Three Flights and a Wedding

Safe Landings (either way)

I haven’t attended a wedding for over a year:

Missed the Pam Anderson wedding – but got the consummation video off the internet.

Missed the Nicole Kidman / Keith Urban wedding

Missed the Katie Holmes / Tom Cruise wedding

Got thrown out of the Liz Hurley / Arun Nayar wedding

Slept through the Aishwarya / Abhishek Bacchan wedding

Did not make it to the Rahul / Shweta wedding.

But darned if I was going to miss the Anupama / Rohit wedding at Cochin.

The other alumni of the 24 GNC brat-pack, Amit, Ronni, Nandini, Rahul and his wife also planned to be there. How could this pervert resist not being there to check out Rahul’s new bride!

Getting to Cochin was an entirely different kettle of fish.

For those of you planning to travel by air, here are some interesting statistics about the Indian airline industry.

This year, Indian carriers will fly a record of 700 million passengers, 23 million frequent-flyer kilometres, each person will sit in an aircraft on the tarmac for an average of 3 hours, and every one of them will pay a different fare.

Airline fares are calculated by the airlines random fare generator, Polly the Fare Parrot, after determining passenger loads, the distance from City A to City B and whether City B has a landing strip, whether the pilot drinks 12-year old scotch or plain beer and the cups of re-useable yoghurt leftover from previous flights.

Nobody eats the yoghurt, my guess is there are airline yoghurt containers still circulating dating back to pre world-war Dakota flights.

Yes, Indian carriers are cutting back on food service as well, but their record of safety is among the highest in the world; the only country with a better flight safety record is Tibet, which has only the one plane and has yet to figure out how to start it.

In accordance with airline procedures,you should always arrive 2 hours before the scheduled departure time so that you can then stand around, visit the loo at least thrice, and be among the first ones to know that your flight has been delayed due to mechanical problems (usually pilot-hangover).

You pass your baggage through the X-ray machine so the guys sitting at the monitor can laugh at the holes in your underwear.

Laptops are allowed on board as cabin baggage, but have to be turned on, to prove it is not a terrorist bomb. Hah! Any eighth grader can tell you that a terrorist can program a bomb-loaded laptop to turn on.

You are also forbidden, on pain of imprisonment, to carry a nail clipper, it can be used as a skyjack weapon.

Of course those stainless steel forks and knives which accompany your tasteless food tray on board Jet Airways do not count – any self respecting terrorist would not be seen dead trying to use THOSE as hijack weapons if he can smuggle a nail clipper on board.

The flight was scheduled to go from Goa to Bangalore and then on to Cochin, but in Bangalore the situation deteriorated further, we sat on the plane for 2 hours before takeoff – they didn’t let us off the plane for fear that we would run away. So we sat listening to our stomachs rumble.
One woman broke down and drank her baby’s formula. Another asked if they had any leftover yoghurt.

We took off, the flight now had to be re-routed via Mangalore to drop off some spares for another grounded flight,(the “official” reason for our delay) our pilot “Captain Kangaroo”, suffering from alcohol withdrawal pangs, banged us down on the runway and I swear the plane bounced… twice. We landed, took off again and landed an hour later in Cochin, where we dropped to our knees and gratefully licked the terminal floor.

Then an hours drive to discover dinner was almost over, but I got to meet the groom Rohit, the gang, and Anu’s Mom and Dad before they went to bed.

Need I mention that both mother and daughter are breathtakingly beautiful, and looked absolutely ethereal & stunning in their gold bordered white saris at the wedding ceremony.

I also met Shreya, the lovely Nandini’s gorgeous school mate.

NO, I’m not going to tell you how handsome and macho I thought Anu’s dad and the groom looked, it was a wedding not Brokeback Mountain.

Play-gere-ism

The copycat phenomenon

Congratulations Chief Judicial Magistrate Dinesh Gupta of the Jaipur High court, Poonam Chand Bhandari and Pawan Surana for the launch of Bade Bhai, the Indian version of Big Brother.

The object of THIS new serial is basically the same: Get Shilpa Shetty into a confined space (read prison) with no contact with the outside world and humiliate her, but in her OWN country, why should the Brits have fun at the expense of Indian women when we are perfectly capable of doing it ourselves!

I’m sure Bade Bhai will upstage the Bacchan post-wedding bacchanalia, and detract from the pain of the Great Indian World Cup 2007 Disaster.

Wonder whether the Honourable Dineshji, Poonam and Pawan know about the erotica of the Konark Sun Temple and Vatsayana’s Kama Sutra.( Maybe they can start a book-burning club and launch an agitation to bring down the temple “Ayodhya-style”.)

But, case in point - we have no originality.

I went back in time ( about 12.30 pm) to see if I could find more examples of Indian plagiarism and I hit a mother lode…….

Plagiarists 8 – The VHP and the Shiv Sena - feeble attempts to ape the Afghan Taliban with their versions of Indian History & Culture and its defense. (Oops! now THEY know about Konark and the Kama Sutra. Darn!)

Plagiarism 7 – Indian Contemporary Pop Music and dance ( American Rap, Hip Hop and Disco right down to the “Yo Mon”, “Wassup Dude” and the hi-five hand slap)

Plagiarism 6 – Bollywood, Tollywood & Kollywood ( D-uh): wonder if Dineshji watches all those item girls in Hindi movies.

Plagiarist 5 – Bappi Lahiri – The original plagiarist.

Plagiarism 4 – Kaun Banega Crorepati (Who wants to be a millionaire)

Plagiarist 3 – Kaavya Viswanathan, Harvard Sophomore who has now switched names on her book How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild & Got a Life to How Shilpa Shetty Got Kissed, Was Summoned & Became World Famous soon to be a major Bollywood motion picture starring Dev Anand as Richard Gere.

Plagiarism 2 - Dhoom 1 and 2 (The Fast and The Furious meet The Matrix), and Krrish (Superman, Batman and other Comic Book Heroes – shaken not stirred)

And at the top of the list:

Plagiarist 1 - Rahul G. proclaiming his family the best AND so strong as to have divided Pakistan – Hah! Jokes on you Rahul. My family is better, and guess who divided India, and Korea and Germany and….

Future Plagiarism : Indian Idol with Host Govinda

Copycats: Call Centre employees with their fake American accents and names

Decaying Leftovers from the Raj:

Bad English accents ,worse grammar: ”But Saar, vee are like this wonly!”

Men in Three Piece Business Suits with Necktie nooses for formal occasions (Indian womanhood I hail & salute you for retaining the graceful Sari AND for improving on its originality)

Red Tape, Bureaucracy & Corruption (Dating right back to the Rig(ged) Vedas)

Khushwant Singh

Gotta run ,there’s the James Laine book –burning I just HAVE to attend. How dare a British Author pre-empt one of ours by claiming to know more about our own dead heroes indiscretions.

The Wrath of Grapes ( with apologies to John Steinbeck)

...of Birthdays and Beer

Beautiful Avril celebrated a birthday recently. I like to think that maybe we qualify as good neighbours since she invited us to dinner.

Like all birthdays there was great company, nice music, good food and wine, and of course Bonny ( Avril’s macho hubby) made sure beer was on hand.

I’ve never been a wine drinker, I am a beer man. The great thing about beer is that you basically drink it, then you pop open another one.

Beer drinkers are nonchalant, laid back, friendly, down-to-earth folk who enjoy talking football or the importance of spin bowling, much like the Hobbits of the Shire.

Snobs who fancy wine however tend to be insufferable in that they sniff at the cork, swirl it around the glass, and go on and on about it while holding it up to candle light, unlike us beer drinkers, who just guzzle it down.

I know I am generalizing here, but I don’t care.

A while ago I decided to see what all the brouhaha was about wine. I rented a three-piece suit and bow-tie and went on to attend the Annual Sommelier Meet held in the humid confines of the French Consulate in Pondicherry.

For the benefit of you rotgut drinkers a “sommelier” is that dignified-looking wine steward with the starched shirt, who looks down his nose at you in expensive 5-star hotel restaurants, hands you the “Wine List”, and when you point to the French writing that actually means,” Taxes and Surcharge Extra” says “Excellent Choice Sir,” then struts off and brings you the iodine-tasting house wine.

A lot of the Pondicherry “elite” who consider themselves wine aficionados were on hand for the Sommelier Meet.

We were served champagne in the lawns and introductions were bartered in the foyer.

We then went in to dinner and to watch the presentation of new wines.

After a few glasses of champagne this takes on an ethereal, immensely entertaining quality, because some of the local Pondicherry Ashramites spoke (I figured they practiced for days in their meditation chambers) with cultivated French accents which were highly comical,.(Sroo-out eestory zee hrole of zee whine mhakar eez to zeelect zee grape zat epeetomizes zee flavore of zee reegeeawn)

Also as an invitee I got to drink a lot of wine, just like beer I would down my glass of wine and look around for more.

Not so the wine-drinkers at my table who swirled their glasses around, sniffed, and instead of drinking the wine, mostly gargled with it, then with studious faces would make remarks like they were selecting applicants for Big Brother ( “I find it particularly intriguing if a trifle facetious.” Or : “It’s cultivated but just a little too puritanical for rhetoric”)

I asked Brigitte, a French lady sitting next to me if the French went on about wine in the same snotty way. “No,” she said, “we just drink it, because that’s why we make it ,no?”

Then came the sommelier competition.

A bunch of them from around the country were quizzed on questions like; which regions with a “B” apart from Bordeaux, Beaujolais, and Baloney produce Pinot Noire wines ( I’m joking about Baloney –that’s where they produce fertiliser)

There was a blind-tasting where we invitees also got to sample a wine introduced from the Golconda region of Hyderabad.

It was rusty brown in colour and everyone at the table agreed it was lousy. “A trifle earthy,” said one lady. “Too efficacious for a Cabernet.” said another. “Like cow pee” I volunteered. The others felt I was being too strong in my opinion, but I was the only one who finished my glass.

Next we got a French wine which was awesome and which I gulped down hastily, but a reporter from the Wine Weekly was upset that instead of it being from the Loire Region as mentioned in the program this wine was from the Alsace region. “They are both haute couture wines but there is such a difference in their personalities.” I was the only one who laughed, although I suspect Brigitte wanted to as well.

For the finale the sommeliers had to match wines with menu selections.

The menus had food disguised with French-sounding names like “ Poisson Marquis de Sade aux Frappe de Merde “ and “ Boeuf avec Coeur de Bastille.”

Each sommelier had to state reasons why he chose a particular wine.

Statements poured forth such as: ”I felt the Chablis ‘69 would have the enhanced bouquet to compliment the Pate’” and “ In my opinion when marrying red herring with melba, the wine has to be allowed to breathe in advance and ….”

It turned out hilarious and entertaining for me, but my table mates were appalled that I had been invited.

In the end the winning sommelier was Alfred Gomes from Goa.

He won the Crystal Carafe’ and an all-expenses-paid trip to France and had this to say: “When I see Turkey on the menu I am reminded of a quote…….”

I say! Capital my man! Now who can argue with a man who is reminded of a quote by turkeys!

Avril’s birthday dinner turned out to be a smashing success, since most of us stuck to drinking beer, ergo there were no controversial issues – except for my references to Divinity and Bacchus in the same breath….

Oh ! and Joe flirted with death on the roof while recovering a ring… but that’s another story.

DIY Mishaps

Tech- Supports R Us

I have spent large portions of daylight in the past few days trying to solve a problem that involves (tantantaratara-background music) two different companies.To protect their identities, the company names are changed and I will call them "Pewlett Hackard" and "Z-Link."

I believe I have talked to all the employees including the janitors at both companies at least twice.

Each time I get to a new person, I explain my problem, and each time the person I'm talking to -- who really, really wants to help me with my problem -- decides, after much review and conferring while I remain on hold, that I need to talk to another person.

This has become my latest pastime. I wake up,brush my teeth, & drink my coffee while calling my new friends at Pewlett and at Link. I am sooooo pathetic! Waaah!

OK, for the benefit of those computer geeks who are looking for details, here is my problem.

If you are searching for entertainment however, do not read further.

I am trying to activate a Z-Link broadband modem on a Pewlett Hackard notebook computer (the Gimpaq Senario X1000), which is a beautiful laptop that I really like) (except for this problem) (and yes, Apple people, I know that Apples are perfect and NEVER have any technical problems; I actually own an Apple,(i Pod) which I liked a lot at first, but for different things, but you're kidding yourself, Apples have problems too, especially your stupid i Pods. And I discovered a worm in the fruit as well!

The thing is, when I bought the notebook, I assumed it came with the broadband modem installed. But apparently it did not.

So I bought the modem (it's the BLT905K model) which according to Z-link is plug and play and can be (tantantaratara) installed by the customer.

I installed it. But I cannot make it work.

I spent a genoooooooorrrrmous amount of time on the phone with Z-link, and they are absolutely positively certain that they have my POP3, SMTP, IP address and Subnet Mask Numbers correct in their system. (No, I don't know what all those numbers are, but you need them, and I have them, and by golly it is correct.)

I also spent a major amount of time on the phone with Pewlett Hackard, particularly a very nice and profoundly patient tech-support lass named Pratima whose soft, langorous voice I have fallen in love with, who ran some kind of remote diagnostic program that enabled her to actually send pretty pictures to my screen, which was awesome, but that did not really help.

Pratima, after trying many things, believes my modem is working properly (even though I installed it) and so far she is stumped if she can figure out why the dam thing will not connect to the network.

So I am going to try moving my notebook to the loo, to see if maybe it's just not getting the signal (which I doubt is the problem, because my old PC worked fine in the same spot with a Z-link broadband modem) (but you never know).

If that doesn't work, I will have to go to another Gimpaq department, “FAQ’s R Us”.

But Pratima gave me all her contact info, and promises that if I need more help, she will be there for me. Maybe I’ll ask her out on a date.

I warned you not to read that. But you wouldn't listen.......

FINALLY: It’s fixed! The problem was -- why I am not surprised? -- me. I did a crappy job of installing the modem, and specifically attaching the ADSL cable to the teeny little line-out connector.

What did you expect? I’m no rocket scientist!

The solution was suggested by Ronny the Banking.com guy, at whose feet I prostrate in gratitude.
With the help of my neighbours 7-year old son, who, unlike me, can see small things, I took the connectors off and reattached them, and for now it seems to be working.
I am much relieved, though I will miss all my tech-support friends.

I also thank all the janitorial staff and persons who came forward with helpful suggestions, even the ones who are clearly mentally challenged.

Pay Now, Pray Later

Concept Holidays

Strolling on the sands of Candolim Beach one morning, I notice this youth lounging at a shack and looking us over predatorily. He begins walking over.

One hand immediately goes to my back pocket to feel for my wallet, and the other forward and down to check for an open fly.

Youth: Congratulations Sir and Madam, you have just won a free holiday in a foreign country.

Me: That’s not possible? We NEVER win anything !

This made the youth explain further: My name is Savio Pinto and I work for the Royal Goan Maharaja Resort Beach Club and you can win a free vacation in Thailand, if you will allow me to make an appointment for you to examine a new Holiday Concept launched by our organisation.

To win the vacation both partners had to be present at the appointment. I figured out later that this was a precaution; in case one signed a contract with them individually and the other found out and killed him, this would void the contract.

We went to the address and presented the card that Savio gave us and were let into a room filled with other couples, not unlike a dentist’s waiting room, except that this room had backdated, dog-eared copies of The Lonely Planet dating back to the sixties, with the illustrations torn out.

Every now and then a woman resembling Whistler’s Mother would come in and lead a couple off, leaving the rest of us to wonder what was going to happen to them. I thought maybe it would be like a college ragging session, where they would put us in a dark room and pour cow-pee over us and then present us with our Thai vacation. But as it happens you don’t get off that easy.

Finally our names were called and we went in to meet Simon. Simon always begins his sentences with, “Let me be frank,” and ends them with shaking your hand grasping it between both of his to let you know that he is the closest friend you have in the world. When Simon was born the doctor told the nurse not to go near his crib wearing her wedding ring.

Simon said that they did not just invite ANY random couples off the street to offer this new Holiday Concept. He said that they had spent a lot of time and money in research to ensure that we fit their high profile – not that they minded it, and we should not feel obligated - since they needed to ensure that no criminals were entertained, or they would not be able to make an offer to upper-class people like us.

I asked how they could carry out research on something like that. This made Simon very nervous. I think it suddenly occurred to him that we could be those very same criminals, and might be carrying weaponry, and he launched into a speech about “different modalities of circumvention, ” the underlying gist meaning that when he said they did not want criminals, he did not mean us per se.

Next Simon asked us where we took our vacations and we were educated on how we could get herpes from the bed sheets in hotels that had housekeeping & room services. This made us realise that whatever Simons’ holiday concept was it did not have housekeeping & room service.

Finally Simon let it be known that their holiday concept was Time Share Resorts. As he explained it basically, we were supposed to give them a couple of lakhs of rupees plus annual maintenance and we could have a 3 night / four day holiday every year at these Time Share Resorts of which Simons’ company had built a few and planned to build many more of.


Then he showed us a brochure to illustrate their Time Share Resort in Delhi, which had a nice picture of the Qutb Minar, although when asked about it, he said that the Qutb Minar was not technically on the resort property per se.

I said that until I had actually seen one of these resorts I could not be expected to put my money down. So Simon said there was one just outside. What we saw was an open-air boy-scout type camping ground with tents, video games and a wading pool. I told him that I would spend holiday time there only if this was one of the demands made by my daughter’s kidnappers.

So we went back inside and Simon lunged at us with his Special Offer, only available for that day:
For thirty thousand rupees plus annual maintenance charges we could become members of his resorts!
Plus, for a small annual fee, we could stay at RCI affiliated, Time-Share resorts world wide! There are thousands of them! They litter whole continents!
Plus we could get discounts at Amusement Parks! Essel World! Air Fares!
A Palace in Rajasthan! Limo Service! Several Palaces in Rajasthan!
Parasailing! Special front row seats to Kaun Banega Crorepati! A.R.Rehman’s English CD!

But we had to act today! Right Now! Before he made this unique offer to other couples waiting outside!

Any Questions?

Just one big one actually!

Did he think we had the same sheep–brains of the idiots who voted on American Idol, George W.Bush for President and the Goa Regional Plan 2011?

Sub-questions followed: What are you talking about? What Palaces? What Amusement Parks? How much of a discount?

Simon didn’t really know. He was more of a specialist in bed sheet hygiene.

Then he brought in his Bosco,his Marketing Manager who pulled out a lot of travel brochures and kept reading the headlines, as if they contained real information.

The whole ordeal took about two hours but we finally got our free vacation in Thailand. However as we had not purchased a time share, this offer was valid only in the monsoons,we had to get there on our own, and then travel North into the hills on donkey back, and we had to carry our own food and water.

All said and done, attending the presentation, assuming that you get through their strict screening procedure and are invited personally – I would say is a fun, family outing.

Those of you who are criminals, might want to use your illegal weapons to bypass the holiday concept presentation altogether and get the free holiday up front.

Oh God ! -Part III

Moses & The Pharaoh

Nadia; one gorgeous hunk of womankind, smart, funny and attractive, though not in that order, and a big part of my life, was invited to her friend Krista’s house for the Passover dinner.

Now Nadia is an American born Indian or ABCD (that’s American Born Confused Desi) whose ancestors EFG (emigrated from Gujarat) where they had a large sprawling HIJ (house in Jamnagar) Sheesh! I outdo myself!

Nadia works with the CDC (Centre for Disease Control) in the U.S., where she currently researches infectious diseases and their historical and empirical importance. Which is why this particular dinner was of major significance. She has now discovered that it was the Old Testament God who is really responsible in the first place for all these infectious diseases.

You see the Old Testament God was a very strict God, unlike the New Testament God who is mellow and loving and forgiving, and would never smite the Philistines and the Pharisees which is something the Old Testament God, tutored by Harlan Ullman, was always doing, by raining down fire and brimstone much like the “shock and awe” tactics of the Americans on the Iraqis.

So in Egypt He forced the Pharaoh, to allow Moses and the Israeli Brickmakers Unions and their families, to leave the country by bringing down upon the Egyptians plagues of frogs, locusts, flies, gnats and dead seafood, turning the Nile into blood, destroying their crops, killing their livestock and their firstborn, and generally raising a stink everywhere; the first prototype weapons-of-mass-destruction.

From this we infer that a whole slew of diseases may have had their origins in Egypt and that the Israelites founded the first Mafia raising "protection" money from the Egyptians by making them Passover all their gold and silver before they had their exit visas stamped and left the country.

There is speculation too that coronary disease was a result of this era, since no matter what disaster took place in the earlier stages of the Exodus, the Lord always “hardened the Pharaoh’s heart,” resulting in blocked arteries – possibly leading to the first bypass surgery Egyptian-style.

And since the Nile was all bloody and polluted, the first deep-bore wells were dug all along its banks to get drinking water.

The Israelites then had to eat unleavened bread, roasted lamb & fresh bitter herbs for all of seven days, whence they discovered that they had better digestion, more roughage, and since there was no yeast fermenting in the dough it made them feel less bloated and not so flatulent.

Later in the week - Easter Monday, Moses was handed down the Ten Commandments carved on stone tablets, and developed the first hernia carrying these down from the mountain, these Commandments are followed to this day along with various amendments, clauses and sub-clauses in Supreme Courts and Kangaroo Courts all over the world.

It may be inferred therefore that the CDC owes its very existence to Moses, the ancient Israelites and the Old Testament God, & should declare the Passover a major annual public holiday and Nadia presented the Abraham Horwitz award.

Computer Hazards for the Addicted

The above pics have been compiled from contributions of a whole community of folk who happen to read and appreciate my blogspots on computerology amongst other stuff, and because I was too lazy to think up new stuff for myself. They prove the saying that a picture is worth a thousand words and I could not have said it better.Here's 23,000 words.Thanx people. Enjoy !

La Tragedie aux Coupe du Monde de Cricket 2007 or "Off With Their Heads"( Pardon my French)

Here Lies Indian World Cup Cricket next to Indian World Cup Hockey.

It’s been a tragic world cup so far – and it makes me both angry and sad:

“Sluggish Trout” Pakistan were out of the World Cup at the outset losing to “Minnows” Ireland.

Poor Bob Woolmer (May he Rest in Peace & enter the Gates of Cricket Valhalla) was “allegedly” murdered by a bookie or bookies unknown.

“Fatted Whales” India next to be ousted lost out to “Sharks (formerly Minnows)” Sri Lanka not long after their humiliating defeat by “Minnows” Bangla Desh.

Vandals crawled out of their petty-crime gutters, (the Indian Press calls them “Cricket Fans”) to loot and bespoil Cricketers houses. You ladies competing in future Miss World and Miss Universe Competitions – Beware the Indian Miss World and Miss Universe “Fans” back home in your neighbourhood.

True-blue Indian cricket fans died of heart attacks

Ash and Abhishek announced the probable date for their wedding

And Brangelina adopted a Vietnamese orphan - NO WAIT! That’s a good thing!

I’m calling on genuine cricket fans to send e mails to the Indian Minister for Sports urging him to appoint a committee and make up a bulky report for an enquiry commission on the proliferation of “Minnows” in World Cup Cricket and make a representation to the United Nations along with an appeal to ban drug-testing for Indian Sportsmen, and introduce a “reservation” system for 3rd world nations so that we can level the playing field with casteism and steroids.

Sports writers can now put this World Cup behind them once and for all and go back to writing about the topic that really should be on the sports pages: drugs & betting.

Drug testing is very big in sports, no less in cricket. This is because cricket players are role models for young people.

All you young males out there want to grow up and wear diamond ear studs, with unshaven chins. The cricket association does not want you to associate the sport in any way with drugs. They want you to associate it with alcohol.

During televised games remember famous cricketers urging you not to take drugs, and famous ex-cricketers urging you to drink alcohol and party- only on Indian television they called it Kingfisher Club soda, and Bacardi Blast Cassettes & CD’s, ”nudge, nudge, winkety, wink.” Cheers!
(* See actual ad above, Vat 69 - Published: The Navhind Times, Goa. Dated 25th March, 2007)

As for betting, what the Government needs is an innovative new concept for getting money from people, and we can all be grateful that such concepts appear to be oozing over the fiscal horizon at this very moment: Playwin & KBC.

First pass stricter laws that say it is totally illegal for Private Enterprise to operate Games of Chance, Matka and even Bingo or Housie, because they encourage the poor and the stupid to gamble away their money against ludicrously bad odds. Privateers operating such gambling will be thrown in jail.

Next nationalize the Essel Group and Star TV and introduce a Cricket Lottery in Playwin and Kaun Banega Crorepati with even more ludicrous odds. Give them perky names like “Blue Billion Cricketwin”, and “KBC- Jo Phonekarega Woh Jeetaga,” and run cheerful upbeat ads on TV strongly suggesting that the poor and the stupid could make no wiser investment than spending their children’s school fees on Playwin Tickets or Phone Calls to KBC.

A nice touch would be to say that these proceeds will be used to fund humanitarian programmes that have been budgeted for anyway, such as printing Ration Cards and the Railway Time-Table.

Then have one of our Cricketers or BCCI officials dragged in front of the camera to perform the ritual televised daily drawing of the ticket number on Playwin, or to answer the question on KBC as to which team in his opinion will win the 2007 World Cup.

The clear implication is that if viewers do not purchase tickets or make phone calls the Cricketer/Official will be thrown headfirst into the nearest zoos’ lion cage.

Now for the Cricket World Cup 2007 season, I speak for all Indians when I say: Guys give it up and get some women in. To name a few:

Mamta Bannerjee, (opening batsman)
Jayalalitha, (wicket keeper)
Rabri Devi, (spin bowler)
Uma Bharti, (mid- wicket fielder)
And for Captain none other than the versatile Soniaji from the House of Gandhi

Introduce a cheerleading squad with item girls Shilpa Shetty, Mallika Sherawat, Malaika Arora Khan, Yana Gupta, Urmila Matondkar and Shah Rukh Khan to distract the opposing teams and the umpires and there you have it, the perfect recipe for a winning world cup team.

We haven’t won a World Cup since 1983 – and this one’s gone the same way, but take heart, “it’s more important how you play the game- NOT the winning or the losing.” YEAH! RIGHT!

It’s was also about:
Losing 2.4 million dollars.
and most importantly.......
Keeping Ash and Abhishek out of the limelight for more than a whole month.

Now let’s see what kind of action we can expect as a logical aftermath further down this road:

As in previous years we will find that professional cricketers will be paid, win or lose. So it’s “no skin off their noses” an old man phrase which means “WHATEVER! BIG WOP!”.

Sachin takes his “magic bat” and gets on with being a comic-book superhero.

The rest of the team applies for jobs with Anchor Switches.

TATASKY is despondent about not being able to sell as many DTH TV units, but the focus now is on Village Kabaddi Teams for rural access.

Pepsi plans to launch another asinine “Pepsi Blue” in a “Gold Billion” Campaign for the Indian Commonwealth Games Team.

Mandira Bedi sits next to her phone waiting for the call to host the after game show – in Bangla Desh.

Siddhu has put his euphemisms back into cold storage.

TV networks are looking to ex-players and umpires, preferably white with an unidentifiable accent, to provide helpful expert analysis utilizing technological wizardry like the “electronic chalkboard” to make simple runs seem like nuclear physics, to discover where the Indian team went wrong.

Losing to Bangla Desh!! Don’t forget to wear your silk burkhas before you get on the flight home with your duty-free purchases.
(**see Authors Artistic Impression above of returning Cricket Squad)

Well so much for my Review of the Willow. Call me insecure if you wish, but I am deeply troubled that we may have to import those burkhas from Bangla Desh.

Cricketesterone

Batsmen, Bowlers & the Bedis

Dating back to the Neanderthal era when primitive man took a rock tossed it into the air and whacked his club on the sloping head of his opponent; mankind is still nuts about sports.

What inner spark made that primitive athlete AND the the team of Lagaan seek out such sport…. You guess is as good as mine, maybe your guess is better since you haven’t drunk as many beers as I have.

As Sunil Gavaskar, not the most likeable person in the world but certainly one of the most obnoxious puts it: “As for Mankind and sports, bla bla bla bla bla and when I played in 1983….”

Both Sunil and I used the word “Mankind” since Womankind does not really seem to be into sports in the same way. Sports hasn’t changed too much in ages and was considered unfeminine when I was in high school, when most of the girls hockey squad stayed on the sidelines, claiming it was “that time of the month”.

Ok, chill! I realize that today you have major league athletes like Sania Mirza, Anju Bobby George and Monica Bedi (www.india-station.com/monica/ for you pervs out there) who can run like antelope and look good at the same time. But by way of being totally and brutally frank; as a whole, women have light years to go before they achieve the levels of dedication and intensity for cricket that allows men to be such incredible jerks about it.

Women know this, which is why you almost never hear them mention the 1976 use of Vaseline by bowler John Lever (no he was not gay, this is related to coating the balls – CRICKET BALLS you cretin!), whereas you take any male over 40 and even if he can’t remember which of his children is asthmatic, he can remember how India’s ace batsman Bishan Singh Bedi (not related to Monica) with his zest and passion for the game, strongly objected to such slippery tactics.

See that! Right there, all you women just read through those last lines nodding vaguely, some dreamily reminiscing about Kiran Bedi the actor, but you men jumped up, spilling your beer, shouting: “Bishen Singh Bedi was not a BATSMAN! He was a SPIN BOWLER!”

Every Indian male has a major portion of his brain dedicated to information like this. We can’t help it, we just have no perspective. Although to make a case in silly point; what has fielding a slip through a gully and two fine legs got to do with Cricket?

E-volution Or Z = (X1,...,Xn)

WARNING:Contains infantile terminology - For mature computer-literates only

Before the ancient Egyptians there were no numbers, so by using mathematics to add and subtract it became possible, for the first time to build the pyramids as well as to keep score on Cleopatra’s illegitimate children and Elizabeth Taylor’s husbands.

Then King Tutankhamen went and lost the “zero” and they turned to the Indians to find it for them and help figure out algebraic equations where a + b = 10 % of the restaurant tip, which gave birth to Binary Fission, although I think THAT has something to do with mating amoeba….

Around the same time (3.30 pm) the Chinese invented a wooden frame with coloured beads on string which the Greek philosopher Platypus named the abacus – which is Greek for “Computing machine Invented by the Chinese.”

In the first practical use of this new technology, a Chinese merchant totaled up a sale of 10 trillion Yuan for the sale of a kilo of rice.

Two key data-processing expressions which emerged from this invention are still commonly used by business processes today:-

1. “We still have a few bugs to work out.”
2. “Can you come back later, our abacus is being upgraded.”

In 1941 Luhn took his “peekaboo” guide for mixed drinks, applied the objective function
Z = (x1,…,xn) to the OR in the Linear programming mode and joined IBM. Lo! and behold, around my birthday in 1952 the IBM701 & IBM 650 were born. This led to the 13 tonne UNIVAC becoming redundant and fit only for playing Solitaire.

Of course I’m kidding here… one could also play Pong and Pac-Man.

The brilliant software genius, Bill Gates, who thus far, had absolutely no knowledge of what was happening in the computing world, since he hadn’t been born yet, then set about using the knowledge he learned in his mothers womb, and developed an operating system called “MS-DOS” The MS of course stood for “Microsoft”, named after one of his body parts, and the DOS for “Doubtful Operating System” which is how said body part worked.

Bill then went on to become one of the richest men in the world. After all MS-DOS was the single unified standard operating system which nobody could learn. One of the many mysteries of MS-DOS was when people would turn on their computers stare at the computer screen which would say:

A :>

That’s all it did, why not some other letter? Or even a word? And what was that little pointy “>” beak for? We will never know the answer.
And then no matter what you typed in after “A :>” it would respond:

BAD COMMAND OR FILE NAME

Without further explanation it would then go right back to A :>

Then Microsoft came out with Version 1.1 and you can imagine how everyone got really, really excited.
In addition to doing this “A :>” it also gave us a whole new letter by sometimes doing this:

“C :>”

of course we still got “BAD COMMAND OR FILE NAME” but there was hope; because with newer versions came :

ABORT, RETRY, FAIL?

INVALID SWITCH

PATH NOT FOUND

And my personal favourite:

WARNING! ALL DATA WILL BE LOST!

A:> F*** YOU

BAD COMMAND OR FILE NAME hee hee hee hee ...

I swear I could hear it sniggering.

Of course it never dawned on Microgeeks world wide that the real secret behind Bill Gates owning 150 airplanes and 75 power yachts was just one word : “versions”

Notice it is all about “versions” when you take a look at:Today as in, right now

Windows Vista or “Vindows Wista” as the man says.
Windows XP
The dreaded Windows Me
Windows 2000
Windows '98
Travel further back in time to:

Windows '95, and remember the exhilaration of the first:

Windows “Version” 1.0 which did nothing except put a coloured windows logo on the screen with the awesome message:

OUT OF MEMORY

Southern Spice Vs.Western Decadence

Episode 1 -Southern Spice

No matter what you say Goans are very polite.

Politeness is something ingrained in the Goan psyche, something you learn not to automatically expect in other parts of India especially in Chennai.

You learn, for example, that when you go to the movies in Chennai, you'll inevitably be sitting near people who are making important cell-phone calls, or who, to judge from their noise level, are imitating the mating calls of wild gorillas.

You learn never to go to the beach to watch the sunrise, because you will inevitably end up watching fishermen at their morning open-air ablutions mooning you all along the shoreline.

You learn that, when you're in a store, in Ranganathan Street, and you attempt to make a purchase, the salesperson will often react in an irritated manner, as though this is a highly irregular breach of store procedure. "How am I supposed to get anything done," the salesperson is clearly thinking, "if I have to keep waiting on people?"

You learn that wherever you live and wherever you go, especially if you are close to a temple during one of the numerous festivals, you'll be able to enjoy the musical tastes of some thoughtful person nearby with self-inflicted ear damage and an A.R.Rehman Model sound system cranked up to shatter the sound barrier.

You learn that if you're waiting in line for something, you'll begin to question your own existence because of the number of people who barge in front of you; or, if they're stuck behind you, as in the Nilgiris Supermarket, they'll push their shopping carts into your rear-end, helpfully nudging you along, over and over, nudge nudge nudge NUDGE NUDGE until your brain fills with rage and you want to whirl around and crush their skulls with your frozen Broiler Chicken but you don't dare, for the same reason that you don't dare flip the finger at morons in traffic any more, because you never know when somebody down there might be carrying an AK-47 on loan from the LTTE.

Also because your knowledge of Tamil sucks so badly you can’t tell whether the other person is apologizing or abusing you, since both are done at the same high decibel levels.

Yes, there is definitely some hostility down there in Chennai. Sometimes you can actually feel it hovering and festering in the air. Maybe the local TV channel should include a Hostility Level in their weather forecast ("Tomorrow will be continued hot, with 100 percent humidity, 200 percent pollution and a 90 percent chance of somebody getting fatally shot over what will turn out to be losing a season bus pass").

Of course a certain amount of tension is inevitable in a place where you have 75 per cent reservation,( proving that 3 out of 4 people are either illiterate, uneducated or backward) combined with a whole influx of Tamil refugees from Sri Lanka -- with new ones washing ashore every hour -- all attempting to co-exist in a relatively small, confined area in Parry’s Corner, that is also extremely popular with mosquitoes.

Each of these communities has its own cherished customs and beliefs, with the MOST cherished belief being that everybody ELSE's culture is wrong.

Scientists with state of the art research facilities have been unable to find a single issue on which all of Chennai’s communities agree, including the issue of whether auto-drivers should be trained for the Indy 500 or lined up and shot.

(to be continued…….in episode 2)

Episode 2 - Western Decadence

These are just a few of the things that run through my mind when people ask me how I like Goa vis-à-vis the “Land of Divine Tamil Culture” - Chennai. And I always say: "I like it a LOT." And this is the absolute truth. I'm not saying it to be polite. I really like Goa. Sometimes I love Goa. But it's not easy to explain why. Oh, sure, there are the obvious reasons, the official tourism-industry reasons.

I like the water.

I like the weather (Dehliwallas can have their change of seasons; for me, the change of seasons always wound up involving a runny nose, chilblains and a freezing toilet seat).

I like the sky; we get more great sunsets in a month here than I saw in 20 years in Chennai…… Duh!

I like being 45 minutes from the Airport.

I like the Goan skyline at night, even though I imagine that as a taxpayer I'm now helping to pay for illuminating the Secretariat Boob Tower.

I like hardly ever having to wear a tie to restaurants or even necessarily funerals.

I like watching the Mandovi cruise boats go out, loaded with happy Mumbai people, and I like it when they come back and the passengers have to be unloaded via cranes because they're flopping about with motion sickness, and their arms and legs have turned into small useless appendages.

I like Anjuna and Baga and Miramar at two in the morning, which is what time it always is in Miramar, even on Monday afternoon.

I like the Film Festival and the Carnival Transvestite Parade and of course the King Momo Strut, a wondrously demented event that each year proves the important and reassuring scientific law that there is no direct correlation between age and maturity.

I even like the Red & Black Dance after a certain amount of feni.

I like corn on the cob.

I like being represented by the baddest-ass watersports team in the nation. (Do we have one?)

I like being at a Cricket game when the crowd is going nuts because we're down by only 4 wickets going into the ninth over and if the team plays really hard there's an outside chance that we can lose by just 25 runs by the end of the game.

I like Calangute beach on a Saturday night when the bars are busy and the bands are playing and the Beautiful People are strolling past beautiful yet somehow comical architecture and the world-famous Arabian Sea is right there.

I like all these things, and many more. But they're not what makes me sometimes love Goa.

What makes me sometimes love Goa is this:

It's weird.

For Pratima - Who got my Cyberfeet wet.

Terraflops Continue to Enrich our Lives

I am writing this on my PC which has the extremely popular Windows XP operating system; clone of the first–born to the humongously rich Bill and Melinda Gates.

My computer repairman ( God Bless his Gigabytes) tells me that "Windows Vista", the new version has just been launched – only he pronounces it like the TV guy with the falsetto baritone who goes “ The following programme has been sponsored by Vindows Wista & Wideocon Vashing Machines”

Windows Vista is said to revolutionise the software world once again thanks to its capability of accomplishing the seemingly impossible task of making Bill Gates even richer than he already was.

I confess I am hooked on technology especially computers and keep buying magazines like Chip and Datanerd just to go to the centrefold and ogle at:
EXPLICIT HI-DEFINITION COLOUR PHOTOGRAPHS OF GIGANTIC MOTHERBOARDS!

And to read articles like:
WAX YOUR HARD DRIVE FOR IMPROVED SPEED!

My PC also has the powerful studliness of the AMD Athlon 64-bit processor which combined with the multi-tasking capability of XP allows me to run several programmes at the same time, which means I can waste time faster than ever before.

It also helps me get on the Internet and make contact with thousands of jobless humans whom I would otherwise never have had anything to do with voluntary.

But even without a computer – other amazing technological devices are there to play an important role in our lives, especially the alarm on your cell phone which you punch out every morning at 7 am to make it shut up. Think about it, inside that cell phone is a miniature computer, no larger than the reproductive organs of an ant, capable of understanding not only basic commands like ON, OFF and ALARM, but also advanced concepts like SNOOZE.

And someday computers will develop highly functional capabilities. Which means your cell phone could eventually turn so smart that it will figure out that you REALLY do not want to wake up, it will then tip-toe out of the room, and will silently dial up your boss to inform him that you’re quitting.

It’s not an implausible scenario when you consider all the benefits we derive today from computers in almost every area of our lives.

TRANSPORTATION
Consider the fact that flying in an airliner at 30,000 feet above sea level at almost the speed of sound, not one passenger has paid the same airfare as another. This is because the airlines have very powerful and extremely imaginative fare-inventing computers, so that one day in the near future, when Lalloo becomes the Aviation Minister, a villager from Bhumihaar in Bihar will only be required to pay two chickens and a goat.( Any cancellations / changes will require one cow as penalty)

COMMUNICATIONS
When we urgently need to reach a person anywhere in the world today we press a few buttons on the phone, and in microseconds, thanks to satellite communications and voice mail, a machine informs us that the person is not available.

GOVERNMENT
Today’s government uses computers to spew out a couple of documents every day and about 5000 new forms to be filled without regard to content, so that former pen-pushing employees can be freed up for more important responsibilities, such as not answering their phones and taking extended tea breaks.
My daughter while still a graduate student received a notice from the Department of Income Tax that she owed them five rupees education cess – I guess this was the way the programme worked: The Finance Minister fired off an e-letter to all departments stating that “Fiscal Jurisprudence” should be taught at the grassroots, in schools and colleges, and the smart computer in the Income Tax Office thought to itself “What better way to teach unemployed college grads this, than to make them fill out the requisite forms requiring them to find out why they should not be taxed in the first place.”

Just hope that the Income Tax computers don’t start talking to the Airline–Fare computers and we start getting tax notices to remit 2 chickens with a kilo of onions as penalty.

MEDICINE
A heart–warming story about a man who suddenly starts having severe chest pains and is rushed to the nearest private multi-specialty hospital with state-of-the-art diagnostic machines.
His PAN number is fed into the giant medical database computer which instantaneously informs doctors that the patient has no medical insurance, and has missed his last credit card payment.
The computer then – without having to be asked - disconnects his house electricity and phone lines and transfers his case papers to the Government Hospital 50 kilometers away.

EDUCATION
Your 14-year old son has a book report to do tomorrow morning on the Quit India Movement. No problem! 14-year olds these days are so cyber savvy, he immediately logs on to the “Internet & Revolutionary Information Highway”- and in a matter of minutes is exchanging naked pictures of Britney Spears and Paris Hilton with other teenagers all over the sub-continent.

These and many more areas of our lives are affected, nay benefited by the computer revolution, I wonder if I can get my PC to fix me another Martini?

Demo(n)cratic Elections

Standing or Seated

With elections round the corner, the average Goan, depending on his religious upbringing, decides to vote for a “standing” candidate or a “seated” one.

For the Hindu, Mrs. Bhandekar, “Mr. Kamath electionak bosla” (Mr.Kamath is sitting for the elections) and for the Catholic,Miss Fonseca, “Mr. Robeiro electionak ubo ravla” (Mr.Robeiro is standing for the elections). Be that as it may, once elected all the chosen candidates religiously go into hibernation (Soglo Nidlya) till the next electoral cycle, and the electorate goes back to its humdrum life of fleecing the tourist.

Fortunately Goa is blessed with many courageous political leaders who refuse to succumb to lethargy, petty underhanded methods of horse-trading and buying voters; who are fearless & willing to speak up for fairness and reason and work untiringly to better the lives of the common citizenry, even though this might hurt their re-election chances.
Ha Ha! I am of course making a hilarious joke here.

In line with the Indian ethos, Goa’s political leaders too hold all kinds of national bullshitting records. Many of them would need major surgery to have their lips removed from their constituencies' butts.

Some of them try to take on several constituencies simultaneously; and these leaders remind you of those bumper cars you find at Essel World and other amusement parks, that rush around randomly, changing direction whenever they hit another car or a wall.
BOINK they hit the Goenkar car, so they change direction and bounce until BOINK they hit the Maratha car, which sends them careening off into BOINK the Christian car, which is not to be confused with BOINK the Hindu car, which sends them ricocheting into BOINK the Migrant Labour wall, and so on.

This kind of bold leadership has needless to say created a tremendous sense of fellowship, as was demonstrated during the recent IFFI 2006 / Regional Plan 2011 meetings / Carnival / Red & Black Dance(choose any one), when the various ethnic communities displayed a generous spirit of mutual trust and understanding rarely seen outside of Iraq.

So what do the elections seek to address this time around. Like all other elections so far here is what we’ve got: (Sing to the tune of "Who could ask for anything more! ")
We’ve got crime.
We’ve got Violence.
We've got Citizens Suffering in Silence.
We’ve got rampant, rude, frantic IQ – impaired motorists who don’t obey the laws of physics.
Have we left anything out?
The garbage?
The crowding and overdevelopment and continued aggressive uglification of the landscape?
The endless highway deconstruction?
The water shortage?
The corruption?
The stray dogs getting dangerous enough to be registered for road transport licence plates?
The invertebrate political leadership, tip-toeing nervously round a caste-and-creed-ridden ethnic minefield of their own creation.
We've got music ,we've got rhythm, and who could ask for anything more !

We nevertheless will continue to exercise our franchise fearlessly, things are going to change soon - or NOT.

Love Thy Neighbour

Last week sipping a beer at the bar of a small restaurant on Calangute Beach, a man recognized me from the last time I worked here in Dona Paula.

This is how our conversation went :

Guy:Didn’t I meet you a long time ago? Didn’t you used to work here? What are you writing in that notebook? (all in the same breath)

Me:Yes. Oh! Just trying to write something humourous.

Guy: You should write about Kathmandu! A lot of humour there! You ever been to Kathmandu? That King Gyanendra is really funny.

Me: No.

Guy: Well! I keep visiting there. Let me be honest. I’m a drug dealer.

That REALLY IS what he said. There were two cops 3 tables away, and he said "I’m a drug dealer" in the same open, friendly voice you might use to say "I’m an insurance agent." I half expected him to give me a price list along with his visiting card.

Of course this does not happen to everybody. Most visitors spend their entire vacations here without once being exposed to criminal activity. But most of us who live here are definitely aware of crime, if only because of the endless electronic yapping of dogs, the Official Night Noise of Goa.
Some of us can't sleep without it; when it's too quiet, we have to throw rocks through our neighbor's windows. Sometimes it seems as if crime is the only thing we all have in common.

We’ve lived next door to a family for six months now without ever seeing them, until finally the woman dropped by to tell us their house had been broken into. We had a real nice chat.

I bet a lot of Goan socializing occurs this way. ("Hi! We're the Sequeiras! We've lived next door for 10 years! Somebody just stole all our major appliances!" "Nice to meet you! We're the Kamaths! Amit here was recently run over by a getaway drug dealer!")

That was the only time we ever talked to that particular neighbor, because of course the family moved, as people are constantly doing down here, to the point where pretty soon you're going to see homes built with permanent flip- signs out front, so you'll be able to simply flip a board around to change your sign from "OCCUPIED" to "FOR SALE."

We haven't met our new neighbors yet, and we probably never will. They'll never have a burglary, because they have three angry Rajapalayams the size of SUV’s. Everybody has dogs in our neighborhood, except us. My neighbours wife, after their burglary, recently put a typically friendly Goan-style welcome sign on their gate that said: "WARNING DANGEROUS DOG! (Khabardaar! Khatarnaak Kuttha ) (Their new dog, who was really not dangerous, just stupid, sometimes sniffed the sign curiously, as if thinking, "Khatarnaak?")

Our previous Chennai neighborhood had a house occupied by drug dealers. At least that's what we all thought, based on the fact that it was an expensive house occupied by a constantly changing group of highly secretive people with no apparent means of support other than doing their own laundry. After a while we thought of it as just another neighborhood landmark -- the Raman’s house, the Kumar’s house, the Drug Dealer's house, etc. Our daughter would ask us if she could ride her bike, and we, being responsible parents, would say, "OK, but don't go beyond the Drug Dealer's House!"
---------------------------------------------

Viva Carnival !

Todays science topic is : Carnival

Welcome to Goa, Carnival visitors! You are in for an awesome time, from the moment you arrive in our beautiful land, until the moment you discover that a grunt of pigs has invaded your hotel room.

I'm joking! You'll be fine, probably! Because the truth is that Goa is a terrific place, despite the warnings you may have heard from politicians that jealous terrorists think Carnival is a great time to threaten to blow up stuff to stop our poor security personnel from having fun.

Well the joke's on you, Mr.Al Qaida & Mr.George Bush, because our loyal policemen and policewomen have fun too, even more than the regular carnival-goers, since they also get to play "Unravel The Traffic Bottleneck", and "Brandish Your Lathi & Scare the Tourist While Pretending to Maintain Law & Order."

And then there's Jelly-Llolita criticizing Goa as a backward state portraying "decadent western culture." For the record, that charge is unfair: Goa is WAY better armed than any other state culturally. Goa is also a world-class party place, which is why the Carnival is being held here for a record-tying 'nth time. Compare that with -- to pick a city at random -- Chennai, which has been selected to host the Carnival a total of, let's see, 10 times, no, 5 times, nope, 3 times, uhuh no, twice, naah, once, nope . . .

Wow, it seems that Chennai has NEVER, not once since Independance, been selected to host the Carnival. I'm sure there's a good reason for this, such as that the Chennaiites have no concept of Carnival Bacchanalian Delights, too few hotel rooms, or too many asinine lame-brains representing "Ancient Divine Culture".

But enough about Ms.J. Let's get back to Goa, and how you, the Carnival tourist, can get the most pleasure during your stay here, with the least amount of sucky hangovers.

ARRIVAL
Chances are you'll land -- if you're lucky -- at Dabolim Soon-To-Be- (Name of Freedom Fighter) International Airport Goa, hoping to find a welcoming, modern, tourist-friendly airport such as is described in your Government of India, Ministry of Tourism Brochure, - what the airport will eventually be like if they ever finish it. This is unlikely to happen in the current century because the airports are under the control of politicians, who traditionally fall into one of three categories: (1) incompetents; (2) criminals; and (3) incompetent criminals.

My neighbour and his family have been born and have lived here forever, and mentions in passing that for that entire time the airport has been under construction, with almost all of the visible progress taking the form of larger and better barricades to prevent people from entering.

At the airport, you will notice that many people speak Hindi; this is often true in Goa. It is not a big deal. Most Goans speak some Hindi; in fact, many of them speak Hindi far better than -- to pick an asinine lame-brain at random -- Jelly-Llolita.

But the English is too very well spoken here,and helps a lot.

Nevertheless, you may find it helpful to learn a few basic Hindi phrases, such as:
"Kripya kijiye Bhenji ya Bhai Saheb.'' ("Excuse me, sister or big brother.'')

"Mein do din se mere samaan ke liye intezaar kar raha hoon'' ("I have been waiting two days for my luggage.'')

"Ji haan, maine ticket kharid liya tha.'' ("Yes, I have bought a ticket")

"Kyaa umeed hain ki Carnival se pahele mujhe mil jayega ?" ("Do you think I will get my luggage in time for the Carnival?'')

"Sundaas kidhar hain ?'' ("Where is the toilet?'')

TRANSPORTATION
Goa boasts a modern light skybus and ''transit for the masses'' system that cost crores of rupees and serves an average daily transportation of nearly four people between two pillars. This system was conceived of and built by basically the same political leadership responsible for the airport, so needless to say it does not go to the airport.

It also does not go to many other places that many Goan residents would like to go, which is why most of them do not use it. To them, the skybus is a mysterious object that occasionally whizzes around somewhere in the adminisphere, unrelated to their lives, kind of like INSAT 1B.

The point is, you need to get a car or a bike. Do NOT be afraid to do this. You may have heard horror tales about driving in Goa, but the truth is that you will be perfectly safe, as long as you remain within the parking area. Beyond that, you're on your own.

If you do venture out on the roads of Goa, here are some rules to bear in mind:
*Never stop for an amber light unless you want to be rear-ended.
*Maybe for a red light but only if there's a posse of cops around.
*Signaling a turn is viewed as a sign of weakness.
*If you do stop ensure you're back in the parking lot before you do.
**If you find yourself stuck behind a slow-moving car that does not appear to have a driver, that car is in fact being operated by a senior citizen approximately the height of a soda bottle, but with worse eyesight. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO PASS THIS CAR. At any moment the driver could suddenly decide to turn right without warning. Just be patient, and within 5 kilometres the car will drive off the road, often into a roadside ditch or the Mandovi river, and you can pass safely.

About parking: In Goa, it is acceptable to park pretty much anywhere, including on sidewalks, lawns, and slow-moving pedestrians, but thanks to Maneka Gandhi it is a crime to park on stray dogs.

There are also some pay parking spaces; if you find one. Parking is trickier in Calangute & Arambol Beaches, where the last available space was taken in 1985. If you go over there, you will have to hire a local driver, who will park it somewhere else. Mumbai, for example.

Here are some useful Hindi expressions for getting around Goa:

"Raaste se hato Jelly-Llolita.'' ("Get out of my way, you stupid idiot.'')

"Thuko math bewakoof.'' ("Please do not spit Jelly-Llolita.'')

"Arabi samudar yahaan kahin hain na?'' ("Is the Arabian Sea around here?'')

"Nangae logon ka beach kahaan hain?'' ("Where is the beach with the naked people?'')

"Aaaaaaaaarrrrrgggghhhhhh !!!!'' ("Excuse me, but you have parked on my foot.'')

The Carnival parade commences at 4 pm post -siesta (yawn).

A fine attraction which offers Fun For The Whole Family, such as food, music, food and comic relief with grown men wearing thongs and a parade of village children wearing costumes with enormous heads. These would make ideal disguises for terrorists.

Oh! And then there's the Pooja Bedi float.

Four-legged foodies - Part III

Single-minded purpose

John has a new dog, which means he’s going through this phase where he spends a lot of time bending and petting and going” Yesss! That’s a GOOD boy!” and otherwise practically awarding him the Mahavir Chakra for achievement, such as not going peepee on his pillow.

His name is Bruno, which is a more traditional bear’s name, but it describes him very well. Most dogs are earnest, which is why most people like them. (I once had a dog named Earnest, come to think of it, I once knew a lawyer named Earnest too!).

You can say any stupid thing to a dog, and the dog will give you this look that says, “Dammit, You’re RIGHT! I just never thought of that!” So we think dogs are understanding, loving, and compassionate, and we overlook the fact that they spend the bulk of their free time circling around other dogs to see which one can sniff the other more number of times in their personal region.

John is not sure yet whether Bruno has a working brain. You can’t tell, early on with dogs. Years ago when Naren got Dipy, everyone thought he was really smart, because he was somewhat of a bull terrier who had this extremely alert look. At first we took this to mean that he was absorbing every detail of his surroundings with his keen senses and analyzing it with lightning speed, but it turned out to be his way of expressing the concept: “When do we eat?”

Dipy would be sitting in the lawn looking very sharp and a squirrel would scamper right by him. Normal street dogs hundreds of feet away would detect the squirrel, and would bark vigorously, and we humans would also detect the squirrel, and shout helpfully: “Look! Dipy! Squirrel! Catch the squirrel!” And after a few seconds of delay, during which his ears would send the message by inland letter to his brain that something was going on, Dipy would turn in the exact opposite direction from wherever the squirrel was, adopt a stiff watchdog-in-readiness pose, and go: “When do we eat?”

I used to think Collies were smart dogs, after watching all those TV serials of Lassie. Lassie looked super-intelligent, partly because the family of humans she lived with was made up of button-heads. Whenever no one was around, one was always getting pinned under a tractor, and Lassie always ran back to the farmhouse to alert someone. She would whine and tug at their trousers or skirts, and they would waste time saying things like: “Looks like there’s something wrong? Does Lassie want us to follow her? What wrong Lassie girl?” like this was the very first time it happened instead of at least once a week ( not counting reruns) With all the time they spent pinned under the tractor, I wonder how they managed to grow anything on the farm. They probably got by on earthquake or flood relief support that Lassie filled out the applications for.

Lassie is also the name of Bruno’s German Shepherd mom, a real gentle motherly type who doesn’t sleep. Post lunch she lies by the divan in the living room and then she scratches herself, engaging in loud personal hygiene. Then she thinks,” Maybe I can go out!” and she pads across to the door ,which of course is closed- it is always closed mid-afternoon; even the flies have learned this by now – and she looks at it, in case there’s been some mistake. Then she senses, Sneha sleeping on the divan, and she has the most innovative idea she has ever thought of, which is: Maybe Sneha will let me out!” So she pads over to Sneha and licks her in the face, using the same tongue she uses for hygiene, and Sneha says, “Dammit, Lassie! Go away!” So she lies down for one minute, which is how long it takes for her lone functioning brain cell to forget everything that ever happened to her since she was born. And then she starts again: SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH LICK LICK LICK, PAD PAD PAD, and (think) PAD PAD PAD TONGUE “DAMMIT LASSIE GO AWAY!” (pause) SCRATCH SCRATCH......

John doesn’t know yet about Bruno. One day he will give him the dog intelligence test, by hiding the ball under the blanket, and hope that Bruno at least finds the blanket.

Okay okay Indu, Manuela, Arvind and all you dog lovers out there, I don’t want you sending me a bunch of threatening letters, asking how dare I say your dogs are stupid when your dog can add, subtract, cook a gourmet dinner for ten, etc. Please note :I never said YOUR dog is stupid. I said John’s dog might be. I feel Bruno can’t be too intelligent, because here is John reading this article aloud, and despite the fact that he’s lying at Johns feet, he’s still wagging his tail and going:”When do we eat?”

Of Man & Machine

Onward Road Warriors

If there’s one thing this country needs, it’s bigger cars. That’s why I’m so excited that Hindustan Motors & Mitsubishi have launched a new mound of metal which offers consumers even more road-squatting mass than the current leader in the humongous-car category, the popular Toyota Innova – visible from the planet Mars.(C’mon even the Ambassador is now visible from the moon!)

The new Mitsubishi is called the Montero ( Untamed Jungle Adventurer ) The TV commercials will show it splashing through raging rivers, dashing up rocky mountains, swinging off bungee ropes, and diving under tsunami seas to fight off giant underwater sharks, & rescue pet turtles to impress Preity Zinta – all the daredevil things that SUV’s do in the Wide World of Sports.

In fact the national highways in the Wide World of SUV Sports, having been abandoned by humans, are burgeoning with deer, birds, tigers, hare and other wildlife species that have fled the forest to avoid being run over by nature-lovers in multi-ton vehicles charging through the flora and fauna at 100 kmph.

In the real world, of course, nobody drives SUV’s in the forest (what forest?!), because when you have paid upwards of 15 lakhs for transportation (the most powerful 4-wheel drive with monocoque body and multi-link independent suspension,3.2 liter 16 valve DOHC intercooled turbocharged DI-D and a cyclone-type pre-air cleaner – gasp!), the last thing you want is squirrels doing potty on it. Now if you want an off-road vehicle, you get yourself a 1990’s Tata Sumo, which combines the advantage about not being worth worrying about with the advantage of it being so ugly that poisonous reptiles flee from it in terror.

In the real world, what people mainly do with their SUV’s, as far as I can tell, is try to maneuver them into and out of parking spots. I base this statement on the lanes of Panaji market, where many “up-market” shoppers drive Mahindra Scorpios. I’ve noticed that these folk often purchase just a couple of items- maybe a bottle of mineral water and a 100 grams of low fat, zero-calorie paneer- which they place in the back of the SUV, having the same cargo carrying capacity, in cubic metres, of Bhutan. This means there is plenty of room left over in case, on the way they decide to pick up something else, such as a herd of water buffalo.

Now comes the scary part: getting out of the parking spot. This is challenging, because the driver does not seem to be able to, while sitting in the drivers’ seat, see all the way to either end of the vehicle, even with multiple mirrors on either side. While driving a scooter, on numerous occasions I have found myself trapped behind an SUV backing directly towards me, its massive metal butt looming high over my head, making me feel like Faye Ray looking up at King Kong.

I’ve tried blowing my horn, but the SUV drivers cannot hear me, because they’re always talking on cell phones the size of baby pacifiers (“The bigger the car, the smaller your cell,” is their motto) I don’t know who they are talking with. Maybe they’re negotiating with their water buffalo suppliers. Or maybe they’re trying to contact another cell phone in the same area as the rear end of their car, to find out what’s going on back there. I’m thinking of carrying SOS flares so that I can warn SUV drivers that they are about to run me over. Although I really don’t think they’d care if they did run me over. A big reason why they bought an SUV is “safety,” as in “you, personally will be safe, although every now and then you may have to scrape the remains of other motorists and pedestrians off your bumpers and tyres.

Anyway we now have the new Mitsubishi Montero, which will be even larger than the Scorpio, which maybe will have separate decks for various classes of passengers, and someone on the bonnet teaching Kate Winslet (Titanic) how to spread her arms and dry her pits.

I can’t wait to see one of these beauties wheel into Panaji lanes. Other drivers and pedestrians will try to flee in terror, but they will be sucked in by the Monteros’ powerful gravity and become stuck to its’ massive sides like fridge magnets. But they won’t be noticed by the Montero driver, who will be busy banging the side of his head, trying to dislodge his cell phone, the size of a pea, which has fallen into his ear canal.

And it will not stop there. This is India, dammit, and Tata Motors is not about to just sit by and watch Hindustan Motors walk away with the title of “Most Insane Passenger Vehicle.” Cars will just keep getting bigger on Indias’ footpaths-for-roads: I see a time, not too far in the future, when suburban society housewives will haul their overdue DVDs’ back to the rental store in full-size,16-wheel tractor trailers with names like The Terminator, Dara Singh or Bheem..
It will be a proud time for all Indians, a time to cheer and sing “Sare Jahaan Se Achha.” We should sing loud, because we’ll be hard to hear, from under the bumper.