Sunday, March 06, 2011

Raizada Heritage Fund and Trip to Woodlands

I have a confession to make. We don’t have a sofa at home. We seriously don’t.. Over the last two years, whenever Vartika has broached the touchy topic of a Sofa buy, I have ended up doing rants on how the money saved on not buying a Sofa would be able to feed us for a month, in case startup went bust. (And no, I was not counting on dumb UPA government allowing Sharad Pawar to make billions running amok on the vegetable and cereals market and looting us. In that case, count that sum to last for mere 15 days. That rant is for a separate day) Imagine a 30-40k sofa and me eating it, like the borers mostly do. Tough to imagine and sad to think of.

So I return to the sofa tales. Vartika knew I had make her do with those mattresses. You know how dumb I am, relentlessly pointless. Unfortunately I ran into an Ariean, and that too my Mom. She looked at me and the mattresses and then again at me, and I went ballistic. From the sensibility of an accountant, to the eruditeness of an economist (Defintely not Manmohan), to the bania of the corner store to the nincompoop of what her son can be, I explained and ranted about wisdom of not owning a sofa. The free space, Making of a couch potato, unstructured environments stimulating creativity, sharing the same fate as millions of my fellow brethren who own a TV and a cable connection but no sofa. None of these worked and she just steamrolled everything in her wake.

So we had to get a Sofa. Now this is not a simple process with me. I am still in the process of owning the right Bose speakers for the last six years. I am still contemplating the right “audio system” for my car. I am still thinking of a right time to start thinking about getting the watch of my dreams. Include the submarine that I had been vouching for as a perfect startup, making do with a worthless iPhone while my Blackberry begs to be restored, and I could always go on and on. “Plans interrupted while Plans were being made”. So we made measurements, we did focussed group discussions, we did snoop on neighbours, friends, TV serials, movies, talk shows, what not, and we bitched, ranted, ooh-aahed, sofas, people bought, kept, used. We made matrices of people owning sofas, how their personalities were reflected in sofas they kept and vice versa, the dogs, cows, cats and stars were all subjected to numerous statistical tests. Taxonomic, Structural, Economic, Perception – all parameters were identified in classification of Sofas.

Porter cried when I used his five forces, for classifying firms that have entered into furnishing industry. Why we should have Ikea, what garage sales means for Ikea and effect of those on GDP, Would Ikea work in rural Indian landscape, what should be the ideal entry strategy for such firms, Would Nilkamal do well in such an onslaught. I mean we were in the zone. The launch was ready, we were ready to foray into the markets, get our feet dirty and tired, We had done the market survey, we had done the homework. We were on our way to becoming the owner of a Sofa. Vartika, meanwhile had started answering my rants with monosyllables, I think thats what she did. I think Office Work exhausts her.

So I divided the Bombay we live in, into catchment areas, classifying them by the segment which resides in them, kind of shops they purchase their stuff in, how they say Pepsi and whether they eat Goa 1000 or Pukar or Aashiqui. I went online with a vengeance, scoured the blogs, read and reread on advice to buy furnishings in Bombay, indexed and reindexed them for efficiency (discovered Supermemo and its amazing discoverer in the process) and neatly outlined the “Go-to-market” strategy to my partner in crime. Vartika is a professional at this, so I just asked her to affix her stamp whilst making very slight suggestions on an already winner strategy. She as I always thought she would, wholeheartedly agreed with me. I could not sleep the night before D-Day. I wondered if Allies were so giddy with excitement before Normandy happened. But I was sleepless in Bombay.

And off we went. Mall after mall, I made copious notes on how we were attended to, how were the sofas stacked, could there be a better strategy to use the space, the lighting, the arc-lighting, how often should the attendants clean the sofa (so that it appears clean and brand new and still it does not wear it (frequent jeans wearing does that to jeans.. they get torn)... and keep it brand new). I twisted the limericks, the jingles and how they could be made better, what caught my attention and what did not. I scouted for the shop managers and I gave them the gist of my observations (they seemed nonplussed... if they had been observant in first place, they would have observed it before me and thus I would not have noticed it. QED).

Then I took to the Local markets, Chembur ones, Bandra ones, Crawford markets, Oshiwara new furniture market, oshiwara old furniture market, Malad furniture market in from of Hypercity, Malad furniture market behind Hypercity. Like the Egyptians, Tunisians and now Libyans, I was on my own crusade. To classify and photograph and record like Dewey did with books, everything about Sofas. Ohh and I went abroad too. I ate my sisters head and made her visit a few furniture markets there. And I sent her my notes and checklists to be compiled (research should not suffer just because the observer was not that detailed).

And variety did I see and observe and record and note and classify. It was breathtaking. From the shady rubberwood ones to the classy Osians, from the rustic hoyasalas to carved shekawatis, from the colourful and painted jodhpuris to the stoic standard Indian Sofa. I saw the Victorians restored, saw the marbled ones, the rosewood ones with inlaid patterns. I identified rosewoods, teaks, sheesham, Sagaun and into new teak and old seasoned teak.The buy versus build decision debate on the phone with my dad was a classic. So much did I learn there. I was an adventurer, a scientist carefully noting the properties of belted sofas and spring loaded ones.

Vartika brought in the dimensions that were not that important. The color (who cares) (like it should match with the Dining Table we have. Well if I bought a Rolls Royce, Should its color be decided by the color of garage door or vice versa), The ease of keeping a modern sofa versus a pain of maintaining a traditional one (again a classic blunder by novices who are just trying to talk sense. If given a choice between a red blood hound and a Poodle, which one would you choose?) But yes we discussed her contributions to the discussion, but they were like a specific solution to the P=NP debate when I was trying to get a universal solution to the complexity debate. Once and for all. In one fell swoop. And so on.

And we are so hopeful that we would be able to own the sofa of our dreams in near future. The battle is being won, just like Gaddafi in Libya. The truth shall prevail, the preparation will lead to inspiration. Soon.

The corner waits with a tempered silence.

Ohh and by the way. The blog has withered. I have been meaning to write so often with so much determination. The crucial issues on my mind have been Manmohan Singh, Niira Radia (she is a heroine), A Raja, Karunanidhi and his three official wives and official kids, Supermemo, Algorithmic Complexity, Cpp Coding, Interns, Non-performing Assets, Navier Stokes, P=NP, Standard of Education imparted in IITs, Standard of Doctors in India, GST, Chitrangda Singh, Udai Singh Pawar and his excursions, Booming Babies, Its raining babies, beaches, beaches at moonlight, is universe encoded with a string of the size of a transcendental number like pi or e, so even we start decoding the world and its mysteries, we never end. May be that is God

One key thought I had on a high note with udai on the beach at 2 in the night was “imagine there are seven emotions. To create an amazing story, one just needs to project the story in such a dimension such as to eliminate that emotion. So lets say we eliminate greed and now none of the characters in the story has greed or just the main character does not have the “concept” of greed. How different his life would be or how life would be different for him as a result.” I guess Shakespeare had such a thought and thus all novellas and emotions can be traced back to his “original” works. Maybe I am late on this idea, but a beautiful one nonetheless. So much could have been written but its the sofas that afflict me. Its a disease. Same as Sherlock Holmes turning to bee-keeping. We all need a hobby, because work is too serious.

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Raizada Heritage Fund and Pimping it!

Inspired by the Bombay lines which come to because of Bombay Rains.

"When its dry, you can fry
It rains and you walk in drains"

I am surprised why have I not been able to realize this fact. A fact that is infact, been staring at me with cold blue eyes. The true passion of modern Indian Generation seems not to be an innovator, a creator, a discoverer, an Ayn Rand person. Based on the happenings of late, as in the last Ten years, it seems so, it really seems so.

But I tell you, every time you want some work done like a passport, driving license, construction permission, company registration ... they suck every ounce of blood, so I ask why should I pay taxes honestly. Look at the shitty roads, shitty trains, shitty power supply, shitty water supply, shitty governance. With all my sagacity, sometime I want to rip a few and want to see the blood flow.

Lets begin. Starting from 1999, Kargil. The Coffin Scam. The Purchase Scam. The Admiral Gorshokov Scam. The IC 814 Debacle. and If I went this way, then it will go on and on and we would remember what we had forgotten. So lets not concentrate on this. Rather lets take the shining example -

The new reawakened Bhopal Gas .

Lets just think of the Stakeholders (Indians Only).

Union Carbide India Ltd : Indian Subsidiary, Producing what Union carbide was not allowed to produce in US. So essentially involved in production of that, not knowing what, how and when to do what.

Local Authorities (Regulatory) : if this exists, they were obviously napping after having gotten decent sums from UCIL and looking the other way, I am not even sure if they knew what was being produced and for what, using what process.

Local Authorities (Administrative) : Allowed Bastis to set up near a highly dangerous chemical factory. Unsure of how many died, suffered and so on and on. Basically No idea type people.

National Authorities : With the kind of efforts national authorities have shown in doing something about this verdict, throwing tax payer money at Bhopal Gas Victims. (it was obviously not going fromt heir pockets) They have not only shown the callousness, rather insensitivity of a professional.

Local Courts : Well, I guess the Judge should have read some chemistry books before pronouncing the verdict. I guess he was overawed by the Government Support to UCIL and Dow and others.

Supreme Court : basically they decided the settlement in 1989 with 470 million accepted and refusing to allow Union Carbide to be tried in US courts. Then Honorable Judge A N Ahmadi does the 304 A trick and everyone goes scot free. And He is made the Chairman of the Bhopal Gas Trust. Trust a jackal to save the dead. (Won't call him a tiger)

NGOs : basically plying their trade in others misery. Getting acclaim and what not. The number of pretenders are far more than the real ones.

Police : well they are mostly helpless morons who have neither the idea nor the courage. If things never happened, they had be happy.

CBI : Well what do I say about them. Not a single conviction in any financial case since 1979. Their inability to do good seems too good to be true. They are the doves, who refuse to see bad, do good and even try.

People of the Nation : Well it had be better to take a rash action and trample the parliament, rather than be silent mute spectator to the loot and rape of dead.

So now that we have seen the best of the Democracy : A government for the people, by the people, off the people.

So what so common about all the stakeholders in Bhopal Gas. The word Pimp.
Everyone has been able to "pimp" themselves off in a manner that had make the pimps ashamed. Each and everyone of the stakeholders has pimped the dead off.

In Conclusion, Indians deserve nothing better. Sell everything off. Outsource the Himalayas to Europe. Sell the Rivers to Middle East. Give the Animals to China. Anything and Everything that can be sold should be sold off. Pimp, Pimp and Pimp. Till all is left is Pimps.

And to those who say matters in life are gray, neither black nor white... An appearance of a Black Swan does not make other non-white, those who are white remain white. So does the complicity of the above in this crime does not absolve them of the sin. Should they not be tried here, for the simple fact of justice being meted out, I hope "fervently" for a God to exist.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Raizada Heritage Fund and "Jai Bolo Baba Rai Kam - Kaam Zada Ki"

It has been a long time indeed. I feel the need to write overcome all my stiff resistance, resistance to spend (read waste) time on things that are not related to the venture. I put in all my waking hours into it. I babble about derivatives and algorithms or so, my wife claims. Thankfully I can’t hear myself talk when I am asleep. For the past twenty four hours, I have been itching to write, some voice inside of me (also insistence on part of wife) coaxes me to write this time. I don’t know if what I write is worth it, I have always had feelings of worthlessness of output; the feeling of murderous rage inhabits some part of me. So let’s get to what I was itching about.

I realize that Life has no meaning. At least I can’t find one. All of us, at one time or other, try to commit that mistake. I do that often. Repeat Offender!! I had been in love with this book by Scott Adams – Gods Debris. I have recommended it to a number of people and it’s free. I can really feel that the guy can feel something different. God's Debris espouses a philosophy based on the idea that the simplest explanation tends to be the best (a corruption of Occam's Razor). It surmises that an omnipotent God annihilated himself in the Big Bang, because an omniscient God would already know everything possible except his own lack of existence, and exists now as the smallest units of matter and the law of probability . He was talking sense, exactly in a manner that I would ascribe the definition of God to.

The use of patterns, probability and physics made it especially memorable. One would even tend to look over some flaws in the arguments but it is essentially right. Vartika had been an ardent admirer when I recommended it to her and then I sent it to a dear friend of mine, Anil, who gets to reason my crappy ideas. They especially loved it and wowed it. It got me thinking. We have the same backgrounds, similar educations, similar issues with life. On the other hand, recommending it to people from other walks, did not elicit a similar wow response. On those occasions, I was like they can’t appreciate a work of genius. It got me thinking. I thought for a long time. Three years maybe more. I chewed on it, arguing against and for, working out the right arguments and so on. And then it dawned.

Have you seen Hindus fight the Muslims and Muslims the Jews and Christians against Muslims and Hindus against Christians and so on? The never ending debate. Vaishnavs against Shaivas, Thakurs against Banias , but it never ends. Recently followers of Hindu Priests have clashed, the Akharas as they call them. Its wonderful, keeps everyone busy. I have also been silently cursing these and for missing the scientific and rational outlook and spirit. In Kolkata Book Festival, I gave a very thorough rubdown to one Anadamargi. I have nothing against them, the people of the world, except they don’t ascribe to my “correct” views and that they do not accept the wisdom of the high priest of “Some Half Baked Shit and Crap”. And so it got me thinking. Honestly. Especially after this Nityanand Guy, I was like lusting for the kind of control he had on people. I was like People are born stupid, this that and crap.

I wondered how I could tell that the knowledge and wisdom that dawned upon me was correct. What could I prove, other than a few logic lemmas with a few “safe” assumptions? Was I being delusional? Was I in too much love with my own ideas? Ahh.. a lot of people have subscribed to this. So many educated people cannot be wrong. But the pattern was so unmistakably there. I was blind.

Let me bring it to context. These days I pore over numbers, patterns and statistical tests. I believe in them, I do, else I would not be doing it. There are a number of ways to trade in the market, Fundamentally, Technically, Statistically, Wishfully.... ad infinitum, ad nauseum. The problem in this field is that the Profit/Loss function determines your way to be correct. However some ways work some times and sometimes the other works. The only true way to make money in a Capital Market is to be a broker, a middleman. Dalaali as they say in the street is the only true way. The same holds true for religion. The only people making money and deriving happiness are the ones running the business. People like the Pope, the Shankaracharya, the Mullahs, the Pandas, the Priests, the Temple Trust Wallahs, the Bishops and so on. What do you get in return? You have to confess, you have to forego food, forego wealth, forego supposedly “bad” thoughts, forego comfort. What do you get in return, a feeling of not having done enough, a feeling of being subservient to someone, a feeling of impurity, a feeling that somehow you be ever able to measure up.

The pattern I saw was that only people like me, ascribed to the bullshit I liked. So if we could have been collectively that delusional, what makes us better than those billions of Hindus and Muslims and Christians, whom we crib about? They all are as blind as we were. They are all as desperate to seek god or godliness as we were. They are as human as we are. So why should we criticize them, but the thing is once we know that we all have been collectedly delusional, let’s do something. Lets only believe in a God that we see, can feel and talk to. We need a Common Minimum Programme on this. Seriously we need it.

I see this every day. People would do navratras, rozas what not. Just to appease some god, some godwallah? And the concept of Heaven, I could tell you, it’s not better than sleeping in a mango orchard with mangoes at an arms reach, chewing sugarcane in the fields, being near to your loved ones, the natural things by extension. Religion is altogether a sham. When you go to a Sadhu or a learned one, he will make intelligent guesses and you would end up claiming that they saw inside you. Some bit of hypnosis and guesswork and a lot of confidence on their part and gullibility and fear and stupidity on our part, that’s all it takes.

I could have taken innumerable examples but I will take personal one. Hanuman ji is revered at our home. So I asked my grandmother, why did he increase his size when he wanted to go to Lanka. She told me, so he could fly easier. Would it not be easier to fly if he was smaller like the birds. But then he was hanuman ji. On another occasion, why did he not beat Bali for Sugreev, if they were such dear friends. Hanumanji had been given a shraap that he would forget his powers if he tried to do this and that. Comfortably solved. But I still remember them and so these would propagate. The fact is all of it is lies, woven in a tale of considerable complexity to be any one grantha, so you would need several texts to understand it. Once you are through the texts to realize the utter crap, you are earning through them and thus dependent on them. But the fact is, its utter crap. Its bullshit. All this religion and crap is pure crap. At times you would be tempted to ascribe to it, but be stronger then.

Till such time, I open my own ashram and invite you over, save your hard earned pennies and hand them over at that time. To all, who ascribe... Jai Bhokaal.

Send in your contributions to

Raizada Heritage Fund.

We also use Paypal , They have resumed. All other babas, religions are bullshit. I am the only “real” one.

P.S. Don’t tell your logical spouses, relatives and friends. They won’t get it. They are cursed to be here and not be able to see the true religion.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Raizada Heritage Fund and Revenge of the Homework

Last couple of months have been incredibly tough. Not in terms of work, effort or anything similar. They have been tough for there has been no diversion. Not a move to move away. All my life has been characterized by bypassing the tough things when they got tougher. I had always been able to justify it with an excuse, a new vagrancy, a “valid” desire for solitude, for seeing things... innumerable things that can somehow instil in you a curiosity. And I had move in such a way for avoiding things when they got tougher.

I have been very critical of myself, all this while... while the desires and efforts burned away the edges off me, thus rounding the square peg that I was. The inevitability of life, I would have called it. But now I think I have gotten round to a point where I know. That is an achievement. I know that I belong, that I have tried, that I have succeeded. The dilettante is gone. Here comes the scrapper who won’t give an inch, who won’t budge, who won’t blink. Something like the Indian Cricket Team these days. There is this swagger, this innate sense of belonging. The fielding is so sorry, but there is the “walk the talk” attitude. It may all be false bravado. Who knows but yes they have arrived. They have a plan other relying on Tendulkar. I mean, I spent all that good time on cricket, imagining India would one day win convincingly. From the Reliance World Cup in 1987 to 1996 Semi-final, I was always there but then I had it. The heartbreak of Kolkata will never be forgotten though. Never. But yes lichens grow where there was nothing. I miss the purity of cricket now, but that’s left and at least it lasts.

I have a couple of kid brothers who were lambasting Tendulkar sometime back. Asking me the sanity of keeping that grandpa in the team. I hate to these days tell people that I had break their heads, but those two nearly got it. It was like the old times. The one time a friend got beaten up when India lost and he sided with Pakistan. But its like those lines “Khuda ke vaaste purdah na kaabe ka utha Ghalib, Kahin aisa na ho vahaan bhi vahi pathar ka sanam nikle”. The false religions, the false prophets are the ones loved most. There is a tremendous change in the way India operates. Things happen, slowly but things are happening. Values are changing but things are happening.

Unfortunately I don’t get the music these days. I mean, do you even remember the music that was playing a couple of months back. This is the age of use and throw. Take it if you like it, use it, trash it and please buy again. Its an age of cheap wisdom, an age of doing the “right” things. There is too much confidence in people, something I had never seen before in People I knew. Mebbe its because they all use Facebook and thats where you meet them. Maybe.

But yes Calcutta has changed to Kolkata and nothing else changed here. It still takes eons to get things done here and I miss the industriousness of Bombay. And I miss home. If I miss home, I have a tremendously bad mood. But I will be back soon.

There was this time, I don’t know if anyone remembers. But there was this kid Matthew Eapen. He was barely an year old and his Au Pair killed him. And I had great faith in American System then. My Father had foretold that she had be set free and thats what happened. Even after it was proven beyond doubt, they let her go on a technicality. That was American Justice. We see the duplicity everywhere. The Osamas and the Obamas are all excuses. The fact is all simple. They just don’t give a shit. It was 25 years of Bhopal Gas Tragedy and The Sell Out by Indian Government and Indian Judiciary was so stark, that the same people should be hung for subverting justice. Someday someone will bring justice to the ones who massacred thousands. Accidents happen, but looting poor people, just because you can, shows the kind of people they are. Like when Lincoln said “But if you want to test a man's character - give him power”. Obama is a poop, whiter than the white.

And I was reading Calvin Hobbes today and it was beautiful again. The simple and acute three liners are a killer. And then I reviewed a SoP for my sister. Whoa, its a torture. Simplifying things is tough. But somehow we still have the temerity to dream, hope and hope again. Maybe thats all there is to life.

And time for the truth.

जो तटस्त हैं समय करेगा उनके गुनाह तय

Tuesday, November 24, 2009


Aaj bahut akela lag rahaa thaa.. pataa nahin kyun...
aaj lagaa ki darr hai ... zaroor hai.. aur rahega...
kabhi woh tum pe haawi to kabhi tum uspe
lekin zindagi rahegi... aur ... kya rahey zinda?

Jo tahastha hain samay karega unke gunaah taye...

Bas keh diyaa jo kehna thaa.. thoda sa

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Raizada Heritage Fund - Call to Alms

am sitting here and its 11 in the night ... Well I have been sitting here since 8 in the morning. And I wonder what plays. An old Don Maclean Song. American Pie. I mean that was supposed to be 10 years back. I was listening to them in first year at IITK. Its a comedy, tragedy, rollercoaster, rollicking.. all those adjectives that you use for things which you can't even remember ... but in the past they look magnificent. They look like they should come back and when you really really remember hard, it just sounds that important. I mean, why is it so important. why will it ever be important. It won't even be a footnote in any book. So much for histrionics.

When I was sixteen, I had drawn a plan. A complete plan. Some sort of Dummies Guide to Life and all things thereof. Now I know it was an incredible thing for me to do. Because everyone at that age does make a plan. But these is plenty that had not even accounted for, the grimy details, the listless days, the unanswered questions, the lost highway kind of movies. Now you might get what I am trying to say. We all planned on getting there is style and the biggest car and the biggest jalopy and the fastest plane. But then so much happened to me, that I had not even had the time to think or wish, it never occurred to me that I should have wished for them.

My earliest memory of literature is at age 6, speed reading a Noddy while being dressed for school. I mean, I had that escape. Just slip into those novels, follow those protagonist when they weren't feeling themselves, unnoticed. Poems, Articles, Schools later. I write anonymous. For the meander. Ahhh. What a drag it was, but I did write them. and after that I started blogging. The years marked with confused, angry writing. The word that describes it is Angst. There were friends, their comments, emails, friendships new and revived. It was my own place,my own space, my niche, my territory.

The itch is still there. I sit here in Calcutta. I never thought I had come back to this place ever again. There were no reasons. I never got to love this place like I think I should have. But I am here. I am here and I hardly see the sun. Its a 16 hour day and a very deep sleep. But I miss my life, my wife, the cool comfy life in Mumbai. But then this is the thing that i was itching about. So now here we sit starting up. I mean, in Calcutta. The streets that have been same for the last 200 years. I don't think Burrabazar has changed a bit in the last ten years. So nothing much has changed since the last mail, the blast from the past. Come to think of it, I have been eating vegetarian for 2 weeks straight and hardly ever complaining about it. But thats small stuff.

While people are having kids, buying homes, becoming megastars, I sit here in Calcutta. I mean, I could have been anywhere. Anywhere. But somehow this had to happen. Almost everything that I do, has changed. I was always a driven person but I had almost lost it, growing up. I could have been a back-bencher, an almost dropout, but I made it through with friends. But the right people have always come along, handheld me, providing me with confidence, madness, leaving me with time and energy. Let me pursue my desires, my dreams. So now I sit here. And i with all my honesty, make a good case for myself. Why do anything with a second hearted effort. But its scary. its scary. Because you have to fight the demons of fear, of failure. Why did I ever make such a stupid move. But my family supported me most. People in whose place if I were, would consider this to be Dhokha. but they are there and supporting me all the way.

In sum, I had a vague idea that I had be happy in ten years and ten years are over and here I am. But this is the way I wanted it. Fighting it out on the turf, tears and sweat and blood. No one has a straight idea, nor any inkling of where life is taking us. But yes, life is a crazy old thing which makes you fight it all the way and then give you what you want, and make you realize that this wasn't really what you wanted. hehe. I mean its crazy.

But this city calls to you. I mean so does every other city. In its own feeble way. On my way down to get some muri, I daily see this kid reading his books on the pavement in the street light. And I feel like picking him up and kissing him on his forehead. Except that I never do it. Just that tears nearly well up in my eyes but never really materialise. I mean, remember gandhiji's talisman in CBSE books. it makes my day. I hope it makes yours.

"I will give you a talisman. Whenever you are in doubt, or when the self becomes too much with you, apply the following test. Recall the face of the poorest and the weakest man [woman] whom you may have seen, and ask yourself, if the step you contemplate is going to be of any use to him [her]. Will he [she] gain anything by it? Will it restore him [her] to a control over his [her] own life and destiny? In other words, will it lead to swaraj [freedom] for the hungry and spiritually starving millions?
Then you will find your doubts and your self melt away."

- One of the last notes left behind by Gandhi in 1948.

The perspective is what we lack. The fact that we are alive, we are well, we are in the best of health. We ought to be grateful to someone, maybe some gods, Ahh I meant parents. And then frankly, who the hell gives a damn. The distance between us thankfully is of miles, not minds. Thats what I am grateful for.

Friday, September 18, 2009

A new turn and a new road...

Just talked to my boss and told him of my decision. Feeling afraid anf fearful and butterflies in stomach. Let it be known he was shitting in his pants at this point.