Thats-so-Raja !

( This is a sequel to A Date - Part 1 ) “How are you?” “I don’t know!” I had given that reply a few times recently. People gaped at me as if I was a green monkey. But seriously, that was a very honest reply. ‘I don’t know’ . A beautiful ‘I don’t know’ . I always had this question in my mind. When people smugly beam that they are doing fantastic, what is their point of reference? Queen of England ? Paris Hilton? Thomas Alva Edison? Jesus Christ? Florence Nightingale? Adolf Hitler? And when people sulk, “It’s been hard”, what are they comparing against? Well, I can declare that, “Oh, compared to what I was before, I am better / worse. Actually, I am my own reference ”. Sure! That’s a logically acceptable argument. But let us take it a bit deeper. If I have to declare that, then am I really a worthy reference to measure myself against? How much do I matter? I was born, fed, loved, abused, pampered, spoiled, praised, shattered, filtered, I was feeling, caring, sharing, hea

“Good Morning. How is everything? Did you manage to have an early breakfast date with yourself?” I was on the bed in a hotel room in Jakarta when that SMS woke me up. I only managed to get a very few hours of sleep that night. Even in that, my mind went churning non-stop on some meaningless, unconnected things. I was literally aware of all that turmoil in the half sleep, twisting and tossing through it. Back to the SMS. All the SMS I get usually are with a single consistent purpose - my colleagues trying to find my whereabouts. Note - none of them is a hot babe. (This is altogether a different topic - how come no hot chick in this whole damn world manages to become an IT architect!!) Oh, for a change, I do occasionally get some irritating marketing campaigns. So, it is not a wonder that this message sprang me awake like a Maasai Warrior. (Maasai are an African tribe famous for their ability to rise from the deepest sleep to a state of total combat readiness in a matter of seconds)

As I walked into the home yesterday evening, I sensed that something was freezing cold. Quickly I realized that it was my wife. Of her many faces, she wore her confrontational face and came in front of me. Trisha, my little one, was next to her with almost a similar face too! She : Where is Kim Seng Road? Me : What is that? Is that where Trisha’s school is? Oh that is Koon Seng Road, isn’t it? She : You sure you don’t know? What is this IRAS letter about then? I took it from her to read. She quickly snatched it from me even before I got the full impact of it. It seems IRAS wants to tax me for a new Condominium I bought this June in 60, Kim Seng Road, Singapore, #15-02. She : Explain! Me : I don’t know. What in the world is that? I never bought any condo anywhere. Trisha : Daddy, tell me in my ears. Do you really own a condo? She : Trisha! You idiot. That means there is someone else in his life. I will have to step out of him. Trisha : Yehhh! Then I will live with daddy in the new cond

Gentle Ladies, Men and my loved ones, I am glad to introduce to you, “The Napkin Architect” . Sure, he is nerdy. Its not just IT, He does have his variety. He is bold, frivolous and stupid. His topics, very intrepid. All he needs is his pen And a nice big napkin. He tries to push his boundary Any risk is secondary Read him to keep you brisk And to follow him is your own risk. Ok, I wont use the napkin and pen to illustrate my ideas. It’s a big pain to maintain that until I scan and post. So I will instead use my bamboo tablet and pen. (Eeeps, I still owe 50 bucks to Ajay for that). So here he is : The Napkin Architect's Blog