EssDee's Inane Insanities (or Insane Inanities)

Rambo - 09 Feb 2019 - 01 Jan 2023 I miss your tail wags, your goofy face. I miss you pissing all over the house when someone came in. I miss you barking madly but moving back when the doorbell rang. And staying alert till the visitor left. I miss you banging open the door when I was in a meeting. I miss the touch of your paw when I am eating. Or the wet nose begging for treats, or a rub. I miss you taking up so much space on the bed. And the licks you bestowed in the middle of the night. I miss you opening the balcony door, the only dog who learnt to do so.  And letting the mosquitoes in. I miss you growling at other dogs from the balcony. I miss you running up for ice cream when I open the freezer door. How did you guess, from across the flat? I miss you stealing leftovers from the dustbin. And looking guilty when caught. How you learnt to jump on the bed as a little pup. I miss the way your ears were half-floppy, half-stiff. And went flat when you were excited, or happy. I miss your

 Treating Old Wounds through Movies.... 4 decades of trauma, and the movie " 83 " This is not a movie review. This is not a cricket story. I am about as turned off by both Bollywood and cricket (or Bolly-ket) as an average Indian is turned on by them. This is slightly autobiographical, with a hint of Bollywood and an aftertaste of cricket. Let me clarify, I do not intend to make light of people who have suffered real trauma. My trauma was a different kind, losing nothing but a potential fan of Indian cricket. The story starts with my Dad. He was a keen follower of every sport under the sun. Had played cricket at the university level, too. I don't recall him watching chess or golf, but every other sport would see him glued to the TV (or the radio, before we got the telly). I recall him twiddling the knobs on the big Philips valve radio, to get a faint BBC commentary of an Ashes match. Or a county match, for that matter. And somehow that old set came alive to catch Grand Sl

The government of India, supported by practically everybody, has passed the right to education act. What I understand from whatever the newspapers say is that, basically and characteristically, the government has shrugged off the responsibility to provide basic education to all the citizens, and has passed the onus to all schools, including private ones. All private schools must now keep a segment of the seats for students from "financially disadvantaged" families. So far, so good. The latent commie inside the heart of every educated person tells me to cheer loudly. To join the landslide of applause for what is being touted as probably the only good thing this government has done. But then the chap who has worked like the proverbial dog to give his son one of the best educations in the country talks to me from the grave. (I happen to have a Jesuit schooling, REC engineering, and IIM management. Some of the best this country can give.) My dad, being a educated middle-

This is my response to the " Open Letter to India's Graduating Classes ", currently doing the rounds. On reading the load of grouse that the esteemed "employer" considers as  good advice , I am, to say the least, shocked! On the basis of what I personally went through, 12 long years ago, and what I am sure millions of graduate / post-graduate freshers go through even today, I think I need to reply. I am replying because I thought then, and I still think, that employers are short-changing the fresh graduates, especially the fresh B-school graduates. Over the last 12 years, I have seen no improvement in the "employer" attitudes. Feel free to reply with bouquets or brickbats. This is the truth as I have felt it. It's the concept of "employers" and "senior managers" whom I target. And in all fairness, I am a "senior manager" now, and hope the freshers under me don't have the same complaints as I did, all those years

Two shocks to the system. One, the Indian Army was planning a coup. Two, the bigger shock, the above news is false. And the next day, another shock: a newspaper as anti-establishment as the Indian Express totally changed its colours! Let's run through this coup thingie, with my admittedly theoretical, but rather substantial, knowledge of wars, battles, military matters. One, the troop movements reported were of one brigade of Paras and one brigade of mechanised infantry. Now, one brigade (or even a company) of elite Special Forces (henceforth referred to as SF) can beat the living crap out of the entire Delhi Police. Or any other copper force in the country. With their bare hands. With the cops as armed as they can ever be. And probably even if you tie the SF's right hands behind their backs. But a brigade of light infantry, which is what all SFs basically are, can never sustain a coup. Even when reinforced with another Brigade (or even a regiment) of mechanised infantry,

Was reading about the Citibank chappie who conned a few uber-rich bastards (sorry, no censoring on this blog) out of 3.5 billion rupees. Clever, clever chap! I mean, these stupid clowns had millions to invest! I don't think you get millions by being stupid in life (unless it was your (legal) father who made the millions, and your mother had an affair with the domestic help behind his back), but these idiots allowed themselves to be conned so beautifully! I mean, there's this big-shot at Hero who stuffed 2 billion of his company's money!!! And I was thinking it's only impoverished idiots like me who got conned by GRQ schemes.... Find me a millionaire, let me con him......... enjoy my remaining days in the Bahamas! Here's to you, Shiv Prasad Puri, you showed us what real greedy imbeciles our high and mighty really are!!!