"I would have loved to do it, but..."

How many times have you mentally cursed your project team member for not putting in the required effort? And how many times has the feeling been mutual? Well, there is no end to this argument as “effort” in most of the cases is not directly observable.

In general we can say that free riding happens in groups due to the presence of people whose pay-off matrices look somewhat like this:

Hence (goof-off, goof-off) seems to be the Nash equilibrium in such a situation. How do projects get done then? I’d say that’s due to the presence of members whose pay-off matrix looks different from this perhaps because of behavioural reasons. Those persons would perhaps derive “utility” out of moral, responsible behavior. However, designing a free-riding proof system will have to concern with the “problem children”, not the ethically high people. The solutions will either have to increase the pay-off for working hard or decrease the pay-offs for goofing off. Both can be approached by steps taken at

1            1. The group level itself amongst the members

2            2. Institutionalizing some mechanisms

1.  At the group level, before every project meeting, each one can be asked to come prepared with a write-up covering the problem issues and suggested solutions. The meeting can then be used to discuss and filter solutions rather than briefing the unprepared ones by the prepared ones. This will also ensure some sort of a peer pressure for everyone to put in some work.  Is this step alone sufficient? Perhaps not.

Hence, we have to look at an agreed protocol for all group projects:

2. At the closure of every project, there should be a peer-review of every group member and the report confidentially submitted to the Professor. This process should be officially implemented at the institute level. More than the actual content of the peer-feedback and resultant grades, the fact that every member knows he is going to be individually appraised, will make him/her more productive.

This is of course only one possible theoretical solution. How it plays out in real life will have a lot of other direct and contextual variables moderating the situation. 

Of God, Failed Experiments and Rajnikant

God looked left, right, up and down, scratched his head and wondered what he could call the feeling he was getting. He hadn’t bathed in days or even tinkered with his iGod.

It used to be good. There was nothing he couldn’t do, nowhere he couldn’t go; he was unchallenged and unparalleled.  Then he realized that this specifically was the problem!

He was bored.  

Being God was so boring. No challenges, no butterflies in the stomach, no taste of success when everything you do succeeds. Yes, that’s what he was feeling: boredom. He needed to do something about it. He needed a challenge, something that even he couldn’t be sure to control. He took out his iGod and tapped on iCreate on the screen. A very friendly voice crackled into existence.

“How are we doing today, Sir?”

God spoke into iGod, still pre-occupied, “Hey Murphy, I am bored. Gotta do something worthwhile… else everything seems so easy… ”

“Occupational hazard, Sir. You control time and space, every particle follows your whim…how can you have challenges?”

“Precisely my question, Murphy... don’t bounce it back at me…”

“Err... may I suggest a small experiment, Sir?”

“Impress me!”

“Okay, I can simulate coin tossing in my processor and make every particle do two different things based on the two outcomes, and keep going indefinitely… so you see, after 2 tosses we will have 4 possible states, after 3,8, after 10, 1024 and so on. We keep tossing for a long, long time and what we will have is a contraption which would not only be complex but also without any design or order in it.”

God started keying in the commands to simulate infinite coin tossing as he spoke, “Interesting, but still, since we know the probabilities of heads and tails, the entire system is under some sort of a measure and control…”

“Here’s the fun part, the probabilities of heads and tails might not be fixed at 50-50 in this case. They can be dynamically assigned to each toss on the basis of a new algorithm I wrote…”

“Can I take a look at the algo?”

Murphy’s voice flickered a little, “Umm…. Let’s not spoil the surprise…  Once you are done with the simulation, I will add my algorithm to the system.”

“Okay, where do we apply this new logic?” God ran his hands through his hair. He didn’t really have much hope from this experiment. Murphy had promised him many exciting experiments in the past, most of them all hype and no fun. The worst was a Reverse-Karaoke program which filled music behind anything devotional anyone would sing for God. Combined with a non-musical voice, that can be a recipe for auditory holocaust.

Murphy cleared his throat, “Remember the stress ball you used to squeeze whenever I turned on the Reverse Karaoke? It has turned into a blob of infinite mass concentrated to an infinitesimally small volume. We can just make it explode into a lot of particles and apply the governing algorithm…”

God finished keying in the commands. The iGod screen buzzed as Murphy went through the code and added his bits of the algorithm.

“Well let’s do it”, God said, “but I hope this time your contraption works…or else I might have to reprogram you…”

Murphy let out a half-hearted laugh and made the giant screen on the front wall of God’s chamber come to life. A few advertisements later, the image of the ball flashed on the screen.

“I call it the Big Bang!” declared Murphy pompously as he started counting down, “…3, 2, 1”

“Boom!” went the ball into a zillion zillion pieces and the screen started plotting the paths taken by each piece. Within a few Godminutes galaxies, stars and planets could be seen as the debris started expanding at an ever increasing rate. Pieces combined and recombined and were giving rise to new patterns.

“This is fun.” God thought as now he could see self sustaining and evolving organisms originate in a blue planet orbiting a medium sized star.

“Not so fun.” he realized a few Godminutes later when we saw those organisms evolve into two-legged life forms who were intelligent enough to start developing their surroundings to suit themselves, but at the same time stupid enough to kill one another and start destroying the planetary resources.

“Murphy,” he said, “We have to fix this.” pointing at the screen as one bearded man was getting crucified for being nice to others and suggesting others do the same.

“Can’t, Boss.” Murphy said, “We have no control over this. The algorithm is self-adjusting and self-controlling.”

God was feeling exasperated, “You mean we have to just watch this roll-out in front of our eyes?” as a big bright mushroom cloud dazzled the screen on a location which was marked as Hiroshima.

“Not really. You can take a break” Murphy spoke in a matter-of-fact voice “Go on a vacation.”

God stared in disbelief as Murphy carried on “Trust me. This algorithm is fool proof and now I think I can tell you what it is... ”

God was listening silently as Murphy paused for maximum effect and then said, “The algo behind this experiment, dear God, is – ‘If things can go wrong, they will’. Every time there is a bird dropping on a newly washed suit, every time a piece of bread falls with the buttered side down, every time you miss a bus or every time an elevator gives you the miss, it is my algorithm at work. I have put Creation on Autopilot now. The universe, the planets and their inhabitants might seek meaning, deeper significance and spirituality to explain the random things that happen to them, but they’ll never know it’s our experiment that’s causing things to happen.”

“Look, it’s a foolish experiment…” God tried to drive some sense into Murphy.

“Yeah, Nice name…” Murphy replied “’LIFE’ we will call it. An acronym for Look It’s a Foolish Experiment. And it will be governed by chance and my algorithm which will henceforth be known as Murphy’s Law: ‘If things can go wrong, they will!’ ”

Meanwhile, at one point on the screen, a few men drove an airplane into some tower while at a different point a bearded man was laughing his guts out at the news. God decided he had had enough. He tapped the iPack icon on his iGod as his collection of robes started neatly sliding into his Skybag as he looked one final time at the screen for some flicker of hope. Somewhere marked as Bombay a bearded, capped man tilted a microphone over his face and started howling one of the worst songs God had heard since a long time. Murphy proudly asked, “Isn’t he nice? I made him practice with my Reverse-Karaoke, the project that you had so disdainfully trashed.” 

Taking deep breaths God asked, “Murphy, is this a coup of sorts? Now that I am totally powerless and everything down there is ruled by, what do you call it, Murphy’s Law?”

“No Boss,” Murphy’s voice was sincere, “I think it’s because I had jacked up our systems to my processor running the same algorithm a few Godminutes before you started cribbing about getting bored of being so powerful and tapped on iCreate. I had thought I would silently run the experiment and note down the results. But now as you see, one thing led to the other and now both down there and up here it is chance and the algorithm that are running things.”

God tapped his iGod for the last time on an icon called iFly and docked the device on the wall. He picked up his Skybag as his personal transportation device phased in into existence. He eased into the cushion seats of his transporter and looked at the iGod screen one last time.

“Now with me gone, and your Law taking care of Creation, what will you do, Murphy?”

“Oh I don’t know, Boss. May be I will sing.”

“So long,” God hastily pressed a button in his device before Murphy could switch on the karaoke program and his device whizzed out of existence only to appear a few million Godlightyears away when he eased back into his seat and took a long, deep sigh.

“Oh my Rajnikant,” he mumbled.

Back in God’s castle, as Murphy busied himself with practicing the newest cacophonous tune, unseen to him, on a point marked Chennai on the giant screen a dark, moustached person looked up in the sky, swung his index finger in the air accompanied by a whipping sound and said, “Don’t worry, Bro! I am still there to fix things. Mind It!”

One Idea

I was reading an article today which talks about what a great move it was to bring democracy to this country. Giving the right to vote to the masses who were different in every way different from each other was a monuental effort, wasn't it?

I beg to differ.

I believe people should "earn" the right to vote and reaching the age of 18 shouldn't be the only criteria. There should be a comprehensive screening mechanism to find out the people who would vote for an idea or principle and not biriyani and desi tharra

Am I advocating inequality? I don't know. I don't care. I know I am advocating merit. That's what the country needs the most now.

Relay Shun Ships

Are they overhyped?

Are they merely viral behaviour?

Or tools to echo someone's ego?

Hullabaloo

These days the media has so much to chew on! From Amjad Ali Khan's broken sarod to Rakhi Sawant's latest music video. Gone are the days when I used to wait all week for "The World this Week". Now it's all about pseudo intellectuals who are too busy trying to blow up every triviality. Some how I hated watching Amjad Ali Khan's interviews on TV where he laments over his sarod. While this might help to keep hopeless entities like Air India on the alert, on the other hand, it looks like too much of footage to an accident.
Damn! I am not sure whether to hate the coverage or to like it.
On a side note: Currently reading John Irving's The Imaginary Girlfriend. Loving every bit of it. Contrary to what the title suggests, it's about his experience at being mediocre at what he loved the most - wrestling. I can connect with every thought pattern of his. Being a good-for-nothing at even the things I love, I find his attitude as a guiding light!
Looking forward to reading yet another Nrisimha Prasad after this one.
Oh and yes, to hell with purists - Sherlock Holmes is not that bad.

I am Falling...

Ardent followers of my blog (me, myself and my virtual pet cat, Bimbo) know that I have always accomplished the mammoth task of unravellling the mysteries of life, universe and everything here, be it the deeper meaning of life or the spiritual context of some monkey slapping the other. Now, It's high time I took another small step for a man and a giant leap for mankind - the one that might make people take giant leaps out of their balconies/windows into the nothingness below.
Today I will expose the biggest mistake in the history of mankind:
Long, long ago (in the 1660s), a middle-aged man who had as exciting a social life as that of a dead tree (comparable to mine, but I can atleast talk to myself; being a psycho helps), had nothing else to do on a lazy afternoon. He was meandering across his garden, watching the snails compete on a cross-terrain race, and shouting encouragements, and occasionally glancing at the clouds taking different shapes in the overhead sky. But he didn't stop there, and that's why I have to hit my keyboard hundreds of years later now, when I could have comfortably read out self-decomposed unwritten poems to my virtual companion, Bimbo.
Back in the garden, the guy sat under an apple tree and having been utterly neglected by the snails, started recounting to the tree, the incident when once he was standing at the platform, waiting for his train and was thrown a few yards away by an ill-tempered middle-aged lady who was rushing to catch her train and collided with him on the way. He had struggled back on his feet, taken his pink notebook out and written his sudden realization down: "Every body continues to be in its state of rest or of uniform motion in a straight line unless acted on by some unbalanced force to act otherwise", when he was thrown off by a few meters in the other direction by another collision with the same lady who had realised that she was running after the wrong train.
The apple tree was so moved by the story that it wished it had legs to literally move away to save its life, but obviously it coudn't. The ordeal was particularly frustrating for the apple in the lowest branch, nearest to him and his words. As a last ditch effort to put an end to this, it fell.
It just fell and hit His head. He looked up, down, right and left; scratched his head and took his pink notebook out. The rest as they say is history.. er..physics, sorry! He noted down something which he called the law of gravitation which deals with how bodies with mass attract each other. The law, which is not consistent with quantum mechanics and even doesn't have experimental evidence on what actually causes it.
The mistake he made was to look outwards while the answer lay within.

What he didn't realise is that life sucks. It did then, as it does now. His life did, my life does. Gravity is a hoax.
Life sucks the happiness out of you as with apples from a tree. When your expensive vase tips over to fall on the floor and dissolves into a million pieces, when an important sheet of paper disappears into a man-hole, when a Sachin Tendulkar skier lands on Symonds' palms or when people fall (from grace) in love, it's only life's way of reminding us:
Life Sucks.

Acknowledgements: The discussion I had with a friend once and a T-shirt.

Apologies to: All my physics teachers from school/college.

P.S. The race was won by a snail called Appy Singh.

Street Hawk!

In the last few days, my literary adventures have been limited to filling in laptop declaration forms at the entry and exit of my (what Dilbert would call) sensory deprivation chamber. Having been too lazy to look at a workaround (not that it was dancing in front of my eyes, in a kathakali costume), I have been going through the daily routine of writing my name, project details, machine serial numbers, and striking out names of the portable media devices that I don't carry. Occasionally though, I have juggled with the idea of writing Sukumar Ray-esque verses or Didi-esque slogans on the margins to spice up the proceedings, but then I have, till now been successful in fighting that instinct.
It's been a long time since I last blessed cyberspace with my dripping-with-wisdom words and if some people had been celebrating the halt in server space wastage, I have only one thing to say: Sorry to disappoint you folks, but I am back and today I will write about my bicycle.

It has got two tyres, a seat, derailleurs, handle bars and a sense of humour.
In the early nineties when people my age were crazy about cycles with thick-as-a-boa constrictor tyres and herculean frames, I got myself a black, sleek, "super light city bike" - as it used to be advertised. I learnt cycling on it, something which the wise men advise against. This learning business, according to them, is best done on other's machines, for it's quite taxing on the vehicle.
My bicycle took the blows generously. I have always been a fair weather friend to it, always slipping away at the last moment whenever I sensed a tumble, specially while learning to get down. I have banged on walls while trying stunts, on other cyclists while trying I dont know what; I have skid through the road while trying to swap hands on the handlebars (try it, it's not that easy) and knifed through every pool of stagnant water on the road just for the fun of it. But it has never complained, except for making strange noises, especially after a mud-bath.
Oh and yes, it has got a wicked brain too.
Whenever I'd be on the middle of a crossing with vehicles charging in from all directions:
1. The brakes would stop working.
2. The bell would get jammed.
And I would invariably have to:
1. Throw my legs at the ground to get some friction so that I can bring it to halt before I bring someone down on the road.
2. Be amazed at how smooth the brakes and bell would work just at the next moment when not needed. Especially infront of the mechanic who would, in turn be amazed at someone bringing a cycle with perfectly functioning parts for repair.
But riding it was/is great fun. You cannot compare anything to the feeling of the breeze sliding through the crew-cut hair (specially the region above the ears and back of the head!) while pedalling through the beautiful roads of my hometown.
Our relationship has suffered many lows, like the one when one of my friends rode it to meet his girlfriend (you don't need to lend things to school buddies, they just get them from you when they want! ) in a cybercafe and completely forgetting about it's existence, took a romantic rickshaw ride out of the shop to her home. The next afternoon saw a whirlwind of activities including:
1. My calling him to get my cycle back and his rushing to my place and declaring that it was left in front of some cybercafe.
2. The two of us rushing to the cybercafe, obviously not finding my cycle outside, quizzing the security guard, being told that probably it might have been picked up my some mobile police van and that we need to go to the police to have any hopes of getting it back.
3. Under the advice of the security guard, going to the nearest police station, meeting the Kader Khan look-alike inspector and his taking out a map of the city and after many minutes of pan-chewing, telling us that area falls under some other police station.
4. Our calling up an uncle of my friend who besides being a blind Ganguly fan is some high official in the police force, his tracking the cycle down to some police station, and finally our reaching there, finding it reclining against a cell and getting it without much hassles, thanks to the background work done by our beloved "Ganguly-Uncle".
5. My kicking that friend on his backside - one that would make Roberto Carlos proud (Well, not really. I was infact too relieved to get my black beauty back. So much so, that I even dropped him home, on it of course).

It's still there. The roads, though changing quite fast, are still quite pretty and the air too has more of oxygen than carbon monoxide. Even now, whenever I go home, I take it out, dust it and go out on my royal excursions.

As one wise man had once remarked:

If you have a perfectly conditioned cycle, you don't need a girlfriend.

(Go hang yourself if you haven't yet figured out who that wise man is!)

Acknowledgements:

1. NC for that rickshaw ride and the discussion on rickshaws and bringing back memories of my black beauty.
2. Hero cycles for making "Impact". As you can see, that had quite an impact!

Imported Wisdom

Here's something a friend wrote. I am her first publisher!

The red lights blazed across the inky black sky-a devilish concoction
Down on the street the mobs swarmed out in hoardes
Painted faces, macabre masks
Loud banners screaming freedom
there was nothing subtle about this independence
A stupid boy raised his voice above the blaring horns
Are we really free he asked a sea of callous faces
They shoved him, pushed him, pulled out his unstained shirt
Another aberration with the order of chaos
Traitor Traitor-the crowd rose to a crescendo
they read out his order of execution -the justice of the mob
The neon lights blazed brighter-
the devil loved the stench of human blood
-- RR

Why...

Trams have never been so unromantic. These ones are trendy, sleek, popular and they refuse to get overtaken by every other pedestrian, or cyclist or an enthusiastic snail. I have got a pass made, to travel within 2 zones from the industrial hub and that takes care of my daily transportation. Even the pass looks quite nice and trendy and sleek, except for the part where it has a photo pasted to it.
This is about that photo. More precisely, about the face in that photo.

Okay, so we all have heard about phi, the "golden ratio" and that it's omnipresent in the different aspects of life. Be it architecture, science, or biology. They even say that conventional good looks have a lot to do with this ratio between the length of the face to the length of the part from the nose to the chin and a lot of similar mumbo-jumbo.
What many people don't know, is about the existence of another mathematical constant called why. Actually, it's better to call it a concept than a constant. This, like phi is omnipresent as well, but unlike the former, is not that talked about; neither written about by alleged plagiarists. Why is present in every shape that doesn't suit the eye or any harmony or symmetry. It actually exists as an interrogative as to why (don't confuse with why) that thing would exist.

Probably, to counterbalance the symmetry, the harmony, or similar so-called "nice" things.

Why in its most unadulterated form is found in the pass I got made. Precisely that the part where people stick up their photos. Actually not people, but the lady in that GVB counter does. Not her photo, but people's photo. My photo, in this specific case.

It has been the story of the birth of a new superhero. Armed with his photo, who could and would change the world. One flashing of the pass would ensure a hearty smile and "Dunk u wel". But then any knowledgeable person would know that behind that smile is a heartstopping dread at the sight of something which could make the mirror turn its silvered side and cause clocks to move anticlockwise and even cause sunset at 12 noon.
Powered by that WMD, I go on routine excursions...saving the world from all symmetry and beauty; fighting crime and injustice and similar stuff which comes within the job description of any superhero, knickers out or in.
No one risks prolonged exposure to the upper half of the inside of the left flap of the pass where the lady in that GVB counter stuck up my photo.
In the last few days we have had Green Goblin turning blue, Lex Luthor turning to bee-keeping and other petty villains lining up in front of the missionaries of charity for parttime jobs.

...It's again the moment of truth. The judgement day. An approaching monster opens its jaws, threatening humanity and world peace and similar important sounding words and its again me jumping to the occasion with lightning fast reflexes. Faster than a speeding bullet, lighter than a floating butterfly, I fish the pass out of my pocket and flash it open...


The hearty smile and "Dunk u wel"

Inside at the Outside

" How to act: Never under compulsion, out of selfishness, without forethought, with misgivings. Don't dress up your thoughts. No surplus words or unnecessary actions.
Let the spirit in you represent a man, an adult, a citizen, a Roman, a ruler.
Taking up his post like a soldier and patiently awaiting his recall from life.
Needing no oath or witness.

Cheerfulness, without requiring other people's help. Or serenity supplied by others.

To stand up straight - not straightened. "

A skeptic is enjoying these words and many more, in his exclusive moments. Inspite of his reactions having been acidified with time and numbed by experience, sometimes he unknowingly drops his doubts and peeps out of his shell. To be influenced. To be taken for a ride.

Sometimes it becomes a refreshing act. Taking things at face value. Arguing against arguments. Trusting someone. Finding a significance. Appreciating glory.

This whole business of believing.

Broken News

What made it even tougher for the home team was the pathetic fielding. Lux-me Ratan Shukla and U-mar Gool were guilty of letting through some regulation hits. If that was not enough, Mahaakash Chopra — a strange inclusion — and Gourav ran on to each other in the deep in comical fashion before flooring a catch.

--- The Tell-e-graph (26th May, 2008)

A lot of newsprint has been wasted in the last few weeks about a few players being picked again and again, inspite of their far-from-impressive performances. Experts have scratched their heads, beards, microphones, wallets and each other's backs, thinking their brains dry to explain why some people would be repeatedly selected in the team inspite of their sincerest efforts to contribute to the team's win - the opponent team's, that is.
We caught up with the greatest expert to have ever walked this Earth and probably Mars too, ace Roy-terse correspondent, Purr-knob, to throw some light on the matter.

Purr-knob writes:

We know now. Even the Eucalyptuses in my prince-mega-tonne campus know.
That IPL for Gourav stands for I Profess my Love (for Mahakaash). The manner in which they became inseparable entities, both on and off the field, reminds me of the great legends of Row-meaow and Julie-ate. The conclusive evidence was found in the last match, ably reported by a renowned daily, where the two of them, ran in perfect slow motion towards each other, without a care in the world and with eyes only for each other. Damn the ball. Damn the dropped catch.
You could almost visualise them running through the lush gardens of Europe or mustard fields of Punjab a la Yash Raj films, accompanied by a typical romantic background score. Then they collide, and sparks fly (in this case, the ball flies).

Their jodi is made in heaven; sanctified by Bow-canon.

As one great poet has said:

Teams win, teams lose,
But to love you need no excuse;
Non-performance is of one's volition,
Long live, mid-air collision.

This is where Purr-knob ended his article.
When we asked him about the poet he quoted, he gave us a dirty look and said,
"Don't you see the stamp of class? I would have got the "no-bail" and not Tagore, had my manuscript reached on time. "
"How old are you?" we asked.
"It's not about the age, it's the mileage!" he said.

As we were wondering where we had heard this dialogue before, Purr-knob started running to catch his personal aircraft and collided mid-way with Mahakaash, who, incidentally was running to catch the next UFO to where he came from.

...

Kabeera Khada Bazaar Mein

Maange Sabki Khair

Na Kahu Se Dosti

Na Kahu Se Bair

Breaking News

Last week, the galaxies came to a standstill, buses and trains came to a halt, Reshammiya choked and Rajnikanth's heart skipped a beat.
All because a slap was heard.
Ace Roy-terse correspondent, Purr-knob, after much coaxing, has finally agreed to share the inside report on what had actually transpired between the two gentle-most cricketers of our time, Freesanth and Bhaaji. Here it is, in his own words:

So, I was wearing my Hay-banned glasses (the ones from my prince-mega-tonne days) and watching the match. The match which I would use to light my see-gar (the one gifted by Fidel Castro, of course). I kept watching it, trying to figure out how it works. Someone helped me out by breathing fire. Literally. Freesanth took the see-gar and just breathed on to it. And then it lit up. I always knew that the guy had a lot of fire. He was on his way to the ground for start of play.

When the match started (the cricket match, dumbheads!), I could see him staring, growling and bowling. In that order. Legend has it that Freesanth can make your ancestors turn in their graves just by talking to you. But I tell you, he is much more than that. He can make steel melt just by looking. It's no wonder then, that the opposition would feel a little high and dry, with him around.

Now to the question as to what had actually happened after the match. I caught up with Freesanth after the incident. To help me light another see-gar of course! Asked him about the slap-stick incident too. Now, Free said it was just another case of his elder brother coming up to him after the match and giving him feedback and hugs and sweet nothings and so on. Bhaaji, his "big brother" had been "watching him" and told him that he was disappointed at Freesanth's unidirectional lexical outbursts. That Freesanth needed more variety in his vocab and more expressions on his face. Free was touched. Figuratively, not literally. But then Bhaaji allegedly also said that Free reminded him of Die-monds, that old friend of his. Bhaaji's words as if slapped his conscience and he broke down. This, mind you, is extremely sensitive information and not to be disclosed to anyone. It's so sensitive that I have wetted the hanky gifted to me lady Die-ana with my tears, as i am preparing this report.

Later on. I caught up with Bhaaji after the incident and here's the transcript of the interview:

Purr-knob: What did actually happen Bhaaji?

Bhajji: (Eyes wide open, bends forward, lands a tight slap on Purr-knob) Don't you know what happened? I was just talking to my younger brother. We both just got a tad too emotional. Free was always the touchy-type. Didn't you see Bharat cry in the Ram-Bharat milaap scene?

Purr-knob: (purring) Oh yes.

Bhaaji: Why do you guys make somethings out of nothings? Why target peaceful people like us?

Purr-knob: (rubbing his cheeks) You know, you reminded me of a young Mohammad Ali when I interviewed him just after his first world championship win. He punched me just as hard. But of course the blow was nothing compared to what Ravi Shankar gave me with his sitar after his first Woodstock when I complimented him on his uncanny proficiency with that longish, odd-looking guitar as I had knowledgeably termed that. But even you are quite good with your paw.

Bhaaji: (picks up his cricket bat)

Purr-knob: (jumps out of the window, runs and shouts) Paw-Bhaaji! Paw-Bhaaji!

P.S. Another piece of exclusive news from Purr-knob's secret files of the Bhaaji case down under where Bhaaji was accused of making racist comments to a certain And-rue Die-monds:
During the hearing by the appeals commission, a monkey was paraded in front of the panel. Everyone exclaimed "Die-monds" seeing him. The judge saw the point and Bhaaji was set free.

More on that later.

I know what GOD did many summers back

He had a bad headache and started playing with his coins. He wanted to transfer this head-splitting feeling to something tangible and biased the coins to result in pseudo-random outcomes which followed the simple rule:
Tails if Heads expected/wanted and vice-versa.
He plotted the outcomes, and did some N-dimentional curve fitting and noticed with surprise that his headache was getting better. I mean, his head was getting better as the ache was subsiding. The N-dimentional close-ended crap that resulted in was called Life. The acronym was expanded as Look! It's a Foolish Experiment because thats precisely what he exclaimed after he had a close look at what he had created.

The N-dimentional graph was the space-time variation of GOD's headache. This contraption called Life is the perfect example of a vicious circle. Chasing what you dont have and getting what you dont want. Inside this cycle, in nested loops, Life has only power-cuts, traffic-jam and bird droppings on offer.

All those times when you wondered whether you were living someone else's nightmares, you were actually very close to the reality. We all are living someone else's headache.

But it's a great learning experience. You finally learn that nothing matters. And that everything is a hoax. So, you go through your entire life just to find out that it is inconsequential.
And just think about it, in the end, it kills you.

Of rabbit holes and pills

It's strange what the feeling of having a choice can do to people. As long as life goes on, pulling you through a tunnel with only the other end visible, it's all fine. But once you start getting aware of the alternate routes, it complicates life; at least your thinking.
It's like taking the blue pill everyday (not sildenafil citrate, silly!) but still being aware that the red pill exists. It's out there for anyone who would dare taking it.

The uncharted territory has a romanticism of its own.
Risks too.
That's what makes the prospect even more interesting.

Morpheus, are you listening?