Notes from Anoop

Continued at anoopi.wordpress.com

2009-03-16T02:47:00.003-05:00

I'm switching to WordPress. I still haven't got my own domain, so my new URL is anoopi.wordpress.com. Now and then I'll throw a new image in the header of that site. See if you can guess what it is or where it was taken. See you there!

Dev Patel and Me

2009-03-02T23:11:00.010-06:00

Many movies make it to my wishlist but no further. My quota is only three to four movies a year. And this year, after Slumdog Millionaire had its coup at the Oscars, it rose easily to the top of my list. Several people told me that Dev Patel reminded them of me. But when Hema sent me this Annie Leibovitz picture of Patel juxtaposed with a picture she (Hema) had taken of me in 2002, I had no choice.

I finally saw Slumdog this weekend with S who was in Austin with her family.

Its depiction of slum life and the exploitation of children certainly puts the "Dickens" back in "Dickensian". Slumdog made many of my Indian friends cringe. Partly at the exploitation bit, and partly at the image of India that it projected to a world audience.

I for one definitely loved it. The fighting spirit and liveliness of the slum kids kept the exploitation part from getting depressing or dreary. The romance interest wasn't too cheesy. (Compared to Bollywood, at least; are my standards too low?) They told a good story in two hours without dreamy song-n-dance interludes.

I loved the free-flowing English-Hindi dialogues. Most Bollywood movie dialogues stick rabidly to Hindi in a way that's not natural in urban India any more. Everyone speaks a good mix of both languages at home and at work.

And the Jai Ho number at the closing titles was a surprising bonus. Everyone in the hall sat through the titles and the song. I suppose no movie depicting India is complete without a song-n-dance number. Though I'm not complaining too loudly... Bollywood has given us some timeless classics through its song-n-dance obsession.

From a social perspective, I think Slumdog did just fine. As my friend Mark pointed out to me, exploitation of children is not unique to India; many countries suffer from it. The movie merely exposes this weakness of Indian society. Such exposure is a necessary prelude to its elimination. The Times of India ran an article today that said Chinese activists are using Slumdog as an indirect press for greater freedom of expression in China to expose their own societal ills.

The biggest bonus of all? I may not look like Shah Rukh or Saif, but finally I've found a movie hero that I can claim to resemble! I can finally be proud of my movie star looks...

Here's the John Stewart interview with Dev Patel on The Daily Show:

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Dev Patel

Day 6: The Journey Continues

2009-02-22T23:10:00.006-06:00

The course ended today with a potluck lunch celebration. The Art of Living journey continues...

Couple of pictures of Nancie Di:

Day 5: Satsang

2009-02-22T22:22:00.012-06:00

The part 1 course session on day 5 was a short 3 hours since there was another group using the chapel after us. Yoga and kriya today were very deep.

The real treat was the evening satsang with Nancie Di, where she told us more stories of her times and travels with Guruji. After the potluck dinner, most people left and only a few die-hard satsangees remained. Young maestro Vishaal played the Chitraveena for us.

Some pictures are below. The first one was a challenge to get, since we were doing satsang by candle-light, and I didn't want to flood the room with light from my flash. This pic was at ISO 3200 at f/2.8 with 1-stop underexposure. Last pic taken by Ganesh.

Day 4: Q&A and Nancie Di's Story

2009-02-20T23:34:00.009-06:00

All participants have settled beautifully into the rhythm of the course, especially the yoga and the breathing techniques. Questions are being asked, and knowledge is beginning to flow.

One participant asked a question about consciousness, I think she asked "What is consciousness?" Nancie spoke for a few minutes about this. It is very difficult to capture the gist of what she said... She explained that even when cells are cloned in the lab, there's a little spark of electricity that has to be fed before their metabolism gets going. Consciousness is like that spark, that force by which the union of a single male cell and a single female cell grows into this complete organism with such a diversity of features: eyes, face, hands, etc. that function so beautifully together.

Q: How does consciousness happen?
A: It doesn't happen. It just is.
Perception is very different from existence. Consciousness is already there in all of us. Do you remember that space after kriya when we were not quite asleep, not quite awake? That state is very close to the fully conscious state.
Q: Have you ever been one with pure consciousness?
A: Yes.
Q: What happens then? What do you think about?
A: There is no thinking. Everything goes away.
Q: Can you be there for long? How long?
A: Oh, some people can stay in that state for days, even months. I haven't gone that far yet!
Q: Why do you need to go there?
A: There is no need. It just happens. See, in order to understand the mechanics of the mind, you have to witness the mind. For this you have to go beyond the mind. Do you get it?
I can't believe I'm talking about this on a Part 1 course!
The capacity to go to that place at will and experience it again creates that ability, that clarity of perception, where you can see the mechanics of the mind clearly and rise above it. The vast majority of people have this experience frequently, but they just don't know what it is. And they have no capacity to experience it at will.
Q: How often do you feel the need to go there?
A: After a point, there is no more here or there. It just effortlessly happens. Twenty minutes twice a day of deep meditation is enough. That's what Sri Sri recommends.
When you get done pondering the nature of the mind, then you fall in love. Or some people are so engaged in the mind, they have to fall in love to get past it!
Q: Fall in love with what?
A: Everything. The present moment, the people around you, the bad mood, the policeman giving you a ticket, the nature, the city, everything without exception...
Q: How did you come to the Art of Living?
A: In 1988 Sri Sri visited Santa Barbara, and after He left someone called me and told me about Him. As they were speaking, I was directly getting an experience of Him. I was taken aback. I was having a profound experience just hearing about Him. This person ended the call by asking me, "Can he really be enlightened?" Somehow I said, "I'll do whatever He tells me to do." I shocked myself with that statement. I had no idea why I was saying that.
The next time He was in the US, I got three calls from people telling me to go meet Him. I gave the usual excuses - time, money, etc. And the time after that, it was 8 to 10 calls, saying I should go and meet this man. I thought I was being stalked, and I made up my mind never to go. I was quite resistant.
In the meantime, a very challenging client I was working with stopped coming to me. I felt relieved, since the sessions weren't doing her any good anyway. Six months later, she came back to me, and wow! She was not even the same human being anymore. The change in her was off the charts. She could access and address things about herself that I couldn't have dreamt of. I asked her what had brought about the change, and she said she had done the Art of Living course and traveled to India with Sri Sri.
Now I was intrigued. It would be irresponsible of me not to take this course and find out what it was. I had so many people I could recommend it to. This was in 1990. Sri Sri at that point decided not to return to the US for the next three years, but fortunately for me He changed his mind and came during Christmas. But a family emergency pulled me away to Europe, and I couldn't meet Him. Throughout 1991 there was no course in Europe or the US that I could take. In 1992 He came back to the US, and the organizers called me. I arranged to take a course with another teacher, but Sri Sri later told that teacher not to teach that course. That's when I knew, He was coming to teach me himself. He came to Canada, and I went there. He taught me my first Art of Living course. I was sitting at His feet just a few feet away. And He hadn't taught a Part 1 course in years! At that point He was only teaching the advanced courses.
That was the beginning of the end of my mind. About a year later I was full time.

After our course session was over, some of us volunteers sat for an hour with her in the hall. Her intuition was able to pull out something about each one of us. The advice that she was able to give us was just... amazing. Words cannot do it justice, so I won't even try.

Day 3: Q&A Snippet

2009-02-20T16:09:00.004-06:00

A brief snippet from Q&A with Nancie Di (paraphrased, not verbatim):

Q: How did Sri Sri come up with Sudarshan Kriya?
A: Once in a blue moon Sri Sri talks about it, and even then only a few brief sentences. I've only been around Him twice when He has spoken on the topic. He used to be a meditation teacher, and He realized that some people were not able to meditate, and some who were meditating were in fact not getting the benefits that have been enunciated for meditation. This age is so full of activity for the mind, isn't it? Our daily lives have become so hectic, and the mind is just not able to go deep at all. He realized that something more was needed. So He went into a period of silence for 10 days. During that silence, what came to Him was the kriya. This was in 1982.
He has said that the knowledge of kriya was there on this planet in the past, and it had been lost. So He revived it.
Kriya is not just a precursor to meditation. A lot of deep cleansing happens during kriya. The word kriya itself means "purifying action". A lot of rebalancing happens in all the levels of existence we talked about earlier.

Outside of the course session, Nancie Di also pointed to a specific story in Vasistha's Yoga that enunciates kriya as well as the hollow and empty meditation (taught on the Art of Living Part 2 Course). I do not remember that story at all; time to go back to reading Vasistha! Last week, I watched (again) the fifth tape of Sri Sri's commentary on Patanjali's Yoga Sutras, where Patanjali also talks about kriya. Of course, the experience completely trumps the explanation!

Day 2: Happy Birthday Nancie Di

2009-02-19T16:53:00.002-06:00

What a day! Participants in our course got their first experience of sudarshan kriya.

After the session Nancie Di led us in a beautiful Guru Pooja followed by a short meditation. While we were thus engrossed, the rest of the gang was waiting for us at Mozart - where we had arranged a surprise celebration for Nancie Di for her birthday.

Nancie later shared with us that she thought she would have a quiet birthday this time without anyone in Austin knowing. As a traveling Art of Living teacher, she has been in this situation before. She has also had surprise parties before, but her intuition would always tell her it was coming. Not this time! Until we took her to Mozart's, she hadn't a clue.

Happy Birthday Nancie Di!

Day 1 of Art of Living National Week

2009-02-18T12:35:00.003-06:00

Yesterday was Day 1 of our Art of Living National Week. All over the US, Art of Living Part 1 courses are being conducted at the same time this week (Feb 17-24).

In Austin we started our course last night, with between 15 and 20 participants (I don't remember the exact count). The class has some apprehensive new faces, some veteran volunteers, and some who are re-discovering the joys of the course by repeating it.

Austin has been fortunate to get Nancie Di as a teacher for this course. She has been with Guruji since the early 1990s, and has taught in many places in many countries. She is very articulate and specific with instructions she gives to students. She has many stories to tell to illustrate the points she makes in class - stories about her own life and her experiences with Guruji. Her style is simple and disarming.

I'm on this course after an 8-month gap without a Part 1 course. And it's my first time with Nancie Di, which is great, since we have something new to learn from every teacher. Before the night was over, I realized how high the prana was in that chapel as we were going into our first pranayamas. During the brief guided meditation, I experienced very deep stillness. It was almost like being on a Part 2 course.

More to come, as we continue the course and learn the sudarshan kriya.

PS: We will have satsang with Nancie Di this Saturday.

Made It In Good Shape!

2009-02-11T00:45:00.004-06:00

It's oficial -- I've made it to the big three-oh. My birthday was celebrated with a small party hosted by Madhu.

PS: February post!

Hunt-n-peck on Dvorak

2009-01-19T13:56:00.010-06:00

Once again I've taken up the Dvorak keyboard layout. I've switched to Dvorak on my primary workstation and my laptops. After years of touch-typing on qwerty, I'm back to hunt-n-peck and learning the new layout.

The last time I tried this, it didn't last very long. Wish me better luck this time.

Why do it?

As a learning test. How long does it take to memorize new key positions? Both brain and muscle memory are involved.

Supposedly Dvorak is easier on the hands — though this is a subject of dispute.

In the half-day that I've used it, I've drawn the new layout on a beige keyboard with a Sharpie, unlearned the vim keys, taken tutorials online, appreciated the Windows on-screen keyboard, and realized the difference between an English mix of letters and an engineering / coding mix.

Let's see how this goes!

Update at end of day 1: 15 to 20 wpm without looking at the keyboard!

Update at end of day 2: 20 to 25 wpm. The switch is going well!

OpenVPN

2009-01-18T00:35:00.007-06:00

I recently set up OpenVPN at home. It’s a pilot for someone who runs a business, and needs remote access to a samba file server located at the office.

There are several pieces to the puzzle, so I’ll list them all below.

Ubuntu: The first step was to buy a used Athlon 64 desktop system with 1.5 GB of memory and upgrade it with a 500 GB Seagate Barracuda hard disk. I installed 64-bit Ubuntu 8.10 on it, desktop edition. Using the Synaptic package manager I installed Samba and OpenVPN from Ubuntu repositories. Simple enough. I also threw in openssh-server for ease of administration and file transfer, and proprietary graphics drivers for getting a decent display.

Port forwarding: On my Belkin router I enabled forwarding of port 1194 (default port for OpenVPN) to my Ubuntu machine. However the IP address of my Ubuntu machine was a DHCP address assigned by the router, so that posed a problem, solved by the next piece of the puzzle.

Static IP: I had to set the Ubuntu machine to a static IP on my home network to enable port forwarding. (For some absurd reason this worked on one Ubuntu machine but not on another… I’m still investigating why.)

DynDNS: I had to access this system from outside my home network, and I have a typical DSL connection with a dynamic IP address. So I signed up for a free DynDNS.com account. My Belkin wireless router has built-in support for DynDNS, and I decided to use it instead of a standalone client.

OpenVPN Client: On a laptop I installed the OpenVPN client. Since the Ubuntu repository had given me a release candidate version of 2.1, I chose to install the latest 2.1 release candidate rather than the stable 2.0.9 version. The 2.1 series comes with the OpenVPN GUI integrated, which is a big plus.

Key Generation: I read the steps on the OpenVPN HOWTO and generated the required certificates and keys on the Ubuntu server. Then I copied over the required keys and certificates to the client laptop.

Configuration: From the HOWTO, creating a config file for a tun configuration proved easy enough for both client and server, with lzo compression enabled. I did not need bridging since Samba was on running the same server as OpenVPN.

So did it all work together? Of course not... read on!

First, my router's DynDNS update didn’t work as expected. When I had restarted my router and DSL modem for some reason, the DynDNS client on the router recorded a bogus non-routable IP address before the DSL modem could get an IP address from upstream. And then the DynDNS client on the router promptly proceeded to update my DNS record globally with this bogus non-routable address. What’s worse, even after I corrected the situation with a manual update, my router refused to give up its earlier cached DNS lookup that pointed to the bogus IP. As a result, I couldn’t refer to my VPN server by name at all.

The alternative I considered was a Perl program called ddclient. It worked for a first update but did not run successfully in daemon mode... haven't yet figured out why.

The second issue came up when I had connected successfully and was in the testing phase. I was able to see my Samba share from my client, but my connection was unstable. I decided to switch from UDP to TCP, and then it started to work reliably. To make this switch, I had to edit the server config file and restart the service, edit the client config file, and change the port forwarding setting in the router.

How well does it perform?

Going strictly through my own internal wiring, I was able to push or pull about 2 to 3 Mbps from my laptop to my Samba server, each way. The laptop was connected using wireless 802.11g. From a friend's home, I got about 300 to 350 Kbps for reads; I didn't test writes.

I suppose setting up an OpenSSH server and using SSH tunneling would have worked just as well, with the addition of a virtual NIC. But this was cooler. :)

Are Diamonds Forever?

2009-01-12T23:19:00.001-06:00

Another in the “for you” reading series. There’s an old article from a 1982 issue of the Atlantic Monthly titled Have You Ever Tried to Sell a Diamond? It’s a long but fascinating read. And it’s not just about what the title says. It chronicles the growth and consolidation of diamond mining and more importantly, marketing.

In times past, a woman’s jewelry used to be her financial safety net, at least in cultures like India. Gold makes up the bulk of a typical collection, followed by silver. Diamonds are a relatively recent addition. Read on to find out why a diamond may not be a woman’s best friend after all.

From the website of Atlantic Monthly: Have You Ever Tried to Sell a Diamond?

The Superinvestors of Graham and Doddsville

2009-01-10T12:02:00.001-06:00

With this post, I’m starting a series on investing, targeted towards one specific reader – you know who you are. :) The first thing I’d like you to read is a speech by Warren Buffett, titled The Superinvestors of Graham and Doddsville. In it Buffett explains the basic principle of value investing and the negative risk-reward correlation that value investors enjoy. About the principle, Buffett says:

“I've never seen anyone who became a gradual convert over a ten-year period to this approach. It doesn't seem to be a matter of IQ or academic training. It's instant recognition, or it is nothing.”

Soon to follow, an article from Buffett in the NY Times, which argues that now may be the perfect time to apply this principle, and he certainly is doing so.

With that, onward to the article. It’s best to download the PDF and read it along with the tables and illustrations.

Superinvestors: PDF
Superinvestors: HTML

New Year, New Writing

2009-01-03T22:14:00.008-06:00

Resolution time. I will post at least one item every month on this blog. Here goes the January post.

Looking back just a bit: Fall 2008 was crazy as well as blissful, thanks to Guruji’s visit to Texas and especially right here to Austin. We’ve heard before that the work of a Guru is done at a very subtle level, and this time it has been reinforced manifold for me. He was full of praise for the public talk we had organized, though it was far from being perfect. I learnt first hand what it takes to organize an event with a $20,000 budget, 700 attendees, 40 volunteers, and a Guru. (Hint: having the latter makes all the difference… everything else becomes easy to handle.) After our day with Guruji was past, I traveled with Guruji to Dallas and onward to Houston where I was volunteering for the Art of Living Part 2 course for five days. The short span of a day when Guruji was in Austin, and the bus ride to Dallas, and the time we got with Him in Houston – nothing can come close, and it still feels like it wasn’t enough! (Is it ever enough?) Here are some pictures on Picasa from Ravi R, our official photographer for the Austin event.

I got some good rest in November and December and restarted some reading. I completed The Audacity of Hope, the second book by President-elect Barack Obama who at the moment seems to be the beloved of the whole world (except for the Republican half of the US).

I am amazed at how well this book lays out the whole platform for the presidential campaign. Once he had written out his thoughts in the form of this book, I don’t think there was much new by way of ideas or rhetoric that he had to come up with for the campaign. Foreign affairs, race relations, economics, family values – it’s all there in the book. Another impression I carried away from the book was how well Obama can see both sides of an argument. I’m betting we’ll see less of the black-and-white “if you’re not with us, you’re against us” presidential world-view we’ve become used to in the last eight years in the US.

Here’s another book I’ve started reading: The Toyota Way, by Jeffrey Liker.

My own employer, AMD, has rolled out our LEAN initiative a while ago, starting with our manufacturing where it has apparently done wonders. We haven’t yet changed our ways in the engineering organization though, as far as I can tell. I haven’t reached the part in the book where he talks about LEAN for engineering and service organizations. Let’s see what comes up. Based on what I’ve read so far, I recommend this book highly.

Part of this new year break has been spent reorganizing my computing environment at home, migrating from a mostly desktop-based environment to having a laptop and a home server. More updates later on this front. And for the first time, my photography arsenal is seeing the addition of a compact, the Canon A590 IS, which I’ve decided to use as a walk-about camera at all times and especially for low-light and B&W shooting. Quality is nowhere near my Canon DSLR but here’s what I like about it that the DSLR and my 24-70/2.8L can never provide: it’s human-sized. It’s been fun so far!

A First Look

2007-12-21T23:36:00.000-06:00

He didn't quite know why he had purchased the 10x magnification vanity mirror from Bed Bath and Beyond, but there it was on his bathroom counter. It was an impulse purchase, especially more so since he was a bachelor. It was a 6-inch mirror, one of those concave ones that make the world appear all upside-down until you got really close to it, and then it would show you yourself up close and personal.

It would please his girlfriend whenever she visited, he supposed.

And, he supposed, it would help him trim the hair that stuck out of his nose. It did. That was the first thing he did with it. What a great amount of detail it exposed. The perfectionist in him was pleased, once the job was done.

He played with the mirror before brushing his teeth in the night. He noticed how his usual bathroom mirror always showed him a guy who was standing three or four feet away. This mirror demanded closeness, and in return it gave closeness. Distance was not tolerated.

Gosh, were his teeth really that yellow? And what was that between his teeth? Hmm, time to floss...

Then he noticed how dry his lips were. And the skin around his lips. Must apply some ghee before going to bed...

And the stubble. What would have passed as acceptable after a casual look in his usual bathroom mirror was beginning to look a little shabby when examined closely in this mirror.

The pock marks from the chicken-pox he had had as a child were still there on his cheeks, even after 23 years.

He could see worry wrinkling his skin around the cheeks, where his face muscles weren't relaxed. He deliberately relaxed them. Relaxed his forehead. Let the skin slowly stretch itself out back to its smooth evenness.

And once all these preoccupations were out of the way, he started to look into his own eyes.

The whole world had gone away. His face filled the 6-inch circle, and was magnified 10-fold. Nothing else was visible to his eyes, and nothing else was occupying his mind. He got his first ever good look at himself, up close and personal.

How odd that he had been looking at himself in a mirror daily for years, for the purpose of combing his hair or shaving. Other than achieving these mundane objectives, he never really had a use for mirrors. He had never really seen his own face.

He was seeing it now. He liked what he saw. He was fascinated.

He resolved to look at it and love it often.

Slowly he broke out into a grin. Wow -- what a comic and gleeful look! And then he wrinkled his nose. How funny! Slowly he furrowed his brow, raised one eyebrow, pouted his lips, wiggled one ear.

His whole being broke out in laughter like never before.

Standing Up For A Character

2007-12-08T19:15:00.000-06:00

You may be a character, but that doesn't mean you have character. So says our dear friend zedzded (hereafter referred to as Z) who writes at http://zedzded.wordpress.com.

Why have I come out of my long hibernation to post here? Because my heart bleeds for dear Z. Z has accompanied blackmamba on her jaunts across the Atlantic. And visited Veena. With them both, Z dutifully wolfed down extra-large portions at the 24x7 food festival that their trip turned out to be. If that were not enough, Z is even bm's sibling. Real honest-to-goodness born-to-the-same-mother-and-father sibling. And if even that were not enough, Z and bm are also apartment-mates.

Yet bm and Veena have treated Z's blog with a studied indifference. No references at all! The word "disowned" comes to mind. Why has this happened? Because Z appreciates fine musicians like Amit Paul.

Um, that's an understatement. Actually Z is the founder and admin for the Amit Paul fans website linked above. :)

Be that as it may, bas karo ye nainsaafi. Garibi hatao! Blogroll mein naam lagaa do! Amit Paul Zindabaad!

Let it be known that even those with character need not be characters. Even if they were characters, if said characters type in enough characters into a blog, other characters with character can put some characters into their blogrolls to link to the characters on the original character's blog. That's character. (Reading this paragraph thrice daily is recommended for curing confusion.)

PS: Z, please to return the favor and link to bm's and Veena's blogs from your own blogroll, in addition to the Amit Paul link. And if all this doesn't work, start commenting on their blogs. :)

Adversity

2006-04-23T15:25:00.000-05:00

I am starting my own line of inspirational posters using pictures I've taken. This is the first. Enjoy.

PS: Full-page PDF available for printing: just ask!

Pittsburgh Remembered

2006-03-31T21:43:00.000-06:00

Lately I have been taking time to do some good reading, and after a long long hiatus I return today to writing. Much obliged to BM and VM for the inspiration.

Today I remember Pittsburgh in blog. I have been encouraged to do so by a friend (he of the IBM persuasion) who is scheduled to visit Pittsburgh next week and wants to know what is worth his while to see. The first thing I should do is point him to what other worthies have written about Pittsburgh: I refer the reader to Ramesh Mahadevan's Goodbye Pittsburg. Ramesh Mahadevan is always a delight to read, isn't he? Being of IIT and CMU pedigree, his memories overlap with mine. Even though he didn't go to the same IIT as I did, his piece titled IIT Garden of Love could well have been written in my IIT.

But I digress. Good old Pittsburgh. On the memories front, Carnegie Mellon obviously gets top spot. The center of my world was the area from the intersection of Forbes and Morewood to the intersection of Fifth and Craig, and the CMU campus. In the first year, that is. Later I developed an affinity to Shadyside, Walnut St, etc. as my close friends will remember. These areas of Pittsburgh have mostly old houses and school buildings and churches, with old-fashioned tree-lined streets, a kind of atmosphere I miss in Austin. Walnut Street in Shadyside and Murray Avenue in Squirrel Hill are both beautiful shopping and dining areas, frequented by the CMU population.

Carnegie Mellon is a small campus, consisting of the Mall, the University Center, and a few buildings like the battleship-shaped Wean Hall where the CS-types used to hang out, and Hamerschlag Hall (with that unique structure at its top) which was the ECE building. There was the Arts Building which on the inside looked like an Italian museum with white marble columns and walls and white marble statues of nude Roman and Greek gods and goddesses with missing appendages.

A much larger campus houses the University of Pittsburgh. Its Cathedral of Learning, a sinister structure reminiscent of the Tower of Isengard, is a must-see. You can take a self-guided audio tour of the 21 Nationality Rooms inside, each of which depicts the teaching tradition of the country it represents.

At the corner of Forbes and Craig is the Carnegie Museum of Art and the Carnegie Museum of National History, and the Carnegie Science Center. If you don't have much time in Pittsburgh, these may not be very high on your list. But there is a "flourescence and phosphorescence" display in the minerals and gemstones section for which I have a childlike fascination. In a dark room there is an exhibit of some crystals upon which lights are directed; and when these lights are switched off, the magical display of luminiscence begins. It is quite captivating; methinks it is worth the $12 admission fee.

Behind the campus is Schenley Park and the Phipps Conservatory, both of which can make for a relaxing afternoon of wandering and photography. My first rolls of SLR shooting were at Phipps shooting flowers, guided by my friend AN.

All these places are accessible by foot from the Carnegie Mellon campus. For things that are further afield, good public transport is available in the form of buses.

The Andy Warhol museum is definitely worth visiting, as is the Mattress Factory, a modern art museum that is a relatively short trip, both near the downtown area. Speaking of downtown, don't miss the winch train ride from Station Square to Mount Washington, from where you can see all of downtown including the bridges and the confluence of the three rivers Allegheny, Monongahela and Ohio. The view of the downtown lights from there is a great sight at dusk.

Public transportation definitely won't get you to the Sri Venkateswara Temple. This temple is one of the largest in North America, and can be seen on the side of Interstate 376 as you enter Pittsburgh. As Ramesh Mahadevan mentions in his article above, the curd rice and tamarind rice there are still great, and the temple is quite crowded on Sundays. The nearby restaurant which Ramesh refers to as "Vegetarian Delight" is now called "Udipi" and was supposedly called "Dosa Hut" in an incarnation prior to this. It remains a universally made stop on the way back from the temple. Get good directions before you start; it is easy to get lost going to the temple.

Speaking of desi eating places, the "Star of India" referred to by Ramesh is still there on Craig Street. And at boundary of the Carnegie Mellon and U Pitt campuses (in front of the Hillman Library) there used to be lunch vendors operating out of their trucks on weekdays. Kashmiri's was a regular haunt... I wonder if his truck still serves lunch there.

If you are into architecture and such, you should visit Fallingwater. This is a house built by Frank Lloyd Wright which stands on top of a waterfall, supported by cantilever beams. They have hourly short tours, but the best tour is the daily long tour that starts at 8 am and used to cost $50. The long tour is worth it, even if it means you have to book it in advance and start driving from Pittsburgh at 6:30 am. If you have even more time to spend on architectural marvels, you can visit the nearby house called Kentuck Knob, also a Wright design. Kentuck Knob has a modern sculpture garden and all, complete with a piece of the Berlin Wall and all. Laurel Caverns and Ohiopyle State Park are also within a stone's throw of here. The Western Pennsylvania countryside is quite beautiful this time of the year.

Pittsburgh is a wonderful place. But ultimately it was the people I was with that made my life in Pittsburgh complete -- you know who you are. Some of them are still in school there, and I have visited Pittsburgh once since I left CMU. I am looking forward to more visits... :)

IBM Freebies

2004-11-12T14:36:00.000-06:00

My frustration level must be going up, because it's usually frustration that inspires me to write. Here I am again.

Last weekend I stayed over with a friend of mine in his newly rented house. As he welcomed me home I noticed he was wearing a white t-shirt with a blue IBM logo on it, and an IBM cap. I've seen him in IBM gear before. IBM hands out a lot of freebies to its interns these days.

In the kitchen I found an IBM coffee maker and an IBM coffee mug, along with a pack of ground coffee with the legend "Starbucks breakfast blend, packed for IBM". Mmm, coffee, powered by IBM. In the bathroom there was an IBM towel, and the toilet seat cover had a big blue IBM logo on it. Hmm, toilet, covered by IBM.

Next to his sink was a blue sponge scouring pad with an IBM logo. Behold, the IBM sinkpad.

No prizes for guessing his favorite music genre: blues.

Needless to say, his long internship has afforded him a lot of IBM clothing. Shirts, track pants, socks, you name it. The last time he visited his family in India, his mother gave him a new shirt on the first day. He spent quite a while looking for the IBM logo on it. It must have faded or something, he guessed. He says new interns at IBM are given a gender-specific form to specify their clothing preferences. Boxers or briefs?

In a past life he was an intern at IBM India Labs in Delhi. It is to IBM's credit that their freebies are not only gender-specific but also culture-specific. As fond mementoes of his IBM Delhi days, he still has his IBM spittoon and his IBM lungi. Close your eyes for a moment and picture yourself using those.

The potted plant in the corner of his living room, thankfully, didn't have a logo. Only the pot did. IBM pot: the favorite pot of all intern smokers worldwide! (Sorry, couldn't resist.) Instead of growing towards the sunlight, this plant was growing towards the kitchen. What gives? "This plant grows in the direction of the nearest IBM site," he explained. "It has been genetically modified to droop and shed leaves when IBM's share price drops." Would that be the blue gene?

He even had two IBM footstools. Do you even *have* a footstool? I don't. I never interned at IBM.

Sadly his internship at IBM is coming to an end. The days of free IBM kitchen wipes and free IBM knee-pads will soon be over. He is joining the deprived ranks of the full-time employees who do not get freebies. Alas. Of what use is a 401(k) retirement savings plan and dental benefits if you cannot surprise your significant other on her birthday with a free IBM pink slip or free IBM black thong?

His internship has certainly served him well. IBM merchandise is generally well designed. It can certainly create a good first impression. It has class, you know what I mean?

Imagine this situation: you, a male IBM engineer, are on a first date. It's dinner in a fancy restaurant. The conversation is going well because you have kept yourself from talking about the benefits of high-K dielectrics in IBM's 65-nanometer SOI technology or the problems of substrate noise in CMOS designs of radio frequency PLLs. As the waiter brings you the check, the restaurant is getting rather warm, and your date is quite hot too. You take off your sweater to reveal an IBM t-shirt.

Her: You work at IBM?
You: Yeah, in the circuits research lab.
Her: Cool. Hey, you wanna come over to my place for some coffee?

On the other hand, imagine this situation: you, a male AMD engineer, are on a first date. Dinner in a fancy restaurant. The conversation is going well. As the waiter brings you the check, the restaurant is getting rather warm, not to mention your that your date is quite hot too. You take off your sweater to reveal an AMD t-shirt. Uh oh, not this one. This t-shirt is a particularly nerdy production.

Her: Hey, that's weird. What's your t-shirt say?
You: Oh, it's a... um, it's a t-shirt celebrating the Hammer tapeout. You see, (pointing to a picture of a hammer on the t-shirt) Hammer is the code name for AMD's next generation processor. And this (pointing to a penguin on the t-shirt) is linux, and this (pointing) is windows. We're going to rule both linux and windows with Hammer. Well, the picture actually shows only one window, but you get the idea... and this (pointing again) is the sinking Itanic. That's the competition, you see. And this here is the tapeout date...
Her: *Yawn*. Nice. Hey, can you call me a cab? I'm headed home.

You head home too, and burn the offending t-shirt.

See what I mean?

The Hammer tapeout t-shirt described above really exists. Some of us (those who have realized that we didn't stand a chance anyway, also called realists) haven't bothered to burn it. I still wonder who designed it. There must be an especially fiery place somewhere in hell reserved for such people...

The Lungi

2004-11-05T22:22:00.000-06:00

Today I discovered that I still possess an alternative to the pajama I wear to bed every night. I found a lungi in my closet. Which proves beyond a shadow of doubt that I am from one of the Southernmost states of India, Tamil Nadu and Kerala. (Those who know me personally are aware that I happen to be from both states, but I digress.) I daresay lungis are common in other territories as well, but in these aforementioned places they are ubiquitous. Male students of Trivandrum engineering college for instance never have pajama parties; they only have lungi parties.

Not many have read that obscure chapter from one of our great Hindu epics that describes how the lungi was born. In the days of yore, men of India dressed in the purity of white and the soberness of subdued colors, much like men of the Western world do today. Bright colors were for the womenfolk. The lungi was fortutiously designed by the third of five brothers, who was roaming the land in search of adventure thousands of years ago (so the epic goes). One evening he rested for a while on a river bank, when what should catch his eye but three sarees folded neatly and placed on a rock. "Aha, abandoned clothes," he thought. Little did it occur to him that they might belong to three hapless damsels who were bathing in the river. The onset of twilight had probably obscured any visual clues to that fact. Had he known that, his upright moral values would have kept him from changing the course of fashion history. But as it happens, he tucked the three sarees under his armpit and trudged home. All three were brightly colored. Perhaps they were purple, orange and green; or one of them might have been bright yellow or red, and a couple of them may have had a floral pattern. You get the idea.

The three bathing damsels came out of the water and were shocked to discover the loss of their garments. Reluctant to trust their modesty to the cover of darkness on their way home, they prayed in unison to Lord Krishna. Promptly coming to the rescue, he blessed them with the gift of the garb. (Astute readers are no doubt noting that this was not the only instance in Hindu mythology when Lord Krishna has imparted this gift to women in distress.)

Our intrepid hero meanwhile reached home and greeted his widowed mother. "Look ma, see what I have brought!" His mother, immersed in her evening prayers, merely said, "Arre Arjun beta, whatever it is, please divide it and share it equally among all you five brothers." (Once again, astute readers will point out that this is not an isolated incident of fraternal sharing thus inspired.)

Never one to disobey his mother, our hero promptly cut each saree into five and gave a piece each to his brothers. What were they to do? With a brightly colored cloth of that size, there aren't too many ways you can put it to practical use. Thus was the lungi born.

The story of a modern-day lungi begins in a textile mill somewhere in the textile manufacturing haven of Tiruppur in Tamil Nadu, which is the Paris of lungi fashions. From there it finds its way neatly folded and packed in plastic to Mallu and Tam wearers in all corners of the world, from Alappuzha to New Delhi, from Toronto to Dusseldorf and Pollachi to Melbourne. Industry newsletters estimate that seventy percent of the lungi trade takes place at Coimbatore and Erode railway stations when trains are halted there.

Kerala's TV viewers of the early nineties will fondly remember the Kitex lungi ads that used to run just before the nightly news. Compared to its monochromatic cousin the mundu (or dhoti), the lungi projects a different personality on the wearer. While the white mundu bestows a degree of understated class and suave refinement, the bright pink lungi with yellow flowers when sported in public conveys a certain daring and a playfulness of character that few other forms of attire can accord to men. Both these garments also provide an unparalleled utility of function, subtly cloaking the contours of the lower half of the body while providing the luxury of ample ventilation that wearers in humid tropical climes need. They also have the distinction of being the only convertible garment for men; I am referring to the ability to fold it up to any length required by the situation. Show me a pair of trousers that can convert to shorts in two seconds flat! This foldability is very handy for fighting villains on the street, as Mohanlal and Mammooty and other worthies have demonstrated on the silver screen. It is also handy for wading across large puddles of unknown depth, as wearers in Kerala's capricious monsoon rains will testify.

Of course there are downsides too. The time taken for repeatedly retying the lungi has seriously affected worker productivity in Kerala; witness the lack of industrial enterprise in that state. And if you are a Mallu student trying to escape from the authorities by way of jumping out of a third floor balcony onto a neighboring balcony, a lungi can be a hinderance. Nevertheless there is a certain Mallu friend of mine who has accomplished precisely this feat at IITB and lived to tell the tale. He lives only a hundred miles away from Austin, so I must be careful what I say here. More about him another time, I think.

Honey, Did I Lock The...

2004-07-12T13:12:00.000-05:00

I hadn't expected to update this blog more often than once a month, but what do you know, here I am again.

I remember our trips from Bombay to our native Kerala when I was six or seven years old. We went by train, and it was quite an adventure for me and my three-years younger sister, and we both no doubt made it an ordeal for my parents.

I remember boarding at wayside stations like Dadar, where we had to rush into the Kanyakumari-bound train in the five minutes that it halted there. I remember my father's mad rush to find the compartment we were booked into, followed by the mad rush to get in and get the family and the luggage in amidst other families and their luggage, and of course amidst the throng of bellicose chai and vada hawkers. No sooner than we had settled in and the train had sallied forth with a jerk, my mother would anxiously turn to my father and ask, "Balcony kathavu poottinela?" Did you lock the balcony door?

By the time my conscious memory had started recording such momentous exchanges, my father had got his replies down to a fine art. Without batting an eyelid, he would look up from his suitcase-stowing operation and say, "Of course. Safe and secure." Which statement had as much connection with the truth as other statements we've heard recently in the American media, like: "It was a wardrobe malfunction." Or even: "Yeah they had WMDs; lots of them." He had probably given me the padlock and asked me to do it for him while he was answering a call in the bathroom, and in all probability my infant sister and I had fought over the privilege. But like all great statesmen and diplomats, he knew the first rule of diplomacy: what matters is not only what you say, but how you say it. Had he been ambivalent or surprised about the question ("Balcony door? What balcony door?" or "Um, yeah... I don't remember doing it but I must have.") he would have known no peace until we had alighted from the train at Ernakulam Junction and had had an opportunity to wire our neighbours to find out the state of the door. His sentiments toward said door would not have been unlike those I bore towards an innocent but athletic insect that was trying to find its way out of my dhoti while I was on stage playing Gandhi in the Sons of India paegeant in high school.

Back to the train. So the train would merrily wend its way through the wastelands of the Bombay suburbia and halt for its next mouthful of passengers at Kalyan. Typically some Mallu family, let's call them the Geevargheses (the Geevargheese?), would board the compartment and occupy the other three berths in the sleeper-class booth of six we were in. Heaving the luggage on board and lugging an offspring each, our mythical friends Baby and Blessy Geevarghese would battle their way to their seats and stow their luggage and offspring appropriately. Baby would be fastidiously padlocking the luggage to the chains under the seat when the train would start with a jerk, and Blessy would promptly interrupt him with, "Babychaya, veettil cupboardu poottiyo?" Did you lock the cupboard at home?

Being a man of the world, Baby would summon all confidence, flash his brightest back-from-the-Gelf smile that had won Blessy's heart five years ago, and say, "Of course Blessykutty. Nothing to worry." After which my father would catch his eye, and they would both exchange an understanding glance and a silent nod as if to say, "You too, my friend?" In that instant they would have formed a bond between them that would be much stronger than any bond their wives could form by gossipping about common acquaintances till the Geevargheses alighted at Alwaye 40 hours later. Needless to say, a strict code of silence was always followed among men regarding these assurances of security of cupboards and balconies given to women. In Mallu it was called omerta.

Men of the world, is this sounding familiar to you? If not, it will. It comes in various guises, but not even single unattached men are free from it. Take for instance this fair friend whom I dropped off at the Austin airport last December on her way to India, whom I dropped off at the airport once again two weeks ago during her next trip to India. Both these times, as I was driving out of her apartment's parking lot, she asked me, "Hey Anoop, did I lock the front door?" Truth be told, on both occasions I had been too busy struggling to breathe as I was escorting her well-stuffed suitcase down the stairs into my car's trunk, to notice the state of the door. However, remembering the first rule of diplomacy, I flashed my sincerest smile and said both times, "Of course. I saw you lock it. Over my shoulder. Really." Among those I know who share this affliction are my SRD friend who asked me last week in the parking lot, "Did I lock my car?" and my Chicago friend Poochie who asked me the same thing (the same words!) in the parking lot of the Shedd Aquarium last weekend. Both are women. Alas, no female I know, unattached or otherwise, is free of this affliction. Thus I remain famously single.

Let me redeem myself here and say that I do not hold this in my mind as a stereotype. No sirree. I will be the first to recognize and appreciate that there are women who are strong and decisive and independent, whom their husbands will ask half an hour into a vacation, "Did I turn off the water, dear?" (Or some such.) In fact, my close Mallu friend Anoop Cherian, who was the first in my adulthood to bring this malaise to my attention, spent the better part of his youth looking for such a girl. He was thrilled when he found her in Boston a year ago. She was a Mallu herself, an independent type who, when he arrived at her house to take her out to dinner, locked her door and casually got into his car with nary a care in her heart. When ninety seconds had elapsed and no door question had been posed to him, he stopped his car and escorted her out of it into the neighborhood park. Set in the backdrop of the beautiful New England fall colors, he got down on his knees and proposed to her. She accepted and they got married. The honeymoon was in Bali. But there must be something about marriage that transforms a woman's nature. Back in Boston on their first weekday, as they both walked out onto their snow-covered driveway to get into their cars and drive to work, she turned to him and asked, "Anoobe, did I lock the door?" The chap fainted and spent the week in bed recovering from the concussion. For some reason he lost interest in married life after that. He has since become an ardent student of the Bible.

A woman will ask such questions of any man who happens to be accompanying her. To the man who has no romantic ambitions in her direction, such queries are rhetorical and can be safely sidestepped like questions about the weather ("No it won't rain today."). But for husbands and boyfriends, the only option is to lie outright or trudge back and check the door or whatever it is that is in question. If you see a man get out of his car in pouring rain or freezing sleet, walk back to his house and check the front door, you know why he is doing it. If while boarding your next flight, you happen to hear a man telling his wife that he has checked the oven and that it was indeed turned off, catch his eye and nod a silent nod of understanding.

Omerta.

Lunch Games

2004-07-09T13:06:00.000-05:00

What better way to begin my blogging career than to write about the most important thing in life: lunch.

For all you single unattached living-by-yourself men out there, I can already see you nodding. Alas, what a struggle it is daily for us qualified professionals to put some decent food on our plates at lunchtime. If only it were as simple as dinner, where we have the time to hunt for food without being encumbered by meetings or phone calls or coworkers breathing hellfire and brimstone down our necks. For dinner we can whip out our phonebooks and call our single unattached women friends and friend families in search of food. At least as many as we have time for before Swad and Thai Kitchen and Trudy's close their doors for the night, I mean. If not, well there's always Maggi.

There was a time when lunch used to come in a box which Amma packed into my school bag. Those were the days. Mine was usually a modest affair in keeping with my needs; a few dosas with chutney maybe, or some curd rice and vegetables. But I've seen bigger. Real South Indians know about the multi-layer tower lunch box made of armor-grade steel, with a steel clamp and spoon wedged at the top to hold the assembly securely shut from invading Mongol hordes. I remember classmates working through five- or six-layer towers of feed with hardly any time left over to digest it all over Kings in the boys' playground. Needless to say they would get similar portions for other meals at home. These former classmates of mine now throw their weight around as adults. Some are born great, some achieve their greatness, and some have their greatness thrust into them morsel by morsel. Especially those Mallu friends who used to bring rice with grains of outlandish proportions (parboiled rice, I think). "May I taste those potatoes in your lunch box?" "What potatoes? Those are just grains of rice. See?"

Kings was our post-lunch game for years. Now that's a game some of these soft middle-aged corporate types could use to trim off all the layers they worked hard for years to attain. What could be more effective than the urgency of running in a Kings game in the tropical midday sunshine from a boy who has a rubber ball that he will lob hard at your legs to make you "out"? Sadly I never used to last very long, preferring to lurk in the shadows and surrender when the attack came rather than being the hero who held out till the last. I wonder whether I should have chosen the latter course. I might even have grown a muscle or two somewhere in my legs.

Anyhow, for people of all ages and situations, lunch has its accompanying games. For some it is the game of chatting up the cute members of the opposite sex in college. "Hi, your face looks familiar. Have we met before? My name is Inderjit. May I join you at your table?" (We used to have a lot of that going on at IITB. Really. Don't laugh.) For others, it is the game of soliciting Amway memberships at the company cafeteria. "Hi, your face looks familiar. Have we met before? My name is Inderjit. May I join you at your table?" For some, it is the game of showing pictures of their baby or cat or dog to all who don't manage to escape. "Hi Inderjit, we met last week over lunch, remember? I brought those photos of Timmy today. Wouldn't you like to see them? Hey, wait!" And for the lowest life forms, it is the game of clicking through Slashdot over a bowl of cafeteria salad at their desks. "Welcome InderjitSingh. You have 5 moderator points -- use 'em or lose 'em!" Most of these are guys.

Here in Austin we have our own game of eating lunch out. Once or twice a week, four of us meet in front of bldg 5 and go out for lunch. Drive, order, chat, eat, pay and drive back. That's my idea of a dream lunch. If only it were that simple. It has got to be preceded by the game.

It starts innocuously enough, with the four of us piling into M's VW. Us two guys sit in front, leaving the rear seat free for the girl-girl bonding between Chubby and Appy. M starts his car and puts it into gear. "Okay junta, where to?"

All of us being broad-minded and eclectic in our culinary tastes, we are all quite flexible. The game goes somewhat like this.

"Oh, anywhere is fine." As long as it isn't Mexican or Chinese, is what that means. Over time we have all learnt to read between the lines.

"Me? I'm flexible too. No pizza though. I just had some last night."

"Hey, how about the pasta bar?"

"No, that always takes too long. I have a meeting in 45 minutes."

"And it has too much cheese. I'm cutting down."

Meanwhile M has started cruising down the street, mentally striking off all the joints along the wayside from our list since none of them will meet our criteria. Ever. "I'm hungry, I want to eat lots today."

"Hullo, I said I have a meeting, remember?"

"Okay, how about Pho Thai Sun?"

"No no, their stuff is too smelly."

"And Wan Fu is out because we don't want to eat Chinese, right?"

"Right baba, no Chinese today."

And so it goes -- the game. There have been days when we cruised around for hours and hours playing the game in that dark blue VW in the Texas sun with the smoke of hunger and frustration coming out of our ears before we could reach a decision. Girl bonding happens in the back seat and geek talk and car talk happens in the front seat during breaks from the game. It is a close battle of wits and nerve, with numerous thrusts and parries turning the tide of victory one way or the other. Usually one or more of us gives in and we reach a compromise. It's usually Subway or this joint called Java Noodles.

"Oh, come on in. Table for four? Will it be the usual L5 for you sir?"

Such are the games of lunch.

More later. It's nearly dinner time. I need to make some phone calls...

Hello World

2004-06-29T20:59:00.000-05:00

New blog placeholder text. More stuff will come, some day.