I used to sit on the 21st floor. Now I am retired

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Sneeze for self-defence

1. Tilt your head slightly downward, clench your teeth, and stiffen your neck muscles.
2. Frown. Frowning will help focus your energy, and your attention at your forehead.
3. All you do now is sneeze! AT-CHE-W-W-W-U! Use, more or less the same motions with the headbutt as you do with a big sneeze.

This is the method for a standard head-butt.

More on headbutts: (1), (2), (3), (4), (5).

St. Stephen's in the news, for the wrong reason

Having had associations with the famous college myself, my eyes made their way down the first page of TOI, today, to read how Stephen's lost the F-word.

Frankly, the issue itself is a minor quibble, something which is fit enough for a Delhi Times, but not fit for a newspaper's front page. However, it's TOI and I won't pretend that my opinion matters to them.

As far as my opinion on the issue of F-word itself is concerned, I have always called it Stephen's (with a v). I think that's the correct pronounciation - Wikipedia wants me to pronounce it as /Stivn/, and so does Dictionary.com. In case you still want to continue an ancient or a rustic or a Latin pronounciation, that's also okay with me. (Today, I am in a large-hearted mood). Seriously, this is actually a matter of individual preference.

I tried to find web-resources on this debate, but ended up going around in circles.


By the way, there are larger issues to discuss about college, for sure. For example, this issue of high-handedness with which College treats something as serious as sexual harassment. I think that's worth following up on. If you want evidence of this, read this recent letter by a teacher mentioned in the reports above. (It's a rather long letter, the important parts of which I am quoting below)
...We now have a college in which students are pitted against students, teachers against teachers, students against teachers...karamcharis against karamcharis - every possible permutation and combination of one group against another. The air is so thick with tension and hostility that you can cut it with a knife....

...While there is enthusiastic moral policing by the authorities during the
Rock Show in Harmony, there is remarkable leniency shown towards obscene forms of harassment inflicted on a woman President in the form of simulation of rape of her team members during Mocktaves and sexist posters and leaflets pasted all over College asking her to "go back to the kitchen where she belongs"....

...In his reply to a PIL filed against the College in the High Court for violation of the Ordinance on Sexual Harassment, the Principal has stated that he doesn't want elected committees(as laid down in the Ordinance) because a section of the teachers has "antipathy towards Christian students" and would victimise them if elected to these committees. Even such a defamatory statement with the potential to communally fragment the College (which has had a proud secular 125-year-old record) has not elicited a protest from more than a handful of teachers. Leave alone criticism, even queries are considered a criminal activity (Saurav Sen, you would have been beheaded today!) So much for the Right to Information, and so much for promoting independent thinking and articulation, prerequisites for excellence, in any academic institution. We are now promoting passive subordination to authority and a value system that trains us not just to sneak but to trample on each other to get ahead (infinitely worse than what you saw in the film 'Dead Poets' Society')...

...I have written this long letter to you because I believe that you care about what happens to our College, because each one of us has gained something from it, however small. Just as patriotism can never be mistaken for chauvinism, true loyalty to the College cannot mean simply basking in its 'reputation' while being blind to its decline especially in terms of intellectual freedom. Love of the College would entail preserving our strengths and working on our weaknesses. What is it that you can do?...
I don't have enough facts behind this to comment on it. What I do know is that the tension is real for the last two-three years. In case you think that this is a non-issue (from your point of view, it probably is), then read this piece by Uma Chakravarti.

Yet, this has not been given as much importance as the F-word, inspite of being real news. But come on, how can I expect more from the Slimes anyway? And will someone bring me real news on college?

Good question

This from inquizitive mailing list:

Dear all,
following a recent post with five questions, I replied to the quizmaster with my suggestions regarding the style of the question. I thought I'd share my opinion with all of you too, and have taken the permission of my original correspondent.
The example question was originally put as:
> Which modern technology is named for a 10th century Danish king?
I suggested that it might be re-written taking into account this King's ancestry (being the son of King Gorm the Old), or the name of his wife (Gunnhild), or that the conflict with the German Holy Roman Emperor caused him to build the Danawirk fortifications, or that he was responsible for spreading Christianity, or that he was also technically King of Norway, or that his bones are still preserved walled up in a pillar at the cathedral at Roskilde, or that he met his death during a rebellion led by his own son.
Or one could mention something about the "modern technology" - for instance that the identifying logo is based on the runes of the King's initials, or that it was pioneered by a Swedish company, or that it was inspired more by the potrayal of the historical King in the Swedish novel Red Orm (later editions translated the title as The Long Ships) etc.
The core question might well stay the same, but the quizzing I knew and loved during my college days was full of trivia which promoted lateral thinking. Even if I wouldn't be able to answer a question, my interest would be piqued and I would tend to learn more - then and later - than if a dry fact were sought.

I completely agree. The joy of answering a question from clues is a victory of problem solving over knowledge. While one of the joys is getting to know some trivia or connection as part of the question or the answer (as pointed out in the mail above), there is also the joy of inspired guesswork based on some clue which sparks off a lateral connection in your mind.

Let me illustrate through an example. In the last BQC quiz that I attended, Gaurav had a theme round. 6 questions, the answers of which all connected to one common theme.

The answer to the first question was Mirabai and the answer to the second question was Comedy of Errors. This is when another team got the answer. We had to go for the theme at that moment itself and risk getting -2 points. However, unless we went for it, the other team would have taken the lead from us. My philosophy of quizzing these days is go for it. I did.

I knew that Comedy of Errors had been made into Angoor in the 70s. Sanjeev Kumar acted in it. However, I could not imagine what connection Sanjeev Kumar had with Mirabai. Hence, I went to Mirabai. The piece of trivia I knew about her was that M.S. had acted in the movie. However, I could not find any connection with Angoor. Somewhere in my stomach Gulzar came up. Some quiz question somewhere. Gulzar probably directed Meera. I don't know why. Then, I realised that he could have been the director of Angoor. Then I realised that he probably is. Since it was Gaurav, it had to be a popular culture connection.

I wrote Gulzar. It was correct. All because of some lateral connection.

Anyway, the question now is what makes a good quiz question? Two things we have talked about are:
  1. Should have clues which enable 'working out', lateral thinking, problem solving...
  2. Should be enriching - have interesting facts, make people find out more about a book, a film, an event in history. I remember reading Umberto Eco due to quizzes I attended in school. The way to do this is to make the question a reflection of ourselves, our tastes.
I can think of one more criteria:
This question should not be too long and definitely should not be a string of factoids. Any question which takes more than 30-45 seconds to tell is probably too long. Any more and it reflects either of two things: a) the quizmaster is lazy not to frame the question properly and thus rattles a huge set of facts. b) the quizmaster hasn't been able to prioritise properly and thus presents all the facts.

What else? By the way, are these criteria correct? And don't you think I have way too much time?

Update: Rishi says, "the quizmaster should have added something [a connection, a fact] that is new to him" and that, "I believe that most questions on a subject should challenge the specialist while not being entirely inaccessible to the non-specialist". The first one is absolutely the right thing to do, in my mind. Otherwise, it's not your good question. However, the question is what makes a good question, not what makes it original. The second point is a great one. I think it captures all three points that I was making.

Crossposted at BQC blog

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Bullshit bingo and challenge CP

Was J.A.P. playing this IT-focused one? Or was it this easy one?

I am talking about bullshit or buzzword bingo. It's a game which has been made for corporate meetings. However, the place perhaps it's most applicable is in a B-school campus.

The value-added pressure tests that we had to get our arms around in class made us feel like we're trying to drink from a fire-hose. Basically, the pain points that were leveraged consisted of putting all simple questions in the parking lot, displaying an unwillingness to peel the onion, keeping all the low-hanging fruits away and showing an insistence on boiling the ocean while keeping at the 30,000 feet level. We felt that we were trying to build the racecar while driving it, which didn't give us enough at-bats to really test the efficacy of our potential. Thus, we could never get to the same page as the teacher. Pushback was difficult.

Fair point, often the jargon was necessary, but the sheer number of moving parts which the teacher used to crank out from his back-pocket was mind-boggling. We would often ask a few quick questions to check the box, but any deep dives were difficult. I would have wanted more fleshing out and less gold plating. However, that would have required a sea-change...

Okay, you get the idea.

Particular classes actually resembled the two paragraphs above. Hence, we invented our own game. Called Challenge CP (class participation). Where we would put 5 words down on paper and passed it around. Either we would write the player's name down on the paper, or we'll keep passing it around till the Prof stopped talking. The moment the player was ready (or when the next break in speech happened), the player would speak out a sentence using all 5 words.

A friend once had a crack on Rambo, Bazooka, Titanic, Olympics and coniferous and succeeded in eliciting a response to the question. Unfortunately, I don't remember the question.

Fortunately, I have been able to find one of the original bullshit bingo games. In 1996, Al Gore was subjected to this in MIT. The cards were apparently brought to the attention of Gore before the speech. At one point during his speech, graduating Sloan School students cheered. Gore acknowledged the outburst with the question, "Did I say a buzzword?"

Plus, since we are talking corporate, here's Dilbert for you.

On another note, you can generate your own bullshit or fight it.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

Porn: Reduction in rape in US and Increase in sit-ups in India

Porn is even better than what I thought it would be. It reduces violent crime.

And here we make people do sit-ups in public if they watch porn. Yes, you heard that right. Sit-ups!

IITians on IITians - 2

As if Chetan Bhagat and Sandeepan Deb didn't do enough, here comes news that IITians have proved that they are geeks.

While I would not challenge the thesis, the survey itself does raise a few questions. Especially, since the Tabloid has put it up on its front page. The piece has a classic headline, "Studies rule the lives of IITians". Really? Are you saying that?

The visual in TOI says this:
What IIT freshers prefer besides academics:
  • Nothing in particular 30%
  • Sitting at the computer 19%
  • Sports 23%
  • Music and dance 13%
  • Dramatics 8%
  • Literature and debating 5%
  • Others 2%
Firstly, what was the question that was asked? The article says it was what "activities, other than academics, they planned to pursue during the first year?" Were the choices left blank or was this a multiple choice question. Also, are we talking about activities on campus or off campus? Because, I don't see watching movies, hanging out with friends, clubbing, dating women, blogging* etc. on the menu. Or do only 2% of the students prefer that? Seems unlikely to me.

Secondly, just have a look at the results. While the Tabloid may think it's whopping, 30% doesn't seem like whopping to me at all. What would the results be like if the test was done in other colleges, AIIMS, NLS, DU etc.? I would not expect radically different results (although perhaps 30% might come down a few percentage points in an environment like DU where exams happen only once a year, thus releasing time from the rest of year for extra-curricular activities). Essentially, 30% of the students surveyed are saying that they wouldn't want to pursue another activity in the next year with anywhere close to as much dedication as they would devote to studies. Nothing unusual in that, in mind, hearing what first year is like.

Thirdly, I can also see that a quarter of the IITians prefer sports. Five times as many IITians prefer sports compared to literary activities. That is surprising**. Why has that finding not been highlighted?

Lastly, why is sitting at the computer being clubbed with studying? Let me quote from TOI, "Most of them did nothing but study. In fact, almost half of those interviewed said that they'd rather study or sit at the computer than do anything else." In my experience, sitting at the computer, while geeky in itself, isn't studies. It's instead a curious mix of porn, gaming and chatting/ blogging/ surfing the net. Is the assertion that 'most of them did nothing but study' made by the survey or by the tabloid?

By the way, the article itself is truly badly written. The press version has got statements like, "Not surprisingly, the brains behind the study are the students themselves" which I didn't think was particularly not surprising. Then, there is this - "Speaking of IITians, the trio (who carried out the survey) said, "We are termed distinctive, apparently concise, all-encompassing and even mildly disdainful nerds." What does that mean?

Update: Krishna, Editor of Insight, the campus mag which did the survey, writes in that this was another one of TOI's poorly written articles. The best part was of course was what the reporter said to Krishna,
what's your problem? the article is such a positive take on IITians; whats wrong with being called a nerd?!
Nothing wrong. Just as there's nothing wrong being called The Slimes of India.

* Actually, not much chance of the penultimate option being exercised!
** This would, also, perhaps be more insightful - that IITians are essentially closet jocks.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Welcome to France

ZIDANE a New Way To Solve Problems is this video developed by French Tourism Board (okay, kidding).

However, if it was, then this is like Romania devising programs around Vlad the Impaler, where tourists can get the authentic experience. No video of that one, yet.

More on headbutts: (1), (2), (3), (4).

Passenger profiling

If you travel as frequently as I do, then you would feel about this the same way.

One of the most irritating things about travelling is the insensitive and stupid fellow passengers. The ones who don't respect any rules, binge on free drinks and throw namkeen on the floor. The ones who would wait till the food trolley is between the aisles and then get up to go through the loos. The ones who would talk back rudely to air hostesses who ask them to wear their seatbelts in time.

The ones who would sneakily wear the seatbelts as loosely as possible, as if to prove a massive point, and take them off the moment the airplane takes off. The ones who would refuse to put their seatbacks upright, especially when you are eating. The ones who would actually move your hand luggage to some other bin to make space for their twenty kgs of alphonso mango crate or their half-yearly shopping of groceries. The ones who would not even do that and just crush your bag underneath the shopping.

The ones who would refuse to form lines anywhere, even when there's only space for one person to enter through the metal detector at one time. The ones who would crowd around the entrance of the bus taking you to the plane or from it, therefore, not letting others get on. Yes, these ones pain me the most.

Plus, the ones which really get my goat are those loud boorish individuals who need to make calls till the plane takes off. The ones whose phone get "Welcome to Cellphone Network" messages before the plane lands.

Actually while I am at this, let me also talk about the ones who take more than their share of sweets from the tray, hoard on imli golis, ensuring it gets over and all I am left with is Alpenliebe. The ones who talk loudly. The ones who bring suspiciously ill-mannered kids, who distract attention through their loud cries. The ones who snore on the plane, especially on red-eye flights, not letting you sleep a wink. The ones who put their large hands on the armrest, sometimes even encroaching into your seat, making sure that the entire flight feels like a sumo-wrestling match. The ones who put cotton in the ear, a singularly irritiating gesture. The ones on the window seat, who drink tea or coffee, and reach their cups out in front of the middle seat, putting the hapless passenger in danger of getting burned. The ones who take newspapers from every seat pocket and hoard them on their laps. The ones who make faces when asked to share them.

Just going by bad behaviour alone, they look like malignants. Cretins. Possible security threats (and I am not talking of hot coffee alone). Good things is that now, I know what to do with them. Put them in handcuffs like common criminals and treat them inhumanely.

Update: I forgot to mention one other kind of stupid men: Men who are dressed in shalwar kameez - traditional long shirts and baggy pants.

Thursday, August 24, 2006


Office Pirates has this series on Women Walking Around at Lunchtime. Where I landed up when I was searching for Office Pirates (look at the end of this). Today's been a day of surprises.

So this series asks questions like:

Where is the danger?
Why did she come to New York?
What's her superpower?
What is she thinking?
Where is she going?
What could we do to impress her?
Would she ever date us?

All of which can be answered with.......

Obese Infidel bloglet...

...dedicated to the night of hedonism just passed.

Firstly, one question for bars and pubs all over India? Why do you ask whether I need ice with my Scotch? Whether it's a cheap TSF in Delhi or a club like Insomnia or a pretence like Library Bar, why do you need to include ice? It turns me off no end.

However, that is still better than serving me whisky and cold water in a tall glass. I don't want the appearance of a cool drink in my hand. Neither do I want so much water as to overpower the whisky. I think the tall glass is a waste and looks like an accessory for Tej Sapru-type villains. Seriously, I need my whisky in a tumbler. A nicely cut glass would do even better, thank you.

However, while the inane questions and the shape and size of the glass can be turn-offs, this is still not blasphemy. That is committed when they pour some warm water into my glass the moment I say no ice. See, I understand water at room temperature is the advice given by true connoisseurs. I also know that all of them live around the glens in Scotland. Not in an Indian pub where the water has been warmed by the outside temperature, the lights, smoke and the often inadequate HVAC systems.

Please put a small bottle in the freezer for me. And never, I mean never ever, put a piece of ice to cool the water. Next time I want something that chilled, I would go for a beer, thank you.

However, yesterday was better. The bartender actually recognised me from two weeks ago and mixed my water and ice in a martini shaker. Which was nice. Plus, he got a tumbler. Thanks.

Secondly, what happens if two old friends accuse you of possible infidelity and obesity in quick succession?

So, I was discussing quizzing and other things with a girl yesterday (Now you know why I don't have as exciting a life as you do, you reader). The conversation was flowing. We were on a sofa. From the dance-floor, as I later heard, it looked like I was conversing with a girl while sitting on a sofa. Which wasn't very surprising.

Two friends came to check who the girl was, since they felt responsible for me. Or the Girl.

So, I can see them standing about twelve feet away to my left, trying to nonchalantly look at me, trying to have a conversation which doesn't make them squint at me through the smoke and the darkness, trying to peer closely through the corner of their eyes, trying to do anything but attract attention and ending up doing nothing, but just that. Then in a while this friend walks past me to the imaginary object placed two feet away on my right. Keep in mind, that all this while we are talking.

Today when I caught up with one of my two friends about this trifle, she said, "No, we weren't sure who it was so we came up. Then we saw 'her'. We couldn't believe that you were talking to 'her' (insert raised eyebrows here). That's why Jumbo walked across and confirmed."
"So did you see Mambo in between?"
Mambo was sitting in between us. It was a three-way conversation.
"Yes, but only after Jumbo walked across.... You both (Mambo and I) were wearing the same grey T-shirt. I thought that you were sitting right next to her. Then I saw that it was two people."

So, first I get accused of infidelity and then obesity. All in one conversation.

Thirdly, okay. I am done with personal posts for the week. Tomorrow there's a theme party which has asked us to come dressed as pirates. Unfortunately, the hostess says that she doesn't like Johnny Depp. I am in two minds. Or not. Plus, for those who have read till here, here's a link for Old USSR Posters. And here is a link to something called pipecleaner dance. Go play.

Fly has landed

The Wings were tense. Tension between the secure knowledge of past encounters and the instinct to flee.

Five hundred of the ommatidia asked Control to flee. The other half looked for a secure place. Wings had the casting vote.
There, right in the centre. Where the ripples can’t be felt.”

Control agreed. The fly landed.

Fifty-five words from me...

Excuse the infidelity

"Our arboreal relatives, the monkeys, simply fled up into the high branches when danger threatened and, while feeding, all they had to confront was a fruit or a berry. But when our early ancestors came down to live on the ground, they had to give up scampering aloft to escape and also had to face dangerous competitors and prey when turning to meat-eating as a new way of life.

To become successful hunters required a new personality trait - bravery. If the primeval hunters were to survive as carnivores they had to be courageous and take serious risks. The females of the tribe were too important to expose to these dangers - their vital reproductive role ruled them out. But the males were expendable. If, inevitably, a few of them were killed, the others could easily maintain the reproductive rate of the still very small tribes. So it was the males who evolved into the pack-hunters who would become genetically programmed as risk-takers and whose job it was to bring home the bacon."

Hence, brilliant men always betray their wives. Not that I have too many pretensions of brilliance, but I hope the Girl doesn't think of this as a warning.

It depends

One of my philosophies in life this year is "It depends".

It's a pithy comment, it's a brief answer, it's a statement filled with possibilities, it's a statement the layman and the technical expert can use with equal confidence.

It's a cry which rallies MBAs together when it comes to take a decision or answer a real question. It's the favourite excuse used by Professors. It's a surreal but cheery photograph taken on a misty night. It's a discussion board on ethics.

It is what I say when I am asked a question with a gun to my head. Like, "Who do you think will win the Matunga by-election?" Or "Who is the prettiest assistant in office?"

If the only tool you have is the hammer, you tend to see every problem as a nail. Well, it actually may not depend. Or it really may. "I know that people would really, really like me to give them a straight answer, without once saying 'it depends' (actually, I usually say 'context is really important there' which is just as bad as 'it depends'). This happens in part because the world is complex, and designing for a complex world is hard."

It's also as I discovered an appropriate answer to any question. For example, which are the best acne treatments? Or what is a planet? Or how many dead in Iraq? Or Is the Internet delivering on its promise? Or anything else.

While answers like "I don't know" are also omnipotent, they have a tendency to make you look like a fool. An ignoramus. "It depends" can only make you look wise, without putting the other person down.

It also is an omnipotence paradox.
"Can every question can answered by "It depends?" ... "Hmmm... It depends."
It really does. Hence, I have decided that I will answer every question by "It depends". For today. Protective Head Device says that another one of these omnipotent answers is, "Hmmm... interesting". That's for tomorrow.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Marry little lamb

This post is completely random, but tell me anway - can't you see the connection between the nursery rhyme and the title of this article on food?

"Marry skewered little lamb,
little lamb, little lamb.
Marry skewered little lamb, with a glass of Pinot.

Everywhere that kabab went,
kabab went, kabab went,
and everywhere that kabab went, the Pinot was sure to go."

I told you. It's that kind of a week.

Don't say "God" while having sex

Say "misunderstood punctuated equilibrium" instead. (Might be NSFW)

I will drink to this

The only day of the week when I am not having any alcohol is today. It's that kind of a week. In anticipation of three days of cheer, I bring to you the following newsworthy items which I somehow missed when they came out.

If you want your tipple and you are anywhere close to Bhoma village in Punjab, do consider going here. However, if your religion, like mine, forbids mixing of drinks (especially scotch with anything other than a splash of cold water), then this place will be a problem. However, if you are into sissy drinks like Long Island Tea, then do consider the cocktail prasad.
Devotees offer liquor at the "samadh". The offerings measure up to thousands of litres, particularly during the three-day fair. The liquor flows into an iron pipe and devotees line up, holding steel glasses in their hands.
Gurnek Singh, a revenue patwari and caretaker of the "samadh", said liquor of all kinds was being offered at the shrine, be it country-made liquor or expensive foreign-brewed whisky. The offered liquor is put into one container and the "cocktail prasad" is distributed among the devotees. The devotees, who come from far-flung areas including remote areas of Himachal Pradesh, are given this "unique prasad" in the form of liquor in small plastic bags.
Do consider, all my spiritual brethren.

Also, Indian pilots and stewards have been caught trying to smuggle in expensive Scotch whiskey which they stole from Manmohan Singh's plane.
During the visit last April, the prime minister's security detail on board India's equivalent of Air Force One panicked when they discovered that one of the aircraft's cabinets had been broken into just before take-off.

A security alert was immediately sounded as secret service agents and intelligence officials scoured the aircraft for a possible bomb.

But all that they uncovered was the disappearance of several bottles of whisky.
This would not have been possible in the previous Prime Minister's reign since he was known to have the capacity to take care of the entire cargo himself.

Finally, if the EU has its way, I will not have to rely on the corner shop with its smuggled scotches when it comes to celebrating special moments. Plus, the bile that gets sold as Indian whisky in India would probably have some competition from the real deal.

Donand Duck Pants...

...are a figment of imagination. He doesn't wear them, even in winters.

Hence, the legend goes, Finland banned them where people need to wear pants even in summers.

That story, while being a good quiz question, is a legend. The latest cable fiasco where all channels have been banned because of some crazy HC order isn't.

ABBA shows up in Mumbai

Mumbaikars around me are going crazy over ABBA coming down to Mumbai. The tickets have been all sold out a week in advance. Keep in mind that four performances have been scheduled for the city. There are tears. There is emptiness in people's hearts. There are desperate attempts to get tickets from sponsors*, which include a variety of corporate houses.

All this for ABBA. Pah!

Actually, Duke Ellington could have rolled over safely in his grave, without getting a hernia, if this was ABBA. This however is hernia time.

For the band which is being advertised goes by the oh-so-creative name of Waterloo, who tour the world doing this thing called ABBA the show. At least Björn Again (the real tribute band) is a cool name. And has a wikipedia entry which says that the team-members are "Agnetha Falstart, Benny Anderwear, Frida Longstokin and Björn Volvo-us. The band is supported by bassist Rutger Sonofagunn and drummer Ola Drumkitt (from long-time ABBA session musicians Rutger Gunnarsson and Ola Brunkert)."

Who does Waterloo/ ABBA the show have? Two singers called Katja and Camilla and an occasional performance by the backup drummer and the saxophonist of the original ABBA. Which they advertise as "The ONLY ABBA Covershow with Former Original Bandmembers of ABBA and a Symphony Section!!!".... Yay Yay!!

I say at least bring the respectable cover band, the one with a sense of humour. Oh, sorry, I forgot. This is Bombay, which last I knew was in mourning over JLo's cancelled concert. Sorry, I take this rant back. Or not.

* This is not Delhi where anyway tickets are never sold, only handed out as favours.

Monday, August 21, 2006


or Fifty-five words...

Bangalore Bytes, Chamique, Recluse and Mr. D have started writing this story which I picked up from Mr. D's blog. I had to throw my hat in.

Also, just to make sure that by the time we reach the 23rd contributor, we don't go through all 22 blog posts before that, I have taken the liberty to copy the stories on to this post. Please keep the chain going, I say. We start with Bangalore Bytes.

The airplane had been airborne an hour when she entered the toilet. She looked into the mirror and hated the girl of twenty going on sixty that she saw. The horrors she had seen and the family she had lost….

She mixed lip-gloss with Vaseline, stuck her mobile in the goo and walked out.



Between the clothes, she tucked in small surprises. Moisturising lotion for her grandmother. Seaweed hair gel for her grandfather. The cologne her brother had been hinting at...

Later, she realised her lip-gloss had been checked in as well.
Maybe she’d ask the girl next to her for some when she got back from the toilet.

A bit of the viscid mixture was still on her fingers as she opened the door. She quickly massaged it into her full, round lips. Salty.

A kafir watched her and smiled appreciatively.



Somewhere, Akram sat staring at the bottle in his hand.


He'd given her the cyanide paste instead of the vaseline.


She looked sort of hot (in an Asian way), though not friendly. That made him think. In the end he decided to give it a go, anyhow.

"May I borrow your vaseline, please? It's dry in here"

He added a friendly but restrained smile for effect. She looked around uncomfortably. He tried to look cool.


She handed him the empty tube.

"It's not mine, it's available in the restroom. Go get one for yourself."

It was the friendliest she could be with kafirs.

She licked her lips again while sitting down. Salty.

Somewhere in her bag, the vaseline bottle had leaked open. Akram didn’t know that and pulled the trigger.


Censorship of blogs is silly

One of the points raised against the Blogspot censorship was that censorship of blogs won't work, especially if done by a stupid bureaucracy. They would make stupid mistakes in identifying which blogs to ban, thus, letting 'offensive' blogs stay while 'harmless' blogs will be banned.

However, assuming that just because it is a technologically-challenged, geriatric bureaucracy, it will make mistakes is wrong. Censorship of this kind is always silly. Just have a look at a premier technology's attempts at blog censorship.

I know the news is old, but still does make the point, doesn't it?

They did forfeit

Didn't they?

So, why did the Sir Ya Khan walk out and blame the umpires for not continuing? It's okay to stand up for one's rights and demand not to be called a cheat without evidence. For that matter, it's also okay to call Darrell Hair a racist cheat (and probably be fined for it). I mean it's definitely okay to protest and lose a test match in a series which you anyway have lost. It's also perhaps okay to protest and therefore ruin the afternoon for many cricket fans.

What is not okay is to say, "....Then we were ready to play but it appears that the umpires are unwilling to go ahead. We find it extraordinary. It is very sad things have come to this..." and then publish such a lame joint statement? Go read the rule book, I say.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Last word on Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna

So, this man tries to kill his wife as she wouldn't let him leave for another woman, like in KANK, where Preity slaps Shah Rukh and tells him to leave.

They had watched the film before that.
Pitiable, isn't it?

Actually, that's a word which came to my mind when I saw KANK on Saturday. KJ has taken a subject which has probably not been done in bubblegum India cinema before and churned out a long, boring film. This has made some hail him as the vanguard of change in Indian cinema, society and psyche. This is like calling Friends the vanguard of change in American culture. Which often people do.

I wish KJ would stick to bubblegum, though. For infidelity and broken marriages need more sensitive hands and depth in thinking. Otherwise, you will end up just a notch above Biwi No. 1.

Coming back to pity, when I went in to watch the film I was told that I should go with an open mind. I did, only to get bored by the lack of imagination. And felt appalled by KJ's suggestion that people straying in marriages are to be dealt with pity and sympathy.

Except for when Amitabh Bachchan was on screen, the rest of the first half was just plain boring. I must also thank the chorus which spent a lot of the film delivering subliminal messages of "Sexy Sam".

As far as the story is concerned, essentially, Maya (Rani) gets married to Rishi (Abhishek) because of their friendship. There are no explanations given for why someone would enter marriage on such flimsy grounds, except for the advice given by Dev (SRK), a football player, that she could spend the rest of her life searching for true love or she could get married to a friend and enjoy it. The advice did sound grand when accompanied by the forty-five piece orchestra in the background.

Then Dev breaks his leg, loses his five-million dollar contract and gets into a perpetual sulk, exemplified by his behaviour towards a man twice his size and his little kid. We know that Dev is in anger towards his wife (Rhea) who is quite successful... at warding off advances made by her boss. We could have understood all the jealousy in one scene itself, when Dev refuses to wear a natty suit bought by Rhea to a party celebrating Sam's first date. However, KJ required a few more.

Then, Dev and Maya end up meeting to save their marriage. This results in David Dhawan entering the director's chair for twenty minutes. Unfortunately, their efforts (both David's and Dave's) do not bear fruit. The audience further gets bored and the marriage is on the rocks. We break for interval.

This is when we get into the deep part of the film. Or should I say the terrible part. By this time, it has been established that Dev and Maya are weak. They are dependents in the marriage, being lowly school teachers or football coaches. They refuse to sit and discuss their problems in any meaningful manner. They either are jealous or refuse to share the success of their spouses. Plus, they feel good feeling each other up and staring at each other instead of their spouses during their respective anniversaries.

The spouses, Rhea and Rishi, are on the other hand, plain stupid. Except that they dress really well, have amazingly successful careers and have great relationships at work. They are unable to see that the spouses have spent all the anniversary staring at each other across tables in the same restaurant. They do not understand that something is missing in their relationship inspite of the efforts made by KJ. Or perhaps, they come to expect so less from their stingy partners that they are happy with frigidity in bed (for years actually) and obnoxious behaviour outside of it.

Hence, what we have in the end is a message that weak people stray in relationships. Marriages based on flimsy grounds (friendship in the case of Maya or hamming in the case of Dev) fail as the angrier/ bored partner can't see a reason why it has to last and looks for a soulmate instead.

There is of course no exploration of any of these themes. The film does not take a stand on anything as KJ thinks that is what is meant by shades of grey. Nothing is ventured. Even irresponsible behaviour by Dev (including abusing his own child) is displayed as humour.

KJ, in bubblegum world, this would be the equivalent of shades of grey, but in real life, honest, responsible people who enter into marriage with love-shove also do slip. At times, the people strongest in love are the most vulnerable. There's no need to justify failed marriages as an error of judgment or on one partner's misfortune. Plus, often failed marriages based on such little real stress as these two can be nurtured back to life by counselling, real effort and care. None of which you cared to explore.

Also, KJ, you present some kind of crap on how marriages should be based/ are based on real love/ soulmates and all that jazz and that unless it is so, one of the partners would roam the earth with a sulking expression, visible to everyone but their stronger partner. Also, the stronger partner being the stronger, sees through it all and forgives. Though while doing so, they do it with immense doses of pity like Rhea does to Maya ten minutes from the end of the film.

Plus, there's a message that breaking apart marriages actually leads to three years of pain as punishment and is pitiable.

All this is what has been hailed as believable by some rather intelligent members of the crowd around me, which have been brought up on a diet of Friends and coffee shops.

Now, all a film-maker needs to do to appear brave is to take a taboo subject* (lesbianism in Friends and infidelity in bubblegum world), make mean comments about it (in the guise of realistic dialogues), put in a few moments of slapstick and end with a message, howsoever contrived.

What KJ did forget is the twenty-three minute rule for each episode in Friends. Instead of that, we have three hours plus of trash.

*Not really. Arth, anyone?

Saturday, August 19, 2006

Hair-raising pictures

I have to thank Falstaff for this one. I am suffering from my Friday evening angst. I-can't-believe-work-has-finished-so-soon-but-wait-I-can-blog-till-I-go-for-the-party-I-wish-I-had-a-topic angst. It's what I face at the end of softer weeks at work. Which as you know, by now, did become rarer the past couple of weeks. However, sanity has returned (hopefully) and you'll see more of me. Anyways, here goes.

I must write about passport-sized photographs. I wish I could like Neha, post all the photographs that have ever been taken, and really show you what I mean. But all of them are in Delhi. The one in Bombay will not capture what I am saying. Hence, let me try a pen-picture.

In school, I used to have a moustache, which used to make me look very un-Brad Pitt like. More like a cross between Danny Dengzonpa and Priyaranjan Dasmunshi, only very irritated for being a cross between them. This is the photo which was taken for my passport. Till the passport expires (soon enough, though), I am forced to look at it everytime I have to travel abroad. Actually, my looking at it is fine. It gets really bad at immigration counters. While I may give my broadest smile to the person behind the counter, my photograph only shows disgust, determination and anger. Which might explain this South African experience.

College passed by, relatively harmlessly, though I did frown once again in my B-school applications. I had the experience of youth on my side though, and didn't care a trifle. After all, living with a frown - disgust, determination and anger - for twenty-one years does impose its own wisdom.

So, I sailed through. B-school is where I decided to start taking chances. Which had disastrous consequences.

Somewhere during second year, I was going through a bit of mental trauma and gaining weight at the same time. I decided to grow my hair. Do note that there is no explicit connection between the two sentences. However, in my mind, I needed a change. Hence, hair had to grow longer*.

The last haircut I had was in July. Around the end of September, my hair started resembling a work-in-progress nest. I had images of Hugh Grant and his tousled hair in my mind. Unfortunately, the mirror image couldn't keep pace with my mind. To the outside world, there was a cap. Thankfully, it was Europe and decently cold.

When I came back to India, the nest had transmogrified into luxurious tresses. Kidding. It was longer no doubt, but instead of getting a bounce and a shimmer seen on TV, my tresses either decided to rest heavily on my head and slide in noisily behind my ears or do a Meghnad Desai on me inspite of all my please. It was one bad hair month after another.

This was the time when the companies started coming to campus and asking for resumes. Unfortunately, a fine one-page standard format resume won't do for some companies. Especially for banks and FMCG companies. Make that most of the companies I could have applied to.

These companies instead ask candidates to fill a four to six page form. Which is okay. Except for the minor issue of a passport-sized photograph.

I had taken my last set of photographs in college. These served me well during the summer internship process. However, as luck would have it, all of them ran out. I had no choice but to consider taking a photograph of the hair. The camera had other ideas.

I gelled my hair, combed it (after a gap of seven years) and pasted it over my skull for the photograph. I even wore a light blue shirt and a bright red tie to look the part. Unfortunately, by the camera refused to entertain these corporate ambitions and almost out of spite, highlighted the strands of hair peeking out behind my ears. While John Abraham has made a career and an endorsement on the same look, I wasn't sure that the companies behind those ads would have liked an aspiring model to handle their brand management.

I tried hiding the strands behind the ear. However, the hair had become a massive heavy structure by now. A little tug behind the ears let loose a small wave and the top of my head had a shape which would not be unfamiliar to fans of Boris Karloff, as Frankenstein. When I tried to get the top to behave, the sides split down the seam. And I am still talking hair here.

Twenty minutes in the shop and I gave up. I wasn't going to cut my hair and my hair wasn't going to cut me any slack. The companies would have to take a walk.

Thus, ended my chances of getting any job which demanded a photograph. Actually, with hair like mine, a couple of companies which did pre-placement events also had the shivers... about hiring from my business school.

One day before placement I did get my hair cut. A couple of companies which didn't require photographs and which I carefully avoided meeting (since I wanted to join them) had given me shortlists. I did get the job that I wanted. Since then my hair has been well within the legal limits. So have been the photographs.

* What I am not telling you is that I went on student exchange where a haircut cost 5 euros at a shop run by someone who looked like a cross between Rudolf Hess and Stone Cold Steve Austin. I said pass.

Punishment for headbutts

"We expect our heroes to be and remain flawless, and when they reveal themselves to have all the weaknesses and faults of mere mortals, it rather upsets us".

The judge pronounces this sentence on a hero of mine who was caught headbutting.

More on headbutts: (1), (2), (3).

Thursday, August 17, 2006

The world is evil...

...Hence, they make fun of the inappropriately dressed and those who dress as if mirrors don't exist. I on the other hand, hide myself in a yellow drape.

KANK reviews

As suggested by Mr. D, I thought I would find some KANK reviews and share with you:
NYT has a close look at the movie,
"Soon Dev is lovestruck, and who can blame him: Ms. Mukherji’s eye makeup, which we get to observe in detail, is much better than Ms. Zinta’s..."

Times of Oman cuts a secret deal with KJ to write an intellectual review,
"They are educated westernised headstrong people and are willing to pay the price of their doings and undoings.
Often such an occurrence is not something which cannot be overcome. Most people who use their head are able to stand on their feet. And others who listen to their hearts end up falling in love — and often falling flat on their faces."

BBC has a balanced take on the film,
"To date this is Karan's finest work without a doubt... Anil Mehta's cinematography captures New York brilliantly... Musical score by the trio Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy elevates the film to a higher level of refinement...
If you thought Veer Zaara was his (SRK's) best work to date, then watch his performance here... Rani Mukerjee once again takes the trophy as Bollywood's best actress. If she did well in the film, Black, here she goes one step further as her talent exudes infinitely... Abhishek Bachchan too has given a superb performance. Simply brilliant!... Preity Zinta too gives her best... Do watch out for the two special appearances by Kajol and John Abraham in the song sequences. This adds extra boost to the film."

Moviefone makes a succinct point of view,
"This move should not be called "Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna", it should be called "Kabhi Over Acting Na Kerna"..."

Arun at IMDB has a recipe to offer,
" I make onion poha for breakfast thrice a week, with the bare minimum ingredients possible. One day I tried to experiment some (inspired by the stalls outside my Engineering college) and tried some sugar (caramelized onions anyone?), extra turmeric and some red chilli powder. The result was anything but edible but I humbly gulped it down."

I unfortunately am a luckless soul who hasn't watched the film yet. In case you want to read my review though, go here.

Last thing in the world

If there was a nuclear winter and you had to go into a underground shelter, where you could only take one thing. If food and shelter were the only things guaranteed, what would the one thing be that you would take across?

I sms-ed this question yesterday, after the Girl managed to sneak in a toothpaste across airport security, to various people.

M1: Books and porn

: A photo album to remember the world as we know it

: A girl?

: Condoms??

: Husband

: People allowed? If people not allowed, then gym equipment to stay fit, to remain the only fit man in mankind, once allowed out of the shelter!!

: Laptop with internet connection, if internet is there, TV, if waves are still there, otherwise, laptop with games, comics, ipod in that order, with various caveats

: Boyfriend

: What nonsense is this?

S: If all the people I care for are there, I won't bother with things. Otherwise, will not go.

Me: If people are allowed, girlfriend (she's reading this). Otherwise, laptop to access wikipedia. If Wikipedia is not available, then Encyclopedia Britannica.


Wednesday, August 16, 2006

One more alternative to reservations

For those who argued that there were no viable alternatives to reservations in IIT if we wanted social justice etc. etc., here's some food for thought.

Two people have got together and help 20 kids get into IIT. Reminds me of these words,
"...The answer then, has to include some institutional means of providing children from less priviliged backgrounds the support they need to make it to the top schools. Institutions like the Prep for Prep program in the US. Prep for Prep provides intensive support for high potential children from backward communities - giving them the opportunities they need to make it to top colleges in the country. Does it work? Go look here. That's over 200 students currently enrolled in Ivy League schools...
Real development comes from building new institutions, not hijacking old ones. If we really want to make a difference to social inequality, we need to find institutional solutions and processes that are focussed on that problem, and attempt to attack it at its roots. Obviously, those kind of initiatives are a lot harder to design and implement than the parasitic option of reservations. Which is why the government is always going to try to fob us off with more seats for a handful of people in a small fraction of the country's schools. That's exactly what we mustn't let them get away with."
Telegraph had written about this earlier.
Pankaj Kumar Kapadia, an OBC student from Nasirganj in Rohtas, who has bagged the 1,079th rank, said: “Why do we need to be lifted up to reach the top rung of ladder?” The government, he said, must spare at least the IITs, IIMs and AIIMS to ensure quality. Kapadia, whose father is a retail cloth merchant, feared foreign companies would start losing interest in Indian students if the Centre implemented the quota regime.

Of course, we can now argue that foreign companies losing interest in Indian students is hardly important. I will not even debate such a meaningless topic.

Monday, August 14, 2006

Snooty Labels

Friend Truth had been wanting to buy a Versace shirt for some time now. We had told him that he was a seeker of glamour and thus wanted to. He said no. He wanted to because he had been wearing fake Versaces since childhood and he couldn't resist now that Versace was in India.

Last Monday, he came back with an expression which was part incredulous and part humbled. This is apparently what happened.

Truth with two others enter store. They find a shirt which looks like a old shirt sold in the Anjuna flea market. They obviously know that this would be way out of their range. They check the price tag just to make sure. 26000 it is written in small bold letters. Which is more than the per capita income in the country.

Not wanting to concede defeat they call the sales assistant.
"Don't you have any formal shirts?"

The sales assistant looks at their sneakers, their Nike T-shirts and Levis jeans with disdain. Putting on his tired look, he sighs and says,
"Versace has three lines. Line 3, which is casual wear, is what is selling here. Line 1 has formal wear. However, that may be little too expensive for India."

Snooty behaviour such as this is a part of the overall value proposition of a few retail brands in the country. Be it Italian fashion labels, or elite restaurants, their appeal is based on a sense of exclusivity which general bad behaviour is guaranteed to bring.

And if the forbidding exteriors (I remember a dark dimly-lit exterior marked by a narrow solid wood door in a particular Italian-label shop in a mall), the frowning security guard and the price tags weren't good enough for that, they have these shop assistants from hell.

In case you don't believe all of this, or in case you, like Silbil, want to uncover salacious details on my life, here's another Miss Snooty.

In which Deepak Chopra talks to Britney Spears

A confused, bitter, hungover Britney Spears eats chicken and meets Deepak Chopra for hope.

BS: "I'm ugly."
DC: "Naaooohhh"
BS: "My jaw hurts."
DC: "That doesn't mean you are ugly."

BS: "I'm confused for I feel like I'm missing out."
DC: "Missing out on what?"
BS: "On Life"
DC: "Like what part of life?"
BS: "Life, like t(h)ings and t(h)ings... Like I am falling behind or something"
DC: "It's all the partying."
BS: "HUH?"
DC: "It's all the partying."

BS (on time travel): "I think some people can do that. I think some people are ahead of us."
DC: "Maybe, but they'll never tell the world. They're not gonna tell nobody shit. Could you imagine? How many people would try to go back and change the shit?"

Saturday, August 12, 2006

Night Shift

One of the things I missed out in college and got in B-school were the winter nights on campus.

Actually I missed out on summer nights as well, but I don't think the frequent power cuts which Delhi was subjected to would have been really welcome. At least I had a inverter at home.

Winter on the other hand would have been surreal. The old architecture, revealing itself at places where the floodlights were left on. Chiaroscuro made by the red bricks. Street lamps which are singularly ineffective for the purpose of illuminating the streets, but look wonderful nevertheless. The hostel lights dimmed by haze rising up from the dewy grass. The occasional bonfires (maybe rubbish burned away by a karamchari) casting their own spell.

I missed all that (from here). My B-school winter nights were different. Not much haze, not much of dewy grass. However, the striking architecture did try and create a few light and shadow patterns of its own. Plus, I remember sitting in a quite alcove outside the mess and observing the crowd create drama in the light streaming out of the wide mess door. Wish I could wake up far more often for dinner. Then, there were the walks through the campus. Wish the all too effective floodlights would be taken away and would be replaced by a few streetlights instead.

Inspite of such shortcomings though, I loved the winter nights. Wonder how I would have felt in college.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Hope over experience

What would your reaction be if you would escape the beating of your life? How would you feel if you came close to etching your name in the record books for the biggest losing margin in World football, but escaped?

You would say that you missed out on an opportunity of a lifetime.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Arrangement in Black and White: Protecting the mother

This is Whistler's mother. This, on the other hand, is an attempt by a man to protect the honour of his mother. And another man profiting from it.

More on headbutts: (1) and (2).

Tuesday, August 08, 2006


...where the Big Stars live. I stay on 22nd floor.

Monday, August 07, 2006


Rajesh had spent the last summer hunting for a place to live in Bombay. He had moved to the city looking forward to working in one of the largest FMCG companies in India, after completing his MBA from Indian School of Business. He was twenty-six when he moved.

Finding a house in Bombay was tough. The real estate boom was just reaching the peak. "Why do they call it a boom, when really the number of houses on the market actually seem to fall?" questioned Rajesh, forgetting his economic theory. He never really liked Economics though. Too unstructured. Too few equations. And that silly assumption of ceteris paribus. Which seemed honourable only because it was said in Latin.

If finding a house was tough then finding a wife was even tougher. At that age of twenty-seven, which is neither here nor there, he was under constant pressure from his newly-married friends and soon-to-become-frantic parents.

Hence, this summer, Rajesh decided to look for a wife. Rajesh, being a typical 'one who is trained or professionally engaged in a branch of engineering', was not as socially adept as a twenty-seven year old Texan should be. Furthermore, he was not a Texan. His friends in B-school had assumed that a laterals FMCG hire would bring in riches, future fame and women. Unfortunately, rent had taken a toll on the riches, though his NPV was still high. Future fame was well, in the future - that too in the pages of Business World. As far as women is concerned, Rajesh was the latest victim of the common myth on B-school campuses, that plum jobs have a causal relationship with 'plummer' women.

Ananya had graduated from a prestigious private engineering school located in Rajasthan last year. She had topped her dual degree class and had gone through two breakups in college. She was keen to focus on her career now.

She was what one would call a hot South Mumbai girl and she knew it. She was surely set for a course widely taken - two years in the MNC IT firm, MBA from one of the IIMs (if lucky, then Harvard like her brother) and then a plum investment bank posting in London. However, her parents had other ideas. They wanted the daughter to get married, now that she was twenty-three.

She initially resisted, but her fragile defence already damaged by the second breakup, couldn't put a really spirited fight. She agreed to see the shortlisted boys at least. It can't be that bad, can it?

Her only condition was that she should meet the guys one-on-one. Like a date. Her parents, feeling surprised that Ananya had given in without a fight, were only too happy to oblige.

First Date
What Rajesh couldn't see, but Ananya could, like many girls before her, was that Rajesh was handsome. In fact, take away his wispy moustache and get him a snazzier pair of glasses and he could almost look like a Milind Soman. Yes, that handsome.

Second Date
They went to Gangar Opticians, Warden Road and got Rajesh what he called, Preity Zinta glasses. Ananya called it geek chic.

Third Date
"My parents have asked for a horoscope."
"What? How did they come to know? I thought that you were doing this on your own."
"I was, but yesterday, they called from Bangalore and I was not feeling too well. I told them. I am sorry."

"No, don't be.... It's okay. We'll manage."
Rajesh didn't quite like the tone of that. What Ananya did next made up for it. First hug.

Fourth 'Date'
Thousands of people who travel to South Bombay every day, look at this blue dome, just opposite Haji Ali. It stands out in regal splendour against the bakdrop of tall multi-storey apartments. Most people don't know what it is. Neither did Rajesh, when he got a place just below it.

It was a large one room place, with a small balcony which overlooked the sea. Literally. You could jump out and dive straight into the water. The place had a Bohemian appeal that Sherlock Holmes would have appreciated, if he moved to Worli. So, Rajesh thought, when he littered the floor with cigarette butts and stacked old alcohol bottles next to the wall.

Rajesh and Ananya entered this room on August 7th to talk. For a couple seeing each other for the fourth time, the comfort level was huge. Hence, talk they did.

"My parents want to meet you."
"Can you meet on Tuesday?"
"Only in the evening."
"Yes, let's meet at Crossword. We'll take it from there."

If there was someone waiting outside Rajesh's door when Ananya walked out, he would have seen a smile of content walking out at seven-thirty in the evening. Inside, Rajesh had a similar look, having finally being able to resolve his issues.

Meet the Parents
Four dates had passed and the parents had started becoming anxious. However, the outward look that Mr. and Mrs. Rao had, was one of pure anticipation.

Ananya had met five guys till today, and she had rejected all of them, on some pretext. It was quite clear that they were not finding the suitable boy who could serve as a soulmate. This Rajesh was different. Ananya seemed happy to meet him. While only one other boy had managed to meet Ananya twice, Rajesh had already spent a month with their daughter.

The sense of anticipation was such that they had scripted the conversation on typical lines. Both Mr. Rao and his wife had a interview-guide. Both were also ready to start cultivating the candidate the moment they got convinced that he was the one.

Ananya and Rajesh walked hand in hand. Rajesh was wearing the Preity Zinta glasses.
"Ma, meet the brother who I didn't have till today".

Rajesh extended his hand. A nice slim rakhi was tied on it.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Female headbutts

For those who said men are prone to headbutting here, check out the these latest Franco-Italian war here.

Previous post on Headbutts (1)

I am dying

For all readers of the blog who have made nasty comments on how I actually don't have work, let me tell you that the current lull is because I am hidden below tons of work. So, suit yourself.

In case you are getting bored and want to check out what is happening on the 22nd floor, you really can't. Though if you want to go back in time, you probably at least check on the 21st floor.

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