Butter-fry Effect.

The insignificant flutter of a butterfly’s wings on the remotest corners¹ of the earth may be elemental in the production of large disasters. The mystique of cause-effect relationships that seem outwardly unconnected is explained by the butterfly effect. But so potent is this perception that its agents are visible in every facet of our lives, on every avenue.

Even so, on my first work related “road trip”, leaving as early as 5 A.M. for Wisconsin, the work of this miraculous agent was quite visible.

Road trips have often been a topic of Hollywood flicks, from the absurdly retarded Road Trip series to much more endearing dramas, these movies offer a snapshot into country America.

As dissociated as events in some of these movies may be to real life, they mimic life in the most uncanny of ways. They cross barriers, geographic, cultural and perhaps even economic. I am, of course, talking about “rest stops”.

But as we stopped for breakfast, the reality of the butterfly effect and its unpleasant bedfellow; globalization, dawned on me. The oasis we had breakfast at a glaring example of the adulteration of our modern day lives by the whorifying enabler of globalization; Consumerism. With McDonalds at the right, taco bell to the left and everything in between a sampling of the finest in franchise cuisine America has to offer. As we embrace the gifts of globalization, the cost-cutting it affords us, we choose to ignore the local businesses that rely on our continued patronage for survival.

But in our pursuit of wealthiness, we have let slip the very essence that made those movies endearing. The small town cafes, bistros, pancake houses, moronically replaced by corporate food cloners that serve only to stifle the creativity that makes us unique, the servers grudgingly serving a daily dish of rude awakening. As we pinch pennies, filling the coffers of big business, we pay the ultimate price as we let them control our lives, our choices, our individualism; and effectively our freedom. I guess this fast paced life will overwhelm the abilities of our generation to sample the diversity of human evolution as we zombify our very existence.

Note:
1. A turn of phrase, obviously, originating in the day of old world "knowledge" where the earth was flat. Just as we keep the phrase and its intended meaning in spite of dispelling the darkening myth that gave birth to it, so it isn't entirely inconceivable for an atheist like me to use common phrases of language that invoke the imaginary supernatural being that supposedly gave birth to all that exists.

You have been warned. The next person to question the hypocrisy of using these phrases gets punched in the face.

Where Is That Damn Pencil?

I realized something today. There is never a pencil around when you need one, or a pen! For that matter, there is never anything sharp around when you want it.

Have you ever been forced to be within a closed room (or public transport) with a bunch of WHITE, early teen, high school, Legally Blonde wannabes? Let me tell you, it is "like" worse than getting hit by a bus… and living through it. It is worse than having your head shoved into your butt, worse than getting your head shaved… with a pair of tweezers. It is worse than pulling out your finger nails straight out. It is worse than having a raving, religious lunatic preach about god and the bible, about good and evil, about vice and virtue, about damnation and salvation. Wait, that last one isn’t true. I would know. And there you have it, another moment I wished I had a pencil.

                             Image by Fernando Graphicos

Pradhan Mantri Mayawati

Yes, India is a technical superpower. We are The IT nation. Our IT services are so brilliant that American companies outsource these jobs in spite of the negative publicity it generates. So wonderful are they that they are a 6 billion dollar industry, contributing to over 7 percent of our GDP and 35% of our exports.

Apparently there aren’t any BSP supporters who can code. No, they can’t hire our wonderful IT professionals and programmers to build themselves a functioning website. Wait a minute, dalits can’t read, can they? That must be it; they are so impoverished and illiterate that a website would serve no purpose!

Rest in Peace, My Love!

My 500 gig external hard disk died on me a few days back, just as I was about to load a movie I had backed up on it. I spent a little over 2 hours trying to figure out if I could revive it somehow, even if briefly to transfer all my saved files, or just the important ones. Along with my movie collection, I lost all my music and all my saved files from when I had formatted my laptop last.

Now, I’m usually quite unorganized, so I have no clue about what files I had on them. I felt a little saddened at this loss, because I had spent a lot of time tagging my music collection. I’d spend an hour or two every week as and when I could spare it to tag my collection, rate them and make play lists. Not to mention the more important files.

But what I didn’t expect was the reaction of people. The first people that found out about this “sudden loss” were my roommates and a few friends. Their tones were grave and almost condolent, with one sounding like I had lost a family member or close friend. I joked about the reaction wondering why it had evoked such a reaction.

However, a few minutes ago, another friend, responded in the same manner, in a chat conversation when I broke the news.

TDD: oh... my external hdd conked out
lost all my data
and the hdd
Anon1: yikes
TDD: yeah
Anon1: how many movies was it?
TDD: I think that’s why I didn’t reply the last time
over 350
Anon1: uh-oh
am sorry

Now this seemed far from a coincidence. Too many people had reacted that way. Sure I was sad that it had conked out. Sure I would have to re-sort and re-tag all my audio files. Sure I will have to rebuild my collection without a clue as to what it included. But, people, let’s be realistic, it is only a bit of electronic equipment. All the files that I lost, I can re-acquire! We are truly in an age where malfunction of electronic equipment is a heartfelt loss. The expression of sorrow was probably more genuine than if it were the actual loss of life. We are truly desensitized, truly fucked.

Food!!!

"Top 10 Reasons I Hate to Cook"

"Heat changes food; change it the right way and you have success!"

- Matt Tucker

In the 21 years I have been in India, under the watchful eyes of my family, I have rarely stepped foot in the kitchen. The times that I did, were either to help my mom bake a cake (that is the only way I could convince her to bake one), or make myself some eggs (when I was old enough to operate the burners). My knowledge of cooking and all things gastronomic started and ended with eggs, perhaps the odd cup of tea, though I hardly recollect it.

The US brought with it a whole world of new experiences, amongst which was the compulsion to cook; and for a beginner to cook for 5 people is reason enough to hate it. But somehow, defying all logic (as I tend to do), cooking grew on me, though I can't make the simplest Daal and Rice. The rice, I have gotten a hang of, thanks to the microwave oven. Daals... let's not even go there.

But as with everything else, I have my theories as to why I started enjoying what I should probably have despised. Cooking, they say is therapeutic, and a stress buster. I certainly agree with that point of view, especially when I cook for myself. I don't understand other people, when they say they can't cook for themselves. I find the effort I put in, makes the meal/dish taste that much better. Unfortunately, cooking for other people, means keeping in mind their individual tastes and curbing your natural instincts, which robs the fun from it. But as my grandmother says, those who love eating better learn to cook well!!

I am hardly a master of the culinary world, though with the introduction to Good Eats, by my good friend Ashwin, I feel like a genius. Though limited by hardware, I find myself willing to put in that extra effort in order to compensate for the lack of mechanized beasts that simplify the prep. My cooking skills are basic. The need for instruction is over-whelming. But considering it has been barely 18 months since I started (even less if we are looking for quality), I am well satisfied. This post is looking back at all the experiments, some good and some gone terribly wrong, and a big Thank You to the people that have ingested the bad with the good.

American Born, Confused Chinese
This was my first attempt at a "recipe". A simple lemon, garlic, ginger and soy based dish with chicken, this soon became a favorite with the tangy-sweet loving simpletons.

With The Good, Comes Bad
This absolute disaster occured Dec 2006. Armed with a sub-par recipe (created by yours truly) and little know-how, this Fish-Mustard-Pea concoction is my biggest disaster till date. Barely edible (though I survived it), this dish was probably my best looking. The best tasting, for sure, is Beer Barbecue Chicken Fried Rice.

Tandoori Chicken and Pulao
This dish turned out to be far simpler than expected. Maestro Chef Yogesh Pai has perfected his spicy variant of this popular barbecue dish over the months while Vinayak's Pulao makes for the perfect unassuming accompaniment. Serve with loads of yogurt and lemon. Keep the fire extinguisher handy.

Chicken-a-la-pouch
This Good Eats method (season 7, Ep 8) emphasizes fast cooking for nuclear families. A meal for as many as the oven can hold in half an hour. Unfortunately for me, the cooking alone took me about 45 minutes. I blame it on my oven though. The results, however, were scintillating and far beyond my expectations.

Hail Caesar
A modified (throw in everything you see) version of Caesar Salad, with chicken and Ranch dressing replacing the raw eggs. Olive oil did enhance flavor, but she turned out to be less photogenic.

House of the Rising Bun

Baking is probably what the wise were talking about when they said, "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach". Though it has little to do with the stomach. Just the smell of fresh baked bread or cookies makes the stoutest men into putty. These cinnamon rolls were

relished without the cream cheese frosting. A lemon-ginger experiment was too good to be true. You just had to be there...

Seafood Extravaganza
A fish curry (bangla style) gone wrong (thanks to sweetened coconut milk) was a blessing in disguise. The dish was meant to be spicy, but the sweetness added a new dimension to an already brilliant dish. I had to lick my plate clean. The shrimp appetizers: Garlic Shrimp with Parsley, Kerala Chili Prawns

The Chicken is an egg's way to make more eggs.

Eggs... Spinach, garlic, spaghetti sauce and CHEESE. Now available in Omlette and Scrambled variants.



Ham Salad, Mutton cutlets and the simple 'ol scrambled eggs, pepper and salt.








The Butcher Shop:
He must be a leg man!

Organ-ised Butchery

Cookies
Chocolate Chip and Peanut Butter Cookies.

Hair Is Gone!

Superscar - Sivaji

Sunday morning, 15 minutes before noon, I hear a faint knock followed by a familiar voice. It has just been 3 hours since I fell asleep. I groggily lift my head as I enquire to the reason of this blasphemy. Coming from a family that regards the Sabbath to be a holy day, I was obviously annoyed at the brazen intrusion. Turns out I am being asked if I want to join my roommate to a Tamil movie (for the record, I don’t speak the language and my understanding of it is just sufficient to hire an auto rickshaw). He just got ditched by another friend of ours and wants to avoid going alone. After some calls (trying to avoid having to say ok) I seem to have worked myself into a corner and agree to accompany him. The car is rented, made some ham and cheese sandwiches with bologna (we ran out of different types of salami as you can see) and we hit the road.

Starting time, 4:30 PM; that’s what the ticket reads. 4:05 and we make it into the parking lot. There seems to be a huge queue of Indians. We join it right at the back. But it isn’t until 5 that we are allowed into the theater. The show is delayed, apparently because “cleaning the theater will take longer”, sugar-coated for you cultureless motherfucking excuses for civilized humans since the previous crowd had thrown bits of paper into the air as a symbolic gesture for happiness. Hence the delay. As I hear the news, the grumblings begin. Not to mention the 90 degree weather that has me sweating like a hippo (got sick of pigs, except one ;) ) So I’m watching the bemused passersby as they wonder why the fuck there is a 100 man queue outside a theatre. Some pause, to enquire, all the time adding to my hysterical laughter and terrorist jokes.

5 past 5, lights dim before finally going off and before the movie even begins, a series of roars and whistles and god knows what else overtakes the theatre. The movie lasts a little shy of three and half hours. Luckily I’m not paying for this movie. I have some free sodas and my handy bag of cream and onion chips. One hour into the movie, and its not started. Though I have seen more skin in this movie than in Original sin or Embrace of the vampire, the censor boards continue to find breasts and vaginas too sensitive for the Indian paying public, who continue to objectify women in their movies and in their lives. Can’t blame them, for the main female role is just for the sake of titillation and to render the depth in the stereotypical patriarchal male lead character. On a different note, I enjoyed it. She was hot and almost naked most of the time, except when she had to step into the role of the “perfect woman”.

After the intermission the movie finally picks up. The second half of the movie had the lead popping gum on rebounds and flashily changing his sunglasses and stupidly retarded dialogues. Though, some were funny, I wish I was emo enough to slit my throat. There was no real story to carry the movie for half a good nights sleep except the “superstar” status of the lead. Actually it is not too late. I can slit my throat even now. Crap. I don’t have it in me. And now the semi-naked female interest barely shows herself either. Fuck. Maybe I should start making out with the woman next to me!? Oh… crap, wall to one side, roommate to the other. Maybe hitting my head on the wall will save me from the toothache of a movie and just in case my roommate can read minds. So it’s 8:30 PM now. Movie just got done. And we have to be home by 10. I was hoping to get 15 minutes of parking lot driving experience before heading back. I should have stayed home and finished the third season of family guy. Damn you 4 hour movie making slime balls to hell.

Hot Cross Buns

Past impressions or Brand recall, call it what you want, but it certainly does influence choices. It did mine. The Good Shepherd vs. The Illusionist. Edward Norton (Primal Fear, Fight Club and Kingdom of Heaven) and Paul Giamatti (Lady in the Water, Cinderella Man, Sideways, Paycheck and Confidence) had a greater track record than Matt Damon (Good Will Hunting, Syriana, Bourne Identity, The Departed and School Ties) and so I went with The Illusionist for my daily entertainment.

Young love lost and found, seemed to be the story, with some voodoo backdrop that was just a mere prop in the plot. Jessica Biel and Edward Norton’s “forbidden” love propels the great illusionist to plot the downfall of the Vienna prince and his evil plans of world domination. Okay… exaggeration, but at least plans of ruling as emperor after over-throwing his own father and emperor. The plot was like an Indian road after the monsoons. Predictable to the point that each detail became clear when Eisenheim hypnotizes his former childhood lover. Had I known how bad the script was, I would perhaps have opted to watch The Good Shepherd. Even Giamatti, who usually seems to be uplifting (even though monotonous), seemed to have nothing to portray in excess of the stereotypical good cop who just seems not to get the picture.

And all goes dandy, as the illusionist tricks the over-zealous cop and having probably pulled of the greatest illusion of death retrieves his love from the crutches of an evil chauvinist and possible tyrant and saves the Austrian world. The flashback when Inspector Uhl finally “gets it” was as predictable as the script itself, as in every “Sherlock” movie, the director assumes the viewer to be too dumb to decipher for himself the sequence of events. All in all, unintelligent movie making. Can’t call a movie a mystery if you explain the whodunit or howdunit at the end of it!

I followed up my night of cinematic bliss with a recommendation. Bollywood at its finest with writer-director Sanjay Kanduri’s debut film Ek Chalis Ki Last Local. The Abhay Deol- Neha Dhupia “star studded bonanza” had nothing going for it. Abhay Deol is as good an actor as his more illustrious cousins and uncle. It certainly was a shoot-me-in-the-face performance. The script was BAD. I mean real bad. The dialogues were a bit decent (if you like no-brainer comedies) and tried their best to cover-up the pitfalls in the script and acting. The comedy, at best, was a scary movie styled parody of much better cinematic moments and hence provided as much laughter as getting shot in the toe!

The movies thrill and chill ability seemed to be restricted to The Departed’s and Lock Stock’s shoot-‘em-all style with the lone survivor going for glory. At a playtime of a little over 2 hours and 20 minutes, a time warp to say the least, it felt like trying to pull an ingrown out of your toe. The only shock came when the well mannered Dhupia turned out to be a mere hooker who seemed to get her customers after entrapment. But the way she looks, I doubt she needs to!

So at the end of 4 and a half hours ( I had a couple of much needed intervals put in there to avoid going crazy), its fair to say I’ve gotten a little dumber. Added with the beer and pizza, more grey cells drowned and some much needed calories added. Here is hoping for a better fare tomorrow with The Good Shepherd and another reco, Shootout in Lokhandwala. Until then, Biel and Dhupia will keep me company!



P.S. I have tried to avoid too many spoilers in the “reviews” but feel free to ask me when and how I figured out The Illusionist script.

AND WILL SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK VOLTAS IS DOING IN MY FUCKING RUCKUS MP3’S!!! Fuck those corporate advertising motherfuckers to fucking hell. If I hear one more fucking advertisement @#!*@^