Those unknown, brave men at the helm...

Just how many of you have thought, during your train journeys, about the two men at the front? The two people to whom you hand over the safety of your very lives the moment you board the train?

Visit the awesome post by my friend here...

After reading that you might realise what goes behind it all...


This is for you bastards...



I am a connectivity addict. Computers, internet, mobile-phone, blogs, email, Orkut... anything that keeps me connected is enough. I usually start any holiday by jumping out of bed and switching on the PC in my room, which is blessed with a fat pipe (256k broadband). As the system boots up, modem initialises and connects to the omnipotent internet, I briush my teeth and do all the necessary obligations. A few clicks, a few taps, I have completed my morning ritual of checking mail and scraps (orkut!)... The rest of the day sees me coming atleast five-times a day and staying online for aleast 3 hours a day.

This connectivity addiction that is slowly creeping into me, people say, is bad. Others have their lips sealed. But I am addicted for ever (or so I gather). I have my blog, my friends in Orkut, my fellow-railfans in IRFCA, fellow geeks in techie-groups, chums in Yahoo messenger, and other friends' blogs to go through.

Music! I cant live without this, frankly. Whether with my speakers on all full blast, or shaking my head at some beautiful song over the headphones, or lying on the bed composing some dreamy tune in my mind, or singing in the bathroom to drive away boredom, or singing loudly in the classroom (the guys sitting nearby join as time - and music - passes) my mind flows freely over the keys of the piano, over the frets of the guitar, and over the fingerboard of the violin. I find my 15 GB of songs too meagre... I find the internet too slow... the woes are endless.

Damn... I made this post as boring as never before. Oh, I cant do anything more. This craps dwells in the mighty server of blogspot.com. Another black spot in my largely spotless (honestly!) blog... Dash it, I sound like I'm drugged...ok, let me remove my headphones.

Another day... another post... another irreversible chunk out of an infinitesimally fast paced life...........


Summarised, precise introduction to an often lengthy block of text... TITLE!

Mankind just falls for hi-fi language. Here are some hi-funda stuff cooked up for some commonplace words we use.

# The complete, soverign, authoritative, undisputable solution to a hitherto-unsolved problem: The answer
# Current-electricity starting/stoppage controller: Switch
# Thermally exploded maize-cereal kernels: Popcorn
# Non-euclidean geometry of the plane: Geometry
# Meaningful communication-intended sentences passes through/without wires from one Commonly operated Device particularly useful for trade, education and research to another such electronic computing device either automatically or as per human instruction electronically: Guess what... EMAIL!!!

Please contribute more... DONT lift them from any websites... make them up yourself(as I did) and post them as comments.

Servile letters

Dear Sir,

I humbly beg to request a kind favour from your esteemed self. Due to unavoidable circumstances, I was compelled to shift the point of my residence from the following correspondece address:

Green Valley,
Golf-Court Road,
New Delhi.

The new point of my hence shifted residence, I humbly present before you:

Apartment no.24A,
Ambedkar Marg,
New Delhi.

I hereby place my small humble request before you. I request you to kindly change my residential address as mentioned in your company's records for the subscription to The Smokers' Digest, to this new address that I have mentioned above in this letter dated the 5th of August 2006. This shall be of very great help to myself and to the postman.

I therefore, humbly beg to request your esteemed self to subject his letter to your kind consideration and do the needful at the earliest possible.

Thanking you,

What the hell is the point of all this formal, buttoned-upto-the throat manner and this awful, undue, unsolicited, absolutely unnecessary cringing and crawling 'before your esteemed omnipotence'? I fail to understand how a very humble, almost servile attitude can invoke the 'kind consideration' of the reader. Tut! these are just subtle nuances of language. Hand the above letter to a busy man and he'll just throw it in your face and yell, "What the heck is the point of this letter?"

The same letter could be written as follows:

Dear Sir,

I request you to change my subscription address of The Smoker's Digest from the following:
Green Valley,
Golf-Court Road,
New Delhi.

To the following address:
Apartment no.24A,
Ambedkar Marg,
New Delhi.

Please do the needful at the earliest.

Thank you,
(A more intelligent) X.


PS: Paper is really precious... more so is time.


All was still, save the creaky rotation of a dusty ceiling fan churning stale air again and again onto the floor. The fire in the kitchen had burned out, leaving only smouldering logs, which gave forth long chains of smoke continually meandering through the air, into the room and going out through the half-closed window.

He paused and listened. Nothing.

The owner, fortunately, had decided to sleep early that night.

Somewhere nearby, drops of water dripped from the hole in the roof, onto the coir mat. It would only be minutes before he would emerge out of his mission successfully. He had a vague idea where the thing he was seeking might be. He twitched nervously; holding his breath, he slowly inched his way into the room...into the dark. Sniffing the musty air silently, he creeped into a corner of the room...it would be safe there.

A sudden sound made him retreat into the shadows. The figure on the bed turned over, muttering something. After a while it got up and reached for the water jug. He heard the sound of water splashing into a tumbler, and a satisfied sigh produced by the owner's respiratory system after it drained the cup. He waited till all was still again.

He knew he had to make a fast move... his instincts, trained by dozens of such similarly crucial encounters, told him of something to watch out for; and he knew better to ignore it. His only fear had been the watchman, or rather, a fat bloke with a stick who kept watch over the two-roomed house, and often slept through his job. Now that he could hear what he thought might have been the snore of the watcher, he was relaxed. Working calmly and quietly, he made his way to the other room. He could sense the object nearby. he focussed his mind on it...gripping his senses, he made his way to what he thought was the box in which the owner kept it. He grew wxcited.. it was somewhere very close! He thought to himself..."Yeah, it's somewhere here... I can get it now...And- wait a minute, what's that? Oh my--"


The watchman threw his stick to the ground and flung the dead rat out.