I am obsessed with tech and social networking, an avid Googler, a chronic thinker, UX and UI enthusiast, passionate about almost anything, minesweeper addict, can always be found on GTalk and yes gentle at heart.Read more about me on my about page. You can also read my Vellapanti. Google Plus.

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The Last Runner - a Cricket Story


It was night and the crescent lit it very dimly, but enough to engulf it with its warmth.  He did not know how long he had been running, he did not know what was the reason behind it nor did he know why his legs did not hurt even after running for so long but he had been running and running; running the perimeter of the ‘Mecca of Cricket.’ How much ever he tried to get to the pitch, he could not; all his efforts were be pushed against the pitch. A sweat of fear and disappointment rain across his temple then ran another one and another one. He began sweating profusely, with every drop of sweat lost his hope of getting to the pitch.

He opened his eyes; he was back to his world, it was a nightmare. He got up to drink some water but his legs trembled. Maybe because of running for an eternity but then it was just a dream. Maybe they were trembling off fear or of disappointment but I guess, it was the failure of never reaching to the pitch.

It was not the first time that he had that dream; he had had that dream even before. Years passed and he kept having that dream at perfect times – before every important finals and it badly affected his performance. The critics discovered that they had a voice and could speak against him too; after all he was not The God, but only a human. He started getting paranoid, he wanted to know what that dream meant, why it kept coming again and again, why they were screwing his career. He consulted astrologers; all the Potliwalas, Neers, Srivastavas, and they all said in unison, “An injury is approaching, and a day would come when you’d not be able to reach the pitch that you love so much.” Months passed by and that dream kept his nights busy, he even discovered their pattern and would know when it would come. And there, came the injury that was predicted, he was home ridden. The critics discovered that they could now even shout at him, he was after all, no God.

‘Darling, I think I should retire, I am no longer the same,’ he said to his wife one day.
‘Why do you think so, honey? You have more time than anyone can even think of.’
He then told her about his dream and what the astrologers had said. When he finished, she started laughing uncontrollably. Annoyed, he asked her the reason behind her laughter on his life’s greatest annoyance.
‘And you believe those astrologers?’ She asked, trying her best to control her laughter. And all he could do was to give her a blank look.
‘They call themselves astrologers and yet can’t tell what a simple dream means! How pity!’ She exclaimed. ‘It does not mean that your end is near, it just means that you’d play longer than anyone you know, longer than your teammates.’
‘Then what about me never able to reach to the pitch?’
‘You would just be sad that you teammates couldn’t survive as long as you,’ she looked into his eyes. ‘It is not your fault that they can’t play as long as you. It is not your fault that they don’t have your passion. It is not your fault they don’t love the game as much as you do. It is not your fault that you are the only one who sees such dreams.’
‘Then why is it always the Lords and not anywhere else?’
‘Which is the ground that you revere the most?’
‘Lords.’
And she gave him a ‘See! I know it all look.’

A voice within him rose, it gave him the motivation; he started practicing again. With each day he grew fitter and stronger. He returned to the pitch and every time the leather kissed his willow it was hit hard enough to his reach critics’ mouths. He scored runs like never before, he won like never before. Years passed by, his teammates retired, his competitors retired but he kept playing strongly. Few wrinkles appeared on his face, his reflexes slowed but he never stopped, he changed his techniques to overcome his lapses. That is a mark of a great player; he changes his own self rather than changing the opponent.

He is yet to thank her for that day after all, that is what soulmates are for. He still gets that dream and but now it does not scare him. Instead, it inspires him; inspires him to play even better, it acts as a reminder that he is yet to stand tall in the Lords. After all, there is something that even the Gods need to do themselves.
the last runner a cricket story (Sachin Tendulkar)
Previously published on Quora and here.
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(Kshitij) क्षितिज

Poem in English also provided.
kshitij-horizon














क्षितिज

समन्दर किनारे था मैं खड़ा,
देख रहा था नीला आसमां|
समन्दर ने तब मुझसे कहा,
"हे मनू, किस लिए तुम यहाँ?"

"मैं उसे देखने आया यहाँ,
जो है हर जगह,
वह, जिस में है सूरज समाया,
जिस से मिला तुम्हे यह रंग अपना|"
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A detailed book review of The Bankster by Ravi Subramanian


A detailed book review of The Bankter by Ravi Subramanian
The Bankster by Ravi Subramanian

Syncopy, er Synopsis :P

The book begins with three parallel stories and then in the mid-way is left with two stories. The parallel stories are that of Joseph Braganza in Angola, Greater Boston Global Bank (GB2) in Mumbai, and Krishna Memon in Devikulam, Kerala. Braganza, a CIA agent, is trading Blood Diamonds in Angola. Corporate Politics are in action in GB2. Menon is against a Nuclear Power Plant in his region because of a promise he promised to his son who died as the aftermath of the Chernobyl Accident.
In the book, Braganza is not talked much about and gets lost somewhere in the mid-way, but that is for a reason.

GB2 is where most of the plot unfolds. Vikram, Tanuja, Zinaida, Harshita and Raymond are the characters that I think should be noteworthy. Vikram is the head of Retail Banking, Tanuja – the head of HR, Zinaida (a bombshell!) and Harshita are the Relationship Managers in Bandra Branch, Raymond works in compliance department, the one that keeps in check the ethics or the wrong doings in the banks. The plot unfolds after most of the characters are introduced. The problem begins with an alleged accident of a cashier by the name of Pranesh. But then things come back to normal, it’s an accident after all, no? The plot or rather the problem begins when Zinaida opens an account (with Vikram’s indirect reference) of Asia Logistics. As it draws in huge amounts of money from abroad and withdraws money within different branches across India, the compliance officer, Raymond finds it fishy but he is asked to keep quiet as the account is from someone who knows Vikram. Initially he keeps quiet but he does not give up on it. Harshita along with her husband gets murdered in Vienna, Austria. Raymond finds out something the very next day and hence wants to contact Indrani, CEO of GB2 but as she is busy it does not happen. And, next, he is found dead with a suicide note.
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Who is our Gandhi?

I was researching something and ‘page jumping’ I landed to the Wikipedia entry of Gandhiji’s Assassination. I was shocked by some of the mentioned facts, do read the Wiki Entry. On that page I read that a certain incident was modified a bit in the Gandhi – the movie. So out of curiosity I opened the movie and started fast forwarding the movie and I landed on the Dharasana Satyagraha. I saw the entire incident and it literally brought tears to my eyes. How can you take a blow that can potentially kill you? Forget about avenging for the blow, you don't even think about avenging. Patriotism at its proudest moment.

That scene made me wonder at my existence in my country. Am I a blot? Am I a burden? Am I someone who has done nothing for my country? The politicians come up with Jinnah inspired conspiracies and create vote banks for their own needs. I don’t want to talk about the scams done by our government in the recent years; the government and the opposition are not different, they are the same side of a coin. One is striving to be a government and the other wants to form a government. Its not the scams that is talking us down. It’s our hatred for scams, our thinking that is taking us down.

A friend commented, of my Facebook profile, to my last post saying that Gandhian principles are not relevant today. Seeing that Dharasana protest I have realised that Gandhian principles are not ineffective or obsolete they are, just, not implemented properly. As Gandhi said that Satyagraha is very difficult to observe. Satyagraha is non violence, patience, loving our enemy, perseverance and much more.
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The Greatest Indian ever

the-greatest-indian-after-gandhi
N. B. This is an emotional post that you may not find emotional. You have been warned! Okay now proceed.

History Channel came up with the results of the, "Greatest Indian after Gandhi" survey (its Gandhi and not Ghandi.) But why was Gandhi excluded from the survey? Gandhi always travelled third class then why was he given a special treatment here? In fact, he is given a special treatment everywhere. All of that started, tragically, after his tragical death. And is he truly the Greatest Indian ever?

What about Aryabhatta? Aryabhatta invented the zero. Zero, a magical number that when added or subtracted takes you to nowhere; when multiplied, it takes away all that you have; when divided by it, gives you everything that you ever wanted. A number that, while you are reading this piece of mastery, is being ripped apart by your processor a million times in a second, and by the time you finish reading this, it would have been tickled a stunning 1000,000,000,000 times. Processors are everywhere today, imagine a world without zeros. You'd have imagined a world without zero only when you’d have got a big zero in your test. Bhaskaracharya's work on calculus predicates Newton and Leibtniz by over half a millennium. If I go on writing, this post would never finish.
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Women should adhere to our culture and wear sarees


We came up with notices asking women to shed jeans. Read on.
Acid Attack Poster

I believe a woman should wear a saree.
It does not matter,
Whether you agree or disagree.
And I do not want you yo take this as a chatter.
But before it is made a decree,
We men need to solve our matter.

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Tears that are not tears [Fiction]

"O! Lord, King of the Kings..." began the poet.
...
...
"O learned poet," the king said after he finished. "What is your name?"
"Ravidas, My Lord."
"Ravidas be given fifty gold coins."
The King was so much pepped up, had Ravidas recited his poem again, he would have attacked the nearest King.
"Next."
Two men and a woman stood before him.
"Please begin," requested the King.
"My Annadata, (अन्नदाता and not Anna-data,) I am Righu and this is Suhasini, we both love each other and want to get married but her father is against it."
"Why is it so?" the King looked at the old man.
"The worshipped, I bow to thee. I have my concerns for my daughter," began the old man. "He is a blacksmith, a caste lower than ours, a caste that our society forbids to get our children married to. Over and above, he does not earn much then how would he keep my daughter happy? How would he satisfy her needs?"
"But isn't love above everything else, My King? Isn't love enough to satisfy one's needs and desires, My King?" countered the young man.

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