Bloggy Howl, I have a Blog!

A sometimes serious, sometimes fun collection of my writings, readings and online activities...

Monday, October 31, 2005

Most Silly Erroneous Donkey Co-operation

The MSEDC (Maharashtra State Electricity Distribution Company) is messing with the wrong dude.

They've sent me a bill for over Rs. 9,000/- for the last month. My usual monthly bill is about Rs. 600/-. I have no air-conditioner, heat water for my bath on the gas stove and my TV isn't working for over three months. Besides, I haven't had electricity for a minimum of two hours a day EVERY DAY for the last three months. Thursdays excepted - that's when I have no electricity for six to eight hours.

Get set for a media circus like you've never seen before. The poor fools have no idea which can of worms they've opened.

Saturday, October 29, 2005

Rediscovering Fairy Tales: Update

So I went ahead and did it. I recorded The Little Match Girl as an audio book. You can download it from:
http://savefile.com/files/8061609

The file is 3.16MB and I don't recommend trying to download if you're on dial-up.

If you'd like to read the full text of the story, please click the"Read more" link.

THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL
By Hans Christian Andersen

Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening -- the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was the good of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast.

One slipper was nowhere to be found; the other had been laid hold of by an urchin, and off he ran with it; he thought it would do capitally for a cradle when he some day or other should have children himself. So the little maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet, that were quite red and blue from cold. She carried a quantity of matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle of them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything of her the whole livelong day; no one had given her a single farthing.

She crept along trembling with cold and hunger--a very picture of sorrow, the poor little thing!

The flakes of snow covered her long fair hair, which fell in beautiful curls around her neck; but of that, of course, she never once now thought. From all the windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelt so deliciously of roast goose, for you know it was New Year's Eve; yes, of that she thought.

In a corner formed by two houses, of which one advanced more than the other, she seated herself down and cowered together. Her little feet she had drawn close up to her, but she grew colder and colder, and to go home she did not venture, for she had not sold any matches and could not bring a farthing of money: from her father she would certainly get blows, and at home it was cold too, for above her she had only the roof, through which the wind whistled, even though the largest cracks were stopped up with straw and rags.

Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. Oh! a match might afford her a world of comfort, if she only dared take a single one out of the bundle, draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. She drew one out. "Rischt!" how it blazed, how it burnt! It was a warm, bright flame, like a candle, as she held her hands over it: it was a wonderful light. It seemed really to the little maiden as though she were sitting before a large iron stove, with burnished brass feet and a brass ornament at top. The fire burned with such blessed influence; it warmed so delightfully. The little girl had already stretched out her feet to warm them too; but--the small flame went out, the stove vanished: she had only the remains of the burnt-out match in her hand.

She rubbed another against the wall: it burned brightly, and where the light fell on the wall, there the wall became transparent like a veil, so that she could see into the room. On the table was spread a snow-white tablecloth; upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and the roast goose was steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and dried plums. And what was still more capital to behold was, the goose hopped down from the dish, reeled about on the floor with knife and fork in its breast, till it came up to the poor little girl; when--the match went out and nothing but the thick, cold, damp wall was left behind. She lighted another match. Now there she was sitting under the most magnificent Christmas tree: it was still larger, and more decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door in the rich merchant's house.

Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and gaily-colored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked down upon her. The little maiden stretched out her hands towards them when--the match went out. The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher, she saw them now as stars in heaven; one fell down and formed a long trail of fire.

"Someone is just dead!" said the little girl; for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now no more, had told her, that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God.

She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of love.

"Grandmother!" cried the little one. "Oh, take me with you! You go away when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!" And she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her. And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon-day: Never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety--they were with God.

But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall--frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child there with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt. "She wanted to warm herself," people said. No one had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the splendor in which, with her grandmother she had entered on the joys of a new year.

The End

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Business Idea #0001: Internet Computing

We're moving closer and closer to complete online data storage. Yahoo, for example, allows us to store stuff in My Yahoo Briefcase. There are literally hundreds of other online repositories that allow us to store and retrieve files online for free or for a small fee. There's a download that allows us to turn our gmail account into a "virtual hard disk", which appears under the My Computer tree or in the Windows Explorer tree. We can drag and drop files into this virtual hard disk, delete them, move them, do everything we do with our physical hard disk.

Storing data online is tremendously useful. I can, for example, create a PowerPoint presentation, store it in My Yahoo Briefcase and then run it from a potential client's computer. I don't have to carry a notebook or even a CD around. I don't have to worry about backing up my data. The online repositories do that and they are far more disciplined and dedicated when it comes to regular backups and mirror sites.

How about taking it to the extreme?

Why not do all our computing online?

Let's say there's a server that offers this facility. All we need is a net-enabled PC (one brand is called a Net PC) that can run a browser. The server has all the software and we pay as we use. No more buying software we don't need just because it's bundled with other software or because we might need it once in a while.

For example, how many home computer users actually use Excel? They may need it occasionally but most of the time it's just sitting around on their hard disks, occupying space. The same goes for specialised software like photo editing software or audio creation software.

Now, if all this software were available for use on a remote server via the internet, we need never worry about upgrades or software crashes or reinstalling software or compatibility issues.

Hardware will become cheaper, software piracy will vanish and everybody will win.

There, that's business idea #0001.

Sunday, October 23, 2005

A Thousand Business Ideas

Okay now I've got this crazy idea. I'm always kicking business ideas around in my head and most will never see the light of day because they just aren't in my area of focus.

So I plan to post one thousand ideas, all workable, some with links to sites that can take them that much further to workability. So far I have five such ideas.

So if you want to see me fall flat on my face, keep visiting :-)

(Has anyone counted the number of "So"s I have in this post?)

So this is my BHAG (Big, Hairy, Audacious Goal):
To post one Thousand workable business ideas in this blog. Free for anyone to pick up and use.

Well, one of my BHAGs anyway.

Deepak

Friday, October 21, 2005

Rediscovering Fairy Tales

I don't know what got me started on re-reading the classics. Whatever it was, I'm at once glad and disturbed at what I'm reading.

I started off with something "nice", fairy tales by Hans Christian Andersen, downloaded from Project Gutenberg. The first story I read was "The Little Match Girl". I had loved the story when I was a kid. The idea of the grandmother coming to comfort the poor, shivering little girl in the "magical" light of the matches she lights to keep her warm seemed truly fairy-tale-ish, warm and feel-good.

But then I analysed it, as did a few of my students in Project Ora, and what we discovered horrifies me. Think about it. Here's a poor, ragged child, no one to call her own, alone and wandering in a great, cold city in Europe. She is afraid to go back home because she hasn't sold any matches. Her father is bound to beat her black and blue for failing to bring home money.

She sees the rich enjoying their great Christmas dinners and knows she hasn't a hope in heck of ever getting such a dinner herself.

So what does the poor thing do? In her innocence, she lights a few matches, hoping the flames will provide at least illusory warmth. It does, and the illusion extends to her dream about the only human being, now long dead, who had ever shown her any love.

And in the morning she is dead, a beatific smile upon her face.

The fairy tale, in my opinion, is no fairy tale, but Andersen's clever way of bringing out the sheer cruelty and callousness of the human race. Rather than be brutal, he clothes it in magic and matches and hopes the reader will see below the skein of fancy to understand the grim reality of poverty.

I wanted to read this story for an audio book. Like "Lord Ullin's Daughter", it's taking me a long time to do. I keep choking on the horror of the knowledge that Andersen's tale still comes true for children across the world - and it's no fairy tale for them.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Your Golden Voice

Finally launched one of my dreams: to empower people to develop their voices to the maximum potential.

I'm a rotten salesperson, even though I did my MBA in Marketing and spent a major part of my working life in and out of Ad Agencies and Ad Departments of various companies. I'm rotten at it because there's always something the agencies and the companies don't tell you - and I always want to tell the potential customer everything, including drawbacks like how difficult it may actually be to use the product.

I guess I'm like one of those Maharashtrian shopkeepers - if they were allowed to keep a big stick in their shops to drive away customers, they'd do it.

Deepak

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

The Sisters Morris Go Shopping

“They’ve given me the wrong bra!” said Sister1.

“Yippee!” said Sister3.

“Oh no,” groaned the two brothers Morris.

“What’s wrong?” asked a bewildered brother-in-law, husband of Sister2 and, before the brothers Morris could warn him, proceeded to add, “Shall I take you back to the store?”

The sisters were together after a long time. Meeting up for Christmas, Sister1 had come down from Mumbai and Sister2 up from Vizhagapatnam, to meet Sister3, actually a cousin, also a Morris and more deadly than the sisters 1 and 2. The brothers Morris, actually cousins, stayed out of their way as much as we could. Why will become apparent in a minute.

Foolishly ignoring our warning looks, brother-in-law piled the sisters into the car and took them back to the store. “It is my duty to safeguard the ladies,” said the naval officer, self-same brother-in-law.

“Wonder who’s going to safeguard HIM” we muttered under our breaths.

Two hours later a haggard brother-in-law brought the sisters back, headed for the kitchen and decimated two bottles of beer without the benefit of a glass.

Although he was extremely reluctant, or perhaps unable, to talk we finally dragged the story out of him.

Apparently the sisters had marched into the store, right up to the cash counter and, disregarding the sign that said, “For reasons of hygiene, lingerie will not be exchanged”, demanded that the bra be exchanged.

“Madam, we don’t – “ began the cashier.

“Then start now” retorted Sister1, “your salesgirl has packed a nursing bra and I won’t need one for a few years at least.”

As this went on for a little while, a salesgirl volunteered that she had overheard Sister1 ask for that bra.

“Do you think,” thundered Sister1, “I would ask for the wrong bra just so I could come back and look at your miserable faces? And besides,” she continued, fixing the salesgirl with a baleful gaze, “is it store policy for salespersons to eavesdrop on customers?”

At this point, with the word “bra” being flung all around, brother-in-law had begun to edge towards the door, accompanied by sundry husbands whose wives were pitching in to either aid the sisters Morris or listen sympathetically to almost-wailing salesgirls and cashier.

Around this time the manager came out, the security guard pounced on brother-in-law, taking him to be a shoplifter, the sisters Morris were in full flow and brother-in-law swears he saw someone with a badge that bore the word “Press”.

He managed to convince the guard that he was no shoplifter, walked out of the store and suddenly felt his legs give way. He sat right there, on the pavement, until the triumphant sisters emerged.

Chattering away and unconcerned about the wave of human faces that followed them, discussing the merits and demerits of the case, the sisters piled into the car and demanded to be taken home.

“She’s usually so quiet at home,” said a bewildered brother-in-law.

“That,” said the brothers Morris, “is always the case with each sister until they get together. Then it’s a case of the whole being always greater than the constituent elements.”

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Podcast: Max Babi's "Ode to Jazz Garden"

The sense of loss at the closure of Jazz Garden intensifies. Max Babi, another regular at The Jazz Garden has written a wonderful piece that eloquently captures our sense of bewilderment at losing one of our favourite haunts.

Click here to listen to my podcast of Max Babi's "Ode to Jazz Garden"

Click the "Read more" link to read the piece

It was dark and damp,
almost a grotto you ran smack into
with the suddenness of a wild beast

It was pure magic,
where creative souls merged
like winged ants after rains
-ah the Arabian Nights it conjured...

It used to be abandoned
during the bleary-eyed day
but, sundown and
it would come alive with
throbbing sorcery
and slippery wizardry.

One never needed words, whilst
the ears and eyes feasted -
the tongue could go lethargic
with a beer or two;
music ruled with an iron hand

Doppelgangers that crawled
out from me or you or
any other soul, have had
their fills.

Where will they go now,
these creatures as potent as rockets
and yet as fragile as daydreams?

Jazz Garden lives.

Saturday, October 01, 2005

The end of an era

Last night I said goodbye to The Jazz Garden.

The place that started me off on my own productions, where I've staged over a dozen plays since 2001. The place that redefined me and which I redefined, showing people that theatre didn't demand elaborate sets and fancy lights. The place that showed that theatre would always survive.

It was sad and strange to see the unfinished stage, which we had always been assured would be ready by the next production, but which we knew would be in its unfinished form nevertheless, the next time we draped a black backdrop.

The Jazz Garden has closed down for good.

Tomorrow, another owner will put into operation his vision for a restaurant by the river. But last night, The Jazz Garden rocked once again, as she did nine years ago when Pune's first and only Jazz band kicked her off.

I never thought I'd ever use the words "end of an era," for I've always believed in new beginnings.

But last night, it was the end of an era.

There is no more Jazz Garden.

There will always be a Jazz Garden.

Deepak