<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22940696</id><updated>2011-12-14T18:45:40.972-08:00</updated><category term='argument'/><category term='parking'/><category term='beach'/><title type='text'>the pugilist</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Bharat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01521700281337639488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6137/2341/1600/solo.0.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>13</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22940696.post-4876947106655578024</id><published>2009-06-23T01:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-23T01:24:34.441-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parking'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='beach'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='argument'/><title type='text'>Parking etiquette in Chennai</title><content type='html'>Chennai has become a place where animals roam. Might is right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last Sunday, I went about disturbing every other gentleman, in my neighbourhood, from his weekend siesta to find out if he or his guests owned the stupid car that was in front my gate. I had to go out somewhere and I could not get my car out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After 20 minutes we succeeded in identifying the person. He came out grumpy, obviously miffed either because he had been woken up or that we were pointing fingers at him. He said everything he could think of, from, 'This road has no parking space', to 'others damage my car if I leave it further up' for about 2-3 minutes. When I gaped at him in surprise, he finally said, "I know it's my mistake." But it took a lot out of him for him to say that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In barely controlled anger, I told him "That's all I wanted to hear," and walked away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am aghast. Bad enough if you don't have the common sense to park such that no one else is hindered. Forgiven even if you can't be bothered to read notices on every gate pleading 'Please don't park in front of my gate'. But won't you even be embarrassed a bit and apologise?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Man, that gets my goat!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another instance at the beach here. After splashing about in the waters once, I came back to find that a second row of cars had been parked behind the one in which my car was parked. Mine was the only one behind which a car hadn't been parked in such a way I could not get out. As I was pottering about in my car, another came behind us and began to fill up the vacant space - the only one through which I could have taken my car out. I politely alerted the owner-driver (an obvisouly well to do chap with some education, I presume) to my predicament and guess what he said? "You can't argue with everyone like this. If I don't do it, someone else will. So I am going ahead and parking here."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought it was useless arguing with such boors and promptly took my car out and parked it elsewhere!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Was it always like this or am I just waking up to the reality?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22940696-4876947106655578024?l=bharatkk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/feeds/4876947106655578024/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22940696&amp;postID=4876947106655578024&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/4876947106655578024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/4876947106655578024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/2009/06/parking-etiquette-in-chennai.html' title='Parking etiquette in Chennai'/><author><name>Bharat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01521700281337639488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6137/2341/1600/solo.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22940696.post-5445783265571873831</id><published>2009-06-23T01:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-23T01:07:26.358-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The pursuit of happYness</title><content type='html'>I know it's been a looooong while, but this movie moved me enough to come here and write about it. Very inspiring - a rags to riches story and all through real, hard work, not just chance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will Smith has done a fantastic job. After seeing Men in Black, I was really like 'what's wrong with men like Smith?' But this one chases away all those disappointments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's interesting is one of the dialogues refers to Thomas Jefferson and his point about 'pursuit of happiness'. (The spelling mistake in the movie, and the book, is intentional). When Jefferson was talking about liberty, he said (or wrote, whatever) that he believed liberty meant the freedom to pursue happiness. So, the protagonist's point here is how did Jefferson know all those years ago that happiness is a state you perennially pursue, but not necessarily attain!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A must see for anyone starting out a career or in mid-career!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22940696-5445783265571873831?l=bharatkk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/feeds/5445783265571873831/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22940696&amp;postID=5445783265571873831&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/5445783265571873831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/5445783265571873831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/2009/06/pursuit-of-happyness.html' title='The pursuit of happYness'/><author><name>Bharat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01521700281337639488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6137/2341/1600/solo.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22940696.post-7819830894296338855</id><published>2007-12-08T04:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-08T04:26:39.182-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How freely should we answer nature's call?</title><content type='html'>Friends, I am disgusted with the sight that greets me everyday, irrespective of time of day or location in my city.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The free and casual air with which people (men, that is ... I am yet to see women&lt;br /&gt;disgrace our roadsides thus) urinate on the road is revolting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I fully understand that people who have no access to housing cannot be expected to adhere to basic sanitary hygiene practices. But educated, well-to-do people who use bikes and cars to get from point to point in the city, unzip their trousers freely when the thought strikes them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked one such well clothed person if he didn't think this was a nasty habit. He didn't have the courtesy to even apologise, but quickly mounted his bike and sped away. The second person I posed this query to, while caught red-handed (ok- not red-&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;handed&lt;/span&gt;) started abusing me. He said that I talked 'too much'. In our lingo, it translates to "mind your own business".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are people who have genuine problems with access to quality sanitation while in transit. One such educated pedestrian I accosted told me that he was old and a diabetic and couldn't control impulses as well as a younger, healthy person could. An auto driver who urinated right outside a public toilet sheepishly explained to me that the inside of the toilet is dirtier than the outside and if only it were clean....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess the government, building and maintaining quality toilets with reasonable distances between two such toilets across the city, is a possible solution. But how do we stop the citizen freely answering nature's call outside of those toilets if he chooses to do so?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22940696-7819830894296338855?l=bharatkk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/feeds/7819830894296338855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22940696&amp;postID=7819830894296338855&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/7819830894296338855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/7819830894296338855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/2007/12/how-freely-should-we-answer-natures.html' title='How freely should we answer nature&apos;s call?'/><author><name>Bharat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01521700281337639488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6137/2341/1600/solo.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22940696.post-3017549859354842637</id><published>2007-12-08T03:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-15T11:30:04.456-08:00</updated><title type='text'>School</title><content type='html'>Okay. I am happy now. I have a strong feeling that school system in our country is going to leave my daughter as untouched as it left me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recently attended an 'observation' session at my daughter's school. What this means is that parents of children are allowed to sit in class and stay through a whole school day to silently observe what happens in class.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Through those three hours (yes, that's all the time kids are required to be at school during LKG) , my eyes were glued to my daughter to see how she liked the school experience. And, there is only word to describe her in class: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;BORED&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though my wife and I had decided early on not to compare our child with another, sincerely believing that each child had something unique and special to him/her, I could not help noticing that most children in the class were so enthusiastic and involved with whatever happened in class. My daughter couldn't care less about the teacher or the lessons - she plucked at the paint that was coming loose on her table, bent down low to get the caked mud off her shoes, turned around to chat with her friend right behind her till the teacher bellowed to the boy not to keep showing off his bruises and so on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, my daughter did like all the physical activity, including the one where the children acted like giraffes moving around in class and the one that involved putting your hand up and asking the teacher permission to visit the loo, or to quickly attack your snacks box during break-time!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also noticed a handful of truly rebellious kids. One kid actually did exactly the opposite of what the teacher kept telling them to do. "Raise your hands" and he'd put them down, "stand up" and he'd sit down. I strongly believe that such kids, so long as they are not led astray in their adolescent years, turn out to be entrepreneurs. Unless you have a wee bit of a rebellious streak , you can't get around to doing your own thing in business.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And of course, there were lighter moments too. The teacher asked the class what the difference between animals and human beings were. Among the thousands of responses shouted out, one sticks in my mind: "Animals don't have wash basins."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though my wife reminded me, before entering the class, not to yawn, as is my wont when bored, I really couldn't help it after the 2-hour mark. Seated in the last row, I easily caught the teacher's eye looking sternly at me in the middle of each yawn!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But hell! I needn't have felt so guilty. A week later, my daughter came home from school and told me that she slept a while in class. And no! No one woke her up. As soon as she had finished her siesta, she woke up and carried on as if nothing had happened, is her claim. What do I believe? Kids these days, I say...! :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22940696-3017549859354842637?l=bharatkk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/feeds/3017549859354842637/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22940696&amp;postID=3017549859354842637&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/3017549859354842637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/3017549859354842637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/2007/12/school.html' title='School'/><author><name>Bharat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01521700281337639488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6137/2341/1600/solo.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22940696.post-191767450685470984</id><published>2007-06-02T05:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-23T01:39:13.678-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Phone etiquette</title><content type='html'>A lot of articles have been written about mobile phone etiquette. But many of those pieces tend to hint that people were actually following etiquette norms while using landline phones and somehow lose their sense of balance while using mobile phones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I challenge that. On the landline, I get calls everyday from educated folks, not limited to but including the PR industry, who, on finding out that the person they want to speak to is not there, immediately ask: "Who is speaking?" It is highly infuriating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isn't it basic etiquette for the caller to reveal his/her identity before asking for the identity of the person who takes the call? I have tried everything; from pleading, chiding, and sarcasm... nothing seems to work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The conversation that took the cake was this: A security officer in my company reached my phone extension by mistake. Immediately he wanted to know who I was. As usual I asked him who his highness was. After he revealed his identity, I revealed mine. At that he said, "You please cut the line. I want to make an urgent call."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stunned, I obeyed him. Stunned, because it was he who called and then he has the temerity to ask me to disconnect! Later it dawned on me that he assumed that I was calling from another line and wanted to know his identity. A cross talk, in his understanding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which means the caller asking for another's identity, and not revealing his own, is the done thing!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22940696-191767450685470984?l=bharatkk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/feeds/191767450685470984/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22940696&amp;postID=191767450685470984&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/191767450685470984'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/191767450685470984'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/2007/06/etiquette.html' title='Phone etiquette'/><author><name>Bharat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01521700281337639488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6137/2341/1600/solo.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22940696.post-115901355682696576</id><published>2006-09-23T05:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-24T17:58:38.586-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tech in RTO is an oxymoron</title><content type='html'>Hi. I recently went to the local RTO to get myself a two wheeler licence, since I had lost the old one. What I experienced there was something even the RTO's corrupt employees don't deserve to go through.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, you have to find your way to the ground where the Officer 'evaluates' you for being able to ride your bike over an imaginary '8'. If someone fails that test for competence, he/she does not deserve to ride a bike. It's that silly, taking into consideration none of the other difficulties that you face on an actual road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are there ten minutes before the appointed hour of 10 am. The Officer ambles in around 10:45. Feeling lousy, having been under the sun, you go through the test and are relieved that you aren't part of the Officer's 'quota' of failures for the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You sign some ledger at the ground, collect a token with some number and go to the RTO which is about 3 kms away! There, you wait in a Q for an hour to have your photo taken in digital form. Not so bad, so far. Then, you wait for them to issue you a card, not yet laminated, so that you can sign and then get it laminated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After an hour of waiting for that card, someone comes out and calls the names of people whose photos have gone 'corrupted' and who need to repeat the action. You are overjoyed that your name is not part of that list. Forty five long minutes later, the same chap comes out and tells you your name is also part of the list. You are livid and give him a piece of your mind, wondering why he took such a long time to decide that your photo has also gone 'phut'. He lazily stares at you and you rejoin the queue. Sheer agony, and, the sun isn't getting any more merciful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You get your photo taken again and by around 2 pm, you get the card with your photo on it, and, you are supposed to sign it. After that, you have stand in another queue (thankfully, which has only some 5-6 people ahead of you). This process seems like it is meant to record the details of the card.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A tough looking chappie first has to sign on that card, before he passes it on to a lady colleague next to him, who has to get your signature in another ledger and then has to co-sign the card herself. After that, the card would be laminated and given to you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got past the toughie successfully and then got to the lady. The lady is much slower, possibly due to the added work on the ledger, than our gentleman is, as a result of which, a stack of cards piles up in front of her. Just as my turn came, she completely, and without reason, inverted the set so that my card, which was on top of the list, came out right at the bottom!!! That was the last straw. I actually gave the lady a talking to. She did not even look me in the eye and continued seriously looking at her ledger and cards. She merely said, in Tamil, "Wait, sir. We will have to look at the cards one by one."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't mind that kind of meticulousness as long as my card does not go from top to the bottom!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ought to have done what one gentleman customer did right after the signing session. He literally ran from the RTO saying that he'd get it laminated elsewhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder why the RTO cannot follow the methods of the passport office. The passport also requires you to sign a document which would appear on the passport. Since they manage to get that done without your presence why can't the RTO do the same, even if it means getting the licence to you in a few days instead of on the same day?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any such experiences for any of you?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22940696-115901355682696576?l=bharatkk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/feeds/115901355682696576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22940696&amp;postID=115901355682696576&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/115901355682696576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/115901355682696576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/2006/09/tech-in-rto-is-oxymoron.html' title='Tech in RTO is an oxymoron'/><author><name>Bharat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01521700281337639488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6137/2341/1600/solo.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22940696.post-115901302354835315</id><published>2006-09-23T04:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-23T05:03:43.566-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Radio commentary</title><content type='html'>Folks. This is something that I really enjoyed doing. Not anything extraordinary, but something that brought back memories of 25 years ago... I was traveling by auto and for want of a book, I was idly fiddling with my player for various radio stations. (One thing to be said for most FM radio stations now is that they are better than TV channels dishing out some lousy music. And, they are better only because you are saved the visuals. The music is as bad.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was switching from one station to another, I stumbled upon (what I think is) AIR for a commentary of the cricket match between India and Australia on Sep 22. The only time I have 'listened' to radio commentary was before 1982 when cricket wasn't even in my ken and, neighbours used to sit all day long with their ears near the Radio set. I used to find it funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In later years, my grandfather used to switch on the radio for commentary since "it pains my eye to watch a match for long hours".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a simple pleasure but warmed my heart immensely.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22940696-115901302354835315?l=bharatkk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/feeds/115901302354835315/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22940696&amp;postID=115901302354835315&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/115901302354835315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/115901302354835315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/2006/09/radio-commentary.html' title='Radio commentary'/><author><name>Bharat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01521700281337639488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6137/2341/1600/solo.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22940696.post-115356898847001263</id><published>2006-07-22T04:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-23T02:52:01.046-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why ask me if I belong to so-and-so caste</title><content type='html'>My dears (as my high school master used to address us), :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wondering if discussing one's caste (and not general stuff such as the debate on reservations) is the norm. I mean, when two or three people get together, is it normal to discuss each's caste? I understand if they denigrated each other's caste in jest but serious references and 'checking out'....? I feel terribly uncomfortable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I belong to what is now referred to as the 'forward' caste. Since there is so much sensitivity about how my own ancestors have treated other castes in the past, I feel uncomfortable discussing my caste. Also, after having been exposed to really progressive folks, I truly believe that caste has nothing to do with one's abilities. So, to me, it's truly inconsequential.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, I am unable to escape references to my caste by others. The lady opposite my house visits us often. I quite admire her - I mean, aged near about 50, she does all the work at home - washing clothes of 3 grown up children, making sure her working husband is well fed and top of her priority list is her 3 year old granddaughter. So she is what you'd call 'sakala kalaa valavvi'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whenever she visits us to have a chat in the evenings, there's invariably a reference to someone else being the same caste as ours. She says she belongs to a different caste and says it as if it's complimentary to us and to the party to which she refers. Nothing deragatory, but a mere reference. I wonder why it's important to her that I belong to so-and-so caste.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The latest experience is something I had dwelt on in my earlier post. An acquaintance, to ascertain my eating habits, asked me if I am 'pure' brahmin. There again, he wasn't trying to be mean or anything but this compartmentalising people continues to be top of head recall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why does this reference have to come in?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want to twist it the other way. If I belong to a caste that the government certifies as SC or ST, and someone asked me pointedly (without reason) if I belonged to that caste, I am sure I'd be offended. Why is it any different for a 'forward' caste person?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or, is it to do with the age of the person? I mean, a certain generation had this top of mind and nothing can change it now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of years ago, when we had moved in newly to an area called Virugambakkam, my wife, our infant-child and I were taking a walk down one of those lanes. An elderly lady was standing outside the gate of her house. As we came up to her, she smiled and asked us if we were new to the area. We thought that this must be a really well knit community to be able to spot new comers and told her we were. Then she surprised us, "Iyengars?" to which we replied in the negative. Looked like she belonged to that sub-caste as she seemed genuinely disappointed with our response. Then came the next question: "Iyers?" When we confirmed this, she said, "Aedho brahmana!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean, why? Was her final shot on the caste question  a mere observation or downright condescension? We were horrified at the level of consciousness of this caste thing!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not being righteous here but I truly feel uncomfortable when people so freely discuss their own - and others' - castes!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone has a view on this?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22940696-115356898847001263?l=bharatkk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/feeds/115356898847001263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22940696&amp;postID=115356898847001263&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/115356898847001263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/115356898847001263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/2006/07/why-ask-me-if-i-belong-to-so-and-so.html' title='Why ask me if I belong to so-and-so caste'/><author><name>Bharat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01521700281337639488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6137/2341/1600/solo.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22940696.post-115356650843790597</id><published>2006-07-22T04:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-22T04:27:41.653-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My travails</title><content type='html'>Folks! I know this seems silly to you as it did to me. But since Abhinav insisted that this is 'bloggable' material, am posting this. So all errors, omissions and commissions are attributable to him! :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was consulting Abhinav about buying a few weights (dumb-bells and the like) to train at home. Since I have some time in the morning, and since I really didn't want my rippling triceps to give fellow-gymmers a complex, I wanted to do some training at home. The good friend that he is, Abhinav suggested I get trained by someone first to avoid injury. His intentions were perfect. The result was anything but.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hence started my search for a gym. The few I visited were far from home (which itself is beyond civilisation). The one I narrowed down on was nearest home and has been set up by a casual acquaintance. I was hoping to check with him (the acquaintance) as to what level of weights I should start off, what precautions I should take while exercising at home,...the usual advice that one seeks at such moments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first sign of alarm came when I jotted down the address. It was somewhere 'behind Koyambedu bus stand'. The area isn't exactly what you'd call high-class. But I plodded on nevertheless. Why should the location make any difference to my aspirations?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I entered the building, the alarm increased a notch when I sighted huge posters of 'huger' men with biceps that seemed bigger than my thigh, and an evil grin on their faces (or were they struggling to maintain the tension in their muscles for the sake of the photo? Which gave them that grin!?? God knows.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A minute into the conversation, the gym owner had decided that I was to join his gym and that, since half my health problems were because of stress, I should attend a weekly (only Sundays) session with him to destress myself. My BP shot up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was horrified that I don't don't touch eggs. His immediate and serious question was "Pure Brahmin?" It was disconcerting to be discussing my caste when all I wanted was a well-toned torso. (And hey, I have a problem with people discussing my caste - watch out for my next post on that... also, why 'pure'???)!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The gentle lad that I am, I confirmed his worst suspicions of my caste and meekly followed him as he led me into the main area of the gym. Big though the room was, it wasn't air-conditioned and I saw fellows in several shapes and sizes. Young lads with thin limbs trying their best with the bench presses and huge, ugly looking gorillas with sweat glistening on their arms and faces. Maybe being in such a state reassures them that they have been really working the fat off!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was also horrified by the level of body contact that they have amongst themselves. The 'master' is a highly revered figure. When a chap who seemed like he had just begun 'gymming', asked for some advice on adding additional weights to whatever he was doing. The 'master' actually felt the 'sishya's thigh muscles with his  hand, and told him to take it easy before going onto additional weights. As the sishya was moving away to continue exercising, the master gave him a hard pat on this behind (!!) and smiled at him. The sishya smiled back. I was ready to disappear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was terrified that I would be led into paying the first-instalment of fees for something I really didn't want to do. But fortunately, my medical condition required an okay from a doc first. The gym owner was not convinced with the opinion of my own doc but wanted me to visit his doc. Once his doc gives the okay, I am to visit the gym daily. Now, I am sure I can postpone this indefinitely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Strangely, (or not so strangely, since I was getting used to being surprised every minute), I didn't notice a single treadmill in there. Maybe the ones there were gone for maintenance or maybe, we are expected to come running to the gym daily from home! Not a tall order.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have changed my mind about having a well toned torso!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22940696-115356650843790597?l=bharatkk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/feeds/115356650843790597/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22940696&amp;postID=115356650843790597&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/115356650843790597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/115356650843790597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/2006/07/my-travails.html' title='My travails'/><author><name>Bharat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01521700281337639488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6137/2341/1600/solo.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22940696.post-114932303553726068</id><published>2006-06-03T01:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-22T03:58:00.896-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blogger? Read this:</title><content type='html'>http://www.financialexpress.com/fe_archive_full_story.php?content_id=128668&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22940696-114932303553726068?l=bharatkk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/feeds/114932303553726068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22940696&amp;postID=114932303553726068&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/114932303553726068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/114932303553726068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/2006/06/blogger-read-this.html' title='Blogger? Read this:'/><author><name>Bharat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01521700281337639488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6137/2341/1600/solo.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22940696.post-114897242777958208</id><published>2006-05-29T23:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-14T20:00:35.576-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The bane of the service industry</title><content type='html'>Folks,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a no-trick question: What is so different about employees of the call centre industry? Simple: it's that they work the hours that suit their clients.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, why aren't the services industry people doing the same for us in India? I mean, as someone who has a job and a house to manage, I feel pretty strongly about this. Services people are prepared to make a visit - for which we have paid or will pay - to your home ONLY at the time that suits them. And that is clearly, office hours. NOT BEFORE 10 am NOR AFTER 6 PM. I would understand it coming from the local carpenter - a casual labourer, accountable to nobody but himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But corporations, large and small do this. I have had this kind of lousy experience - from LG A/C installation folks, their maintenance folks, the corporate pesticide service providers, credit card companies, real estate developers, furniture sellers, the whole lot of them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damn it, I am their customer. And I demand to be serviced at a time that is convenient to me. I seriously don't understand their attitude. If I refuse to be at home at 10 am to receive them, the dumb call centre executives actually offer helpfully, "Would 4:30 pm be fine sir?" I mean, are you dumb or are you dumb?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I expected to drop everything at office and rush home immediately so that the sweet service provider could work at his convenience? Why is 7 am or even 9 am such a ghostly hour for service providers? LG's call centre actually closes shop sometime towards the night. I would expect it to be a 24-hour shop, right?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22940696-114897242777958208?l=bharatkk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/feeds/114897242777958208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22940696&amp;postID=114897242777958208&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/114897242777958208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/114897242777958208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/2006/05/bane-of-service-industry.html' title='The bane of the service industry'/><author><name>Bharat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01521700281337639488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6137/2341/1600/solo.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22940696.post-114857603551861330</id><published>2006-05-25T09:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-25T09:53:55.520-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Hi Folks. Went on a short trip to Pondicherry. Stopped over at Mahabs to check out the ancient lighthouse. Before I started the steep climb, our group bought some ice cream and with childish glee started slurping as we ascended. Even though we noticed several monkeys lounging around as we entered the protected-heritage area, we didn't really think much of it as we had seen quite a few in our time, or so we thought!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was taken by surprise by a monkey that got down calmly from a tree, and, with equal calmness walked directly towards me. It stopped, got up on its hind legs and made as if to grab at the ice cream. A man walking past me in the opposite direction hurriedly urged me to part with my possession, a chocobar. I did so. The monkey calmly took the offering, could not resist licking at it even before it got up a tree. It made for a fascinating watch! A pity it did not strike me to take a snap of the monkey enjoying a chocobar. Banishing that evil thought - that the ice cream vendor had actually trained those monkeys to terrorise visitors into parting with their ice creams - I bought another, this time a mango flavour, ate it before entering the fenced area and then went about the tour peacefully.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Afterthoughts: we understand from this experience that the monkey had sighted its quarry, the chocobar much before it came down from the tree. Also, it ignored the other two ice-cream eaters who sauntered into the area along with me. Reminds you of those National Geographic videos where the leopard selects a weak target and pursues it relentlessly, even if other similar dinner prospects brush by it in their frenzy to get out of its way? It sure reminded me of it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have any of you had such experiences?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22940696-114857603551861330?l=bharatkk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/feeds/114857603551861330/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22940696&amp;postID=114857603551861330&amp;isPopup=true' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/114857603551861330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/114857603551861330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/2006/05/hi-folks.html' title=''/><author><name>Bharat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01521700281337639488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6137/2341/1600/solo.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22940696.post-114845503281303196</id><published>2006-05-24T00:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-24T00:17:12.826-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Elections are fought on employment issues, economic platforms and promises of development. Or are they?&lt;br /&gt;This writer, a first time voter, was as excited about electronic voting machines as about burning issues that moved mature voters; and spoke to five such: a barber aged 25, two auto-drivers touching fifty, one driver in his forties and another in his 20s. The assumption here is that voters with such demographic profiles make up the majority.&lt;br /&gt;The question to each of them: Why did they vote for whomever they voted? The barber had voted for the Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam. Did the promise of colour TVs move him? With a wry smile, he says, "No." So, why else? "I have no particular reason why I voted for the DMK. All of my family did so and I followed suit."&lt;br /&gt;Next came auto-driver number one: "I personally wanted the Anna DMK in power but voted for the DMK." Surprising response? Not to him. He reasons: "Our family has been close to the DMK since my grandfather's time. My father too is closely associated with them. Whenever we are in trouble, they help us out."&lt;br /&gt;Was he impressed with the DMK's manifesto? "I voted out of a sense of duty," is the seemingly unrelated response.&lt;br /&gt;Says the second driver: "I voted for the DMK." Silence prevails as you wait for an explanation. But he seems to think none is required. Prod him on and he is surprised that you actually want to hear a reason. He retorts, "I always vote for the party that the majority supports!" That deeply hidden desire to back the winning horse? Maybe.Then came this response from the third driver: "In every election, my wife and I always cast one vote each for the DMK and the ADMK. We talk it out before every election. We also alternate between the two so that each of us is happy without pangs of guilt."&lt;br /&gt;But did either his wife or himself desire to vote for a third front ever? "This time we did. We really did want to vote for actor Vijaykanth's party. But I did not quite favour the individual who stood for the party in our constituency." So, back they went to one vote each for the ADMK and the DMK.&lt;br /&gt;The punchline came from the young autodriver in his 20s. "I voted for the DMK because I wanted Kalaignar to become CM one last time."&lt;br /&gt;Economic and employment issues will have to wait their turn.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22940696-114845503281303196?l=bharatkk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/feeds/114845503281303196/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22940696&amp;postID=114845503281303196&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/114845503281303196'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22940696/posts/default/114845503281303196'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bharatkk.blogspot.com/2006/05/elections-are-fought-on-employment.html' title=''/><author><name>Bharat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01521700281337639488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6137/2341/1600/solo.0.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry></feed>
