'...And they lived happily ever after'.

He looked into her face, as she slept, a smile on her face. He was sure, he could see her dreams, of a beautiful world, of kings and queens, of talking fishes and flying horses,of evil witches and bad curses, of courageous heroes and great wars, of a blue sky and green earth, and of happy endings.

Secretly he wished, he could be the kid again, and listen to bed-time stories of fairies and everything that is beautiful, and believe, as his daughter now does, that every story, indeed has a happy ending. But, instead, he knew, he was facing the hardest decision of his life yet.

A poor immigrant in a poor country, not many jobs were available to him. And today, the job he knew to do well, was gone. His owner, moved on to the bigger city, to work for another master. Yes, he had to find some work, but he knew the other decision would be harder.

We had never planned for her, he said to himself. Cold logic kicked in. A child was never a good decision, for a poor man, in a country ravaged by war, looking to flee from home. But, the pregnancy happened. They ran away from the war. With no shelter, no money, he could just listen to the doctor in his new country say, that his wife may not survive child-birth. Later, he could just see her live the last moment of her life, as her child, his child lay crying next to her.

No, I never bargained for her, he thinks again, as he looks towards the angelic 4 year old face sleeping next to him, oblivious to his torture, in the dream world of happy endings.

He chided himself. For cold logic to have taken over his thoughts. She was his child. He had raised her. She had given him those fleeting moments of happiness, which was as hard to come by as a good meal in the last 4 years. He had seen happiness in her face. He had worked through long hard days, just by seeing her play all by herself from the corner of his eyes. He had felt the surge of happiness and excitement in her, when he threw her up in the air and caught her every evening. He, once again, had believed in happy endings, when he cooked up bed-time stories for her.

She needs me, he argues to himself. She is living in this protected, magical, beautiful world, that he had made for her. She is not ready, yet, to learn that the world is lot more crueler then she can ever imagine to be now. He has to stay with her, and ease her into the real world, slowly. It has to be him that has to do it.

The mental war of emotion and logic is leaving him, nothing but confused, as logic presents its case again, inside the courtroom of his thoughts. Happiness, you argue, emotion, but tell me how will you give her happiness. So far, you spent more money for tiny gifts for her, the nice frock, the rainbow ice-cream, the talking doll, then for your food. You have not eaten for two days, just so that she has some food. How do you reckon, emotion, that tomorrow, jobless and helpless, unwanted in this new country, you are going to keep her happy and content. How do you even think that you can shield her, as you have, from the cruelties of the world.

Moments such as these come, when logic feels right, but emotions and memories, which have no place in all that is logical, contradict. Decisions, however, need to be taken.

It was getting late, and in a split second, he decided. He had to let her go. It would be hard for her tomorrow, and the day-after, but maybe one day she will realize that father was correct. It was the only logical thing to do. He picked her up, and walked down the road, to the orphanage, that had been tempting him, for quite some time, and which had been his only thought, all evening, after he had lost his job.

He placed her gently, on the stairs, and turned back and left. He knew, that the one last look, he promised himself, when he made the decision, would be the worst thing to do. Fighting tears, he ran up the street, to collect all his belongings, and ran all the way to the railway station.

The train, was not to come till the morning. He laid his belongings down, and decided to sleep. As he closed his eyes, his thoughts only had place for the beautiful smile that he had seen on his daughter's face as he finished the story earlier in the evening. He knew what he had to do.

He ran back to the street, to the orphanage, picked her up, shook her, woke her up, and in a shower of kisses, let her know, that they together will change the story. They deserved a happy ending, and he will find it for her and himself.

I am a hard core Cricket fan. I pray to all the Gods I know on every day that the Indian team takes the field that India win. And, as with billions of Indians, I am disgusted that we lost.

Just keeping to cricket, sure the umpires did us in. But, for a team that had showed so much fight, after the first test mauling, 72 overs should not have been a big deal. Kumble, of all people, could survive that cauldron. A big question mark must be put on Yuvraj. It is one thing, not to perform, if you have a settled place in the team, or even when, you are there because the 'best' player for that position is unavailable. But, to not perform for 4 innings together, when, the team balance has been upset, when the best Indian batsman has been asked to open, which he is not comfortable with, is unacceptable.

Everyone knows that the umpires gave a slew of wrong ones, and all against India. Much has been written about the unsportsmanlike behavior of Ponting and the Aussies. But to me, India is victorious as they managed to remove the veil of the champs. In the past decade, India has been consistently competing against Australia. Barring a match or two, all the matches have gone to the wire. Before this series, the last decade was split 6-8 to the Aussies. Throw an if- in for the rained out Chennai test, it would be 7-8 to the Aussies. And that is victory enough to India (for me). On the performance against Australia alone, India deserve to be a worthy 2nd best test team in the world ( not to forget away wins in Pakistan, Windies, England, an away test win in SA and Australia). The only flaw in the India's test record would be the drawn test series in India with Pakistan and England. If India learn to finish matches, then this record would be much better.

IMO, this is a reason why Australia behaved the way they did. They are scared of the Indian Test team, and as the only team that has stretched Australia to the limit in Australia in the past decade, not once but twice, the ugly side of Australia's professionalism and will to win peeked out. Even, this ugly side to the game would not have helped, if not for the deaf and blind and meek umpires.

They may be the best team in the world, but they do not have the balls for a fight.

The other thing that this test has thrown is the Racism abuse. I (and am sure many others) consider the ban on Harbhajan to be racist ( atleast, on the basis of the news available now, 1/7/08). It was the word of a couple of 'white' aussies against a couple of 'brown' indians, as the umpires and the referee agreed that there was no conclusive video or audio proof.

Given even this to the australians, does a 'monkey' chant constitute to be racism?

What is the timeline of this slang?

It started with a group of Baroda supporters chanting Monkey Monkey at Symonds. The average Indian cricket lover, is knowledgeable about the game, its history, records, consider themselves to be better umpires than Bucknor ( which they may be too :p ), but I am sure, that they will not be aware of the ethinic make-up of the Australian team.

Symonds had tormented India in the series, and for that calling him a monkey seems to be the most meek of Indian slangs that Symonds could have received, given the colorful expletives that Indians can dish out.

The Mumbai pictures of men imitating monkeys may have gone too far, but that too is not racial IMO. These are the same Indians, who dared to call Inzy as Aloo (Potato). Now, had he been equated to some really fat animal, would that have been resulted in racism??? That is a question to ponder about.

I just do not see how 'Monkey' can be considered Racist? Where does this even come close to the horrendous 'racist' acts done by the west on the asians. Even the meekest racist comments by the west would have been more derogatory than a monkey slang. Even Brad Hogg's b******* is more derogatory than calling someone a monkey.

But from a broader perspective, IMO, this looks to be a pre-emptive position, that the west and the developed world is bound to take, as India and China grow more and more powerful.

As for everything else, the regular updates follow :)

1. Had a blast of a time in Vegas and LA and Tempe.
2. Relieved that the first semester in Wisc is over.
3. Have to work. Need an 'enthu' generating machine
4. This trip to the west coast, apart from the fun, has made me think a little, and make me contemplate a bit more. Maybe I will blog about it later.
5. Gambling sucks, if you lose money and your friends have all the luck in the world.

Exams seem to be the only constant for me now. I have written them in Calcutta, Madras, Bangalore, Bombay and now, in Madison. So, not surprisingly, when I should be busy pondering over state transition matrices and observability and all, I am reminiscing about Exam traditions and Exam superstitions that I have had for such a long time....

Two particularly longstanding memories of exams during school (the non-board one's), are amma shouting, exactly, bang, as the clock strikes six,"Kaushik, Vidya, come home, you have to study". Thankfully, amma and appa, unlike many other parents, decided that our study productivity can be maximized if we are allowed to play in the evening. Often times, only the two of us would be playing by ourselves in the evenings just before the exam. 6PM was the hard deadline. And the memory remains.

The other lasting memory was of the morning of the exam. Both of us (without amma compelling us) would wake up at 6AM, and start the final revision. We chose to do it, sitting right at the entrance of our kitchen, studying by the light thrown off from the kitchen bulb, as amma would be preparing tea and breakfast for us. Appa, named us the 'dwarapalakas' (I think it means guards) of the kitchen. I had a peculiar revision schedule too. The previous night, I will have made a sample question paper, complete with all marks assigned to the questions and all, and the next day, I would solve it. Amma, would in the mean time, be throwing questions at Vidya. But, the whole revision thing, would last only for an hour or so, after which we will start chatting useless stuff.

A fetish I had during school was to see how much ink I consumed during the exams. I will dutifully mark two pens, one for studying before the exam, and the one for writing them. After the end of the examination, will mark the place till which the ink got over and all.

Appa's theory about preparations always involved watching lots of T.V. the day before the exam. He totally hated the last minute preparation thingy, and used to motivate us to remain calm and enjoy the day before the exams, by recounting stories of going to cinemas to watch the night show before his college exams. Evenings before exams, for us was mostly studying till Appa came back home, and then watching Tamil movie of Sun TV till sleep overtook us. The extreme case of such fun was the day before the Social Sciences board exam ( I don't remember if it was my SST exam or Vidya's), we watched a full movie (Pre 2003/4 CBSE 10th SST exams were everyone's nightmare).

Another interesting story involved the 12th Standard Math exam. It was on the 2nd day of the epic VVS Laxman 281, India-Australia test match. On the first day, Shriram had come to my home for joint studies. The whole day was an exercise in concentration, as TV's all around us was in it maximum volume. Appa and Vidya would switch it on periodically to follow the score. And, when Bhajji took that hat-trick, the whole of Calcutta erupted, and that was that for our concentration. On the eventful 4th day, when VVS and Dravid, bat through the day, there was not much hope. As we drove to the exam, the wager was if the match would still be alive, after we finish our hindi exam. But, the events that day was so magical on the ground, I woke up all night to see the ball-by-ball highlights of the match, and spent the next day see India win, sending my Chemistry boards to the back-bench.

I don't recall having any exam superstition in School, except for the pen fetish.

College exams were completely different. Anshu and I had formally made a superstition, and we were steadfast in sticking to that. It begins by me buying a foot-long scale (note that I never used it any exam). Anshu would remind me, if don't buy that. It was exam-tradition. It would then start with me taking a shower before him, and arriving in the mess at exactly 12 noon. After lunch, we would walk to the mandir right outside college, and pray for a smooth paper, and then loiter all around college, making sure we do not answer any question related to the exam to anyone. After the exam, I would wait (I always finished in 2 hrs) for Anshu to come, and we will go and pay a visit to the temple again, to thank all the Gods (or curse them). The fetish for me was of wearing formals for the exams.

There are a lot of memories associated with VTU exams. I remember the day in my second semester, because of the packed schedule due to my carry-over exams from the first semester, I was too tired to study for my Computer and programing basics paper. I told Anshu, that I will 'Bunk' the test and write it in the following semester. Anshu, talked me out of it, by teaching the course to me, over cold coffee's and sandwiches in DL (the dhaba outside college).

VTU, in its infinite wisdom, gave a month of holidays before the exams for studying. And, having so much time to spare, it was more of just holidays rather than study holidays. There would be plans for movies, dinners and rented movies and daroo parties etc etc. But the lasting memory, was the F.R.I.E.D.S. watching spree in the third year. It was like, we study (or pretend to) for 15 minutes, and then watch (and later revise) an episode of friends. We (by which I mean my entire wing) saw most of the 8-9 seasons that were available then, in less than 10-12 days (with 15 minute spurts of serious studying in between as well).

By the time, we came to the final year, exams had lost their reverence. When even the weakest student in college realized that even Kunal Kolhi with an I.Q. of -140 (see his movies, I rest my case)cannot flunk VTU exams, studying was just another way of having fun. In the final year, most of the Hostel Chemical junta would assemble in one room, and each of us will take turn to read a page out of the S.I.T. notes, and that was the preparation.

By the time, I came to I.I.T, I was a veteran of exams (we actually celebrated the 50th VTU exam that we wrote). But, I remember, the tough day, that I had in 2006 spring exams in april, because I did not wear formals to it (cannot pull that off in the April Mumbai heat). But, apart from that, IIT days saw the daily quota of movies to be watched before the exams increase from 1 to 2. It would mean, the late night aloo-paratha and tea, followed by a length discussion on World politics and science and technology and india and other such arbitrary junk with Bhatta and Haddi, and it would mean, sleeping at 5AM and making it, groggy eyed to the test at 9AM, and sleep the whole day off after the test.

And now, this is the first end-terms for me in Madison. I think, it may as well be defined by blogging, although I managed a couple of movies in the weekend, I spent most of the time reading blogs.

The time for the exam is today is right now. I sign off, with the mental count that after todays exam, I will have at max 10 more end terms before I am done with all the exams I ever write in my life.....

Cheers!
Kaushik

Procrastination is an habit with me. So, instead of trying to figure out why the solution of n components behaves the way it does ( all so that, I pass a stupid exam), I will take another dive back into the sea of memories of all the good and happy and free days of school.

School memories always keep floating around, but the inspiration to pen this down (or rather type it out) came when I saw someone wish everyone a happy children's day, a couple of days ago, courtesy Google chat.

So, the status message, took me memory-diving

As with most of us, Children's day had been both special and a misfit for me, at different points in life. Acting adult in 9th and 10th, the children's day was definitely a misfit, but then a few years later in college, and now in Grad school, I certainly will not mind being a kid, and enjoy my 'special day'.

As a kid, Children's day was a favourite. I could do lots of stupid and naughty things, and as amma would start scolding, I could say, but "amma, it is children's day today, you cannot scold me'. And she would not. Bliss!
I could wear colour dress to school and see teachers perform dance and skit for us. I could go to school and not study. How great is that!!!

So the wish now, is to be a kid again :)

As is with memories, date, time, space are not at all a constraint. Having a great time in school also reminds me of Teacher's day. The days leading to it were also fun. Mostly, 4th September was given off for us, to prepare for Teachers day. And, most of the day was spent in decorating the class, school, and practicing songs and jokes and making cards for our teachers. As I said, School without studies, the awesomest thing ever.

One particular memory that springs up, is probably the teachers day when I was in 4th or 5th. We never did much of decoration back then, and all the songs and dance were impromptu. So, the thing to do, when the day was give off, was run around the school, playing pakda-pakdi. In the midst of such running excercise, as is common when I run, I collided and fell. Unfortunately, a sharp shard of some construction material went right through my calf, and I was bleeding profusely. There and then, I became a king, who returned from a victorious war, for a stupid impromptu skit that we put up in class for our teacher later in the afternoon. The reason that I remember this so vividly, is precisely because, whatever the story was that we had for our play, (involving something to do with Alladin), we twisted it and turned it with all our imagination to fit a king who has just come back from a war.

Another lasting memory was the Discotheque which we recreated in class for Teachers day. This was in class- 10, and there were unofficial competitions going on for which class gets the better decoration. I was not involved in the decorations (the reason for which, I will write later), but the memories remain strong. The decorations of 10-B were by far the best ever, and the lasting memory was of our teachers taking a jig to the beats of Chaiyya-Chaiyya, in the revolving lights of our disco.

10th Standard students also get to organize the School celebrations (separate from the class celebrations). The schedule was, in the morning, the students assemble, celebrate Teachers day, then there was snacks for the teachers and the select 10th standard students, and then the teachers go and participate in individual class celebrations (which may or may not have food).

So the key, the cool thing to do, was to get into the select gang of 10th standard students who have the 'eat-food' license. School Captains, House captains and other 'culturally' inclined students (the ones who dance, sing, act, paint etc) and their friends easily get to go into that group. I, obviously, was in the set that comprised of students who were any but those. But because I hung around this 'influential' group all the time, even though they quite clearly made me feel unwanted, I was drafted into the organizing committee. I was in-charge of School Decorations. But I hardly cared about that. I was a part of the select group who have access to the food, and who can take swigs at the Pepsi, and make others jealous.

I did a reasonable job of decorating the school, by bossing around juniors. I also took part (which was a surprise to everyone) in a program that some one made up called National Integration, by dressing up as a Tam-Bram, and speaking some dialogs.

Finally, though, I was accepted into the 'influential group', the gang of cool dudes in the school, with whom, I had the first taste of beer, and spent the next week scared that amma would somehow find out about it. The coolness of the cool gang vaporized soon, but what has remained with me, is the longing to participate, in whatever capacity I can, in events organized in College, and those experiences in React, 8th Mile, Placements in IIT and RVCE, has taught me a lot, and are in some ways a part of my character/ personality.

The first steps were in School, the role of the king, the story (unmentioned) here, of trying hard to be in the organizing group and contributing for the farewell function, but not being given the opportunity. The 'sabak' of realizing that only a few students in my class decide and do stuff. Trying hard to get into that group. Being ridiculed for a long time (both by people in that group, and other general members of the DOSA (department of spectators and admirers). Of finally getting to contribute to an event. The fun of doing it. The feel of success, when the work is appreciated. First time is always sweet :)