Whatiteeez?

2011-04-25T11:30:00.000-07:00

Italian today.

Bruschetta al Pomodoro

Freshly baked bread, toasted and buttered.

Chopped Tomatoes, marinated & refrigerated in Olive oil, garlic, fresh basil and a hint of salt.

Hint:

Toast the bread just before you serve,

Top the bread just after you toast.

Pour a little of the marinated olive oil onto the dish.

La Dolce Vita.

.niwsA

A slightly grand meal...

2011-04-20T23:47:00.000-07:00

Green Bell Peppers & Peas in Mughlai Gravy

Peas & Paneer Saffron flavored Pulau

Aloo Mutter Jeera

Onion & Tomato Raitha

What a Life!

Lunch on a warm weekday holiday!

2011-04-14T05:35:00.000-07:00

A warm sunny afternoon, when the whole of Tamil Nadu was sweating it out in queues to vote for the 'lesser corrupt party', I decided to treat myself to a 'Peas & Paneer Pulav with Raitha'.

Buying my first non-stick frying pan to having friends(Ren& Kar) to do the tasting, it all helped feed the inner 'chef soul' of mine.

I love non stick pans and woks.

But why did Chennai Super Kings have to lose to Punjab?

(Though I did console myself with a brand new book shelf, laundry basket, a movie and pop corn.)

Right then.

Until Saturday, Adios.

.niwsA

More Food Mighway...

2011-04-05T11:44:00.000-07:00

As promised.
Buttered Rice with Coriander.

Okra, Tomato & Potato Fry

Garlic & Tomato Rasam

Tomato, Basil, Mint and Oregano

Curd Rice.

CHANGE

2011-04-04T12:49:00.000-07:00

So much has changed in the last 5 years.
Thats when I started ranting online like you other bleddy plenty many.
Now, i intend to take stock of all that has happened & not happened in the last 5 years.

This is intended to be more introspection through retrospection for the inspection of a bygone era.
An era doesn't last like a century or whatever now.
It is every 5 years.
Think about it.
I am not going to cite examples.
But seriously.
5 years back, a meagre mp3 player was a luxury.
Today even an ipad isn't.
Ok. no examples.
But seriously.
Not just with technology.
In fact with technology, an era is 6 months.

A scam in 2005 would involve 3 politicians, one industrialist, one pimp and one stock broker.
Now, it spans across two political parties, a conglomerate that was until now the cleanest face of Indian Corporate culture, and money that could buy an entire country like Seychelles or something.

But, this introspection through retrospection for the inspection of a bygone era is going to be more about me.
Because the world has read and said so much that people involved in the aforementioned scams are dead.
Its my turn( not to die. Not Yet, atleast).

Disclaimer, now.
This idea might inevitably let a few cats out of the bag, but if thats how it has to be, then that's how it has to be.
So.
Its time.
To go to the loo.
See you.

.niwsA

Mighway on my plate.

2011-04-04T12:10:00.000-07:00

I am back.

After, what, 5 years?

Yeah.

Things have changed.

The world has changed.

Everything is so different now.

Everything was so different then.

I am back.

For the love of food, for one.

Just to jump start my blogging habit.

So here goes.

I cooked today.

One more thing that I did after 2 years.

Buttered Basmati Rice, Aloo Mutter & Bell Peppers in Jeera.

Accompanied by mildly spiced curd, onion slices and pickle.

Heaven.

See you in a couple of days.

With Rice, Garlic Rasam & Okra Fry.

Another Brick in the Wall

2006-03-22T23:05:00.000-08:00

Wake up at 8 fighting against will to spend another day slogging and blogging at office.
Daddy dearest starts cribbing that I don’t do my Sandhya-vandanam.
Rummage through The Hindu in the loo. Used to admiring P3Ps in the Bangalore Times, the Hindu Metro Plus seems very depressing and lacking spice. Insipid. Now all you Hindu fanatics don’t get at me. I can’t read articles on Ustad Allah Rakha or some review about a place on the other end of the world just 5 mins out of bed. Even Calvin & Hobbes seem dreary in the Hindu.
Forcing out all of what was my dinner last night, I brush and bathe and dress up and pray.
By the time I manage to reach my leg and pull up my socks, I can feel my Three-Tyre -Architecture cringe. I break into a sweat running all over my face and finally revv up the bike. Daddy dearest butts in again lecturing about the safety of the helmet and my head. IF only he knew it was filled with hot water.
I put on the helmet and zip off, only to pit-stop in the next street, remove that darn piece of safety gear, put on my sunglasses, turn on the iPod and continue another depressing journey to office.

I enter this dilapidated building on Nungambakkam High Road, do the system boot, logging in, mail checking routine and my whole life comes to a stand still. I sit staring at the monitor all cluttered with a million Design documents and status reports and unit test plans. I get into the strenous right-click-refresh, right-click-arrange-by-type,right-click-arrange-by-name,right-click-arrange-by-size operation. I decide on which arrangement looks better. I move icons from overlapping with the company logo wallpaper.
Confession no.1: I have work to last me a month but just can’t seem to muster any kind of inspiration to actually open the god forsaken Application Designer or TOAD.

Time for smoke no.1. My draw is filled with matchboxes and Kings packs. Hit the ground floor with a rajkiran-look-alike-friend in tow. We meet a friend from the bank below and these two set off talking about the Sensex hitting 11,000, the impact, the repercussions, new Mutual Funds, IPOs. I am lost.
Confession no.2: I have never taken interest in saving money let alone the stock market or MFs or the kind. The only instrument of saving that I have is some life insurance from LIC taken 2 light years back(still funded by daddy dearest). After all, he gave me life. So let him take care of insuring it as well.
Back at my nest in 10 mins. Nothing has changed. No eggs have hatched. The monitor looks the same, the disgusting Application Designer icon pleads to be opened and I succumb.
In 5 minutes, I get frustrated with some Component Interface. I just can’t understand the logic of all this crap.
Confession no.3: This software industry is crap.
I look around and everyone has something to do. Sratch their arm-pits, rub a finger behind the ear and smell it after making sure no one’s looking…
I log on to blogspot.com. Grope around blog after blog, comment after comment…Arunthur Dent, Ganja Turlte, Vetty Max, Jananisays…
Confession no.4: I started blogging about a month back but any time I sit to blog on anything, the whole thing falls like an egg on the floor.
My alter-ego who’s sharing the same boat with me, is the only one to comment on my blog. And I return the favor in kind. Ore blog. Ore comment.
Confession no.5: I read my own blog and the resulting comment a million times.
An hour passes by. Time for smoke no.2
Back in ten minutes again. Went down to the Lassi shop right across with the same demented soul. He thinks he’s going to Europe or Thailand on some project. He’s new to the software industry and I know deep down he’s going nowhere. I let him enjoy the I’m-going-onsite feeling. Why should I steal his thunder? Anyways, it never rains when it thunders. Had some oily mini-samosas and a glass of Lassi.
Walking back, I get the idea of writing this blog.(now... who said 'bad idea'??huh?? tell me!!!)
Confession no.6: Its depressing (my life and the blog idea) when I come to think of it. Nevertheless here I am with my blog.
I can’t code, my blogs lack anything and everything a blog needs to be, no one will read my blog and my onsite travel opportunity is slowly decaying with time.
Well, the thing is, I was supposed to go to Singapore for 2 years “long term”… but looks like by the time I actually go, it’ll be short term. My manager gives me lousy reasons like lack of chairs and systems and stuff. I am pissed. He says “be patient”. Patient my rock-bottom.
The guy next to me shows me photos from the Volleyball tourney that they won last evening.
Disheartening.
Confession no.7: I cant play any sport for nuts. Cricket or Football or Volleyball or even Goli.
I look at my watch. Its still 11.30. I thought it was 11.30 ten minutes back. Whatever.
I open my Outlook and send crib-mails-Phase 1 to my friends. Everyone empathizes with me. Hard Luck, have patience, chill… my AE goes one step further to prepare a torture list for my manager.
Some dumb forwards come in… forwards on AIDS awareness, Little Johnny, that Google search on ‘Failure’(you search for ‘Failure’ and it runs up to the White House site with George Bush’s bio' in detail… one day you’ll find the link to this blog there)…
Suddenly this Happy Birthday song plays on the office speakers indicating ore more lady couldn’t keep her legs together resulting in another S.W.E down the gutter.
Lunch time. 1 hr break.
Back after lunch and smoke no.4.
Struggling to keep my eyes open. Someone brings a box of sweets. Take one. No. Take two. With my size, people expect me to take atleast half the box.
Struggling to keep my eyes closed.
Confession no.8: This blog is turning flat.
The printer sitting right opposite bursts into that “keeeng keeeng keeeng” sound waking me up in turn. I walk to it, load the empty Tray 4, hit the OK button and come back.
Exchange a series of career oriented mails with my AE. We have great plans for our lives ahead.
We conclude (to quote my AE) ‘software jobs are for lesser mortals’.
We decide we should try dramatics, music, publishing, MBA, art, even write the screen play for a movie.
We discuss movies and morph into Film News Anandan and Cine Koothu Singaram. Criticize every movie we’ve seen.
We ponder over the idea of marriage and all the “life time free” offers that come with it.
I decide against the whole concept(for other reasons) and my AE enlightens me with the rewards we will reap for the seeds we sow (no pun intended). Appeal dismissed.
The application designer icon has now changed into a topless babe, luring me into opening it.
I decide I’ll need to do something to fill up my time sheets. I garner up some courage, and start coding.
Its 4. Time for smoke no.5. Same lousy character comes down with me still thinking of Thailand and Europe.
I come back, put on some Pink Floyd on the iPod and listen to Another Brick in the Wall.
Bingo! Blog baptized.
Some guy comes up to me, and starts teasing me with my travel thing and I feel like slicing his testicles into tiny bits and adding them to his Biryani.
Crib-mails-Phase 2 . New bottle, old wine.
Its 6. Time to leave.

Surmise:
1. I cant code.
2. I cant play any sport.
3. I cant blog.
4. I wont go onsite.
5. I am growing fatter.
6. I am becoming a chain smoker.
7. I’m never going to do an MBA.
8. I don’t have a girl friend.
9. I’m going to be a fat, ugly, alcoholic at 40(just as now).
10. I don’t know how to end this blog.

P.S.: If there is anyone out there with an even more depressing daily routine, let me know.

Final Destination

2006-03-20T03:01:00.000-08:00

It was a pretty ordinary looking office. A pair of huge swinging doors opening to a flood of chairs, a receptionist, a security guard, newspapers, magazines, paintings, potted plants, a whole bunch of other guys all well groomed and ready for the onslaught and the two big doors which led to the slaughter house. I entered, looked for a seat as inconspicuous as I was and walked toward the far end of the room, parked my bottom and started checking if I was as well groomed as the others.

I was meticulously ripping off my over grown nails, and then… it happened.
She entered the until-then-noisy room and things fell as silent as a night on Belandur lake.
She walked in, turning every eye and tempting every tongue to follow her…sending several pairs of male eye balls rolling and prodding and widening and scanning every inch of her flawless body…
We watched in awe as her golden locks cascaded with every step she took and every move she made…the way she brushed aside her curls when they tried to kiss her forehead…her slender legs, wash board stomach, that beautiful neck piece she wore, glittering with what looked like stars on a string…damn!, if only I was a little in-shape ( not that ‘round’ isn’t a shape)… I’d stand a fighting chance to even get her to look at me. I surveyed the competition. Every other guy had at least one characteristic under the Tall-dark-handsome category. Well, I fell under the Short-Fat-father of four category…

Nevertheless, she made my heart beat hard, so hard that is almost made its way to my mouth…
As she passed by, I felt a whiff of her fresh shampooed hair (isn’t that a major turn on???), like the morning breeze over a garden of roses…

She walked across and sat a few seats to my right in front of the huge pane of glass overlooking the lawn. When she crossed her legs, I felt like a statue carved out of ice kept in the sun. In fact it was a bright sunny day. The sun’s rays shone making her hair look like molten gold, the blue sky, the green trees, the chirping birds, the butterflies, all seemed to try and catch a glimpse of her through the window… the whole scene looked like a huge Chagal masterpiece come to life…Step aside Mona Lisa.
If only I could melt and roll all over her body, sweep through her curvaceous contours, get lost in her hair, smell her perfume, feel her soft skin touch mine…

The clouds suddenly parted, sending me plummeting back to earth as I crash landed my buttocks onto the floor of this smelly room full of males with varying levels of raging hormones. As we waited our turn, wondering what might happen this time, (such circumstances are arguably, one of the worst times in your life, when you sit in line and wait your turn to get ‘humped royally’)

The dude next to me, who couldn’t keep shut, kept babbling incessantly to the other dude next to him about his last attempt and how bad it was… I think I heard him say he felt ‘the guy on the other side of the desk shove his hand up his rear-end-opening and pull his heart out with the liver and lungs and kidneys all following suit, 5 kilos of blood soaked organs ripping through a 25 paise sized hole’

I felt a big lump in my throat…

Just then, I felt something brush against my right arm. There were a few empty seats to my right and this PYT came and sat next to me. Her eyes met mine.I got lost in her eyes. Never have a pair of black balls (eye balls) looked so romantic. I instantly fell for her. By the time I could find my way out of her eyes, something below started widening either side. I leaned from the inside of her eyes, to find out what it was and almost slipped onto the bridge of her nose. I realized she was smiling at me. I slipped right through, skidding through her nose and fell flat on my face. Have you ever experienced that feeling? An angel pops out of a dream scenario, walks straight to you, looks deep into your eyes and gives you one of these 25000 volt smiles? I tried to muster the courage to just smile back but my mouth twisted into some irrecoverable position and got stuck there…you know how it always is right? Why is it so hard for us to even maintain a calm posture when a good looking gal does nothing but smile at us? But we’re not to blame. We’re on the wrong side of the world. Ge(r)ographical location- Chennai. A place where options on the Gender column(dare not call it ‘sex’) are Male and Non-Male. A guy with a job profile like Alex Hitchins would be a rag-picker somewhere near Teynampettai singal.

There i was, lost in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, clinging onto a piece of wood and literally onto life itself. I tried to swim but the current kept dragging me back and forth. Thud! I could hear someone call out my name from far off. Thud! I looked around frantically but couldn’t see anyone. Thud! There was no sight of a ship or boat or any trace of life. Thud! I heard the voice getting louder and louder and suddenly Thudddddd! For second I thought my heart stopped beating and I’d actually died. It was then that I realized I was still gaping at the PYT. She was laughing out loud by now and every other guy gave me this disgustingly-condescending 'whatever' look. The dude who’d just finished his turn inside came out, walking with quite an awkward gait, stopped, gave me one empathizing look, turned up as if to ask God ‘Why, God, why, why only us? All the time?’ shook his head and went out as though Mallika Sherawat has just turned down his lucrative marriage proposal.

Finally, getting a grip of my senses I realized my name was being called out by this man with a list in hand, and for a moment he looked like St. Peter standing next to the gate- which for a change was hell. I knew it was hell because St. Peter had two red and fiery looking horns on his head. All eyes were fixated on me. Like I’d won the Miss India contest or something. I slowly got up, realized my lower half was warm and my legs were all numb after so much kicking in the Pacific Ocean, and for the first time I was so conscious about my butt… Dunno why, but as I walked I thought that PYT was actually checking me out. Not that I had the audacity to turn and give her a parting look or something. As I walked slowly towards the door, the man with the list smiled at me, but it seemed more like the conceited smirk of a Harvey Oswald who’d just succeeded with his sinister plot to assassinate some guy called Kennedy. Or may be there was a big, big cauldron of boiling oil behind those doors waiting for me to be deep fried into it. I walked through the door and it shut behind me with an ominous attitude. My eyes were swelling up with tears and my nose was dripping. I looked up at my owner as he lifted me up and put me on the examination table with the vet rubbing his condom-ed hands waiting to pull another set of organs right through a key hole. That was the story of the end of my sex life. By the way, Hi! I’m Blacky. Woof! Woof!