Amusing the Muse

Chicken or Egg? Million Dollar Question Answered!!!

2006-05-26T18:37:00.000+10:00

Scientists say they have finally solved the riddle! They now claim they can state with authority what came first - the chicken or the egg.

For centuries, the question has tickled imagination and thought. The conundrum has been used, misused and abused by mathematicians, philosophers, writers, and chefs.

But now a team consisting of a geneticist, a philosopher and a chicken farmer - hmm, I say, that has the makings of an awful joke now, doesn't it?

"So a geneticist, a philosopher and a chicken farmer walked into a bar. 'I'll have a scrambled egg,' said the geneticist, while the farmer said, 'I'll have a chicken sandwich*' and the philosopher waited and watched to see which came first - the chicken or the egg!"

* so this bar serves scrambled eggs and chicken sandwiches, what's your problem?

Alright, alright, don't reach for the Back button yet!

Anyway, the geneticist, philosopher and chicken farmer have claimed to have found the answer. And the answer is....how about I ask you to scroll down further and further to find the answer?

Naah, you'll probably never come back to read my blog again.

And the answer is.......THE EGG

You are a lucky bugger if you are just satisfied with the answer and go on with your life. But if you are one of those types that insist on knowing the "whys" and the "wherefores", well, don't say I didn't warn you!

Apparently, the first chicken developed differently to its avian predecessors, including its parents!

Did that make sense to you?

In case it didn't, what it really means is that new species evolve through mutation and so, the thingamajig that came out of this egg was the first chicken ever, because it was different from its mommy and its daddy.

The DNA of the bird didn't change during its lifetime, so it couldn't have decided to become a chicken one fine sunny January morning. (Hey, its summer in Australia, our Januaries are a helluvamonth!)

And since the bird didn't change into a chicken during its lifetime, it stands to reason, say the big guns, that it hatched into a chicken.

Says Charles Bournes, Chairman of the trade body Great British Chicken, "As far as I am concerned, it has to be the egg that came first. Eggs were around long before the first chicken arrived."

That finally puts to rest the long-standing debate of what came first. It is unarguably, the Egg.

Now the big question is "So who laid the dammed egg?"

50 years too late!!!

2006-05-26T13:56:00.000+10:00

In Hildesheim, Germany, an old great-grandmother suddenly remembered that she was also a mother and it was her duty to keep her daughter in line! So this 92 year old darling called up social services to complain about her daughter's "loose behaviour" and asked them to reprimand her. The only problem is the daughter is 68 years old herself!

The mother rang with "tales of infidelity and philandering" but officials in the German city of Hildesheim told her she was about 50 years too late. Her daughter was not exactly under 18!

Police went to smooth things over. The daughter, a former school teacher, told them: "Forgive her. She's a daft old bat."

Hmm, mothers! Don't you just love them!

In other news, a man being tried for murder didn't exactly help his lawyer when he went for the latter's throat. The man John Gomes charged with murder in Massachusetts was so angry with his lawyer's performance that he attacked the attorney in court, trying to strangle him as a shocked judge looked on.

The defence had to rest! The lawyer is trying to find his voice.

Sleep away your fat!

2006-05-25T12:16:00.000+10:00

A very large study has found a surprisingly strong link between the amount of sleep people get and their risk of becoming obese.

Oh yes, it was done in the US! You’d think they invented surveys and studies. They certainly invented obesity and so it is only fair that they spend as much time as they can, trying to reverse it.

And this one is a dream come true! Literally!

Here’s the lowdown:

Sleep less than four hours and you are 73 percent more likely to be obese than if got the recommended seven to nine hours of rest, so scientists have discovered.

Those who averaged five hours of sleep had 50 percent greater risk, and those who got six hours had 23 percent more.

The study was led by Dr. Steven Heymsfield of Columbia University and St. Luke's-Roosevelt Hospital in New York and James Gangwisch, a Columbia epidemiologist.

They used information on about 18,000 adults participating in the federal government's National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey, or NHANES, throughout the 1980s.

This is too good to be true! I mean, all I have to do now is sleep and voila, I wake up a thinner man!

But you know, much as I would like this to be true, the scientist in me rebels. Hey, what are you looking at me like that for? Of course there is a scientist in me. Somewhere!

So this scientist in me protests and says “That’s preposterous! There is no way you can reduce the chances of obesity by sleeping.”

But then the rest of me rationalizes, “Aw, what the hell! If the real scientist blokes say it, it’s gotta be true, djunowatimeen?”

And so I decided to give it a shot. And that led to the discovery of the real truth behind the whole study! And this is how that happened.

The Wife: Get up, you fat steak, you are late for work! I haven’t seen a lazier man than you ever

Me, filled with righteous indignation: I will have you know that I am not lazy. In fact, right up till this moment before you disturbed me, I was very busy shedding weight.

The Wife: You’ve been lying in your bed all day! What do you mean shedding weight?

Me: Oh you wouldn’t understand. It is too scientific for you. But every minute you stand there talking to me, I am putting on some weight. So please do me a favour and go away. Let me sleep...um…lose weight in peace

The Wife: If you really want to lose weight, get up and exercise or something!

Me: You ignorant woman, you live in the Dark Ages! Exercise is old news, obsolete, poof! Sleeping is the in thing! The more you sleep, the slimmer you become! It is all part of a new study, I tell you.

The Wife, thinking for a minute: Well, it does make sense in a way. At least, you will eat less if you sleep more. Most of your waking hours are devoted to eating!

Eureka! So that's it! The secret Heymsfield and Gangwisch have left unsaid. Trust the wife to clear up the obfuscation!

Sleep more, eat less, lose weight! Huh, what's the fun in that, now?

The Return of the Muse!!!

2006-05-24T18:09:00.000+10:00

So after…hmm, let’s see now – November, December, January, February, March, April, May – seven whole months!!! I don’t believe it! Time simply flies! Well, anyway, so after seven long months, the Muse is back, ready to take up where we left off last.

And among the first things in the To Do list is to acknowledge all who had, during the Muse’s long absence, visited this blog and clamoured – yes actually clamoured – for more!

Truly, I am flattered! Thank you!

Of course, I am not going to go about giving any elaborate and long-winded but patently false excuse for my extended silence. It would not be fair to anyone, least of all to myself.

So, what shall we blog about today?

A serious issue that seems to be gripping the Indian blogosphere these days is the reservation question. The GoI seems all set to table the bill that reserves 49.5 percent of seats in educational institutions to the so-called “lower-caste” candidates. A whopping 49.5 %, stopping just short of the magic number 50%, no doubt based on recommendations of several psycho-statistical analyses.

And since the brain cells are yet to get into the blog mode, I shall pass off a forward doing its rounds in the email today. It is funny, really! Here’s what the author has to say.

I think we should have job reservations in all the fields. I completely support the PM and all the politicians for promoting this. Let's start the reservation with our cricket team. We should have 9.5% reservation for Muslims, 40% percent for OBC, and SC/ST, totaling of course to 49.5%.

Cricket rules should be modified accordingly. The boundary circle should be reduced for an SC/ST player. The four hit by an OBC player should be considered as a six and a six hit by an OBC player should be counted as 8 runs. An OBC century is 60 runs.

We should influence ICC and make rules so that the pace bowlers like Shoaib Akhtar should not bowl fast balls to our OBC player. Bowlers can be allowed a maximum speed of 80 kilometer per hour when playing against an OBC player. Any delivery above this speed should be made illegal.

Well, if one must have reservations, them bring ‘em aboard, but as the author astutely points out, bring them in all fields. Oh, what an edge we will have in the international scene!

Vacayshun!!

2005-11-08T10:59:00.000+11:00

Yup, its time for a well-deserved break. The Muse is homeward bound to India. So blogging is adjourned sine die

Increase Weekends…Improve Economy

2005-10-24T14:43:00.000+10:00

Back to Monday again! Hardly noticed the weekend ending! Heck, I hardly noticed it even began!

I don’t know if this is just me, but the weekend is always too short. It is never enough.

I mean come on, you work for five whole long dreary days! What's two days? Even before you know, your little insignificant two-day weekend is gone! Poof! Just like that! It is almost like it never was there.

Some countries have 4 day weeks and 3 day weekends. They are sensible. But do you know what I think would be even better? 3.5 days each, of the weekend and the week. Monday to Wednesday, and I wouldn’t mind coming in for half-a-day on Thursday. That’s alright, we all must make sacrifices, and we can all come in for the first half of Thursday, with a smile.

A fixed artificial, absolutely-lacking-in-cheer smile, perhaps, but a smile nevertheless.

I’d seriously like to know what possible objections there could be to having 3.5 day weeks and weekends. I tell you, the economy would improve for sure. It will probably go soaring through the roof, poking more holes into the Ozone layer than CFCs have been able to.

Not convinced?

What does an average Australian (American, Briton, Indian [these days]) do on weekends? If the traffic on Friday evenings in Melbourne is any indication at all, they are all out there, enjoying themselves. The pubs have people lining up outside to get in, the cinemas run full houses, the restaurants are packed to the full, with people spilling out on to the streets, in an attempt to find culture while dining on fine cuisine.

Saturdays it is the turn of the shopping malls, the beaches, and the mountains, not to forget the pubs, cinemas and restaurants again. Sundays may begin a bit late, but they soon catch up with the crowds.

I tell you, people are out there, opening their wallets, swiping their credit cards like there is no tomorrow. And if all that cash flow doesn’t do anything to the economy, I don’t know what will. And considering that every other thing that I buy, right from my Pocket PC to the shopping trolley I roll up to the market is made in China, one part of every dollar I spend here will eventually find its way to China.

Not to mention to the oil producing countries and Brazil and India and Bangladesh and Belgium and Switzerland and....I think we should just have increased weekends. I think it is good for global economy.

Is Blogging Addictive?

2005-10-20T11:14:00.000+10:00

Perhaps we need another survey, if one has not been conducted already, to find out if blogging is indeed addictive.

I think it is. Addictive, I mean.

Ever since I took up active blogging, I have found myself evaluating the bloggability index of everything I see or read.

Hey, I just coined a new term. I love coining new terms. Considering this is the first sensible new term I’ve coined in a long while.

So, the Bloggability Index of a person/ idea/ event/ news item is the extent to which the said person/idea/event/news item lends itself to being blogged about. Thus, a survey on food and moods has about a 90% BI (come on now, you need an abbreviation; what’s the point of coining a new term and not making an abbreviation for it?), as evidenced by my previous post.

And I just ran a search on Google to see if anyone else has already come up with this nugget. Looks like it is all mine, copyrighted as of this instant. Maybe I should put a little © next to it. Bloggability Index © - looks rather nice, doesn’t it?

Thus, every time I pick up the newspaper or travel in the train to work, or browse through the net randomly or enter into a conversation, I find myself mentally calculating its BI.

With the ©. Mustn’t forget the ©.

I wonder if this is how the press people think. Maybe they look for a story in everything too!

Be that as it may, I am totally controlled by blogs now. I am hooked on to them, even addicted to them, you might say. I have to blog…about something…anything. I don’t feel a day is complete if I haven’t blogged.

If things get any worse, I’d probably start having withdrawal symptoms, I think. And would have to get into a blogger rehab centre for a blog detox program! I’m sure they have it somewhere.

Mostly in the US. That is where these things get started.

They’ll probably have a pledge too, and begin their sessions with it - “I am a sane human being, not a mindless blogging machine. If I am to change this image, I must first change myself. I can live without blogging. Blogs are nice but not a must.”

I would probably have to stand up and share my testimony, with other blogaholics.

Me: Hello, my name is Muse

Them: Hello, Muse

Me: It has been a whole week now since I touched a blog. I have not even read a blog in seven days.

Most of Them: Oooh! You are an inspiration to us all, mate!

Some of Them: Amen

Me: But it has been difficult.

Them, nodding their heads sympathetically: We understand, mate. The first week is always difficult. But you’ll get used to it.

Me: No, you don’t understand… I have to blog…I have to…

Them: Intervention! Remember, Muse, Blogs are nice, but not a must.

Me: Just one blog… one little blog…one tiny little ten–liner blog…it will be my last one, I promise

Them: Remember the steps, mate, you can’t give in now

Me: No, I cannot…but I must blog…must…blog

And that's probably when they would all have to band together and physically hold me back from reaching for the nearest computer.

Boy, blogs are addictive!

Goodness Gracious Me! I am a freaking sociopath!!!

2005-10-19T09:43:00.000+10:00

It all began with a study conducted in the US.

There is always a study or survey going on in the US. Always. All through the year.

There is too much studying going on there, I can tell you that. And it is really quite amazing that they have the time and resources to conduct so many! No wonder all our Indian students make a beeline to the US to pursue their grad school studies.

And the wide variety of subjects that are studied is even more amazing. They've even studied how many people wash their hands after doing peepee.

But some take the cake.

Literally.

This is a study about mood and food.

Carried out as part of a study of addiction, it is thought to be the first to link individual foods with particular states of mind. Cynthia Power, the Illinois based psychotherapist behind the study says: “Food can be used to change the feelings the person doesn’t want to have.”

This study had found that a person’s choice of food is dictated by their state of mind and diners apparently seek out particular dishes to regulate how they feed. 500 people were selected for this study and were asked to keep a diary of their choices of meals.

And based on those records, the conclusion has been drawn that when it comes to betraying mood, it seems, you are what you eat…or rather, you eat what you are!

Why would anyone want to keep a diary of their meal choices? What kind of guilt-loving maniacs would willingly submit themselves to a task of recording what they eat, meal after meal? I’ll be honest with you – I have no idea!

So guess what the findings are…

Eating steak is a symbol of pent up anger, gorging on chips means you are stressed, people going through crises like divorce revert to foods like custard and ice cream, jealous people often stack their plates indiscriminately – a consequence of having to compete with siblings at the dinner table in childhood, bulky fill-up-the stomach foods like rice and pasta assuage loneliness and if you fill up on cakes and other starchy foods like biscuits, pretzels and bread, you are sexually frustrated.

This is scary, my friends! It is one of those, “Be afraid, be very afraid” situations. I tell you this because I took stock of the state of affairs, did my own study based on the results of this study.

Here I was worrying about getting old at 30, but it looks like I am now also a confirmed completely dysfunctional sociopath.

I am angry, sad, lonely, stressed, and desperately needing comfort!

Lucky I am not too hooked on to cakes!!!

And it doesn’t end there. I now have the terrible task of breaking the awful news to my friend that his four-year old is not the cherub he thought her to be.

Like every other kid, she likes her chips and ice cream and oh my god…she loves cakes! Tch…tch…tch…what has the world come to! The poor little girl is already sexually frustrated at just four!

I'll leave you there, good readers, with just one more thought. If the people with personality disorders eat up all the rice and bread and steak and chips and cakes, what do happy people eat?

Getting old! Too quickly!!!

2005-10-14T16:58:00.000+10:00

I am getting old. Far too quickly. I am only 30, but I think I am getting too old.

I'll tell you why. If you are interested, that is. Well, I am going to tell it anyway.

I was travelling to work by train when I chanced upon a conversation between two schoolgirls. Hey, before you write me off as a low-life that eavesdrops on girls, it was more like the conversation dropped on all of us in the 1 metre radius of the girls.

Like a ton of bricks.

They were being loud and giggly in the manner of all schoolgirls since the time...um...since the time girls started going to school! There they were, chatting merrily away, playing with their hair that had been carefully arranged in a disarray.

I am never going to understand that! In my days...God, I sound old! Let me try again.

When I was young...nah, that makes me sound too old too! Hell, I think I am getting old.

Anyway, when I was young, not too long ago, and went to school and college, there was only three ways to handle the mop on your head. You were either what they had in mind when they coined the term "nerd" and therefore always went in for the wet and plastered look.

Or you just brushed your hair in a hurry, and left it looking just about decent.

Or you just let it do its own stuff.

Which it does, by the way. Hair's got a mind of its own, you'd think, the way it simply refuses to lie down the way you want it, and curls and weaves, all on its own!

But I can never really understand the latest trend! They actually arrange their hair into a seeming mass of disarray. They probably spend hours, letting each strand of hair look as unruly as possible, achieving a careless effect with extreme care.

Talk about oxymorons!

Uh oh, I think I'm rambling too much - another sure sign of old age.

So, here were these girls, with their carefully careless hair and all that, talking to each other. I reproduce below snippets of their conversation. Believe me, this is exactly how it went. Well, almost.

One of the girls (we'll call her Mae*) was telling the other (we'll call her Margherita*) "So, I was chilling with Valerie* the other day, right, and Alicia* comes in, and tells us about this cool sale on at Myers, and I am like and she's like 'yeah' and then I am like 'Oh my god' and Valerie is like totalled."

I'll tell you this straightaway, I understood precious little of it. It was almost like another language. I had to take the help of relatively younger people at work to get this translated so that it makes sense.

And that's when I realized I was getting old. If you probably got what she was saying with no external help, I daresay you are still young. But if not..well, join the club. I'm getting old too!

* All names have been changed to protect the identity of the people** involved

** Hope those are not their real names!!!

My arch nemesis - Internet Explorer!!

2005-10-13T18:18:00.000+10:00

I just discovered, to my absolute shock and lasting grief, that my blog which looks so well and tastefully done (even if I do say so myself) in my Firefox browser, looks like something the cat dragged in, when viewed in IE!!!

It has been several years since I've divorced Internet Explorer. We parted gracefully...she knew she was inadequate, so she made no claims to half my wealth, car and house, and I've been living happily ever since with Opera, and of late, Firefox because of firewall restrictions which prevent my using Opera at work!

So, can you blame me that it didn't even occur to me to view this blog in IE, just to make sure what is eye-candy in other browsers doesn't appear an eyesore in IE! Yet, it is IO IIO (ayyo, ayyayo for the abbreviation-challenged) in IE!

So, to all those who for some reason unknown to mankind still insist on using IE...all I can say to you, my dear friends, is go get a life, and a better browser. In fact, I've even made that part of my blog description, right on top!!!

She's 16, and ready to go 17...not years, but babies!!!

2005-10-13T16:42:00.000+10:00

When newly weds in Tamil Nadu fall at the feet of elders seeking their blessings, they are often blessed with the benediction, "Pathinaarum petru peru vaazhvu vaazhga" meaning literally, "Get all sixteen and live a great life". While scholars insist on giving deeper and deeper explanations to the sixteen, it is often joked about that the number refers to child count!

Whether Tamizh couples are living up to this blessing or not, an American woman from Arkansas, has done it! Michelle Duggar, 39, had her sixteenth child at 6:30 am local time, Tuesday. The child, a girl, has been named Johannah Faith Duggar.

Married at 18 to Jim Duggar, she had her first child at 21, and there has been no looking back since then! And what's more, Jim says they are ready to have more if the Lord wills.

All the children have names starting with J. Read more about the story here.

I am sure with their declining birthrate, European countries would love to have more people like Jim and Michelle over. Maybe they should start inviting prolific couples to migrate to EU.

Bloggers have responsibility??? Shocking!!

2005-10-13T11:49:00.000+10:00

My explorations into the world of blogs never cease to amaze me! For instance, I discovered there is a term called "blogosphere", which effectively replaces the phrase, "world of blogs"! Wiki calls it a social phenomenon, created by the interlinking between its individual instances, the blogs, recalling the meaning of the term noosphere, which Wiki defines as the "sphere of human thought", composed of all the interacting minds on Earth. Ok, enough of technical jargon. Let's get going with what I actually wanted to write about.

I stumbled upon an issue that is burning large, gaping holes into the blogosphere's ozone umbrella of unaccountability. With actual ramifications in real life - I mean outside blogosphere, intruding into the world of men and mice.

The story begins - well, here's where I started reading up, so that is where the story begins according to me; the real beginnings may be lost in the mists of time, I couldn't care less - with an article in a magazine that researched into the claims made by a management institute in India. The author in her blog, and another blogger in his, made pointed statements against the institute based on the magazine article. The institute took affront to this, with its students deciding to defend the honor of their alma mater. Posts, counter-posts, comments, counter-comments...leading even to the resignation of this blogger from his company because of complex wheels turning within more complex wheels!

Whew!

Which brings me to my burning question! Do bloggers have a responsibility? Can I actually be held accountable to the random musings that I scribble because I have too much time on my hands?

Scary thought!!!

I guess I better go do something less accountable...like read up other people's blogs and leave comments!

His sheep are calling him - to tally the numbers!

2005-10-12T10:47:00.000+10:00

Aah! The simple pastoral life of a shepherd! Rise up in the morning, and lead the flock beside still waters and green pastures! Sit under a tree and play a lazy tune on the flute, while the sheep graze idly. The very scene of serenity and peace.

But looks like you also need to be an accountant and have skills to apply for grants, if you want to be a shepherd in Hungary!! Read about this here

A conservationist dilemma!

2005-10-11T15:33:00.000+10:00

What would you do if the only way to save an endangered animal was to eat more of it? Was readin the Age when I came across this story Make Mine Rare

It was an article about Large Black Pigs, which are an endangered breed today, and have organizations dedicated to preserving them! The pigs were bred for flavour centuries ago for people who apparantly had the time to sit and relish a 5-course meal. With the increase in the grab-a-hotdog-and-eat-it-while-you-drive population, these trotters have had no takers, and with less than 400 sows in the world today, the Rare Breeds Trust of Australia has classfied the animals as "critically endangered".

"It's ironic that if we're going to save these rare breeds, we're going to have to eat them," says breeder and grower Christine Ross.

And hence the conservationist's dilemma!

When the Earth trembles, borders crumble

2005-10-10T21:02:00.000+10:00

The earthquake that struck the three countries of India, Pakistan and Afghanistan while certainly catastrophic, can also be described as ironic. It struck the borders of India and Pakistan. Pakistan bore the brunt of the quake, with nearly 20,000 officially declared casualties, amidst speculation that the number could double. Nearly 70% of houses in PoK (Pakistan Occupied Kashmir) have been destroyed.

For 58 years, the countries have been quarelling and disagreeing over the land that, in moments, was laid waste by a shudder of the Earth. What were they arguing about then? Those borders drawn on paper that have caused so much bloodshed and ill-will between the countries...where are they now? Amidst all the sorrow that engulfed the humanity in the affected regions, there was heartening news too...the armies of both countries, which were till then deployed solely to keep each other at bay, reached out beyond borders to help the victims. But should we wait for disaster to strike us before we dive deep within ourselves and discover the spring-well of human kindness that forever oozes from our hearts?

Australia has, as always, been quick in offering relief. The country has promised$5.5 million in aid. One recalls with what speed and alacrity Australia had responded when the tsunami struck in December 2004, offering close to a billion dollars worth relief, overwhelming the world by its generosity. Boy, I sure am proud of living in Australia!

If you are reading this blog, I request you to pray silently for a minute for the suffering thousands. But above all, pray also that good sense prevails over the minds of men, and we come to realize how vain and transient our petty squabbles are in the face of Nature's fury.

Techno Rush!!!

2005-10-07T17:59:00.000+10:00

Spent a lot of time today, sprucing up the blog...changed the template and even got into the daunting task of editing the HTML! Felt awed and humbled, first, and then reasonably proud of myself as I played around with the styles and tags and what nots.

Then added a blogroll, and even an email subscription to the blog via bloglet. Let us see how all this technology helps the blog!

As my brother says, I hope this doesn't become an exercise of using technology just because it is there!

Eat till you burst! Literally!

2005-10-06T12:42:00.000+10:00

Have often heard this rather ambiguous phrase...eating till you burst! And have wondered in my younger days, could such a thing really happen? Can you eat and eat till you really burst? Looks like it can happen!

A 13-foot Burmese python in the Everglades was apparantly so hungry that it decided to swallow an alligator, which alligator in turn decided to resist the attempt, leading to a clash of the Titans in the swamplands of Florida.

Reminds one of Devar movies, doesn't it? In case you don't know who Devar was, he was this producer of Tamizh films of yore, who for some reason, always wanted to have a couple of animals in every film of his! They usually fought each other, with at least one always siding with the hero! Hey, it wasn't that bad, OK! I really did like his films for the animal stunts!

Well, getting back to our Burmese python...which actually makes you question, what on Earth is a Burmese python doing in Florida. Grr, enough digression! We'll get there presently...

So, getting back to our hungry python, all pythons have this nasty habit of swallowing food whole! Mamma pythons apparantly are not inspired by any overwhelming urges to impart table manners to kid pythons. They just don't bother to teach their kids to "Chew it all before you swallow, there's a good boy." So this python swallowed the gator whole, and the gator being a go-getter (er...sorry, bad joke!) didn't want to go down without a fight! And fight it did, trying to claw at the python's stomach. No clues whether this is what did the python in, but the snake was found with the gator's hindquarters protruding from its burst mid-section! Which provides incontrovertible proof that you can keep eating till you burst!

And now to the serious part! What was the Burmese python doing in Florida? It turns out that there are people in the US who find having a python as a pet quite attractive. Possibly a young small python can make an easy pet! They can happily subsist on frozen chickens (thawed, I'm sure) fed once a week or ten days! But it is when they start growing and reaching even part of their entire length that the proud and happy owner realizes that his little studio apartment in NY is definitely not enough for him and his pet! Or maybe he found himself a girlfriend who found the snake more charming than him.

Well, whatever be the case, the python is definitely not wanted around anymore. So it is bundled into the car, and driven down I-95, to the Florida Everglades, where with perhaps a tear or two, it is released into the wild. The saddened but defnitely less burdened owner returns back to his mundane existence in corporate America, while the Burmese python begins a whole new life in the wilderness of Florida's swamps, far and away from native Myanmar. And going by statistics, the pythons have doing a jolly good job with their new found freedom! It is unknown just exactly how many pythons have made the swamps their home, but at least 150 have been captured in the past two years!

Ecologists fear that this non-native species can cause irreparable damage to the local ecosystem, competing for food, threatening many smaller species that conservationists are trying to protect, including other reptiles, otters, squirrels, woodstorks and sparrows, and even supplanting the alligator as the dominant predator.

But while the effects of that is confined only to the Florida Everglades, what is even more terrifying, with far-reaching, even global impact, is the possibility that Hollywood film makers might be seized by the insipiration to come up new movies featuring Burmese pythons, alligators and...worse...Jennifer Lopez.

Making my blog popular - at your cost!!!

2005-09-28T16:16:00.000+10:00

Hmm! I was searching for some documents on the computer and came across this one! Apparantly, this was written a long time ago, for the purpose of posting it on my blog...and somehow, it hadn't been published! Well, better late than never. And now that the context is set, read on how I propose to make my blog popular...er...at your cost!

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Spent some time this morning searching on the web on how to make my blogspot more popular and well read. Which is really funny, considering I discovered “blogs” precisely two days ago. That is not to say I hadn’t known anything at all about them before that. I had always known, vaguely I must admit, of the existence of such things as blogs, just as one is marginally aware of the rather intriguing lifecycle of the American cicada, which pupates for 17 years but lives for just a day as an adult. But, I wasn’t really interested in them. The blogs, I mean, not the cicadas.

Going through some blogs as that of VP Jaiganesh, I found myself being inspired, and before I knew it, I had signed up and was the proud owner of my own blogspot. The Valley of the Muse was all well and good, but what was I to put up there? The Muse, obviously pleased with my devotion to her, decided to help, and up came two blogs, in quick succession, one for each day. And with that for an excuse – namely having two blogs to my credit – I actually felt justified in wanting my blog to be popular and attract more traffic. Rather funny how the mind works, what?

Anyway, there I was, embarking on the search for tips to popularize my blogs. The exercise, I must admit, was worth the effort. I found a few well-written articles with their little nuggets of wisdom. Advertise, said one. Sign up to this engine, notify that website of updates, tweak your settings to do this and then that – I followed every instruction dutifully. Then came the difficult part – the instructions on writing your blogs to attract readers. Post frequently, said one author. Yes, but don’t post nonsense frequently, amended another. Allow your posts to make sense more often. Fair enough, I agreed, till I came upon a third. No one is perfect, said this wise philosopher, so don’t wait till you produce the Booker Prize winning entry. Just post what you think is good enough.

Finally I found an interesting suggestion. Go and leave comments on other people’s blogs, said the entry. Now that, I said to myself, is an easy and interesting exercise. Read random blogs (the Navbar does a good job of picking up random blogs, anyway) and leave your comments.

So that is what I am going to do for the next few days. I am going to visit fellow bloggers and leave my comments, hopefully tempting them to return the favour.

Reality sheepishly real!

2005-09-15T11:46:00.000+10:00

Yes, reality shows are becoming increasingly popular, but does that warrant a reality show starring Sheep? Apparently it does, for Croatia has launched a new reality show on the internet that stars sheep, not people! How madly interesting!!! But unlike the reality shows with people, where the winner gets a load of money and the loser just walk off with nothing, things are different with the sheep. The winner gets a poem read out to it, while the sheep that get voted out …sob sob…they might be eaten!

You can see the show for 24 hours of the day, if you want to, on the website. 24 full hours of watching sheep at their best - eating, interacting with each other, moving around, sleeping, pooping – all the time, blissfully unaware that their fates might be sealed by a bunch of viewers who might be clicking a mouse and voting them out!

Naturally, the show has drawn anger from rights groups who reported animal abuse to local veterinary inspectors. But the organizer Sinisa Labrovic denies the charges. He says a vet is in place to tend to the sheep that need medical attention. The aim, he says, of the whole show was to demonstrate how people, who take part in reality shows, are made to look like sheep in every situation!

Some way to showcase his opinions of reality shows! The sheepish website is www.stado.org. Check it out, and let me know if it is worth a sheep…er…a peep! The only problem is it is not in English!!!

Google Adsense Is up!!!

2005-09-15T11:05:00.000+10:00

Yes, Google Adsense is up in my blog!

After a long debate, whether to host Google Ads on my blog or not, I finally decided to try it out. Why a debate, you may ask! Well, it all began with reading on some blog somewhere, a blogger's rather serious condemnation of the practice of having ads on a blog! He (or she) likened it to selling one's privacy for making a quick buck! The arguments were long and forceful, and made an immediate impression. I forswore any inclination to host Google Ads on the blog.

As Time rolled by, at which task, Time is quite an adept, Reason prevailed, at which task Reason is still learning to become an adept! After all, said Reason, you have not bought your blogspace. Not a cent do you spend to host it or maintain it. Besides, these days, Google Ads are ubiquitous. And you do anyway swear by Google for all your searches. So why not let them place their ads onto your website? And in a sotto voce, Reason also murmured, "Besides, they pay in dollars".

In all honesty, Reason need not have tried the sotto voce bit! I don't believe there are so many visitors to the blog that I might actually make money out of it. But I did figure out that I have precious little to lose, especially if the ads sit in some corner, unobstrusively. As per Google Adsense policies, I am not to solicit clickings! Which means, I cannot make any request whatsoever to you who are reading this to visit any of the ads that are displayed. Therefore, in adherence to that policy, I shall refrain from doing so.

Now to sit and watch if any dollars get added to my account!!!

Shakespeare - Shaken, not stirred!

2005-09-14T14:36:00.000+10:00

I have been asked to contribute articles to an online magazine! Ahem! Me!!

Racked the old grey cells a while, till I hit paydirt! Decided to write a series of articles on the Bard of Avon, old Shakespeare himself! Of course, what with the incurable vein that runs in me, I cannot for the life of me write any serious articles. So decided to spoof his plays and poems. To begin with, me thought I should write a brief biography of the Bard. Here's the result! Enjoy!

To write or not to write…that is the question!, Fortunately (or depending on how you view it, perhaps unfortunately), that was not a question William Shakespeare a.k.a The Bard asked himself before he set forth to write 37 odd plays and 154 even poems! In the following few e-zines, we will be exploring some of the poems and plays his pen has…er…penned. But before we begin this daunting task of reading Shakespeare the Poet, perhaps it would be a wise move to know more about Shakespeare, the man.

Fossil Records

To learn about the life of Shakespeare is akin to learning about the life of a Stegosaurus by excavating and studying its fossil records. In the event, we’d probably end up knowing more about the Stegosaurus than about Shakespeare, for the dinosaur left far more records than the Bard! We owe much of the information that we have about William Shakespeare, to genealogists and literary buffs (note: not buffoons), who for some reason, believed their lives were the worthier for trying to learn about the poet! Why they were thus convinced we shall never know, but as a great man once said, it takes all kinds to make up this world, and these ardent students may only be described as one such species that make it up.

Be that as it may, we learn from their studies, that the name Shakespeare (spelt variously as Shaxper, Shakesper, even Shaxberd) was very common during the Sixteenth century. In fact, one of the earliest Shakespeares was hanged in Gloucestershire for theft in 1248! This Hanging Shakespeare has since been traced to be among the early ancestors of the poet, and as some detractors aver, the origin of the Bard’s own literary kleptomaniac tendencies.

We also know that the Bard’s father, while applying for a coat-of-arms claimed his grandfather was a hero of the War of the Roses. No historical evidence, however, is available to corroborate this fact, although it does prove that the art of embellishing a resume while applying for something is not a latter day invention of job-trotting software professionals.

The Bard's paternal grandfather was Richard Shakespeare, a farmer in Snitterfield, a village four miles northeast of Stratford. There is no record of Richard Shakespeare before 1529, but this does not necessarily mean the man did not exist before the said year. There is no record of Richard Shakespeare's wife either, but since he had two sons (possibly more) it is reasonable to assume he had at least one wife (possibly more?). John Shakespeare, one of these two sons, came to Stratford before 1532 as an apprentice glover and tanner. He was successful, and expanded his business into wool and farm products. He bought a lot of property, and more importantly, managed to marry Mary Arden, daughter of the wealthy Robert Arden of Wilmecote, the surest sign of a successful man!

Happy Birthday, Will…um…when exactly?

To Mary and John was born, among other children, William Shakespeare. The exact date and place of his birth are not known, leading to some detractors of the Bard make use of this unhappy chance to propound the theory that he was therefore never born! Recognizing that this is a tad too extreme, we can happily subscribe to the traditional belief that he was born on St. George’s Day - April 23^rd 1564. And the fact that he also died the same day – several years later, that is – lends an exciting, and esoteric highlight to the otherwise mundane details of his life.

Lost Years

The growing up years are lost in history. In fact, one marvels as to how little is actually known of the man, save his plays and poems. It is possible that he attended school at Stratford till his father’s financial difficulties made him, what we would call a “drop-out”, but not before he had picked up “the small Latin and less Greek”. There are innumerable suggestions as to what he did after dropping out of school, and to accept all of the plausible theories would admit to discussing the professions of all the men in Statford on Avon, for legend has it that he might have been a butcher, a glover, a tanner, a schoolmaster, a lawyer, and/or an actor. There is also a possibility that he stole a deer belonging to a Sir Thomas Lucy and fled Stratford to escape prison.

I Do, She does…and…er…so does the baby!!!

The only thing we do know for certain of these “lost years” is the fact that he married Anne Hathaway, who was six months pregnant with his child. As all things Shakespeare, the marriage too is mired in controversy. For there are two records, the first of which shows his intent to marry an Anne Whateley while the second that confirms his marriage to Anne Hathaway. Theorists, eager to inject an aura of mystery and intrigue into the Bard’s life, have forwarded a theory that he probably wanted to marry the former, but because of an indiscretion and a subsequent attack of conscience, ended up marrying the latter, who at 26 was 8 years older than William Shakespeare.

There, of course is, another more straightforward and demystifying possibility –maintaining records was not the most exciting or demanding of professions, and it is entirely possible that the clerk, who made the entry in the Church registers, could have been thinking of several things ranging from dinner to a jolly night with Miss Whatizhername, and hence had been a little relaxed with the names.

More Lost Years

After marriage and a few children, we encounter another mysterious blank in the history, a blank that we shall dub once more, as another set of the “lost years”. In fact, this is something we have to get used to, and even feel comfortable with, for as Charles Dickens said, “It is a great comfort, to my way of thinking, that so little is known concerning the poet. The life of Shakespeare is a fine mystery, and I tremble every day lest something should turn up." But the next we hear of him is when Robert Greene, a London playwright of his times, went green with envy and referred to Shakespeare as “an upstart crow, beautified with our feathers”. This was the first of the accusations that have been levelled against the Bard that he simply passed off as his own, the works of others. An accusation, we wish to add, that still finds supporters to this day.

A crow comes to roost

Greene’s caustic comments, notwithstanding, the Bard had already begun to make his mark in the theatre, as an actor, playwright and as a managing partner in operations of a drama company called Lord Chamberlain’s Men. During the seven years that elapsed between the marriage and Greene’s comment, one can only assume Shakespeare had been perfecting his dramatic skills, and collecting plots for his subsequent plays. His company was the most successful in London in his day. He had plays published and sold in octavo editions, or "penny-copies" to the more literate of his audiences. It is noted that never before had a playwright enjoyed sufficient acclaim to see his works published and sold as popular literature in the midst of his career. The upstart crow had finally arrived!

He had a fine run in the theatre and as a poet. In fact, his fame grew as a poet with his famous sonnets, and when he retired in 1611, he had already been acclaimed and feted. He died on April 23, 1616 – the same day as his alleged day of birth and is buried in the Holy Trinity Church in Stratford-upon-Avon, his epitaph holding a final curse to all that dare to disturb his slumber!

Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear,
To dig the dust enclosed here.
Blest be the man that spares these stones,
But cursed be he that moves my bones.

Hopefully, this article and the subsequent ones do not make him turn in his grave! Does that count as moving the bones, one wonders!

Puff Goes The Billy…

2005-03-14T12:07:00.000+11:00

Ok…what’s with puff goes the Billy, you ask? Well, think about it. It is not as though the weasel has exclusive rights to go pop! If Billy can puff just as good as or probably better than the weasel can pop, then why shouldn’t Billy go puff?

Ok, before you close the window and go off to doing something more useful than reading this blog, let me tempt you to stay. The missus and I had a great weekend on the Dandenong Ranges aboard the Puffing Billy. See, now you made the connection, didn’t you? Puffing Billy is, as you’ve probably guessed or then again, as you probably still haven't guessed, a hundred year old steam rail, a genuine relic. A historic steam train still running regularly in the mountain district, it was built to serve at the turn of the century. Now, that has always got me thinking, you know. Why turn of the century? Do centuries turn every now and then? Then again, why not twist or bend or curve of the century? Why only turn…oh, but I digress. Bad habit with me, that. Coming back to Puffing Billy, the Railway is the sole survivor of four experimental lines used to develop rural areas of Australia in the early 1900's.

So, with that kind of a history, it is no wonder that Puffing Billy is now a major tourist attraction. So, when I heard and read about this train, and the scenic views that were promised as the train wound its way through the Dandenong Ranges, we decided to take the trip. Of course, it is not that I swallowed everything the brochures had to say hook, line and sinker. I have learnt caution, if nothing else since coming here. Australia is a beautiful country, and its people go the extra mile to package its beauty so well that you think both heaven and earth are on display. So, you pack your picnic basket, and your autograph book, hoping a few angels might oblige, and reach your destination. You make a diligent search, but of heaven, you find no sign. You conclude, reasonably, that heaven was probably symbolic, but still, where on earth is the earth? So, you walk into the Information Centre and you finally learn, yes the heaven was symbolic all right, and did they say the earth, oh, they just mean an acre of it, that’s all. Reminds me of the time I went to the Melbourne Aquarium…oh, but that is another story.

So, it was with a pinch of salt that I embarked upon the journey to be pleasantly disabused of my suspicions. We took the Met train to Flinder’s Street and from there the 10:10 train to Belgrave. Belgrave is nearly at the foothills of the Dandenong Ranges. We got to see some pretty scenery on the way and finally reached Belgrave at 11:30 am. From there, a small track takes you to the Puffing Billy station. The track is lined with trees and ferns and it seems to you that you are entering an exotic world even as you walk to the station.

The station was quaint, with an old world feel to it. Being a bit hungry, we first bought a sandwich each, and well restored, proceeded to explore the station. Did you know…well, of course, you wouldn’t, now would you?…that Puffing Billy is entirely run by volunteers? Volunteers are the lifeblood of the railway, and they are there practically everywhere - conductors, shop assistants, train hosts, porters, booking clerks, engineers, station master, guard, signalman! And I want to place on record here that they are all uniformly so courteous, pleasant and friendly that you feel so much at home aboard the train.

The 12:20 train was the Luncheon Special, so it had two or three First Class carriages where you could dine aboard the train. But it was not lunch we had in mind, so we skipped First Class and made our way to one of the other carriages. Unlike normal trains, the seats in Puffing Billy are along the length of the carriage - two rows, back to back facing the large windows to let in all the view. The window sills were large, with two safety bars across, so unless you were blessed (or cursed) with extraordinary girth, you could actually sit on the window sills, and hang your legs out. Most of the children were already seated on the sills, and quite a few adults too. It was fun, by the way, especially, when the train negotiated some curves, and you could see the engine turning in the front. But, I am getting ahead of myself.

The train started at about 12:30 and people were really excited about the steam engine. Not minding the smoke and the ash that kept flying into their eyes, they eagerly peeped out of the windows to look at the engine and take snaps of it. Of course, used as we were to steam engines back home in India, it was not such a novelty, but we couldn’t help being taken in by all the excitement that everyone generated!

The train meandered through the forests of fern and eucalyptus, once in a while breaking out with a grand view of rolling farmlands and at one spot, even Port Philip Bay. It was a scenic route, interspersed with railway crossings, where people waited in their cars, patiently, waving to us in the train with much friendliness.

Past Menzies Creek and Nobelius and Emerald, we finally reached Lakeside. After dropping us off at the station, Billy puffed away, leaving us wondering where the Lake of the Lakeside was. Side, there definitely was, but lake? Before we wrote off "lake" to one of the heaven and earth brochure thingy, we spotted the waters. Well hidden by the parklands that surround it, Emerald Lake deserves its name. The waters were green, thanks to the reflection of the countless trees that grew all around . A few people were paddling on Aqua Bikes in the lake, and that got the wife pretty excited. Let’s have a go, she said. I have a better idea, said I, let us not. Inevitably and rather unsurprisingly, she won, and we signed up for a fifteen minute trip across the green waters for ten dollars. They had an offer – twenty minutes for just $11. A mean thing to do, if you ask me, tempting the unsuspecting and unwary to fall for it, but I was strict. Wisdom garnered as a young boy of ten came rusing to my aid. Fifteen minutes is all we do, said I firmly, recollecting a similar experience on a paddle boat in the Ooty Lake years ago. But that is another tale.

Seeing me in the Aqua Bike, pedalling for all I was worth, if anyone had cared to place a wager on me against Puffing Billy, he’d have won. I huffed and puffed more in those fifteen minutes than Billy did the whole trip. I mean, give me a break. For years now, the only exercise I have known is to walk to the vending machine to grab a cup of hot chocolate, and all of a sudden, you expect me to bike away merrily across still waters? Anyway, despite feeling hot and uncomfortable, those were fun moments, as we finally came back to the dock, a good three minutes before time. Terra firma had never been more welcome than when I stepped off the blasted contraption, while the wife giggled in glee with pure childish delight. Privately, I prefer the term sadistic pleasure!

The parklands offered lovely spots to lunch, which we promptly did. Some more walking and it was time to return. We caught the 4:00 PM train from Lakside back to Belgrave. Tired, but still enthusiastic, we made most of the return trip. One short walk later, we re-entered contemporary suburbia, where a train awaited us to Ringwood. We changed at Ringwood and completed our journey back to Flinder’s. Altogether, a wonderful way to spend a Saturday, especially of a long weekend. (Monday was off. Labour day!)

Puffing Billy is one trip that I would not mind making once more. Of course, minus the Aqua Bike, that is. If you are interested in knowing more, go here: Puffing Billy. And do make the trip once, if you are planning to come to Melbourne, or if despite living in Melbourne, you have never made it. And thank all those volunteers for me. They are doing an admirable job, keeping Billy alive and...well, puffing!

Musings on a Donkey, and Shakespeare

2005-03-10T10:51:00.000+11:00

The world is full of such interesting happenings that it is a wonder people ever get bored. All they have to do is to follow at least one funny news incident a day and life will be the better for it. Take for instance this incident in Colombia. The police there have arrested a donkey named Pacho, after a motorcycle crashed into it, with the motorcyclist sustaining serious injuries. Why, you ask? Well, what happens when there is an accident? The vehicles are impounded, that’s what happens, so the donkey had to be taken into custody. And to be fair to the donkey, the motorcycle has also been impounded till the case is concluded.

But still, arresting a donkey? That’s going a little too far! What would they do, I wonder. Read out the Miranda rights to it? Rather tricky too for any attorney representing Pacho. Major communication problem, I’d say! At any rate, it gives animal rights' activists something more to think about and do.

Ok, I can hear you mutter, that is just what the world needs, another donkey arrest. But hey, think of it as a comic relief amidst life’s endless tragedies. At least, I personally find it funnier than the Act V Scene 1 comic relief in Hamlet. Maybe it’s just me, but I can’t see what is amusing about musing over a skull, with a few thee’s and thou’s thrown in for good measure. The idea of a comedy was vastly different in Shakespearean times than it is today, I suppose. I mean, ever read his so-called comedies? I don’t have anything personal against Shakespeare, as so many others I know seem to have, but somehow his comedies don’t just seem funny. Midsummer’s Night Dream for instance – the only thing funny about that is Bottom, the weaver. Come on, admit it, at least the name is funny, if nothing else is. Or the other play where everyone impersonates everyone else – I don’t remember the name of that one – was it All’s Well That Ends Well or As You Like It…well, no matter. The point is I have tried, believe me, but I simply couldn’t find anything funny in any of his comedies, and have since concluded that a Shakespearean comedy is a play that is not a Shakespearean tragedy, which by the way is simply a play where everyone drops off the stage like flies by the end of Scene V, either by getting killed or by committing suicide, but with enough time, either way, to finish an elaborate soliloquy.

But I digress. I started talking about poor Pacho. While I certainly find the arrest of Pacho a comic relief, there is the point of view of Pacho himself to be considered. The poor animal hurt his legs and his owner Nelson Gonzalez is caring for him in the impound yard at Arauca. The proverbial second side of every coin – one man’s comedy is another donkey’s tragedy. Oh, now I get it…Ophelia’s tragedy was the grave digger’s comedy – so that is how Scene V Act I in Hamlet is a comic relief! Finally, thanks to musing on Pacho’s predicament, I have unwittingly matured enough to be able to appreciate the fine sense of humour that Shakespeare has so subtly woven (and so superbly disguised) into his works!

I hope Pacho gets released soon. I suspect I am some kind of an animal rights' activist myself, and it pains me to see an injured animal being impounded for no fault of his. At least, that is what Gonzalez says. He was in front of the animal and the motorcyclist saw him. So, no one, says Gozalez, should try and pin the blame on the donkey. Apparently, it is ok to pin tails to donkeys, but not tales, especially when the said donkey is allegedly blameless.

Here's where I read this news item by the way.

http://theage.com.au/news/World/Police-arrest-donkey/2005/03/09/1110316051236.html

Calling Cards - you definitely don't get to call the cards!!

2005-03-09T11:51:00.000+11:00

One of the inevitable essentials for anyone staying away from one's home country is a “calling card” to be able to call folks back home. Of course, one may have gone away from one's home country for the express purpose of being far away from the folks back home, but that still does not permit one the escape from the weekly or fortnightly routine of calling to say "everything is just fine, Mom, we are completely snowed in, probably can't get out of the house for the next two days, running rather low on supplies, but everything is fine."

Telephone companies, as a general rule, believe that if you really want to call international from your home phone, you must either be frightfully rich, so you can afford the charges or you are completely insane, so it doesn’t really matter how much you are charged. And for all those who fall in between these two extremes - the neither evilly rich nor utterly batty ones - there are always the calling cards.

Most of the calling cards have such flamboyant names; the more sedate ones are often the “Good Morning” cards…Good Morning Asia, Good Morning India, Good Morning Sudan, Good Morning Vietnam…well, you get the general idea. So, if your dreams had ever included being an early morning radio show host, this is the card you go for. You’d of course find common ones, no matter which country you go to, displaying a frightful lack of originality – cards like Talk Big, Big Talk, Mega Talk, Talk Mega, Long Talk, Talk Long – you get the general idea again, I am sure.

The really uncanny thing about these calling cards is the amount of time you get to talk on any card. As you plod manfully (or womanfully, if you please. I am not trying to be sexist) through the array of brochures trying to find the card that best suits you, you stumble upon one that looks tempting. $10 only, and you can talk till the cows come home. Out comes the wallet, with a tenner, and the card is all yours. You rush home to parade your acumen to your wife…”there, now you can speak to your hearts’ content, and ne’er a worry shall alight upon your fair head.”

What you’ve obviously failed to read is the small print. Come now, there is always the small print to anything you buy, or didn’t you know that? And the small print says something like “on a single use only”. You realize what that actually means only after you’ve made a few calls using the card. In your infinite intelligence and resourcefulness, you probably have already calculated just how many people you can call using the card.

A twenty-minute call to the parents, you say, and another twenty to the in-laws. Then, there is Aunt Usha, who has to be called at least once a month, or she’ll think you have forgotten your favourite aunt. There would, quite obviously, be the odd Uncle Vasu and the occasional Cousin Anand who have migrated to the USA in search of greener pastures. Then, there all the friends who were with you at college and school, and friends who were with your wife during her college and school. So you finally, draw the line across the little notebook you use to calculate your expenses, and tell yourself, not without a little pride, “Hundred minutes for ten dollars! Pretty good, what?”

Merrily, you begin to make your calls according to plan, sticking religiously to the twenty-minute routine. You are understandably thrilled at hearing the tinny recording “You have ten dollars left. Please dial the number you wish to reach….” The thrill is noticeably lesser when you make your second call. You swear by the stopwatch you’ve been using that you have only spoken for twenty minutes on your first call, yet the voice says with authority, “You have six dollars left. Please dial…”

By the time you reach the third call, you are straining to hear correctly…but the fateful voice goes on, completely unaware, and even if marginally aware, entirely unmindful of the turmoil in you, “You have two dollars left.” Now you have to choose who you want to call. Uncle Vasu and Aunt Usha are carefully weighed in the scales of your mind. After painful deliberation, you finally call the aunt, and before you can say hello, the ominous voice speaks again, “You have one minute left. This call will be disconnected if you do not recharge your card.”

As you stare in bewilderment at your wife, she points out the small print that you had failed to read: ‘on a single use only.’ And then it dawns upon you, like sunrise upon the snowy Himalayan peaks – if you made just one call with the card, then, you could speak till the cows came home for ten dollars. No, I don’t mean the cows come home for ten dollars, I mean you can speak that long for ten dollars.

After burning increasingly large holes in my wallet, I have now become decidedly wiser. Poorer, but wiser. I have stopped using calling cards, no matter how fancy the name, or how much time the cows are given to come home. I have switched to internet telephony. PC-to-Phone is my mantra now. How phony that is I am yet to find out; perhaps I might even pen my thoughts about that here, one day, but for now it suits my budget best. Besides, I know exactly how the money is being spent, and there are no more tinny voices to tell me how much I have left, thank you very much.