Val de l'Arc

At around dusk on a late summer evening,
by the dark woods on the banks of the river Arc ,

Sitting under the shade of a climber covered tree,
Watching geese and ducks return to the river,

Accompanied by the sounds of flowing water
I took my flute lessons in Nature's own theatre..

...till an army of angry red ants decided to give
some stinging criticism to end the cacophony..!

Lingering memories

Having written verbiose descriptions of my experiences, I still feel like missing out on a few really strange incidents,nice people, weird thoughts..
I will devote no more than a few sentences for each, but each of them have created a lasting impression on me.

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The skydive :
The onward journey from Singapore to Paris took me right over Southern India, over Madurai and other towns. It was so difficult to control this crazy thought, to pick up a parachute and eject myelf outta the plane, to take a short holiday in India.
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Kavithai in CDG
The 5 hour transit time in Charles de Gaulle Airport,Paris saw me bring out the only tamil poetry book I managed to take along - Vairamuthu Kavithaigal. In addition to being captivated by the imaginative similes, I also briefly attempted describing the same in English to my colleague. I dont know how much of the meaning was lost in translation !
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Lonely planet
Solitude during weekends sometimes became unbearable, and made me prefer weekdays spent in office instead. This drove me out of the hotel, and I was travelling alone to nearby places by bus,train and even boats. This was possible due the companionship of such inanimate objects like my camera, the music player and of course a Lonely Planet guide.
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Notre Dame
After trudging uphill the mountain atop which is the Notre Dame Basilica of Marseilles, I paused to regain my breath. I was greeted by the toothless but warm smile of this frail old woman, who started to mutter what sounded like an essay to me in French. She understood very little English, but that did not prevent her from taking me along to the drinking water tap, and show me the utilities in the church. I observed that she seemed to suffer from a nervous problem, which made her extremely restless -moving and gesturing with strange swift movements. Her unexpected kindness made me stay a bit longer, and attend the Sunday evening mass, though I could'nt follow a word of the sermon--only the phrase "Anbae Sivam" ( Love is God) ringed thru my mind all the while..
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Happy Pizzas - happy to be eaten by you.
This is how I was welcomed to the shop of this amazing Goan gentleman- Fred Vaz. Hours were spent discussing every perceivable topic, in the aroma of pizzas in the making. Fred's shop in Aix, was possibly the only place to get a Tandoori chicken pizza in France. With such nice conversations, warm pizzas, and irresistable discounts for NRIs it was my most preferred hangout in the evenings. Eventually we became good friends and was even introduced to his lovely family,some of whom became fine critics of my blog and photos, receivers of 1hr crash courses on sambar-making and SLR photography.
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Sacre Coeur
On a visit to this church in a place called Montmarte in Paris, my friend Praveen decided to stay a bit longer than others, lost in a silent prayer. I just sat with him without exchanging many words. What made this event extraordinary was that, he had returned to church after 'years' of being a non-believer. There were no confessions to be made, but for me the moment was heavily inundated with thoughts on faith, prayer, and spirituality.
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Shuttle service
One big reason to goto office, was to be able to play badminton in the evening after work , with the perfectly matched team I ever played with - a group of interns Said, Eva and Eric. Each had his/her own style and everybody else knew their weakness too. Sports has its own way to bringing together people from diverse backgrounds, and forging some excellant friendships over a competitive match or a point conceded out of fairplay.
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Samba(r) beats
I was really starved of Indian food, either self-cooked or outside for nearly 3 months. I had no motivation to cook good traditional dishes just for myself. But right in the last week of my stay in France, I got to make and share sambar and other south-indian vegetarian dishes in 2 different occasions. Cooked with minimum oil, and less spice than normal, it became a lot more palatable to the French tongues. It gives such great pleasure to prepare and present ones native dishes and seeing being emptied in before you take the second helping..!
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Aliases
Whenever I had the courage to try out some new untried foodstuff, the ones which resembled in taste and appearance to typical Indian dishes were the most loved. For instance Spanish Payela - to Hyderabadi Biriyani, Moroccan Tagine to Kaarakuzhambu, Lebanese Felafel to Keerai Vadai , Algerian Cous Cous to Upma, or Bretagne's Crepes to the crispy Dosais..the list is endless.
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Persistence
Having typed all of the above online, and after clicking "Post", losing all of the text due to internet problem- thus relearning the lesson to use a text-editor to create posts for the umteenth time of my life. And reliving and retyping all of the above memories one more time..

Unarnthu ezhudhiyadhu

Edhai thanimai enalaam ?

Thaayum thanthaiyum illamaiyaa ?
illai..illai...
Thambi thamakkai illamaiya ?
illai..illai...
Thozhano thozhiyo illamaiya ?
adhuvum illai...

Thamizh ingu illamai thaan,
Tha.......ni.....mai enakku !

Scaling Saint Victoire

Anybody who happens to come to Aix en Provence or the nearby villages of Trets, Rousset, Tholonet cannot miss the imposing presence of this majestic and grey-white mountain Saint Victoire. Almost everyday of my stay here, I have been enjoying the different views of this mountain during sunny, cloudy or rainy weather.
After the first weeks of stay, even before the idea strikes your mind people start to ask the question “Have you climbed the Saint Victoire?” Its not a towering peak, and not a part of the mighty Alps, and stands at just over 1010 metres above MSL. It does not sound like an impossible challenge, but I was not able to find somebody to accompany me to the top. To make it too hot to handle for me, there was warning of forest fires, and the whole area had restricted access during the summer months. Whoever wants to be a half burnt hot dog on an adventure trip?

Two months and a dozen friends later, the chances improved, and a group of 3 friendly interns Said, Cedric and Virginie agreed to pull me along on an assault on the mount. We went ahead like pro rock-climbers and did not actually heed the weather reports and predictions for the day. We went on a long drive and somewhere near Puyloubier found a track to the Saint-Victoire. After snapping a few start-of-trek photos, the expedition begun. We proceeded along a route marked with black dashes, with no idea of the colour coding conventions of mountain tracks, if there were any.

A few hundred metres later the inclination of the climb started to increase considerably. Very soon we started to stare blankly and near-vertical walls of rock, with a small crevice here and there for a toe hold or a few fingers. The amateur dare-devils decided to go ahead and managed to scale a few challenging rocks. Soon, exhaustion started to peek into the affairs, and all of a sudden a referendum was held to decide whether we should continue or not. Surprisingly 75% of the population decided to continue further. But a few steps ahead and we heard a clap of thunder emerging from the dangerous looking clouds we were ignoring all the while.

The prospect of facing a storm midway up a shelter-less mountain was not an interesting idea. Amidst a drizzle that slowly graduated to a steady rain, we came thundering down the slopes, slipping and sliding at places. That’s when I hoped very badly that spectacles had some wipers on them! Just after we reached the reassuring interiors of the car, a hail storm started to clutter!

For the next one week, it’s difficult to describe the feelings every time I saw the mountain. It seemed to personify an unfinished challenge. I also learnt that we had unknowingly taken the toughest route, meant for rock climbers with the right gear.
The next weekend I teamed up with another pal Arnaud, (nicknamed Puma, for his extreme agility in the badminton court). He had seen the top of the mountain twice and knew the route to some extent.

This time we took a combination of red and blue tracks and the climb was easier and the weather not bad. There were quite a few breath taking views to be seen, once we reached the higher reaches of the mountain. Almost near the top was a small, church with a small group of people who had reached there earlier. We met a 78-year old man who said he climbs the mountain every week, and volunteers for the upkeep of the church and the surroundings! Further up, at the peak there is this huge Cross which is the visible target for the people who climb the mountain. Destination reached, landscape photos taken, what better way to celebrate it than with a bar of chocolate and chilled water?

Fungus in your cheese ...

This happened in a small party in Singapore. One guy with a terrible cold and blocked nose took it and found nothing strange, one food loving chap took it with some initial surprise and difficulty but eventually finished it and the third could even swallow the first tiny mouthful of …….
The Blue Cheese of Roquefort(no points for guessing the food loving guy here..)

This is a special variety of strong smelling and tasting cheese, which can mean paradise for most French tongues and the paralysis of unsuspecting palettes from other countries. It’s not so difficult to understand such a reaction, if you can visibly see some grey-blue colonies of the fungi Penicillium Roqueforti eating through the insides of the cheese, in addition to the smell and strong taste. The earliest mention of this type of cheese was in 76AD loved by the Romans, and Casanova is said to have associated Roquefort cheese with Chambertin wine to seduce women! But since I have a special affinity to fatty food stuff of all kinds, this fromage (cheese) triggered my curiosity.

I visited the origin of this strange cheese, in a place called Roquefort, and in the insides of a set of natural caves owned by Société, on the top of a mountain, formed by geological perturbances. The conditions inside the caves are said to be a biological heaven for the fungi, with the precise temperature and humidity in which they thrive. There were certain windows in the rock structures called fluerines, through which the cold air blew inside the caves and circulated the volume of air inside.

But the ambience was certainly not for humans- outside the cave, at the time we went, it must have been about 25° C, and inside if fell sharply, bringing out the need for warm clothing, to 8° C ! So I had to endure the long lecture in French about the legend of Roquefort cheese (by a plump guy who seemed to feed exclusively on it) in hunger, darkness and continuous shivering. But fortunately at the end of the tour we were invited to taste samples of 3 varieties of the cheese, of increasing strength; I was not tasting it, but feasting on it. The souvenir that I bought from the place was completely edible- a portion of Société, Cave des Templiers, and Caves Baragnaudes kinds of cheeses.

But there was something with this species of fungi which delivered me an unexpected surprise later on. I enjoyed a pack of Roquefort cheese and kept it in the refrigerator. During the time, they were quietly getting used the ambience inside my fridge, and found it quite hospitable; and well stocked too! Anything else that was left uncovered in the fridge was seen as important stockpiles of calories to be inherited by the future generations of the fungi through their off-spring spores. So anybody who wants to develop a good immunity, just need to take a whiff from the grey-bluish green internals of my ice box!

Classic Calanques

The south-eastern coast of France to the east of Marseille is blessed with warm waters, sand and pebble beaches close to some amazing and massive rock structures bordering the sea, called Calanques. Scenic that these things are, the tourists just love them.

One of the weekends a colleague of mine, Christophe invited me over to his parents place in a village called Saint Cyr and I was only too glad to join him, to escape from the suffocating boredom of the hotel. Tophe, along with his wife Valerie, son Bastien and lovely little Amandine took me through a circuitous route driving up, and stopped in the middle to show me a cliff. Looking below the dizzying heights of the cliff, we saw stunning views of the sea, the town of La Ciatat and calanques of Cassis. It was nearly impossible to capture the depth of the cliff in a photo, even with wide-angled shots.

Tophe’s parents were a warm and friendly couple, with his mother being the Goddess of Home-made Desserts for a sweet-toothed disciple like me. After a sumptuous dinner and walk along the beach, I went to sleep without any expectations of the adventure filled weekend to follow.

Next morning saw us go on a long trek along the hilly coast, through some bushy forest area. Tophe and Valerie were quite athletic, and I was lagging behind them while seeing my well preserved calories being burnt away. Despite the desolate beauty of the place, it was a bit frustrating to see how some people had cleared some restricted forest area to have an unobstructed view of the sea from their sea-side homes. At end of the walk, we arrived at a beach where we were to meet the rest of the family.

Tophe handed me a pair of goggles and mouth pipe, and for the first time in my life I went for diving in the beach. For a poor swimmer who had marveled at the vibrant diversity of marine life only in TV channels like the Discovery or National Geographic, it was an ‘eye-opening’ experience. In the 2 days I dived a few times, saw some interesting fish and marine plants and gained in confidence. This inspires me greatly to explore the tropical waters in SE Asia.
After having tea made the Indian way (with milk, lottsa sugar and froth), the evening was ‘petanqued’ up, along with some more friends from ST. Late in the evening, we visited an ancient village Le Castellet with its houses of stone, and had dinner at with Crepes of Brittany- the French version of wheat dosai with topping.

On Sunday morning, I woke up at (an unearthly hour of) 6am, to accompany Christophe on a ‘hunt’ as an apprentice. He happens to be a serious diver with all the right gear, costume and harpoon to carry out fishing under water. On the way to his hunting waters we had to climb down a small cliff. I found that while Tophe we carrying his heavy equipment and walked like other homo-sapiens do; I was on all-fours for most of the descent! When he went into aqua-mode, I had all the time in the world to take quite a few abstract photos about joys of an amphibian existence. But I don’t remember the subtle meanings behind the images, when I see them in the computer now!

That afternoon, I was entrusted with the responsibility of at least 10 lives, by being asked to cook some Indian dish for lunch. The famous Indian spices company MTR, came to my rescue again, and I made some Puliodharai(tamarind rice) of varying spice levels, and the natives improvised by adding some coconut milk to the mix, to get a less pungent sauce for the kids.

In Love with the Louvre

Most people, who have read the novel “Da Vinci Code” for the first time, would probably feel an irresistible urge to visit the actual site of the events in the story- namely the famous museum in Paris- the Louvre. I too had similar interests but by the time I got a chance to visit the place, it was so overwhelming that I forgot the incidents in the novel altogether.

The general flow of events that could happen to a first time visitor like me is:
Great initial interest in the museum and careful observation of the first 20 or 30 works of art. Spend decreasing amounts of time with each exhibit like skimming the pages of a book.
By the time fatigue creeps in, discover that one has just reached the beginning of the best section.
After about half the galleries are seen, succumb to the sensory overload and return with streaming illusions of contrasting images, sculptures.

Its quite easy to take good looking photos here, since many of the exhibits are awesome and all you have to do is take photos. But that’s exactly what everybody else has in mind too; the biggest challenge is to take pictures without being dominated by the images of the countless tourists. The worst was the gallery which housed the Mona Lisa, was simply overcrowded with digital camera wielding paparazzi photographing it, while she seems to smile with a tinge of sarcasm at the admiring crowd.

But after this anti climax, we went around the art gallery containing medium size to HUGE paintings, and the play of lights and shades by the artists, and the emotions and expressions of the subjects gave most of them a photo like quality. We could have gone taking more photos as much as our cameras allowed, but the memory capacity in our brains were overloaded with the incredible images. it was time to move on, not to the next collections, but to other inspirations that Paris had to offer.

Operation Saint Michel

Take the evening train to Lyon from Aix by the TGV, disguised as a weekend traveler.

To confuse anybody following you, wonder about Lyon train station and take the train to Gare de Lyon (station) of Paris instead.

On arrival at 11pm, do not ask directions from people, and do not take out the Lonely planet guide, for this will reveal the fact that you have arrived in Paris for the first time.

Follow the maps, and walk with the air of a Parisien, going home after long day at work.

Take the train to the metro station Saint Michel.

Its in the heart of the most vibrant student quarter, but ignore other pedestrians.

Wedged in between 2 shops,is 39,Boulevard Saint Michel guarded by a heavy dark green door.

Key in the code 421X7(all names and numbers in this post have been changed since this is a public post) at the keypad, and the door will open to a narrow dark corridor. Close the door on entering.

On your left,there would be plenty of mail boxes. You will grope in the dark and find an envelope on the top of the mail boxes with the name Paul BASCIGNARD written on it.

You can open it, and you will find the key of the mail box of the flat,
which is the one with the name ROUSSEAU on it, in which you will find the key
of the flat inside.

Since there is no light in the corridor, you are allowed to use your cellphone as a torch to find the envelopes, mailbox and keyholes.

You can use the plastic access key to open the door at the end of the
corridor.

Climb the flight of creaky wooden stairs without unnecessary pauses, which can cause suspicion.

The flat is at the first floor on the left, use the second steel key to open it.

To reach your room, you need to cross the entrance hall, the dining room with the big table on the right and the room is on your right.

Now switch on the table lamp, near the bed, and you will find a letter addressed to you, confirming your approach. If not .... ?

-----------------------------------------
This is not the first page of my botched attempt to write a spy novel. Its EXACTLY what I did to reach the apartment of my friend Olivier in Paris. The part of the operation starting from entering the apartment, was actually designed by his friend who had worked as a military officer.

With a beginning like this, my weekend to Paris had all the makings of an unforgettable adventure. When I demostrated the same procedure the following night to my classmate Praveen, he exclaimed " If it had been me, I would given up and taken a room in some hotel !"

But how many times have you lived through an experience like this ??

Running after one's bus..

For all those who have declared that weight-loss does not exist in my dictionary and that plumpness runs in the family-
For all those who measured my body mass index and put me in the 'mildly obese' category-
For all those who assumed that my weight is a monotonically increasing function of time -
And for my mom, who used to feel extremely happy of my achievement, whenever I said "I have NOT piled on any more weight" -

I weighed 70.2 kilos as on 04th September 2005, measured at around 2pm. That’s a solid 5 kilos lesser than previously set personal record of 75.6K when I was in S’pore.

It would be too easy to assume that this is due to the decreased intake of unfamiliar food in a foreign country. But I have been feasting on the vegetarian delicacies that French food has to offer, especially the liberal helpings of various types of fromage(cheese) and desserts.

Dieting is always out of question for a life-long glutton like me.

Even the attempts to move my mass around in the badminton court twice a week, cannot explain this effect well enough.

It has to be my new found passion in running to catch the bus!

‘Late-comerosis’ has been my disease all these years, and I unwilling supported the notion that “Punctuality is the art of waiting for others, who are late”. But today, it has led me to the discovery of a new sport which has all qualities of speed, endurance, thrill, strategic time management, humour and of course weight-loss.

It started in my first week in France, when I missed a bus to office, without knowing that it’s the last bus in the morning. After a series of misadventures, I reached office during lunchtime, 3.5 hours after starting from the hotel, alerting a number of my colleagues who took great efforts to get in touch with my hotel.

I tried to change. But since I could not wake up any earlier, I had to run faster, and for a longer distance to catch the bus. This was also the case in the evening, as my office is situated a good 435 running steps away from the bus stop.

Eventually I grew to like this jog-a-run to the bus, and didn’t mind spending some extra minutes at home or office than any sane person should. I could be seen Forrest Gumping my way to the bus stop, quite predictably on most of the days.

My friends traveling with me from Aix, often laughed when they found me sprinting towards the bus, and stagger into the bus puffing and panting. One even suffered a minor heart attack, when he found me WAITING for the bus one day! I may not be able to beat an athlete in terms of speed. But if the choice is between catching the last bus, and spending the night in office, I can easily surprise a few slow minds.

Having tried unsuccessfully the more dangerous sports of 'foot-board-traveler' , and 'jumping-on-and-off' moving buses in India, I suggest this game to all procrastinating souls, as a safe and exciting way to a healthy lifestyle.

Soccer mania

Aug 23 , 2005
I found myself inching towards the entrance of the Vélodrome Statium in Marseille, wading across a sea of blue-tshirts. ALL of them were fans of the local football team- Olympique de Marseille waiting to gain entry to the finals of the UEFA Intertito Cup to be played versus the Spaniards La Corogne- Deportivo.

I have never watched a cricket match or for that matter ANY match from a stadium in India. And here I was going to a soccer match in Marseille, to see 2 teams playing, either of which I did not know.

But my neutrality did not last long. Something in my appearance, made the security guy describe the security procedure in Spanish to me, instead of French. Anybody would guess, that it isnt a fantastic idea to look like a fan of the foreign team, sitting beside a horde of atleast 30000 supporters. I bought a official OM cap, which was to be a life-saver and souvenir at the same time...

The home team was 2 down in the first encounter with Deportivo, and had to score a lead of atleast 3 goals to win the cup. Thats already too much to ask to a pretty average team playing against a stronger team, and losing their strong defender to injury.

My main objective was to soak in the frenzied atmosphere, and witness the peoples emotions and crowd behaviour. The energy in the stands for so high and the sight of people jumping and singing in the stands was great. As always I forgot to bring my camera in the most crucial moment. Besides the stadium is like a university for learning the juiciest foul language that French has to offer, during missed goals, opponents fouls, referees mistakes and other unfavourable situations.

There is a critical difference in how they expressed their discouragement for the rival team, and for support for home team. Clapping hands, and crying "Allez Allez!" is counted as expressions of support, but whistling loud with the fingers in the mouth is to disapprove the opponents gains and goals- which is just the opposite in India- whistling aloud is the strongest (and eardrum piercing) way to express your approval. So I had to check myself not to whistle when the home team scored !

And there were lots of such emotional outbursts to follow: OM scored in the first 4 minutes, and conceded one before the celebration for the first goal were over ! This meant they had to score 3 more to win the match. Except a few missed goals and yellow cards, nothing seemed to happen till the last 15 minutes of the second half.

While I was losing hope, my friend Eric who is a passionate supporter of OM seemed to need some moral support for himself. So given the critical stage of the match, I offered that by saying, I too would support OM for 1 year if they lead by 1, 2 years if they lead by 2, and lifelong supporter if they won with 3 lead. I let out some long vocal chants of "Om!", to invoke some divine support from the heavens.

And OM won the match 5-1 !

I leave it to your imagination the sights and sounds of the stadium, after such a result by the home team, which stood no chances to win before the match began....

Petanque pretensions..

Right from the first week I landed in France, I was introduced to this hitherto unheard game called petanque. Now I wonder why did the French keep it to themselves, unlike the English who went about pitching 3 stumps and playing cricket in whichever corner of the world they went .

The best part of the game is that anybody with functioning semi-circular canals in their ears (balance organs), and a reasonable grasp of the simple notions of 3 dimensional space around them, relative velocity, law of conservation of linear momentum, the variation of accelaration due to gravity with respect to altitude, and the coefficient of friction of surfaces can pick up the game in no time. ( whew !!)

To describe the same in English, you need to throw boulles (balls) made of solid metal very close to a tiny plastic ball called cochonnet ( pig ball:)
--now it sounds like my kinda game !

Readers are not to confuse this with the ancient Indian strategy games of gilli and goli.

Then come the specific roles of pointers and shooters in the team roughly doing the jobs of arranging and deranging the boulles. But however careful and calculated you are in your launches, the little stones in the mud track, and the slope of the field, and grass if any can alter the best throws. This adds an element of uncertainty for good players, and a ray of hope for bad players!!

The game is to be played with gentlemanly spirit, and all conflicts related to deciding whose boulle is closer to the cochonnet are to be resolved with peaceful measuring devices like dried grass, strings drawn from your opponents t-shirt, or vernier callipers. The players are strongly discouraged from using the metal balls as ballistic objects during an argument or practicing shotput at the opponent teams best pointer.

One can easily imagine a setting where Asterix and Obelisk playing this game in ancient Gaul. So the French guys seem to have petanque in their blood. But people who spent their childhood playing underarm bowling while playing cricket in the extremely confined spaces (bedroom, corridor etc) have a good advantage to start with. Those who love bowling in alleys may not like the mud, dirt that accumulates in the special shoes they use.

To know more about the game, do not expect me to add some useful links, but please go ahead and search it out in google !

Le Moulin de Len - THE weekend

Reached David's mill, just about the time the gang returned from their trek. I was the only Indian in the party of about 30 people and while I struggled with my French, some others struggled with their Anglais to get ourselves introduced. I discovered quite a few people I had never met, but had one or more links to people I know in India or Singapore.

Very soon we got down to business - eating our dinner and dancing around the fire. Included in menu was a particular snack which looked exactly like a sweet brownie with almonds, but want infact turned out to be salted dish made very skillfully from pork blood ! The main dish was aligot -a speciality of Aveyron region (fortunately for a herbivore like me) made out of potatoes and cheese..

I had brought along some packets of instant South Indian dish- Upma, the only ones I had brought from S'pore that remained with me. I had David's wife Marylene as my brand ambassador, who gracefully introduced the dish in French to the guests and made them taste it. The responses varied from -- "C èst bon !" with a thankful hug- from those who loved spicy food, but missed it in France -----to a muted scream and scramble to the nearest source of ice water/ cold beer by those who are not used to being "spiced up".

Some of them exacted revenge by offering me to taste a lil bit of nice home-made wine, asking me to appreciate the fruity taste of the wine. I gulped down the the colourless stuff like water, and burst out with a cough just like those who have their first puff of cigarette- the wine was revealed to be 5 years older than me (1976) and had an alcohol content of 40-45% !! I heard some chuckles in a whizzing and twirling background....

The music began with some songs from the 70's and 80's to which the children below 6 and above 60 began to dance, and were showing us some nice simple steps, and everybody joined in too. As the pace quickened and the kids tired out, the 20 or 30 somethings stepped up the tempo.

Then I was given an opportunity add some Indian twist to the dance.. Thanks to ARRahman's Boys album and my classmate Ashwin's impatient dance coaching -- managed to evoke a decent response from the crowd for the kind of dance that they see in Bollywood movies. The party went on till 5am, and the folks retired after the long workout.

The next day, the main activity was fishing in a pond near the mill, with some trout in it. I discovered the art and science of being an angler. I was taught how to make a fishing rod from a long slender tree branch, carving a notch, adding the string, the plumbs, the hook, and finally the sport of catching some grasshoppers for the bait ! Though I knew I would never eat the only fish I managed to catch, I wanted to learn the skill after watching Tom Hanks struggle to learn it in the movie "Cast Away".. Hope I never end up as a Robinson Crusoe to test those skills....

In the evening there was some time for petanque, a different ball game native to France, which the French never bothered to spread it to their colonies, unlike the British who sowed the seeds of cricket craze in their colonies. I shall devote a separate blog for the joys of playing petanque.

This night was relatively peaceful, with some simple food, friendly chat and some pleasant music, and none of the head banging excitement of the previous night. But it wasnt to be a tame end : we played a game called werewolves and the villagers, was supposed a game of strategy and logical reasoning, but with my limited understanding of French and the game rules, I found it funny and chaotic. I was smiling too much, aroused the suspicion of al players, and was exterminated in quick time.

The next morning was to undo all the party destruction we had caused, and pack up all the preparations. And then we proceeded to Roquefort caves, and Coivourturage..

I realised this was the only weekend I did not feel like being away from home, with all the human company and friends to talk and share.

The way to Saint Affrique..

" Enjoy the paths and pleasures of the journey, as much as the final destination"

The destination was a mill near the countryside in a village called Saint Affrique, near the town Millau, in the Aveyron region somewhere in south central part of France. I would be surprised if you can find this place in Google Earth..

One of my friends working in Singapore, David had returned to France to spend his vacations, and for the third year he was organising a party for his friends in here. The concept is pretty simple: eat, drink, dance and loaf around in the rural settings, without the distractions of TV, internet etc..

I managed to cling onto other friends' car (Stephane and Albanne), for the ride to Len, and we passed thru some beautiful and varied landscape -

starting from dry sunny burnt out Provence which endured some recent forest fires,

delta plains of the Grand Rhone river- Camargue with wild horses and bulls as permanent residents,

steep mountains on the way to Millau offering scenic views,

a plateau with blonde grass and green shrubs for miles without a single tree in sight,

rustic agrarian villages by the hillside....

I would not have reached the destination if I wanted to stop to take pictures at every interesting place..

Since we could not join our hosts in time for a trek, we went around the town Millau (pronounced something like Meeyouw). We walked along the narrow streets, and climbing a 12th century tower. I guess people who lived then did not mind climbing spiralling stairs, with the width just enough for one person, and without much ventilation or windows to improve the claustrophobic confines of the tower.

But atop the tower we could clearly see the pride of Millau - a newly built, massively tall bridge carrying the highway. It is positioned between 2 mountains to take the aeriel route avoiding the valley in which Millau rests. To get an idea of the height of the thing, few of the pillars supporting the pont (bridge in French) are said to be taller than the Eiffel tower ! Later we passed under the bridge and marvelled at the engineering effort needed to construct it.

On the way to our final destination, Stephane suddenly exclaimed " Ah !! the wonderful smell of country", and rolled down the car windows.. While I was expecting the fragrance of some orchids typical to that region or some smell from the fields of some crop.. I was hit by the earthy odour of fresh fuming bovine excreta (commonly referred to as bull shit). I need not have come all the way from Mambalam, Chennai with all the slow moving cows-on-the-street to experience this sample of gobar-gas!!

We reached the Moulin(mill) by evening and the fun was yet to begin...

Another date with (d)anger

Barely a month since I jotted down my experimental techniques for anger management, fate presented me with another chance and a lot of time for practising those skills. 13 hours to be precise! That’s the amount of delay I had to endure in a simple 4-hour flight from Chennai to Singapore, via Colombo.

Since I didn’t have the necessary apparatus as described in the first post, to deal with the anger, I had to rediscover and reinvent a few. And 13 hours in 4 different airports is a lot of opportunity to resort to different techniques, especially designed to resist prolonged frustration attacks.

On a rare rainy day in Chennai, a heart filled with post-diwali joy, and suitcase filled with lovely sweets and savouries, I was all set for a journey of a few thousand kilometres across the Bay of Bengal.

Scenario 1: Dealing with delay on a hungry stomach
After a number of innovative security procedures, and delightful restrictions, I reached the waiting lounge to board the flight. I had a camera bag, and one carrying laptop, but the security guys didn’t like 2 bags, so I was forced to hurriedly buy one massive jute bag (koani pie) to put the stuff. Then I was gleefully allowed to pass thru, just to be told that the flight is delayed by 2 hours since the runway was flooded caused by a dead rodent clogging the storm-water drains.

Technique 1: Search for alternate entertainment/distraction
I was suffering from a temporary loss of interest in cricketing affairs, after yet another humiliating exit by the Indian cricket team from a prestigious tournament. But that wet night witnessed the display of some icy cool temperament of an English cricketer Kevin Pietersen, who steered his team right out of a hell-hole to the bosoms of sweet victory, all the while having the unfazed expression of an corpse who died while watching a repeat performance of a boring drama! By the time England hit the winning runs, I was so engrossed with the thrilling match, that the flight attendants had to wean me away from the idiot box, tempting me with a well prepared dinner onboard.

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The hour-long flight to Colombo was quite uneventful, and didn’t give a clue of what lay ahead of us. On landing at the Airport with a connecting flight in less than at hour at around midnight, I was ready to the slow-motion sprint act. We were then informed that that flight was cancelled due to flooding (again) and delayed by 7 hours till morning. Then multiple scenarios presented themselves one after another -

Scenario 2: Stuck inside a queue that is like a snakes' intestine (and the reptile is suffering from alimentary congestion! )
I found myself standing hopelessly in a queue, which was supposed to lead us to allocation of hotel accommodation, with nobody actually revealing the truth that the airport was cut-off from the rest of city due to flooding of the connecting roads. Watching people constantly complaining in muted tones, executives losing cool with the airport staff, and queue-breakers trying to advance in a line that’s never going to move!

Technique 2: Music from outside and within
Started to listen to music from my hard-disk player on a low battery, listening to slow melodies, instead of fast energetic numbers, which I tactically estimated, might consume more power. Despite my power saving efforts with advanced logic, the music lasted for 2 songs, and ended abruptly with the squeaking sound of a common lizard being accidentally stepped on under your bare feet.
It was time to put inside the hardware player and bring out the software based music player inside my brain - my inbuilt infinity mp3 player.. Like any lover of music, we possess memories of a huge list of favourite songs. With some training during sleep-less nights, I can now invoke any song from memory and play it in low-fi mode. A few minutes later, irritated bystanders were staring a foot-tapping, head-nodding, hip-shaking and whisper-singing moron enjoying himself in pure solitary and guilt-free pleasure, while they were fretting and fuming for no apparent reason.
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Scenario 3: No Acco, No bed, no silence, no darkness, no fellow-travellers, no sleep, no food, no nothing for 7 hours starting from midnight.

Technique 3: Victimise other victims by boring them with insipid conversation
Looked around for other suffering souls and found 2 poor guys - one from B'lore and the other from Hyd'bad. And we started our own deccan chronicles, talking about everything from politics to pot-holes, heated discussions about the security guy who disallowed me from shooting pictures of some colourful masks on display, but still managed to take this :)

Observing the sales girl who slept fitfully in a shop that sold costly cameras and lenses and open at 3am, about the duty-free shops which accepted any major currency, but returned change in 3 different currencies much to the delight of a coin collector, and a general discussion on the deep shit we were currently in and how we were sadly getting used to the stench.
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Scenario 4: Infinite delays :
till 6am, the information displays read 'departure at 0700hrs', at 7.15am it read 0800am, at 8am it 8.45a, and finally the flight took off at 9am ! (How could the flight take off any earlier, without the crew being able to reach the airport due to ..?? flooding again !! )

Technique 4: Anger -> Frustration -> Sarcasm -> Irony -> Humour -> Peace (-> Moksha)
With every other announcement of further delays, we were no longer losing our temper, but rather remembering the movie 'Terminal', playing games slow-coffee-drinking-race and, for a moment even considered responding to the 'job vacancy for electric trolley-driver’ ads!

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By the time the author of the post landed in Singapore after spending half a day researching anger management, he received a nomination for a Nobel Peace prize and conferred upon an honorary doctorate for saving humanity humbled by hellish horrors due to the hopeless habit of harbouring hatred.

Advanced techniques in Anger Management #1

Those who know me, will probably remember a meek, soft spoken, gentle natured guy who would even feel for stepping on grass, or eating meat for satisfying the palette ;-)
It had almost become become a habit for me not to express anger when it comes, but rather allow the storm to pass, and then think clearly and try to solve the problem. This helps greatly in maintaining important relationships, but sometimes made me feel like the closest human cousin of a spineless sea-cucumber !

Not anymore ! For the last few weeks, the force of anger repeatedly found weak points in the titanium crucible that contained it, and started to leak through the crevices and cracks. It would charge up slowly like a capacitor, and discharge as suddenly as a photographic flash- "tsinppp" . Within seconds the burst of light is gone, but the bad image rendered by the outburst was what is still visible to those on the receiving end -Definitely not the kind of image I would prefer others to have of me....

Last Sunday, I was caught up in a awfully messy situation, and was quickly spitting sparks of fury. Assertive words soon became aggressive action and that later manifested into uncontrollable Angry reactions. If only I had the defects of the cartoon character Hulk, I would have become greener that chlorophyll and given the Earth a Zidanish head-butt!

Fortunately the problem got solved on its own, and i was left with blood throbbing thru my temples, though fully knowing that the situation was under control.Being not used to getting so angry, even my voice crackled, vision blurred and i got even more angry with myself for what was happening to me!

It was about 5.30pm, when I walked out the bloody place and wanted to sit in some quiet seat and relax the nerves. Strangely, extreme anger is a bit like intense infatuation, and quickly to cause the blood sugar level to drop, and I felt ravenously hungry.

Entered the nearest restaurant, and acted cool, patient and talked very politely to the waiters. Browsed thru the menu card, my mind wasnt reading anything. Just went ahead , checked for availability and ordered my MOST favourite dish Panner Dosai, and special masala tea. Then the world turned upside down for the better, and the spirits rose higher, with every morsel of food that went down the oesophagus in peristaltic motion following simple rules of gravity.

I was starting to love it, and at the end of the first helping, I didnt think twice to order my other All-Time Favourite of thayir-Vadai for an extended evening snack session. By the time the yoghurt-soaked Indian salted donuts were safely nested within the mildly acidic linings of my stomach, I was back as the happiest and peace-loving soul that walked this planet. The world outside looked lovely and inviting and I was all set for a pleasant sunday evening....

So the next time, you intend to confess to me or do something silly that would surely attract rumbling thunderstorms in me, just make sure there is some form of eatery nearby. Even a fridge with ample stocks of cheese-cakes, indian sweets, tiramisu or icecream will be enough to formulate a adequate defense strategy !

The IC Designer's analogy of Child-Birth

Ever wondered how closely phases in the birth of a child follows a typical integrated chip development cycle so closely ? If you havent yet, then start now!

The relationship between designer(mom) and internal customer(dad) within the parent company is key to success of the project. Its starts with marketing presentations, feasibility studies, and project planning(courting,proposals,marriage). The designer and internal customer work closely to create the initial requirement spec(zygote).That happens only after severe brainstorming sessions to choose between millions of competing ideas, the most potent one is chosen for implementation(fertilisation process).

The quality of the final product primarily depends on the quality the initial spec (genes) and a typical SoE (System on Embryo) project duration is 38 weeks. Except in the case of identical twins or genetic clones, Intellectual Property rights are in place and there is no violation of copyrights(unique individual)

Once the top-level entity is declared and inputs outputs systems identified, the subsystems start to be declared(differentition) and individual workstations (stem cells)are assigned to start to work on development of systems like neural-network processor core(brain) , various functional macrocells(internal organ systems), analog sensors(eyes,nose,ear) and actuators(hand/legs).There is a constant need for power resources and information to fuel the growth(umblical cord thru placenta)

Project development is monitored by accrediting agencies - Doctors with ultra-sound. The system responds to external inputs like sound, light and many of its output vectors are registered by the designer. Well before the final delivery various simulations have been run (heart, organs start functioning) and actuators begin testing phase inside the womb itself(kicking and moving inside).

Project delivery is a difficult time for the designers getting very little rest/sleep during the phase. Every team concerned with the project is really tensed and praying for a good delivery on time for fully functional first silicon with minimal bugs. Tape-out occurs after all verification has been done (head-out in the case of a baby!)

Basic Operating Systems (new-born's instincts) are put in place in the ROM memory and remaining memory will be field programmable for customisation by external customers(parents,school,society). This is one of the finest examples of hardware/software codesign, and the complexity of the software increases with the maturity of the product. After the first silicon is up and running, there is huge support phase (15-20years) needed from the designers to make sure all the bugs are cleared up and the product reaches maturity(puberty) and ready for volume production(career).

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Reference:
http://www.spuc.org.uk/ethics/abortion/human-development

Happiest day in my life...! -- May 30, 2005

No ! I wasnt about what happened today, but rather how today happened.

I simply woke up laughing in my bed, triggered by some really funny event in a dream that I dont remember now. And I just checked the time in my phone and it was 7.29 sharp, and an instant later the alarm started to ring out one of my favourite songs (the alarm tone was a Mp3 file in this case).

Compare this to the average day, where I always switch off the alarm, sleep for 30 mins more, and wake up hurriedly and groan " Oh! S*** ! " , and let out a few more curses before getting out of bed.. SOMETHING was seriously right today..!

Just continued smiling and giggling my way to office, and attended some training. And like every other classroom , my circadian cycle turned upside down and started feeling sleepy. Thats when I unleash my best anti-dote to slumbering during a lecture or a meeting..And thats Not a cup of coffee..!

I just watch someone else dozing off, and struggling to stay awake. This is bound to make you laugh, sending in those crucial pints of blood to the brain, and you are back again. Today it was my friend, who slept exactly the way , the guy advertising for some Airline company does- well stretched out and completly relaxed posture in the chair.

The day ended with a showtime premiering the old comedy movie- Taxi (original french version). And here I am , armed with a smile to goto sleep, instead of a sleeping pill.

Now tell me how many people get to smile from the moment they wake up, till the instant the fall asleep ??

Bowling & Bowling..

Just mused about Bowling, after participating in a tournament on May 07..

To all those who know the game of cricket, and those who would like to know...

A bowler has to bowl a hard ball, with a core of cork wound with string and covered by leather, weighing between 156 and 163 grams(slightly larger but a lot heavier than a tennis ball). The ball is directed towards 3 stumps (cylindrical wooden post, 25 mm in diameter and 813 mm high) arranged in a row perpendicular to the bowling direction with a maximum separation of 228 mm apart from the edges ...I omit the detail about 2 little bails, sitting on the gap between 3 stumps.

The aim is to unsettle this combination(wicket) by directly bowling at it from a distance of 22 yards. To top it all, you could bowl inswingers,outswingers,yorkers,bouncers,fast,medium pace,gentle medium pace, leg spin,leg break, off spin ,chinaman,leg-cutters and other species of balls.

(note if you are feeling dizzy about the statistics given above, you are not fit to listen to a standard cricket commentary..You need to work on your appetite for numbers before you read on. start befriending the 'deep blue'..)

Thats not all..To prevent the bowler from achieving this aim of hitting the stumps, stands the guardian of the wicket..A Wicked Batsman with a dangerous weapon simply called a bat, whose dimensions are well specified, but not the maximum weight. This guy's job is to despatch the ball you just bowled, to the farthest corners of the playing field, and send your teammates on a leather hunt..

I barely had a happy moment in my bowling career, and mostly left the field demoralised and dis-oriented. Now you can understand why a failed bowler like me, would readily love the friendly conditions of an Bowling alley

----------------One fat heavy ball, 10 fat little stumps, tame rolling the ball on the lane will do, and most importantly no batsman to prevent it from reaching there. Though you could never flatten all the 3 stumps in cricket, you could strike down all the 10 pins in Bowling.

Getting a strike, could be quite gratifying for normal cricketers, and absolute bliss for sloppy bowlers(in cricket) like me. When I still see other novices bowl and miss all the pins, I cannot imagine how they would fare if they were playing cricket. Now dont ask me how I fared in that tournament..All I can say is I scored centuries in almost all the games I played..(well, that last sentence is intended to wow a cricket batsman, who has never been Bowling !!)

Last heard that our team could been selected for the finals..A big thanks to my 3 teammates, for triple-handedly taking me along to the finals on June 04..

Just Another Movie ?

It became a rather unsatisfying week to the not-so-much movie maniac in me..three of the latest Tamil movies Chandramukhi,Mumbai express,Sachien seen within a week, and here I am yelling at myself.."Why dont I just learn to, see only the movies that i really want to ??".. And thats what i did..

I have heard from my old Rwandan friends, back in college days about the civil war in their country in 1994. When they told me about a million lives lost during that war, I might have said "Oh ! my god ! thats terrible", and probably continued eating my dinner after a 30 second pause.

And there was a scene in the movie Hotel Rwanda, where the lead actor Don Cheadle exactly predicted the way most people in other parts of the world would react, when they come to know about such a massacre.

I realised that a million lives is about 5 times or so the number of lives lost in the tsunami(Dec 26,2004). No natural phenomenon, or force of nature can take away as many lives as the weapons of hatred or men at war can snatch. So tell me who is our greatest enemy ?

This inspiring movie is about Paul Rusesabagina, a hotel manager from Kigali, Rwanda who saves more than a 1000 people from certain death, at the hands of the opposing militiamen. Watching the movie , made me feel a lot more connected with the brutality and pain endured by the survivors, and also a few good lessons about resoursefulness and hope.

Having watched Schindler's List last week for the first time, and this one now, you can guess the state of mind now..

If you are of the kind who looks for much more than just entertainment in a movie, watch this one.

And for Nshakabatenda Ramadhani , Nzamutuma Ismael, and Nyandwi Alphonse who narrated the happenings of the war to me... I now understand..!

Digital Frustration !

There are a million reasons why one should compose a blog, or write a poem, or scribble something in a diary, or just scream aloud. But nothing can come out as suddenly or as passionately as the expression of pure and unparalleled anger & frustration.(did you think i was abt to say something abt love ?)

I have been lazy, hesitating, unimaginative or just plain disinterested to write my first blog ever. But the day has come... for a spontaneous outburst of annoyance ..

Electronics is my study and profession. But today I would like to deep fry the brains of the people who invented transistors, batteries, integrated circuits, CDs, DVD players, and even cables. and pulverize the lousy fellow who imagined great wonders could made out of silicon instead of leaving the mud(silica) alone... How can so many things fail at the same time ?? How far should I go to listen to just listen to one nice song ?? How could one of my favourite CDs gets stuck in a brand new branded DVD player ?

It only proves my theory about the existence of a Goddess of Circuits- Electronica , who simply decides for or against any user on a given day. Most users of electronic equipments,circuit debuggers would readily agree that certain inexplicable events/ failures would have left them puzzled on one day, and the very next day, they start up the system and lo! it works as if it always had. At such a moment look above , and you would find Her smiling to glory.

Having typed all this, my anger seems to have been dissipated. But thinking again, I might have made Electronica throughly unhappy...I hope I can save this blog, post this entry..and the PC does not hang up before that or a disruptive power glitch ruins this already wonderful evening....or a ....."Pllunkkkk"....................................

Yesteryear's Musicplayers

Yesterday, I have just gone through one full circle in the possession of music players . A strange feeling of 'retro' started to sink in.

The first year in my college life, I didnt have any device to listen to music. Then my first ever music player was organic.. it was a hostel mate who resided in the adjacent room, and sang all his favourite songs in his inimitable genre. This unfortunately caused the old hostel walls to quiver as if hit by mild tremors. This also made 11 other souls who could hear his voices , to respond with their own style of 'returning the music'- using the same language like angry young rappers always do..!

Then came along my most loved and inorganic Aiwa cassette playing walkman, whose spools had to rotate on battery power almost every night of 3 long years. In the final year however we inherited an amplifier and a large speaker which resembled a small fridge, designed to bring the roof down. This strange combo was still used to render all of ARR's and HarrisJ's latest hits and endured endless hours of playing 'Vaseegara'. But there was one fatal problem of the 50Hz power supply noise which got added to the music, so a listener would get the impression of riding a diesel-powered motorbike and listening to the music at the same time !

The days of the Compact Disc had become a reality in India, by the time I left for Singapore a CD player was among first in my list after getting my first stipend. My friend Ravi and I actually bought an unknown brand Compro for $99, within just a few weeks of university life - the reason being the walkman could play it could ACD,VCD and Mp3 for just 100 dollars! But we realised only later that we got much more for the money than what we desired. The MP3 decoder inside had a soul of its own, and would improvise any song rendered as a Solo by adding some ghost voices and making it sound like a chorus instead !



A few weeks later a beautiful slim blue-eyed model became our roommate disguised as a 2.1 multimedia speaker with a cute looking bass speaker. She was sooo photogenic that I even practised my modelling photography on her ! And she could really SING , and I truly understood that music with no bass was like a night sky with just stars but no moon..! With her, I enjoyed 2 more years of moon-lit skies and soothing music.

Photographers and Audiophiles have one thing in common - they cannot stop yearning for better quality features and higher performance devices to enrich their passion for photography or music, and can fall into the trap of burning their own purse in pursuit bigger , better gadgets. And imagine the plight of someone, who is both ! Eventually the blue fairy was getting older, and needed replacement.

This time it was Toshiba DVD player which seems to play everything including photos CDs. And another audiophile friend who overgrew his system of Rotel amplifiers and PSB speakers, sold it to me. Just how nice it was to shut off all the windows, put all the noise-generating flatmates to sleep, switch off the ceiling fan, and even breathe slowly-- just to listen to the music without distractions.

All was well, but something was missing! There was too many songs in many different genres, too much technology involved, too many CDS and Mp3 compilations ....but all seemed too familiar and offered no element of surprise, reminded nothing close to the heart.

I remembered how my tamil teacher in high school Mr.Baskaradoss once told us, how every kid in his native village were new fans of the 'radio box' but had a fear hidden deep within their hearts. All of them apparently thought that it was a little 'bhootham'(ghost in tamil) which resided and sang all the melodies from inside the box, whenever invoked.

I too longed to be mesmerised by the bhootham and bought a little AM/FM tuner, put it unobstrusively by my bedside, turned on the late-night old melodies programme on 'Oli 96.8', enjoyed the songs that mydad would have enjoyed as a kid and ....... slept !

Balance of Terror

I am extra lucky to have this mean machine at my home- which makes me feel happy or sad, depending on what I want..! Before you let your imagination run wild, let me tell you that its a simple weighing scale gone wrong.

When stood upon, the scales point to some number - when body weight is shifted slightly more to the left leg, the weight decreases- And when I shift the balance to the right it increases exponentially. With such amazing linearity, it is one instrument you just dont want to believe. But on the positive side, on days when I want to feel supremely positive, I stand entirely on my left leg..! (Scale reading = (My weight) - 8 kilos, and lets not fix a value to the variable My weight)

The point is not about some malfunctioning springs. Its just that this is the only balance I have control over, and know how to get pleasing results. The other balances..?

We keep listening to this 'One should learn to strike a balance between bla-bla-blah'-- Think about it ; Is that insightful or useful or atleast interesting to hear? Without any proper definition for what exactly is the balance, most people are still left groping in the dark, figuring out the perpetually oscillating value shown in the scales of balance. Lemme describe 2 big ones -

Professional/Leisure activity : Among many things that young adults writing their resume or attracting their partners, like to portray themselves as, ia a well rounded personality. The ability to juggle a profession (to earn for the rice), and leisure activities (flavor the rice with sambar,rasam) is something everybody recommends. But as the author found out, it aint that easy.

It starts with 5 weekdays-2 sleepdays- 5 WD-2 SD.. kinda routine - leading to the jolting realisation that 28.5714% of ones life is being cruelly wasted. Then follows a scheme of enrolling into various sports, classes and other voluntary activities over a period of time designed to enrich life. The weekends get packed slowly, and the important yet insane things-to-do spills over into weekday evenings and nights(like this blog). Today I just realised I am more relaxed during regular work hours that outside or weekends..! Gotta work to achieve a balance in this.

Food and Diets : "Eat in moderation" claims every health bulletin. Good idea , but whats moderate ? I absolutely hate it when they gives figures in calories, which is quite immeasurable when I think of the variety of stuff we eat throughout the day.

Follow the food pyramid says the wise one. But wise ones havent seen through the different food pyramids thats available - for meat eaters, for lean meat eaters, for vegetarians, for vegans, for non-dairy diets, low cholestrol diet, low saturated fat diet, low carb diet, e-diets , and then ofcourse the McSpicy Double meal. All this for somebody for forgets what he is talking about, when interrupted by the very thought of lunch !
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By now you must be wondering where or when is this guy going to end this winding passage on the incompetance of regular humans to know what to do, and how much. You might even debate if you should spend time reading blogs in future, of people who do not want to think aloud but just type it down and forget all about it.

My last word here, would be to learn to strike a balance on the amount of time you spend online and the time rather spent on other equally worthless activities!

Opening in the clouds..

Atlast..the first post..
a very cautious and unambitious first step towards the massively proliferating blogworld.