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"...Hmm, what should I do. Should I buy a 7 riyal large can of Coke...or go for two small cans of 3 riyals each? I guess the 7 Riyal can is bigger...but I dont think I'm that thirsty right now. Guess I'll go for the two small cans instead. Peace out people!"

What you just read, was a Status Update on Facebook. No, seriously. Someone actually took pains to type it all down, so that every one of his 326 friends could know what exactly he drank.

Well, there's good news and bad news as far as this story is concerned. The good news is, the fellow was quite pleased with the decision he took. The bad news....well, he began wondering whether he needed ketchup or Mayonnaise for his burger...

Years from now, we might look back and talk about how Live Updates, such as on Facebook, Twitter, Orkut (?). What I'm wondering is...will we remember just how messed up the whole system was?

Think about it. A Status Update was originally meant to be a clever and quick way of letting your friends know how you were doing. You could say things like, "Enjoying my vacation in Venice,", or maybe something like, "Tired after a long day's work".

If that was the actual idea, I'm sure the genius who came up with the idea must be smashing his head onto his computer monitor right now. Because, obviously, things havent worked out quite according to plan, have they?

Take a look:

Arnold Webber is happy, happy, happy, happy! :)) :))
I know happiness is supposed to be contagious, but cmon, get a grip!

Thomas is in the mall! Good fun//\\Misses all his friends...Luv u guys! Stay cool...Keep rocking...Peace Out!
This, just for a trip to the mall. Cant imagine what a 2 month vacation would sound like...

Of course, not all Status Updates are horrible. There are some that actually make you think, or atleast chuckle lightly. Which is when I realised that Status Updates actually reflect real life.

The thought came to mind when I read a Status Update of a friend of mine. It was about him preparing for an upcoming tournament. Nothing much, just a status saying that he was excited. It got 15 likes, and almost 35 comments. For those of you who're not in Facebook, that's a pretty good response.

Just above his status, was another one. It was from a mutual friend who wasnt high up in the social ladder, and what he had to say, wasnt so exciting. "Life sucks....everything feels horrible...Just wish I could end it all..."

No likes. No comments. Nothing at all.

Which makes you wonder. Why is it that a popular guy's upcoming tournament is more important that another guy's potentially suicidal status update? Why dont we all rush towards him, asking what's wrong?

The answer is simple. That's how life is, most of the time. The school heartthrob could twist his leg and have the whole cheerleading squad around him. No one notices the loner in the rest room, with his wrists slashed, almost lifeless.

Of course, that doesnt mean we're all cold hearted. Why, I myself am going to update my status with a link to this post...and then wait to see how many comments I get.

It just means we're human...and sometimes, that worries me.

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A Single Cup of Tea

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This is a fictionalized diary entry from an army man's journal...

Life was supposed to be an adventure for me. And for the first 25 years of it, I thought I was doing just fine. Until the incident on 26th August, 1988. As newly promoted Group Leader, it was my duty to carry out reconnaissance missions throughout a jungle that basically functioned as an Enemy base.

It all happened so quickly, that I still dont remember most of it. All I know for sure is this. Because of my mistake, three men in my team were taken hostage. For the next 48 days, they were severely tortured. Though they were eventually freed through diplomatic interventions, life never returned to normal. Not for them. And especially not for me.

I quit the Army. I cut contact with my Army buddies. The thought that my actions had caused so much pain for my comrades, I realised, was too hard to bear.

Which was how I ended up working part time in a restaurant.

My job was simple enough. I took care of preparing the drinks. One day, a customer chocked after taking a sip from a cup of tea I'd made. Turned out, I'd put in pepper instead of Cinnamon.

Which made me realise I wasnt even fit to make a cup of tea.

My boss brought the cup back, and bellowed with fury. "You nincompoop!" he cried. "What the hell are you fit for? Cant make a cup of tea without killing somebody? Are you trying to run me out of business..."

Only one phrase caught my mind. Cant make a cup of tea....without killing somebody.

The next day, I sat idly next to the window, ignoring the growing pile of orders for tea. Soon someone noticed the delay, and called the Boss.

"Oy!" He yelled, entering the kitchen. "What's the matter with you? Why the hell arent you making tea?"

Without moving a muscle, I kept staring out of the window. "What's the use?" I asked. "I'll probably screw it up anyway."

Surprisingly, he didnt reply. Instead, swearing loudly, he got someone else to take care of the orders. That night, as we were closing up, he entered the kitchen again.

"Hey kid, what's the matter with you?" He asked angrily. I didnt reply.

"What, you're sad because you screwed up a cup of tea yesterday? Is that it? So what are you planning on doing? Quiting your job altogether? Is that you're bloody brilliant idea? It better not be, sonny, cuz that's a shitty idea. Let me tell you what you'll do. You'll be here at 6 in the morning, and you'll start making tea the moment I ask you to. You'll make sure they taste good. If there's less sugar in one of them, the next time, you'll add more sugar. If the customer says the tea is too strong, you'll make sure you reduce the number of tea bags next time. And you'll keep doing this, day in and day out! You understand me? You'll keep doing this, until you become the bloody best tea maker in this place!"

He stopped for breath, and threw me a spiteful look. As he turned to leave, he remarked, more to himself than me. "Stupid little kid. Quitting cuz of one little cup of tea..."

What he said that night, changed my life.

I rejoined the Army within a month. By 1992, I was a Lieutant. By 1996, I was a Colonel.

Why? Because I realized that life....was just like preparing tea. Every day is like a single cup of tea. Just because you ruined your cup yesterday, doesn't mean you stop. All you have to do is make sure your cup of tea gets better....one day at a time.


[Please leave your comments, and rate the post as well....]
 
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The Pressure Cooker Syndrome

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It was almost 7 o' clock, and I couldn't afford to be late to work yet again. So I rushed to the kitchen, threw open a cupboard and took out my Pressure Cooker. In my haste, the nozzle of the Pressure Cooker slammed against the tiled wall. Cursing loudly, I placed the Cooker on the stove, and left for work...

Ramesh said he was fine. And to the surprise of his friends, it seemed he really was. Even after being unfairly fired from his job, Ramesh was in good spirits. "I spent 10 years at the firm," he said calmly, "It's about time I had a change."

Martin meanwhile, was being a complete gentleman. He and his wife had just divorced, and he was quite fine about it. "I'm fine, guys," he said. "She wanted the divorce. There's nothing more to it." He was frighteningly calm.

The Cooker began hissing softly, as the water inside began to boil. The jammed nozzle made sure none of the steam was let out. Silently, the cooker remained on the stove...

Ramesh laughed the whole week. He attended parties, hung out with friends, and completely ignored the topic of his unemployment. He was far too happy to think about it.

Martin was behaving like a hot blooded bachelor already. He never mentioned his ex-wife, and made sure no one ever talked to him about her. He was over her, his friends were reminded. It's all in the past. It was time to move on. And that's it.

Two hours after I'd left, the Cooker began shaking violently. Steam was building up inside, and the hissing was getting louder.

"How long have you been at Wilton Corp., Ramesh?" his friend asked as they played a game of Poker at the bar. "Ten years," Ramesh replied. "Wow, that's a long time, isn't it? I'm surprised they fired you after so long. Have you found another job yet?". Ramesh shook his head. It had been over a month since he lost his job. His bills were over due, his insurance had expired. Suddenly he felt angry, first at himself and then at his company. How could they just fire him like that...

After hosting a successful birthday party, Martin said goodbye to his friends. Just as he was about to leave, Joseph turned around and casually remarked. "By the way, you heard about Caroline? She's getting married next week." Martin froze for a second. And suddenly broke into a smile. "Oh," he said. "Good for her. I hope..I hope she's happy..."

Finally the Cooker rattled, almost toppled over, and exploded...

They found Ramesh's car rammed into a roadside tree. The police are assuming that he was heavily drunk. His friends knew for certain that he was. He had stumbled into his car, grumbling to himself. As he drove off, one of them heard him talk about his company. "10 bloody years, and this is what they do to me..." Finally, it had all come back to him.

Martin's best friend came by at 8 in the morning. He found the living room trashed. Shattered glass was spread all over. A few paintings, along with the television and trophy cabinet were damaged. Martin was leaning against the wall, weeping to himself. As his friend tried consoling him, Martin buried his face in his hands. 'Claire...' he managed to say.

The Fireman surveyed the kitchen, and looked at me in disdain. "Sir, you should know better than this. The Cooker was obviously damaged. Must be a jammed nozzle. Anyways, there's nothing much we can do now. It'll take a few days to fix this mess"

We all suffer from the Pressure Cooker Syndrome. Perhaps it's just 21st century style, but for some reason, hiding our emotions has suddenly become the 'cool' thing to do. 'Get over it', 'Dont care a damn'. There are a dozen people around to hand us advice. Wish emotions were so easy to get rid off. Anger, sorrow, jealousy, depression...all going away if we just ignore it.

They don't just go away. You cant just pretend to be happy. You cant run away from how you feel. That's as smart as using a jammed Pressure Cooker. And if you've seen my kitchen, you'll realize it isn't a very smart thing to do.

Please do drop your comments, if you've read this far. It helps to know you're opinion. And it helps to keep the blog alive.

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The Lost Symbol - Book Review

Two days ago, I finished reading the recently released novel, The Lost Symbol. For those of you who're yet to read the newspapers, The Lost Symbol, Dan Brown's latest novel, broke publishing records by selling more than 1 million copies in less than 24 hours.

Makes you wonder what the book is about, doesnt it?

Turns out, the 510 page novel is a thrilling read. As with most thriller/mystery novels, The Lost Symbol is a perfect page turner. But sadly, that's more or less all that it is.

For those who've read Dan Brown's previous books, The Lost Symbol seems to offer just one feeling.

Déjà vu.

As you read through the first few chapters, you get the distinct feeling that you've read something similar before. Something that bore almost the same setting, style and characteristics. There's talk about a mysterious organisation. A sinister man has made a devious threat. A character has either been killed or is in perilious danger. The protaganist, Robert Langdon, is yet again forced to meet a rather inconvenient deadline. His adventure ride is obstructed by a flurry of high ranking officers. The names dont matter. CIA, FBI...perhaps even a new branch of U.S. Government.

And through all this, we're provided with Wikipedia-like information. Everything we want to know about towers, tunnels, symbols, organisations, historical inaccuracies. Mr. Langdon spews it all while trying to save the world.

Of course, if there's one field where Dan Brown impresses, however, it's the subject matter. Just like in Angels & Demons and The Da Vinci Code, he's gone to great lengths to research almost unheard of topics. That's perhaps where the joy lies. There will be moments through out the book when you'll smile, feel surprised, or pause to wonder something. These are the moments when the real brilliance of the book shines through. Even while the main plot is being followed, we learn about secretive technology, hidden organisations, misunderstood historical facts.

Just to make sure you don't get the wrong idea about the novel, you should know that I read it almost without pause. Dan Brown has a way of making you want to know what comes next. Sure, at times it seems formulaic. But it gets the job done. It makes sure you don't put down the book without finishing it. As with almost all of his novels, The Lost Symbol has this quality.

But in the end, it boils down to this. The Lost Symbol, for a first time reader, is everything it promises to be. A thrilling, suspenseful, and ultimately satisfying novel.

But for the rest of us, who've joyfully read his other novels, The Lost Symbol doesn't offer anything new. It repeats much of Dan Brown's tried and tested formula. The first time some of us read The Da Vinci Code, we were spell bound by the author's mastery over such complex yet interesting subjects. However, once you've read all his books, it takes the gloss off Dan Brown's writing.

The Lost Symbol, though in itself a competent thriller with a satisfying end, slightly disappoints as Dan Brown's latest offering....

[If you've read The Lost Symbol, please let me know your own opinion about it, as well as my review. If you havent read the book yet, please let me know how this review has influenced you.]
 
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Falling, Falling....Fallen!

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[In the year 2016...]

I knocked on the Doctor's door, and heard him say, 'Come In'. Nervously, I entered the room, and hesitated near the door.

"Hallo!" The Doctor cried out jovially. He was a large, pot bellied man with a thick tuft of hair, and thick, golden spectacles.

"Please sit down. Mr. Musthafa. So what seems to be the problem?"

I immediately regretted coming to the Doctor. It was a stupid idea, I thought.

"Go on, feel free," he said calmly.

"The thing is, Doctor. I have dreams. Weird dreams." I muttered.

I could see the Doctor was interested. He leaned back in his chair, and crossed his legs. "Go on, tell me what these dreams are."

So I began narrating. "Well, it starts in a huge hall. There's a concert going on. You know, some kind of Ghazal concert. And the singer is seated in the middle of the stage. Next to him is the Tabla player. The funny thing is..."

"Yes? Come on. Tell me."

I began sweating uncomfortably. Somehow I muttered. "The Tabla player is playing....not on two tablas. But on.....on two bald heads."

The Doctor raised his eyebrow. "I'm sorry?" He asked politely.

I shut my eyes and continued. "Yes, there are two fellows sitting in front of him. And...and he's busy hitting their heads."

"Ha!" The Doctor laughed. "Must be a very funny dream, eh?". He began roaring in laughter.

"One of the bald headed fellows was me." I said curtly.

"Oh," the Doctor said, looking embarrassed. "By funny I meant -- Well, how long have you been having these dreams?" he said, hoping to change the topic.

"For the past year and a half."

"That Tabla player's been hitting your head for the past year and half?" The Doctor asked incredulously.

I frowned. "Yes. In the dream!"

"Right. Right, in the dream. Hmm, well, such dreams are usually manifestations of deep rooted fears. Do you have such fears of balding?"

I hesitated, wondering about the question. Did I have such fears?

"No, I'm not normally so worried about my hair."

"Right, so then--"

"--Of course I do count the number of strands that fall onto my towel or shirt and so on. You know, just to make sure the buggers aren't crossing the 100 strands per day limit. And I apply egg york to my head twice a week, along with three different shampoos (just to be safe, you understand.) Plus I stand upside down every night for half an hour, so that blood flows to the head and nourishes the scalp."

There was an awkward silence as the Doctor looked at me, dumbstruck. "Right," he finally managed to say, "I think you're a little worried about your hair. But my dear fellow, I cant see why. After all," he pointed towards my head with his fountain pen, "you're head is like a African rain forest!"

He smiled politely, apparently pleased with his analogy.

In a flash of a second, I tugged my hair upwards, revealing a gaping bald patch at the top of my head.

"Good God!" the Doctor yelled, almost falling back in shock. He quickly recovered, and tried to appear less horrified. "That, that was -- unexpected." He managed to say.

"How long have you been wearing a wig?"

"Since I began balding, I suppose. No point in wearing it before that, is there?" I asked sarcastically.

"Right, right. Well then, I suppose these dreams are a result of--"

"I'm getting married," I blurted.

There was a slight pause. The Doctor cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I'm getting married." I repeated plainly.

The Doctor was uncertain now. "Err, well, congratulations, I suppose?"

I decided to get even more blunt. "I was wondering what to do about my, er, problem."

"Problem?" The Doctor asked. "Oh, you mean the one on your head."

"Yes, that problem."

"Well, I suppose this is a classic case of Inferiority Complex. Right now, you must be feeling a sense of--"

"I'm worried whether my bride will like me when she sees the, er, problem. Should I just wear the wig permanently, and never tell her about it?"

"About what?" The Doctor asked dim wittedly.

"About the problem," I said testily.

He smiled, relaxing in his chair. Putting aside his writing pad, he looked at me smugly.

"In my honest opinion, you're worrying over nothing. There's no reason for you to hide your baldness from your wife. After all, you cant hide it for an entire life time, can you?"

I nodded my head, realising the stupidity of my idea. "Well, it's just that....well, I'm worried about my looks."

The Doctor smiled sympathetically. "I can understand," he said understandingly. "I can see why you would feel insecure about your large nose, bushy eyebrows and chubby face."

I stared at him in shock. "I...I was talking about my hair," I spluttered.

"Oh. I see..."

There was pin drop silence for a few seconds, as the Doctor stared down at his writing pad, avoiding my eyes. Finally, he managed to say.

"Well, Mr. Musthafa, what you must understand is that baldness isn't necessary a bad thing. There's lots of examples of people who've excelled in life even though they're bald."

I raised my eyebrow in skepticism. "Really?" I asked. "Like?"

"Well," The Doctor began, thinking of a good example. "Well, look at Bruce Willis!"

"I cant act. I definitely cant jump from buildings."

The Doctor thought again. "Ah," he said, "what about Salman Rushdie?"

I shook my head. "My own mother would kill me if I wrote blashphemy about Prophet Mohammed. Besides, I cant write like him."

He fell silent again. "What about Gandhi?"

I glanced at him suddenly. "Right, maybe Gandhi isnt a good example for us," the Doctor said. "But you must realise something, Mr. Musthafa. Beauty doesn't lie just in outward appearances. All you need to do is be confident of your self. You dont need to wear a wig. That shows low self esteem. Be confident of who you are...."

[Half an hour later, when the Doctor is alone in his office...]
The Secretary entered, saying, "Sir, there's another patient waiting for you. Shall I send him in?"

The Doctor stared at the mirror, adjusting his wig carefully. Once he made sure he looked good, he nodded his head....

[This post is an attempt to break away from the so called 'Philo' stuff. Hoping that I'll be able to write about a variety of topics, instead of just one. Suggestions in that aspect would be more than welcome. Thank you!]

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'When We Were Kids...'

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I'm sure you can relate to this. Has it ever happened that you're eating lunch with your family, or watching T.V. together one evening, when the elders around you say something like, "What all happens in this generation. When we were kids..."

And so it begins.

It's fascinating at first to hear that your grandfather lived in a village. Its even funny when they tell you about how they would play in the mud and splash around in the water, (though a bit scary when you realise they never had Lifebuoy around...)

But after a while, it's infuriating when your dad tells you that he walked 5 kilometers to school everyday, everyday! So I wondered how it would be if we could get a turn instead, to talk about how it was when 'We Were Kids...'


Life was good back then. Most of us spent our childhoods, playing amazing games on revolutionary game consoles like the Playstation.

Our teenage years were spent, almost always next to the computer. We chatted with total strangers in MSN Messenger, sometimes until they became our closest friends. We made accounts in social networking sites like Orkut and Facebook. For a while, it seemed as though the 11th Commandment was 'Thou Shall try to get as many scraps as possible'. Some of us had friends all over the globe, from Argentina to Germany to Japan.

We photographed every important event of our lives, and some, sadly, photographed even the unimportant ones. Pictures of Birthday parties, Summer trips, Weekend Stay-overs....everything was uploaded for everyone to see. All of us felt important, as though everyone else wanted to know what we had to say. So we updated our status every other day. What's more, we read every one Else's status updates. We let everyone know when we were happy, we sulked publicly when we were sad. We sought comfort when we were depressed, we swore publicly when we were pissed off...

We had friends. Loads of them. We had friends whom we'd never ever seen in person. We had friends who were actually our friends' friends. We had friends who wished us on our birthdays, we had friends who forwarded mails every time. Then we had friends whom we messaged often. There were other friends who we'd call often. We messaged each other at every time of the day, left scraps, gave miscalls. We were never out of touch, unless we wanted it that way.

We watched movies. Not once a month. Not even once a week. We watched a movie whenever we wanted. We watched movies like the Titanic and Lord of the Rings, which left us spellbound. We watched movies like the Matrix, that dazzled our senses. We watched movies like Spiderman and The Dark Knight. We memorized movie scenes, by hearted (actually learnt by heart!) movie dialogues.

We witnessed historic events. We stared in horror at our television screens, as two planes crashed into two towers. We cried when we saw people being slaughtered in war. We shook our heads in despair as bombs ripped across cities all over the world. We worried about death, yet faced it bravely. Earthquakes, floods and hurricanes came, but we stood strong and brave. Even a Tsunami washed away our cities, but not our courage.

We watched as horrible leaders like Saddam Hussain were disposed, ironically, by other incompetent leaders like George Bush. After years of Anti-Americanism, we were mesmerized by the speeches of a man born to a Kenyan man, and a woman from Kansas. For the first time, almost all over the world, we applauded the victory of Barack Obama.

Then there were those days when we counted the months, weeks, hours and minutes, camping outside bookstores so that we could get our first copies of the latest Harry Potter book. Newspapers and Television channels around the world covered the story as millions of us hoped that Harry Potter would survive. And he did.

Perhaps most important of all, we lived in the generation of 'Greats'. We got the unique chance of watching Michael Jordan soar to slam a basket,Tiger Woods swing a drive, Sachin Tendulkar send yet another ball out of the stadium, Roger Federer lift Grand Slam after Grand Slam after Grand Slam. We bid good bye to Michael Schumacher after he won everything there was to win. We said 'Well Done, Michael', 'Good going Michael', 'Keep it up Michael', 'Excellent Michael', 'Unbelievable, Michael!'...until we smiled and simply said, 'Wow, Michael Phelps. Wow.'

Perhaps even more importantly, we were mesmerized by a Jamaican, who sailed across a race track as though he was out for a jog. Usain Bolt became the fastest man ever, and we witnessed it.

It was exciting back then. We used the Ipod and the Internet, to hear the music of Britney Spears, Eminem, Linkin Park and Coldplay...without paying a single cent. New Superstars were born, and we regretted the death of the biggest pop star of all time. Michael Jackson.

Years from now, we'll be asked about these times. They'll want to know how it was back in the early 2000s'. And this is perhaps what we'll say....about the time when 'We Were Kids...'

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What About The 'Other Guy'?

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"What about the other guy?" I protested.

"Oh, just shut up," my friends replied in unison.

It all started when we decided to watch an English Romantic Comedy. Dumb choice, was what I first thought. But then something struck me as odd...

The plot of the story was that there was a guy named Robin, who loved a girl named Jenny. Jenny however, has a boyfriend named Tim. So the entire story is about how the hero tries to woo the heroine. And believe it or not, it actually works! (Yah, I was just as surprised as you!). So with a matching soundtrack, the credits start rolling. And the movie's a success.

Or is it?

What about the 'Other Guy'?

In the case of this movie, the 'other guy' is Tim. Personally, I was rooting for Tim from the beginning. He seemed like a good enough guy, and there was no reason why Jenny should leave him for Robin. But then Jenny gives the explanation. Tim is not as funny as Robin. He's also not as caring, or as loving. Nor does he have that same sense of crazy enthusiasm. As though it's a fault of his, Tim is a quiet, reserved kind of guy.

So Jenny decides she's much better of with Robin instead, and everyone in the theatre hall applauds. Well, except me.

Because here's my problem. I'm happy if I get to go through life as Robin. But what if I'm Tim instead? What if I'm not the funniest, smartest, sweetest guy? What if...I'm the 'Other Guy'?



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