create your own visited country map or write about it on the open travel guide

Saturday, January 25, 2003

Leaving for Vizag tomorrow. Welcome to the circus ladies and gentlemen! Right now I'm feeling a little too butterflyee, so hang in there and I'll keep you posted on the developments!

2 days to go!

Butterflies in my stomach.

Feel like I'm gonna be sitting for the biggest exam of my life.

Feel scared I'm going to make an ass of myself.

Worried.....

But despite all this, I'm as thrilled as anyone could be.

I'M FINALLY GETTING MARRIED!!!!

(One would think I've been trying for ages and not succeeding!!)

Monday, January 20, 2003

Feel like 'leveraging core competencies'? Or how about 'matrixing visionary experiences'? As an advertiser, you need to 'target cross media eyeballs'! Just so that you can facilitate best-of-breed deliverables.

Ever wonder how copywriters get to write such miasmatic stuff? Well, we get help from here.

Thursday, January 16, 2003

Welcome the Southern Railways ladies and gentlemen. We will endeavour to make your journey as memorable as possible. For a little more than the auto fare from your residence to your friendly railway station, we will seat you in the cramped comfort of a general compartment and propel you at various speeds across thousands of miles of nothingness (ok! Some villagers, cows and assorted life forms) to get you safely to your destination. And the best part is that you don't even need to reserve your ticket! Your ability to joust, yell, grapple, fight and claw will stand you in good stead.

Pay us twice this amount and we will give you a cushioned butt repository. We call this the Third Class compartment. This time around, the windows will be operable, the fans will work at times, the toilets mostly have running water and the passengers don't all look like the underprivileged who populate 99% of our country. (Ok. Ok. Bihar IS an exception!) Beggars still manage to wander in, but hey! Chuck a few coins at those who pretend to sweep the floors on all floors and you can get rid of them. Aim to chuck the coin into a pile of dirt and the dirt maight disappear too.

Can't stand the heat? Well, for an exorbitant sum, we will safely ensconse you in Air conditioned comfort. You can choose from a three tier or a two tier based on the proportions and contents of your wallet. In the three tier, you will get a done-up version of the IInd class compartments. What about when it gets cold? Well, we will give you a white shroud to spread over your berth, a pillow to sink your head into and a comfortably warm blanket to keep you in just-the-right-degree-of-cold.

But the AC two-tier compartments... Ah! That is altogether another story. Not only do you have more space due to lesser berths, but you will be pampered to the extent possible. For in addition to the bedding accessories you get in the three-tier AC compartments, you get an additional shroud here! And the bathrooms, they are a class apart. Dinky Mugs (chained to the pipes of course) a rack for toileteries, space for a room freshener and wonder of wonders, a dinky little fan to cool your backside while you excrete!

Not to mention mute attendant boys who foolishly grin at every glance you give them, ready to fall and sweep the floors at your command if Now that is the pinnacle of comfort. Thank you for patiently hearing me out ladies and gentlemen. We wish you a pleasant journey.

The Road Show has finally come to an end! Thank heavens.

Wednesday, January 15, 2003

Got this from a friend.
Thanks Jag man!

Why I am the way I am...

They have finally found a diagnosis for my
condition. Hooray!! I have recently been diagnosed
with A.A.A.D.D.- Age Activated Attention Deficit
Disorder... This is how it goes:
I decide to wash the car; I start toward the
garage and notice the mail on the table.

Ok, I'm going to wash the car. But first I'm
going to go through the mail. I lay the car keys
down on the desk, discard the junk mail and I notice
the trashcan is full.

Ok, I'll just put the bills on my desk and
take the trash can out, but since I'm going to be
near the mailbox anyway, I'll pay these few bills
first.

Now, where is my checkbook? Oops, there's only
one check left. My extra checks are in my desk.

Oh, there's the coke I was drinking. I'm going
to look for those checks. But first I need to put my
coke further away from the computer, or maybe I'll
pop it into the fridge to keep it cold for a while.

I head towards the kitchen and my flowers
catch my eye, they need some water. I set the coke
on the counter and uh-oh! There are my glasses. I
was looking for them all morning! I'd better put
them away first.

I fill a container with water and head for the
flower pots- -Aaaaaagh! Someone left the TV remote
in the kitchen. We'll never think to look in the
kitchen tonight when we want to watch television so
I'd better put it back in the family room where it
belongs.

I splash some water into the pots and onto the
floor, I throw the remote onto a soft cushion on the
sofa and I head back down the hall trying to figure
out what it was I was going to do?

End of Day: The car isn't washed, the bills
are unpaid, the coke is sitting on the kitchen
counter, the flowers are half watered, the checkbook
still only has one check in it and I can't seem to
find my car keys!

When I try to figure out how come nothing got
done today, I'm baffled because I KNOW I WAS BUSY
ALL DAY LONG!!! I realize this is a serious
condition and I'll get help, BUT FIRST I think I'll
check my e-mail...

Please send this to everyone you know
because... I DON'T REMEMBER TO WHOM I'VE SENT
THIS!!! Except don't send it back to me!

Check out nacht und neben! Senior of mine.

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages."

- William Shakespeare in As You Like It

I wish life had an escape key or a Ctrl-Alt-Delete...

Called home and spoke to amma and appa. Pongal today and I would have loved to be at home to taste amma's yummy special pongal. Good thing guppy is there! Called Chanel's place and wished them too. Uncle seemed happy. Don't feel like calling anyone else...

Wonder why I am sitting here blogging at all. After all, shouldn't I be pissed real bad? Guess I'll just wait to see how the rest of the day goes before I get all hot and bothered. Wonder how the film has turned out?

Such is life!

Pongal Nalvazhuthugal (if that is how it is spelt!)

Am in Chennai right now. The train reached at an unearthly hour of 4:46. I rubbed my eyes, jumped out of the cosy blanket that the AS1 attendants had provided and quickly disembarked. Everything seems to be happening in a flurry.

Just yesterday I was facing flak at work, what with His Highness reverting every half hour with changes. Jayasree rao got well and truly bugged. Add to this the fiasco of the salary, the courier duties and the fleecing by the auto driver and you have a shaken and stirred prakup at the station dazed and ready to go!

A couple on berth 16 kept me awake through the night with their heavy cootchie-cooing and god knows what else! The man actually slid onto her berth after all the lights were dimmed and I was tossing and turning and trying to sleep. And after that, not a chance. They finally ceased their amourous activities by around three and I finally managed to get some shut eye.

4:46 and Chennai happened. I got out, looked for the waiting room, found it shut and took a local train to Tambaram.

Whay Tambaram you ask? Well, let's just say I wanted to look up my alma mater of over 6 years ago. Made it to MCC, got into Thomas's. Checked out a locked room C - 54. Took a languid stroll aroung the departmental blocks. Walked into Selaiyur Hall. Conversed with a garderner there to find out thet Eng Litt classes are now held in Heber. Took another stroll back to Thomas's. And walked out.

The outside has changed drastically. Francis's Beef Kadai is all gone. Muthu's tea stall has sprouted a facade and some gory plastic furniture. Nair is going great guns with his lottery stall. (He actually recognised me!) And rendezvous seems to be on it's last leg. The station remains the same though, except for a sprakling new reservation complex that has come up.

Santosh, Rajesh, Sreeni, Willy, Nicholas, Anit, Shweta, Pamela, Maxyn, Naga, Fabian, Lakshmi, Dawa, Vinod... and all the others I remeber by face.... Miss you all!

Tuesday, January 14, 2003

Just got to know that I am more than a mere fax boy. I am also the courier boy. Ta da!!

Was told that I will be taking along some signages to deliver to the client. WOW!
Can life get any more exciting? Please?

Won't have access to a comp or the net. Won't be able to blog. Not that I do so regularly or anything. Just that while I wait in the lobby for His Highness to decide when he wants to meet me, I might as well do something nice. Like Blog for instance.

I guess I'll just take along a nice book. Maverick rules!!

It feels like just yesterday that I got back from Chennai. A midnight train that I boarded to get there, a seedy 70esque hotel to stay in and a return flight.

It's been so long since I travelled that I had almost forgotten how it feels. Well, let's just say that I'm getting another 'opportunity' to refresh my experience. I will be boarding the same midnight train to chennai. Only this time, there's no hotel and no return by flight. To and fro by train.

At least it's better than being here - being a fax boy!

5.00 in the morning. Bone-chilling cold. She stood forlorn and alone on the railway station. Stood with her daughter and the TTE. Looking up at me as I ambled with glee towards her, she looked up to say, "My luggage was stolen on the train." I didn't know what to say.

So we all made our way to the Railway police station to file a report about the lost suitcase. There wasn't much to report. Fortunately, no cash or jewelry had been taken. Only brand new sets of clothes to be handed over to various relatives. And some trinkets for friends.

The cops lived up to their red-tape image. The train had passed through three states. Tamil Nadu, Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka. Somewhere along the way, the thief had dis-embarked taking her suitcase with her. Bastard. And the cops were more intent on figuring out when she last saw her box? How come she woke up when she did? Was she sure it was gone? Did she know where the thief had disembarked?

Finally, we filled in all the necessary details and left the station together. She seemed upset. Naturally. So I put my hand around her to console her, telling her that a few clothes were not worth feeling so low about. She looked up at me with tear-filled eyes and said, "You know, I have been travelling for close to 30 years now. And this is the first time this has happened!"

Poor Mom.

What's so great about a 6 Sigma certification? Here is the latest Indian 'Industry' to feature in Forbes Magazine...

Mumbai's "tiffinwallahs" have achieved a level of service to which Western
businesses can only aspire. "Efficient organization" is not the first
thought that comes to mind in India, but when the profit motive is given
free rein, anything is possible. To appreciate Indian efficiency at its
best, watch the tiffinwallahs at work.


These are the men who deliver 175,000 lunches (or "tiffin") each day to
offices and schools throughout Mumbai, the business capital of India. Lunch
is in a tin container consisting of a number of bowls, each containing a
separate dish, held together in a frame. The meals are prepared in the homes
of the people who commute into Mumbai each morning and delivered in their
own tiffin carriers. After lunch, the process is reversed. And what a
process - in it's complexity, the 5,000 tiffinwallahs make a mistake only
about once every two months, according to Ragunath Medge, 42, president of
the Mumbai Tiffinmen's Association. That's one error in every 8 million
deliveries, or 16 million if you include the return trip. "If we made 10
mistakes a month, no one would use our service," says the craggily handsome
Medge.

How do they do it? The meals are picked up from commuters' homes in suburbs
around central Mumbai long after the commuters have left for work, delivered
to them on time, then picked up and delivered home before the commuters
return. Each tiffin carrier has, painted on its top, a number of symbols
which identify where the carrier was picked up, the originating and
destination stations and the address to which it is to be delivered. After
the tiffin carriers are picked up, they are taken to the nearest railway
station, where they are sorted according to the destination station. Between
10:15 a.m. and 10:45 a.m. they are loaded in crates onto the baggage cars of
trains. At the destination station they are unloaded by other tiffinwallas
and re-sorted, this time according to street address and floor. The 100
kilogram crates of carriers, carried on tiffinwallahs' heads, hand-wagons
and cycles are delivered at 12:30 p.m., picked up at 1:30 p.m., and returned
where they came from.

The charge for this extraordinary service is just 150 rupees ($3.33) per
month, enough for the tiffinwallahs, who are mostly self-employed, to make a
good living. After paying Rs. 60 per crate and Rs.120 per man per month to
the Western Railway for transport, the average tiffinwallah clears about
Rs.3,250. Of that sum, Rs. 10 goes to the Tiffinmen's Association. After
minimal expenses, the rest of the Rs. 50,000 a month that the Association
collects go to a charitable trust that feeds the poor.


Superb service and charity too. Can anyone ask for more? Comments: What is
wonderful about this system is that it extends the design and uses the
tiffinwala, the end user and their cognitive and memory structure as well.
Since one tiffinwala is not going to pick more than 10-20 Tiffin, he can
easily sort recognize at the originating station and deliver it to the
owner. Also within a building, the tiffin wala knows which floor to deliver.
Within a floor a owner can recognize his Tiffin amongst others. Thus these
Tiffins carry only * A symbol (not name) of the originating station * A
symbol for the destination station * A symbol for the building where the
addressee is. And what is more amazing is that this is run by people, most
of whom are illiterate.

Salaam to the Spirit of Mumbai !!

Wednesday, January 08, 2003

"The hardest thing in life is to know which bridge to cross and which to burn."
-David Russell

I wonder...

Sunday, January 05, 2003

An old favourite...

The European Commission have just announced an agreement whereby English will be the official language of the EU rather than German, which was the other possibility. As part of the negotiations, Her Majesty's govt. conceded that English spelling had some room for improvement and has accepted a 5 year phase in plan that would be known as "EuroEnglish".

In the first year, "s" will replace the soft "c"--sertainly, this will make the sivil servants jump with joy. The hard "c" will be dropped in favor of the "k". This should klear up konfusion and keyboards kan have 1 less letter.

There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the sekond year, when the troublesome "ph" will be replaced with the "f". This will make words like "fotograf" 20% shorter.

In the 3rd year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reach the stage where more komplikated changes are possible. Governments will enkourage the removal of double letters, which have always ben a deterent to akurate speling. Also, al will agre that the horible mes of the silent "e's" in the language is disgraceful, and they should go away.

By the 4th yar, peopl wil be reseptiv to steps such as replasing "th" with "z" and "w" with "v". During ze fifz year, ze unesesary "o" kan be dropd from vords kontaining "ou" and similar changes vud of kors be aplid to ozer kombinations of leters. After zis fifz yer, ve vil hav a reli sensibl riten styl. Zer vil be no mor trubis or difikultis and evrivun vil find it ezi tu understand ech ozer.

ZE DREM VIL FINALI KUM TRU!!!!!!

A copywriter is a lowly creature. The lowest of the fucking low. The scum of the corporate chain gang. The most wretched, servile, miserable, pathetic trash that was ever squeezed into a hellhole.

Most people hate advertising. They just don’t understand it. For them it is a bunch of flowery words, strung together to con the gullible consumer into paying more for things he never even knew existed. And they aren’t far off the mark. Only just.

On the other hand, copywriters willingly get into this profession, with their eyes wide open, believing that they can be some sort of literary messiah who will purge the world of bad copy and will win a few awards and trophies.

Willingly surging ahead to mire themselves in this puke pile. Just so that they could be ruled by effete arseholes. Just so that they could kowtow to jargon mouths. Hell! They can’t even pick a decent profession to be gagged by.

It’s a shitty state of affairs and all the money in the world could not make a difference. But there’s none coming, is there? Not now. Not ever.

Damn, I love being a copywriter.

For the past few days, I really don't have much to write home about. But there are some things that I find interesting. Like this script bit from the 'King of Comedy'. Enzoy!

Good evening, ladies and gentleman.
Let me introduce myself. My name is
Rupert Pupkin. I was born in Clifton,
New Jersey, which was not, at that
time, a federal offense. (laughter)
Is there anyone here from Clifton?
(silence) Good. We can all relax.
Now, I'd like to begin by saying that
my parents were too poor to afford me
a childhood but the fact is nobody is
allowed to be really poor in Clifton.
Once you fall below eleven thousand
you're exiled to Passaic. My parents
did, in fact, put down the first two
payments on my childhood. Then they
tried to return me to the hospital
as defective. But, like everyone else
I grew up in large part thanks to my
mother. If she was only here today
I'd say, "Hey, mom. What are you
doing here? You've been dead for
nine years?" (laughter) You should
have seen my mother. She was wonderful
-- blonde, beautiful, intelligent,
alcoholic. (laughter) We used to
drink milk together after school.
Mine was homogenized. Hers was loaded.
(laughter) Once she was picked up for
speeding. They clocked her doing fifty
-- in our garage. (laughter) When
they tested her they found that her
alcohol was two per cent blood. They
took away her license and she died
shortly afterwards. We used to joke
together Mom and me, until the tears
would stream down her face and she'd
throw up. (laughter) And who would
clean it up? Not Dad. He was too
busy down at O'Grady's throwing up on
his own. In fact, until I was sixteen,
I thought throwing up was a sign of
maturity. While the other kids were
off in the woods sneaking cigarettes, I
was hiding behind the house with my
fingers down my throat. (laughter)
I never got anywhere until one day,
my father caught me. Just as he was
giving me a final kick in the stomach,
for luck, I managed to heave all
over his new shoes. "That's it,"
I thought. "I've made it. I'm
finally a man!" (laughter) As it
turned out, that was the only time my
father ever paid any real attention
to me. He was usually too busy out
in the park playing ball with my
sister, Rose. And, today thanks to
those many hours of practice, my
sister Rose has grown into a fine man.
(laughter) Me, I wasn't especially
interested in athletics. The only
exercise I ever got was when the
other kids picked on me. They used
to beat me up once a week, usually
Tuesday. After a while, the school
worked it into the curriculum. And,
if you knocked me out, you got extra
credit. (laughter) Except there was
this one kid who was afraid of me. I
kept telling him, "Hit me! Hit me!
What's the matter with you? Don't you
want graduate?" As for me, I was
the only kid in the history of the
school to graduate in traction. The
school nurse tucked my diploma into
my sling. But my only real interest,
right from the beginning, was show
business. Even as a young man, I
began at the very top, collecting
autographs. (laughter)

A lot of you are probably wondering
why Jerry couldn't make it this
evening. Well, he's tied up --
and I'm the one who tied him.
(laughter) You think I'm joking,
but that's the only way I could break
into show business -- by hijacking
Jerry Langford. (laughter) I'm
not kidding. Right now, Jerry
Langford is strapped to a bedstead
somewhere in the middle of this city.
(laughter) Go ahead. Laugh. But
the fact is ... I'm here. Tomorrow
you'll know I wasn't kidding and
you'll think I was crazy. But I
figured it this way: better to be
King for a Night than Schmuck for
a Lifetime!!! (laughter) Good
night ladies and gentlemen. God
bless you.

Friday, January 03, 2003

Your wallet is burdening you with its heavy karmic load. There is no doubt. Feel the heavy dharma weight of those credit cards.
Which is why I have put my humble wisdoms on the World Wide Web. Goodness knows, poor Chanjindapokit Baktanimbin was once content to merely proffer his humble opinions from The Rainbow Cafe where Mrs Morgan would feed him the occasional lentil burger to stop his soul departing ways with his body.
"But Master," his disciples implored him, "Have you yourself not said that if sheep are not shorn they grow wild and woolly, matted with the lantana bushes of life?" How could a swami refuse? Despite the enormous costs I have placed my wisdoms on the web so all may gain some insight into their inner beings. Look then not upon me as a swami, but as a friendly shepherd come to fleece you. And there is no doubt you need to be shorn. After your fleecing, believe me, you'll feel like a different person. All you have to do is click the little button below, incant your credit card details, and you will be instantly enlightened!
Trust me. I'm a swami. Enlightenment was never closer.

To date, 1 people have donated $0.50 to poor Swami Chanjindapokit Baktanimbin. Apart from the enlightened Mrs Nora Winney from Oklahama City, may you all be dolphins in your next life.


Interesting eh? You have my good friend Islami to thank for this. To visit this 'enlightened' dude just click here.

Thursday, January 02, 2003

Chanel’s got class. Anyone who’s seen her can tell you that. As for me, I just love being with her. Lord knows she don’t have to change. She got me two books yesterday. Great ones. I like. We had dinner. Couldn’t finish it. We talked, had a long walk. Stared at each other. Felt kind of guilty, but what the heck! Life does go on.

Moony boy got me a shirt. Felt bad that I didn’t respond to his calls. Chatted with him till 12. Got home. Had some chicken soup. Wonder what sort of a soul I’ve got? Got a year to figure that one out.

Another year of revelry and madness….

Heard the parties go. On and on and on.

Heard people screaming, shouting, shrieking. Dizzy with fun and a whole lot more.

Saw a bike crash into a quails. Saw the rider stand up and walk away.

Saw beggar kids fight over a balloon.

Saw people invade restaurants like there was no tomorrow to gorge on.

Got my drink, got home, got to good old books.

And radiocity.

I really ain’t getting any younger you see.

Each year, I assiduously compile my own personal list of top 10 to do or change about my miserable life. And scarcely does January turn the corner before I realize that I have broken most of them.

However, this year I have set a more realistic list for myself. For one thing, it spans both my personal and professional lives. For another, it is only an 8-item list. Thirdly, it is the right blend of the aspirational and the real. Take a peek. Maybe you’ll see a reflection of your life somewhere…

I will stop drinking, stop smoking and stop doing those little things that bring joy to my otherwise drab life.

I will start exercising. However, I will have to get up at some unearthly hour before my brain figures out what I’m doing. Alternatively, I will re-join the pricey health club that I joined last year, same time. This year however, I will show up!

I will stay off deep-fried, buttered, creamed, grilled and baked delicacies. I will oust the position of pride that meat has in my diet and will steer clear of frozen nut and butter delights! Sob! After all this, coupled with the exercise, I might just get to die really, really healthy.

I will reply to all e-mails that come my way. Even offers from vague, African individuals promising me a 20% of the under-the-table millions that their dictators hid away and which, they want me to claim by proving that I’m the long-lost descendant of some long-dead flower child engineer called Robert Brooks.

I will not let my work play ping pong with my life, tripping me when I least expect it to and roaring with laughter when I have my face in the mud and my confidence a 100 feet below rock bottom and digging. I will get myself steel-toed footwear.

I will develop my psychic abilities to include mind reading, telepathy, telekinesis, and crystal ball gazing. I will need to do so just to survive. Ever evolving KRAs now expect me to predict the needs of my reporting authorities and to act accordingly.

I will not let the powers that be intimidate me. When one of them passes me by, I will attempt to carefully go weak in the knees and not visibly shiver. Alternatively, I will try and not inconvenience any of them by steering clear of their regular prowling areas.

Last, but not the least, I will try and ensure, in my own small way that I am paid for the work that I do. (It would be greater still if the payment could come on time. But dare I hope…?)