This = rand(thots, 1)

• Watched Unnai Pol Oruvan last weekend. A great movie. Unlike the friends I went with, I haven't seen the original, A Wednesday. I think having not seen the original helped me to appreciate movie on its own context without the inevitable comparison. While watching UPO, it took me a while to see Kamal as a common man. As the movie progressed, Kamal - the character - grew in me. Except for dialogues (only at some instances), every aspect of the movie was almost perfect. And no, I didn't find MohanLal's accent irritating. I actually liked it.
  

• Kamal proves, yet again, he is one of the few people to take Tamil Cinema to the next level. I really admire the brilliance and versatility of the man - not only as an actor - but as a movie maker. He is one of the few persons who really understands the medium called cinema. Legend!
  

• A friend sent me this clip. Chakri Toleti, director of Unnai Pol Oruvan, is in it. Funny clip.

• Things have been busy in work front. The last month has been a huge learning curve and greatly rewarding. Along with other stuff I've got running in parallel, I am happy that I've accomplished what I set to do.
  

• Weddings. Kalyanams. Engagement parties. Nichiyatharthams...September was full on!

• Later this month, one of my best friends, is getting married in Auckland. At last, I am attending a TamBram wedding after god-knows-how-many years. I cant wait for Oct 23rd. Ganesaaa!

• I hate time zones. Why do all my good friends have to live in different timezones. Hmph!
  

• I was at IKEA this weekend. I don't know what's with that place, it's my second visit there and I am writing about it again. Two things: I saw the biggest bathtub I've ever seen in my life. It was a size of a small lake. Massive. I also saw a slam-proof toilet seat. I tilted the toilet lid, and watched it slowly and noiselessly descend and close with faint click. The saleswomen pitching for the product looked very pleased. I asked her "do you have one that lifts automatically when someone approaches?", and immediately added "...and lowers when they depart?". The saleswoman gave a blank look and said "ahhh. no. sorry." Men can sometimes forget to lift the seat. This can cause a degree of domestic disharmony. I am sure IKEA will fully expound on the sales potential of the automatic seat lifting toilet. I wonder what's next?
  

• NZ playing Australia today in Champions Trophy final now. Go the Black Caps! Underdogs vaazhgha!

• I have not had Rasam for more than three weeks now. I am craving for hot thakaali rasam with poricha appalam.

• This weekend is gonna be a cookfest.
  

• I am brushing up my MATLAB skills. It's been 3 years since I've worked on MATLAB/Simulink. Hence the title of the post.
  

It's a guy thing

The above video is running hot on TV at the moment. It's an ad on blokes. It celebrates typical blokey moments and achievements. The ad glorifies different kind of blokes there are, namely:

a. Blokes who punch above their weight
b. Blokes who peaked at high school
c. Blokes built like a brick house
d. Blokes who've had their arm in a cow
e. Men who wont eat their quiche
f. Men who should have read the instructions

and many others. Very funny!

After my experience with my friends last week, I feel the ad missed one group. Guys who are part of this group - you know who you are - will be gutted that such hard-done by blokes have not been recognised. I am talking about the blokes who've been invited (in some cases dragged along) to a September weekend wedding. You may chuckle and say what's the big deal? Why is this category important? Let me explain.

The month of September is special. If you are girl and living in the southern hemisphere, you may say September means it is the spring season. That means flowers. Freshness. All bloom. Romance is in the air. September brings with it new life and new beginnings. Basically, the month of Sep has all ingredients for a perfect wedding.

If you are guy, September is special too. Unlike Ms CuddlyWink's exhaustive list, it's only for a handful of things. The list reads: four weekends, NRL finals and AFL Grand finals. All finals spread out in those four glorious September weekends. HE would either in front of the idiot box or in the battleground (the stadium). There is nowhere else he would want to be. The place is Holy Grail.

Last weekend, it was NRL's preliminary finals night. Along with the-colour-of-my-blood-is-rugby mates, I was at our friend's wedding (groom) on the game night. The wedding was great. I was very happy for the couple and everyone had a great time. A true bloke doesn't miss his friend's wedding. Full stop. Gazza, a common friend, recollected with a serious face, looking down at his shuffling feet, that even last year he missed the NRL final. All because "there were so many bleeeeping weddings in September man. Bleep". Along with the wedding gift, Gazza had planned to give the groom (our mate) a wedgie for choosing this particular time for the wedding ceremony. He spared him because the groom secretly confessed that he had the same feelings too. Instead of a wedgie, the groom received a bear hug from Gazza. Aww...the brotherhood!

During the pre-ceremony drinks, people were standing around in clusters chatting away, it was hard to miss the constant undercurrent footy talk in the conversations. Anything about anything was somehow related to footy. We did try our earnest for a work around to get the live scores. The problem was we were in a church at a small town in the outskirts of the city. The church was on a hill (awesome views of the city!) and we had to drive through dense rain forest to get there. Expectedly, the church didn't have AM radio reception, it had a GSM connection that would load live updates in time for my sashtiapdhapoorthi*, and a 3G network which wasn't strong enough to load the web page. Guys were squirming on their seats. If there were no one was watching us, we would've all yelled in unison "pichukhooo" and sprinted towards the nearest place showing the live telecast.

...and that's actually what we did, but only after the wedding ceremony (no we didn't yell. jees.). We made our way into a local run-down pub showing the game. The regulars in the pub said we were the most well-dressed men to ever set foot in the pub's long history. We watched the last few minutes of the game. Gazza shed a few tears. It was...hmm...a special moment for him. His team won. Nothing melts a true Aussie bloke faster than to see his team in the spoils of victory.

Like any wedding, everyone was decked in their finery's. We looked sharp. The ladies were gorgeous. It's amazing the amount of prep ladies put into weddings. So much that one girl told me that wedding is all about the bride. Considering the state we were in, I couldn't disagree with her more. I was about to say something (not about the trivial matter of footy finals), then stopped. But then...

Weddings have their own rules. We all know rules can always be bent, if not broken. You see, we have a problem here. We have to attend the wedding but we are also deprived of the Rugby. Perhaps we can find a way to incorporate both football and wedding in an innovative way. Maybe the priest can probably do a score update during the ceremony like, "Do you Joe Bloggs, take Mary Jones, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, like a football which the New Zealand Warriors just landed over the try line to take the score to 16-14?"

Or, how about showing the live telecast (volume muted ofcourse) on a big LCD behind the bride at the reception. 100% attention guaranteed.

Or, how about this in a South Indian wedding. Imagine there is a ODI going LIVE between India and Australia. The sastrigal defies conventions and recites this informative Mangalayam Thanthuna nena

getti melam! getti melam!

(in ARR's tune for Mangalyam Thathuna nena)

Manglayam thanthuna nena

Australiaaa two eighty nine
Indha game-a nambha jeyikkhaa,
Tendulllkar adikanum sadham.

I am just saying...

:D

--

* Sashtiapdhapoorthi - celebration of 60th birthday

Riverfire

Thanks DF

The annual Brisbane Festival started this week with last night's Riverfire. Riverfire is an extravagant firework display show from three major Brisbane bridges, a select few skyscrapers in the CBD and few boats on Brisbane River.

This is my first time at the show and I have to say the fireworks display were absolutely stunning. For 30 minutes, over 600,000 people (yes, you read it right) who thronged the banks of the Brisbane River were treated to some breathtaking display of fireworks. The night sky was lit up in plethora of colours. Some firework burst into patterns/symbols like smiley face, heart symbol, two hearts merging etc, some fireworks were choreographed to burst with beats of popular songs by AC/DC, Lenny Kravitz and A R Rahman's Jai Ho (Pussycat Dolls version). The timing of beats and bursts was almost perfect. Fantastic work!

The OMG-this-is-too-good moment was the show's finale - dump and burn by F-111 fighter jets. The fighter jets zoomed over the CBD, flying fast and low, with the bright yellow trail of burning jet fuel. The F-111s were flying low enough I could feel the heat of the burnt fuel and the ground shake. The noise was just unbelievable.

Below is the video I managed take from my good old Powershot as I watched the F-111s in an open-mouthed wonder.

Note to self for next year's Riverfire: Don't trust Tiffanys Bar table booking. Arrive early. Secure a vantage point. Get the bloody SLR and take pics!

He is there

Thanks Traces

I started the day solemnly. My mind was restlessly skipping between that day and this day.

I was walking to the train station on my way to work this morning. I had an eerie feeling that someone was walking beside me. I slowed down and looked. There was no one. I knew it was him.

It's been a while since I've seen him. It's actually been a long time. So, I deliberately walk a little slower feeling he is lagging behind me. Maybe he'd catch up? I turn back. Again, no one.

I snuck in at work. I am in my cubicle, typing away. Suddenly, I look around as if someone called my name. Did someone call me? I don't know. I look around wondering where the voice came from. No one, again. Where is he?

Deciding to take a break, I come out. For a very brief moment, I saw him everywhere. I saw him in everyone. I saw his gentle smile splashed over people's faces. My colleague greeted me, I saw him and felt his warmth and cheerfulness. I re-lived his humour in the joke cracked at smoko, I heard his laughter when people laughed heartily. People seemed to be like a prism. They appear to disperse a particular quality, trait, gesture which were one of the many reasons I love him so much. I keep looking out for him, I don't see him though. He is on the other side shining brightly, too bright for lesser souls like me to see.

I ask myself, what's happening? I dunno. The mind does funny things on days like this. Certain moments and memories are poignant in ones life. This is probably his way of saying I am here. I am with you. I am watching ya! (the way Robert De Niro says it with that hand gesture in Meet the Fockers :D )

I sent an email to certain somebodys. It was a very short mail, just two words: 10 years.

I know you are there. I saw you today. I know you are watching me as I write this. I reach out to you all the time. The void that was created when you waved goodbye to us was never filled, it will never be filled. The memories and the lessons of love you inculcated in us helped us to get by. We miss you. You keep reminding us that you never left us. You appear to me in flashes - in the transience between happiness and tears, in the moment of transition from thinking wrong to thinking wise; you appear whenever we see ourselves the way you dreamed of seeing us. We see you when we look at life in your vision. I want to meet you again. It may be a while before I make the permanent shift from soul to spirit. Until then, I'll live with a renewed assurance that you are with me, with us. Always. In every little step, in every big leap - you'll be watching over us. You are, you definitely are.

Thatha, in memory of you with deepest gratitude, love and affection.

Tagged

Nirmal has tagged me. Thanks mate! :)

The rules for this tag are as follows:

1. Link the person who tagged you

2. The display of award on your blog with these rules

3. Reply to the questions below

4. Tag 7 people deserving the award according to you

5. Come back to BLoGGiSTa iNFo CoRNeR (PLEASE DO NOT CHANGE THIS LINK) at http://bloggistame.blogspot.com/ and leave the URL of your Post in order for you/your Blog to be added to the Master List.

Answers:

1. The Person who tagged you : Nirmal

2. His site’s url: realnirmal.blogspot.com

3. Date when you were tagged: 16 Aug 2009

4. Seven people I choose to tag are

My first award asked me to list 7 fav blogs. 7 obviously isn't enough because there are many fav blogs. I'll use this tag to add seven more blogs to the fav list.

Kavi's musings

I've been a quiet follower of Kavi's blog for sometime. I admire the way he puts his thoughts across. Kavi continually fascinates me with his observations and sightings . He has the uncanny ability to capture instances of daily life and eloquently put it in a wonderful perspective. His writings are very creative, it almost has a poetic touch to them. Kavi's blog is a pleasure to read. Way to go Sir!

Kokonad's Mostly Pointless

Witty and very entertaining. To a good writer, we say "you've gotta a way with words". To Kokonad, I say "you've gotta way with words, graphs and cartoons". Check out his photo blog. It's awesome too.

Foreign Desi

FD's blog is a potpourri of happenings in her daily life, her observations, posts on East v West divide, her thoughts & opinions (followed by probing questions) which reflect thinking of a confident and rational individual. FD is my first blog friend. Her blog tag line reads "Story of an Indian brought up in the West" - this, to a certain degree, applies to me so I relate well to her posts. FD always has an underlying sense of humour (with a tinge of sarcasm) in her writing. Interesting read, always.

The Mukund Perspective

Mukund is a newcomer to blogsphere. He has a strong command of the language which is quite evident with the seamless flow in his writing. His posts are honest and has the on-yer-face bluntness which I absolutely love. Mukund has written good reviews on movies & novels and has penned interesting posts on other aspects of life. I am looking forward to more great posts from the young fella.

Wits nNuts

This blog is funny. Witsy posts a funny picture series under the title "Bloopers and Sightings". He seems to be at the right place and right time! I haven't fully read the Singam Simmakanth series yet. Great blog.

Sriram's TRACES

This is the best photoblog I've seen. Sriram is a genius with the camera. Full stop.

Catherine's Cat in India

Catherine is a US-based English teacher on an assignment to teach written and spoken English at a high school in Kadod, Gujarat. Catherine accounts her experience living in Kadod, her views on Indian education and life in general in India.

Everything

...

S: Whatever you think is everything becomes everything.
K: So how is anything different from that which is in reality everything.
S: It is different because that which is in reality everything thinks that you are everything.
K: How do I know that is infact the case?
S: By becoming that.

...

Everything.

En boss ooruku poitaaan!

This weekend was action packed. It was spent entirely at work. The boss is going on a long holiday. He decided the weekend will be used for knowledge transfer, getting me familiarised with certain procedures and protocols, list of meetings to attend, the importance of keeping the mouth shut, how to do the weekly crap and the monthly vomit...

By the end of today (Sunday), both of us had had enough. When I bid goodbye to him, the feeling could be best described by the clip below.

En boss oorukku poittaaan! :D

Bleeping Ban

This post is a result of this news item and all the brouhaha it caused.

For the benefit of the lazy souls who cant be bothered reading the news item, let me summarise it for you: A political party leader enforced a ban on swearing on the party (in cabinet, committee meetings, offices etc.) in an attempt to improve the party image and to better place it for the next election.

The swearing ban became the big juicy topic for the media this week. They analysed, supported, critiqued, mocked the ban...basically blew the topic to smithereens.

I initially supported the ban, later questioned the practicality of it. I mean, common on. It's Australia. It is, as a caller to the local FM put it "the land of free bleeping speech. For bleep sakes, where the bloody hell are we?". I lol in approval, however, the laughter was just a transience into re-realising that swearing is ingrained in the fabric of our society. From prime-time TV, chat shows (e.g. a clip of Australia's PM slipping a few words), cook shows (Gordon Ramsey being the hero)...the ripe and fruitful "language" has rubbed off everywhere. I am not complaining btw. Just stating...

I swear too. I have a rich sweacabulary in Tamil and English. The usage is limited only when in company with good friends. At work, I wear the garb of a consulting engineer. My work involves dealing with people at both ends of the organisational ladder on a regular basis. Whether it is the posh office of Edward The Echecootive or the cluttered bench in a dingy little workshop of Doug i-climb-power-poles Faultman, the "language" is there at both ends. It's the style and frequency of the "language" that varies. It comes as no surprise. No one is a saint.

Coming back to the swearing ban enforced by political party leader, the issue has polarised people. The PC group has congratulated the leader for her hard-act while others feel it is bull excreta and it's a bleeping cheap shot at restricting the freedom of expression. In short, they say "bleep that".

Two different opinions. Many questions.

The PC (Politically Correct) group says:

These are politicians. They represent us. It is - though you may not agree - an honourable job. They have a prefix which reads "Honourable". The use of swear words maligns and denigrates their position and title. Weren't our predecessors able to persuade/make a point with their admirable imagination and correct selection of words? Or wade through tricky/tough situations with dexterous use of the language? If they can, why cant us?

Swearing has no place here. Swearing is the fungus of speech. We want to clean up the foul. So, please, cut the crap and get back to work.

No offence was intended!


The Bleepers say:

As representative of people, what's the big deal in using swear words? It is the language of the common man? We repeat, the language of the common man. Even if the language does offend a few jokers, who bleeping cares? Does it really matter? After all, aren't the bloody politicians, the part of the society? You freaks pass this ban in party offices...soon we'll have a group of redheads and greenies lobbying for the swear ban in Govt. offices, workplaces, theatres, bars...everywhere. A Department of Scowl on Foul (DoSF) will be formed, slapping an instant fine on every syllable of the guilty swear word. If we allow this, there'll come a stage where we wouldn't even be able to yawn or fart without offending somebody. Bleep this!

Yea, full offence intended!


So, what do I think about this?

Well, we are what we speak. Swear words portrays an awful impression of oneself. It is great when conveying quick emotion and can be powerful when we are trying to express oneself. Nothing can replace the power of a correct word, even if it happens to be a foul one. Most comedians use it support or source their humour. They use it tactfully so not offend anybody. Swear words have their own place in speech. They are the yuckiness of speech. As long it isn't overused, used in the appropriate context, and people reflect on the real intent of the before saying it, it should be OK. I swear.


--

Related post:
Nirmal's Dash Phenomenon

Home delivery. Yeah right.

I have many things to get done this weekend. One of them is to buy a bookshelf. I decided to drive down to IKEA. My friend tagged along as well.

It's the weekend, so we weren't surprised to see heaps of people milling around in the store. From previous experience I knew that in IKEA if you are looking for something specific there's a good chance you are not going to find it straight away. They have the knack of making you walk through aisles of retail forest with stuff that scream out 'I am on sale! Buy me!'. You are forced to drift around with the tide of people turning left and right until the sense of direction is lost and you feel like you are in a maze. People around me (mostly ladies and ara-tickets (kids)) were just ambling along, scanning displays/stuff - they didn't appear to be looking for anything particular. Just checking out stuff, anything and everything which was labelled 'On Sale' or 'Buy me!'.

However, we were men on a mission. We are here to buy a bookshelf and we are not looking for other stuff. We reached the aisle of bookshelves. We found a display of the model that I wanted. I had a huge decision to make on the choice of colour - woody brown, charcoal, blue or white. That's a lot of colour options for a bookshelf. I was pondering a bit. My mate was shocked that I am *actually* spending a few seconds to decide on the colour. "Sriramaa, its just a freakin bookshelf!". "Alright, Alright". I took a pick. This achieved, we had to find our way to the warehouse end of the maze to find the pre-packed bookshelf. The warehouse had racks that almost touched the clouds. We somehow managed to track down the rack which had the pre-packed bookshelf. I also realised the package was big enough to carry home if we are driving a Ute or a trailer. Our Mazda6 wont do it. So, home delivery it is!

With the bookshelf model number in hand, we gouged our way to the counter with the big sign saying 'Home Delivery'. There was a Middle-Eastern looking, middle-aged guy at the counter.

"Hi. I'd like buy this bookshelf and I want it home-delivered. This is the model #". I handed out the model # chit.

He looked behind us as if searching for something. "Where is it?"

"What?"

"Whatever you want to buy"

"Um..its in the back. At the warehouse."

He gave a muted laugh, waving his hand and nodding his head "No no no. It doesn't work like that. You have to bring to us"

"Err. It's here...in your warehouse. It's in your store"

"That is right. You have to bring it from the warehouse to there". He pointed in the direction of checkout counter.

"...and what do you do?"

"We home deliver". He said with a beaming smile.

I paused. My friend chuckled.

"you see, all you gotta do is to transfer the bookshelf from the warehouse and put it on a truck. After all, that's what home delivery is for. Right?"

In a stern, matter-of-fact tone, "For delivery, you have to bring your item to the front counter. That's the company policy" he said, pointing at a poster on the wall.

I am glad my Uncle or my colleague wasn't there with me. They would've lashed out the "you can shove it..." phrase and stormed out of the door. This convo tested my usually-calm temperament as well. This is like going to a restaurant and the chef says if you bring all the raw materials, I'll cook a meal for you. It doesn't make sense to me.

I took the pragmatic approach and decided, for now, to accept the harsh truth. There's no point throwing a tantrum. Like I said before, I am on a mission. I want to get things done.

So, we re-enter the maze with a trolley making our way past hordes of people. We located the towering rack again and loaded the ~80kg package on the rickety trolley. The pack was kinda big. The wheels of the trolley made a 'queeek queeek' noise as we careered along the aisles. My friend was in the front waving people to make way. Thank God he came along. I crashed into the steel storage rack once (no damage to anything) and narrowly missed piles of merchandise.

We reached the loooooong queue. It was almost the peak-hour of the day. The line we were standing in had women in varying stages of pregnancy. With the glacial rate at which the queue was moving, at least few of them would've delivered before they had a chance to pay for their purchases.

I also observed the idea of making people walk through almost always works. Most people in the queue had trolleys loaded big, bulky, brassy stuff - most of them were 'on sale' items. Some of things in their trolley were useful, most things they probably would not need or never use. At one stage, it almost looked like a competition of who arrives at the checkout with the biggest pile of stuff.

I paid for the bookshelf. The bookshelf was delivered in the evening. Armed with a screw driver and a craft knife, I rip opened the packaging. It's the wrong colour bookshelf. I chose charcoal, they've given me the woody colour. Hmph :)

No. I don't wanna go back. It's just not worth it. I am happy at least they delivered the correct-model-wrong-colour bookshelf instead of a sparkling white wash basin or something.

Kashtam! No wonder we are called Kashtamers. IKEA - Indha Kadaiya Ezhuthu Ada ! :D

Kondalilla falls

I went hiking at Kondalilla National Park (KNP) last week. KNP is named after Kondalilla falls (the Aboriginal meaning of Kondalilla is rushing waters). It is 100kms north of Brisbane near a beautiful little town called Montville. KNP and Montville is in the Blackall Range. It is always a few degrees cooler than Brisbane making it a popular mountain retreat.

This was my second time hiking at KNP. I met someone special in my first visit. I was hoping for another meeting. It wasn't to be - much to the relief of my mates.

It was a crisp winter morning. The sun was out in its full glory. The track wasn't wet - just damp enough to keep the sticky leaches, fat earthworms and the odd reptile interested. Overall, a great hike.

Here are some pics.




I am still in the transition from the old Powershot A95 to the new SLR. This hike was a good chance to test out all the bells and whistles.