The Goddess of Ashtami

Today is Maha Ashtami, the eighth day of the nine nights festival, the later of which is worshiped as Durga Puja.
This day carries a very special memory in itself; not just that I hail from Gujarat, the land of Garba and Dandiya but because of the visits to multiple temples in our vicinity. I am not much of a religious person but gladly accompanied my grandmother(amma) and mother(maa) to wherever they would take me. The chief motive, of course, being delicious food. Maha Ashtami is one such occasion wherein we three would book an auto, visit three temples and be back having enjoyed the food.

Our first halt would be the home of an old, devoted and graceful lady who is popular by the name of Mataji. They have a beautiful temple set up inside their home and many devotees come to visit it. Mataji and her family maintain the temple and observe festivities every year. The most popular being Durga Ashtami where a havan is organised with free food served to anyone who visits their place. Our family has closer ties with theirs and so it became a norm to visit them on Maha Ashtami.

The second stop would be Bhaiyaji's (looks like our God lies in familial ties). I don't know much about the history of this place but recall visiting this since I was a little child. The caretaker of this temple was referred to as Bhaiyaji meaning 'elder brother'. My grandma knew him very well and so I'd get extra sweets from him every time. He passed away a long time ago. I was(and still am) always captivated by the idols of the three goddess (Durga, Saraswati and Lakshmi) there. They also had a havan every year.

The last point would be the pandal set up by the Bengali Association of our area. Every year we used to visit the pandal and check if it has anything new added, pray and then enjoy the food from local stalls there. This was my favourite part undeniably.

As I look back this year, there is no Bhaiyaji, Mataji is ill,  my grandmother has left us for the heavenly abode and I am in Singapore. Tonight on call, maa felt a little disappointed and a lot lonely. The neighbours helped her out though. They had a havan at home followed by dinner. Maa did attend it but couldn't help reflecting back, I just wish to be there. And more importantly, Amma to be there for she was the one with the greatest enthusiasm and energy.

For me, these two ladies are my goddesses of Ashtami and I just pray that just like Goddess Durga is immersed in water only to return next year, Amma returns the next year. But it won't be possible. So I am all devoted to Maa for now I want every day spent with her to be nothing less than an Ashtami.

A little place off the Edgware Road

Many years ago I came across this fantastic short story by Graham Greene. I took an immediate liking to this story. Here I attempt to present this in a rhyming poem:

A Little Place off the Edgware Road

To be or not to be?

That’s not the question;

For when goes all your courage flee

You don’t remember to have fun.

I know of an incident that makes me scream

It’s by the ultimate chronicler Graham Greene.

There was going a man, Craven by name

Tight in his mackintosh in thin summer rain.

All the way up the park, he was reminded of love & passion.

But for love, you needed money, suit car & a mansion.

It seemed as if he had a heavy mental load.

He came to A LITTLE PLACE OFF THE EDGWARE ROAD.

There he hated his hatred of hating the Guardsmen.

A better body than his was with each of them.

As he walked on the side streets round the Edgware road,

He noticed the posters outside the disused theatre in Culpar road.

No film had ever succeeded there;

Rat holes and spider webs were scattered everywhere.

Worth a shilling to Craven, the seats were cheap.

Protected from the rain, at least he could sleep.

The film was of ‘The Home of the Silent film’ race;

There were not mere twenty people in the place.

A middle aged actor lay on an elbow with his arm round a woman.

The song tinkled and the screen flickered like indigestion.

Somebody felt his way through the darkness past Craven’s knees;

Craven felt a large beard brushing his mouth and it didn’t make him please.

By the time, the actress had stabbed herself

The new man asked why she did so to herself.

None was interested and the film was not over yet.

But the small bearded man was absorbed only in the actor’s death.

Craven was a bit allergic to blood

But the man wanted it to flow like flood.

“What are you talking about?” asked Craven.

When the man spoke, he sprayed a breath albeit a damp one.

There was also a little bubble in his speech

As if he wanted blood like a leech.

Soon they got caught in a small wrangle;

The man made Craven to come in a tangle.

Craved turned and tried to see him

But he couldn’t as the light was dim.

The man talked to himself as if he was sane

Spraying the same breath to Craven, again.

Suddenly and confidingly, he laid on Craven his hand;

It was so damp and sticky that Craven was about to stand.

Craven replied with horror “What are you talking?”

“A man in my position gets to know almost everything.”

Knowingly, the little man began to titter;

Unless for those hands, Craven would have ignored him altogether.

The man’s head had a habit of lolling sideways

He mentioned ‘Bayswater Tragedy’ anyways.

Craven had seen those words on a poster at the park.

When asked about it, the little man began to bark.

He began to cough right at the face of Craven;

‘Twas like vindictiveness, more than that of a raven.

“Let me see. My umbrella”, the voice said

Losing the word, past Craven’s knees he got laid.

Craven was to see him but the screen went blank and bright;

Somebody had turned up the dirt-choked chandeliers’ light.

Craven then saw on his hands a smear;

At the sight of blood, he began to fear.

He went to look out for the madman, but in vain.

So he dialled 999 with a sense of sane.

There he got a horrible news-

A man’s neck was cut from ear to ear in Cullen Mews.

He told that he had sat next to the murderer, as to him it had appeared.

A voice from next end said, “We have the murderer. It’s the body that has disappeared.”

Transferring contacts from Nokia 108 to Android

My father uses a basic Symbian feature phone - Nokia 108. It is a decent and robust phone, good for the rough n tough life he leads. Unfortunately, this little wonder is not smart enough for the modern world. So when the time came to transition from Symbian to Android, the one (and important) thing we dreaded was transfer of contacts.

Nokia 108 is a peculiar model. It supports various media formats but doesn't have a file explorer (or Gallery as it's called on Symbian), has Bluetooth but no marking for contacts, saves all contacts to an SD card but only from device memory and supports external memory card but has no micro USB slot. Duh! So my journey began to transfer all the contacts to a smarer LG-L3 II (Android 4.1.2) with a caveat of finding a better way and not doing so one-by-one.

I am a bit reluctant to use third-party apps. So didn't want to install any of the applications either on my PC or on my Android. And here are the things that won't work:

• Mark all contacts -- no marking support
• Rename .nbf (Nokia backup file) to .zip -- 108 won't make .nbf
• Rename BACKUP.DAT (yes, that's what the contact backup in Nokia 108 is and no, I am not screaming) to Backup.zip -- creates an invalid archive
• Rename BACKUP.DAT to Backup.vcf -- shows only the first contact

There just has to be some way to get that BACKUP.DAT file working. Now, in case you haven't figured how to do that, follow these steps:

1. Copy all the contacts from SIM to device. Menu -> Contacts -> Move (or Copy as you like) -> From <SIM name> to phone -> Move all (or One by one as you please)
2. Create a backup of the contacts. Menu -> Contacts -> Back up contacts -> Continue  (note: in order to see the back up menu, you must have a memory card inserted)
3. Tada! The file BACKUP.DAT is created (although you cannot see it using the existing phone)

Now transfer that file to your computer. Use a card reader or insert the card in a different phone and connect it, whatever suits your appetite. I inserted the card in my Nokia X2-02 and connected it via USB to my ThinkPad PC. 

This DAT file cannot be directly used to transfer contacts, neither does converting it to .nbf, .vcf or .zip helps. I struggled a but and recalled from the old times of DAT to CSV conversion. So just rename the BACKUP.DAT to Backup.csv

Try to open the Backup.csv file using MS Excel or Notepad. Make sure it doesn't have any special characters. Once all right, we are good to go.

Google supports importing and exports contacts via a CSV file. 

1. So just log in to your GMail account using PC. Use the same one as the one on the Android device you want your contacts on.
2. At the top-left corner, click Gmail -> Contacts.
3. On the left hand side bar, click Import.
4. If you are using the newer version (and if it doesn't support import yet), select Go to old contacts.
5. From the left hand side bar, click Import Contacts...
6. Choose the Backup.csv file that we had created earlier and click Import.
7. Voila! All the contacts should be imported to the Google contacts.

For more help on importing contacts, visit https://support.google.com/mail/answer/14024?hl=en

Now we have all our contacts on Google cloud servers. We just need to sync them with our Android phone. Make sure the phone is connected to internet and follow these steps:

1. Go to Settings on the Android device. 
2. Select Accounts & sync (or just Accounts in some devices)
3. If you have auto-sync checked (ON), just give it some time. The contacts will be synced automatically. If not, proceed as:
4. Select Google from the account list.
5. Tap your email id (it should be same as the one we used on PC to import contacts from CSV).
6. Tap Contacts. And wait till all contacts are synced.
7. Congratulations!!

This took me some time but it ensured I wasn't using any third-party apps that bloat my system. Also, keeping contacts on Google servers would help ease the switching process the next time.

Hope this helped you.

One Sunny Day

We recently had a short-story writing competition in our office. The challenge was to incorporate all four monsoon images in the given particular order. Limit: 1000 words.

1)    2)

3)4)


Now I am not a romantic buff and I dread romantic novels, especially chic-lit ones. Nope, there's no fault in my stars. I was reading Philip K Dick's Minority Report back then. So I decided to pay a tribute to this sci-fi genius. Here' my modest attempt at the short story:

“I have always loved rains,” thought Stella, “even if it hinders the smooth lifestyle we are used to.” 

She looked out to the Red Bridge amidst the labyrinth of water droplets that had collected on the window. “At least it gives the time to admire things that are not man-made.”

The wire-way cleared and Stella commanded her BugMobil to move. She had desired the advanced ThoughtDragon that would fly by itself to the owner’s intended destination. But the lack of money and time played a spoilsport. “Time…” sighed Stella. That’s what she was looking to mend.

The BugMobil halted at an orphanage. Stella climbed out and the car went on to park itself.

“Pleasure meeting you Stella,” greeted Audrey who was in charge of the institution. “You’ve come a long way from your days here. We’re obliged on your decision to adopt one of our girls.”

“I am compelled to. It’s one of the requirements to obtain the past-gear.”

“Being a future-traveller is easy. But keep in mind that travelling past has more nuances” warned Audrey.

They halted near a playground. Stella saw a 12 year old girl jumping and playing in the muddy waters of rain. She felt a wave of nostalgia rush through her body.

“I believe you like Margaret,” smiled Audrey. On getting a nod from Stella, Audrey beckoned TotalTurtle, her robot PA.

“Hello dear. I am Stella, a future-traveller”, said Stella as she introduced herself.

“Hello mam, I am Margaret. Where are you taking me?” replied Margaret politely.

“Home. You may call me Stella.”

TotalTurtle took the digital biometric prints and updated the database as legal formalities were completed in a jiffy.

“Will I get my own bed?”

“Yes, sure”

They thanked Audrey and made their way out of the building. Stella fired a voice command beckoning their ride.

“And a travel to future?”

“Oh absolutely!”

They entered the BugMobil and started towards home.

“You may call me Maggie,” said Margaret and their faces lit up with a smile.

On their way, they had lunch at McRobots, bought a Google ChromeBed, and beautiful Microsoft WearableWindows dresses for Maggie.

After reaching home, Stella asked Maggie to freshen up while she got busy in preparing the new room. Later in the evening, Stella made delicious hot chocolate that she served to a rather gleeful Maggie devouring majestic rain by the window.  Her joy was short lived as Stella pushed a few books towards Maggie.

“Why these?” inquired Margaret.

“Well madam, we’ve fulfilled your first demand. And in order to travel time, you must learn about it” answered Stella.

“Aye Aye Captain!”

                Over the course of next few days, Stella taught Margaret about time warps, space curves, light speeds and importantly the proper usage of future-gear. For practical, they hopped time in intervals ranging from few seconds to a couple of minutes.

“Can we travel further afar? This advanced theory is boring” pleaded Margaret.

“Alright, but be careful.”

Maggie used Stella’s gear and they moved ahead a good 3 hours.

“Ha-ha! This is fun” giggled Margaret. “I could solve all my problems this way,” she added.

“Not all honey” conveyed Stella, now a little serious. Adding further, she said “I want to travel past to undo a misdemeanour. And to obtain the past gear, I must have years of future travel experience and train a child in travelling future.”

“Oh I see”, exclaimed Margaret, “I’d help you in your mission. By the way, what’s this inscription on your gear?”

“It’s my id. 13U2Z. You either acquire a new id or inherit one from your trainer. I was lucky to find a trainer in my guardian.”

“Just like me!”

“Yeah, but you can’t have it as long as I’m associated with it.”

“So what happened to your trainer?”

“That’s what I want to mend.”

                Margaret had now become as good as Stella in time travel. She was also successful in going forward a month. They were now to make the ultimate leap.

“Ok dear. Now’s the time. If you’re successful in travelling over a year, I could go to the Ministry of Time Travel and get a past-gear and what’s more, you could apply for your own future-gear” said an excited Stella.

“Hold on to your hats madam. For we’re going to travel at top gear!” exclaimed Margaret.

“Where are you taking us?”

“Wait and watch.”

Margaret was nervous as she had never before attempted time travel on such a scale. She programmed the gear and pressed the ‘Go’ button.

                It was a sunny day. The sky was lightly overcast but one could easily feel the warmth of sun after a spell of rain. Stella felt a sense of déjà vu.

“Wowie!” cheered Margaret, “I’d always wanted to see a rainbow across the red bridge.”

Stella’s heart started beating faster. She felt a premonition of what lay next. As she turned, she noticed a guy walking towards Margaret with an electro knife. She let out a scream: “Maggie! No!” and jumped towards the guy trying to snatch money.

Margaret turned back in time and ducked to save herself. The bot police immediately sprang into action and caught the robber.

Margaret’s relief was short-lived as she noticed a pool of blood near the ground where Stella was lying. The emergency bot doctors declared her lifeless. Stella’s body was taken by the bots to the inspection centre. Later they’d arrange for funeral and notify Margaret of the details.

The events had occurred too soon for Margaret to collect her senses. She wanted to undo it all and go back in time. If only she had travelled wisely.

Margaret rushed to the old Victorian building off the corner.

“This is Ministry of Time Travel. How may I help you?” asked the receptionist.

“I want to register myself as a future traveller,” said Margaret. She had made a decision.

“Do you want a new ID?”

Maggie looked at the gear in her hand and answered “I will use 13U2Z.”

As is the case with me, I didn't win. But I am satisfied at trying something different. I also threw in an easter egg for my favourite space ranger. It's easy if you try ;)
Do provide your feedback. If you wish to, you may download the PDF format from my Google Drive.

Windows XP in Windows 8 using Hyper V

Even after Microsoft announcing the end-of-support for the Windows XP, we can't forget the legendary OS. Future generations will be bereft of the charm Windows XP created. Enough said, I thought of installing XP as a VM in my Windows 8 Enterprise edition. Nostalgia.

I followed this cool article on technet blog to get started with a Windows VM. I had my XP Pro SP3 disk handy. So following all the steps, it was evident to select the below option to get started with the familiar blue screen setup.

But alas! I didn't choose the path of least resistance. I selected the first option to install the OS later.

Setting up a legacy network adapter and later connecting to, I found that the VM wasn't recognizing the DVD drive! Stop. Restart. Same error.

"Boot failure. Reboot and select proper boot device or insert Boot Media in selected Boot Device"
Boot device - check
Boot media - check
Boot failure - uncheck!

How to get over with it?

The problem was evident that the VM wasn't recognizing the media. So I played around and found solution on the Menu above.
Select Media -> DVD Drive -> Capture D:\  (or whatever your CD drive is)

Restart and viola! Shed your tears over the evergreen (or should I say everblue?) XP setup screen.

Cheers!

Bhugda Khaijaiin

I can write endlessly on nostalgia. To me, it’s the strangest feeling of all. You can’t hate it. Neither can you fall in love with it. It pops out at times you don’t expect it to or worse when you are not prepared for it. Consider this. You are busy in a meeting and your brain ticks! The nostalgic impulse rushes at the speed of light and no, you have no control over the outcome of emotions. That’s the reason why you see many of the folks smiling at a serious point or shedding tears when the company has its growth being manifested. I bet you have just recalled a similar incident and if am not wrong, you are smirking your way through ;)

Today when I talked to my Amma (grandmother), a similar nostalgia ached through my heart. I have not visited my home for over a month. A job in a distant city and the difficulty of booking train tickets during vacation have added to the woes. I prefer to converse with her in Sindhi, my mother tongue. I believe one should imbibe the language he or she is born in. I have grown up with grandparents by my side and that has made me love my language. It brings me closer to the culture I am hereditarily a part of.

It is summer here and she has put forth some set of rules. Recall a typical Indian motherly figure showering advices (rather commandments) with oodles of love. Us mein baayr na nikar jaiin (Do not go out in the sun). Baairi bhaaji na khaay jaiin (Do not eat outside vegetables, which symbolises non-vegetarian food). Duddh vathi kare kha (Buy some curd and eat). Kheer thado pi jaiin (Consume cold milk). Bhugda Khaijaiin (Eat roasted chick-peas). Amb-chaavar kha (Eat mango with rice – and that’s what my weekend plan will be). Ghar mein hi vetho rahe jaiin (Remain in home).

The Bhugda part hit that mother lode of nostalgia. I rarely had roasted chick-peas, popularly known as Chana in Hindi, during my 15 month stay in Mumbai. Not that I am extremely fond of it, but the memories of it during my school days make it a food to remember. Amma keeps telling how she relished having bhugda in her school days (and that’s before Indian independence). She and her sisters used to fill their pockets with bhugda and daakh (black raisins) on their way to school. Now at the age of 83, she grinds them and consumes the powdered avatar. I recall watching TV or reading a book while involuntarily devouring them.  I recall Amma instructing me to have some after having fried things (She has this theory that if you consume water after having oily/fried things, you will develop cough. The way out is either to wait for like, half an hour or to bridge the gap by consuming ‘safe’ things like biscuits, papad or chick-peas among other stuff). I recall my mother keeping some of them with a little jaggery in my tiffin box. I recall mouth-watering laayi (Chikki for you) made out of bhugdaas and/or khaajas (groundnuts) during Diwali. I recall the stories of horses having them and that that being responsible for their strong legs.

So many memories in such a little pea! We do take as granted the little wondrous elements of life. I don’t know if I’d be having bhugda soon, but yes, they would always intrigue me as carriers of nostalgia. Forget coffee. A lot has indeed happened for me over Bhugdaa.

Dexter

"Guilt Can Be A Killer"
These were the words that caught my attention when I was on the prowl for a killer TV series on IMDb. The answer was pretty bloody: "Dexter" 

I am a lazy guy and wanted to leave my search to where it was, but a newly found acquaintance informed of the series (all 5 seasons) soon to be telecasted on Star World. There it was. TV is something I can take care of. And begin 7 March 2011, my bloody quest started and how!! It was the title theme that gave me hunches: 'This is going to be one hell of a show you'll ever watch!' And as is with most cases, my hunches didn't disappoint me :)

Dexter is a story of Dexter Morgan, a guy who gets unusual feelings for blood. He takes up a job as a Blood Spatter Analyst at the Miami Metro PD, but that ain't enough. The thirst for blood makes him restless, so it's now on Harry to control the urge of his adopted son and give it a new direction. The speed changes to velocity following a certain set of rules better known as Harry's Code and Dexter is now on the prowl for bad guys who escape the system, only to be punished by Dexter, the power saw to the people.

The most fascinating part of the story is of course Dexter, who portraits  the INTJ character seamlessly. The unusual thought process, the code following, the oh-shit look on dealing with emotions, the self-talks and the cold look are all signs of a perfect INTJ! 

I'm in love with Dexter and am sure you'll be too. And if by chance, you ever want to rid the society of bad guys, make sure you follow the first rule: Never Get Caught, because: