cases. Even, if the car is bought as the educated buyer always nurtured the dream of buying a Mustang, after reading Lee Iacocca’s autobiography, his honeymoon is cut short by the high maintenance costs of the car and he is left stranded with a model having a high depreciation and low resale price. Honestly, these selfless gentlemen do a genuine service to the society by setting up examples of "What not to buy".

So folks, do not forget to thank me if your wisdom about the Cars owning patterns has increased even by an iota by leaving comments.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Cultural Learnings of Amreeka, the US of A for the benefit of Desi Peepal...

I landed in US of A with a mundane task of completing my Company Assignment. To make my life eventful, my roomate announced without any forewarning that there will be a lady arriving at the house in 15 mins.

Soon, my roomate arrived alongwith the Lady, who in turn brought two of her friends(Guys). Soon, it came to our knowledge that amongst the two gentlemen accompanying her, one was her Colleague and the Other one was her Boss. Supposedly, the Boss was instrumental in getting her to this "Mother of IT" state California on H1B. Well, the ratio of 5 guys to 1 girl would have been pretty intimidating for the poor lass, but she was carrying out her part well.

As per the plan we landed up at the downtown pub. After a few sundowners, we all felt like Michael jackson (or Gurdas Mann/Daler Mehndi) was seething inside us to get out. On the dancefloor we all started shaking our legs and combining the jive, the salsa, the bhangra, the Giddha and some of the latest invented steps.

Now, already on the wrong side of 25 and having rubbed asses with many girls in my b-school I decided to give the youngsters a fair chance and shifted a bit away.

Now, the Lady, already was finding it difficult to handle the affections of 5 boys and as the tempo rose, the Boss (Lady's friend), started gyrating towards the lady, the Colleague(Another Friend of Lady), surely not the one to give up easily, started making strange noises(mating calls perhaps) and started dancing in full blast. This jambooree, continued till Boss said enough and grabbed the Lady by the waist and started swaying with her. The Lady (Still at the mercy of Boss) didn't do anything to thwart off this move, apart from an uncomfortable smirk on her face.

The Boss eventually realised that he would have ample opportunities to get ROI (Return on Investment) in more private surroundings and let the poor lady go. The Lady kept on jiving for some more time before citing a timeout for a glass of water and some fresh air, certainly her soul needed more fresh Air than her Lungs.
Meanwhile, as I was amused by these power games, a lonely soul (a Mexican gal) started matching steps with me. In less than 2 minutes it became clear that we both were born with 2 left feet.

During this melle, I also found myself grabbed from behind by a tall dark lass and being made to groove with her. So, technically I was harassed for the first time, but I decided not to protest as I enjoyed it.

Thus, came to an end a beautiful evening which was showcased with a rainbow of emotions. But, in the True spirit of 'Khushwant Singh', I decided to be a neutral observer of surroundings.

Na kahu se Bair, Na kahu se Dosti - Khushwant Singh
(No Enemity, No friendship)

Till Next one
TC Cheers