Satoma Asadgamaya

Like any good Baba, I'm a spartan person. I rarely spend money on myself. That I usually manage to do more than just negate this frugality because of sudden and whimsical decisions is a different story altogether. At times, it's smart but usually, it's just plain stupid.

This time I decided to allow myself a real luxury. I bought a Canon Digital Rebel XT - the best semi-pro dSLR that money can buy in this universe. Eight hundred dollars may be peanuts for many. It's a LOT of money for me. But that was something I had been lusting after for a while.

I remember visiting the Grand Canyon in November and not a crack on the wall, as my photographs show it to be. That was when I swore I would never go anywhere without a dSLR. It was an empty oath though.

Anyway, imagine my excitement when I received the package today. And imagine my anguish/anxiety/anger when the goddamned camera did not work. I was so mad with rage that I could have killed someone. "Why me? Everytime, why me?" was the thought echoing around my head. I don't know about Mount Merapi but there could have been a massive eruption in San Antonio.

I just put on this song and buried myself under a pillow. It's a beautiful song. Is there anything that comes close to music? Technology, sports, literature, cinema, alcohol, blogging, girls, motorcycles, cakes, television, whatever...Nothing.

Music is truly the most exhilarating experience on the third rock from the sun, on any rock from any sun.

Some of that elusive zen is on its way.

Anyway, once my head cleared up, I called the Canon helpline and soon my baby was up and running in a few minutes. Much ado about nothing? Something like that.

Much ado about nothing. That's what I've been doing all my life. That's what everybody does.

Zen. Nirvana. Call it what you will - it's all about deathly calm and frightening control (sorry about those ungainly adjectives but that's the best I got).

So I'm off to New York City - the greatest city in the world - another pit stop in the circuit of life. Maybe I'll be back with more tales of zen. Maybe I'll be run over by a truck and never come back.

Whatever. Either way, it's a win-win situation. A win-win situation. That's what it's all about. Zen.

Zen Test. Would I have blogged this post had that camera not worked? Unlikely.

But I'm getting there.

Management Class : Meandering thoughts of a fickle mind

Ever since I set up my new ashram in the land of the free, I haven't been watching too many movies. Especially at the theatres.

Once in a while, I get a few flicks home and watch them on my very own cinema - a (ughh!) Dell Inspiron 6000.

Yesterday I watched The Godfather for the first time. The Godfather - cult classic, cultural phenomenon, I don't know what. I had heard and read so many glowing tributes and rave reviews about it. Peeps have even called it the greatest movie of all time.

Well.

If Hollywood cinema could be likened to the Indian railway track system, then Francis Ford Coppola would be the guy with a lotta.The Godfather is crap. It's as simple as that.

Marlon Brando got an Oscar for that role, did he? Somebody tell me it's a joke. Rob Schneider in The Animal was better than him. And that's saying something. Now I really know what the Oscars are all about.

I watch movies for entertainment. I like comedy, sci-fi, epic fantasy, horror, romance and action. I usually keep off drama and parallel cinema (because I'm dumb and I don't get it). I do appreciate few drama flicks like The Shawshank Redemption and A Beautiful Mind which are really good. But Godfather? Please. By no stretch of imagination is it entertainment of any sort. It's a massive pain in the butt. I'm assuming peeps don't need to watch movies for something they get free of cost at work and elsewhere.

I mean, that's the reason why I never watched it in all these years. The moment I see a movie's trailer, poster and synopsis, I can usually predict its quality with a fair bit of certainty. Maybe I was trying to prove myself wrong. But, to look at the brighter side of things, I now know that Francis Ford Coppola and Marlon Brando movies are not to be touched, even with a barge pole.

I would have said the same of Al Pacino but for the fact that I liked him in Scent of a Woman. The scene where he proposes marriage to the American chick immediately after that Sicilian non-chick gets blown up (thank goodness for that) had me in convulsions.

It's a third-class movie about ugly Italian mafia dons killing each other crudely. There's not one powerful character in it who's worthy of commanding awe or respect from the audience. What? The Don? F*** you.

There's not one scene that does not reek of staleness(except for the one in which the bum wakes up a horse's head in his bed). Cinematic excellence, my ass.

Sarkar (the Bollywood rip-off) , on the other hand, was pretty good. Amitabh and Abhishek were really good.

What a waste of time. Seriously.

I'll wager that the book is trash as well.

Management Class : Meandering thoughts of a fickle mind

...fights and f***ing runs away,
lives to sit by the dock of the bay'.

- Mental Baba.

I had a dog when I was a tween. Arrow was a black German Spitz who loved biting peeps for no reason whatsoever, except to amuse himself. He even bit me several times and was the mastermind behind the loss of my incisors (permanent ones, at that).

I was at a loss to explain this behaviour which was so deviant of his species. Now I had signed up for a lovable pet. And not for a psychotic canine with extremely large canines.

Whenever I'd see other kids playing with their doggies, I would turn towards Arrow. And he would present me a toothy growl that might give more than just a few ideas to a toothpaste marketing exec.

I had never really understood this. I sort of put it down to Baba's Laws, some of which are stated here -

Law I (aka Law of Infallible Justice) -

If Baba prepares an amazingly fantastic report on Mainframe MIPS Optimization (with great effort), puts it in the Big B (=Big Baba)'s mailbox (with great care), awaits a response (with great eagerness), then he will be told that his vegetarian document lacks meat, (the entire episode) shrilly announcing the sad and premature demise of Baba's grandiose plans.


Law II (aka Suitably Amended First Law of Thermodynamics) -

If Baba prepares delicious gajjar ka halwa (with great effort), puts it in the fridge (with great care), takes it out after a while (with great eagerness), decides to heat it just a wee bit (so that he may have a few nibbles and bites), then his microwave will refuse to work, so he'll put it on the stove, then he'll fall asleep (because he's been working his tush off on a certain report), and finally the smoke alarm will go off, shrilly announcing the sad and premature demise of the halwa.

Law III (aka Law of Irrevocable Truth) -

If Baba prepares (with great effort) to wow a hot chick , puts on his best formal wear (what the?!), memorizes his lines by rote, and even shaves his beloved stubble, he will find a bum in phatichar jeans and a stubble whispering sweet-nothings into her ears. And the chick would seem oblivious to Baba's metaphysical pan-dimensional aura (what the?!), thereby putting paid to Baba's grandiose plans.

Law MMCMLXXXII (aka Law of Utmost Finality) -

If anything can go wrong for Baba, it will.

Anyway. Last night I kind of realised what the mutt had been up to all along. It came to me in a holy vision.

It boils down to this ancient tale of golgappas, cosmonomics and revenge.

Ladies and gentlemen. This pooch, a mercenary for hire known as the Eliminator (aka Broken Jaw)was sent back in time, in order to murder me and to prevent me from accomplishing all those great deeds that I will be soon renowned for.

Ha. But they ain't getting me.

Management Class : Meandering thoughts of a fickle mind

I've been an avid tennis fan right since '91 when Prime Sports, the precursor of ESPN-Star, started beaming the game into Indian households. That's not to forget Doordarshan which always covered the semis and finals of Wimbledon and the French Open, which Prime Sports never did.

So it's been while since I've been hooked to it. Undoubtedly, it's a pretty attractive sport, to say the least.

Just like every Tom, Dick and Harry in the subcontinent is an authority on cricket, I consider myself to be a bit of a John McEnroe (in his santised NBC avatar, with tie and all).

Let's come to the real deal - Roger Federer. Federer - the man widely regarded by many (including Agassi and McEnroe) to be the greatest to have ever wielded a tennis racquet .

Keeping that in mind, take a look at this.

Rafael Nadal, the pretender, has smashed Federer into pulp again, the five sets notwithstanding. This is crazy. It's downright unbelievable. I can't f***ing believe that this sartorially-challenged punk beat Federer. AGAIN.

Nadal's a freaking machine. But he's not a patch on Federer. I repeat. He's not a patch on Federer. Anybody who's seen them play would say the same. If they don't, I suggest they haul themselves out of here before I land some eternal sunshine on their spotless behinds. The only way this moron should be able to beat Federer is in an ATP videogame (Spanish edition).

But the reality is that this teenaged bum is now 5-1 up on the head-to-head count. It's been 3-0 this year. Federer's had his pants taken off yet again. YET AGAIN. He's been licked, from head to toe, with intermediate stops in between as well.

This is complete nonsense. I do not understand why some things in this world cannot follow the principles of physics. The lines of force logically point towards Federer. There's dark matter at work here.

Now Mr. Federer's going to be decimated in the French Open as well. If there's any way he can win that's only if some mental fan of his decides to stab Nadal at the Hamburg Open (deja vu?).

I'm frustrated and dejected at Federer's (un)doings. How could he squander two match-points? This is bullshit. It's gone outside of the tennis court and into a shrink's clinic. That's the only explanation I have for this series of debacles. Sampras would have found a way out of this. Nobody made a bunny out of him.

But I guess, in a way, I know. Few things cannot be explained. Just like nobody can explain how ALL the chicks keep turning ME down. ME. In fact, that one needs to go to Ripley's Believe it Or Not.

Something else as well - Roger Federer defeating Rafael Nadal - if that ever happens in this millennium.

But Federer thinks he's "on the right track". Dude, if anything, you're on track to derailment.

Damn these clowns. I should stick to watching the *ovas in future.

Management Class : Meandering thoughts of a fickle mind

...is the phrase used in this gentleman's blog to refer my sanctuary of truth, peace and justice.

Indeed, the use of that mighty a word as Nirvana by so worthy a personage helped me realise the duncery that was the two-bit Alakh Niranjan (my blog's credo when it first started off).

We are in a world that's talking 64 bit. So, behold:

MENTAL BABA KA TEMPO HIGH HAI

Having said that, let me not digress from my intended train of thought.

The moot point here would be the applicability of the word "gentleman" to this "gentleman".

Now legend has it that he engaged in activities that were quite gentlemanly, to say the least.

For example, he was gentlemanly in his conduct towards the minority population of his realm. He would not impose his majoritarian views upon them. He would not engage them in conversations bereft of gentlemanhood.

Instead he, by selfless volition, chose to undertake rigorous penance, surfing the internet in the daunting quest for enlightenment. He would then disseminate this hard-earned knowledge to the minions on the local networks.

He would not indulge in games that other players partook of. He would rather play the gentleman's game with a gentlemanly spirit rarely seen south of the Arctic Circle.

At the personal cost of neglect, he directed his energies towards the greater cause of uplifting science, technology and the state of West Bengal.

I beg to disagree that such magnitude is conveyed by the word gentleman. By colossus, perhaps. Perhaps.

I therefore thank him from the bottom of my heart for honouring me with a place in his wondrous domain, where rivers of free thought run wild and flowers of fresh ideas bloom forth.

I was just about to relapse into my meditative state when I noticed that this dignitary joined the party as well.

It is difficult to wax eloquent on his achievements, considering the fact that their quantity as well as quality represents a selection dilemma quite unlike any other, save that of Dada maybe.

He is one of the few ambassadors-at-large to have mastered the lofty arts of Calculus and Analytical Geometry and the cosmic technology that the Microsoft Office suite is representative of.

This magnifico often theorises on integrating complexities and challenges that are presented by the dynamics of evolving processes.

Champion that he is, he resolves these using Excel (at which he excels), Word (to describe his skills thereat, words fail me) and Outlook (which exemplifies his outlook to nation-building). With a noble spirit that is but a common denominator that defines his exalted kind, he carries on, undaunted and indefatigable.

He is currently engaged in patenting a product par excellence - The IT Consultant's Guide to Third World Cooliedom - which is widely tipped to win this year's Nobel for Economics as well as Peace and also tip a certain Global Top 10 company into the forefront of thought leadership.

I salute the great man and thank him for offering me a nook in his workshop where the dazzling glow of construction blinds and the sweltering heat of innovation sears.

Management Class : Meandering thoughts of a fickle mind

In response to the frequent deluges that the ashram's levees were being subjected to, I have magnanimously decided to consider some of the questions put forth by the millions and the millions of my disciples on the third rock from the sun. A REXX script came up with this representative selection.


Who the f*** are you?
- A redneck from Nashville, Tennessee

Son, I'm Mental Baba. I'm the third greatest poet in the history of mankind and also the finest bathroom singer that ever was.

Define Mental and define Baba, you f***ing quack.
- Another redneck, from Memphis, Tennessee

Son, I would like to refer you to my favourite online dictionary.

mental = of or relating to the chin or median part of the lower jaw
baba = a kind of plum cake

Adding these two complex vectors using hi-fi theorems (which unfortunately you may not be able to decipher),

mental baba = the future CEO of a certain Global Top 10 company

Hey dumbass, would you mind throwing some f***ing light on Alakh Niranjan?
- yet another redneck, this time from Martin, Tennessee

My pleasure, son. It simply means "All hail Baba and his hairstyle".

What do you think when you think of Tennessee?
- Gov. Phil Bredesen

Give me red.

Do you have any nicknames?
- The Dalai Lama, Upholder of Tibetan Zen Buddhism

Well, my friends do call me Nova.
- Mental Baba, Upholder of Truth, Peace and Justice

Can you do breakdance like me?
- Govinda

Only when I have my favourite stretchable undies on.

Have you set any goals for your current incarnation?
- Pee 'n' Yell, top 10 consultants from a Global Top 10 Company

To hack into ALL networks across the universe, save those operated by the Government of Papua New Guinea (if they have any in the first place).

Why wasn't I named the MVP of the NBA?
- Kobe Bryant

Because Medha Patkar did better than you.

Are you single?
- Maria Sharapova, former Wimbledon champion

Naah.

Are you single?
- Elton John

Yeah.

Are you tall, dark and handsome?
- Elton John

I've been told that George Clooney looks like me.

Dinner at the Ritz?
- Elton John

Kiss my ass.

Wow! Really?
- Elton John

Yeah.

What is your opinion on the wanton exhibition of power by the intellectually-bankrupt forces governing the capitalist world?
- Noam Chomsky

S0C4

Is there oil in your ashram?
- His Excellency George W Bush, President of the United States

I have a bottle of Parachute nariyal tel, bought five years back, that might be of interest to you.

If you could choose one adjective to describe yourself, what would that be?
- Tim Sebastian

Witty

If you could choose one adjective to describe YOURSELF, what would that be?
- Tim Sebastian

Oh

How would you like to be remembered?
- a hardcore gult, from Ongole, Andhra Pradesh

As a 4000 MW power star who got electrocuted.

Management Class : Meandering thoughts of a fickle mind

Management Class : Meandering thoughts of a fickle mind