Children of the damned!!

Belief! Unconditional infallible belief! The boon of humanity. The panacea to all suffering. That which bestows grace in adversity. The belief that one is an extension of something larger than themselves. Where does it come from? It comes from within. Why do we need it? Because we feel helpless. Why do we deify it? Because we need idelogical totems to look up to, to fall back on, and to provide us with courage, hope and strength, and, most importantly, to provide us salvation eternal.

The question of belief and the answer it provides, in my humble observation, are to do with death and beyond, and, life and its obvious inequities and suffering. The fact that "we" or the collective "I" cease to exist when the circulation to the brain is cut off is still a horrifying thought to most of us. I am sure there are plenty of other ways to cease existing, but I shall not be listing them here for the fear of making this rather morbid topic downright macabre. But I will reveal my thoughts on the afterlife later. For now, let me tell you a story.

In the town of Bambaboor, they had a peculiar economy. Since eons, the only commodity in the town was "phood". People stored it, grew it, sold it, decorated it, put it in banks, invested it, and even ate it!! There was a simple classification of people in the town. The minority was the phood-rich class. Such was there affluence, that they even build houses with it. The majority was the phood-poor class. They were so poor, that they worked for phood, but those were the lucky ones. As with all economies, the minority could not generate enough service-demand to employ all the poor people. So many people had no phood. So they started starving.

The kinder rich people gave away some phood! But couldnt decide how much to give away. Surely they couldn't give away the million-strong phood stock in the banks. So they were very disatisfied with the continuing equity and its conflict with their own continued well-being. One day a stranger came to town, and was quite surprised to see the rich hoarding phood of all kinds, and others dying from the lack of it. He said to the poor people, "This is not right, I come from a town much mightier than Bambaboor, and its called Thae-Ven. And there everyone has "phood". To go there you need a key. And I am the ONLY one who has this key." He took pictures of himself with the key and distributed it to everyone as proof. He also laid down some rules for those who wished to attain this key. The poor were happy, they now lived there lives in the same misery but were hopeful, rumors abounded about the beauty and the abundance of Thae-Ven. And people spoke of it with great joy.

The leader of the rich was preplexed, and wanted to know how they could get to Thae-Ven, surely it would be a place which would rid them of their guilt and the conundrum of plenty among poverty. The stranger told them the same thing as he had told the poor. The rich were delighted and took the instructions and the picture of the key and went back to their lives, few even gave away all their phood! But the poverty continued...some grew hopeless again...

A few years later, another stranger came to town. And spoke thus... "This is not right, I come from a town much mightier than Bambaboor, and its called Yawee. And there everyone has "phood" and then some. To go there you need a key. And I am the ONLY one who has this key."

The aspirants for Thae-Ven were quite un-happy with this imposter! Some spoke of throwing him out of the town. So they confronted him about his lies. He said he was the chosen one, the only one. And he produced a parchment to prove it. Some rich folks had a change of heart, some went home, some poor people were convinced, some continued dying. The rest is history...

The art of getting lost in exotic european locations

Today, we shal be discusing in detail the sheer brilliance of the act of "getting lost in semi-rural france". Although this work has been attributed some serious critic appreciation, it still has a few aspects worth pondering about. Let us start with the first question, "How the fuck do you get lost in the first place?". To the uninitiated, the answer might be quite simple, something like, "You have to be a complete idiot". Well, although, the above answer explains part of this elusive act, it still does not explain how a complete idiot could get lost in a country where pretty much everything (time tables and routes) is published and clearly written out.

Let me give you a hint, the french dont like english much!!! And all those brilliant signs and information boards are all in, you guessed it, French!!!

Tales from Germania - Episode Cote-d-azur

Well, to start with, anyone even remotely familiar with the german countryside can tell you that "cote-d-azur" is not a part of it. But since I am presently sitting in Munich, it shall be fair enough to continue where I left off in february, The tales from germania series.

So, it is october, and I find myself again in Europe. This time it is in the lovely french countryside in the most romantic province of cote-d-azur. Literaly translating to "The coast of the Blue seas", actually meaning, "I dont wanna go back to India". So there I was on a train, hugging the mediterranean coast, on my way to Monaco. The scenic hills on one side punctuated with small french riviera towns and villages, and the wide expanse of the mediterranean on the other. You could pass through some ten french towns in the 30 minute ride from Antibes to Nice.

Monaco is the world's second smallest country. It is about 2 square kilmeters and has a population of roughly 32,000 . It also haapens to be the world's most densely populated country and also the world's richest. If I were to rant off a few words about Monaco, I would say: gorgeous, Casino, F1, Marina, Aquarium, Ferrari. That is in short what I am going to write about.

So I set out from Sofia-Antipolis early in the morning and walked into the bus-station. A half-n-hour ride into Antibes and then by train to Monaco. Antibes is pretty little town, but thats a story for another time. The first thing that srikes you about the station at Monaco is the fact that it is in a tunnel. The station is sort of inside a hill. And in character, it is in stark contrast to the other open-air stations of the other riviera towns.

I got busy getting myself a country map of monaco, they had pretty good ones at the station itself and then stepped out into the sun. The weather immediately raised my spirits to a new high. Monaco that day was bathing in the "perfect weather for tourists".

Monaco is in fact a collection of two major natural marinas buffeted by rising cliffs. The lower city embraces the marinas - this is also where you will find the F1 track and the casino. The upper city is built up on the hills surrounding monaco- this is where you will find the palace and the older city.

Monaco is well suited for the pedestrian tourist, or alternatively you could hire one of the many scooters. All in all, with a day ticket for the local bus service and a good pair of shoes, you wont need much else.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monaco

Tales from Germania - Episode "Weiss Men zay!"

Yesterday was booze day.
A german colleague of mine along with three other french colleagues went out for dinner. It was a typical bavarian place. The thing to note about the place's entrance was the fact that it would pass you by if you didnt know it was there already. Not like the neon lit entrances common in bangalore....

i may told you of my scandalous affair with weisewurst ( white sausages) , but what i haven't told you about is my even-more demanding relationship with weisebier...made from wheat and totally delicious... its sweet without any hint of alcohol....so I drank 1.5 litres of these awesome stuff....and dinner was equally great...pork chops in bavarian beer sauce and potato dumplings!!! Then we had a shot of schnapps each,..this is a loaded mixture of fruit alcohol, brewed in house....very very strong stuff...as much as 30-40 % alcohol...

Later, we headed to the center of town for a couple of rounds more...some strong cocktails followed, and my tiny body was saturated with alcohol...

On my way home I forgot to get off at my stop , much to the amusement of my french colleagues, and spent fifteen minutes and a completely deserted s-bahn stop. what was not funny was that the litres of alcohol were strongly impressing their will on my bladder....

well , I did manage to wake up today...

Tales from Germania - Episode "Walk the Walk"

Its 7:30 in the morning...The chill in the air soaks through my jacket and sweats. The 10 below wind freezes portions of my anatomy, the thawing is a rather delicate process which I shall presently not go into.

I am being swept on by the crowd that just came out of the S5 train at Fasanenpark. The Campeon campus, some half a mile away, stands out in a field of snow. I am told that there are lakes and green grass in the spring. But for now , there is just bleak white stretching in every direction that you look.

What strikes you at such a time is the effort youu have to put to keep up with these germans when they are walking. Is it there natural stride to move this fast, and where do they get this awesome sense of urgency? Is it simply the cold, or some form of implicit discipline which requires them to be at their desks at a certain time of the day ( give or take a few picoseconds - Yes! Yes! i am a VLSI engineer).

But I am not alright with being outdone by these obviously larger, stronger, and atheletic race of people. So I start keeping pace...huff puff... As I am put into 5th gear of walking ( we are talking some severe overdrive here), I am still outpaced by the more determined of these people. As i walk into the office, I realize the level of my general fitness pales in comparison to the average german's.

I was told by quite a few of my colleagues, in a "matter of fact" fashion, that they often run 10 kms a day ( or was it 10 miles). Well I'd like to see myself complete half that distance. By the way these are people in their 30's. Some cycle to work, and obesity is almost absent here. Most people have great posture while they walk , and somehow reflect great health just by the way they walk.

Tales from germania - Episode "i-Pot"

I am going to reveal a great mystery to you. Not the run-of-the-mill mystery that you would see agatha christie tinkering with. This is a mystery in the class of "why did the chicken cross the road" or "What do them scots wear under those kilts?".

The mystery that we are going to reveal is:
"How the hell do those europeans keep their shit-pot so clean?"

Working at ITPL, I have often wondered if it would do us a great benefit , if we were to potty-train all our engineers. Well, if you ever plan to take a dump in our established company, then bring along your own tissue paper, a brand of industrial strength disinfectanct, rubber gloves, etc etc.

So there I was , Looking at the next innovation at Infineon's new site CAMPEON. Everything here is supposedly state-of-the-art , we have iPrint, iE-mail, iScan , in addition to the mundane iPod. But what I beheld was far more sophisticated. Yes!! IT WAS THE i-POT. Some innovative engineer in our organization had christened, what is otherwise called a loo (where I come from), the iPOT.

It was 2 minutes to noon, there it stood, unperturbed by my presence, it almost twinkled in contempt. The scene for this western was set. I stood at the other end of the booth, with my hands on my waist.

When it comes to performing in such a situation, I suffer from severe stage fright. Playing metal on stage, thats easy. Taking a shit in the pin-drop quiet of a german bathroom , that takes courage.

There was not a single trace of water anywhere....And then it dawned on me like a understanding usually dawns on people of mediocre intellect. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my memory, a voice was remarking about european ways of cleaning, it was saying " European methods are dry methods, these are efficient methods where water is scarce"

Well the mystery was solved, no water, no splashing, clean loo .

In the begining there was darkness, then there was light, the heavens, the earth and the paraphenalia, and finally there was tissue paper

Tales from J.A.F.A - II

Why men turn into JAFA:
They say that the more you dance, your ability to squeeze out pheromones increases linearly, and that most women are driven crazy by throes of lust and you are clobbered to a lustful death, right on the dance floor.

They also say, that it is highly inadvisable to actually go to a dance floor without dousing yourself in deodorant, as the more your dance your ability to suffer from WSA increases exponentially. WSA (aka Wet Smelly Armpit) has been known to destroy libidos, lead to depression and severe bouts of loneliness.

And any Ph.D in Maths will tell you that linearly gets its ass whooped majorly by exponentially ( with the minor exceptions of the region between 0 and 1, where a linear function rises faster than an exponential one, except of course on the planet of "Ericteel Tis-Phunktionalla", where nothing rises!)

It should be needless to mention that deodorants destroy the action of pheromones. Thus leaving most men in bangalore dancing very clumsily, desperately hoping to strike a right balance of pheromones and WSA. However, Newton's Law of Universal JAFA states that "Clumsily Moving men on the dance floor leads to some very bad vibes and repels women into a state of fury, and thus a JAFA is born" . The only know exception to this rule is that "Clumsily Moving Women lead to immediate Erectile disfuction ( no relation to the phonetically similar planet ), and a JAFA is suddenly filled with hope of living out a grossly insipid life- thus renouncing their JAFA-hood"