Naan ITR Kadavul

(translates to: Me the Income Tax Returns God)

Did it myself this year too. They make it more and more saral each year, really. Let me give you the highlights of this year's journey, which, if all goes well, will end tomorrow at the IT office.

1. Filled the form for the wrong assessment year. Which, in the 6th year of doing your taxes yourself, one should not make mistakes about.

2. Paid tax on bank interest
- added quarterly interests incorrectly (yes, used a calculator) AND
- filled the wrong challan AND
- for the wrong assessment year
Ended up paying more tax than necessary.

3. Wrote an application requesting the assessing officer to correct the assessment year. Dad dictated. I typed. Saved it in notepad. With the name "stupidity". Printed it. The application now has the word "stupidity" at the place traditionally reserved for the pilliyar shuzi (i.e. in the top center)

4. Dad and I got bhai to fill the ITR form. For the wrong assessment year. He was so exhausted by the end of it, i dont think he is filing returns again. Ever. Today dad brings up the point that he may not exactly be an employee.

5. Assess became the word i have most frequently typed/written over the past couple of days. Even more than semi-colon, which is probably not a word anyway? And every time i write that word, the first 3 letters stand out in bold and do a little dance.


Who says Gods dont make mistakes.


P.S. Next year the plan is to have a home loan. Whether i have a home or not. I have heard ITRs get terribly complicated if home loans are involved. So my ego will shut up and let me dump the whole thing on an agent.

Profundity

A pen found its way to the desk next to mine. No one calls it their home, the desk next to mine, but people often drop in on it, for work more than pleasure. So when i found the pen there, there wasnt one person i could trace it back to. I asked the most probable suspects, none of them owned up to the pen. I've always wanted to stand t my desk, and yell something out to the whole floor. So machchi market like it'd be! I didnt. Instead, i moved the pen to my desk. Where it lay (and still lays, this one has a happy ending. Or maybe, picture abhi baaki hai.) and occasionally was of use to me.

Now, if you've worked in a software company, you'll be wondering how i can recollect a pen. One pen is pretty much same as the other, and while finding an unexpected pen is always a pleasure, it never sticks around long enough for you to get to know it better. There is almost no place at the workplace where it cant get lost. Desk, conf room, coffee machine, drawer, loo... So, why?

This pen was different. Heavy. Metallic gold, with silver engravings. A _personal_ pen.

Pens do not stay secret for long. If you have one, people around you will come to know of it. And so, this pen too started getting borrowed. What was special about it though, was that it also came back. With startling regularity. Even when i gave it to people saying - i dont know whose it is. After 4-5 such excursions, a theory begun to form in my mind.

What if, this pen's looks are responsible for its coming back? It doesnt look like a typical office pen, so a) people remember who they took it from and b) they feel obliged to return it. It helps, i thought, that it looks expensive. (Only much later did i spy the Pierre Cardin written on it). The pen, its been on more than 15 outings now, and each time, its come back.

If i were a person with that bend of mind, i would write about how 3 such "special" pens could serve a whole floor much more efficiently than regular pens for each person and then maybe come up with a deeper economic theory. But i'm not. So i will simply say this. I might as well have found a cure for common cold.

Bang bang bang

If i had a fully loaded gun, all 6 rounds at my disposal, here's what i'd shoot. After, of course, a long winded speech describing the how, the why and dazzle all with the sheer genius-ness of my evil.

1. My leg

For disrespecting the powers of Vitamin D. For being the most high-maintenance part of my life. For the dull pain that makes me want to pull it out and throw it at people with good intentions.

2. Good intentions

Gah. Enough already! No no, i'm not talking about your good intentions, your good intentions are all good. But in general, they are choking me.

3. My head

For accommodating only two types of computational machinery.

Boolean circuits - hard-coded sections of my brain that give an instantaneous answer to a set of inputs, no feedback, no adaptation possible.

Infinite loops - that consume a lot of brain power but generate no answer.

The Universal Turing Machine would be so glad with my head. The halting problem, at least this once, will be no problem. (Ok fine. Just a joke. Laugh. Dont punch holes in my theory)

Not so long winded after all. Guess the movies have taught me something after all. Now, Looks like i've only managed to find 3 things to shoot at. I'm going to use two bullets on each, just to be sure.

And then i shall become fully headless langdi, and haunt the men's bathroom. Or the women's. How would i ever know.

You change my world

So you find yourself on this planet, see, with this life, and no one tells you why or what. There is you and there is this world and there is all this time, and you have to figure out how best to fill it up. Most people find something or someone of interest to them. They read, paint, draw (which, if recent discussions are to be believed, is not the same as painting), listen to music, watch sports, television, hell maybe even like their job. These are people with read-only access to the world.

Then there is that minority with read-write access. People who change the world, and by change i dont necessarily mean they discover laws of physics or be mass murderers. But simply, people who make the world more interesting for everyone else.

For no particular reason, i'd like to thank some of the people with read-write access to my world. Not at a personal level, you understand, more the sort of people you'd play the 20 questions game about.

In no particular order:

• Simon Singh. For opening me up to non-fiction
  
• Richard Dawkins. For making evolution so damn interesting
  
• Joss Whedon - for firefly. And the image of a lone guy losing to evil studio bosses. But living for ever. Maybe because of that defeat.
  
• Aaron Sorkin. For Studio 60, for a few good men, for the characters, for the writing.
  
• Friends. For making them real people.
  
• xkcd - for making me feel 'in" on an insider joke
  
• Bill Waterson. For Calvin. And Hobbes.
  
• Before Sunrise. For inspired execution of a simple idea.
  
• Douglas Adams, Terry Pratchett, P.G. Wodehouse. For making me laugh.
  
• ARR - For Aditi.
  
• Chuck Lorre - for The Big Bang Theory, but more for his vanity cards.
  
• Tintin
  
• Batman, Superman. For showing that struggles give meaning to victory
  
• Javed Akhtar - for his words. And his kids ;-)
  
• JK Rowling. For the world that lies beyond platform 9 and 3 quarters.
  
• The Irish accent. I dont know who i have to thank for this!
  

Some observations on my list:
- Where are the Indians? And the women??
- And the complete absence of people who have anything to do with CS, now what does that tell you? That CS needs heroes :P
- People who make me laugh are more likely to be up there than people who make me think.
- Fiction writers strangely dont find much representation. Maybe because while collectively they more or less form the basis of my existence, there is no one writer who i can pick.
- It might seem bit strange to see TV series up there. But these are not merely ones i like. I'm glad they exist in the word i exist.
- It is very likely that a few years down the road i'll look at this list and be embarrassed by some of the names i put in there. A few years ago, i might have put in Ayn Rand, Meg Ryan, Robert Ludlum, Cho (but after Enge Brahamanan, no way) but now you wouldnt catch me dead doing that. No Sir. Or Madam.

Anyone interested in taking this up as a tag? I'd love to know!

P.S. I have almost concluded that i am incapable of writing what i set out to write about. No, really. This post started out by being about how much not being able to remember things sucks. It makes the world less interesting that it could be.

I may be telling me to shut up

Pretty sentences get in the way of what i want to say. Sure, they make for great arm candy and impress people sometimes (myself included) but is that what I want a sentence for?

Well, yes.

Maybe until i learn to get pretty things to say what i want, i should say nothing at all.

Retail therapy

I am, as of today evening, an increasingly indifferent owner of a netbook. The whole process of ownership, from inception to execution, took less than 24 hours. Rather like that Solomon Grundy rhyme.

Vinaya's netbook
Conceived on Saturday
Late night. Over a chat conversation. When her official laptop got wet in the rain and drowned. Or should have. The keyboard developed a high sense of whimsy. The wireless wouldnt work.

Discussed on Sunday
Morning. You know how Sunday mornings are. You want it to be different but it rarely is. All the possibilities that could make it different are bought out of the cupboard, discussed and then safely stored for next Sunday. Like radical changes to room arrangements, big purchases of interesting but essentially unessential things, food from outside.

Googled on Sunday
Prefternoon. On the old one with the whimsical keyboard. Which ups the whimsy. Which makes me take the whole plan more seriously.

Checked out on Sunday
Afternoon. In shops across town. None of which have any of the models the Internet recommends. Seriously. Is this an alternate universe we live in, or merely an older version?

Regoogled on Sunday
Prevening. This time for models we do have in our universe. Fortunately, none of them the Internet spits on.

Bought on Sunday
Evening. On the last day in the life of that shop, so we get a discount. The salesman asks me， do you want it initialized. I say no, thanks. He says Are。You。Sure。Which of course raises all sorts of doubts in my head. (i know, i know). What do you mean by initialization, i ask him. He vaguely mutters about stuff their "engineers" do when the laptop is booted for the first time and takes me to one. Who then proceeds to set the time zone and enter the user name. I want to break my head. But wait, there is more "initialization" where he says no to the anti virus. Right. Extremely important, that.

Blogged on Sunday.
Night. So far so good.

Not long ago

in a city not at all far away, there lived a girl. There was this bunch of stuff she was supposed to do. You know how it is with stuff you are supposed to do. If it is in your way, you step around it. If it grows so big that it becomes impossible for you to step around, why, you sit where you are, lean your back against it and enjoy the view.

One day the stuff she was supposed to do was being a very persistent nagger. It wouldnt let her rest, no matter how much she tried to ignore it. Fed up, she decided to go looking for excuses.

She crossed mountains
she swam seas.
She fought dragons
and got stung by bees.

Finally she found one. And what a good looking excuse it was! Strong and sturdy. No loopholes, whichever side it looked at it. She bought the excuse home. The stuff she was supposed to do was waiting for her, having grown stronger from all that neglect.

She walked in
her head held high.
Leaned on the excuse,
and looked the stuff in the eye.

The stuff gave up. For the time being. It knew however, that as long as she was willing to go through all that just to look for an excuse, it was safe. Its only when she really started to look at the stuff that it had to worry.

She and the excuse went on to live. Not too happily. Not at all for ever after.


(P.S. Thats the second time its happened. One sentence inspires a post and at the end, that sentence is nowhere in the post! This one was to be about her finding an excuse and them living happily ever after and making little baby excuses.)

Astronomy (heaven and hell are covered under that, arent they?)

Bhai wakes up six-ish everyday and rushes to the gym. I get to sleep in, most days till after he gets back.

Hmm. I hope the sun has caught up and now rises from the west.

Hmm. If the sun did rise from the west, it'd mean the earth would be rotating the other way? And if that were to happen, would we get to see the dark side of the moon? Or does the earth influence the rotation of the moon too. Damn you Arthur C Clarke for making Space a real thing and our Solar System the place i would most like to go on a holiday to. You know, rent an asteroid, ride a comet. Visit the Jovian moons, Europa especially. What a pretty name.

Hmm. What happens when you damn dead people? Do they get demoted to hell if they've accumulated a certain number of damns? Or are the account books closed once they reach the gates. If they are already in hell, are they fried in oil rich in all the bad fats?

Hmm.

Shit Happens

Yeah. Everyone knows that. Which is why we have been passed on well developed techniques for dealing with it. God moves in mysterious ways, poorva janma karma, every thing happens for the best - whatever be your cup of irrationality. Its supposed to help you accept shit and move on. Not mope around wondering - why me? Why did i miss that step? Why was the exam so hard just this year? Why did that bird have to fly over my head just then?

But, leaving aside shit that is generated by the randomness that is this universe, there is shit that happens to you for a reason. I dont mean The Alchemist type reasons, the universe is trying to send you a message crap, i hated intensely disliked that book. The day i find myself quoting non-sarcastically from it will be the day that i die. Ahem. Coming back. Shit that happens to you because you did something or said something or should have done something. Shit that you can somehow link back to you. Shit that you can and should learn from.

Sometimes i find myself in such a hurry to move on that i fail to differentiate between random shit and causal shit. I rationalize, i look for excuses, i find them, i move on. Once i've convinced myself there is nothing i could have done, its all pretty simple. A shrug and its done.

And now, because i've just realized that this is exactly what the Serenity Prayer says, and says much better, i paste it here.

God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
The courage to change the things that I can;
And the wisdom to know the difference.

Vitamin Girl!

Its Friday evening. I write this flopped over a bed. Its raining outside, the wind strong enough to bring trees to their knees. The view from the window is nothing special, leaves from some random plant growing in the no-mans-land between our house and our neighbour's, whitewashed walls of a building in the background. But balance that against the fact that i'm home early enough to be able to look out of the window and see, the fact that the rains have spoken against a nasty summer, and the wind, oh the wind... kill me. Kill me now.

No? Okay. You've had your chance. I will now proceed to unleash upon your creation what, if you take out all the crap, will amount to me complaining about the state of my insides. Without having lived to an age that makes such behaviour tolerable.

No, sorry. Its too late now. I hope you've learnt not to waste your chances.


So this pain. If you'd ask me to tell you where exactly it pains, like any half intelligent person i've cornered to talk about my pain would, the best i could tell you until a few days ago was - lower left. It started somewhere in the lower left region and on days, went on all the way to the sole of my foot. Why it got tired of living such a scattered existence and developed a stronger sense of self, we may never know. What we do know however, is that a few days ago, after more than a month of vaguely wandering about, it focused its entire existence on a very specific part of the lower left. Thus giving me the confidence needed to go see a doctor.

Picking a doctor, ah, that was no easy task, given the fact that i've left my mark on every major ortho hospital in the city. Dad suggested i use the most recently used algorithm, which coincidentally threw up a doctor who minimized effort on my part while maintaining confidence-inspirability on his. Off i went.

He asked me to to lie down and wiggle my toes and touch them with my hands and stand on one foot and on another and bent my arms and legs but didnt get anywhere close to specific part, c/o lower left. All the time keeping up with a stream of medical jargon that, in spite of all the medical TV series i consume, i initially thought was directed at me. He finally explained the whole thing to me but by that time i'd zoned out. I heard "fitness condition blah bleh nerves blah vitamin deficiency blah blah blah blood test". Okay, sure. All i expect from a visit to the doctor is a cure. I'm fine not knowing anything else.

I came down to blood testing and i kid you not, they charged me 3K for it! Bloody Vitamin deficiency! Plus, one of the vitamins i was suspected to be deficient in was Vitamin D. I might as well have gone and stood out in the sun. The tests came back and what do you know, it was Vitamin D. Ridiculously low. If i hadnt been such a good kid at school and lets fact it, my mom handnt been teacher in the same school then the teachers would have asked me to stand out in the sun and none of this would have happened. No long term planning, i tell you.

At the end of the exercise, i now have:

1. a month's supply of Vitamin D tablets. Small, peach in colour and sweet. Much confidence that is supposed to inspire, leave alone build up bone strength!

2. weekly dose of vitamin D in sachet, to be drunk with milk. Milk? Who drinks milk anymore?

3. A prescription to include sunlight in my diet, between 11a.m. and 1 p.m. only. I've been imagining myself as multi-Vitamin girl ever since i heard vitamin deficiency, my super power coming from vitamin supplements. But this is even better! Now, between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m., all i have to go is go out in the sun and i become Vitamin Girl! Saving the universe from destruction, from 11 a.m. and 1 p.m. only. The rest of the time the universe has to look after itself.

4. A blog post


Its day 1. I already feel better.

P.S. Do sunscreens come in the way of absorption of Vitamin D i wonder. Or are their screens intelligent enough to only block out the UV?

Is cross

With herself. With how almost every aspect of life seems to have led to some bridge to be crossed. And with how she seems to have settled down on this end of the bridge. Built a house there, furnished it, has regular guests over. Even the postal department knows she lives at this end of the bridge. How she occasionally looks to that end of the bridge, imagines what life would be like if she crossed over, and goes back with a wistful sigh to what she has allowed life to become. How reality kicking in once is a while only causes discomfort with the status quo but no progress whatsoever. How the fact that she doesnt have to cross it all alone brings warmth but not courage.

Its not like she hasn't crossed bridges before. But crossing bridges you find yourself put upon is very different from finding yourself a bridge to cross.

P.S. At much stronger version of this post was in my head all evening. Where it went i dont know. Also, the following narrative from my one and only rafting trip was supposed to be woven seamlessly into the post. Why it is here looking like an unrelated sock that comes along when you pull out your woolen sweater from the cupboard i dont know.

It was a 3 day rafting trip. I dont usually get scared of climbing or falling or water or outdoorsy things in general, but this trip had a couple of genuinely scary moments.
One was when we were to cross a grade 3 rapid called the wall. A high rocky mountain on one side, with the narrow river crashing against the rocks. 90 percent change you raft would flip and in you would go into the Ganges, we were told. And it did. And in we went. Though there were life jackets, i spent a few scary minutes going up and back deep down into the water wondering if any of the rescue kayaks would reach me.
Another was at a rapid called Three Blind Mice. Mice 1 and 3 were harmless, but if you got pulled into the mice 2, you'd had it. There were rocks and we could see whirlpools all over the place. Our instructor had told us to simply follow his instructions. Paddle forward he yelled as we came out of mice 1. For some reason the people ahead of me thought he'd asked us to stop paddling and immediately stopped. What were they doing! OMG! I was sure we were crashing into mice 2. Fortunately he saw and yelled louder and they went back to paddling furiously and we escaped to mice 3. Which wasnt all that mild as we'd been led to believe. The raft went almost vertical a couple of times and i was sure the guys sitting ahead of me were going to fall on me.
We were almost at the end of our trip. There was a rock jutting out into the river at a very convenient height and location, and we were to jump off it. I dont get scared of such things, right? I saw people climbing up the rock, looking down, getting scared and the organizers having to push them off. And sniggered. When it was my turn, i went up, looked down and was ready to climb down with my tail between my legs, my reputation be damned, my forever dream of diving into water be damned, the fact that my friend had already jumped before me be damned. The organizer of course refused to let me go back and pushed me off. (I wish i could say it felt awesome, but it ended too quickly for me to actually register much).

That push, i think, is what i'm waiting for.

Paisa paisa

Remember Vinaya's head? Here's more where that came from. Triggered by a company i used to work for going public and leaving me better off than yesterday. To all those demanding a treat, this is it :P



What!

Yeah

Seriously?

Yeah

Just because we worked there 6 years ago?

Yeah

Damn, has it been that long?

[silence]

Okay, okay. Still no age talk.

Yeah

Its a very decent amount of money for having done nothing spectacular at all.

Yeah

Funny no, how money to us is more "just a number" than age is?

Not really

You think there will be a day when it'll mean as much as a good book or say, the beach?

No

Strictly means to an end, eh?

Yeah

If only we knew what the end was!

Dont we all

Cycle Agarbatti

Have you seen the cycle agarbatti ad? (The one i've linked to is in Hindi, but what i'm going to say was inspired by the Tamil version). Mom takes son to temple. Son asks - Mama, agar bhagwan nahi hote toh? With the toh repeated thrice for effect. The bells stop tolling, the sadhu stops counting his beads, birds fly off in temple, as if horrified at the very idea of such a question. And then, the world answers back. In the electricity board board workers perched fearlessly on umm... 10 feet tall poles, wearing what look like mining helmets. In the two college going girls who probably spend as much time studying as praying. In the little girl who idea of God seems to be some kind of Santa Claus who comes at night while you are sleeping and puts water inside your coconuts. In the taxi driver, the tight rope walker, the army...

So far so good. I had to work hard to make what little fun i made of the ad. This is the point where we switch to the Tamil version. Where a supposedly confident and reassuring voice informs us - Haan, bhagwan hain. Only, its not. Its scared and stubborn and sounds very much like its coming from someone who is trying hard to shut himself off to all evidence to the contrary.

But the best part is when the voice says - Cycle Agarbatti. That is when the penny drops. The voice is not worried about farmer crops or waterless coconuts or the well-being of little kids. What makes the voice squeak out Cycle Agarbatti in panic are the economic implications of the question. Agar bhagwan nahi hote toh cycle kaun jalata?

Note: All of this is very likely to be fanciful imagination on my part. In my defense though, the Hindi voice sounded perfectly confidant and reassuring. I dont think my fanciful imagination recognizes linguistic boundaries.

Morning walk

Warning: Long and pointless


"Your lower back should be straight."

She looked up from her push ups to see him standing next to her. She'd seen him by the stairs earlier, yet another person out for a morning walk in the university. "This way you'll have back pain. Keep you lower back straight and bend the upper back. Like this", he demonstrated. She looked on, wondering if upper backs could be bent voluntarily like that. She nodded. She'd understood, at least in theory. "Your turn now,", he said, standing up, "ten push-ups, the right way. And no stopping", he warned. She started. 5, 6, 7... He looked the other way for a second, she declared she was done. He gave a little snort, but said good and left. She yelled out her thanks to his back. She loitered for a while more, thinking of other exercises she could do outside of the gym.

It was when she was walking back that the unusualness of the situation hit her. We dont do that in our country, she realized. We are not friendly at first sight, we dont approach strangers, even in public places. We are probably world leaders in minding our own business. Except if you are old, she thought and chuckled. She hadnt seen her two favourite old morning-walk people in a while. The uncle who came with his walker, a helper, and the sunniest smile you could imagine. The first time he'd wished her good morning across the road, she'd stiffened, sure that she didnt know him, unsure of how to respond. The next time, she wished him back. And that is all it took for it to become a routine. And Pink Floyd Paati*. An old woman who wore a Pink Floyd t-shirt to her walk. She didnt know if it was the short hair or the twinkling eyes or the comfort she radiated, but it took all of two seconds for the t-shirt to stop being incongruous. Those are the kind of people you expect a smile from, she thought, not people from my own generation.

It was much later when she bumped into him again and he said she looked familiar and suddenly he seemed familiar too and they exchanged societies and house numbers that she found out that he lived just two houses away from her and had been doing so for the past 23 years. She'd heard of the cliche of course, but never imagined she'd be one of the people it'd be about. That should be a cliche too, she thought, how everyone thinks a cliche is something that happens to other people. P aunty's son he was. She couldnt believe. P aunty and her dog Caesar and the terror they inspired featured pretty prominently in her childhood memories. The cricket balls that found their way into P Aunty's garden and then went on to become Caesar's snack. The road they practically lived on as kids emptied in seconds if anyone so much as imagined Caesar being brought out for a walk. She'd heard of P Aunty's kids, of course. But this one was already a Bhaiyya** by then, and bhaiyyas unlike uncles and auntys had as little interest in you as you had in them. They wouldnt yell at you to keep the noise down, or shoo you away from the construction site because it was too dangerous. The lived and let lived.

Not such a small world after all, she thought, as she waved goodbye and got on her two wheeler at the University gate.



* grandma in Tamil
** as in Didi-Bhaiyya, used to address any older boy

Its the little things

Today at work this little one and i did something that if i'd seen someone else do, i'd have walked around all day with respect in my eyes. Its funny now, because today i'm both the respected and the respecting. As the little respecting girl i'm all awe and how did they fix that and i'd have never thought of it. As the respected, i know it was nothing more than perseverance and luck and open eyes. I also know:

- The more bored you are with your work, the more other people's problems will call out to you.

- Two heads are better than one. They think differently, but most importantly they make it fun. By which i dont mean to tell you to go Zaphod, although that might be kind of fun too.

- Victory needs an audience. Of a specific kind. Without which it seems incomplete. Insignificant. And this place has set the bar for the right kind of audience impossibly high.

Wait a minute. Does this make me a geek?

It all started with this a virus walks into a bar video. Monu started to send a staggering variety of mathematical concepts into a bar, as befits an academic. We then came up with a half decent one about a Turing Machine in a bar. Which i then proudly passed around. And it all ended when someone sent ME into a bar and i got kicked out because i was too little. Dont ask.

Anyway. Coming to the point, ever since the Turning Machine revelation, i've had this itch to send the folks sitting at various levels of the Chomsky Hierarchy into a bar.


Note: Though there is one representative from every level, i've sent either the machine or the language or both into the bar depending on whichever was easy. Anyone wants to fill in the blanks, feel free.

A Finite State Automaton walks into a bar. "Do we server Finite State Automatons", the new kid behind the counter asks his senior. "Of course", says the senior, "he's regular".

A Regular Expression walks into a bar. "What can i get for you sir", asks the new kid. The Regular Expression yanks something off the army uniform of the guy next to him and throws it across the bar. It goes and lands next to the drink of a guy sitting there. "He'll have what that guy is having", the senior translates, "and keep them coming".

A Pushdown Automaton walks into a bar. "We dont server PDAs", says the bartender. "Why not", whispers the new kid, "i hear they can go on forever". "Yes, but they are terrible at holding their drink", the senior says. "The see something new, and out pops the old".

A Context Sensitive Grammar walks into a bar. "Do we server him", asks the new kid. "Only if he came in with Tony and Williams", says the senior, "we dont want to be dropping him home now, do we".

And now for the one that started it all.
A Turing Machine walks into a bar. "We dont server Turing Machines", says the bartender. The Turing Machine shakes his head sadly and moves to another state.

Modesty compelled me to shut up, but modesty was bested by honesty. Someday, i'm telling you, these bar stories will be used to teach Theory of Computation to a generation of computer science students. A subject surprisingly easy to botch up. I should know, i've been through it twice - the wrong way and then the right way. The machines, the rules, they are all so pretty by themselves, its almost as if they are made for missing the woods for the trees.

I didnt do it

Have you ever been so overwhelmed by sleep or boredom that you had to find a place to put your head down and switch off for a bit? Have you even picked the loo to be that place? And woken up many many minutes later because of a cramp in the neck? Gone to splash water on your face and spotted something on your forehead that on closer inspection turned out to be the pattern on your sweater? Which has embedded itself there when you lay your head down on your hand and slept. A diamond shaped pattern with a deep vertical gash at the center. Have you then tried rubbing it off with water only to see it turn an angry red? Have you given up and gone and sat at your desk pretending to be in deep thought, one hand covering your forehead?

No? Me neither.

While we are talking about things you and i havent done, have you, as part of pretending to be in deep thought, wondered what would happen if you stuck the legs of the Dogbert toy on your desk into one of the POE ports on your desk? Would Dogbert be wired in and empowered? Would it bring that evil dog to life? And would that be such a bad thing? Having something in your life that can unhesitatingly be called evil, i mean. So you could hate it, put up pictures of it on a dartboard, plot to destroy it, dream about its downfall, all without a nagging sense of guilt. As opposed to being slowly but surely strangled by good intentions and not being able to respond, except with good intentions of your own.

If i had the source code

Do you have things that fall into "things you cannot change" category of the Serenity Prayer, you are wise enough to know it and yet you helplessly rage against it? There are many, now that i think of it, but the one i want to rage about now is the necessity of having to be dropped home if it gets late.

I hate it. Having people escort me halfway across town just because i decided to stay out late, no matter that they do it willingly, no matter that i'd have done the same if the positions were reversed, no matter that they tell me my company is worth the trouble (and i am vain enough to believe them). In fact i'll go all dramatic on you and tell you that late nights are when the chains of womanhood are most keenly felt.

What would the world be like, if i had the source code? It'd be an extended IITK campus, where time is just a number. Where the best memories are made at times considered unsuitable in the outside world. Where the only danger you face at night is an overly curious night watchman wanting to know which hostel you belong to.

Only, there'd be a little more wind.

Moonlighting

Prologue

Granny fainted. Fell down very gracefully, according to reports, so no bones were broken. However, she couldnt sit up on her own after that, leave alone move about. Several ambulance rides later, she finally settled down to life on a single cot in her room. As much as grannys are capable of settling down. She was more active lying on that cot than most people with 4 limbs in working condition. Her bouts of activity resulted in more falling down. And so the family high council decided to send me to keep night-watch and cry wolf if needed. Of course i slept on the job, choosing my sleeping position strategically so that if she ever fell down, an alarm would involuntarily escape my throat. Only problem was, people in their second childhood went to sleep at 9...

Chapter 1

To the idiot whose wi-fi signal spills over to my granny's bedroom,

Who the *&@#^% taught you to use WPA for your connection?? Such knowledge is most unexpected and disturbing at several levels. Do you have any idea what it does to my post dinner socializing? All i can do between 9 and 11 now is watch movies on my laptop.

Epilogue

Today i forgot to get headphones from home.

P.S.

(Yeah, my story has a P.S. You have a problem? )

Do not lecture me on the risks of using open wi-fi networks. If there is a hacker in this area, losing the few movies i carry around in my laptop'd be totally worth fishing him/her out!

Presenting...

At an age at which, if i'd been even remotely following the great Indian timetable, i should have presented two kids, one car and one husband, i, maybe not proudly but definitely unashamedly present - my new two wheeler!

Its finally home! Not without hiccups, where would be the fun in that. How does it change my life? Let me count the ways.

1. No more kicking the bike every morning. Apart from the physical damage to my back etc, it just felt wrong. I felt like one of those heartless people who overload an old donkey and beat it with a stick to make it go.

2. No more being forced to wear sports shoes to work because kicking in ahem, delicate sandals is not good. Not for the sandals, not for the foot.

3. No more getting into ridiculous situations.
I'm on my way to a friends birthday breakfast. I park near the restaurant (ironically named Good Luck) and reach for the key to shut off the vehicle, only to discover - no key! The damn thing has fallen off a running vehicle. After giggling for a while at the ridiculousness of not being able to shut off you vehicle, i decide to do something about it. I vaguely remember hearing a clang somewhere on the way and retrace my route. The one-ways along the way do their bit to help. No keys. No pink skateboard key chain bhai bought from Germany either. At this point, my brain has decided that even if for some reason the vehicle does stop, i will not be able to start it again without a key. You could be stranded in the middle of the road, it says. I dont reason why. I focus on keeping the engine running like my life depends on it. Take the vehicle to this faraway key maker i know because of one of my previous stupidities. He fixes me a new key in less than two minutes and tells me to keep it in my pocket at all times. Even while riding. Ride back to Good Luck, where folks are still patiently waiting and more importantly, so is the cake
That morning, a hole in the ozone layer is named after me.

4. No more polluting the city. Once the ozone layer forgives the above incident, maybe it and i can work on being friends again.

5. Out of a sense of shame that i didnt know i have, i'll be wearing a helmet from now on. Only problem is the helmet i have (and have had for ages) ENTIRELY COINCIDENTALLY just happens to be the same colour as my bike. Having laughed at colour coordinated people all my life, i'm not sure i have it me to do this.


P.S. In case your keys ever fall off, remember:
Bikes CAN be started without keys.The kick will work. So will the button start.
Pressing the choke shuts off the vehicle. If you ask me for the science behind that, i will ignore you.