I could not able to...

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It was the summer of five years ago. Or was it six? In the long conference hall that could seat 50 people if required, with a huge white board at one end and a clock at the other, and an oval table in the middle, we sat discussing our project. There were features and there were deliverables and then there were those inevitable creeps they call bugs. A member of my team, a young engineer, was explaining his predicament - the bug he was trying to squash refused to be squashed.
"I tried," he said, "but I could not able to fix it."

I looked up. His face betrayed helplessness and confusion. The conversation strayed to possible methods to tame the bug. I stayed where I was, unblinking. I could not able to... His thoughts must have stumbled over each other, I decided. I could not fix it and I was not able to fix it had collided, I consoled myself. I shook my head free and hurried to join the others.

It did not take me long to realise that the thoughts, if they had collided once, had become glued to each other. Every time he could not able to fix something, he said... I mean, every time he could unable to... okay, whatever. You get the idea.

It was not just he, I soon noticed. A lot of people could not able to do a lot of things. The virus was spreading!

One can imagine how my mouth fell open when last week I received a mail from a senior official in a Government organisation, a reply to my request for something or the other...

"Dear Madam, Please send me the details so that we can able to update our records... "


Watch out! Apparently the virus is not yet under control...
I could not able to resist posting this here.

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Three-Two-One, Let it...

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The Beyblade fever has hit the neighbourhood.

Reports coming in from different parts of the country through unreliable sources confirm that parents everywhere are reeling under this new menace. To keep up with the jargon used by their children, to avoid disgracing themselves before the Beyblade-blasting lads and to communicate with them in their own language, the Beyblade-illiterate parents are resorting to the Internet and Cartoon Network channel in huge numbers, hoping to put an end to this unforgivable ignorance.

Mothers of little girls aged between one and three have complained to the Police that their sweet adorable babies, though yet unable to speak their own mother tongue well, are uttering words they could not make out, that sound like "Thee-tooo-one, leddid reeep!"
Is it some kind of witch-craft? They ask.

Elders living in apartments located across major cities have lodged complaints that their quiet evenings are shattered by a rising roar that culminates in a sound like the clash of weapons, the source of which they could not ascertain, because every time they open their doors to see, they only see a bunch of boys running away. In fact, the tremor that caused windows and doors to quiver made them fear an Earthquake is on its way. Newspaper offices were flooded with calls as to the origin of the noise.


Our undercover reporter, prowling the neighbourhood, recorded a few conversations relevant to this story. The first is between a hapless Beyblade-illiterate woman and a seven-year-old.

"Auntie, what is the name of this one?"
"Uh.. Beyblade?" She ventures.
"I mean its name!"
"Isn't that its name?"
The child tut-tuts. Adults know absolutely nothing! "No, Auntie. Is it Pegasus, Leone, Sagittario...?"
The woman gapes. "Oh.. sorry, I have no idea!"


"Auntie! This is an 8+ Beyblade, why is your son playing with it, he is only five!"
"8+? Is there such a thing for Beyblades too? How do you know?"
"Aww Auntie, just look here! It's written on its wrapper."
"I see! Right you are! It indeed is 8+. I never knew."


"Auntie, do you know where to get Dark Wolf?"
"Dark what?"
"Dark Wolf, Dark Wolf!"
"What kind of a wolf is that??"
"It's a Beyblade, Auntie!"
"Oh, sorry..."

Our reporter noted that soon after this conversation, the woman in question sneaked out to her computer, and was seen browsing Wikipedia and other informative sites late into the night.


Also overheard by this reporter, the following conversation between the parents of a Beyblade-spinning child...

"Do you know that these Beyblade thingies are basically the same as the Top that we used to play with in our childhood? It costs Rs.10! These contraptions cost a fortune!"
"Well, that's the Japanese for you. All these centuries of playing with Tops, and no one from our country came up with this brilliant idea."

"What great idea is that? It's burning holes in my pocket!"
"Haven't you seen our child sit with the stuff - energy rings and whatever he calls them - and fix them together, his face a picture of concentration, as if he's assembling a computer? Doesn't he feel very important while he does that? Do you think he'll get the same pleasure from spinning an ordinary Top?" Her face displays her opinion of the ancient 'toy'.

"We did find happiness from a spinning Top in our days!"
"Those days aren't these days. This is Business, huge Business. The toy-makers are happy, the children are happy, and seeing them, we're happy. Appreciate them, the Japanese, for their genius."

In the backdrop, their child finishes assembling the contraption they call Beyblades, pulls the stadium towards him and prepares himself for battle.
Three...Two...One... Let it Rip!

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The questions of a Five-Year-Old

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1. Where did all the sand on Earth come from?

2. Was the Earth a Baby Earth at first? ( Because I mentioned the 'birth of Planet Earth' while answering question #1 ) Bhoomi pandu kunju bhoomi aayirunnittu veluthaayi vannathano?

3. Is the Earth a living thing? ( Because I said "natural calamities result from Mother Earth's sadness" )

4. Did God make a mistake in sending mosquitoes to us? Ambotti enthina mosquito ne ingottu vittathu? Abadham pattiyathano?

5. Will the year '2010' die only when the Earth dies? (Doubt originating from stories on Ashwatthama's immortality)

Click here for more questions!

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I don't think there is anything in Life that makes its entry in a more dramatic fashion, pulling everyone in its neighbourhood and even those geographically far away into a whirlwind of emotions, than Death.

If it's so certain, if it has been happening for centuries, why can't people be brave, better prepared and reasonable when it appears. No, the shock, the disbelief and the misery have to return every time, with the same intensity.

Even the death of people whom I never knew, death I read about in the newspaper, affects me. I suppose it is quite natural then that the passing of a person I've never met should affect me so.

I only have with me one email in my inbox, and the memory of a few good messages exchanged.

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Movies and Books

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How easy it used to be, to enjoy a good book, a beautiful movie or ripping dialogs! 

How difficult it is now to flop down before a well-made film or flip through an amazing book without feeling, "Why don't I get such wonderful ideas and plots and dialogs??"

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Perfect English, can you find any flaw?

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My five-year-old son pointed to the empty packet of Kellogg's Chocos and solemnly announced, "Chocos is no more."

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Random thoughts: Children's TV

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A television channel for children must seem like a good idea, but there is only one problem...

When a five-year-old wants to watch, they play a complicated science program that makes use of Sodium Bicarbonate or talks of Carbon dioxide (--"Mamma, it's Prateek's program and he's speaking in Hindi."  --"Better watch some other channel, son.") and when a ten-year-old places himself before the set, there comes the puppet show, "Galli Galli Sim Sim." ("Ugh, it's the kids' program again!")

Speaking of children's TV, I must say M.A.D has become one of my favourite shows, and I think Rob is an incredibly talented guy. My five-year-old watches the program intently and after it is over, takes a paper, and starts to draw or fold and create things the way he has seen Rob do.

Yes, just in case anyone is wondering, there are programs that I encourage my son to watch.

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Super-Mom? What Super-Mom?

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You read elaborate articles that advise you not to try being a Super-Mom.
You reflect for a moment:

"No, I am not trying to be one. I'm only trying to balance my life - my children, my husband, my parents, my parents-in-law, my maids, neighbours, friends, my children's friends, my husband's colleagues and friends, society, relatives, home - and my career, my aspirations and my hobbies. A lot of women do that, a lot of men do that, what's great in my doing it?

True, my hobbies and aspirations often take a back seat, I never get around to them.
True, I don't get to sit for a moment except when I'm having my meals, an hour or two past the normal time.
True, my sleep is erratic most nights because I seem to be doing some work in sleep too.
True, every single day I find (if no one else points it out to me) that even after hours of toiling, there are a few important things still left to do.

I'm no Super-Mom, it's quite natural."


One day you feel sick, so darn sick that you can't even rise from bed. You are devastated: how can Life go on without you? Your world - your kids', your husband's, every others' that revolves around you - will collapse. You try to creep and crawl, to start doing at least the most essential chores, but you almost faint on the way. You give in and lie back, expecting the explosions to start any moment.


Instead, you notice that... the World - everyone's world - does go on. Someone or the other pitches in, grumbling or otherwise, smiling or otherwise, calm or otherwise, and Voilà! Results far from perfect, that on a normal day would make you frown, today extracts a sense of relief - because you don't even have the energy left in you to squeeze out a frown.


It's okay to let go once in a while, sickness or not, to leave tasks unfinished.
To enjoy a movie though that means dinner is going to be delayed by another hour.
To let the child watch TV for more than the allowed one hour.
To flop down with a book and let someone else run the house, for a change.
To do things haphazardly without worrying about military precision.
Sometimes it is only important that things get done, than when they were done or how.

Because the end... very often justifies the means.

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