"Harry."
He looked up. There was something familiar about the voice. That unsure intonation, the tentativeness, the inhibited familiarity which it reflected, all aroused distant memories, like a song heard earlier but forgotten - one on the tip of his tongue but beyond his mental capacity to name. Was it even a material memory, or one which had its genesis inside his mind?
The man who had uttered that name stepped forward. Harivadan could barely make him out in the fused contours of his surroundings. He had long ceased to distinguish between man & animal, friend & foe, living & non-living. It was much easier for him to derive comfort in the confines of his thought, shaping things as he wanted them to be. All was perfect. Who would bother about the material?
"My God, Harry. What has happened to you? What have you done to yourself? Oh God this is too much for me to see!" Harivadan sensed something that he had not sensed in many years - the disarming concern of a friend, repugniated by the degradation he sees in front of him. At last he could place the voice.
He could not allow it to continue. One more word and he would be undone. His beautiful ideation of the world around was coming crashing to an end & leaving him with a sick feeling; A feeling that the material world was calling out to him again to rejoin; A world that he had left far behind, many years ago...
Harivadan snapped out of his stupor. The figure was advancing towards him. The dim outline gave way to the troubled visage of a man who has aged by years in just a few moments. Anant Verma stood in front of him at last.
Anant stared with horror at the wasted figure in front of him. Slouched against the garbage bins, long-haired, dirty and unkempt. His face was marred with garish make-up, rouge cris-crossing his lips & cheeks, eyelashes over-done with mascara. He was dressed in a loose skirt-type garment. His eyes had a vacant stare - dull white, with the black of the eyeballs barely visible. His hands kept quivering and his arm was dotted all over with needle-marks.
Harivadan started sobbing. It was a slow, painful sob; The kind which possesses the heart of those who listen to it and makes them pray for it to stop. Some other bums on the street heard it.
"Hey mister, why don't you leave her alone?" they questioned Anant angrily. "Her?" Anant shouted. "HER?" His mind was numbing.
"Well don't ask us, but thats how she likes to be referred to. Just leave her and go."
"That's the last thing I am going to do. He's my friend and I am taking him home with me." Anant shot back. As he said those words, some clarity returned to his mind & he was invigorated with a sense of purpose.
He addressed the person who lay in front of him:
"Harry, my dear friend, you are coming home with me..."
Part II
"Let me get you some coffee", Pratima said, as she made her way to the kitchen.
Anant sat pensively on the sofa, his chin resting on his fingers. 6 years. 6 whole long years had passed. He saw the photograph on the opposite wall. He still remembered, the final photograph, the four of them dressed in black robes, proudly throwing their graduation hats in the sky, with the magnificent auditorium as a backdrop. He remembered as he broke away from the three of them that night, looking around for Pratima, his heart beating wildly as he wondered what her response to his question would be...
"He looks like a ghost" Pratima remarked as she re-appeared with the coffee. "Poor fellow. The kids are going to be really frightened when they see him. Quite weird isn't he? He was the weirdest in your group. I don't think I ever spoke to him much. What's he done to himsef?"
"Harry was always a little different, Prat. I...I don't know how to explain. It's like he never was suited for the real world. An orphan, you know. He was happy to listen to others, sharing their joys and sorrows. He did not seem to have a Grand Plan of Life for himself."
"That's because I could handle other people's realities; Not my own." Harivadan was standing in the doorway, so emaciated that he looked as if he would collapse anytime.
"Harry, you need to rest!"
"I am fine, Ant. I am ok. I have just been a little lost. A little lost." His body was shaking convulsively, but he mastered it with an amazing degree of self-control.
"It's too much to deal with life, Ant. Its been too much for me. The world is ugly. Its unkind. I tried my best to live, to lead a normal life. But I couldn't reconcile myself to a steady job. I have no business sense. No one understood. No one cared. They thought of me as an oddball. They used to crack jokes. Mimic me. I was too sensitive. I gave up. I felt trapped. In my body. In my mind. I wasn't intended to be this way. Providence made a mistake"
He smiled dreamily and continued. "It's much better the way I am now. How perfect my world is now. It doesn't matter whether it's real. It's perfect."
"Harry you need to see someone..."
"I don't need a doctor who treats diseased minds, Ant!"
"Not for your mind Harry. For your spirit." Anant said as he looked at the photograph which adorned the wall in front of him.
Four people smiling, beaming, without a care in the world. His eyes focused on the other two people in the photograph. A girl, with shoulder-length hair and a bright smile, with the unmistakably graceful poise of an expert danseuse. A boy, who had been caught unawares while the photograph was being taken. Untidy & clumsy, but one who looked ready to face anything life threw at him.
'6 years', Anant thought again. "It's time we all met up."
Part III
”This was the address given” Anant remarked to Harivadan. “He runs it himself.”
“Sacred Petals Home for Children” read the sign at the gate.
A message followed below: “'Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man’ - Rabindranath Tagore”
Anant looked at Harivadan and gestured for him to enter. Harivadan waved his hands in an agony of indecision, but walked in finally.
The man sitting on the chair looked up slowly as they entered. His face was lined with creases, and he had all but lost his hair. The youthful exuberance had given way to soberness, tempered by the passage of 6 years of struggle. It was the face of a man who waged a war everyday and yet did not lose it, no matter how much it tried to break him.
His eyes revealed that which his body obscured. They were the eyes of a man whose spirit is stronger than his physical form, someone driven by objectives that go beyond the reach of most ordinary mortals. Even in the dusty, claustrophobic room, a cheery optimism abounded. Refuge would not be denied to even the smallest of the small.
“So” he said. “It’s been so long since we met. And for the worst possible reason – no reason. Do I need to get into obvious things, like mentioning how happy I am to see you guys?”
Harivadan smiled. It was the smile of a person who was finding himself, slowly but steadily. “That will not be necessary, Ek. How overjoyed am I to see you thus!”
Amit looked at Ekansh. Ekansh, as usual, did not have to be told. One look and he had sized it up all correctly.
“Harry, what have you been doing?”
“Quarrelling with Time. But forget it now – it is of no consequence. You have become a priest at the altar of Creation! How wonderful! Here, in your abode, the seedlings of Creation abound and flourish! May they all learn to befriend Time before it becomes a stranger! God delivers the right packages, though some fall by the wayside!”
Ekansh sighed. “Yes indeed. He delivers the right packages, though He screws up the addresses. I fight with Him daily. As He gives us the problems, so He must also give us the solution.”
He paused for a moment and then asked” Where’s she?”
Harry replied “Ahh, you talk of that beloved angel. The one whose whereabouts no one knows. Was there ever a more perfect embodiment of goodness? While she was around no one could go wrong. Her power would always make those around her do their best. She tried. She tried to teach me, teach all of us how to live. When she left, when we all parted, I tried to be like her. If only she were around now. I wish I knew. I wish I knew.”
They all sat in silence for some time, waiting.
As if on cue, the security guard burst into the room. “Sir, someone abandoned this child just outside the gate. Baby girl. We did not see any passers-by.” He thrust the baby into Ekansh’s arms.
Anant and Harivadan came forth. The baby looked about herself, wide-eyed and perplexed. Two tiny dimpled fists were visibly shaking. At last, they stopped. She was at peace. She knew she would be taken care of.
“What do you do in such cases, Ek?” Anant asked
“Well, we try to look for people willing to...” He stopped mid-sentence. Anant wondered what had happened when he followed Ekansh’s gaze and looked at Harivadan.
A transformation had come over Harivadan. He seemed more calm, more human, more purposeful than Anant had ever seen in the past few days. A sentence rang through Anant’s mind I can handle the reality of other people. Not my own. He looked at Ekansh, and without any sound, without any exchange of words, Ekansh knew what to do. He passed the child to Harivadan, who became stunned.
“You shall take care of this child, Harry.” Anant said. “You shall help her to befriend Time. You shall teach her to handle Reality and in doing so you shall learn to handle your own.“
Harivadan was now a different person. Resolution was shaping in his mind, emerging from the dark recesses of the wanton nothingness which he had relegated himself to for such a long period.
“I so feel” He said “That she is here, with us. This child...I shall take care of her. Whoever said that a mother had to be a woman? I was only taking refuge in something I need not have been. I need not have been like her to handle reality. I shall ensure that this child grows up to become a person who can spread goodness and inspire good in people all around.”
He looked at the little figure in from of him. “Welcome to the world, Vedanshi. We will have a wonderful time.”
The baby cooed softly and broke into a smile in assent.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Great Indian Marriage - An Open Case Study
What follows is a narrative, referred to in management schools usually as a case study. It describes a managment situation in a very interesting (to me) area to which you, the reader, is expected to respond. Through remarks and the thoughts of the protagonist I have tried to give a flavour of the lines along which one may think. Frameworks, trends, creative ideas - all are welcome. Responses may be posted as comments. The entire problem and the solutions that you propose will be treated as open source - freely shareable in their entirety, with contributors being acknowledged and credited.
Full credit to Chetna for the idea and for suggesting that I write a blog on it.
Sampoorn Vivaah was an entrepreneurial venture borne out of Bharat’s vision of providing an end-to-end solution for what he always considered to be the ultimate Indian management situation – a marriage. The idea was to have a presence at every stage of the process – helping people search for their perfect match, introducing the families, the engagement, inviting people, rituals, celebrations, themes, dresses, honeymooning and so on.
Apart from such traditional things, newer trends such as internet websites and the dramatization of incidents from the bride and groom’s lives had started turning marriages into an art of story-telling – a larger than life event which required flawless planning and execution at every stage.
He also noticed that increasingly people now favoured made to order marriages – they were taking a more active interest in each and every aspect and customizing it; Standardization was out, personalization was in.
Given India’s favourable demographics, expanding economic growth and the culture of lavish spending in marriages, he was convinced it was an idea that would work.
And he now had his first big client – the 27 year old son of a prominent Marwari businessman from Jaipur was to get married. One of his friends who was a favoured guest in that household had recommended Singhal to them. Indians by nature are uncomfortable with institutionalizing what are seen as family events. Times however were changing and more and more people were ok with seeking professional expertise in managing such events.
This was as big as it got. Money would not be a concern. It being his first assignment, he was determined to avoid any goof-ups at all costs. It would be a trend setter as far as marriages were concerned. He knew that not everyone could afford to have a marriage on that scale. He wanted to make sure that many of the ideas and steps could be modified and replicated to suit different budgets.
He glanced over the hurriedly scribbled notes. So many things to be taken care of, he thought. What would be the different steps involved? How would he go about looking for the appropriate match? How would the entire process be conceptualized? Could there be a framework for it? What tools would he use for the different stages? What were the latest trends that people were following? What new ones could be set? Creative, appealing, dear to the Indian heart?
This is no longer only about Mangalyam Bhagwaan Vishnu, he thought, as he sat down to work...
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Personal Experiences - the next big financial market?
"Everything that can be invented has been invented." - Charles H. Duell, Director of U.S. Patent Office, 1899
I am sure Mr Duell would disagree, 110 years later.
Throughout history, as needs and technology have evolved, financial markets have also developed seeking to derive returns from any asset possible. This has been particularly true in the last two centuries.
Futures developed in the 19th century as a means of hedging against price fluctuations in agricultural commodities.
From there, the evolution of financial markets has borne a fanciful resemblance to Maslow's Hierachy of Needs.
They have become more and more ideated and less tangible.
Commodities, equities, bonds, art, water, power, carbon credits all are traded.
One of the latest things in this list is death. (Read this: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/06/business/06insurance.html?_r=2 )
Another brilliant financial innovation has been options. Essentially, people had actually figured out a way to price probabilistic rights!
There are assets which generate intrinsic returns. A business is one of them. A business adds value to a certain set of raw materials, profitably sells them to customers and hence grows and generates returns.
Then there are assets which generate returns because the price which people are willing to pay for them increases. One example would be Art.
With the advent of the Internet, a very powerful set of tools have developed which enable people to construct and disseminate personal experiences. Its a second Renaissance of sorts with the available media of information dissemination being directed towards individuals and their experiences. Blogging, Youtube, Facebook, Orkut, Gmail, Twitter, so on and so forth.
Marketing has and will continue to become person centric. In that sense, the set of personal experiences as encapsulated by a person will become an asset that yields returns. It will be possible, before long, to monetize personal experiences.
Which begets the question in my mind - how long will it be before the army of financial engineers and quantitative wizards turn their attention towards developing a financial market out of personal experiences?
How long will it be before they figure out how to price how much personal experiences would be worth in the future?
If this sounds ridiculous, read on.
I base the idea on two key things.
The first is the possibility of standardization and packaging of personal experiences from a financial view point, in terms of risks and returns.
The second is the set of tools which will enable it to be done.
Anyone who has read about the subprime crisis of 2007 and the subsequent 2008 bust would have read the term Mortgage-Backed Securities etc
Without getting too technical, I would say that MBSs refer to investment assets in which the returns were obtained from the people who had availed of loans to buy homes with the homes themseleves as collateral. Several thousand mortgages could be packaged together and sold to investors who had money to put in.
This was a paradigm shift in financial markets. As beautifully described by Michael Lewis in "Liar's Poker", for the first time the asset side of the balance sheet could be tapped into. As long as the home loans could be standardized and packaged, they could be sold to investors.
I am confident that mathematics will evolve to the point where in it is able to price personal experiences in such a collective pool and turn it into an investment.
Coming to the tools which will enables this to happen.
The Internet is the bane of Classical Economists. This is because of two features that it has: One is what is called " positive network externality". That is, higher the number of people that use the Internet, the more is the benefit that each user can derive.
The second, more importantly, is Zero Marginal Cost (not for the Internet in itself, but for products or services that are sold and disseminated through the Internet). Zero marginal cost means that the cost for producing an additional unit of the product or service is zero.
This causes problems because classical economics state that in perfect competition, demand and supply match off at the point where Marginal Cost equals the Market Price.
This can obviously not work for Internet based Products / Services, since Market Price will not be zero.
The Market Price, then, must be the price that people are willing to pay.
And people are willing to pay for personal experiences.
Naturally, WHAT they are willing to pay will change over time. This is where financial markets will step in.
I must emphasize - personal experiences have been marketed and sold since times immemorial. Paintings, books, music, photos, blogs, journals, newspapers - all of these capture them.
My point is that financial innovation will ultimately end up intersecting with technology to create the next big punter's paradise in this field.
Google, that mecca of innovation, for example, has come out with Wave (no I do not have an invite)
To quote Google:
"Google Wave is an online tool for real-time communication and collaboration. A wave can be both a conversation and a document where people can discuss and work together..."
How long will it be before some financial whizkid figures out how to package a set of Google Waves and sell it to a Japanese pension fund which thinks this set of experiences may be worth more in the future?
Not too long, is my guess...
I am sure Mr Duell would disagree, 110 years later.
Throughout history, as needs and technology have evolved, financial markets have also developed seeking to derive returns from any asset possible. This has been particularly true in the last two centuries.
Futures developed in the 19th century as a means of hedging against price fluctuations in agricultural commodities.
From there, the evolution of financial markets has borne a fanciful resemblance to Maslow's Hierachy of Needs.
They have become more and more ideated and less tangible.
Commodities, equities, bonds, art, water, power, carbon credits all are traded.
One of the latest things in this list is death. (Read this: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/06/business/06insurance.html?_r=2 )
Another brilliant financial innovation has been options. Essentially, people had actually figured out a way to price probabilistic rights!
There are assets which generate intrinsic returns. A business is one of them. A business adds value to a certain set of raw materials, profitably sells them to customers and hence grows and generates returns.
Then there are assets which generate returns because the price which people are willing to pay for them increases. One example would be Art.
With the advent of the Internet, a very powerful set of tools have developed which enable people to construct and disseminate personal experiences. Its a second Renaissance of sorts with the available media of information dissemination being directed towards individuals and their experiences. Blogging, Youtube, Facebook, Orkut, Gmail, Twitter, so on and so forth.
Marketing has and will continue to become person centric. In that sense, the set of personal experiences as encapsulated by a person will become an asset that yields returns. It will be possible, before long, to monetize personal experiences.
Which begets the question in my mind - how long will it be before the army of financial engineers and quantitative wizards turn their attention towards developing a financial market out of personal experiences?
How long will it be before they figure out how to price how much personal experiences would be worth in the future?
If this sounds ridiculous, read on.
I base the idea on two key things.
The first is the possibility of standardization and packaging of personal experiences from a financial view point, in terms of risks and returns.
The second is the set of tools which will enable it to be done.
Anyone who has read about the subprime crisis of 2007 and the subsequent 2008 bust would have read the term Mortgage-Backed Securities etc
Without getting too technical, I would say that MBSs refer to investment assets in which the returns were obtained from the people who had availed of loans to buy homes with the homes themseleves as collateral. Several thousand mortgages could be packaged together and sold to investors who had money to put in.
This was a paradigm shift in financial markets. As beautifully described by Michael Lewis in "Liar's Poker", for the first time the asset side of the balance sheet could be tapped into. As long as the home loans could be standardized and packaged, they could be sold to investors.
I am confident that mathematics will evolve to the point where in it is able to price personal experiences in such a collective pool and turn it into an investment.
Coming to the tools which will enables this to happen.
The Internet is the bane of Classical Economists. This is because of two features that it has: One is what is called " positive network externality". That is, higher the number of people that use the Internet, the more is the benefit that each user can derive.
The second, more importantly, is Zero Marginal Cost (not for the Internet in itself, but for products or services that are sold and disseminated through the Internet). Zero marginal cost means that the cost for producing an additional unit of the product or service is zero.
This causes problems because classical economics state that in perfect competition, demand and supply match off at the point where Marginal Cost equals the Market Price.
This can obviously not work for Internet based Products / Services, since Market Price will not be zero.
The Market Price, then, must be the price that people are willing to pay.
And people are willing to pay for personal experiences.
Naturally, WHAT they are willing to pay will change over time. This is where financial markets will step in.
I must emphasize - personal experiences have been marketed and sold since times immemorial. Paintings, books, music, photos, blogs, journals, newspapers - all of these capture them.
My point is that financial innovation will ultimately end up intersecting with technology to create the next big punter's paradise in this field.
Google, that mecca of innovation, for example, has come out with Wave (no I do not have an invite)
To quote Google:
"Google Wave is an online tool for real-time communication and collaboration. A wave can be both a conversation and a document where people can discuss and work together..."
How long will it be before some financial whizkid figures out how to package a set of Google Waves and sell it to a Japanese pension fund which thinks this set of experiences may be worth more in the future?
Not too long, is my guess...
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
XL Memories II: SACrificial lambs...
The Maharashtra state elections yesterday coupled with a chat session with an XLRI senior toggled a chain reaction of snapshots from the past. Another indifferent turnout left me feeling a bit sad and indeed irritated with those who did not vote.
I did vote. I voted for a candidate with a post-graduate degree and no criminal charge. He is unlikely to win unfortunately. So what. I took part in the process.
For XLRI taught me, amongst other things, to respect and to have faith in a democratic process. I have experienced how powerful it can be, first-hand.
For those who would not know, XLRI has a body known as the Student Affairs Council. (No, its not a committee which aims to keep track of philandering educatees). This Council (SAC for short) consists of the General Secretary and representatives from each of the classes. It is the apex student repesentative body and as such, case default for all student problems and grievances.
Circa early July 2006. As a typical newbie MBA, after examining my "skill sets" and deciphering how best to "leverage" them, I concluded that I needed to apply for elections to the SAC. I would be a harbinger of change. I would be a true leader.
Over discussions with a senior SAC member at Chhappan Bhog (a popular snack outlet in Jamshedpur) I made up my mind to apply and submitted my nomination.
Instructions were absolutely clear. There was to be no campaigning. (This ain't no engg college). Each candidate would have some time to present his candidature. (known as the soap box; the term probably originated from Hyde Park, London where public orators would stand on soap boxes to deliver impromptu political speeches). That would be followed by a Question and Answer session. May the best man win.
As expected, I was not the only enthusiastic contender. There were a large number of people for each division. I sat nervously anticipating my turn. I had prepared a list of the issues which I intended to focus on.
When I was finally called, I was quite shaky. Staring at 180 faces, most of them unfamiliar and asking them to vote for me was, to put it mildly, unnnerving. I blurted out the points that I had noted, reading them almost verbatim at times from the paper in my hand. I hardly looked at the people present.
Q & A began. And I learnt the most important lesson of leadership. Just when I thought all the questions were done and was about to walk back to my place, a person whom I will call Revolutionary Vampire (if you are reading this, absolutely no offence meant) got up and asked me: "How do you expect to represent us, when you are not even prepared to look at us?"
Ouch. I thought Mallus were nice people. I was stunned. I had no answer. I knew then and there that I had lost it. The senior SAC members who were moderating Q & A told me not to answer the question, but that was not the point anyway. I came back to my seat, feeling listless.
When the process ended, we were each asked to leave a person behind who bear witness on our part for the counting of votes. I picked on one of the few people whom I knew at that time - Nirkesh Mulundwala (keep guessing, folks!).
Finally the results were announced. 6 deserving people had won. (As later events proved, they were deserving). I gathered the courage to ask Nirkesh how many votes I had received.
"2" he replied.
2 votes. Not as bad as I had expected. To this day I don't know the kind soul who voted for me.
"Ah well" I consoled myself. "Public life is not meant for everyone"
Cut to Jan 2007. January is a transition period in XLRI. The senior batch typically lazes around in the JLT, getting photographs clicked in arbitrary poses, while the junior batch starts shaping itself up for the year ahead as the new senior batch. Entering Grihasthashram.
I was with the Lord of Destruction in his room. (One of the 6 people mentioned above).
"Are you applying for SAC this time?"
"No no, I failed miserably last time."
"Things are different. People in the batch know you now. You have helped everyone a lot with acads"
"That doesn't matter. I still am not networked enough"
"People don't want a high flyer. They want someone whom they can trust enough to get the job done"
"It won't work..."
Well, I applied again.
Life one year later in XLRI is quite different. Everyone knows everyone. Bullshitting doesn't work.
I knew the real issues this time. I knew what to focus on. I knew the questions that could be asked. And I didn't need the piece of paper.
Still, the past creates its own overhangs which are not easy to get rid of.
I don't recollect feeling more nervous ever in my life. Two people (who shall remain unnamed) were kind enough to accompany me on a walk in the bylanes of Circuit House. Much of the time was spent in anticipatory silence. The cool bracing air did lift my spirits.
I entered the classroom and took a look at the other 2 contenders (2 out of 3 would make it, so not a bad ratio one may think). Number 1 was the Lord of Destruction. Number 2 was CRISPy Bong - a person whom I do not know very well personally but have high respect for. The kind of person who would take the shirt off his back and give it if needed. These were the sort of competitors you would much rather give up against in all humility, than fight to the finish.
Backing out was not an option now. I stated my points. Looking at the faces in front of me, each one which had certain qualities associated with it. Unconsciously trying to connect with them.
Trust me on this guys. I am here to do my best. I won't screw up.
Q & A followed. I tried my best to answer with raw honesty.
Time was up. Votes were to be cast. People looked as inscrutable as ever.
Did I manage to strike a chord with them?
Ganjeshwarnath was my counter this time. I waited for the few minutes of counting outside. It felt like an eternity.
Finally, the people inside came out. I looked at Ganjeshwarnath, a standing question. He broke into a smile.
Before I knew it, I was in the air, a dozen arms holding me, spread eagled and legs flying around, subjecting my rear to a brutal volley of kicks, cheering and shouting.
Yes, my vote count this time was slightly higher than two.
I did vote. I voted for a candidate with a post-graduate degree and no criminal charge. He is unlikely to win unfortunately. So what. I took part in the process.
For XLRI taught me, amongst other things, to respect and to have faith in a democratic process. I have experienced how powerful it can be, first-hand.
For those who would not know, XLRI has a body known as the Student Affairs Council. (No, its not a committee which aims to keep track of philandering educatees). This Council (SAC for short) consists of the General Secretary and representatives from each of the classes. It is the apex student repesentative body and as such, case default for all student problems and grievances.
Circa early July 2006. As a typical newbie MBA, after examining my "skill sets" and deciphering how best to "leverage" them, I concluded that I needed to apply for elections to the SAC. I would be a harbinger of change. I would be a true leader.
Over discussions with a senior SAC member at Chhappan Bhog (a popular snack outlet in Jamshedpur) I made up my mind to apply and submitted my nomination.
Instructions were absolutely clear. There was to be no campaigning. (This ain't no engg college). Each candidate would have some time to present his candidature. (known as the soap box; the term probably originated from Hyde Park, London where public orators would stand on soap boxes to deliver impromptu political speeches). That would be followed by a Question and Answer session. May the best man win.
As expected, I was not the only enthusiastic contender. There were a large number of people for each division. I sat nervously anticipating my turn. I had prepared a list of the issues which I intended to focus on.
When I was finally called, I was quite shaky. Staring at 180 faces, most of them unfamiliar and asking them to vote for me was, to put it mildly, unnnerving. I blurted out the points that I had noted, reading them almost verbatim at times from the paper in my hand. I hardly looked at the people present.
Q & A began. And I learnt the most important lesson of leadership. Just when I thought all the questions were done and was about to walk back to my place, a person whom I will call Revolutionary Vampire (if you are reading this, absolutely no offence meant) got up and asked me: "How do you expect to represent us, when you are not even prepared to look at us?"
Ouch. I thought Mallus were nice people. I was stunned. I had no answer. I knew then and there that I had lost it. The senior SAC members who were moderating Q & A told me not to answer the question, but that was not the point anyway. I came back to my seat, feeling listless.
When the process ended, we were each asked to leave a person behind who bear witness on our part for the counting of votes. I picked on one of the few people whom I knew at that time - Nirkesh Mulundwala (keep guessing, folks!).
Finally the results were announced. 6 deserving people had won. (As later events proved, they were deserving). I gathered the courage to ask Nirkesh how many votes I had received.
"2" he replied.
2 votes. Not as bad as I had expected. To this day I don't know the kind soul who voted for me.
"Ah well" I consoled myself. "Public life is not meant for everyone"
Cut to Jan 2007. January is a transition period in XLRI. The senior batch typically lazes around in the JLT, getting photographs clicked in arbitrary poses, while the junior batch starts shaping itself up for the year ahead as the new senior batch. Entering Grihasthashram.
I was with the Lord of Destruction in his room. (One of the 6 people mentioned above).
"Are you applying for SAC this time?"
"No no, I failed miserably last time."
"Things are different. People in the batch know you now. You have helped everyone a lot with acads"
"That doesn't matter. I still am not networked enough"
"People don't want a high flyer. They want someone whom they can trust enough to get the job done"
"It won't work..."
Well, I applied again.
Life one year later in XLRI is quite different. Everyone knows everyone. Bullshitting doesn't work.
I knew the real issues this time. I knew what to focus on. I knew the questions that could be asked. And I didn't need the piece of paper.
Still, the past creates its own overhangs which are not easy to get rid of.
I don't recollect feeling more nervous ever in my life. Two people (who shall remain unnamed) were kind enough to accompany me on a walk in the bylanes of Circuit House. Much of the time was spent in anticipatory silence. The cool bracing air did lift my spirits.
I entered the classroom and took a look at the other 2 contenders (2 out of 3 would make it, so not a bad ratio one may think). Number 1 was the Lord of Destruction. Number 2 was CRISPy Bong - a person whom I do not know very well personally but have high respect for. The kind of person who would take the shirt off his back and give it if needed. These were the sort of competitors you would much rather give up against in all humility, than fight to the finish.
Backing out was not an option now. I stated my points. Looking at the faces in front of me, each one which had certain qualities associated with it. Unconsciously trying to connect with them.
Trust me on this guys. I am here to do my best. I won't screw up.
Q & A followed. I tried my best to answer with raw honesty.
Time was up. Votes were to be cast. People looked as inscrutable as ever.
Did I manage to strike a chord with them?
Ganjeshwarnath was my counter this time. I waited for the few minutes of counting outside. It felt like an eternity.
Finally, the people inside came out. I looked at Ganjeshwarnath, a standing question. He broke into a smile.
Before I knew it, I was in the air, a dozen arms holding me, spread eagled and legs flying around, subjecting my rear to a brutal volley of kicks, cheering and shouting.
Yes, my vote count this time was slightly higher than two.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
B(e) for Mumbai...& Maharashtra...
एक छन्निच्या एक घाव तरी
बसू द्या रे माझा दगडा वरी
आज इमारत जुनाट झाली
मरतील जीव अकारण खाली
म्हणुनी आदि या
पाडून टाका देऊन धक्का ...
What's in a name? That which we call Mumbai by any other name would still be as intoxicating...
Let's focus on the real issues, gentlemen. Like power shortages, farmer suicides, naxalism, infrastructure, water management, terrorism, congestion, slum rehabilitation...
Or suffer the consequences. You can fool all of the people some of the time or some of the people all of the time, but you can't fool all of the people all of the time.
Wake up, Raj...
बसू द्या रे माझा दगडा वरी
आज इमारत जुनाट झाली
मरतील जीव अकारण खाली
म्हणुनी आदि या
पाडून टाका देऊन धक्का ...
What's in a name? That which we call Mumbai by any other name would still be as intoxicating...
Let's focus on the real issues, gentlemen. Like power shortages, farmer suicides, naxalism, infrastructure, water management, terrorism, congestion, slum rehabilitation...
Or suffer the consequences. You can fool all of the people some of the time or some of the people all of the time, but you can't fool all of the people all of the time.
Wake up, Raj...
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Chaar - Part II
"Let me get you some coffee", Pratima said, as she made her way to the kitchen.
Anant sat pensively on the sofa, his chin resting on his fingers. 6 years. 6 whole long years had passed. He saw the photograph on the opposite wall. He still remembered, the final photograph, the four of them dressed in black robes, proudly throwing their graduation hats in the sky, with the magnificent auditorium as a backdrop. He remembered as he broke away from the three of them that night, looking around for Pratima, his heart beating wildly as he wondered what her response to his question would be...
"He looks like a ghost" Pratima remarked as she re-appeared with the coffee. "Poor fellow. The kids are going to be really frightened when they see him. Quite weird isn't he? He was the weirdest in your group. I don't think I ever spoke to him much. What's he done to himsef?"
"Harry was always a little different, Prat. I...I don't know how to explain. It's like he never was suited for the real world. An orphan, you know. He was happy to listen to others, sharing their joys and sorrows. He did not seem to have a Grand Plan of Life for himself."
"That's because I could handle other people's realities; Not my own." Harivadan was standing in the doorway, so emaciated that he looked as if he would collapse anytime.
"Harry, you need to rest!"
"I am fine, Ant. I am ok. I have just been a little lost. A little lost." His body was shaking convulsively, but he mastered it with an amazing degree of self-control.
"It's too much to deal with life, Ant. Its been too much for me. The world is ugly. Its unkind. I tried my best to live, to lead a normal life. But I couldn't reconcile myself to a steady job. I have no business sense. No one understood. No one cared. They thought of me as an oddball. They used to crack jokes. Mimic me. I was too sensitive. I gave up. I felt trapped. In my body. In my mind. I wasn't intended to be this way. Providence made a mistake"
He smiled dreamily and continued. "It's much better the way I am now. How perfect my world is now. It doesn't matter whether it's real. It's perfect."
"Harry you need to see someone..."
"I don't need a doctor who treats diseased minds, Ant!"
"Not for your mind Harry. For your spirit." Anant said as he looked at the photograph which adorned the wall in front of him.
Four people smiling, beaming, without a care in the world. His eyes focused on the other two people in the photograph. A girl, with shoulder-length hair and a bright smile, with the unmistakably graceful poise of an expert danseuse. A boy, who had been caught unawares while the photograph was being taken. Untidy & clumsy, but one who looked ready to face anything life threw at him.
'6 years', Anant thought again. "It's time we all met up."
Anant sat pensively on the sofa, his chin resting on his fingers. 6 years. 6 whole long years had passed. He saw the photograph on the opposite wall. He still remembered, the final photograph, the four of them dressed in black robes, proudly throwing their graduation hats in the sky, with the magnificent auditorium as a backdrop. He remembered as he broke away from the three of them that night, looking around for Pratima, his heart beating wildly as he wondered what her response to his question would be...
"He looks like a ghost" Pratima remarked as she re-appeared with the coffee. "Poor fellow. The kids are going to be really frightened when they see him. Quite weird isn't he? He was the weirdest in your group. I don't think I ever spoke to him much. What's he done to himsef?"
"Harry was always a little different, Prat. I...I don't know how to explain. It's like he never was suited for the real world. An orphan, you know. He was happy to listen to others, sharing their joys and sorrows. He did not seem to have a Grand Plan of Life for himself."
"That's because I could handle other people's realities; Not my own." Harivadan was standing in the doorway, so emaciated that he looked as if he would collapse anytime.
"Harry, you need to rest!"
"I am fine, Ant. I am ok. I have just been a little lost. A little lost." His body was shaking convulsively, but he mastered it with an amazing degree of self-control.
"It's too much to deal with life, Ant. Its been too much for me. The world is ugly. Its unkind. I tried my best to live, to lead a normal life. But I couldn't reconcile myself to a steady job. I have no business sense. No one understood. No one cared. They thought of me as an oddball. They used to crack jokes. Mimic me. I was too sensitive. I gave up. I felt trapped. In my body. In my mind. I wasn't intended to be this way. Providence made a mistake"
He smiled dreamily and continued. "It's much better the way I am now. How perfect my world is now. It doesn't matter whether it's real. It's perfect."
"Harry you need to see someone..."
"I don't need a doctor who treats diseased minds, Ant!"
"Not for your mind Harry. For your spirit." Anant said as he looked at the photograph which adorned the wall in front of him.
Four people smiling, beaming, without a care in the world. His eyes focused on the other two people in the photograph. A girl, with shoulder-length hair and a bright smile, with the unmistakably graceful poise of an expert danseuse. A boy, who had been caught unawares while the photograph was being taken. Untidy & clumsy, but one who looked ready to face anything life threw at him.
'6 years', Anant thought again. "It's time we all met up."
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Chaar - Part I
"Harry."
He looked up. There was something familiar about the voice. That unsure intonation, the tentativeness, the inhibited familiarity which it reflected, all aroused distant memories, like a song heard earlier but forgotten - one on the tip of his tongue but beyond his mental capacity to name. Was it even a material memory, or one which had its genesis inside his mind?
The man who had uttered that name stepped forward. Harivadan could barely make him out in the fused contours of his surroundings. He had long ceased to distinguish between man & animal, friend & foe, living & non-living. It was much easier for him to derive comfort in the confines of his thought, shaping things as he wanted them to be. All was perfect. Who would bother about the material?
"My God, Harry. What has happened to you? What have you done to yourself? Oh God this is too much for me to see!" Harivadan sensed something that he had not sensed in many years - the disarming concern of a friend, repugniated by the degradation he sees in front of him. At last he could place the voice.
He could not allow it to continue. One more word and he would be undone. His beautiful ideation of the world around was coming crashing to an end & leaving him with a sick feeling; A feeling that the material world was calling out to him again to rejoin; A world that he had left far behind, many years ago...
"Harry!" Anant poked his head inside the room. "Will you get up! The test starts in 5 minutes!" Harivadan, embracing the pillow with a dreamy smile on his lips, muttered something unintelligible. "Oh God, get up! The last end term and you wanted to party. There's a limit to things. Get up......"
Harivadan snapped out of his stupor. The figure was advancing towards him. The dim outline gave way to the troubled visage of a man who has aged by years in just a few moments. Anant Verma stood in front of him at last.
Anant stared with horror at the wasted figure in front of him. Slouched against the garbage bins, long-haired, dirty and unkempt. His face was marred with garish make-up, rouge cris-crossing his lips & cheeks, eyelashes over-done with mascara. He was dressed in a loose skirt-type garment. His eyes had a vacant stare - dull white, with the black of the eyeballs barely visible. His hands kept quivering and his arm was dotted all over with needle-marks.
Harivadan started sobbing. It was a slow, painful sob; The kind which possesses the heart of those who listen to it and makes them pray for it to stop. Some other bums on the street heard it.
"Hey mister, why don't you leave her alone?" they questioned Anant angrily. "Her?" Anant shouted. "HER?" His mind was numbing.
"Well don't ask us, but thats how she likes to be referred to. Just leave her and go."
"That's the last thing I am going to do. He's my friend and I am taking him home with me." Anant shot back. As he said those words, some clarity returned to his mind & he was invigorated with a sense of purpose.
He addressed the person who lay in front of him:
"Harry, my dear friend, you are coming home with me..."
He looked up. There was something familiar about the voice. That unsure intonation, the tentativeness, the inhibited familiarity which it reflected, all aroused distant memories, like a song heard earlier but forgotten - one on the tip of his tongue but beyond his mental capacity to name. Was it even a material memory, or one which had its genesis inside his mind?
The man who had uttered that name stepped forward. Harivadan could barely make him out in the fused contours of his surroundings. He had long ceased to distinguish between man & animal, friend & foe, living & non-living. It was much easier for him to derive comfort in the confines of his thought, shaping things as he wanted them to be. All was perfect. Who would bother about the material?
"My God, Harry. What has happened to you? What have you done to yourself? Oh God this is too much for me to see!" Harivadan sensed something that he had not sensed in many years - the disarming concern of a friend, repugniated by the degradation he sees in front of him. At last he could place the voice.
He could not allow it to continue. One more word and he would be undone. His beautiful ideation of the world around was coming crashing to an end & leaving him with a sick feeling; A feeling that the material world was calling out to him again to rejoin; A world that he had left far behind, many years ago...
"Harry!" Anant poked his head inside the room. "Will you get up! The test starts in 5 minutes!" Harivadan, embracing the pillow with a dreamy smile on his lips, muttered something unintelligible. "Oh God, get up! The last end term and you wanted to party. There's a limit to things. Get up......"
Harivadan snapped out of his stupor. The figure was advancing towards him. The dim outline gave way to the troubled visage of a man who has aged by years in just a few moments. Anant Verma stood in front of him at last.
Anant stared with horror at the wasted figure in front of him. Slouched against the garbage bins, long-haired, dirty and unkempt. His face was marred with garish make-up, rouge cris-crossing his lips & cheeks, eyelashes over-done with mascara. He was dressed in a loose skirt-type garment. His eyes had a vacant stare - dull white, with the black of the eyeballs barely visible. His hands kept quivering and his arm was dotted all over with needle-marks.
Harivadan started sobbing. It was a slow, painful sob; The kind which possesses the heart of those who listen to it and makes them pray for it to stop. Some other bums on the street heard it.
"Hey mister, why don't you leave her alone?" they questioned Anant angrily. "Her?" Anant shouted. "HER?" His mind was numbing.
"Well don't ask us, but thats how she likes to be referred to. Just leave her and go."
"That's the last thing I am going to do. He's my friend and I am taking him home with me." Anant shot back. As he said those words, some clarity returned to his mind & he was invigorated with a sense of purpose.
He addressed the person who lay in front of him:
"Harry, my dear friend, you are coming home with me..."
Phenomenal WSJ article...
A manifesto for slow communication:
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970203550604574358643117407778.html
Marvelous. Simply marvelous.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970203550604574358643117407778.html
Marvelous. Simply marvelous.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Asterix & the Global Financial Meltdown...
In times like these, when we are in the throes of the worst recession since the last 60? years, Asterix is a good read.
Particularly the "Obelix & Co." issue. I am forced to marvel at the predictive power of Rene Goscinny & Albert Uderzo.
It serves as a very simple illustration of the whole genesis of this crisis. It also serves as a warning as to where we may head from here if the crisis doesn't get over.
The plot starts innocently enough, with Julius Caesar seeking a way to defeat the indomitable Gauls.
Enter Cauis Preposterus, a brash, confident young graduate of the Latin School of Economics - the archetypal Investment Banker of the Ancient World.
"Just how would you set about weakening the Gauls with their magical strength?" Caesar asks.
"Easy, O Caesar. Gold, the profit motive will enfeeble them and keep them busy. We must corrupt them" replies Preposterus.
Notice how Preposterus projects the idea of money as the motive that can enfeeble the Gauls, who are leading peaceful lives so far because they have thus far concerned themselves only with real assets - boars, fish, potions, Romans...
"You shall have unlimited credit. Get to work, Preposterous."
Sounds startlingly in sync with the actions taken by Alan Greenspan and the Federal Reserve - when in doubt, cut rates. Flood the banks with unlimited credit.
Preposterus leaves for the Gaulish village, meets Obelix and is all praise for his menhirs.
"How much is it?" He asks.
"I don't know, I usually swap them for something." says Obelix.
"I'll buy it. Two hundred sestertii." says Preposterus.
This represents another key component of the crisis - assets for which the fair value itself is not known. Or rather, assets which do not have any fair value.
This sets the cycle in motion. Preposterus tells Obelix that he will buy all the menhirs he can make. He also keeps increasing the price that he pays to Obelix for them.
Obelix has to produce more and more menhirs. He doesn't find the time to hunt boars anymore. He starts buying boars. More people start producing menhirs and they all need boars for which others start hunting.
Obelix has a lot of liquidity with him. Preposterus encourages him to boost his consumption, which Obelix did not really need to do.
"You want to start spending your sestertii. You need some smarter clothes. It's not the way for a man who's doing so well in menhirs to dress."
The result is that when the village pedlar comes with all sorts of consumption goods, Obelix buys all his stuff - just because he has the money to do so; Without the real need for buying them.
This of course, causes no end of jealousy. Everyone wants to have money. Obelix is like the first set of investors who made money in all the leveraged products & derivatives touted to them. The rest jumped in because they had to compete.
Everyone wants to make menhirs. Asterix gets Getafix to agree to provide magic potion to all the people in the village who want to make menhirs.
Getafix makes a very illuminating remark:
"The funny thing is, we still do not know what menhirs are for"
Bingo! An asset without intrinsic value, for which prices are continually going up due to unlimited liquidity. In pursuance of this, the real economy is being abandoned. The stage is set for the crisis.
Caesar starts getting worried. His Treasury is being drained and he has menhirs which he doesn't know what to do with.
Preposterus tells him to package the menhirs and sell them to the Romans. Something that will make the neighbours envious, even if its utterly useless. Like the US secondary mortgage market. Package the NINJA (No Income No Job No Assets) loans into AAA securities.
And then starts the greatest marketing campaign in the Ancient World.
Preposterus also manages to come out with derivatives on the menhirs - togas, jewellery, sundials and a do-it-yourself menhir kit.
"We have peace with the Gauls, and thanks to them we are going to make a real killing too!"
A slight problem surfaces. The Romans start making menhirs too. Caesar is forced to drastically reduce prices for the Gaulish menhirs. People are stuck with menhirs and they don't know what to do with them.
Prices start falling drastically. Phoenicians, Egyptians & Greeks also start flooding the market with menhirs. In the end people don't want menhirs even as free gifts.
Caesar accepts the losses and writes them down. But there's another problem...
A nervous Preposterus tells him "I wanted to keep the peace in Gaul, so before I left I gave orders for them to go on buying menhirs and raising the price."
Caesar is furious. He tells Preposterus to go and reverse the orders immediately.
Obelix has come back to his senses by then.
"I am bored and I have had enough now. Everyone has lots of sestertii. Everyone's the most influential man in the village."
The Romans stop buying the menhirs. The Gauls are at a loss as to what they can do. They have people working for them who have to be paid and they are no longer getting any money.
Obelix is initially blamed for the crisis, but Asterix makes the villagers see sense. They realise who is ultimately responsible for the crisis. They attack the Romans and all's well that ends well.
Getafix tells Asterix:
"I hear there's a grave financial crisis in Rome, though I don't know what caused it. Anyway, they have devalued the sestertius. Big heap menhir makers stony broke." A killer line!!
Considering that it was written in 1976, its eerily in line with what has largely happened in this Crisis. Remarkable.
It serves as a reminder of what happens when common sense is abandoned and people start paying more and more for assets which lack intrinsic value, driven by the lust for yield and profits, just because they have the liquidity. A bubble builds.
And sadly, always, the bubble bursts...
Particularly the "Obelix & Co." issue. I am forced to marvel at the predictive power of Rene Goscinny & Albert Uderzo.
It serves as a very simple illustration of the whole genesis of this crisis. It also serves as a warning as to where we may head from here if the crisis doesn't get over.
The plot starts innocently enough, with Julius Caesar seeking a way to defeat the indomitable Gauls.
Enter Cauis Preposterus, a brash, confident young graduate of the Latin School of Economics - the archetypal Investment Banker of the Ancient World.
"Just how would you set about weakening the Gauls with their magical strength?" Caesar asks.
"Easy, O Caesar. Gold, the profit motive will enfeeble them and keep them busy. We must corrupt them" replies Preposterus.
Notice how Preposterus projects the idea of money as the motive that can enfeeble the Gauls, who are leading peaceful lives so far because they have thus far concerned themselves only with real assets - boars, fish, potions, Romans...
"You shall have unlimited credit. Get to work, Preposterous."
Sounds startlingly in sync with the actions taken by Alan Greenspan and the Federal Reserve - when in doubt, cut rates. Flood the banks with unlimited credit.
Preposterus leaves for the Gaulish village, meets Obelix and is all praise for his menhirs.
"How much is it?" He asks.
"I don't know, I usually swap them for something." says Obelix.
"I'll buy it. Two hundred sestertii." says Preposterus.
This represents another key component of the crisis - assets for which the fair value itself is not known. Or rather, assets which do not have any fair value.
This sets the cycle in motion. Preposterus tells Obelix that he will buy all the menhirs he can make. He also keeps increasing the price that he pays to Obelix for them.
Obelix has to produce more and more menhirs. He doesn't find the time to hunt boars anymore. He starts buying boars. More people start producing menhirs and they all need boars for which others start hunting.
Obelix has a lot of liquidity with him. Preposterus encourages him to boost his consumption, which Obelix did not really need to do.
"You want to start spending your sestertii. You need some smarter clothes. It's not the way for a man who's doing so well in menhirs to dress."
The result is that when the village pedlar comes with all sorts of consumption goods, Obelix buys all his stuff - just because he has the money to do so; Without the real need for buying them.
This of course, causes no end of jealousy. Everyone wants to have money. Obelix is like the first set of investors who made money in all the leveraged products & derivatives touted to them. The rest jumped in because they had to compete.
Everyone wants to make menhirs. Asterix gets Getafix to agree to provide magic potion to all the people in the village who want to make menhirs.
Getafix makes a very illuminating remark:
"The funny thing is, we still do not know what menhirs are for"
Bingo! An asset without intrinsic value, for which prices are continually going up due to unlimited liquidity. In pursuance of this, the real economy is being abandoned. The stage is set for the crisis.
Caesar starts getting worried. His Treasury is being drained and he has menhirs which he doesn't know what to do with.
Preposterus tells him to package the menhirs and sell them to the Romans. Something that will make the neighbours envious, even if its utterly useless. Like the US secondary mortgage market. Package the NINJA (No Income No Job No Assets) loans into AAA securities.
And then starts the greatest marketing campaign in the Ancient World.
Preposterus also manages to come out with derivatives on the menhirs - togas, jewellery, sundials and a do-it-yourself menhir kit.
"We have peace with the Gauls, and thanks to them we are going to make a real killing too!"
A slight problem surfaces. The Romans start making menhirs too. Caesar is forced to drastically reduce prices for the Gaulish menhirs. People are stuck with menhirs and they don't know what to do with them.
Prices start falling drastically. Phoenicians, Egyptians & Greeks also start flooding the market with menhirs. In the end people don't want menhirs even as free gifts.
Caesar accepts the losses and writes them down. But there's another problem...
A nervous Preposterus tells him "I wanted to keep the peace in Gaul, so before I left I gave orders for them to go on buying menhirs and raising the price."
Caesar is furious. He tells Preposterus to go and reverse the orders immediately.
Obelix has come back to his senses by then.
"I am bored and I have had enough now. Everyone has lots of sestertii. Everyone's the most influential man in the village."
The Romans stop buying the menhirs. The Gauls are at a loss as to what they can do. They have people working for them who have to be paid and they are no longer getting any money.
Obelix is initially blamed for the crisis, but Asterix makes the villagers see sense. They realise who is ultimately responsible for the crisis. They attack the Romans and all's well that ends well.
Getafix tells Asterix:
"I hear there's a grave financial crisis in Rome, though I don't know what caused it. Anyway, they have devalued the sestertius. Big heap menhir makers stony broke." A killer line!!
Considering that it was written in 1976, its eerily in line with what has largely happened in this Crisis. Remarkable.
It serves as a reminder of what happens when common sense is abandoned and people start paying more and more for assets which lack intrinsic value, driven by the lust for yield and profits, just because they have the liquidity. A bubble builds.
And sadly, always, the bubble bursts...
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Sympathy for the Bubble Machine...
Please allow me to introduce myself
I'm a Bank of wealth and taste
I've been around for a long, long year
Stole many a man’s soul and faith
And I was round when John Thain
Had his moment of doubt and pain
Made damn sure that Bank Am
Washed his hands and sealed his fate
Pleased to meet you
Hope you guess my name
But what’s puzzling you
Is the nature of my game
I stuck around Wall Street
When I saw it was a time for a change
Killed Lehman & Bear Stearns
Richard Fuld screamed in vain
I became a Bank
Held a Bonus Rank
When the Crisis raged
And the Bailouts stank
I watched with glee
While your Banks & Funds
Declared bankruptcy
And I charged a fee
I shouted out,
Who destroyed Citi
When after all
It was you and me
So let me please introduce myself
I’m a Bank of wealth and taste
And I laid traps for oil punters
Who got killed before they squared away
Pleased to meet you
Hope you guessed my name
But what’s puzzling you
Is the nature of my game
Just as every banker is a criminal
And the public officials saints
As heads is tails
Just call me Goldie
Cause I’m in need of some restraint
So if you meet me
Have some courtesy
Have some sympathy, and some taste
Use all your well-learned politesse
Or I’ll lay your capital to waste
Pleased to meet you
Hope you guessed my name, um yeah
But what’s puzzling you
Is the nature of my game, um mean it, get down
Tell me baby, what’s my name
Tell me honey, can ya guess my name
Tell me baby, what’s my name
I tell you one time, you’re to blame…
(With apologies to the Rolling Stones)
Saturday, June 27, 2009
The Writer & The Painter - The Conclusion
"Do you accept this task, my friend?"
"Yes" she replied.
"Well then, start. What, do you think, will your first painting look like?"
"I know what it will represent. I do not know what it will look like. I have to visualize an idea. I do not know what I will end up creating. This is what separates a painter from a non-painter."
She set to work. She toiled night & day. Her hand danced on the canvas, at times tentative & unsure, at times in rhythm with a melody heard only by her. Her excitement became more & more palpable as she gave shape to the first of the paintings.
He became obsessed with what the first output would be. Wondering, guessing, analyzing. All else was secondary. He could not even start writing the book.
She presented it to him.
He took one look at it, and his face was red with chagrin & consternation.
"A master painter such as you, and you have drawn only one line."
"It is no ordinary line. Take a look again. Do you recognize what this is?"
"No"
"This is the normal distribution curve."
"And why have you drawn this?"
"I have drawn it for what it represents - possibility. The normal distribution typefies that. Under it lies entirety, wholeness. The sum of the area under it is 1. It is a mapping on the plane of life - from hope to possibility. And it extends till infinity. No matter how small the chance of something happening is, it is there. You exist in possibility. Your task was to make people realise that no matter what the desired outcome, it was possible. Your task was never to take people to their destination; You only gave them the the belief that they could make it there."
He remained silent. He had no answer.
She quietly continued with her 2nd painting. Many days passed.
When she brought it in front of him, nothing could have prepared him for the scene which unfolded. It was the most gruesome painting he had ever seen. He could not bear to look at it.
If this was her idea of a garden, it was a cruel joke. Was there ever a garden such as this? It was strewn with human carcasses in place of flowers. The trees were all withered and dying. And in the midst of it all, a person stood with a pen. Blood flowed from the pen, and was sprinkled all over the garden.
He looked at her. His eyes asked a question.
She replied: "You can choose what you want to cultivate in the Garden of Life. You are now choosing to cultivate & nurture misery and hopelessness. Not just choosing - you are enjoying it. You enjoy fostering your own illness, watching it grow. You had a choice. This is the option that you have exercised"
He was left speechless.
Many days passed. The disease had begun to grow on him. His facial features had become terrible to look at. More and more inhuman. His skin hung in shreds while his eyes glowered with the melancholy brightness of fever.
This was nothing compared to the anguish of his soul. He wanted it to stop. He now realised what he had spawned.
She was ready with her 3rd painting.
He saw a woman and a baby near a cliff. The baby was the cutest one would have ever seen. A microcosm of life itself. It raidated warmth & joy. One would not be able to resist holding it to one's bosom. But what was this? The woman instead of cuddling it, had thrown it over the cliff with no regard for what might happen to it.
He leaned back in his bed. He had no strength to continue.
She spoke: "Do you believe that the woman created the baby? Or was she only a medium for creation? Do you believe you are a creator? If so, you must realise that you only have the right to create. With absolute detachment. Having created, you do not have control over your creation. You must give it up, as the woman gave up the baby. You created hope and you clung on to it. You wanted your creation to pass away with you. You wanted the attachment, the involvement of seeing it wither away. You do not have the luxury of that. Having created hope, you had to let it pass on. You were not meant to bother about what happened to it."
"I shall be leaving tonight. I have completed the final painting. I have kept it, wrapped. In return for all that I have done for you, I ask one favour. You must view it only when you are writing the final chapter of your book, just before you write it."
She left that very night.
Time kept passing. He lay lost in thought, seemingly oblivious to all that was passing him by. He could not wait longer. He felt that the time had come to finish the book. His grandiose ambitions had been shattered. Nevertheless, he thought. One line will suffice to sum it all up.
Remembering the painter's injunction, he took the package which contained the final painting. His hands trembling, he undid the paper around it and held it up.
He could not believe what he saw.
He saw himself. All the unsightly blemishes on his skin had vanished. His eyes radiated a spark of energy & positivity. His cheeks glowed with a bright hue, seemingly resonating with the mellifluous chirping of the birds outside. He realised it was dawn.
Underneath the mirror was written: "Reality is perception"
His hands now calm, he entered the first words of his book:
"It began..."
"Yes" she replied.
"Well then, start. What, do you think, will your first painting look like?"
"I know what it will represent. I do not know what it will look like. I have to visualize an idea. I do not know what I will end up creating. This is what separates a painter from a non-painter."
She set to work. She toiled night & day. Her hand danced on the canvas, at times tentative & unsure, at times in rhythm with a melody heard only by her. Her excitement became more & more palpable as she gave shape to the first of the paintings.
He became obsessed with what the first output would be. Wondering, guessing, analyzing. All else was secondary. He could not even start writing the book.
She presented it to him.
He took one look at it, and his face was red with chagrin & consternation.
"A master painter such as you, and you have drawn only one line."
"It is no ordinary line. Take a look again. Do you recognize what this is?"
"No"
"This is the normal distribution curve."
"And why have you drawn this?"
"I have drawn it for what it represents - possibility. The normal distribution typefies that. Under it lies entirety, wholeness. The sum of the area under it is 1. It is a mapping on the plane of life - from hope to possibility. And it extends till infinity. No matter how small the chance of something happening is, it is there. You exist in possibility. Your task was to make people realise that no matter what the desired outcome, it was possible. Your task was never to take people to their destination; You only gave them the the belief that they could make it there."
He remained silent. He had no answer.
She quietly continued with her 2nd painting. Many days passed.
When she brought it in front of him, nothing could have prepared him for the scene which unfolded. It was the most gruesome painting he had ever seen. He could not bear to look at it.
If this was her idea of a garden, it was a cruel joke. Was there ever a garden such as this? It was strewn with human carcasses in place of flowers. The trees were all withered and dying. And in the midst of it all, a person stood with a pen. Blood flowed from the pen, and was sprinkled all over the garden.
He looked at her. His eyes asked a question.
She replied: "You can choose what you want to cultivate in the Garden of Life. You are now choosing to cultivate & nurture misery and hopelessness. Not just choosing - you are enjoying it. You enjoy fostering your own illness, watching it grow. You had a choice. This is the option that you have exercised"
He was left speechless.
Many days passed. The disease had begun to grow on him. His facial features had become terrible to look at. More and more inhuman. His skin hung in shreds while his eyes glowered with the melancholy brightness of fever.
This was nothing compared to the anguish of his soul. He wanted it to stop. He now realised what he had spawned.
She was ready with her 3rd painting.
He saw a woman and a baby near a cliff. The baby was the cutest one would have ever seen. A microcosm of life itself. It raidated warmth & joy. One would not be able to resist holding it to one's bosom. But what was this? The woman instead of cuddling it, had thrown it over the cliff with no regard for what might happen to it.
He leaned back in his bed. He had no strength to continue.
She spoke: "Do you believe that the woman created the baby? Or was she only a medium for creation? Do you believe you are a creator? If so, you must realise that you only have the right to create. With absolute detachment. Having created, you do not have control over your creation. You must give it up, as the woman gave up the baby. You created hope and you clung on to it. You wanted your creation to pass away with you. You wanted the attachment, the involvement of seeing it wither away. You do not have the luxury of that. Having created hope, you had to let it pass on. You were not meant to bother about what happened to it."
"I shall be leaving tonight. I have completed the final painting. I have kept it, wrapped. In return for all that I have done for you, I ask one favour. You must view it only when you are writing the final chapter of your book, just before you write it."
She left that very night.
Time kept passing. He lay lost in thought, seemingly oblivious to all that was passing him by. He could not wait longer. He felt that the time had come to finish the book. His grandiose ambitions had been shattered. Nevertheless, he thought. One line will suffice to sum it all up.
Remembering the painter's injunction, he took the package which contained the final painting. His hands trembling, he undid the paper around it and held it up.
He could not believe what he saw.
He saw himself. All the unsightly blemishes on his skin had vanished. His eyes radiated a spark of energy & positivity. His cheeks glowed with a bright hue, seemingly resonating with the mellifluous chirping of the birds outside. He realised it was dawn.
Underneath the mirror was written: "Reality is perception"
His hands now calm, he entered the first words of his book:
"It began..."
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Darr to think beyond the IIMs...
3 interesting links:
http://gauravsabnis.blogspot.com/2005/08/fraud-that-is-iipm.html
http://www.jammag.com/careers/n/showart.php?art_id=149
http://careers360.in/lead-story/iipm---best-only-in-claims.html
Please note the dates. Some things just continue...
Disclaimer: The content / text / opinions etc on each website mentioned above are the respective responsibilities of their owners.
http://gauravsabnis.blogspot.com/2005/08/fraud-that-is-iipm.html
http://www.jammag.com/careers/n/showart.php?art_id=149
http://careers360.in/lead-story/iipm---best-only-in-claims.html
Please note the dates. Some things just continue...
Disclaimer: The content / text / opinions etc on each website mentioned above are the respective responsibilities of their owners.
Friday, June 5, 2009
The Writer & The Painter - Chapter II: The Task
At last, she met him.
She now understood why the house was the way it was. It was his spirit which embodied it. There was nothing to differentiate the house from the man, and the man from the house.
He gave her a glance of one who has long awaited something & finally sees it fructifying. He started to speak:
“I must go straight to the task for which I have called you here”
“You probably have heard of me as the greatest writer the world has seen. Yes, I have written books of great inspiration. I have provided comfort and joy to millions of people. I have delved deep into the meaning of life, its enjoyment in all forms, its purpose, goals and achievements. I have motivated. I have taught. I have received unstinted praise and admiration for all that I have done. The world has acknowledged me as a benefactor of the human race”
“But they are all wrong”
“I am a sinner. A sinner the scale of which the world has never seen before. I am a sinner worse than the most debauched, murderous & bloodthirsty tyrants seen by mankind. History has had sinners who have plundered, tortured, looted, killed & cheated people. I am a sinner because I have implanted an idea. An idea that is completely untrue.”
“I thought that life is meaningful; that there are things worth working towards, that there are objectives worth achieving; that hope is worth hoping for. I thought I was endowed with a gift – the gift of spreading hope to those who need it. I believed it to be my sacred duty in this world. The juxtaposition of words provided me with the means to do so. People have learnt to hope because of me. People have learnt to work towards making their lives meaningful because of me. I have been their saviour, their messiah. I am the one who has kindled their spirit in order that they may pass with flying colours in the examinations that life presents”
“But Providence, it seems, loves to prove a point”
“I came to know yesterday that I am suffering from a disease. It’s so rare that it has no name. Doctors are completely clueless. They say it’s incurable. They only know that it will keep consuming me. It will defile my body and corrode my spirit. It will make my countenance unbearable for anyone to see. And I will die a very painful death”
“And now you see the point. Was there ever such a fall as mine? One who was once the toast of the world, reduced to such triviality; like the entrails of a dead animal discarded by the roadside, fit only for vultures to feed on! What had I set out to achieve, and what have I been reduced to? Why was I the one chosen to lead when I was to be carried off midway?”
“I have been wrong all along. We seek so much from life. We work so much for it. We think. We feel. We do. And in the end, it all comes to nothing. It’s all gone without a trace. There is nothing that we control. There is nothing that it leads to.”
“There is nothing more inhuman then to have made people believe in an idea which is not true. For when people believe in something, it takes possession of their soul. They live for the idea and are often willing to die for it as well. They shape their reality by the ideas which constitute them. They spend their lifetimes in pursuing it. And when the idea turns out to be false, it destroys them. Nothing remains. Nothing“
“Who could be a bigger sinner than one such as me; one who has committed genocide not of bodies, but of spirits?”
“I am an idea, my friend. I am an idea whose time is over. I am idea which must be uprooted, wrenched out from the minds of everyone on the face of this earth. I must redeem myself”
“Until such time as is available to me, I shall spend on writing a book; but not just any book. It will be a book which tells the tale of despair, of the nought that all journeys must come to in the end. It will haunt and possess everyone who reads it. It will disturb the reader, snatch away his peace of mind and ensure that he does not ever dare to hope again”
“And finally, my destruction must be captured in the book. Nothing shall be left to chance or to imagination. I must be irrevocably decimated in the mind of the reader”
“You are a painter renowned for drawing the veil from the many shades of tragedy in life. Your canvas has been a chaotic splash of paints drawn from the palette of gloom and wretchedness."
"Throughout time, painters have depicted events, people, divinity, nature and abstractions. You, my friend, will depict the demise of an idea. You shall paint my last days on earth; you shall capture my ruin; the undercurrent of the unalterable uselessness of life shall adorn each one your paintings; each sibilant stroke of your brush shall be a nail in my coffin”
“Reality, is perception…”
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The Writer And The Painter - Chapter I: The House
She stared.
Never before had a mere building so forcefully imposed a personality upon her. If ever an inanimate structure could have personified loneliness, this was it. The house didn't seem to care for the world of which it was a part.
She felt the angry reluctance of it's walls, anguished at being forced to co-exist as a bridge with the world instead of being left alone. She wondered what purpose the walls served. Did they serve to protect and contain the fears and insecurities of the one who resided within or did they just accentuate his despair and gloom?
It stood alone, blank, immune to all hope and ambition. It carried the putrid odour of a thousand dreams buried; It was a house that revelled in nurturing the supreme miseries of life.
And yet the ordinary observer would have noticed nothing. He would merely have seen one of the finest mansions in the country, renowned as that belonging to the most famous writer in the world, one who had outsold every author in history and inspired millions of people with his gift of word weaving.
Thats what most people would have seen. For most people can only observe reality. But she, unfortunately, was one of the few who could feel it as well.
Of all the asymmetries of life that she recollected this was perhaps the most skewed. A house such as this, and a writer such as the one she was to meet.
No one else, she was sure, would have had a stranger task ahead...
Never before had a mere building so forcefully imposed a personality upon her. If ever an inanimate structure could have personified loneliness, this was it. The house didn't seem to care for the world of which it was a part.
She felt the angry reluctance of it's walls, anguished at being forced to co-exist as a bridge with the world instead of being left alone. She wondered what purpose the walls served. Did they serve to protect and contain the fears and insecurities of the one who resided within or did they just accentuate his despair and gloom?
It stood alone, blank, immune to all hope and ambition. It carried the putrid odour of a thousand dreams buried; It was a house that revelled in nurturing the supreme miseries of life.
And yet the ordinary observer would have noticed nothing. He would merely have seen one of the finest mansions in the country, renowned as that belonging to the most famous writer in the world, one who had outsold every author in history and inspired millions of people with his gift of word weaving.
Thats what most people would have seen. For most people can only observe reality. But she, unfortunately, was one of the few who could feel it as well.
Of all the asymmetries of life that she recollected this was perhaps the most skewed. A house such as this, and a writer such as the one she was to meet.
No one else, she was sure, would have had a stranger task ahead...
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Pearls After Swine...
Dear Investor:
Swine flu is a pandemic that is fast spreading across the world and remains a high risk to global economic development.
Clients who wish to hedge their Swine Flu exposures may now consider our Global Swine Flu (tm) Index - An investable currency basket split across asset classes and geographies which uses our proprietary Swine Universal Amalgamated Regressor (SUAR) Model to determine optimal portfolio constituents for complete de-risking.
For the first time ever, investments in this Index are jointly guaranteed by the Fed & the IMF along with the BOJ, ECB, BOE, SNB, ILO & WHO; A study has shown that making pigs safer to eat could boost global GDP output by 0.00002133%, thus offering significant upside potential to global growth prospects.
Our key recommendations based on the model are:
1) Long MXN against CNY
Historically, the number of any sort of cases reported in China (whether they be of swine flu or human deaths) is always less than the actual number, whereas in the current crisis the number of cases reported in Mexico is higher than the actual. To exploit the undervaluation of the MXN, investors can go long at current levels; Decimation of the Mexican Economy is a key downside risk.
2) Short USD against all currencies
The US response to any bad news in any field in any part of the world has been to print more US dollars. The flu crisis will also lead to more dollar printing (to serve as handkerchief replacements) which should lead to further dollar weakness. Major event risks include Timothy Geithner & Ben S Bernanke. With the exit of George Bush, bombing of pig-breeding countries is not a high-probablility risk, though that may form part of the next round of fiscal stimuli.
3) Long INR against all currencies
The Indian economy will be unaffected by Swine Flu. Diseased pigs have ruled India for the last 60 years anyway and the local population has developed complete immunity to any such threats. We recommend going long INR.
4) Long currencies of Osama sightings
The market is pricing a significant possibility of Osama being dead. This gives a boost to fears of Swine Flu as people will eat pork with more impunity if Osama is dead. Swine Flu concerns will recede in countries where Osama is sighted and tactical longs may be entered into accordingly. Getting assassinated before TPing remains a key downside risk.
DISCLAIMER:
Any analysis included in this document is being provided for decorative purposes only. Structure pricing is a function of market liquidity & H1N1 vaccine availability. Market investments are subject to sanity risks. Please do not read the offer document too carefully before investing.
Swine flu is a pandemic that is fast spreading across the world and remains a high risk to global economic development.
Clients who wish to hedge their Swine Flu exposures may now consider our Global Swine Flu (tm) Index - An investable currency basket split across asset classes and geographies which uses our proprietary Swine Universal Amalgamated Regressor (SUAR) Model to determine optimal portfolio constituents for complete de-risking.
For the first time ever, investments in this Index are jointly guaranteed by the Fed & the IMF along with the BOJ, ECB, BOE, SNB, ILO & WHO; A study has shown that making pigs safer to eat could boost global GDP output by 0.00002133%, thus offering significant upside potential to global growth prospects.
Our key recommendations based on the model are:
1) Long MXN against CNY
Historically, the number of any sort of cases reported in China (whether they be of swine flu or human deaths) is always less than the actual number, whereas in the current crisis the number of cases reported in Mexico is higher than the actual. To exploit the undervaluation of the MXN, investors can go long at current levels; Decimation of the Mexican Economy is a key downside risk.
2) Short USD against all currencies
The US response to any bad news in any field in any part of the world has been to print more US dollars. The flu crisis will also lead to more dollar printing (to serve as handkerchief replacements) which should lead to further dollar weakness. Major event risks include Timothy Geithner & Ben S Bernanke. With the exit of George Bush, bombing of pig-breeding countries is not a high-probablility risk, though that may form part of the next round of fiscal stimuli.
3) Long INR against all currencies
The Indian economy will be unaffected by Swine Flu. Diseased pigs have ruled India for the last 60 years anyway and the local population has developed complete immunity to any such threats. We recommend going long INR.
4) Long currencies of Osama sightings
The market is pricing a significant possibility of Osama being dead. This gives a boost to fears of Swine Flu as people will eat pork with more impunity if Osama is dead. Swine Flu concerns will recede in countries where Osama is sighted and tactical longs may be entered into accordingly. Getting assassinated before TPing remains a key downside risk.
DISCLAIMER:
Any analysis included in this document is being provided for decorative purposes only. Structure pricing is a function of market liquidity & H1N1 vaccine availability. Market investments are subject to sanity risks. Please do not read the offer document too carefully before investing.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
His Mirror of Erised...
He looked into the mirror.
He saw a hermit, perched atop a snow-capped mountain. Trudging along with his bare feet in the frosty wind, quivering with every gust but going on determinedly. He was about to reach the top...
The image faded.
He saw a young couple bent over a baby in a cradle. Their eyes were shining with joy. The baby gave a radiant smile in his sleep, secure in the knowledge that there were two people in the world ready to do anything for him...
The image changed.
He saw a young man & woman walking on the pomenade. She was speaking animatedly, pouring her heart out. He was listening, in rapt attention, with the invisible beam of trust & understanding encouraging her to go on...
The image blurred.
He saw a man shouting instructions to a group of people. The man was full of tremendous vitality. They all listened to him as one. They knew that those without hope could hope, with him around...
The image vanished.
He saw a man get out of a super luxury car and walk up to the stage. The thunderous applause of a hundred people greeted him, as the mike announced "The award for the Indian Business Leader of the Year goes to..."
The image disappeared.
He saw a group of people at a dinner table. Smiling, laughing without a care in the world. Each one happy with the sheer pleasure of being together...
The image did not stay.
The mirror was turbulent now. Nothing was visible. He was trying to decipher, trying to see the image which would fit, the one which would stay...
Then it cleared. Slowly, steadily, unwavering, undisturbed.
And he saw himself, exactly as he was at that instant.
He saw a hermit, perched atop a snow-capped mountain. Trudging along with his bare feet in the frosty wind, quivering with every gust but going on determinedly. He was about to reach the top...
The image faded.
He saw a young couple bent over a baby in a cradle. Their eyes were shining with joy. The baby gave a radiant smile in his sleep, secure in the knowledge that there were two people in the world ready to do anything for him...
The image changed.
He saw a young man & woman walking on the pomenade. She was speaking animatedly, pouring her heart out. He was listening, in rapt attention, with the invisible beam of trust & understanding encouraging her to go on...
The image blurred.
He saw a man shouting instructions to a group of people. The man was full of tremendous vitality. They all listened to him as one. They knew that those without hope could hope, with him around...
The image vanished.
He saw a man get out of a super luxury car and walk up to the stage. The thunderous applause of a hundred people greeted him, as the mike announced "The award for the Indian Business Leader of the Year goes to..."
The image disappeared.
He saw a group of people at a dinner table. Smiling, laughing without a care in the world. Each one happy with the sheer pleasure of being together...
The image did not stay.
The mirror was turbulent now. Nothing was visible. He was trying to decipher, trying to see the image which would fit, the one which would stay...
Then it cleared. Slowly, steadily, unwavering, undisturbed.
And he saw himself, exactly as he was at that instant.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Dearth Song
What about cash in hand
What about the vain
What about all the returns
That you said we were to gain…
What about killing markets
Is there a time
What about all the things
That you said was yours and mine...
Did you ever stop to notice
All the losses we've had before
Did you ever stop to notice
The crying Earth the weeping shores?
What have we done to the world
Look what we've done
What about all the yield
That you pledge your only son...
What about rising markets
Is there a time
What about all the dreams
That you said was yours and mine...
Did you ever stop to notice
All the assets dead from store
Did you ever stop to notice
The crying Earth the weeping shores
I used to dream
I used to glance beyond the MTMs
Now I don't know where we are
Although I know we've drifted far
Hey, what about past performance (What about us)
What about commodities (What about us)
The markets are falling down (What about us)
I can't even invest (What about us)
What about the bleeding fund (What about us)
Can't we feel its wounds (What about us)
What about intrinsic worth It's our planet's womb (What about us)
What about MBS (What about it)
We've turned assets to dust (What about us)
What about retailers (What about us)
Have we lost their trust (What about us)
What about carry trades (What about us)
We're ravaging securities (What about us)
What about interest rates Cut despite our pleas (What about us)
What about the Holy Street (What about it)
Torn apart by greed (What about us)
What about the real economy (What about us)
Can't we set it free (What about us)
What about investors dying (What about us)
Can't you hear them cry (What about us)
Where did we go wrong Someone tell me why (What about us)
What about the man (What about us)
What about the crying man (What about us)
What about Buffet (What was us)
What about crashes again Do we give a damn…
[With apologies to Michael Jackson]
Sunday, April 12, 2009
The Cribber adviseth...Come back to life!
So this is what a friend had to say, post his 26th birthday...
"first thing
stop thinking abt what ppl think abt you
dont type just read
step by step
first take the class list and point out people who you were very regular with or u really like and now think have changed or are no longer good people
send them a text saying " I am sorry for everything..."
they deserve a second chance and u should give them one
then whoever calls back or messages back answer them in more than 20 words not like hmmm... or yes... or no... long complete sentences
end the conversation by i miss you... i dont think u have ever done this
thatss to make yourself realize that u miss the people and u r losing out on prescious time
then write this whole thing down in your blog so that reinforces the feeling
then maro 50 sit ups and go for a brisk walk
no music
look at the couples
and try and gauge how they met
i mean at juhu beach
think of allt he ridiculous stories u can come up with
let your mind run wild
if the guy looks nice anf the girl not nice
its like he was in a car she in a bus
but he loved the way her hair was flying
and she had the most beautiful eyes
he just chucked his work and followed her till dindishi agar from colaba when she got off
he went to her and said that i dont this often but i just had to tell you how beautiful your eyes are and then they dont meet for 2 years
again one day at best house red light their eyes meet
and she had a smile in her face
and so on and so forth
but remember this is not a task
jsut try and get in touch with your good feelings inside
get emotional
miss the love of your life if any
cry if it makes u cry
let go
stop thinking what people want u to think
be yourself
and no music
others' words are worthless
listen to yourself
do it baby
you deserve yourself..."
"first thing
stop thinking abt what ppl think abt you
dont type just read
step by step
first take the class list and point out people who you were very regular with or u really like and now think have changed or are no longer good people
send them a text saying " I am sorry for everything..."
they deserve a second chance and u should give them one
then whoever calls back or messages back answer them in more than 20 words not like hmmm... or yes... or no... long complete sentences
end the conversation by i miss you... i dont think u have ever done this
thatss to make yourself realize that u miss the people and u r losing out on prescious time
then write this whole thing down in your blog so that reinforces the feeling
then maro 50 sit ups and go for a brisk walk
no music
look at the couples
and try and gauge how they met
i mean at juhu beach
think of allt he ridiculous stories u can come up with
let your mind run wild
if the guy looks nice anf the girl not nice
its like he was in a car she in a bus
but he loved the way her hair was flying
and she had the most beautiful eyes
he just chucked his work and followed her till dindishi agar from colaba when she got off
he went to her and said that i dont this often but i just had to tell you how beautiful your eyes are and then they dont meet for 2 years
again one day at best house red light their eyes meet
and she had a smile in her face
and so on and so forth
but remember this is not a task
jsut try and get in touch with your good feelings inside
get emotional
miss the love of your life if any
cry if it makes u cry
let go
stop thinking what people want u to think
be yourself
and no music
others' words are worthless
listen to yourself
do it baby
you deserve yourself..."
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Why so serious...
I saw "Dark Knight" yesterday. Again. The difference being that this time it was in the IMAX Dome in Wadala. An awesome cinematic experience. The Dome setting brought out the appeal of the visual imagery, the action sequences, the sounds of the movie.And I was left marvelling yet again at the insane vagaries of one of the most terrifying villains of all time (whether fictional or real) - The Joker.
It is not easy to understand exactly why the Joker is so scary. You watch his antics, you watch his horrifying deeds and slowly, like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, things start falling in place. But one does not get a complete picture.
The Joker as an antagonist is frightening because he shakes your beliefs to the very core and does something truly unexpected - he far exceeds the set of normal "expected unexpecteds" that you have implanted in your mind.
People set rules, regulations and impose restrictions on themselves in order to ensure a beneficial social order, in order to prevent excesses, in order to develop a sense of progress an achievement. They attempt to understand, to adapt to their environment & then to manipulate it to their advantage - to control, to direct towards such ends as each one might have.
The Joker turns all of this on its head. He's a self-described agent of Chaos, who does not believe in rules. He does not have ends. He has means, & in the absence of ends, does not know what to do with them. He's like "A dog chasing cars", who would not know what to do with one if he caught one.
It amuses him to see people who try to control things. People who formulate plans and who think things will go go according to them. He wants to prove that that people do not know what to do once their plans fall apart. He's an entity who wants to test the infallibility of people merely to prove that they are going to fail. He pushes them to their limits to prove that they will falter.
The Joker thinks that people desire control over their surroundings, their environment, their fate, other people. It is to such people that the Joker poses a threat. He brings them down to their knees. He brings down the Mob, which hungers for money & harbours the notion that things will be back to normal once Batman is dead. He brings down mentally-ill people, who, relatively blamelessly, believe that they will regain control of their minds with the Joker's help. He brings down the corrupt police officials, who betray their fellow officers for money. He brings down Jim Gordon, who in his zeal to capture him, overlooks the danger of corrupt people within his own team. His greatest triumph is the fall of Harvey Dent, the incorruptible White Knight of Gotham City, who is maddened by the loss of the woman he loves and who blames the external environment for it. Dent loses control over himself; He starts believing in the fairness of Chaos; He believes that it was an indecent world which was cruel to him & the way to tackle it, the only morality is, Chance.
How does one defeat such a person? Men like the Joker only want to "Watch the world burn". They are not looking for anything logical. They cannot be bullied, reasoned with or bribed. As he says when Batman is interrogating him for Dent's & Rachel's locations, "You have nothing, nothing to threaten me with."
The way out lies in realising the gap in the Joker's ideology, the one thing that he has not bargained for - People who exercise control only over themselves, instead of everything else. Those are the people who are able to defeat the Joker. Rachel Dawes, who does not flinch from death right till the end. The people in the two ships who master their fear & let their trust in humanity surface; The ones who choose to not succumb to the mistrust induced by him. And most importantly, Batman. The one who chooses to see himself become a villain, an outlaw, a hated figure - because HE's internally at peace with what he is doing, because he knows what he is doing is right. He does not seek control over the opinion of the people of Gotham City. He does not desire fame, adulation, praise. He's able to let go of it all because of his steely resolve, the belief that what he's doing is right. He realises that he has control only over himself, he can only shape things by the way he reacts to situations.
The Joker is a villain of our times - senseless, purposeless, without any morals or rules. I see him in various forms everywhere - in criminals who commit the most dastardly crimes, in terrorists who kill innocent people, in the driver who kills in a fit of road rage, in the student who goes on a shooting spree, in the distressed executive who commits suicide, in the intolerance of the moral police & religious fundamentalists - everywhere when people lose control over themselves & become agents of Chaos.
Without a doubt, one of the finest characters created in cinematic history.
Friday, March 27, 2009
The Apology
Experimental, in a way;
THE APOLOGY
She looked at his tear-stained face.He hadn't stopped crying since she came. She knew it would be ok with time, he would regain his composure, she just wanted it to be as soon as possible. She was frightened. She had never seen him cry before.
"Blood pressure abnormally high. My God, she's sinking. Nurse, NURSE!!!"
They went for a walk. The garden was so refreshing, in the cool winter days. It's going to be ok, she assured him. Things would be fine. Count on me.
"She's going into cardiac arrest. We will need to do an emergency operation."
He was smiling by now. She was quite pleased with herself. I can convince anyone, she thought. Just a little bit of reassurance, it always works. He's just a kid...
"Too late. Too late. Inform her relatives."
"You hate me, don't you?" The parting remark caught her by surprise. Her face froze with shock, as the taxi sped away.
The door swung open, a man stepped in. He saw the immobile figure lying on the bed.
He turned back & bitterly regretted the impulse which had made him say that. Ah well, I will apologise, he thought. She always listens.
The man stood still. The doctor looked at him quizzically.
They told him they had no idea where she had gone. She had just packed up and left.
The doctor asked him gently "Did you know the lady?" "I thought I did", he replied.
Vanished without a trace. It was hopeless. No one knew of her whereabouts. He searched & searched in vain.
THE APOLOGY
She looked at his tear-stained face.He hadn't stopped crying since she came. She knew it would be ok with time, he would regain his composure, she just wanted it to be as soon as possible. She was frightened. She had never seen him cry before.
"Blood pressure abnormally high. My God, she's sinking. Nurse, NURSE!!!"
They went for a walk. The garden was so refreshing, in the cool winter days. It's going to be ok, she assured him. Things would be fine. Count on me.
"She's going into cardiac arrest. We will need to do an emergency operation."
He was smiling by now. She was quite pleased with herself. I can convince anyone, she thought. Just a little bit of reassurance, it always works. He's just a kid...
"Too late. Too late. Inform her relatives."
"You hate me, don't you?" The parting remark caught her by surprise. Her face froze with shock, as the taxi sped away.
The door swung open, a man stepped in. He saw the immobile figure lying on the bed.
He turned back & bitterly regretted the impulse which had made him say that. Ah well, I will apologise, he thought. She always listens.
The man stood still. The doctor looked at him quizzically.
They told him they had no idea where she had gone. She had just packed up and left.
The doctor asked him gently "Did you know the lady?" "I thought I did", he replied.
Vanished without a trace. It was hopeless. No one knew of her whereabouts. He searched & searched in vain.
"She passed away very peacefully. More peacefully than most".
He heard her whispering softly. He heard her peals of laughter. Most often he heard her voice - clear, limpid, as smooth as the waves gently crashing against the sea-shore.
"What is your relation to to the deceased?". "I never could figure that out myself" he replied.
He felt he was going mad. Loneliness would kill him. He had to be surrounded by people all the time. Life had to go on.
"Is there anyone whom we can inform?" "I am here, now", he said.
He had seen her walk into the hospital. Here was the chance he had been waiting for. Soon, it would be all right. He would know peace again.
A woman came into the room shouting "Did you find her?" and stopped. She spoke no further.
"Yes, she was admitted a few days back. Not too long, so the Doc tells me. Ah well, the poor woman..."
"You are still waiting. Is there something that you would like to do?" "No, now there is isn't"
The doctor stared at the man. In his wrinkled face he saw a young boy, terrified. He could not comprehend what the boy realised - tha the apology had taken too long in coming...
A Prayer...
Reach.
Reach for the morning Sun, the gently blowing Breeze, the azure Sky, the sweet caress of your Parents' hands on your cheeks...
Smile.
Smile unrestrained, with the hopeful anticipation of better things to come, with the promise the future brings, with the innocent enthusiasm of a baby at peace with the world...
Talk.
Talk to your friends, relieve their pain, each one who is agonized for bearing an untold story inside him, they are still there, they haven't walked away...
Trust.
Trust the aut0-rickshaw driver to get you home, trust the watchman to be up & vigilant at night, trust the intention, trust the person...
Let Go.
Let go - fear, doubt, guilt, regrets - let it all go; State the obvious; Become an open book...
Live.
Reach for the morning Sun, the gently blowing Breeze, the azure Sky, the sweet caress of your Parents' hands on your cheeks...
Smile.
Smile unrestrained, with the hopeful anticipation of better things to come, with the promise the future brings, with the innocent enthusiasm of a baby at peace with the world...
Talk.
Talk to your friends, relieve their pain, each one who is agonized for bearing an untold story inside him, they are still there, they haven't walked away...
Trust.
Trust the aut0-rickshaw driver to get you home, trust the watchman to be up & vigilant at night, trust the intention, trust the person...
Let Go.
Let go - fear, doubt, guilt, regrets - let it all go; State the obvious; Become an open book...
Live.
Monday, March 23, 2009
A tribute to Anthea Bell & Derek Hockridge...
Rather an odd tribute, one would think.
But I am a die-hard fan of the Asterix series. The kind who can quote call-outs verbatim; Many of the issues I do not even need to read; I can play it like a slide-show in my mind.
Which is why it never ceases to amaze me how wonderfully Anthea Bell & Derek Hockridge have translated an essentially French series (in language, but more importantly, in character as well) into full-blooded Queen's (Dictator's?) English, while preserving the spirit of the original.
The first thing that strikes me are the names. The Bard, a torture for the auditory senses, is named Cacofonix, while the old gentleman with a pretty & young wife is named Geriatrix (incidentally his wife is the only major village character which is never named in the entire series, apart from the village itself - YES, the village is NEVER named in the entire series!) Dogmatix is one of the best-named characters - He's actually a very dogmatic character (witness his howling whenever a tree is cut)
The names of one-time characters are even more mirth-inducing. Many of the British characters are named after esoteric taxes - Getafix's British druid friend is called Valueaddetax (in Asterix & The Goths), while a trainee legionary is called Selectiveemploymentax (in Asterix the Legionary). Another favourite name is Courtingdisastus (in Asterix in Corsica); The pun on his name when one of the Corsicans warns his sister about flirting with Romans is too funny!
The beauty lies in revealing something about the character through his name and always ending it appropriately - ix for the Gauls, ic for the Goths, us for the Romans & a for the Ladies. So you have a scheming Gaulish traitor named Uptotrix (in Asterix & The Banquet), a tough Briton chief (in Asterix in Britain) named a after a line from Hamlet (Mykingdomforanos) & a decadent Roman Governor named Varius Flavus (in Asterix in Switzerland).
And now. the repartee, the conversations, the lines. One can go on and on and on, but to pick out a few: (Warning: Read the original, to get the full drift of the remarks!)
Asterix in Switzerland: The entire sequence in the beginning, when Vitalstatistix sacks his shield-bearers, is a sublime classic; Some sample lines:
"The Chief will lose his standing in the tribe if he throws his weight around like that" (In a reference to Vitalstatistix falling off his shield)
"He's been removed once, but you mustn't shake him too hard even if he asks you to" (Obelix says this for Anticlimax, Asterix's first cousin once removed, who had previously asked Obelix to shake him by the hand)
Asterix & The Big Fight:
Cassius Ceramix, the Roman stooge chief after challenging Vitalstatistix to the Big Fight, says "Gloria Victus! I turn my back on you" & turns around on his shield, after which his shield-bearers turn & he is facing Vitalstatistix again.
"No, not you! If you also turn back, then I get back where I started!"
Asterix & the Banquet:
Obelix is interrogating the traitor Unpatriotix; He ask's him which place the Romans have captured & taken Asterix to;
"Divodurum"
"I don't care whether you have ordered rum or not! You don't soften me up like that!"
Asterix & The Secret Weapon:
One of the village ladies argues with Cacofonix:
"Oh, so a woman can't be a bard"
"No Ma'am, shes barred from being a bard"
He gets bashed left right & centre.
Asterix observes his black eye and remarks:
"No holds barred, eh?"
Genius. Pure genius.
But I am a die-hard fan of the Asterix series. The kind who can quote call-outs verbatim; Many of the issues I do not even need to read; I can play it like a slide-show in my mind.
Which is why it never ceases to amaze me how wonderfully Anthea Bell & Derek Hockridge have translated an essentially French series (in language, but more importantly, in character as well) into full-blooded Queen's (Dictator's?) English, while preserving the spirit of the original.
The first thing that strikes me are the names. The Bard, a torture for the auditory senses, is named Cacofonix, while the old gentleman with a pretty & young wife is named Geriatrix (incidentally his wife is the only major village character which is never named in the entire series, apart from the village itself - YES, the village is NEVER named in the entire series!) Dogmatix is one of the best-named characters - He's actually a very dogmatic character (witness his howling whenever a tree is cut)
The names of one-time characters are even more mirth-inducing. Many of the British characters are named after esoteric taxes - Getafix's British druid friend is called Valueaddetax (in Asterix & The Goths), while a trainee legionary is called Selectiveemploymentax (in Asterix the Legionary). Another favourite name is Courtingdisastus (in Asterix in Corsica); The pun on his name when one of the Corsicans warns his sister about flirting with Romans is too funny!
The beauty lies in revealing something about the character through his name and always ending it appropriately - ix for the Gauls, ic for the Goths, us for the Romans & a for the Ladies. So you have a scheming Gaulish traitor named Uptotrix (in Asterix & The Banquet), a tough Briton chief (in Asterix in Britain) named a after a line from Hamlet (Mykingdomforanos) & a decadent Roman Governor named Varius Flavus (in Asterix in Switzerland).
And now. the repartee, the conversations, the lines. One can go on and on and on, but to pick out a few: (Warning: Read the original, to get the full drift of the remarks!)
Asterix in Switzerland: The entire sequence in the beginning, when Vitalstatistix sacks his shield-bearers, is a sublime classic; Some sample lines:
"The Chief will lose his standing in the tribe if he throws his weight around like that" (In a reference to Vitalstatistix falling off his shield)
"The Chief is bent on getting a good angle on things. Proves what you can do if you have got the inclination" (Asterix & Obelix are carrying him on the shield; He is in an inclined position because of their height difference)
"He's just serving half a pint of mild & bitter" (Obelix alone is carrying Vitalstatistix like a waiter, Vitalstatistix complains of feeling like a half-pint chief & being a mild man who is now feeling very bitter)
Asterix in Britain:"He's been removed once, but you mustn't shake him too hard even if he asks you to" (Obelix says this for Anticlimax, Asterix's first cousin once removed, who had previously asked Obelix to shake him by the hand)
Asterix & The Big Fight:
Cassius Ceramix, the Roman stooge chief after challenging Vitalstatistix to the Big Fight, says "Gloria Victus! I turn my back on you" & turns around on his shield, after which his shield-bearers turn & he is facing Vitalstatistix again.
"No, not you! If you also turn back, then I get back where I started!"
Asterix & the Banquet:
Obelix is interrogating the traitor Unpatriotix; He ask's him which place the Romans have captured & taken Asterix to;
"Divodurum"
"I don't care whether you have ordered rum or not! You don't soften me up like that!"
Asterix & The Secret Weapon:
One of the village ladies argues with Cacofonix:
"Oh, so a woman can't be a bard"
"No Ma'am, shes barred from being a bard"
He gets bashed left right & centre.
Asterix observes his black eye and remarks:
"No holds barred, eh?"
Genius. Pure genius.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
XL Memories I: Kung-Fu Ganjeshwarnath...
An XL superjunior, known to me only as "Bitchy Offliner" suggested that writing about Sundays was toooooo boring.
"Pray expound", he beseeched; "On thy wealth of experiences at XLRI; The rich cultural heritage & legacy which you left behind"
As always, I fell to the occassion.
I wish I had something glamourous to write about. Perhaps something like this:\
A teetotaller for 2 years
Didn't attend a single wet night
Passed out as the Batch Topper
Got drunk in the final convocation wetnight
Danced as he had never danced before
Proposed to the love of his life at Dimna, as the sun rose
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye
Naaaah.
Instead, I will write about my 1st year XL room-mate, Aditya Jhawar and an incident which still brings a smile to my face.
It was in the sultry summer days (July, perhaps). I was sitting quietly in the room, doing some assignment. Jhawar had gone for a bath. The second time that day. My God. Even once was a drag for me.
After he came back, I heard a buzzing sound in the room. Made me feel really queasy. I look all around, petrified and then I SAW.
The most gigantic insect I had ever seen. It menacingly circled over my head; I almost shrieked. A fresher who has live all his life in a metro is not the most formidable of opponents for a creature like that.
My face was convulsed. Aditya couldn't figure out what was wrong. He just saw my dazed countenance and was mystified. I pointed a trembling finger toward the apparition and managed to sputter out "udhar dekh".
Aditya spun around. He sized up his adversary. They circled each other for quite some time. Aditya was galvanised steel. He had turned into a leader of men. It was him and the Insect. A fight to the finish. Winner take all. No pity. No mercy. No regret.
Aditya took out his Brahmastra - the towel which he had just thrown onto his bed. He began wielding it like a champion of champions, cutting currents of air with the sheer impact. His eyes never wavered. It was death to the man that lost his nerve.
The Insect darted towards him. A brutal frontal assault. Aditya spun around, unperturbed. His towel was still drawn at the ready. Every muscle tense. Waiting for the right moment.
The Insect swerved & went to the rear. It caught him by surprise. It was a split-second. I shouted at precisely the time when it was about to deliver a killing blow, Aditya just turning around, towel in hand...
I opened my eyes. Aditya was standing, beaming. The Insect was nowhere to be seen.
Kung-Fu Ganjeshwarnath had vanquished the oppressor. The world was at peace.
"Pray expound", he beseeched; "On thy wealth of experiences at XLRI; The rich cultural heritage & legacy which you left behind"
As always, I fell to the occassion.
I wish I had something glamourous to write about. Perhaps something like this:\
A teetotaller for 2 years
Didn't attend a single wet night
Passed out as the Batch Topper
Got drunk in the final convocation wetnight
Danced as he had never danced before
Proposed to the love of his life at Dimna, as the sun rose
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye
Naaaah.
Instead, I will write about my 1st year XL room-mate, Aditya Jhawar and an incident which still brings a smile to my face.
It was in the sultry summer days (July, perhaps). I was sitting quietly in the room, doing some assignment. Jhawar had gone for a bath. The second time that day. My God. Even once was a drag for me.
After he came back, I heard a buzzing sound in the room. Made me feel really queasy. I look all around, petrified and then I SAW.
The most gigantic insect I had ever seen. It menacingly circled over my head; I almost shrieked. A fresher who has live all his life in a metro is not the most formidable of opponents for a creature like that.
My face was convulsed. Aditya couldn't figure out what was wrong. He just saw my dazed countenance and was mystified. I pointed a trembling finger toward the apparition and managed to sputter out "udhar dekh".
Aditya spun around. He sized up his adversary. They circled each other for quite some time. Aditya was galvanised steel. He had turned into a leader of men. It was him and the Insect. A fight to the finish. Winner take all. No pity. No mercy. No regret.
Aditya took out his Brahmastra - the towel which he had just thrown onto his bed. He began wielding it like a champion of champions, cutting currents of air with the sheer impact. His eyes never wavered. It was death to the man that lost his nerve.
The Insect darted towards him. A brutal frontal assault. Aditya spun around, unperturbed. His towel was still drawn at the ready. Every muscle tense. Waiting for the right moment.
The Insect swerved & went to the rear. It caught him by surprise. It was a split-second. I shouted at precisely the time when it was about to deliver a killing blow, Aditya just turning around, towel in hand...
I opened my eyes. Aditya was standing, beaming. The Insect was nowhere to be seen.
Kung-Fu Ganjeshwarnath had vanquished the oppressor. The world was at peace.
A good Sunday...
Its been a good Sunday so far.
To begin with, I went for a brisk walk. On the beach. 45 minutes. My place to Juhu Chowpatty. 5 km. I have had so many concerned people telling me to shape up. My well-rounded personality is a potential health hazard.
Then I got my hair sheared. It was a sugarcane field in miniature. Took a great load off my mind. I know why Dilip Menda is so stress-free these days.
Then, I started this blog. And I already have two comments, by two valued people.
Just Googled for songs with the title "Sunday"
There's one by Sarah Brightman called "Tell me on a Sunday":
"Don't write a letter when you want to leave
Don't call me at 3 a.m. from a friend's apartment
I'd like to choose how I hear the news
Take me to a park that's covered with trees
Tell me on a Sunday please
Let me down easy
No big song and dance
No long faces, no long looks
No deep conversation
I know the way we should spend that day
Take me to a zoo that's got chimpanzees
Tell me on a Sunday please
Don't run off in the pouring rain
Don't call me as they call your plane
Take the hurt out of all the pain
Take me to a park that's covered with trees
Tell me on a Sunday please..."
To begin with, I went for a brisk walk. On the beach. 45 minutes. My place to Juhu Chowpatty. 5 km. I have had so many concerned people telling me to shape up. My well-rounded personality is a potential health hazard.
Then I got my hair sheared. It was a sugarcane field in miniature. Took a great load off my mind. I know why Dilip Menda is so stress-free these days.
Then, I started this blog. And I already have two comments, by two valued people.
Just Googled for songs with the title "Sunday"
There's one by Sarah Brightman called "Tell me on a Sunday":
"Don't write a letter when you want to leave
Don't call me at 3 a.m. from a friend's apartment
I'd like to choose how I hear the news
Take me to a park that's covered with trees
Tell me on a Sunday please
Let me down easy
No big song and dance
No long faces, no long looks
No deep conversation
I know the way we should spend that day
Take me to a zoo that's got chimpanzees
Tell me on a Sunday please
Don't run off in the pouring rain
Don't call me as they call your plane
Take the hurt out of all the pain
Take me to a park that's covered with trees
Tell me on a Sunday please..."
Sunday afternoon...
Sweating it out at home; The typical Mumbai heat
Havent swiched on the fan as usual; I dunno why I always forget to do that!!!
Phamily calls me for lunch; Just about to head for that
The lines penned by Manas ring through my head, without any context:
"The silence breaks her down, on the wall she hurts her hand
She don't know, nothing can hurt him now, not anybody, anything
Would you stay, stay for me...."
Be back after lunch...
Havent swiched on the fan as usual; I dunno why I always forget to do that!!!
Phamily calls me for lunch; Just about to head for that
The lines penned by Manas ring through my head, without any context:
"The silence breaks her down, on the wall she hurts her hand
She don't know, nothing can hurt him now, not anybody, anything
Would you stay, stay for me...."
Be back after lunch...
A fresh beginning, sans fresh promises...
This declaration is more for my own self, than for anyone else:
I, am not blogging, for any of the following:
1) To give the world a fascinating peek or sneak preview into my life, my thoughts, my opinions
2) To re-start from where I had left off 3 years ago when I became too lazy to update my blog
3) To find an outlet for any frustrations that I may have in life; broken dreams, broken relationships et al
And as to the reasons for blogging, the blog will justify itself...
I, am not blogging, for any of the following:
1) To give the world a fascinating peek or sneak preview into my life, my thoughts, my opinions
2) To re-start from where I had left off 3 years ago when I became too lazy to update my blog
3) To find an outlet for any frustrations that I may have in life; broken dreams, broken relationships et al
And as to the reasons for blogging, the blog will justify itself...
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