About me

I’ve a story today that some of you might find - not so interesting. But I’ll tell it to you any way. DNA as you know is the building block of life, and this story is that of my DNA. Years ago, when National Geographic announced their Genographic project, I was one of the enthusiasts to provide them with a DNA sample from a buccal swab (buccal is cheek, nothing other than that, OK?) and 120 USD. After months of waiting, they sent me the results with the journey of my ancestors (and most probably some of you, readers).

Genographic

My haplogroup is the same as that of a percentage of people living in China, Indonesia, Taiwan,the Philippines and from regions from northern Italy to Turkey. Some Arabs and Jews also belong to this haplogroup.

50,000 years ago, one of my ancestors was in Africa, 45,000 years ago my ancestors were in Northern Africa and Midlde-east - also called the fertile crescent. 30,000 years ago my ancestors passed through present day Pakistan and the Himalayas to come to India. This is where the Genographic story ends, and one of uncle’s story kicks in.

My surname is a derivative of a dynasty that was once called ‘Khota’ dynasty, which was involved in the Battle of Palnadu, that happened a mere 800 years ago in 1182 A.D. (the in-between 28,000 years of history is yet to be discovered). Now what’s interesting is my uncle told me that our forefather’s came from an area around modern day Rajasthan. Quite close to where Genographic ends their version of the story. It might be sheer co-incidence or  a historical fact, that isn’t too important. Anyway, from Rajasthan to coastal Andhra Pradesh is a 28,000 years of history in itself.

Coming to the present. 5 years ago, I was thousands of miles away, farther than my ancestors traveled in 50-60,000 years. 5 days ago I was 1,200 miles away in Birmingham, Alabama. In one weekend I moved my entire life with me to Boston (apart from a truckload of clothes, cables, laundry baskets and other accumulated stuff that I left back). Memories are stuck and they will fade, like everyone else’s. I don’t know where I will be in the next 20 years, I don’t know where my future generations from the same genealogy will be.

Now, the point is, when I share the same blueprint of my origin with Arabs, Jews, Chinese, Italians, Sicilians, Russians and Indians(of course), and lots more. Is evolution not a resounding proof of the absence of any religious origins or the distinctions that we follow today? Science has the proof, one thing that cannot be changed is that part of the DNA (male chromosome or ‘Y’ chromosome) that was studied for the genographic project. I’ll leave the moral of the story at that, I’m sure you will get it.

It’s also sad that the birth place of human kind is struggling for survival because of human kind itself. Zimbabwe, Somalia and Kenya to name a few. The Palestinian conflict since thousands of years and many more conflicts, wars and man-made tragedies. I’m sure our ancestors did not migrate far enough from each other, just so that one day we may be able to blow up each other with our advanced weaponry.

Probably when we have ruined life on Earth enough, and the nature is sick of it’s own evoluted beings, the final Adam will realize the grave mistakes we have done and shrink smaller in shame and regret into something smaller like amoeba, and slide back into the very ocean water we once came from, probably along the coast of Africa. Regrettably, it will then be a full circle.

175 years of history

A book that was first published in 1812, and a replica of which I’m holding right now, with awe and admiration of some of the ‘greatest medical minds’ of the early 18th century, starts of with a quote in Latin that I would love to share with you…

‘Homo, Naturae minister et interpres, tantum facil et intelligit quantum de Natura ordine, re vel mente observaverit, nec amplius scit au potest.’ - Francis Bacon.

Which translates to (link)

“Man, the minister & interpreter of nature can act & understand just in proportion to his experience & observation of the order of nature nor can he know or do any thing further.” - Francis Bacon.

And I’m forced to ask myself - how far have we come? Is this really history, it looks like yesterday and today. And possibly tomorrow, we should be telling the same thing to ourselves, again.

Steve Jobs’ speech

Steve jobs on Life

An excellent speech by Steve Jobs that I came across while looking for something unrelated, successes, failures, life, death, love… connecting the dots.

Please, God

Irrespective of whether you are there or not, please, help me from going insane. I promise I’ll not move again anytime soon and I won’t buy a 100 shirts or T-shirts because they are cheap/they felt good/because I am an absolute idiot.

I won’t buy 4 pairs of sneakers without throwing the old ones (once I feel they are old), I’ll never keep books that I’ll never read, like- Bedford’s introduction to literature, that’s the size of a telephone directory, or Homer’s Iliad, which I read the first page 3 times and couldn’t understand a bit of it (hey, I tried!). I will never buy a home theater system that you can attach to a COMPUTER, and requires seven speakers + a sub-woofer AND seven speaker stands. I’ll never buy cheap wall paintings from WAL*MART to impress girls. I’ll never buy book stands, shoe stands and dumb looking lamp shades from garage sales that will give me the feeling of being an antique collector, when I’m collecting pure junk. I’ll throw away all the cups I get as freebies from job fairs/seminars or dumb ass meetings (from next time onwards), I’ll shred my mail from next month, I’ll label DVDs and CDs from next time onwards. I’ll clean up junk/duplicate files and silly e-mail attachments from my work laptop regularly, next time onwards. I’ll start packing early next time onwards. I’ll probably pray (next time onwards) in a temple, I might even bribe you with a coconut, for now I will bribe myself with a Kendall Jackson. But just this once, if you are there, restore my faith, do a miracle, let someone else pack up my stuff in the way I would want it. Please, God, please. I hope you do what you can, while I sleep.

One hundred again.

I’m a blog, 100 posts old. An uncompromising, sometimes radical, often ranting, supposedly satirical, barely humorous, BLOG. Born out of the deepest desires to do something useful and, many things useless, a getaway, a place of solace, a test of sanity, bearing the burden of the unexplainable. The writer likes to make people laugh, he has made people cry too, and some have literally wept over his laziness and oversight of poor choice of words, punctuation; grammar, shpelling mishteks and topics, like this one.

He thought he made people laugh, little did he know, they laughed at his inability to be funny. They thought he made people cry; little did they know, he cried with them. Some thought he scared them, that was his worst fear, worst fears do come true and you live through them, somehow.

Joy and Sorrow, sadness and laughter, tears of either kind. Words queuing up, tripping over, long and short sentences, good and bad paragraphs, as random as tears of either kind in a lifetime. Sometimes making sense, other times making sense only to the writer, rarely saying something, while indicating something else.

There have been metaphors and smilies used, without knowing the proper distinction or caring about them. This is my personal diary. Metaphor.
This is like a spiritual diary. Bad Simile.
Worser example.

See.

I’m as clueless about the readers as I’m about the writer. A recently written film review generated 174 page views a single day, none commented. Readers come in randomly from all over the world, the power of the internet rather than the skill (if any) of the writer. Hardly a purposeful blog, but in the hope, a skill is being developed. A log of interesting things happening in the world, happening in the writer’s life and sometimes in his heart.

Past, present, future and, stark reality. This moment. A part of the present that’s finished before you have seen it, or known it. You have just lived it, and it’s over. There, it went by again. And you are still looking at me, it won’t be long before you close this page.

The unpredictability and the stuff being written about it. Sometimes direction less, sometimes too complicated to reveal the direction, most of the times, lost in translation from the idea to the keyboard.

In spite of this, THANK YOU. I wouldn’t have existed if it weren’t for you. And for the writer’s friends and their families. And some really special people who do check it out regularly.

In the next post however, I won’t be a blog that is 100 posts old. I’ll be a blogger, 26 years young, who thinks he wants to be a writer. One who writes with mediocrity because of the need, rather than one who wrote with the same mediocrity, but was once inspired.

Cutest moment of the day, no, year, no, this lifetime.

Phone conversation:

Me: So we haven’t spoken at all after your marriage. Howz it been?
Ms. Sug: Good good, I’ve been wanting to thank you for the perfume you got for me.

Me: Huh, glad you liked it.
Ms. Sug: Liked it? Tell you what, the day I had to leave home with nothing but 4 pairs of clothes, I made a quick grab for the perfume too.

Me: What?
Ms. Sug: Yeah, and everyone in the groom’s party were like, you brought a perfume with you, hah?

Me: That’s touching! You really did that.
Ms.Sug: Yah, and now that everything’s settled and calm, one of my aunt’s wants it. And I told her anything else except this.

Me (sniff!): God.
Ms.Sug: What?

Me: How I wish I hadn’t bought Elizabeth Taylor just because it was on sale…

Catch-22

Catch-22: A situation where no real choice exsts (that would lead to success)

A very much related concept - The Lady, or the Tiger?

…[T]hen all the people had assembled in the galleries, and the king, surrounded by his court, sat high up on his throne of royal state on one side of the arena, he gave a signal, a door beneath him opened, and the accused subject stepped out into the amphitheater. Directly opposite him, on the other side of the enclosed space, were two doors, exactly alike and side by side. It was the duty and the privilege of the person on trial to walk directly to these doors and open one of them. He could open either door he pleased; he was subject to no guidance or influence but that of the aforementioned impartial and incorruptible chance. If he opened the one, there came out of it a hungry tiger, the fiercest and most cruel that could be procured, which immediately sprang upon him and tore him to pieces as a punishment for his guilt.

…[B]ut, if the accused person opened the other door, there came forth from it a lady, the most suitable to his years and station that his majesty could select among his fair subjects, and to this lady he was immediately married, as a reward of his innocence.

…[T]his semi-barbaric king had a daughter as blooming as his most florid fancies, and with a soul as fervent and imperious as his own. As is usual in such cases, she was the apple of his eye, and was loved by him above all humanity. Among his courtiers was a young man of that fineness of blood and lowness of station common to the conventional heroes of romance who love royal maidens. This royal maiden was well satisfied with her lover, for he was handsome and brave to a degree unsurpassed in all this kingdom, and she loved him with an ardor that had enough of barbarism in it to make it exceedingly warm and strong. This love affair moved on happily for many months, until one day the king happened to discover its existence. He did not hesitate nor waver in regard to his duty in the premises. The youth was immediately cast into prison, and a day was appointed for his trial in the king’s arena.

…[A]ll was ready. The signal was given. A door beneath the royal party opened, and the lover of the princess walked into the arena. Tall, beautiful, fair, his appearance was greeted with a low hum of admiration and anxiety. Half the audience had not known so grand a youth had lived among them. No wonder the princess loved him! What a terrible thing for him to be there!

…[T]hrough these thick doors, heavily curtained with skins on the inside, it was impossible that any noise or suggestion should come from within to the person who should approach to raise the latch of one of them. But gold, and the power of a woman’s will, had brought the secret to the princess.

…[A]nd not only did she know in which room stood the lady ready to emerge, all blushing and radiant, should her door be opened, but she knew who the lady was. It was one of the fairest and loveliest of the damsels of the court who had been selected as the reward of the accused youth, should he be proved innocent of the crime of aspiring to one so far above him; and the princess hated her. Often had she seen, or imagined that she had seen, this fair creature throwing glances of admiration upon the person of her lover, and sometimes she thought these glances were perceived, and even returned.

…[T]hen it was that his quick and anxious glance asked the question: “Which?” It was as plain to her as if he shouted it from where he stood. There was not an instant to be lost. The question was asked in a flash; it must be answered in another.
Her right arm lay on the cushioned parapet before her. She raised her hand, and made a slight, quick movement toward the right. No one but her lover saw her. Every eye but his was fixed on the man in the arena.

…[H]e turned, and with a firm and rapid step he walked across the empty space. Every heart stopped beating, every breath was held, every eye was fixed immovably upon that man. Without the slightest hesitation, he went to the door on the right, and opened it.
Now, the point of the story is this: Did the tiger come out of that door, or did the lady ?

–

Everything is in the horoscope, ain’t it?

I’m a physical terrorist.

Lynn(Name changed?): Oh, um uh, so you volunteer here, huh? WHat do you do outside?

Me: I’m a software programmer. WHat about you?

Lynn: I’m a physical terrorist.

Me: #*$__&$#)#$!!@@#%^&)_)*#…. What????!!!!?

Lynn: err, Physical therapist.

Me: ooooooooooooooooooooooooookaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy!!!

Reflection

Beliefs, faith, hope, persona - the way you define them is how you know them with respect to yourself. It does not matter, what people, who do not matter think. Life is still beautiful, positive and spiritual.

Enid Blyton’s Famous five with an Indian head

Remember Famous five? Read on…

TimesOfIndia reports:

Sixty six years after British author Enid Blyton unveiled her Famous Five series before adoring children the world over, the fictional adventurers have been updated for a new generation and with a new leader - Jo , an Anglo-Indian.

In the new version, Jo - short for Jyoti - is the team leader. She is the daughter of George , short for Georgina Kirrin , the tomboy of the original series.

I’ve had immense fascination for these novels as a kid, a story with siblings, cousins -all children, with a pet dog out an adventure. Universal appeal. I still remember our own gang - myself, Bharath, TVK Prasad, his brother Santosh, their dog trying to recruit members for our own club.  We even had an inauguration party and a story that I wrote for enactment in skit that never happened, the story eventually got published in Tinkle holiday digest.

sigh! First paycheck of 105 Rs/- in 1996.

Enid Blyton on wikipedia.