Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Gmail Gags
Spamin' your inbox - nobody does it better than google.
Die On The Moon?
Find Die On The MoonHere For Sure Low Prices, Fast Shipping Till Gone
www.OhMyCrafts.com
UFO Evidence: Facts
Aliens & UFO: The Gray Area This is the Reality.
fourthkindencounters.blogspot.com
Space Flight?- Bella Gaia
"It Really felt like I was Back in Space" - NASA Astronaut
www.bellagaia.com
Been Chased By Zombies?
Shop Fun Unique Zombies Themed Gear For Yourself Or As Gifts!
www.CafePress.com
Single and Over 40?
Meet Older, Sincere Daters Everyone is Serious and Screened.
MatureSinglesOnly.com
Big Beautiful Woman
Full Encyclopedia Entry 1 Page of Information
BookRags.com
If I ever get around to clicking on any of those links (they're amusing enough without having to), I'll know I need help. Until then, at least I know I have a life.
Die On The Moon?
Find Die On The MoonHere For Sure Low Prices, Fast Shipping Till Gone
www.OhMyCrafts.com
UFO Evidence: Facts
Aliens & UFO: The Gray Area This is the Reality.
fourthkindencounters.blogspot.com
Space Flight?- Bella Gaia
"It Really felt like I was Back in Space" - NASA Astronaut
www.bellagaia.com
Been Chased By Zombies?
Shop Fun Unique Zombies Themed Gear For Yourself Or As Gifts!
www.CafePress.com
Single and Over 40?
Meet Older, Sincere Daters Everyone is Serious and Screened.
MatureSinglesOnly.com
Big Beautiful Woman
Full Encyclopedia Entry 1 Page of Information
BookRags.com
If I ever get around to clicking on any of those links (they're amusing enough without having to), I'll know I need help. Until then, at least I know I have a life.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
A Whiff of Europe
(Originally published in Nazar on July 5th, 2009)
Europe is an adult’s gingerbread house. It is made of gelato dreams and beer fantasies, made better (or worse, depending on your perspective) by movies such as A Roman Holiday and Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge.
Which does not mean that Europe is not the magical land that everyone claims it to be. Let us assume, for the sake of argument, that Hansel and Gretel’s gingerbread house exists. Santa Claus exists. And magical Europe exists as well.
But if you go looking for the gingerbread house in a tour bus with, say, a dozen rowdy kids and a tour manager who was probably a prison guard in a past life, who lets you off at famous sights along the way such as the Eiffel Tower, the Rhine Falls, the Big Ben, for only 30 minutes at a time, sufficient time to hop off the bus, take a blurry photograph, grab a souvenir, do a power-walk through the surrounding areas, and hop back on the bus, you will hardly be described as being the happiest camper when you do reach the gingerbread house of your dreams.
Wisecracks for centuries have been raving about how it is the journey and not the destination that matters. And guess what, they’re actually right.
Over just 11 days, my tour group covered Italy, Switzerland, Germany, Belgium, France, and England. I made a wish at the wishing fountain in Rome, straightened up the Leaning tower of Pisa in the characteristic tourist pose, got a view of Switzerland from its highest point, and saw the famous statue of a little kid pissing in Belgium. I visited Harry Potter’s enigmatic Platform 9 ¾ at King’s Cross Station in London, I saw a man churn out a figure of gorgeous fish from molten glass in Venice’s Murano Glass factory, and I tasted the famous Black Forest cake in Germany’s original Black Forest itself.
But my Roman Holiday was mostly spent inside the bus, looking left and then right, as our tour guide pointed out Rome’s various sights. We passed right through Zurich, while everyone screamed at the driver to stop. There was no time to climb to the top of the Leaning Tower, no time to explore the vast expanse of the Vatican church, no time to go parasailing, or gondola-riding, or to sit down and have a fancy meal on the roadside in Paris.
For most of the trip, I felt like a dog on a leash, with a master who insisted on yanking me away the minute I found something amazing to sniff at.
In conclusion, to err is human, but to buy a tour package is idiotic.
(Click here for pictures!)
Europe is an adult’s gingerbread house. It is made of gelato dreams and beer fantasies, made better (or worse, depending on your perspective) by movies such as A Roman Holiday and Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge.
Which does not mean that Europe is not the magical land that everyone claims it to be. Let us assume, for the sake of argument, that Hansel and Gretel’s gingerbread house exists. Santa Claus exists. And magical Europe exists as well.
But if you go looking for the gingerbread house in a tour bus with, say, a dozen rowdy kids and a tour manager who was probably a prison guard in a past life, who lets you off at famous sights along the way such as the Eiffel Tower, the Rhine Falls, the Big Ben, for only 30 minutes at a time, sufficient time to hop off the bus, take a blurry photograph, grab a souvenir, do a power-walk through the surrounding areas, and hop back on the bus, you will hardly be described as being the happiest camper when you do reach the gingerbread house of your dreams.
Wisecracks for centuries have been raving about how it is the journey and not the destination that matters. And guess what, they’re actually right.
Over just 11 days, my tour group covered Italy, Switzerland, Germany, Belgium, France, and England. I made a wish at the wishing fountain in Rome, straightened up the Leaning tower of Pisa in the characteristic tourist pose, got a view of Switzerland from its highest point, and saw the famous statue of a little kid pissing in Belgium. I visited Harry Potter’s enigmatic Platform 9 ¾ at King’s Cross Station in London, I saw a man churn out a figure of gorgeous fish from molten glass in Venice’s Murano Glass factory, and I tasted the famous Black Forest cake in Germany’s original Black Forest itself.
But my Roman Holiday was mostly spent inside the bus, looking left and then right, as our tour guide pointed out Rome’s various sights. We passed right through Zurich, while everyone screamed at the driver to stop. There was no time to climb to the top of the Leaning Tower, no time to explore the vast expanse of the Vatican church, no time to go parasailing, or gondola-riding, or to sit down and have a fancy meal on the roadside in Paris.
For most of the trip, I felt like a dog on a leash, with a master who insisted on yanking me away the minute I found something amazing to sniff at.
In conclusion, to err is human, but to buy a tour package is idiotic.
(Click here for pictures!)
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Newest Feature
Weather.com now not only gives you an hour-by-hour weather forecast of upto 10 days, allergy updates and pollen levels in your area, and information on ski resorts and holiday hotspots, but also tells you about mosquito levels.
How useful, especially if you are in India.
Or France.
How useful, especially if you are in India.
Or France.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Watery Hues - and Blues
Movie: Khuda Ke Liye
Song: Neer Bharan Kaise Jaaon
Verdict: Who'd have thought complaining about getting water from the river could sound so beautiful?
Song: Neer Bharan Kaise Jaaon
Verdict: Who'd have thought complaining about getting water from the river could sound so beautiful?
Homecoming Horrors
So how does it feel to be back home after you’ve spent the major chunk of five years out in the wild jungles of the real world, making discoveries like (1) you do not, and neither do your parents, undergo simultaneous combustion if you stay out of the house past 8:30pm, (2) not all the swimming pools in the world have green water, and (3) not all the trips you plan with friends are doomed.
The houses are just the same ,crying to be whitewashed. The bougainvillea lining the main road are just as neatly pruned as ever (because some politician or the other was recently dragged here to attend an event). The pool is still living up to its reputation as your friendly neighborhood pond (complete with algae and roaches). The campus at large is this close to taking over the Lucknow zoo (we already have beehives, monkeys, cows, dogs, cats, peacocks, neel-guys, snakes, and other wildlife of the shy-er variety).
The snakes are all right. What is really unsettling is the sea of new faces, the kids running around whom you don’t recognize, and then you see the parents and you don’t recognize them either. When a ten-year-old bumps into you in the pool, she excuses herself with a muttered ‘Sorry Aunty!’ The 3-foot younger brother of a neighbor is a towering giant of 6 feet now. Someone waves to you, and you wave a shaky, uncertain hand back, clueless as to who the other person was.
No - what's worse is when you're walking your dog in the morning, and wave when you see that one uncle, some kid's father, now with grey hair and a matching beard, walking to work. He raises that same shaky, uncertain hand when he sees you.
The houses are just the same ,crying to be whitewashed. The bougainvillea lining the main road are just as neatly pruned as ever (because some politician or the other was recently dragged here to attend an event). The pool is still living up to its reputation as your friendly neighborhood pond (complete with algae and roaches). The campus at large is this close to taking over the Lucknow zoo (we already have beehives, monkeys, cows, dogs, cats, peacocks, neel-guys, snakes, and other wildlife of the shy-er variety).
The snakes are all right. What is really unsettling is the sea of new faces, the kids running around whom you don’t recognize, and then you see the parents and you don’t recognize them either. When a ten-year-old bumps into you in the pool, she excuses herself with a muttered ‘Sorry Aunty!’ The 3-foot younger brother of a neighbor is a towering giant of 6 feet now. Someone waves to you, and you wave a shaky, uncertain hand back, clueless as to who the other person was.
No - what's worse is when you're walking your dog in the morning, and wave when you see that one uncle, some kid's father, now with grey hair and a matching beard, walking to work. He raises that same shaky, uncertain hand when he sees you.
Monday, June 15, 2009
The Unanswerable Question
People have asked me many times why I decided to be an Aerospace Engineer (glamorous term: Rocket Scientist).
There are so many questions you just don't know the answers to. But to survive, to make progress, you're supposed to come up with those answers, and repeat them until you start believing them.
The official college application answer is usually: "Even when I was a child, I loved taking things apart and seeing how they worked. I always knew I was destined to be an engineer." Yes, genius, but how does the Aerospace aspect come in? And why not become a mechanic?
The job-interview answer is usually: "I have always been fascinated by space missions." Boring, but it normally works.
The unofficial one classmate to another answer is: "My high school advisor was after my life to pick something, so I just chose the first major listed alphabetically in the college application."
The nerdy exchange usually involves Star Wars. Or Star Trek.
For the longest time, I had assumed I would never know what my inspiration was - and this became the unanswerable question. Perhaps it was the hype surrounding the NASA Mars Exploration vehicles when I was in high school. Or the Columbia Accident. Or something someone said about how great it must be to become a rocket scientist.
This afternoon, in the spirit of whiling away time, I sat down at the familiar ancient computer desk in the house, and started a game of 3-D Pinball. Ever since we acquired a computer (our first was in 1996 - and I was one of three kids in my class who had one), I had become obsessed with the game (the other two - Solitaire, and Minesweeper weren't as great). It was the game I played in secret when I should have been studying for my board exams, the game in which I competed against my own high scores, the game that I thought predicted my SAT scores even before I'd taken the tests.
As I started my space cadet training, ran through re-entry and launch missions, accumulated hyperspace bonuses, opened wormholes and gravity wells, destroyed xenographs, and repelled aliens, I suddenly knew the answer.
Who would've thought?
There are so many questions you just don't know the answers to. But to survive, to make progress, you're supposed to come up with those answers, and repeat them until you start believing them.
The official college application answer is usually: "Even when I was a child, I loved taking things apart and seeing how they worked. I always knew I was destined to be an engineer." Yes, genius, but how does the Aerospace aspect come in? And why not become a mechanic?
The job-interview answer is usually: "I have always been fascinated by space missions." Boring, but it normally works.
The unofficial one classmate to another answer is: "My high school advisor was after my life to pick something, so I just chose the first major listed alphabetically in the college application."
The nerdy exchange usually involves Star Wars. Or Star Trek.
For the longest time, I had assumed I would never know what my inspiration was - and this became the unanswerable question. Perhaps it was the hype surrounding the NASA Mars Exploration vehicles when I was in high school. Or the Columbia Accident. Or something someone said about how great it must be to become a rocket scientist.
This afternoon, in the spirit of whiling away time, I sat down at the familiar ancient computer desk in the house, and started a game of 3-D Pinball. Ever since we acquired a computer (our first was in 1996 - and I was one of three kids in my class who had one), I had become obsessed with the game (the other two - Solitaire, and Minesweeper weren't as great). It was the game I played in secret when I should have been studying for my board exams, the game in which I competed against my own high scores, the game that I thought predicted my SAT scores even before I'd taken the tests.
As I started my space cadet training, ran through re-entry and launch missions, accumulated hyperspace bonuses, opened wormholes and gravity wells, destroyed xenographs, and repelled aliens, I suddenly knew the answer.
Who would've thought?
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