In walks a lad, every step with an extra bounce
Name's Nate and a surname I can't pronounce
In love is he, with the great State of California
Of Sun, spirits and sultry sirens, tis a cornucopia
So meticulously clean, his room reeks of chlorine
Alas! On a tidy stove and sink, he seems not too keen
Chiefly grease and cheese, he has a diet that'd make,
The surgeon general choke, and Atkins drown in a lake
No member of the animal kingdom has he spared
Swimmers or land-dwellers, they've all been snared
None too shy, a macho image he seeks to exude
Ladies love the guy, and men just go, "Dude !"
However, beneath the tough exterior imagery
Lurks a tender heart that writes romantic poetry
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
V-Day
Once a year cometh a day without fail,
When Cupid's arrow doth a tender heart impale.
Whether close to grave, or in teenage hell,
Every demographic is under its spell.
No effort does the marketer spare,
For such opportunities are but rare.
Florists, chocolatiers and purveyors of fine wine,
All chime together "Hail St. Valentine !"
When Cupid's arrow doth a tender heart impale.
Whether close to grave, or in teenage hell,
Every demographic is under its spell.
No effort does the marketer spare,
For such opportunities are but rare.
Florists, chocolatiers and purveyors of fine wine,
All chime together "Hail St. Valentine !"
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Love is Deaf
There once lived a lass in Journal Square,
Looking for a guy, to make a handsome pair.
High and low, she aimed her search,
Alas, none could reach her lofty perch.
Not only must he read Proust, and dance merengue,
He also had to speak the same mother tongue !
And one fine day, in that skull so dense,
Flipped a switch, called common sense.
It happened to her, that crazy little thing called love,
With someone, who met none of the above
And so, let time be the ultimate test,
In the meantime, all the best !
Looking for a guy, to make a handsome pair.
High and low, she aimed her search,
Alas, none could reach her lofty perch.
Not only must he read Proust, and dance merengue,
He also had to speak the same mother tongue !
And one fine day, in that skull so dense,
Flipped a switch, called common sense.
It happened to her, that crazy little thing called love,
With someone, who met none of the above
And so, let time be the ultimate test,
In the meantime, all the best !
Walk the Talk
On Sunday dawned a day, cold and gray,
Beckoning most people, at home to stay.
From the blankets, like a Phoenix arose,
Who, you ask ? Ms. Parakh of course !
Her steely eyes took the scene in,
And decided twas better to sleep in.
Ah, but for a cause she had to walk,
The moment was here, after weeks of talk.
Inspired by the cause, or likely the free food,
She walked to the start, feeling pretty good.
Battling the elements, mile after mile,
She finished the long trek with a smile.
Then proceeded to down puri and shrikhand,
Consuming about twice the calories burned.
Another day gone, another job done,
Now to procrastinate, till the next one.
Beckoning most people, at home to stay.
From the blankets, like a Phoenix arose,
Who, you ask ? Ms. Parakh of course !
Her steely eyes took the scene in,
And decided twas better to sleep in.
Ah, but for a cause she had to walk,
The moment was here, after weeks of talk.
Inspired by the cause, or likely the free food,
She walked to the start, feeling pretty good.
Battling the elements, mile after mile,
She finished the long trek with a smile.
Then proceeded to down puri and shrikhand,
Consuming about twice the calories burned.
Another day gone, another job done,
Now to procrastinate, till the next one.
Fly Swatter
This is the story of a humble house fly,
Whose destiny one dogged fly-catcher crossed by.
As it went about its business humdrum,
To Dr. Hanasoge, it posed a conundrum.
Many a trick, his diabolical mind would create,
The bug's agility though, he would continually underrate.
Every attack, the little devil evaded,
Making its nemesis look increasingly jaded.
"Eureka !", he at last exclaimed, "This time I cannot fail",
As he brandished in his hands, a 12 inch scale.
Patiently he waited, then carefully aimed,
In one fell swoop, the little life was claimed.
With that story of how Rome fell,
The poet laureate ends his doggerel.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Chile
Two hundred Gucci, Prada and Hilfiger-clad yuppies, encased in two hundred tons of precisely machined steel, aluminum and rubber took off from runway two of San Francisco International Airport. Prodded on by two Pratt & Whitney 2043 engines, the ensuing 193 kN of thrust and an idea by Herr Bernoulli, the metalosaurus climbed to thirty five thousand feet, traced a perfect geodesic arc across the western hemisphere and landed in Santiago. The pilot likely took extra credit classes at flight school to be able to land in Chile, a country so anorexically thin, a mildly strong ocean breeze would probably blow its entire contents into buxom neighbor, Argentina.
Subsequently ensued the usual rigmarole of immigration, baggage claim and customs. As I went through this circus, it occurred to me that airports might be the only place in the universe where Einstein's time dilation principle applies to a non-relativistic reference frame. It takes forever. At some point, I found myself in a bus headed to Valparaiso, where my parallel computing workshop was being held. A word about parallel computing here. In theory, parallel computing involves several processors cooperating to solve some big problem, working together with the efficiency and coordination of a Navy SEAL unit. In reality, its more like Afghan warlords running a democracy. It's complicated. Therefore the workshop.
Valparaiso, or Valpo as it is affectionately called, sits on the face of a particularly tall and steep hill facing the sea. It and the surrounding town of Vina del Mar form a crescent along the coast. The summer sun looks down on hills dotted with multicolored buildings, beaches, and the calm, azure waters of the South Pacific to complete the panorama. It was ridiculously scenic. Why anybody would want to work, study or engage in any sort of productive enterprise in a place like this was beyond me. But they did, and so it was on to an intense first week of talks, labs and terrible food. I don't know what agricultural trauma in Chile's past caused such culinary bankruptcy, the country is still clearly reeling from it.
The first weekend, we made our way to Santiago, from where we embarked upon a day hike to the base camp of an active volcano, El Volcan San Jose. It was part of a massive volcanic chain in the Andes on the Chile-Argentina border. Word about the Andes here. As a mountain chain, they are quite unique. They may not be the tallest or the longest, but they've got something others haven't. The element of surprise. There you are, moving along, you know, minding your own business. And bam! In front of you looms a fifteen thousand foot colossus of rock and ice. That's the Andes for you. No fooling around. Nowhere else in the world will you find such Himalayan caliber mountains within spitting distance from the sea. It was a long hike, punctuated with a few breaks. The scenery was, as advertised, breathtaking. Literally. The rapid altitude gain sucked the lungs dry. After three hours of intense huffing and puffing, we reached the top. Very scenic. Snow capped mountains all around. Stuff that keeps Kodak and Nikon in business. We ate, rested and clicked the obligatory five hundred pictures.
Next day (Sunday) was spent tooling around Santiago, which, in line with its industrious Spanish lineage, was completely closed. These people take holidays more seriously than work. The only noteworthy place was the president's palace, for which apparently two lone guardsmen on horses was adequate security. There was the obligatory Plaza de Armas, which was not as impressive as some of the ones in Peru. There was, miraculously, an Indian restaurant around here. I got my first non-puke-inducing meal in the country.
Another grueling week commenced and it was a war of attrition. The crowds thinned out faster than the Amazon rainforest. At this point, the locals in the southern city of Punta Arenas decided to exercise their democratic right to peacefully protest against draconian government measures. I mean "peaceful" here in its broadest possible sense. There was rioting and looting. Like most brave adventurers, I brushed it off at first, thinking it couldn't possibly be a big deal. Media always hypes these things up kind of a thing. The Christopher Columbus in me wanted to go ahead with the plan, if nothing else, it will make a good story for the grandkids. But the adrenaline eventually cooled off, and decided that the grandkids will have to make do with something else.
I hopped on to the first plane headed in the general direction of North America. After more stops across the continent than a hop-on hop-off city tour bus, ended up at San Francisco. My partially functioning brain sent out test messages to various limbs under its control. Having received satisfactory responses and established that all systems were good to go, I hauled myself up and off to home sweet home.
Subsequently ensued the usual rigmarole of immigration, baggage claim and customs. As I went through this circus, it occurred to me that airports might be the only place in the universe where Einstein's time dilation principle applies to a non-relativistic reference frame. It takes forever. At some point, I found myself in a bus headed to Valparaiso, where my parallel computing workshop was being held. A word about parallel computing here. In theory, parallel computing involves several processors cooperating to solve some big problem, working together with the efficiency and coordination of a Navy SEAL unit. In reality, its more like Afghan warlords running a democracy. It's complicated. Therefore the workshop.
Valparaiso, or Valpo as it is affectionately called, sits on the face of a particularly tall and steep hill facing the sea. It and the surrounding town of Vina del Mar form a crescent along the coast. The summer sun looks down on hills dotted with multicolored buildings, beaches, and the calm, azure waters of the South Pacific to complete the panorama. It was ridiculously scenic. Why anybody would want to work, study or engage in any sort of productive enterprise in a place like this was beyond me. But they did, and so it was on to an intense first week of talks, labs and terrible food. I don't know what agricultural trauma in Chile's past caused such culinary bankruptcy, the country is still clearly reeling from it.
The first weekend, we made our way to Santiago, from where we embarked upon a day hike to the base camp of an active volcano, El Volcan San Jose. It was part of a massive volcanic chain in the Andes on the Chile-Argentina border. Word about the Andes here. As a mountain chain, they are quite unique. They may not be the tallest or the longest, but they've got something others haven't. The element of surprise. There you are, moving along, you know, minding your own business. And bam! In front of you looms a fifteen thousand foot colossus of rock and ice. That's the Andes for you. No fooling around. Nowhere else in the world will you find such Himalayan caliber mountains within spitting distance from the sea. It was a long hike, punctuated with a few breaks. The scenery was, as advertised, breathtaking. Literally. The rapid altitude gain sucked the lungs dry. After three hours of intense huffing and puffing, we reached the top. Very scenic. Snow capped mountains all around. Stuff that keeps Kodak and Nikon in business. We ate, rested and clicked the obligatory five hundred pictures.
Next day (Sunday) was spent tooling around Santiago, which, in line with its industrious Spanish lineage, was completely closed. These people take holidays more seriously than work. The only noteworthy place was the president's palace, for which apparently two lone guardsmen on horses was adequate security. There was the obligatory Plaza de Armas, which was not as impressive as some of the ones in Peru. There was, miraculously, an Indian restaurant around here. I got my first non-puke-inducing meal in the country.
Another grueling week commenced and it was a war of attrition. The crowds thinned out faster than the Amazon rainforest. At this point, the locals in the southern city of Punta Arenas decided to exercise their democratic right to peacefully protest against draconian government measures. I mean "peaceful" here in its broadest possible sense. There was rioting and looting. Like most brave adventurers, I brushed it off at first, thinking it couldn't possibly be a big deal. Media always hypes these things up kind of a thing. The Christopher Columbus in me wanted to go ahead with the plan, if nothing else, it will make a good story for the grandkids. But the adrenaline eventually cooled off, and decided that the grandkids will have to make do with something else.
I hopped on to the first plane headed in the general direction of North America. After more stops across the continent than a hop-on hop-off city tour bus, ended up at San Francisco. My partially functioning brain sent out test messages to various limbs under its control. Having received satisfactory responses and established that all systems were good to go, I hauled myself up and off to home sweet home.
Morning Glory
He steps out to a cool, grey dawn
The wind whistles and leaves rustle
Birds chirp, and squirrels yawn
Long before the morning bustle
Cheese on the bagel, tea in the kettle
A helping of cereal, right off the shelf
The lone warrior prepares to battle
Not only the elements, but also the self
As mind eggs the body on,
Legs fly and hands churn
Over the limit and further beyond
The heart pounds and lungs burn
Half part agony, half part fun
That glorious ritual called 'morning run'
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