Saturday, December 12, 2009

Big Words

Even protracted ruminations on the subject matter of sesquipedality has never led me understand the need for such acute communicatory profligacy. Engagement is such demeanour is often profligate. No doubt it sounds impressive, it conveys little leaving the reader discombobulated. Effective communication rests heavily on easy comprehension and sesquipedalian language does not lend it self to easy comprehension.


Now in English
I have never understood the need to use big words in communication. Using big words defeats the purpose of what it intends to do i.e communicate ( I am assuming it intends to communicate and not impress per say). Use of such language leaves the reader/listener confused about the meaning to what is being said. Communication depends on how easily people understand what they are hearing or reading. Using big words often confuses people and therefore is not good for communication

Thursday, November 5, 2009

A Letter to Like

Dear Like,

I am sure that this letter of mine finds you in the pink of health. It has been long time since I had written to you last (2866 years to be exact) so I decided to write. I also write to you to bring to your notice that you are becoming increasingly omnipresent in the language of my species.

Although, I like you a lot Like I must point out to you that your overt and off late annoying presence is getting to me. Like, you know what I mean. Like you are becoming annoying like you are present after every word, like after nouns, verbs, adjectives, everywhere. Like you get what I mean right. You presence as a filler, like, is bothersome. I fear for the language of my kind. Like I am scared that it may be the situation soon that a majority of our sentences begin and end with you like. Like you will be everywhere.

Thus, I must take this opportunity like, to tell you that you have to stop becoming omnipresent and hence annoying. Prey, I beg you not to dislike me for disliking you. It is only the law of diminishing marginal utility that is operating here and I am a mere pawn in the game. I will like you more again if you begin to show yourself less and less. (Over exposure is never good).

I sincerely hope that you have understood,like, what I mean Like and will take it in the right earnest. Like, you will not feel bad or whatever as what ever I have said is only for your good and the good of our language.
Yours Truly,
Anand.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Reservoir Dogs - A Review

I can not claim to be too much of a "watching plays" person. However, having lived in Delhi for a little while I have had some exposure to theatre but only just. I was elated at the orginality of presenting plays on stage in two forms-screening some parts of the play and enacting the other parts. This is what ASAP productions did when I had gone to watch their play on Friday Sep 18th, 2009 at Museum Theatre, Egmore, Chennai. They play was called 'Reservoir Dogs'.

The idea of the play was similar to the movie having the same title. The stage was befittingly lit dimly giving the impression that one was sitting in a gangster's hideout. The acting was emaculate and flawless. Mr Orange did look like he had taken a bullet in his belly and the policeman did look like that his ear had been chopped off, so much so that I could feel the chill and some of my colleagues who were co audience covered their eyes with their hands. The performance was powerful. However, to my surprise many people left before the play got over. Despite the brilliant individual performances the play looked to be incoherent and failed to capture the attention of the audiences. This lapse I attribute to two things- first, the screen was crumpled up and second, some of the screeings were too long.

As far as I am concened I am waiting for other plays by ASAP for I am sure by what I saw that these are the guys to watch out for. I am going to be looking out for them, I suggest that you too do the same. You have my word, you will not regret it.

Monday, July 27, 2009

To Be Or Not To Be A Farmer?

What is common between Santosh Khope, Kishan Jadhav, Shirirang Dolarkar, Vinod Vaghare, Nanji Wadhari and many thousand others? Well, they are all dead. They paid a heavy price for being a farmer in India. The reason for their untimely death is not hard to comprehend. They committed suicide. Crop failure, debt burden and penury forced them to take their own lives.

Agriculture in India is in a bad state of affairs growing at less than 3% per annum over the last decade. Vagaries of weather and bad government policies have only accentuated the trend. While not much can be done with the weather; a lot can be done with the policies of the government. High cost of production, insufficient minimum support prices, lack of sustained access to institutional source of credit, high cost of borrowing from money lenders have only added fuel to the fire.

Banks debar farmers who are unable to repay their loans. On the face of it, this might seem to be a desirable things for the sake of efficiency of banks but this practice is inherently counter cyclical. Farmers who are in desperate need of money borrow from banks to fund their agricultural activities. Now suppose that the farmer has a bad year because of crop failure and is unable to repay the loan. He thus becomes ineligible for another round of loans. But the farmer needs the money to fund next year's agricultural activities. So what does he do? He borrows from private money lenders who charge extremely high interest rates. To repay this huge interest burden the farmer must have atleast a few years of good crops. But the irony is, a farmer can not have a few years of good crops because every year is not a good rainfall year. So the farmer struggles to repay the private loan. Eventually the situation becomes unsustainable and he he commits suicide. Well to stretch the argument further he not only kills himself but indirectly his family also as very often the farmer is the prime bread earner for the family. After his death survival of the family becomes all that more difficult.

The moral of the story is that people who need the money the most are denied money. The way out would be for banks to persist for a longer period of time with the farmer. This will give the farmer a fair chance to repay the loan and it also increases the chances of the bank getting its principal back (because even if the farmer has a decent year he will be able to repay the loan). Besides the banks will be fulfilling their duty of spreading equitable growth. The only institutions that will be able to do this will be banks because they have deep pockets and will be able to stay on the loans longer.

Come to think of it the aforementioned things are not so hard to implement. I only wonder why they have not been implemented yet?

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

The Batch of 2009

Am I not blessed to have studied at Madras School of Economics? I am, in my opinion, very lucky in that regard. It is not so much the academic foundation at Madras School that causes me to make such a statement. It is more about the company I was in. Come to think of it, at MSE I met the most incredulous set of talented and brilliant people. So much so that on many occasions I felt that destiny had played a very cruel trick on me. I felt so much out of place. The feeling was so intense and over whelming sometimes that I built a cocoon around myself and confined myself to the comfortable limits of the cocoon.

Almost everybody in my batch (the batch of 2009) had some extraordinary quality for twenty something years of age. Some were extraordinaries in whatever they did. Wizards at academics and champs at extra curriculars, everybody had something special in them. I mean everybody.EVERYBODY. Now, where did I fit in this scheme of things? To be honest, nowhere. Perhaps, my only job was to watch in awed admiration the splendid events as and when they unfolded and soak up all the beauty and wisdom thus being released. I did try in earnest to do so.

All of create identities in our lifetimes. Most from my batch will have examplary identities. Some will be great economists, some great managers, some great academicians, some of them will be the big bull on the stock markets, some will be civil servants of the highest cadre, some great thinkers. All this makes me very envious and sometimes sad. Sad because I know no matter how hard I try I am never even going to get close to any one in this regard. However, there is much happiness to be had from the fact that I had a chance to know such brilliant people. I do feel happy and blessed to have been able to do so. Like all others in my batch I will also create some identities ( thought much lesser in stature). No matter where I reach or what identity I create, my greatest identity will be that I knew these wonderful people. My epitaph (if I get one) shall read-He lived in the age of the batch of 2009.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

On Why Cricket is a Religion

If you think that cricket is just a game in India you are probably from Mars or Venus (the choice of planet depending upon your gender). Well, technically it is a game. Generically, it is a faith, a sort of religion, a cult or say it is a passion catalyst. Illustrative examples follow:

Example 1 : It so happened India and Pakistan were locking horns in the 2003 world cup (the match in which Tendulkar derailed the Rawalpindi Express). My grandpa and I were watching the match. Halfway through the match he developed a heart pain and had to be rushed to the hospital and was in the ICU, unconscious. After a couple of hours when he gained consciousness the first thing he said was - "India match jeet gayi kya?"

Example 2: Svetha's grandma loves watching Sun TV, KTV and their ilk. But when ever a cricket match is happening all other TVs take a back seat and she religiously watches the match. No one is allowed to touch the remote even if WW-III is breaking out.

Example 3: Madan uncle works for a private firm. He takes a leave every time India has a match. EVERY TIME.

Example 4: My mother watches test cricket, five days full. Papa calls to find out the score every hour.

Example 5: I broke my collarbone while playing cricket and returned to play cricket after exact one month only.

Example 6: Rahul, Shishir and I buried our mobile phones in an unknown jungle to gain entry for an IPL match. We were not allowed to take our phones inside and since there was no place where we could keep our phones we buried them in a jungle behind a temple. Of course we retrieved it after the match.

The list is endless. Cricket unites and divides like no other thing or sport.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

For Glory Sake

It has been more than 2 years since the rat and the rotten heat. Now as then a beast approached, patient and confident, savouring the scent of the meal to come and this beast is exactly like the one I had encountered years ago. It was the inmates of my room that provoked it.

While in the kitchen I spotted two rats on the kitchen slab. Those rats saw me but decided not to budge from their place until the time I threatened them. Calling upon Dinesh and George I decided to make a plan to terminate the rats. My roommates were not too keen on killing manually and decided to use rat poison instead. I, finding myself without any support had to forfeit the plan of making a plan. So I let go of the plan and got back to finding Economics in the Economics of IT course.

By this time the rats had begun their monkeying around in the kitchen again. Sensing an opportunity to do something more interesting than studying I walked in to the kitchen. This time too the rats took no notice of me and continued with their skulking around. The disdain with which the rodents treated me spurred every dram of self respect in me. This is when I immediately made a mental team of lethal rat hunters and proclamined myself captain of the team with George and Dinesh being in the team for moral support. I stormed out of the kitchen and spoke to a studying Dinesh, I said "Yeh chuha aaj marne wala hai". Dinesh looked at me suspiciously and gave me a "do not ask me to join your hunting party look". This is when I took the responsibility upon myself to get rid of the rat. After having found the perfect weapon I entered the kitchen armed with the weapon-a phool jhadoo and a torch light to make the battleground war ready.

All exits were cutoff. The kitchen slab cleared of all cooking and non cooking paraphernalia. I switched off the light and switched on the torch light. The trap was set. With bated breathe I waited in anticipation to unleash a lethal strike with my weapon. But that SOB rat did not come out in the open this time around. I was beginning to feel hot and took matters into my own hands. I switched on the light and removed newspapers from the stack behind which the rat was hiding. Sensing trouble the rat ran out in order to escape through the window.The window was closed. Finding a good chance and an opportune moment I took aim at the rat and unleashed a punishing blow. The impact of the broom was so hard on the slab that the broom broke leaving only a piece of the handle in my hand. Ofcourse I had missed my target.

Now I was in a battlefield with a non functional weapon and the enemy within striking distance. I was in a dilemma. I had to chose between running away from the rat and living with the ignominy of having fled from the battlefield or fighting to the death. I remembered that dying in the battlefield was the greatet glory that a spartan could achieve in his life. So I decided to stay and fight even when I had lost my weapon figuring out that beyond this epic battle immortality awaited me and it was there for the taking. I fought for my room, for glory and for the one place in my hostel that stood for cleanliness and neatness. With savage force I struck the rat with the broom's handle. This time my stike met its target. The rat was still mobile and was scampering around. I even think that it was trying to retaliate by biting my foot. But before it could come near me I used my height to my vantage and sanitized the rat with another strike. The rat lay motionless on the floor. I stood looking at it for signs of life.

I combed the entire kitchen to look for the rat's accomplices. The areas was clean. Having reduced the rat to a piece of carrion I channelized my energies to restoring the broom for I feared that the loss of a broom would not go down too well with maids. I succeeded partially in restoring the broom to its original health. For now I can bask in the glory of a battle win. The war is not over yet and I fear that the rats will return will re-enforcements. I am going to be watching my back and this time around I will try to involve George and Dinesh in the expedition for I feel that being my freinds and roommates they too deserve a shot at glory. As for me, I am etched in the memory of the rats as the greatest gladiator that ever lived.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Random Strokes

Thoughts running through my brain when I take a break from my dissertation.

1. Running a regression with 10 data points is ridiculous.

2.Running a regression with 3 data points is even worse.

3.Solow ripped Posner.

4.Recession and Depression are the two faces of the same coin.

5. Why should relative inequality be such a problem?

6.When was the last time I had Frooti?

7.Toto is sleeping in the lab.

8.Will my dissertation be published?

9.I must catch up with my friends.

10.I will call them today.

11. But why should I do all the calling?

12.I will call anyway.

13. I have to study for my exams.

14. I must write on my blog.

15.Now I must go and watch IPL.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Time Heals!!!

I came across "those" pictures again. The same pictures, with the same people in it, doing the same thing, at the same place. But something is different. Very differnt. Infact it is very very different. Say about a year ago "those" pictures had evoked acute nausea and made me feel sick in my stomach. Today they are just pictures. Pieces of digital paraphernalia.

Someone said that time is the best healer, I could not agree less.

Lynard Skynard is singing in the background reminding me of Sweet Home Alabama, "the" picture before my eyes, indifference in my head and a smile on my face.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Life is Queer!!!

Life can be queer sometimes. Upon a second thought, life can be queer most of the times. Upon a third thought, life is queer most of the times. Allow me to drop the verb 'can' for it merely explains that life has the ability to be queer but the fact is that life is queer most of the times. So it is, the second interpretation of the verb can is, thus, dropped. ( The word can has two forms, one noun and two verbs) Infact, why am I even bothering to ask you to allow me to drop the word can? Think about my predicament, while I write this post you are not here. So I am finding it hard to ask you to allow me to drop the word can.I assume that you were going to allow me to drop the word. So I drop it anyway even before you have been asked by me to allow me to drop the word can. Thus does it make sense for me to ask you to allow me to drop the word? Wait, do not run away. I'll answer that. No, I won't, I am digressing too much from what I started to seek.

Ok so we start again- Life can, oops, is queer sometimes, oops, most of the times. I know you are a little worried about the fequent, ok I accept, excessive use of punctuation. Punctuation, you see, is a wonderful invention in English language. It allows you to string multiple ideas in a single sentence. Thus giving sentences the panache each sentnce deserves. Puntuation... Ok ok look I have digressed again from what I started to seek.

Ok we start again- Life can, oops, is queer sometimes, oops...what the hell...I am going to digress anyway so why start. I express my heartiest thanks to you for allowing me to drop the word can. It is very important to be polite, you see. You know being polite....Ufff Ufff Ufff I am digressing. Life is queer, no matter what I do I always digress. I am sure you do too, may be to a different degree. Please agree with me for it will make me feel less lonely. You see being lonely is not a good thing because...Ahhhhhh!!!! I am digressing AGAIN. Life is indeed queer.