Ride Cowboy Ride.
To be contd..
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
An Unexpected Turn
One fine day, I am driving from Houston towards Austin on Hwy 290, Santana is strumming his guitar and the Ford motor company is yielding to pressure under my foot. The clouds are imminent and the wind is cool, a nice January morning for Texas. Armed with a camera, an urge for exploring the unknown hits me when I see this road marked “Scenic Farms”. The road leads one to a farming community, with huge ranches. I randomly drive into a huge ranch, the “No Trespassing” signboard did less to my India-sun thickened skin. The tall trees lining the dirt road, the shallow ponds of water, the lone trees on the lush undulating meadows, and the horses running in tandem were a sight to behold.
I drive all the way up to a huge enclosure that had some 20-25 jersey cows and some bulls; a really tall and thick-set middle aged swarthy guy was staring intently at me. I park my car and walk up to him, the skeptic soon disappears when I introduce myself as a photojournalist (who doesn’t want his picture in the papers, eh?).
He told me how he had lived all his life on this farm since he was born here and how south-Texas had molded him. I was educated on how cows are bred on pastures for 11-12 months before they are beefy enough for slaughter and that race-horses are “laid-down” after their peak performance gives them serious injuries, amongst many other simple things of farming. I took some pictures of few mules and horses from close range and under the farmer’s supervision entered the bull pen to take pictures of the cows. The cows had obviously not seen a camera before and buckled wildly, after sitting in the pen calmly for 10 minutes I was able to gain their confidence to take some pictures.
The farmer was good enough to take me to another farm of his a few miles away, which was stunningly picturesque. It was straight out of Yash Chopra’s films and I was surprised to see this in Texas.
The old farmer said that this piece of land belonged to his family since 3 generations and they had a horse-driven cart which was from the late 1800’s. After driving out from the ranch, I hit a really small and sleepy town and realized I was in a place called McDade. Anyway, here are some pictures, hope you enjoy them. The pictures were taken on film, with a Minolta T100 and a Minolta 50 mm lens. Unfortunately, the home made scans are poor quality, the prints are far better.
I drive all the way up to a huge enclosure that had some 20-25 jersey cows and some bulls; a really tall and thick-set middle aged swarthy guy was staring intently at me. I park my car and walk up to him, the skeptic soon disappears when I introduce myself as a photojournalist (who doesn’t want his picture in the papers, eh?).
He told me how he had lived all his life on this farm since he was born here and how south-Texas had molded him. I was educated on how cows are bred on pastures for 11-12 months before they are beefy enough for slaughter and that race-horses are “laid-down” after their peak performance gives them serious injuries, amongst many other simple things of farming. I took some pictures of few mules and horses from close range and under the farmer’s supervision entered the bull pen to take pictures of the cows. The cows had obviously not seen a camera before and buckled wildly, after sitting in the pen calmly for 10 minutes I was able to gain their confidence to take some pictures.
The farmer was good enough to take me to another farm of his a few miles away, which was stunningly picturesque. It was straight out of Yash Chopra’s films and I was surprised to see this in Texas.
The old farmer said that this piece of land belonged to his family since 3 generations and they had a horse-driven cart which was from the late 1800’s. After driving out from the ranch, I hit a really small and sleepy town and realized I was in a place called McDade. Anyway, here are some pictures, hope you enjoy them. The pictures were taken on film, with a Minolta T100 and a Minolta 50 mm lens. Unfortunately, the home made scans are poor quality, the prints are far better.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
The Impressionist
I had decided to keep my work/office away from this blog due to some incidents like the Blakey Vs Continental case, but I wont be profiling here and I have a hunch that my company doesnt know of my existence.
I sometimes play pranks on one of my favourite senior colleagues and he is very gentlemanly to all the jokes. Recently, one senior member of my team, a taciturn oriental lady, who speaks to me very politely, during one of our rare conversations asked me: "So, how is it being a prince at India?". I coughed up the coffee and asked, "Excuse me, what do you mean by prince?". She said, "Well you know, you being from the royal family and being the sole heir to your state's kingdom". By now, I was whiter than whitewashed walls during Diwali. After explaining to her that I am no royalty and certainly not a prince, I asked her why she thought so. Then she revealed that the other senior member of the team (one who I played pranks on), had told her that I am a prince from India, and she had been under this impression for more than 6 months!
Even now, everytime I see her, she smiles and bows, and I laughingly tell her - I am no royalty.
Courtesy - wiki, Hari Kunzru for the title.
I sometimes play pranks on one of my favourite senior colleagues and he is very gentlemanly to all the jokes. Recently, one senior member of my team, a taciturn oriental lady, who speaks to me very politely, during one of our rare conversations asked me: "So, how is it being a prince at India?". I coughed up the coffee and asked, "Excuse me, what do you mean by prince?". She said, "Well you know, you being from the royal family and being the sole heir to your state's kingdom". By now, I was whiter than whitewashed walls during Diwali. After explaining to her that I am no royalty and certainly not a prince, I asked her why she thought so. Then she revealed that the other senior member of the team (one who I played pranks on), had told her that I am a prince from India, and she had been under this impression for more than 6 months!
Even now, everytime I see her, she smiles and bows, and I laughingly tell her - I am no royalty.
Courtesy - wiki, Hari Kunzru for the title.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Jonathan Galveston Seagull
One of the best things I like about Houston is - driving down to Galveston and taking the ferry across to Crystal Island. Two reasons - its very naturally peaceful and its free. A 20 minute ride takes you from Galveston to Port Bolivar, which is on the Crystal Island. An added advantage of the ferry ride is that you can take your car on the ferry, drive it off the ferry and roam the island. The ferry rides have been offered free of cost since 1930, and the view from the upper deck is magnificent. If you like feeding low flying seagulls, this is the place to be. Here is proof, enjoy!
Tested here is the Kodak 100 TMX Black & White film, results of which are quite impressive on prints, these are low quality home-made scans of prints and barely do justice to the clarity on print. Overcast afternoon rendered low-light and shots were taken at full open aperture of 4.0 and low speeds of 1/60-1/30 using a 70-300mm telephoto lens, thus losing depth and incurring some shake.
Tested here is the Kodak 100 TMX Black & White film, results of which are quite impressive on prints, these are low quality home-made scans of prints and barely do justice to the clarity on print. Overcast afternoon rendered low-light and shots were taken at full open aperture of 4.0 and low speeds of 1/60-1/30 using a 70-300mm telephoto lens, thus losing depth and incurring some shake.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
A Touch of Evil
Bhaskar stood 80 feet above the water, his fingers clenched on the riveted handrail. A drop of sweat made its way through his brow over taut nerves. He had been standing on the Howrah Bridge since dusk, or was it afternoon ? He did not know, time had lost him. Again. Time always played that trick with him. The Kolkata sun was long gone and so had his love for Smita.
It seemed like an eternity. He met Smita Afreen during his third year at Presidency, during the annual college fest. She had the most enchanting eyes his had ever met. The endless night-long conversations that ensued, the long phone calls when he had graduated and got a job in Kolkata, the sunsets they shared on the banks of Hooghly, the altercations in her family regarding his religion, their wedding amidst non-consenting relatives, their new apartment. Everything seemed like a wild roller coaster ride. A ride, of his choosing.
The apartment, he thought, that was where he did wrong. They had moved into the new apartment this summer, 6 months after their marriage. It was a posh locality with lots of friendly people. Shekhar was a good friend, or at least he was one until sometime ago.
Shekhar came into their lives very naturally, he lived next door. The three of them shared many evenings and dinners together. Since Shekhar was single, he spent many evenings at their place. Over rounds of drinks and rummy, Bhaskar had missed the sparkle in Smita’s eyes when she laughed at Shekhar’s jokes and boyish charm. Bhaskar’s promotion two months back meant longer hours at the office. The more he worked, the more distant she appeared to him. He was surprised when he found the bottle of expensive perfume on the nightstand. “Shekhar got it for me, the other day”, was her casual response.
Then more gifts followed. Bhaskar hadn’t bothered much, Shekhar was a good chap after all. Until Wednesday afternoon. Two days back, he had to return home early due to an acute pain that had spread in his abdomen. He had pressed the bell 4 times before it was answered by a harried Smita. Her hair was in disarray; her eyes had a tinge of evil. “Bhaskar ! How come you are so early from office today ? Me and Shekhar were just discussing Veerappan’s murder”, she half-expected him to believe it.
Bhaskar hadn’t slept the whole night. How was he supposed to live with the fact that the woman whom he had so dearly loved, had not been faithful to him ? He loved her more than his own life and suddenly all her words seemed to be hollow now. She had betrayed his trust. How could she even sleep peacefully in the same bed with him ? In the dim moonlight filtering through the window screen, her face appeared to mock at him. He had decided to put an end to it.
Today, was a holiday for Dussehra at the office, he did not have to go to work. The pain in his abdomen had recurred this morning. “Do not take more than 4 pills within 18 hours sir, these tablets are very potent”, the chemist had warned. Smita was preparing a four course festival lunch.
She had been flitting gaily around the apartment, making small talk about the latest Shobha De novel she had been reading. Bhaskar would not look straight at her. “How can she expect me to reciprocate with tenderness when she has been so treacherous herself ?”. Bhaskar appeared a fool to himself in his mental mirror. “She does not deserve to live”, he had finally passed a judgment on her.
Lunch was an extravagant affair that afternoon. Shekhar was his usual charming self, telling stories made up by himself. Smita had been cherubic all morning, the afternoon saw her the same. She had asked umpteen times, “What’s the matter, you look pale ?”. He made excuses of the pain he had been feeling. Bhaskar excused himself from the table, he had a very important file to be delivered urgently. He would be back in an hour or so, he said. He had mixed the pills in a bowl of kheer.
Yes, it seemed like an eternity. The breeze from the river softly caressed his hair. He stood still, very still. The buzz of the cellphone got him back to life. The distraught voice of Smita seemed to resound from some far off land, “Wh..where have you been ? I..I’ve been trying to call you…since 3 hours..Shek…Shekhar collapsed at our place..they took him to the hospital, he…he was declared dead..Bhaskar..i’m scared, come back soon”.
His mind was at peace, the pills had been potent.
S Rahul Rao
Stillwater, Oklahoma. 26th Oct 2004
It seemed like an eternity. He met Smita Afreen during his third year at Presidency, during the annual college fest. She had the most enchanting eyes his had ever met. The endless night-long conversations that ensued, the long phone calls when he had graduated and got a job in Kolkata, the sunsets they shared on the banks of Hooghly, the altercations in her family regarding his religion, their wedding amidst non-consenting relatives, their new apartment. Everything seemed like a wild roller coaster ride. A ride, of his choosing.
The apartment, he thought, that was where he did wrong. They had moved into the new apartment this summer, 6 months after their marriage. It was a posh locality with lots of friendly people. Shekhar was a good friend, or at least he was one until sometime ago.
Shekhar came into their lives very naturally, he lived next door. The three of them shared many evenings and dinners together. Since Shekhar was single, he spent many evenings at their place. Over rounds of drinks and rummy, Bhaskar had missed the sparkle in Smita’s eyes when she laughed at Shekhar’s jokes and boyish charm. Bhaskar’s promotion two months back meant longer hours at the office. The more he worked, the more distant she appeared to him. He was surprised when he found the bottle of expensive perfume on the nightstand. “Shekhar got it for me, the other day”, was her casual response.
Then more gifts followed. Bhaskar hadn’t bothered much, Shekhar was a good chap after all. Until Wednesday afternoon. Two days back, he had to return home early due to an acute pain that had spread in his abdomen. He had pressed the bell 4 times before it was answered by a harried Smita. Her hair was in disarray; her eyes had a tinge of evil. “Bhaskar ! How come you are so early from office today ? Me and Shekhar were just discussing Veerappan’s murder”, she half-expected him to believe it.
Bhaskar hadn’t slept the whole night. How was he supposed to live with the fact that the woman whom he had so dearly loved, had not been faithful to him ? He loved her more than his own life and suddenly all her words seemed to be hollow now. She had betrayed his trust. How could she even sleep peacefully in the same bed with him ? In the dim moonlight filtering through the window screen, her face appeared to mock at him. He had decided to put an end to it.
Today, was a holiday for Dussehra at the office, he did not have to go to work. The pain in his abdomen had recurred this morning. “Do not take more than 4 pills within 18 hours sir, these tablets are very potent”, the chemist had warned. Smita was preparing a four course festival lunch.
She had been flitting gaily around the apartment, making small talk about the latest Shobha De novel she had been reading. Bhaskar would not look straight at her. “How can she expect me to reciprocate with tenderness when she has been so treacherous herself ?”. Bhaskar appeared a fool to himself in his mental mirror. “She does not deserve to live”, he had finally passed a judgment on her.
Lunch was an extravagant affair that afternoon. Shekhar was his usual charming self, telling stories made up by himself. Smita had been cherubic all morning, the afternoon saw her the same. She had asked umpteen times, “What’s the matter, you look pale ?”. He made excuses of the pain he had been feeling. Bhaskar excused himself from the table, he had a very important file to be delivered urgently. He would be back in an hour or so, he said. He had mixed the pills in a bowl of kheer.
Yes, it seemed like an eternity. The breeze from the river softly caressed his hair. He stood still, very still. The buzz of the cellphone got him back to life. The distraught voice of Smita seemed to resound from some far off land, “Wh..where have you been ? I..I’ve been trying to call you…since 3 hours..Shek…Shekhar collapsed at our place..they took him to the hospital, he…he was declared dead..Bhaskar..i’m scared, come back soon”.
His mind was at peace, the pills had been potent.
S Rahul Rao
Stillwater, Oklahoma. 26th Oct 2004
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
A fraction of life
What is an Impulse?
Impulse = (Average force) x (time interval)?
Get a life man.
Is having a fling considered an impulse?
Is loading your plate at the buffet line considered an impulse?
Is throwing all your precious marbles on a silly bet as a kid considered an impulse?
It could be all of these and maybe none of them. I am not a behavioral specialist or a psychologist to keenly observe these phenomena of the human mind and reflect upon them in a scientific manner. I will however try, to dissect some general observations of mine with the knives of time.
Like Amitabh said, there are two kinds of people: One whose life will be based on his impulsive decisions and how they turn his life’s flow, the other will be more deliberate with his decisions and act upon them after much forethought, a planned strategist if you may. How do impulsive tendencies develop and why do they lead people astray? Is your life more colorful if you are a spur-of-the-moment chap; will your wife be bored if you carry a timetable at all time?
What happens if you are impulsive: you tend to make travel plans in 3 minutes, pack in half hour and in a few hours; you are strolling in a
Some other examples I’ve seen personally are: Impulsive wanderlust. As a kid, when I learnt how to bicycle, I would ride it to distant parts of town just to see what was. As a student I was studying close to the town of
Impulse buying behavior of a customer is a highly studied field for marketing strategists. The check-out counter aisle at any supermarket is a perfect example of this. You are queuing up at the counter to pay for your merchandise, but the time that you spend idling at the line, is when your eyes are caught by the colorful candy or mint boxes – there the impulse strikes and in a couple of minutes you are paying few more dollars for stuff that you didn’t set out to buy. Consider web based sales, there are numerous books written about how to make a website’s check out page more efficient and simple to navigate. The vendor needs to reduce the number of clicks required to reach the final page, the order page has to be streamlined to eliminate scrolling. All this, is to reduce the probability of an impulse becoming deliberate and the customer abandoning the cart. The entire multi-billion gambling industry at Las Vegas and elsewhere is based on impulsive gambling.
How does being impulsive affect our personal relations? A girl will break up with a guy if she thinks he may break-up with her. This is an example of an impulsive pre-emptive strike. A relationship gone dull sometimes gets invigorated by impulsive decisions of the couple to do something together.
Can love be an impulsive alchemy?
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Brownian Motion
"Aapki shaadi ab tak nahi hui?"
Every single desi guy answerable to that question has a funda leading to an answer, of his own.
"Global Warming", this is a close childhood friend of mine.
On being asked how, he replies: "I did not buy a vehicle because of global warming.
The roads of Bangalore are narrow and the traffic unmanageable, that adds to the problem of owning a vehicle. Because of parking problems and long transit durations stemming from heavy traffic, everyone wants to live in the city and hence land rates and apartment rents have gone up in Bangalore (BLR) city. Because of these two problems combined, I live on the outskirts of the city and travel by bus to work everyday."
"Since, the cost of a basic 2 bedroom apartment at BLR is now 50 lakh rupees (which is extremely high for a young desi at BLR), every one wants to be a software engineer and go work on an onsite (USA/UK/EU) project for 3-5 years, scrimp a lot, come back to India, put half the amount in downpayment, do EMIs for the rest. (And if planned well, have a US citizen baby in the meanwhile). If both spouses are software engineers, that wait time is reduced by half. This is why everyone wants to marry a software engineer at BLR, and I am not one. So, because of global warming and this vicious circle spawned by it, I am unmarried."
Another chap: "I can cook and do my own f*cking laundry, then why the f*ck would I want to waste my salary on f*cking teddy bears and f*cking Prada sunglasses that she will lose anyway...Its a bad investment man. I will put all my money in international trading, drive a Ferrari at 30, and die single".
In the middle of last year on a lazy sunday afternoon, sitting on the balcony in the 19$ outdoor chair that I picked up at Walmart, I was thinking...why am I unmarried? Jim, my middle aged divorced neighbor, smoking his cheap cigar in the neighboring balcony, with his belly hanging out from his undershirt while smilingly eyeing the nubile single mom walking on the road, was impervious to my deeply desi thoughts about marriage. That is when Robert Brown's words from my High School science physics text book came running to my rescue.
Here is my concept:
Brown-ian Motion -
Every single desi guy answerable to that question has a funda leading to an answer, of his own.
"Global Warming", this is a close childhood friend of mine.
On being asked how, he replies: "I did not buy a vehicle because of global warming.
The roads of Bangalore are narrow and the traffic unmanageable, that adds to the problem of owning a vehicle. Because of parking problems and long transit durations stemming from heavy traffic, everyone wants to live in the city and hence land rates and apartment rents have gone up in Bangalore (BLR) city. Because of these two problems combined, I live on the outskirts of the city and travel by bus to work everyday."
"Since, the cost of a basic 2 bedroom apartment at BLR is now 50 lakh rupees (which is extremely high for a young desi at BLR), every one wants to be a software engineer and go work on an onsite (USA/UK/EU) project for 3-5 years, scrimp a lot, come back to India, put half the amount in downpayment, do EMIs for the rest. (And if planned well, have a US citizen baby in the meanwhile). If both spouses are software engineers, that wait time is reduced by half. This is why everyone wants to marry a software engineer at BLR, and I am not one. So, because of global warming and this vicious circle spawned by it, I am unmarried."
Another chap: "I can cook and do my own f*cking laundry, then why the f*ck would I want to waste my salary on f*cking teddy bears and f*cking Prada sunglasses that she will lose anyway...Its a bad investment man. I will put all my money in international trading, drive a Ferrari at 30, and die single".
In the middle of last year on a lazy sunday afternoon, sitting on the balcony in the 19$ outdoor chair that I picked up at Walmart, I was thinking...why am I unmarried? Jim, my middle aged divorced neighbor, smoking his cheap cigar in the neighboring balcony, with his belly hanging out from his undershirt while smilingly eyeing the nubile single mom walking on the road, was impervious to my deeply desi thoughts about marriage. That is when Robert Brown's words from my High School science physics text book came running to my rescue.
Here is my concept:
Brown-ian Motion -
Robert Brown explained the random motion of atoms in a fluid, kept in a contained environment. It goes as follows:
In a given Set A of N atoms, comprising of species X and Y (mass M1 and M2), contained in a closed environment without external influences/forces. The pattern of random movement of atom X (mass M1) will depend on the total number of atoms N and the ratio of masses M1/M2.
The Mean Free Path (without colliding with the next atom) of atom X will be longer if N decreases or M1/M2 increases.
A very nice animation of this phenomenon is given here, where you may also tweak the ratios and look at the concept in action.
Consider this: X is the average desi male living in the
If atom X is taken to a Set B (
Unfortunately, I belong to Set A, which is the reason for my singlicity.
Image Courtesy: gutenberg.org, Rob Schurko
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Its Fine
Then there was this one week, which was just Fine!
Monday night, I quietly slip a check for the month’s rent in the deposit box for the leasing office in a white envelope measuring 4.125 inch x 9.25 inches with one of those cute little see through windows at the front for address, hoping nobody notices that the rent is late by a week (amnesia strikes more people than flu). Tuesday I find a letter stuck to my door stating: Letter of Eviction. Dumbfounded, I talk to the leasing office and get slapped a fine of $210, to stay. Thursday afternoon, I’m driving home happy after a superb banquet luncheon, and I see those all too familiar red and blue flashing lights in the rear view mirror. I was doing 77 in a 60 MPH limit zone. I normally do 80. It was my little Christmas gift to the City of Houston ($233). Friday evening, my car is lost. Of course, it got towed! 2 hours and 184 dollars later, I’m thinking: maybe I’m not handicapped after all.
Gifts can be brought on credit cards, fines are always paid in hard cash.
Monday night, I quietly slip a check for the month’s rent in the deposit box for the leasing office in a white envelope measuring 4.125 inch x 9.25 inches with one of those cute little see through windows at the front for address, hoping nobody notices that the rent is late by a week (amnesia strikes more people than flu). Tuesday I find a letter stuck to my door stating: Letter of Eviction. Dumbfounded, I talk to the leasing office and get slapped a fine of $210, to stay. Thursday afternoon, I’m driving home happy after a superb banquet luncheon, and I see those all too familiar red and blue flashing lights in the rear view mirror. I was doing 77 in a 60 MPH limit zone. I normally do 80. It was my little Christmas gift to the City of Houston ($233). Friday evening, my car is lost. Of course, it got towed! 2 hours and 184 dollars later, I’m thinking: maybe I’m not handicapped after all.
Gifts can be brought on credit cards, fines are always paid in hard cash.
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