Well, for once I don't mean tests in the sense of life's trials, but in the sense of an examination. Yes, although I am 23 years old, I am still studying and will do so for another three years at least, and I will have to take several exams during that time.
This week I have a big one: my Ph.D. Candidacy (Qualifying) Exam. The nice thing about studying in the US is that I have never dreaded a single exam here; they are just designed so well that I actually look forward to them. For example, this one is a week-long take home exam in which I have to choose three research problems out of twenty to work on. There is no possibility of cheating because there are no correct answers. There are no marks or grades, just a yes or no vote by the faculty as to whether they think I am competent enough to continue at Penn State. Preparation? Study everything. Or nothing. I naturally chose the latter.
These are real tests. This is as far from rote learning as it gets. This is the learn-by-doing and prove-by-doing method. People generally recommend a middle ground between the two, but in my opinion, this is an excellent testing scheme. Most of the exams I have taken here are open-book and many are take-home. I think it is a good test of intelligence, hard work, knowledge and intuition.
I'm not going to pretend that I'll be away from blogger during this time because I know I will take ample breaks: one week is a long time. Wish me luck!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
A Short Non-Story
Disclaimer: This is an "art" article. I am not trying to present any theories or saying anything about my own spiritual beliefs; and I most definitely do not want anyone to take offense on religious or spiritual grounds.
I hovered at the edge of Oblivion, pondering the maze in front of me. At least, the little that I had been allowed to glimpse.
Like countless times before, I would soon be walking that maze. Innumerable forks and turns, each representing a decision in life; some big, some small. Some can be undone; most can't. At the end of that maze, I would know how much farther or closer I was to the end of the real journey. But in what appeared to be a cruel jest, some paths in the maze were lined with soft flowers, and some were lined with sharp thorns; and the flower beds rarely took you closer to the Destination.
In what I knew to be a cruel jest, I would be forced to walk blindfolded. Not in the conventional sense, but in the sense that I would be stripped of all conscious knowledge and memory of my past before this instant. I would have to learn my lessons all over again, and never even be told that there is a destination, nor how to get there. It was all one big test: and a test of the conscious, as we all know, is incomplete. Test the subconscious as well, and one who passes can be trusted forever. If you offer a man a great deal of money for doing harm to someone, and he resists his temptation, your job is half done. If the thought of accepting never even occurs to him, your job is fully done.
It was almost time to leave Oblivion. I sighed. I was loathe to give up all I'd become, even though I knew I would get it all back with interest soon. Perversely, I wondered why everybody called it Oblivion, because to me it was reality; the mazes were Oblivion. No, that wasn't fair; the Destination is the only true Oblivion. Freedom from the cycles of the mazes of life. Nobody really knew what it would be like once one reached the Destination, because nobody ever came back. People speculated that it would be like the Heaven imagined by mortals in the mazes. But I knew better. It would be true Oblivion. The Divine Reward.
It was time. Somewhere in a hospital, a baby was born. I took a deep breath and stepped into the maze, surrendering my identity.
The baby cried.
I hovered at the edge of Oblivion, pondering the maze in front of me. At least, the little that I had been allowed to glimpse.
Like countless times before, I would soon be walking that maze. Innumerable forks and turns, each representing a decision in life; some big, some small. Some can be undone; most can't. At the end of that maze, I would know how much farther or closer I was to the end of the real journey. But in what appeared to be a cruel jest, some paths in the maze were lined with soft flowers, and some were lined with sharp thorns; and the flower beds rarely took you closer to the Destination.
In what I knew to be a cruel jest, I would be forced to walk blindfolded. Not in the conventional sense, but in the sense that I would be stripped of all conscious knowledge and memory of my past before this instant. I would have to learn my lessons all over again, and never even be told that there is a destination, nor how to get there. It was all one big test: and a test of the conscious, as we all know, is incomplete. Test the subconscious as well, and one who passes can be trusted forever. If you offer a man a great deal of money for doing harm to someone, and he resists his temptation, your job is half done. If the thought of accepting never even occurs to him, your job is fully done.
It was almost time to leave Oblivion. I sighed. I was loathe to give up all I'd become, even though I knew I would get it all back with interest soon. Perversely, I wondered why everybody called it Oblivion, because to me it was reality; the mazes were Oblivion. No, that wasn't fair; the Destination is the only true Oblivion. Freedom from the cycles of the mazes of life. Nobody really knew what it would be like once one reached the Destination, because nobody ever came back. People speculated that it would be like the Heaven imagined by mortals in the mazes. But I knew better. It would be true Oblivion. The Divine Reward.
It was time. Somewhere in a hospital, a baby was born. I took a deep breath and stepped into the maze, surrendering my identity.
The baby cried.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Book Tag
I've been tagged by Artful Badger. He knows I won't say no to anything that involves books!
One book that changed your life
When I was a kid, my school would award books as prizes for those who performed well in their studies, and I always wondered which teachers picked the books because they had excellent taste. The first time I won one of these was in third grade, when I received a really cute book called "My Book of Stars and Planets" in which a white-bearded wizard (with no resemblance to Gandalf or Santa Claus) wearing a blue hat adorned with stars walked you through the fundamentals of astronomy. So, at the age of eight I knew that Sirius was a binary star system, and that the second brightest star visible from Earth is Canopus, and plenty of other things that most people don't learn even in their lifetimes. It was the first time I'd ever read a fun and informative book, and from that day I was permanently hooked to books in life!
One book you have read more than once
Second Foundation by Isaac Asimov is probably the book I've read most times in my life. The Lord of the Rings trilogy is next I think. Magician by Raymond Feist is the one I wish I'd discovered earlier so that it could beat aforementioned books.
One book you would want on a deserted island
Just one? No fair! I refuse to answer.
One book that made you laugh
The Color of Magic by Terry Pratchett, first novel in the Discworld series. Must be the funniest book I've ever read. He takes a dig at everything from physics to economics to fantasy fiction. The entire story is based on a world which is a flat plate mounted on the back of a gigantic turtle (sex unknown) with the help of four elephants. Pssst... the Discworlders named the elephants. You get the picture.
One book that made you cry
The Dispossessed by Ursula Le Guin. It is very difficult for me to describe this book; it is technically a science fiction book because it is based on a different world, but for all practical purposes it is a philosophical novel on the lines of Atlas Shrugged, only more powerful and raising more questions. I highly recommended it for all types of readers.
One book you wish had been written
A compendium of life's lessons. Every person should write one for his/her own life. And keep writing till life ends. When you put into words what you've experienced, you understand your lessons more fully. And you will never forget.
One book you wish had never been written
Now, now, that's a really cruel thing to say about any book :). Imagine dramatic movie scene where hysterical kid tells his book, "I wish you'd never been written!".
One book you are currently reading
Time enough for love by Robert Heinlein. I love Heinlein for his honesty, notwithstanding the fact that he writes only fiction. He does go to extremes at times, though. Wonder how this one will end...
One book you have been meaning to read
The Inscrutable Americans by Anurag Mathur. Been on the look out for it for years; now it looks like I'll have to make an active effort to find it.
In keeping with tradition, I'm not tagging anybody further. I mean, I love books, but I'm not all that fond of tags :)
Cheers,
Prashanth.
One book that changed your life
When I was a kid, my school would award books as prizes for those who performed well in their studies, and I always wondered which teachers picked the books because they had excellent taste. The first time I won one of these was in third grade, when I received a really cute book called "My Book of Stars and Planets" in which a white-bearded wizard (with no resemblance to Gandalf or Santa Claus) wearing a blue hat adorned with stars walked you through the fundamentals of astronomy. So, at the age of eight I knew that Sirius was a binary star system, and that the second brightest star visible from Earth is Canopus, and plenty of other things that most people don't learn even in their lifetimes. It was the first time I'd ever read a fun and informative book, and from that day I was permanently hooked to books in life!
One book you have read more than once
Second Foundation by Isaac Asimov is probably the book I've read most times in my life. The Lord of the Rings trilogy is next I think. Magician by Raymond Feist is the one I wish I'd discovered earlier so that it could beat aforementioned books.
One book you would want on a deserted island
Just one? No fair! I refuse to answer.
One book that made you laugh
The Color of Magic by Terry Pratchett, first novel in the Discworld series. Must be the funniest book I've ever read. He takes a dig at everything from physics to economics to fantasy fiction. The entire story is based on a world which is a flat plate mounted on the back of a gigantic turtle (sex unknown) with the help of four elephants. Pssst... the Discworlders named the elephants. You get the picture.
One book that made you cry
The Dispossessed by Ursula Le Guin. It is very difficult for me to describe this book; it is technically a science fiction book because it is based on a different world, but for all practical purposes it is a philosophical novel on the lines of Atlas Shrugged, only more powerful and raising more questions. I highly recommended it for all types of readers.
One book you wish had been written
A compendium of life's lessons. Every person should write one for his/her own life. And keep writing till life ends. When you put into words what you've experienced, you understand your lessons more fully. And you will never forget.
One book you wish had never been written
Now, now, that's a really cruel thing to say about any book :). Imagine dramatic movie scene where hysterical kid tells his book, "I wish you'd never been written!".
One book you are currently reading
Time enough for love by Robert Heinlein. I love Heinlein for his honesty, notwithstanding the fact that he writes only fiction. He does go to extremes at times, though. Wonder how this one will end...
One book you have been meaning to read
The Inscrutable Americans by Anurag Mathur. Been on the look out for it for years; now it looks like I'll have to make an active effort to find it.
In keeping with tradition, I'm not tagging anybody further. I mean, I love books, but I'm not all that fond of tags :)
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
The truth and the whole truth
Why are you anonymous?
If you ask that question of anyone, you must have been born yesterday. And if you ask it of a blogger, you really need to get your head checked. Blogs are very personal. People don't want to tell their innermost thoughts to strangers unless they have no way of telling who they are. And as with any online experience, women on blogworld need to protect themselves. There have also been incidents of bloggers facing pressure from their employers for things they say on their blogs; for that reason, my friend the Artful Badger recently decided that on his transition from student to employee, he should make himself anonymous on Blogger.
There are plenty more reasons for being anonymous, but I'll stop here. But all this begs the question: why are there so many bloggers who are not anonymous? In particular, me? It's not that I don't say personal things on my blog. Far from it. Thinking on these lines, I suddenly realized that I've never been anonymous anywhere. Even my email id's read like firstname.lastname@blah.com, and my few online profiles inevitably have my full name and location on them. And I came to the conclusion that because I'm incapable of being a convincing dissembler, I decided not to try.
I must have read too many stories with morals when I was a kid. I tend to tell the truth and the whole truth at any point of time. Growing up taught me that I shouldn't, but old habits die hard. Flash back to incidents at school when I was just a kid....
- I'm playing cricket with my friends. I'm on the batting side, but fielding at the moment to make up for the small number of players. There's a runout appeal, which turns into a heated argument. Suddenly, the bowler gets a brainwave. "Let's ask SP! He never lies!" and they corner me. I sheepishly admit that it looked to me like he was out, and I was standing quite close by. The batsman involved in the appeal was a key player, and my captain takes me aside and tells me, "Dude. When such things happen, just say you don't know and you're not sure. Got it?"
- A class is on, and our teacher gives us some work to do, with strict instructions to be quiet. The guy sitting in the bench next to me gets into an animated discussion with someone else, and our teacher calls his name and asks him what's going on. He explains that he was just in the process of borrowing a pencil. When the class got over, I had a word with him. "How can you tell a barefaced lie like that to an elder?" God, I was such a self-righteous prig at that age. To the guy's credit, he didn't think any less of me for that, and in fact tried to keep my company more often in the hope that some of my influence rubbed off on him.
I grew up. But even now, in a casual conversation with a stranger, or even with myself on my blog, if I am to hide things I need to consciously expend some effort to consider every word before I say it, or I'll be quickly telling you every naked fact about my life. Er... like I'm doing now :). What is the point in being anonymous if I can't do a good job of it? So I don't.
On the down side, because I'm not anonymous myself, I don't respect other people's anonymity as much as I should. Only in the sense that I ask people who they are, or try to find out for myself. I mean, I know it's harmless, even if they don't. Well... Mostly Harmless, if I may quote Douglas Adams. Of course, the real crime is that this means I deliberately encroach upon the privacy of someone else, which is a fundamental right by any constitution. There was one incident when I googled out the full name of an online friend from stuff I knew about her, and then told her. Actually, I did something worse after that, which I'd rather not get into. She was livid for a while and actually deleted her blog for a few days. Fortunately, she forgave me completely over time and is a very good friend of mine today. That shows class, of a sort I can never hope to match.
There, I've said too much again. Somebody gag me!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
If you ask that question of anyone, you must have been born yesterday. And if you ask it of a blogger, you really need to get your head checked. Blogs are very personal. People don't want to tell their innermost thoughts to strangers unless they have no way of telling who they are. And as with any online experience, women on blogworld need to protect themselves. There have also been incidents of bloggers facing pressure from their employers for things they say on their blogs; for that reason, my friend the Artful Badger recently decided that on his transition from student to employee, he should make himself anonymous on Blogger.
There are plenty more reasons for being anonymous, but I'll stop here. But all this begs the question: why are there so many bloggers who are not anonymous? In particular, me? It's not that I don't say personal things on my blog. Far from it. Thinking on these lines, I suddenly realized that I've never been anonymous anywhere. Even my email id's read like firstname.lastname@blah.com, and my few online profiles inevitably have my full name and location on them. And I came to the conclusion that because I'm incapable of being a convincing dissembler, I decided not to try.
I must have read too many stories with morals when I was a kid. I tend to tell the truth and the whole truth at any point of time. Growing up taught me that I shouldn't, but old habits die hard. Flash back to incidents at school when I was just a kid....
- I'm playing cricket with my friends. I'm on the batting side, but fielding at the moment to make up for the small number of players. There's a runout appeal, which turns into a heated argument. Suddenly, the bowler gets a brainwave. "Let's ask SP! He never lies!" and they corner me. I sheepishly admit that it looked to me like he was out, and I was standing quite close by. The batsman involved in the appeal was a key player, and my captain takes me aside and tells me, "Dude. When such things happen, just say you don't know and you're not sure. Got it?"
- A class is on, and our teacher gives us some work to do, with strict instructions to be quiet. The guy sitting in the bench next to me gets into an animated discussion with someone else, and our teacher calls his name and asks him what's going on. He explains that he was just in the process of borrowing a pencil. When the class got over, I had a word with him. "How can you tell a barefaced lie like that to an elder?" God, I was such a self-righteous prig at that age. To the guy's credit, he didn't think any less of me for that, and in fact tried to keep my company more often in the hope that some of my influence rubbed off on him.
I grew up. But even now, in a casual conversation with a stranger, or even with myself on my blog, if I am to hide things I need to consciously expend some effort to consider every word before I say it, or I'll be quickly telling you every naked fact about my life. Er... like I'm doing now :). What is the point in being anonymous if I can't do a good job of it? So I don't.
On the down side, because I'm not anonymous myself, I don't respect other people's anonymity as much as I should. Only in the sense that I ask people who they are, or try to find out for myself. I mean, I know it's harmless, even if they don't. Well... Mostly Harmless, if I may quote Douglas Adams. Of course, the real crime is that this means I deliberately encroach upon the privacy of someone else, which is a fundamental right by any constitution. There was one incident when I googled out the full name of an online friend from stuff I knew about her, and then told her. Actually, I did something worse after that, which I'd rather not get into. She was livid for a while and actually deleted her blog for a few days. Fortunately, she forgave me completely over time and is a very good friend of mine today. That shows class, of a sort I can never hope to match.
There, I've said too much again. Somebody gag me!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
And let the words flow!
Calvin: You can't just turn on creativity like a faucet. You have to be in the right mood.
Hobbes: And what mood is that?
Calvin: Last-minute panic.
English exams included, I can well commisserate with Calvin. I can't count the number of times I needed to write an article for something, but the words just wouldn't flow. And yet, I was always (and still am) capable of coming up with something, and people would even like it. It's never hard to write with good technique, once the basics have been drummed into you through practice. This includes everything from poetry to short fiction. But it's not often that one comes up with something truly creative, something with soul. That inevitably requires inspiration.
I haven't yet found anyone sufficiently interested in my style of writing to read and critique all my poems, but if I ever do, I would like to ask one question: can you identify which poems I wrote because I was told to (or told myself to), and which poems flowed automatically? I've been writing poems since fourth grade, some good, some bad, some ugly; but the good ones generally write themselves. From high school, I started saving my poems and they're all up on my poetry blog; some thirty-odd poems so far. I often change my judgements on my own writing as my personal taste evolves; but the really good ones, written in true moments of inspiration are always clear winners.
I ran a little experiment this week, seeing as I've run into a bad case of poet's block and haven't written a poem since last december. I told myself to write two poems, on something, anything. No arguments. And I came up with these: Have Faith and The Slightest Excuse. I invite my readers, especially poetry enthusiasts, to render their judgements... no mercy asked!
And yet... no matter how much I complain that my poems are not that good when I coerce myself into writing, it's even worse if I simply sit still and not write. Going poem-less for seven months frayed my nerves. Now I'm almost feeling like myself again :)
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Hobbes: And what mood is that?
Calvin: Last-minute panic.
English exams included, I can well commisserate with Calvin. I can't count the number of times I needed to write an article for something, but the words just wouldn't flow. And yet, I was always (and still am) capable of coming up with something, and people would even like it. It's never hard to write with good technique, once the basics have been drummed into you through practice. This includes everything from poetry to short fiction. But it's not often that one comes up with something truly creative, something with soul. That inevitably requires inspiration.
I haven't yet found anyone sufficiently interested in my style of writing to read and critique all my poems, but if I ever do, I would like to ask one question: can you identify which poems I wrote because I was told to (or told myself to), and which poems flowed automatically? I've been writing poems since fourth grade, some good, some bad, some ugly; but the good ones generally write themselves. From high school, I started saving my poems and they're all up on my poetry blog; some thirty-odd poems so far. I often change my judgements on my own writing as my personal taste evolves; but the really good ones, written in true moments of inspiration are always clear winners.
I ran a little experiment this week, seeing as I've run into a bad case of poet's block and haven't written a poem since last december. I told myself to write two poems, on something, anything. No arguments. And I came up with these: Have Faith and The Slightest Excuse. I invite my readers, especially poetry enthusiasts, to render their judgements... no mercy asked!
And yet... no matter how much I complain that my poems are not that good when I coerce myself into writing, it's even worse if I simply sit still and not write. Going poem-less for seven months frayed my nerves. Now I'm almost feeling like myself again :)
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Just when I thought my life was boring...
This happened last week as I was taking the bus to campus, an inherently boring and quite routine thing I do in my life. But this time, there was something different. A female voice beside me asked, "Are you Prashanth?"
Now, I don't want to call her Mystery Girl. That sounds too cliched. So let's call her Girl With Cute Accent. GWCA for short. The conversation went something like this:
GWCA: Are you Prashanth?
Me: (a little off-guard) Yes...?
GWCA: (shyly - I swear) I've read your blog.
(Well, it sounded more like "blawg", but as mentioned already, accent was cute, so I didn't mind one bit.)
Me: (at a loss for words) (must've had my mouth open for a second or two) How did you know it was me?
GWCA: (shrugs) Must've seen your photograph somewhere.
Me: (completely baffled as to how that could have happened) Er... hmmmm... and you are?
(For anonymity's sake we'll skip a part of the story. But I'm a vain guy, and I was curious about one thing...)
Me: What did you think of my blog?
GWCA: (a little too quickly) It was interesting.
(Now, if there's one thing I can count on in my life, it's Murphy's Law of Single Men: All the cute women you meet never find anything interesting about you. Not even something as insignificant as your blog. So, naturally I was a bit suspicious.)
Me: (with raised eyebrow) You're just being polite.
GWCA: (with a mischevious twinkle in her eye) Yes.
(Damn, couldn't she have continued being polite a little longer?)
GWCA: Did you know you're famous?
(Here I almost fell off the seat before I realized that the mischevious glint was still there. O-K-A-Y. Sarcasm, the most abundant entity in this world. I guess I can live with it.)
I guess girls can never change one basic aspect of their character: they are wicked. It's just the way God made them. But, as with a lot of other things in this world, I can live with that. Anyway, as it turns out, the girl lives in the same apartment complex as I, and takes the same bus route everyday as I. She was surprised that she hadn't noticed me the whole of last year, or she would have said hello earlier. No surprise for me. When was the last time any girl had noticed me for any reason?
Well, at least the incident broke the monotony of my life for a while. To GWCA and all the people who read my inane little ramblings: thank you and keep visiting!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Now, I don't want to call her Mystery Girl. That sounds too cliched. So let's call her Girl With Cute Accent. GWCA for short. The conversation went something like this:
GWCA: Are you Prashanth?
Me: (a little off-guard) Yes...?
GWCA: (shyly - I swear) I've read your blog.
(Well, it sounded more like "blawg", but as mentioned already, accent was cute, so I didn't mind one bit.)
Me: (at a loss for words) (must've had my mouth open for a second or two) How did you know it was me?
GWCA: (shrugs) Must've seen your photograph somewhere.
Me: (completely baffled as to how that could have happened) Er... hmmmm... and you are?
(For anonymity's sake we'll skip a part of the story. But I'm a vain guy, and I was curious about one thing...)
Me: What did you think of my blog?
GWCA: (a little too quickly) It was interesting.
(Now, if there's one thing I can count on in my life, it's Murphy's Law of Single Men: All the cute women you meet never find anything interesting about you. Not even something as insignificant as your blog. So, naturally I was a bit suspicious.)
Me: (with raised eyebrow) You're just being polite.
GWCA: (with a mischevious twinkle in her eye) Yes.
(Damn, couldn't she have continued being polite a little longer?)
GWCA: Did you know you're famous?
(Here I almost fell off the seat before I realized that the mischevious glint was still there. O-K-A-Y. Sarcasm, the most abundant entity in this world. I guess I can live with it.)
I guess girls can never change one basic aspect of their character: they are wicked. It's just the way God made them. But, as with a lot of other things in this world, I can live with that. Anyway, as it turns out, the girl lives in the same apartment complex as I, and takes the same bus route everyday as I. She was surprised that she hadn't noticed me the whole of last year, or she would have said hello earlier. No surprise for me. When was the last time any girl had noticed me for any reason?
Well, at least the incident broke the monotony of my life for a while. To GWCA and all the people who read my inane little ramblings: thank you and keep visiting!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Watch your diet. Sigh.
I know I'm incorrigible, but now I also know I'm stupid. My mom is an expert nutritionist and cook, and I have a lifetime of health tips embedded in this brain... and yet I generally don't follow them. Now I've finally landed up with health problems thanks to my negligence. Double sigh. If you are a young adult living away from family, I offer the following points of advice. I'm witness to the fact that evading them can have bad consequences.
:) Eat meals at regular times. The body has a rhythm. Stick to it!
:( I postpone or skip meals with little provocation... work, or a superb novel, or plain laziness to cook.
:) Have three square meals a day. Don't skip breakfast! By definition, you are breaking your fast after not eating for nearly twelve hours since the previous night's dinner. That makes breakfast the most important meal of the day.
:( I have breakfast when it is convenient. Which is on an average, twice or three times a week for the past 5 years.
:) Include milk, and curds or yoghurt in your regular diet, unless you have a lactose intolerance medical condition. Irrespective of age.
:( I became irregular in having milk (in the form of coffee/tea/cocoa/whatever) over the years. After coming to the US, I've become irregular in having curds/yoghurt as well.
:) Avoid fast food and junk food. They are highly unbalanced in nutritive content.... high fat, high sodium, high cholesterol, high carbs, low in essential amino acids and proteins and minerals. Think of them as recipes for disaster.
:( How can I live in the US without pizza or burgers or potato chips?
:) Have fruit juices of different types. Avoid sodas. Sodas are essentially composed of phosphoric acid, carbonic acid, artificial flavours, artificial preservatives, artificial colouring and sugar. Which part of that is good for you?
:( I almost always wash down my fast food with sodas!
:) The strength of your immune system is closely connected to your diet. If you get all your vitamins and minerals and have a balanced diet, you're less likely to get a sore throat after eating that ice cream or a cold after getting wet in the rain, so on and so forth.
:( I know my diet is not balanced. Help!
I could write a lot more, but I'm not in the best of health and I'm tired. I guess what I'm trying to say is, take care of your health, friend.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
:) Eat meals at regular times. The body has a rhythm. Stick to it!
:( I postpone or skip meals with little provocation... work, or a superb novel, or plain laziness to cook.
:) Have three square meals a day. Don't skip breakfast! By definition, you are breaking your fast after not eating for nearly twelve hours since the previous night's dinner. That makes breakfast the most important meal of the day.
:( I have breakfast when it is convenient. Which is on an average, twice or three times a week for the past 5 years.
:) Include milk, and curds or yoghurt in your regular diet, unless you have a lactose intolerance medical condition. Irrespective of age.
:( I became irregular in having milk (in the form of coffee/tea/cocoa/whatever) over the years. After coming to the US, I've become irregular in having curds/yoghurt as well.
:) Avoid fast food and junk food. They are highly unbalanced in nutritive content.... high fat, high sodium, high cholesterol, high carbs, low in essential amino acids and proteins and minerals. Think of them as recipes for disaster.
:( How can I live in the US without pizza or burgers or potato chips?
:) Have fruit juices of different types. Avoid sodas. Sodas are essentially composed of phosphoric acid, carbonic acid, artificial flavours, artificial preservatives, artificial colouring and sugar. Which part of that is good for you?
:( I almost always wash down my fast food with sodas!
:) The strength of your immune system is closely connected to your diet. If you get all your vitamins and minerals and have a balanced diet, you're less likely to get a sore throat after eating that ice cream or a cold after getting wet in the rain, so on and so forth.
:( I know my diet is not balanced. Help!
I could write a lot more, but I'm not in the best of health and I'm tired. I guess what I'm trying to say is, take care of your health, friend.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
A Short Story
"Hello."
"Hey there. Aren't you at work yet?"
"Nope, I'm still in my car. You know me."
"Ah yes, of course. Five minutes late to class, five minutes late to the movie, five minutes late for play. No reason why you shouldn't be five minutes late to work as well!"
I heard the familiar chuckle, with genuine warmth in it. "So why isn't Miss Punctuality at work yet?" I riposted.
"I ... took the day off."
A few more minutes of idle conversation. As was the case often, I could sense an aura of depression behind her tone. But our unwritten rule was to not talk about painful topics. "Why spoil a rare good mood by talking about the bad? " she would say, "Leave it be." It was the same when we were friends in school. It was the same when our academic careers diverged, and we stayed in touch by phone. It was the same when we went on with our separate married and professional lives, but never went without talking longer than a month. It was just the way she was.
"Thank you," she said suddenly and unexpectedly, "Thank you for being the one constant good thing in my life."
I was moved. "Why do you persist with things that don't work out?" I said impulsively, "Change your life. Start over. Get a divorce."
"Please. I don't want to talk about it."
Silence.
"Goodbye," she said, with unusual tenderness.
"Goodbye."
I shut the phone and frowned. It was unusual for her to call at this time of the morning; she always called in the evenings, when she knew she wouldn't be disturbing me at work and we would have more time to talk. And there was something about the inflection of the Goodbye, and the unexpected Thank you...
My heart was suddenly seized with dread and I floored the gas pedal.
I rang the bell, and tried the door when there was no answer. It opened noiselessly.
Slit wrists. A pool of blood on the floor.
I gasped in shock and dialled 911. I was composed as I explained the situation, but my hands shook when I felt her neck for a pulse.
I sat on my knees and bowed my head as my tears mingled with the blood on the floor. I already knew... I was five minutes too late.
"Hey there. Aren't you at work yet?"
"Nope, I'm still in my car. You know me."
"Ah yes, of course. Five minutes late to class, five minutes late to the movie, five minutes late for play. No reason why you shouldn't be five minutes late to work as well!"
I heard the familiar chuckle, with genuine warmth in it. "So why isn't Miss Punctuality at work yet?" I riposted.
"I ... took the day off."
A few more minutes of idle conversation. As was the case often, I could sense an aura of depression behind her tone. But our unwritten rule was to not talk about painful topics. "Why spoil a rare good mood by talking about the bad? " she would say, "Leave it be." It was the same when we were friends in school. It was the same when our academic careers diverged, and we stayed in touch by phone. It was the same when we went on with our separate married and professional lives, but never went without talking longer than a month. It was just the way she was.
"Thank you," she said suddenly and unexpectedly, "Thank you for being the one constant good thing in my life."
I was moved. "Why do you persist with things that don't work out?" I said impulsively, "Change your life. Start over. Get a divorce."
"Please. I don't want to talk about it."
Silence.
"Goodbye," she said, with unusual tenderness.
"Goodbye."
I shut the phone and frowned. It was unusual for her to call at this time of the morning; she always called in the evenings, when she knew she wouldn't be disturbing me at work and we would have more time to talk. And there was something about the inflection of the Goodbye, and the unexpected Thank you...
My heart was suddenly seized with dread and I floored the gas pedal.
I rang the bell, and tried the door when there was no answer. It opened noiselessly.
Slit wrists. A pool of blood on the floor.
I gasped in shock and dialled 911. I was composed as I explained the situation, but my hands shook when I felt her neck for a pulse.
I sat on my knees and bowed my head as my tears mingled with the blood on the floor. I already knew... I was five minutes too late.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Me? Weird?
I've been tagged by DiTtY. I don't often respond to tags but this one seems harmless enough... I'm supposed to talk about my "weird characteristics". Should be easy, considering I have few normal characteristics :)
- I'm an indoors guy. Everything I do, from work to play, is done indoors. Not that I hate the outdoors or anything, I'm just complacent enough to do everything indoors and lazy enough to not want exercise.
- I don't know how to say NO. If you ask nice, I'll cave in like a chocolate cake. As long as I don't have to do anything that offends my principles, I'll help you out with anything, almost.
- I cannot haggle with auto rickshaw drivers. I'd rather pay the extra five rupees and save myself the trouble. Come to think of it, I can't bargain with anybody. Not shopkeepers, not friends, not anybody.
- I can sleep with the lights on and my roommates playing rock music in the next room. I can read with the TV on and people talking in the same room. Heck, I can study/work with practically any visual or audio distraction. You can't sway my concentration easily.
- Alas, that cuts both ways. I choose not to concentrate on mundane things, making me very forgetful. Did I not tell you about the time I walked into a wall?
- I have to read. Something. Anything. I need a book a week, minimum, or I'll get withdrawal symptoms.
- I have a wicked way of putting off chirpy relatives when I'm in a less tolerant state of mind. I talk and explain things in a roundabout and technical fashion, that they wish they'd never brought up whatever it was they brought up. Unfortunately it became so much of a habit that I talk the same way almost all the time now!
- I'm a feminist. There, beat that!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
- I'm an indoors guy. Everything I do, from work to play, is done indoors. Not that I hate the outdoors or anything, I'm just complacent enough to do everything indoors and lazy enough to not want exercise.
- I don't know how to say NO. If you ask nice, I'll cave in like a chocolate cake. As long as I don't have to do anything that offends my principles, I'll help you out with anything, almost.
- I cannot haggle with auto rickshaw drivers. I'd rather pay the extra five rupees and save myself the trouble. Come to think of it, I can't bargain with anybody. Not shopkeepers, not friends, not anybody.
- I can sleep with the lights on and my roommates playing rock music in the next room. I can read with the TV on and people talking in the same room. Heck, I can study/work with practically any visual or audio distraction. You can't sway my concentration easily.
- Alas, that cuts both ways. I choose not to concentrate on mundane things, making me very forgetful. Did I not tell you about the time I walked into a wall?
- I have to read. Something. Anything. I need a book a week, minimum, or I'll get withdrawal symptoms.
- I have a wicked way of putting off chirpy relatives when I'm in a less tolerant state of mind. I talk and explain things in a roundabout and technical fashion, that they wish they'd never brought up whatever it was they brought up. Unfortunately it became so much of a habit that I talk the same way almost all the time now!
- I'm a feminist. There, beat that!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
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