<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880</id><updated>2011-07-30T23:41:10.166+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Anand Sivashankar's blog</title><subtitle type='html'>Anand's blog</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>258</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-8144016272160140444</id><published>2011-06-14T10:43:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2011-06-14T10:46:15.980+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Review: Beatrice &amp; Virgil by Yann Martel</title><summary type='text'>Eagerly expected books with talking animals having seemingly meaningless but verily spiritual and metaphysical discussions inveigle the reader into their cocooned world leaving him with the necessary option of retreating into more everyday realities or endeavour to cut through the chatter and experience a feeling of oneness with the ambition of the author. Martel’s Beatrice &amp; Virgil follows his </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/8144016272160140444'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/8144016272160140444'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2011/06/review-beatrice-virgil-by-yann-martel_14.html' title='Review: Beatrice &amp; Virgil by Yann Martel'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-7085869197522329515</id><published>2010-07-10T21:53:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2010-07-10T21:58:32.796+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The $64000 Question—Big Money, Just Imagine</title><summary type='text'>The Idiot Box has a duty to perform-not only does it attempt to titillate &amp; tantalize in its blind expansive ambition to bring more followers into its claustrophobic embrace, it also strives purposefully to drag its viewers to a Below-Mean-Sea-Level intelligence above which it actively renders unprofitable to rise. And it performs it with the sassiness of a Boxer in Animal Farm.That there are </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/7085869197522329515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/7085869197522329515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2010/07/64000-questionbig-money-just-imagine.html' title='The $64000 Question—Big Money, Just Imagine'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-1710340647877483556</id><published>2010-04-13T08:19:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2010-04-13T08:22:24.246+05:30</updated><title type='text'>My Father the Hero</title><summary type='text'>Shyam Benegal’s Well Done Abba is his latest film but sadly for a plethora of largely unconnected reasons, some way off his best. For once, the story moves away from glitzy India, even physically, to the Bharat that begins where the Worli flyover mythically ends.Drawn from sources as diverse as — Narsaiyyan Ki Bavdi by Hyderabad-based Urdu writer Jeelani Bano, Phulwa Ka Pul by Hindi author </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/1710340647877483556'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/1710340647877483556'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2010/04/my-father-hero_13.html' title='My Father the Hero'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-8282252507799508416</id><published>2010-04-04T13:56:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2010-04-04T14:06:06.915+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Stand up for your rights ( but sit down when wronged)</title><summary type='text'>The culmination of many a formal/official occasion in my student life had been the crisp and purposeful rendition of the National Anthem. And being slow on the uptake and getting longer in the tooth, I appear to have missed an interesting change sprung on us by supposedly well-meaning citizens. For what is now is played at the beginning of a film in cinema houses appears to be not the functional </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/8282252507799508416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/8282252507799508416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2010/04/stand-up-for-your-rights-but-sit-down.html' title='Stand up for your rights ( but sit down when wronged)'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-30665993228689434</id><published>2009-12-25T16:26:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-12-25T16:34:10.580+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The Day the Music Died</title><summary type='text'>It has been a soulful and melodious journey while it has lasted the course but as Nelly Furtado sings-Flames to dust, lovers to friends, why do all good things come to an end ?Announcing what appeared to be a business design flaw beyond redemption or correction, the company announced in a distinctly unmusical aside“On December 31, 2009, the WorldSpace satellite radio broadcast service will be </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/30665993228689434'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/30665993228689434'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/12/day-music-died.html' title='The Day the Music Died'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-2138310929373812812</id><published>2009-12-15T21:05:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-12-15T21:08:27.248+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Matches are made, in Poker Heaven</title><summary type='text'>I realized it the minute I left the cafeteria with the Lankans needing 40 from 36 with 5 wickets in hand. And I was wrong by all of one run !The rest of my tea-sipping fans wanted to know how exactly I did it—predicted the victor and the margin, when SL had the match in the bag.For that, one has to go back almost a decade when I saw the last two hours of an India-S Africa match, long after which </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/2138310929373812812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/2138310929373812812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/12/matches-are-made-in-poker-heaven.html' title='Matches are made, in Poker Heaven'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-1167680870360960794</id><published>2009-12-13T11:51:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-12-13T11:53:59.305+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Teda hai par mera hai</title><summary type='text'>India has come a long way from the 80’s time when the epitome of a child’s aspirations were  a BSA SLR bicycle, a wad Wrigley’s chewing gum, a Mon Ami pen set and perhaps a North Star pair of shoes. However for most adult males, ownership of any of the famed Priya, Chetak, Super or Classic set of Bajaj scooters was sufficient to grant a visible halo of middle-class respectability, familial </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/1167680870360960794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/1167680870360960794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/12/teda-hai-par-mera-hai.html' title='Teda hai par mera hai'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-56412284218532752</id><published>2009-12-02T02:00:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-12-02T02:03:00.039+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Driving our Car’eers</title><summary type='text'>The latest Volkswagen TVC is an integrated brand campaign in India that aims to increase brand awareness about its four cars - Beetle, Jetta, Passat and Touareg. The ad film opens with a shot of a young kid in a Volkswagen showroom, admiring the Beetle. A salesperson sees him there and offers to help him. The kid asks him whether it would be possible to book a car in advance, for his 18th </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/56412284218532752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/56412284218532752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/12/driving-our-careers.html' title='Driving our Car’eers'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-2899204085859380248</id><published>2009-11-25T02:15:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-11-25T02:23:06.828+05:30</updated><title type='text'>As I Lay Dying</title><summary type='text'>The casual brutality of the world’s oldest “way of life” reasserts itself as rusty knives and rustier beliefs are brandished yet again. Shrugging off fervent entreaties from a few disparate directions, hordes of devotees swarmed to at the Gadhimai temple premises in southern Nepal where over a lakh animals are to be ritually slaughtered.There have been some muted and some strident protests – </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/2899204085859380248'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/2899204085859380248'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/11/as-i-lay-dying.html' title='As I Lay Dying'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-3071011077670874189</id><published>2009-11-15T00:57:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-11-19T01:20:50.402+05:30</updated><title type='text'>And of Muddied Oafs....</title><summary type='text'>An unseen and ineluctable downward intellectual spiral in most of our lives has us occasionally pausing out of breath wondering where all one’s lofty pursuits have disappeared. The extent of elation on encountering anything divergent from the status quo, usually a direct measure of the depths that we may have plumbed, is unfettered by any stimulus causing it to begin with which consequently </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/3071011077670874189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/3071011077670874189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/11/and-of-muddied-oafs.html' title='And of Muddied Oafs....'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-3185061021712099005</id><published>2009-11-05T01:22:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-11-05T01:25:00.398+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Valley of the Dolts</title><summary type='text'>Having always considered myself a genuine sports-lover and with more than a passing acquaintance with the Indian Army, I am alarmed at the predictably churlishly and piercingly shrill rants that have found their way into the mangers of the media at the refusal/inability of the Services team to visit Srinagar to play their Ranji Trophy match against the hosts J &amp; K.As the story goes, the top guns </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/3185061021712099005'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/3185061021712099005'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/11/valley-of-dolts.html' title='Valley of the Dolts'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-4297029752880200843</id><published>2009-10-28T00:20:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-10-28T00:22:35.304+05:30</updated><title type='text'>What the well-dressed man is wearing</title><summary type='text'>After ample coverage of the mayhem dished out to unprotesting “fabric” and self-conscious models during the yawnfests also known as fashion shows, the scene shifts to embarrassing a hitherto content and silent section of our population. It is the season of the relatively low-key Gladrags Mrs. India where a politically motivated set of organizers attempt to set aright the balance.The ads that </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/4297029752880200843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/4297029752880200843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/10/what-well-dressed-man-is-wearing.html' title='What the well-dressed man is wearing'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-3216948657947876201</id><published>2009-09-10T02:12:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-09-10T02:16:02.913+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Follow the Sun</title><summary type='text'>To ensure and complete a rich integration of a smooth transfer of learning from the bored-room to the black-and-bored room, the Ingenious Silo of Blah has enunciated their version of beating the street in the wake of recessionary pressures. This heady concoction titled “Chase the Shadowy CEO” engenders students staking a claim to bid for and get a full day to trace the whereabouts of CEOs of </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/3216948657947876201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/3216948657947876201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/09/follow-sun_10.html' title='Follow the Sun'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-720251705296680910</id><published>2009-09-06T01:01:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-09-06T01:05:53.734+05:30</updated><title type='text'>A Teacher's Day</title><summary type='text'>An unhappy task lies before me, to remember a dear teacher on an occasion meant to salute the noble efforts of this most undervalued and under-recognized profession. The discomfiting humidity and momentary loneliness I feel may pass but the lump in the throat that refuses to go away may not.Prof. Deven Dhanak who taught me Organization Development about a decade ago passed on last month. While </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/720251705296680910'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/720251705296680910'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/09/teachers-day.html' title='A Teacher&apos;s Day'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-1636138167557457363</id><published>2009-09-04T01:25:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-09-04T01:26:26.585+05:30</updated><title type='text'>A Star is Born</title><summary type='text'>For a nation ranked about No. 150 ( FIFA rankings)  to rejoice about exploits, real or imagined, on a football field might be construed as heady optimism by some and blind faith clamouring for any form of sporting success by others. This light-headed joy came largely due to custodian Subrata Pak held up as the public face of India’s victory, and who now finds himself the subject of a respectable </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/1636138167557457363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/1636138167557457363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/09/star-is-born_04.html' title='A Star is Born'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-3001028494666421384</id><published>2009-08-28T01:27:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-08-28T01:31:58.720+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Sankat City</title><summary type='text'>Other than two forced references at the beginning and the end of the film, the unnaturally-named and even more unnaturally-made Sankat City does not directly reference the city much and in fact the only ones weaken what was never a taut plot in the first place.  An empty B.E.S.T bus lumbering uphill and then downhill and a garbage dump the size of Scrooge’s money bin may seem  thin devices </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/3001028494666421384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/3001028494666421384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/08/sankat-city.html' title='Sankat City'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-3428317328657511190</id><published>2009-08-25T00:50:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-08-25T00:57:16.313+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The Secret Lives of Bees</title><summary type='text'>In an enervated attempt to bring the tense spectacle of the Spelling Bee contest to the already-academics obsessed Indian living room, ESPN STAR Sports hosted the inaugural edition of Spelling Champs 2009 recently.Unlike the now-familiar “ May I have the word again please”, “May I have the usage”, “May I have the language of origin” routine, one now had a staccato fire of words thrown at the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/3428317328657511190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/3428317328657511190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/08/secret-lives-of-bees.html' title='The Secret Lives of Bees'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-4570722272332122859</id><published>2009-07-14T00:45:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-07-14T00:49:43.604+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Some Pride and Many Prejudices</title><summary type='text'>In another reckless display of mind-boggling conceit and superciliousness, He of the grating Jayanagar- meets-Jacksonville accent, held forth another contrived media ode on the pretext of recording His reactions on the afore-mentioned strutting s.-a.p. of I’s c. leaving the N-company.Amongst various facts that he revealed were his having personally selected the Acolyte over thirty years ago, his </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/4570722272332122859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/4570722272332122859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/07/some-pride-and-many-prejudices.html' title='Some Pride and Many Prejudices'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-2074740472613638697</id><published>2009-06-26T01:07:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-06-26T01:10:07.185+05:30</updated><title type='text'>When there is a whorl, there is a way…</title><summary type='text'>On a pleasantly rainy day in Bombay, the strutting self-appointed paragon of modern India’s consciousness is elevated to the rank of a Cabinet Minister with the responsibility of leading a project to provide a Unique Identification Number to all its denizens.“The Unique Identification Authority shall have the responsibilities to lay down plans and policies to implement the Unique Identification </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/2074740472613638697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/2074740472613638697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/06/when-there-is-whorl-there-is-way_26.html' title='When there is a whorl, there is a way…'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-8697119132309829228</id><published>2009-06-13T09:12:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-06-13T09:13:34.837+05:30</updated><title type='text'>My Cup Spilleth Over</title><summary type='text'>Ignoring pointed reminders from the likes of Kabir, the Modern Man deigns to count his blessings only during a recession. And many hours of sedulously hoarding each nugget of material pursuits finds He is really better off than He gives Himself credit for. Contentment is just around the corner !Bhutan’s edicts of Gross National Happiness get a look-in once over…Pico Iyer’s meditative “The Joy of </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/8697119132309829228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/8697119132309829228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/06/my-cup-spilleth-over_13.html' title='My Cup Spilleth Over'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-7016334652519252541</id><published>2009-04-16T01:40:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-16T01:46:24.824+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Aaja Re Pardesi</title><summary type='text'>With our elections just around the corner, there may be reasons for the 58% or so of those among us who vote would have a momentary sense of alignment and self-congratulatory righteousness associated with participation in this massive exercise. Of the rest, most would get on with their lives unfettered by any feeling of remorse with the overall process or result seemingly able to absorb this </summary><link rel='related' href='http://www.hindu.com/2009/04/15/stories/2009041555831000.htm' title='Aaja Re Pardesi'/><link rel='enclosure' type='text/html' href='http://www.hindu.com/2009/04/15/stories/2009041555831000.htm' length='0'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/7016334652519252541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/7016334652519252541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/04/aaja-re-pardesi.html' title='Aaja Re Pardesi'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-1793910125797187161</id><published>2009-04-02T23:52:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-02T23:58:52.858+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Butterfly strokes</title><summary type='text'>A pub, according to the venerated Billy Bunter is an unsavoury place where victuals and beverages of dubious origin are served to shadier folks, and is not , not a place where the well-heeled go to.A crawl, according to the even more venerated dictionary is To move slowly on the hands and knees or by dragging the body along the ground; creep.But by Golly, a pub crawl according to the most </summary><link rel='related' href='http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Running_of_the_Santas' title='Butterfly strokes'/><link rel='enclosure' type='' href='http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Running_of_the_Santas' length='0'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/1793910125797187161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/1793910125797187161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/04/butterfly-strokes.html' title='Butterfly strokes'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-7852973643813516969</id><published>2009-03-31T23:59:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-01T00:00:39.936+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Thus Spake Zarathustra</title><summary type='text'>In retrospect, the lost demeanour of the Indian team at Napier,at least for the first three days, could be attributed to a dreamy Dhoni mumbling thus“Not really,” said the Indian captain. “When it comes to the mind it depends on what you are feeding into the mind. The mind doesn’t know if it’s Napier or not. You come and say this is Napier it believes it’s Napier, you say it is day it believes it</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/7852973643813516969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/7852973643813516969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/03/thus-spake-zarathustra.html' title='Thus Spake Zarathustra'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-5138992465573395325</id><published>2009-03-31T00:06:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-03-31T00:12:53.416+05:30</updated><title type='text'>For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow</title><summary type='text'>Newton’s third law at work here—the air is rife with folks who are at the other end of the moral-socio-fiscal tug-of-war finding some willing listeners. The most listened-to voice beinghttp://www.usnews.com/blogs/the-ticker/2009/03/25/jake-desantis-dear-aig-i-quit-.htmlNow, there appear to be two aspects on which the writer has my sympathies—one, laws applied retrospectively smack of poor </summary><link rel='related' href='http://www.usnews.com/blogs/the-ticker/2009/03/25/jake-desantis-dear-aig-i-quit-.html' title='For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/5138992465573395325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/5138992465573395325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/03/for-hes-jolly-good-fellow.html' title='For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-5381547583414524559</id><published>2009-03-25T23:48:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-03-25T23:52:27.946+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The Continental Drift Theory</title><summary type='text'>In a sad move that may yet derail the world’s biggest democratic fair, the Insatiable Pecuniary League has moved house to the Republic of South Africa, abetted by dreamy visions of balmy weather and barmier viewers who would now safely relied upon to spend most of their summer days watching coloured cricketers in coloured clothing pretend to immerse themselves in the wonderful game of Ten10.In a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/5381547583414524559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/5381547583414524559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2009/03/continental-drift-theory.html' title='The Continental Drift Theory'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-2359637665323622090</id><published>2008-11-12T01:42:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2008-11-12T01:45:20.528+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Of Flannelled Fools and Muttered Oaths…</title><summary type='text'>Many have been the unfair, unfounded and unkind allegations that have been levelled against me in the long and arduous years of yeoman service to the Corporate World. While the more tangential and obtuse have been hitherto water off a duck’s back, there are some that rankle and ravage far longer than the momentary import of the words thus u., u. and u. blurted.In the past seven days, three people</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/2359637665323622090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/2359637665323622090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2008/11/of-flannelled-fools-and-muttered-oaths.html' title='Of Flannelled Fools and Muttered Oaths…'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-4104555646964230992</id><published>2008-10-01T15:03:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2008-10-01T15:06:03.785+05:30</updated><title type='text'>PIGS HAVE WINGS</title><summary type='text'>It is certainly not uncommon to encounter entities in the corporate world who arrogate influence, power and clout to themselves far beyond the realms of credulity. In the absence of gentle reminders to the contrary, these entities traipse on in their folly never stopping to smell the coffee and are frequently taken aback by wake-up calls that befall them in an increasingly unpredictable and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/4104555646964230992'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/4104555646964230992'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2008/10/pigs-have-wings.html' title='PIGS HAVE WINGS'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-5528893214665108849</id><published>2008-07-29T00:10:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-07-29T00:13:50.775+05:30</updated><title type='text'>If God Was a Banker</title><summary type='text'>The few readers ( Ed—Yeah, both of them !) will note that I assiduously maintain a Worst Reads List and while most writers given half a chance would vehemently argue against any of their works being placed in that exalted category, every now and then something comes along that facilely cuts through the clutter and ensconces itself at Pole Position for the year with more than five months yet to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/5528893214665108849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/5528893214665108849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2008/07/if-god-was-banker.html' title='If God Was a Banker'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-5479843721607941982</id><published>2008-07-22T00:49:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-07-22T00:53:50.796+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Wet Paint</title><summary type='text'>It having been eons since I crossworded anything, I mindlessly picked up a copy of “Keep off the Grass” by Karan Bajaj and managed to plough through soon enough. It’s one of those debuts where a reader can sense the maniacal urge to throw the proverbial kitchen sink and the dish-washer in, angling for a semblance of cohesion somehow. Despite the pitfalls, it came off a tad better than I had </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/5479843721607941982'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/5479843721607941982'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2008/07/wet-paint.html' title='Wet Paint'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-5944180633659625891</id><published>2008-06-02T01:15:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-06-02T01:21:27.561+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Notes from the IPL</title><summary type='text'>It’s all over with the ballyhoo and as the stardust clears, it may be time to take a sense-check of what hath the IPL wrought. In all the six weeks, I saw a massive total of three Mumbai Indians shirts, ostensibly the local team, even as I counted twenty-four Messi and even six, Gasp, Huntelaar jerseys, which can only mean that the gaudy blue excrescence did not exactly take the metropolis by </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/5944180633659625891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/5944180633659625891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2008/06/notes-from-ipl.html' title='Notes from the IPL'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-745061602383656448</id><published>2008-05-28T00:49:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-05-28T00:52:57.723+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Going Gaga</title><summary type='text'>Ah yes, so that’s that, folks ! The last of those gangly imperfect heroes - adored, loved and revered by a forgiving public has limped off into the sunset. Hindered incessantly by the aftermath of a dodgy hip that simply refused to behave even post-surgery, Gustavo Kuerten tried and failed to be the player he once was, and announced his retirement after losing to Paul-Henri Mathieu at the French </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/745061602383656448'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/745061602383656448'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2008/05/going-gaga.html' title='Going Gaga'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-1132685572569320052</id><published>2008-04-20T13:57:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-04-20T13:59:24.442+05:30</updated><title type='text'>BEST READS OF 2007</title><summary type='text'>The main reason for this list seeing the light of day so late in the year was the obvious attempt to smuggle in something read in the wee hours of 2008 and pass that off as a past-read, in the manner of Reetinder Singh Sodhi playing the Lombard Cup, a U-15 cup when he was almost sixteen. Sadly, I return , hat in hand, to say that this has failed !1)     The Fire and the Rain-Girish Karnad, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/1132685572569320052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/1132685572569320052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2008/04/best-reads-of-2007.html' title='BEST READS OF 2007'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-2240431125597015958</id><published>2008-03-01T02:37:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2008-03-01T02:41:05.600+05:30</updated><title type='text'>STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT</title><summary type='text'>He didn’t want to do it, and that was that. They had explained the rationale to him time and again—over drinks, at the breakfast table and then during the outdoor stretching sessions too. By now, all had had a go—Sachin, Laxman, and even his mentor Dada had made it known that they collectively and individually thought it’d be best if he did the “right thing”. Right, it may have been for them but </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/2240431125597015958'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/2240431125597015958'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2008/03/strangers-in-night.html' title='STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-6784561491832328379</id><published>2008-02-27T08:31:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-02-27T08:33:01.369+05:30</updated><title type='text'>All for One, and One for All</title><summary type='text'>It’s all so easy these days, ain’t it ? You do exactly what you want, how you want and when accountability is demanded, you throw a tantrum and petulantly kick the ground till you get your candy.It does not behoove players of the calibre of Mahesh Bhupathi, Rohan Bopanna and Prakash Amritraj to ignominiously attempt to unseat Leander Paes of the Indian Davis Cup team. A storm that began in a  </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/6784561491832328379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/6784561491832328379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2008/02/all-for-one-and-one-for-all.html' title='All for One, and One for All'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-7699401551859333275</id><published>2008-01-29T01:33:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-01-29T01:35:57.563+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The Great Indian Rope Trick</title><summary type='text'>Hurrah and all Graduation hats in the air please ! The joke of the year and we are barely thirty days into it. The Ingenious Silo of Blah has wormed its way into the Top 20 global B-schools riding on its “centre of excellence” in running a “research-driven and independent management education grooming leaders for the world”.This pompous drivel has always been the hallmark of an institute that has</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/7699401551859333275'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/7699401551859333275'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2008/01/great-indian-rope-trick.html' title='The Great Indian Rope Trick'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-96933268336623860</id><published>2008-01-27T01:20:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-01-27T01:25:37.463+05:30</updated><title type='text'>THE END OF AN ERA AND ALL THAT JAZZ….</title><summary type='text'>So what’s deemed as a reprehensible and ignominious fall from grace is this—a failure to get into a Grand Slam final for the 11th straight time when admittedly well below peak capacity and a straight-set loss for the first time after losing to a three-time Grand Slam eons ago. That’s the pain of being the most dominant player ever, and as he said it’s like he created a monster of having to win </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/96933268336623860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/96933268336623860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2008/01/end-of-era-and-all-that-jazz.html' title='THE END OF AN ERA AND ALL THAT JAZZ….'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-7524444731866393187</id><published>2008-01-24T01:34:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-01-24T01:37:41.565+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Toba Tek Singh &amp; Sinisa Mihailovich..</title><summary type='text'>As anyone who has played the game will tell you, there are only a few things more pleasurable than kicking a football. Far easier than fighting your way to the batting crease esp. when the bat is not yours, or wresting a racquet from an obstinate peer and as I say, more fun. Of course one only gets to play most of the time with peers only slightly gifted than you are, one-trick ponies with an </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/7524444731866393187'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/7524444731866393187'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2008/01/toba-tek-singh-sinisa-mihailovich.html' title='Toba Tek Singh &amp; Sinisa Mihailovich..'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-2907057045454773961</id><published>2008-01-21T00:54:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-01-21T00:56:39.755+05:30</updated><title type='text'>BROADLY CASTING</title><summary type='text'>The tenuous and unexplained connection between my having to turn to the radio whenever I need an Indian win versus the Aussies continued this week. The first time was a decade ago at college when a Nayan Mongia century inspired India to an innings win at Delhi, a memorable one  at Adelaide in 2004 was spent listening into a small radio in a locked cabin at the factory when Rahul Dravid huffed and</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/2907057045454773961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/2907057045454773961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2008/01/broadly-casting.html' title='BROADLY CASTING'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-6359250868631037138</id><published>2008-01-03T01:50:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-01-03T01:55:43.833+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Bhutan’s March to Democracy</title><summary type='text'>http://www.hinduonnet.com/holnus/000200712311120.htm The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, or more pithily, Vafadaar ke khoon se baaghi paida hota hai. As Bhutan voted, the world cowered as a tiny nation showed how it’s done. And as in most places, a collective call to arms by the populace was scarce the reason why a compact monarchy chose to metamorphose into a </summary><link rel='enclosure' type='' href='http://www.hinduonnet.com/holnus/000200712311120' length='0'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/6359250868631037138'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/6359250868631037138'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2008/01/bhutans-march-to-democracy.html' title='Bhutan’s March to Democracy'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-434176602146506756</id><published>2008-01-03T00:47:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-01-03T01:08:02.652+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Top 10 Tech Predictions for 2008</title><summary type='text'>Forecaster Mark Andersen of the Strategic News Service (SNS) has published his top 10 predictions for 2008. Here they are-generously flavoured with a comment from another famous tech-soothsayer.  Following are Mark’s predictions:1. The Users Revolt. As advertisers focus in on social networking sites, users revolt against this trend, and power shifts in the worlds of Social Networking from owner </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/434176602146506756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/434176602146506756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2008/01/top-10-tech-predictions-for-2008.html' title='Top 10 Tech Predictions for 2008'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-5330353567997764378</id><published>2007-12-25T20:24:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-12-25T20:32:33.602+05:30</updated><title type='text'>We Are Like That Only !!</title><summary type='text'>Any attempt that sets out to unravel the myriad vicissitudes of Indian demographics &amp; economics would have been deemed successful if the vast spheres of disparate and disjointed data that comprise it itself have been covered with a modicum of adequacy and wholeness. And if any attempt also undertakes the Sisyphean ordeal of organizing and modelling the endless labyrinths of information on Indian </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/5330353567997764378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/5330353567997764378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2007/12/we-are-like-that-only.html' title='We Are Like That Only !!'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-3423793471731683821</id><published>2007-11-13T00:25:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-11-13T00:31:27.234+05:30</updated><title type='text'>SO BUZZ OFF SIR !!</title><summary type='text'>And presently, there he was ! So after long last, as was ordained, our paths crossed through the reliable radio amidst the cacophony of those polluting v. many floors below.Let’s get the facts out of the way.It is a He, most definitely. A most effeminate and unmanly He, but a He nevertheless . The first name is Gerry, as in Gerry-can, gerry-mander. And the second is Sein-f-e-l-d, not Seinfieldt </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/3423793471731683821'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/3423793471731683821'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2007/11/so-buzz-off-sir.html' title='SO BUZZ OFF SIR !!'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-1509836535066260358</id><published>2007-10-26T06:44:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-10-26T06:57:11.167+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Nobel gases</title><summary type='text'>One of the many beguiling aspects of the biggie from Oslo, capital of a whalo-philic Norway is the constitution of the process laid down itself, which seems to mandate the awarding of the prize by the Norwegian Nobel Committee, instituted by ol' Alfred to ensure no foreign policy influence, or some such quaint reason.So while the raison d' etre of the Nobel Peace Prize archly spells out that it </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/1509836535066260358'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/1509836535066260358'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2007/10/nobel-gases.html' title='Nobel gases'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-5045223642992372510</id><published>2007-10-16T01:38:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-10-16T01:40:59.657+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Disgrace</title><summary type='text'>Not too long ago, a friend whose grasp of sport I admire was trying to convince me that sooner rather than later, there would be a time when every single athletics icon we had looked up to in our formative years would be unceremoniously dumped as they would be nailed for usage of performance-enhancing drugs. I had not believed him then and I daresay a respectable volte-face would be almost in </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/5045223642992372510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/5045223642992372510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2007/10/disgrace.html' title='Disgrace'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-5100156784506845493</id><published>2007-10-03T23:49:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-10-03T23:54:37.104+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Of Glittering Gold and a myriad India</title><summary type='text'>Vividh Bharti today completed its fiftieth year of operations , more with the studied economy of movement associated with middle-age than with the carefree gait of a teenager. What was once a unifying medium and common frame of reference has predictably degenerated into a increasingly incoherent voice drowned in an incessant cacophony of information-entertainment-news, so overwhelming that it is </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/5100156784506845493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/5100156784506845493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2007/10/of-glittering-gold-and-myriad-india.html' title='Of Glittering Gold and a myriad India'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-7366008775634774810</id><published>2007-09-25T14:48:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-09-25T15:03:16.471+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Blowing My Trumpet</title><summary type='text'>With uncharacteristeric diffidence at having learned ones spout the virtues of Istvan Szabo's generational angst and Kiarostami's meandering allegories and havign to squirm uncomfortably at my pitiable ignorance , I decided that it was times for the philistines to get g(r)eeky and finally come to the table of this World Cinema gourmet. And what a meal it was....Being in English, Elephant was the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/7366008775634774810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/7366008775634774810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2007/09/blowing-my-trumpet.html' title='Blowing My Trumpet'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-2259690931656791668</id><published>2007-04-30T23:25:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-04-30T23:30:17.882+05:30</updated><title type='text'>WHAT THE WELL=DRESSES MAN IS WEARING ..</title><summary type='text'>Corporate standards for sartorial elegance are on a steady downward spiral and while Milady's Boudoir may offer solace to the discerning, I may actually preferred a uniformity that is perhaps a throwback to happier days. The advent of the rather ignorantly named "knowledge workers" has hastened the departure of the day where a toddler could tell by your clothes you wore whether you were going to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/2259690931656791668'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/2259690931656791668'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2007/04/what-welldresses-man-is-wearing.html' title='WHAT THE WELL=DRESSES MAN IS WEARING ..'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-6767680192506004822</id><published>2007-02-25T00:35:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-02-25T01:01:47.347+05:30</updated><title type='text'>MEDIA WATCH-2</title><summary type='text'>Have held on to an earlier belief that advertisements in many ways reflect the spirit of the times, zeitgeist etc. and encapsulate most of what's going on in the nation as succintly as can be within thirty or so seconds. Which is possibly the reason why the advertisement that featured the voice-over of the ubiquitous tele-caller was refreshing - and although the product pitch was for a mere </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/6767680192506004822'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/6767680192506004822'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2007/02/media-watch-2.html' title='MEDIA WATCH-2'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-9048360534283928565</id><published>2007-02-25T00:13:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-02-25T00:23:31.675+05:30</updated><title type='text'>MEDIA WATCH-1</title><summary type='text'>After a couple of decades, Karamchand (as in the serial and not for a minute to be confused with Mohandas LLB !) is back. And one wonders if this was the very thing that was so fervidly anticipated and which, Truth be said, it had always delivered. In plot, narrative, conversation and investigation technique.So why does everything look woefully out of place now ?For starters, its been a long </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/9048360534283928565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/9048360534283928565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2007/02/media-watch-1.html' title='MEDIA WATCH-1'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-117068734399427035</id><published>2007-02-05T20:24:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-02-05T20:25:44.006+05:30</updated><title type='text'>SPORTY SPICE</title><summary type='text'>When one is caught in unexpected situations, one behaves uncharacteristically, and so goes the Rational Choice Theory (Ed—Well, not really, but we’ll let that pass ! ). Anyway there’s a prominent Indian publication which is equally loved and vilified by the adoring heathen, and whose copy carries a particular page number that is meant to epitomize all that it stands for, or leans against. ( </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/117068734399427035'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/117068734399427035'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2007/02/sporty-spice.html' title='SPORTY SPICE'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-116757810672668768</id><published>2006-12-31T20:36:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-12-31T20:45:06.746+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The Year That Was</title><summary type='text'>A rambling discursive and wholly subjective view (having attempted and failed to get any sort of desciption going )Best Books Read in 20061) On Beauty-Zadie Smith2) Never Let Me Go-Kazuo Ishiguro3) The Hungry Tide-Amitav Ghosh4) Red- Irwin Allan Sealy5) The Kite Runner-Khaled Hossaini6) Cuckold-Kiran Nagarkar7) Memories of My Melancholy Whores-G G Marquez8) Taj-Timeri Murari9) The Master-Colm </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/116757810672668768'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/116757810672668768'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/12/year-that-was.html' title='The Year That Was'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-116638201931898902</id><published>2006-12-18T00:27:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-12-18T00:30:19.333+05:30</updated><title type='text'>WHISTLE WHILE YOU WORK</title><summary type='text'>Yet another advertisement ostensibly jogging the extra mile in favour of the rapacious customer has me cringing. Two versions from the stables of a renowned financial services institution do the rounds—a comely lady is hitting the high strides in the wee hours on a jogging track and while she turns heads easily enough, recurring thoughts about existing customers keep plaguing her run; and in </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/116638201931898902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/116638201931898902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/12/whistle-while-you-work.html' title='WHISTLE WHILE YOU WORK'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-116361231822901460</id><published>2006-11-15T23:05:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-11-15T23:08:38.263+05:30</updated><title type='text'>A BIG BUSINESS</title><summary type='text'>                                                                 A BIG BUSINESSRadio is perceived to be an inexpensive medium in India, and with typical Indian disdain for which one does not have to shell out an arm and a leg, has met with limited commercial success and spawned ambigious notions of sustained profitability. In some high-profile cases, there have been entrenched players changing </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/116361231822901460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/116361231822901460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/11/big-business.html' title='A BIG BUSINESS'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-116100690560750396</id><published>2006-10-16T19:19:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-10-16T19:25:07.446+05:30</updated><title type='text'>FORGIVE THEM, OH LORD FOR THEY KNOW NOT....</title><summary type='text'>Recently a huge amount of fuss was made over a leftist Head of State’s purported error on pronouncing an oft-quoted writer and thinker dead in a speech. All the Hounds of Baskerville and beyond went to town about an elementary gaffe made by one who should have known better, being quite the one-trick pony for his meandering ways, reviled no end by the West.Nothing really significant—the oft-q. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/116100690560750396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/116100690560750396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/10/forgive-them-oh-lord-for-they-know-not.html' title='FORGIVE THEM, OH LORD FOR THEY KNOW NOT....'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-115893735896396837</id><published>2006-09-22T20:29:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-09-22T20:32:38.983+05:30</updated><title type='text'>A GOLDEN VOICE...</title><summary type='text'>Most of us spend a lifetime searching for a vocation, which gives us joy, contentment and fulfillment, and blessed are the few who find it. Yet fewer muster up the courage or whatever else it takes to pursue such an ideal and a handful truly manage to take these vocations to fruition of any kind. And in today’s world , more than any other time, the sagely Paul Getty with “Success is what we </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/115893735896396837'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/115893735896396837'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/09/golden-voice.html' title='A GOLDEN VOICE...'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-115779333104877684</id><published>2006-09-09T14:41:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-09-09T14:45:31.070+05:30</updated><title type='text'>SHE WORE BLUE VELVET.....</title><summary type='text'>And generations to come will scarce believe that such a one as this walked these courts in flesh, flash and blood…..The bald eagle rides away on his Rosinante into the distant dusk, secure in the knowledge that his place in the hearts and minds of tennis-crazy brethren and then some is impregnable. The spirit was willing, but the will was not spirited and truth be said, a thirty six year old on </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/115779333104877684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/115779333104877684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/09/she-wore-blue-velvet.html' title='SHE WORE BLUE VELVET.....'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-115417034011677401</id><published>2006-07-29T16:18:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-07-29T16:22:20.143+05:30</updated><title type='text'>LOST IN TRANSLATION</title><summary type='text'>&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /&gt; During a recent cafeteria conversation, I was credited, erroneously, with having mastered a language and winced at the flummoxed look on my colleague’s grizzled visage on hearing that I for all my gifts could not, did not and almost certainly would not, read the work that we had spent a warm cuppa discussing, in its </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/115417034011677401'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/115417034011677401'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/07/lost-in-translation.html' title='LOST IN TRANSLATION'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-115114796809649377</id><published>2006-06-24T16:45:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-06-24T16:49:28.110+05:30</updated><title type='text'>DANGLING CONVERSATIONS &amp; SUPERFICIAL SIGHS</title><summary type='text'>R Sriram, MD &amp; CEO of Crossword Bookstores resigned this week. Easily the most visible face of the reading fraternity, if there is indeed one,his immediate plans are of now unannounced and there are faint rumours of his joining a prominent firm of the retail industry. "Crossword was founded in 1992 by Mr R. Sriram and Ms K. Anita along with a young team for India Book House Limited and the first </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/115114796809649377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/115114796809649377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/06/dangling-conversations-superficial.html' title='DANGLING CONVERSATIONS &amp; SUPERFICIAL SIGHS'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-114917607702180461</id><published>2006-06-01T21:01:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-06-01T21:04:37.040+05:30</updated><title type='text'>A GIRL WITH GUMPTION</title><summary type='text'>One of the many disadvantages of speaking not being able to speak sotto voce in a crowded public place is the obvious one that folks around you overhear, and exercise their freedom in judging the sequence, stream and sanity of an individual by a few garbled words. On my last trip back from Bangalore, we—my badminton-loving colleague, Brian Tellis and Neale Murray &amp; I were raving about our </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114917607702180461'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114917607702180461'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/06/girl-with-gumption.html' title='A GIRL WITH GUMPTION'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-114917268950724658</id><published>2006-06-01T20:04:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-06-01T20:08:09.523+05:30</updated><title type='text'>OF BIRDS AND BEES</title><summary type='text'>As if words that spell disaster weren’t quite enough, the Big Yellow magazine has a national contest going called the N G Bee. (Why that unfortunate insect is cited for all these heists in the United States is beyond me but I don’t want to get stung ). The winner this year was a chappie called Bonny Jain, an Indian-American resident of Moline, Illinois who saw off the challenge of two other </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114917268950724658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114917268950724658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/06/of-birds-and-bees.html' title='OF BIRDS AND BEES'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-114778672629993696</id><published>2006-05-16T19:03:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-05-16T19:08:46.313+05:30</updated><title type='text'>VISIONS IN THE TUNNEL</title><summary type='text'>This conversation was picked up by the powerful microphones in the dark recesses of the tunnel of the Stade de France at 1730 hours on 17th May, 2006. (Some quality drops as the transcripts have been translated to English &amp; then back again)A: Comment allez-vous aujourd'hui ?B:  AM très bien ! A plu un peu près de mon endroit.      Pensez-vous le temps serez-vous plus en retard fin ?A: Oui je </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114778672629993696'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114778672629993696'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/05/visions-in-tunnel.html' title='VISIONS IN THE TUNNEL'/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-114726888687054937</id><published>2006-05-10T19:09:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-05-10T19:18:06.883+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                COUNTING CROWS AND THE DAYS THAT MUSIC DIESThe house crow-Corvus splendens for those in the know, is a common urban resident and has lived happily on most parts of the sub-continent, its interest in Life concomitant with those of callous, tetchy lives. Many of the species profit greatly from the profligacy of many Hindus, who associate these genial birds with sobriety and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114726888687054937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114726888687054937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/05/counting-crows-and-days-that-music.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-114502407113266323</id><published>2006-04-14T19:39:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-04-14T19:44:31.143+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                       ROLL MODELSMy surfing sojourns led me to settle  on a channel where a pretty lady was being interviewed. Preliminary investigations that a certain Ujwala Raut was  the one to whom posers were addressed. One such exploratory p. led the interviewed to coyly reveal that she had an international look. Frenetic counter-questioning and digging for ten minutes </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114502407113266323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114502407113266323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/04/roll-models-my-surfing-sojourns-led-me.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-114502100358548236</id><published>2006-04-14T18:49:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-04-26T18:27:08.776+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>THAT QUEASY FEELIN’….Long before reaching what is surely the middling stages of Alzheimer’s , I had caught on to the fact that the most foolish can ask more than the wisest can answer. Well, Vibhendu and I got a chance to prove just that when we did our version of the March Open Quiz at the PSPL grounds last month.It was always difficult to consciously avoid doing precisely what one has railed </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114502100358548236'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114502100358548236'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/04/that-queasy-feelin.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-114364520366321932</id><published>2006-03-29T20:40:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-03-29T20:43:23.676+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                 YOUR BODY IS A WONDERLAND…..It is not everyday that a body that has retained its inherent imperfections for long years is subject to the ravages of a medical team with an intent to probe, prick and pierce, albeit with nobility at heart and an urge to heal. I have always hated hospitals, the sound that metallic pages make as they are flicked by at the Medical </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114364520366321932'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114364520366321932'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/03/your-body-is-wonderland.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-114226364233632590</id><published>2006-03-13T20:54:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-03-13T20:57:22.390+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                         SUBTERFUGE IN THE SKIESThere are many emotions that familiarity over long periods can help abate, with a growing fondness quelling the more prosaic components of even frigid and rational relationships. It is usually the case that serial offenders rely wholly on this very intimacy to abase and suborn the relationship that they have lost interest in or </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114226364233632590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114226364233632590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/03/subterfuge-in-skies-there-are-many.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-114191962442760417</id><published>2006-03-09T21:21:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-03-09T21:23:44.443+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                                          DOCTORS AT LARGEThe entire community of resident doctors represented by the Maharashtra Association of Resident Doctors ( MARD) is on an indefinite strike.They have raised demands along three lines: security of the resident doctors ( a concern borne out of repeated assaults on doctors, even ladies by unreasonable relatives ) , improvement </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114191962442760417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114191962442760417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/03/doctors-at-large-entire-community-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-114078946195701941</id><published>2006-02-24T19:24:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-02-24T19:27:41.970+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                            THE RED SEAIn the modern world, there are innumerable assumptions, hypotheses, predictions and premises that one does need to make in order to get by. These i.a., h., p. &amp; p. fall true to character in a majority of the cases and hence the world moves on. In the rare case that they do not, play is halted for the nonce.When one is lugging a heavy piece of</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114078946195701941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114078946195701941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/02/red-sea-in-modern-world-there-are.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-114078599183530716</id><published>2006-02-24T18:28:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-02-24T18:29:51.853+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /&gt; These are the times when I should have been in school gambolling among the daffodils &amp; meadows, playing footer in pouring rain, playing truant or getting deliberately red-carded, and yes, putting scratchy pen to intransigent paper. Now after the decade or so that I have been away from school </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114078599183530716'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114078599183530716'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/02/calm-before-storm-these-are-times-when.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-114051400841917105</id><published>2006-02-21T14:51:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-02-21T14:56:48.430+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                               DE BEERDSAn epilator is a word in the dictionary of fools. Or so I thought till I saw an advertisement, thus adding another word to a vocabulary ravaged by Alzheimer’s, senile dementia, non-performing dendrites and work, not necessarily in that order. Now where was I ?The most popular scion of the O’Brien clan, has shaved off the dark outgrowths that</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114051400841917105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/114051400841917105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/02/de-beerds-epilator-is-word-in.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-113992380158348259</id><published>2006-02-14T18:58:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-02-14T19:00:01.596+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                     THERE’S NO INJUN LIKE A DEAD INJUN…No award ceremony can go by without the worst TV anchors one can imagine crying foul about Indians missing out on the coveted awards doled out as they were sometime in the recent past.The almost-but-not-quite-the Nightingale should considered a nomination itself –in the universally-pilloried Best Contemporary World Music category, distinctly</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113992380158348259'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113992380158348259'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/02/theres-no-injun-like-dead-injun-no.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-113932013605987951</id><published>2006-02-07T19:17:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-02-07T19:18:56.073+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                 FINAL SOLUTIONSAn octogenarian, name of Betty Friedan passed on last week. Apparently she did a lot of pioneering work at the vanguard of the women’s movement, writing a deeply influential book called the Feminine Mystique, co-founded the US National Organization for Women and inspired women from all walks of life.Her argument, radical at times, was that women did</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113932013605987951'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113932013605987951'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/02/final-solutions-octogenarian-name-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-113922930415020641</id><published>2006-02-06T18:02:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-02-06T18:05:04.166+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                        EVERYDAY IS A WINDING ROAD                        ( I get a little bit closer...)I am reasonably sure that in ancient Greece, there must have existed an anti-Sisyphus, someone who manages to drag his boulder a few inches up the hill against formidable forces, someone who made progress against odds and whose ascent was unwavering and unidirectional. And for the sports freak</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113922930415020641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113922930415020641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/02/everyday-is-winding-road-i-get-little.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-113863163368070419</id><published>2006-01-30T20:01:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-01-30T20:03:53.693+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                            STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING…How does this work exactly ? Who gets to determine and lord over what an individual of a nation gets to say, and what he/she does not ? And what if the content of statements made run against the grain of popular opinion, couched in fact as they may be ? And the standards of media being what they are….One of my “discovered” authors, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113863163368070419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113863163368070419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/01/stopping-by-woods-on-snowy-evening-how.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-113782793922746956</id><published>2006-01-21T12:46:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-01-21T12:48:59.240+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                       GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD LUCKOver the years, my sports-watching on the telly has been with a resolute finger on the Mute-button except on the odd night where after a hard day’s work, I could extract some pleasure from listening to obdurate footer fans holler in the wind on cold wintry days, singing off-key but loudly. The esteem that I held sports commentators in</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113782793922746956'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113782793922746956'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/01/good-night-and-good-luck-over-years-my.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-113680276166080460</id><published>2006-01-09T15:58:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-01-09T16:02:42.203+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                    CRIC IN FO(MENT)In sport, a great deal of superstition goes into an individual placing himself when the gong goes and play is called. Normally successful sportsmen and sportswomen have been known to astonishing lengths to absolve themselves of being at the spot when play is called. And against this , publications  have surpassed themselves in pulling out all </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113680276166080460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113680276166080460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2006/01/cric-in-foment-in-sport-great-deal-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-113601728747969441</id><published>2005-12-31T13:34:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-12-31T13:51:27.490+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                  THE YEAR THAT WASJust a rambling litany of things that struck me as pertinent that year—hence may bear no relation to material fact.Many mentioned below could be reviewed laterBest Films seen in 20051)      Finding Neverland2)      Maqbool3)      My Brother Nikhil4)      Shwaas5)      Monster’s Ball6)      Lakshya7)      Unnal Mudhiyam Thambi8)      Yahaan9)</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113601728747969441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113601728747969441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/12/year-that-was-just-rambling-litany-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-113583175218074561</id><published>2005-12-29T10:11:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-12-29T10:19:12.193+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                                POSTERN OF FATEThe Assamese film called Aakashitoraar Kathare.( which means A Tale told a Thousand Times) has its leitmotif the eternal predicament of a woman caught up inextricably in a man’s world, swept up in the turn of events that test, taunt and tease her to accepting the very existence that she decried and even sought to rewrite.The </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113583175218074561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113583175218074561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/12/postern-of-fate-assamese-film-called.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-113523852631798455</id><published>2005-12-22T13:30:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-12-22T13:32:06.333+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                     TILTING AT WINDMILLS&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /&gt; In the days of yore, I once had a classmate called Durlabh Deka. His first name caused much mirth as in our boyish minds and his distinctly Mongoloid features did little to mitigate the differences between him and his other schoolmates. He belonged to a town called</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113523852631798455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113523852631798455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/12/tilting-at-windmills-in-days-of-yore-i.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-113500156872349087</id><published>2005-12-19T19:36:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-12-19T19:42:48.800+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                     ASK NO QUESTIONS, AND YOU'LL BE TOLD NO LIESThe forlorn, sullen and hapless figure of Chintamani Singh Lahoti sank into his oversized leather sofa. He kicked off his jootis and yelled to Praveen's mother ( translated) to make him a steaming cup of tea. Nothing to beat a hot cuppa when one was under the cosh and had run out of simple solutions. It had been another fruitless </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113500156872349087'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113500156872349087'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/12/ask-no-questions-and-youll-be-told-no.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-113439888466247442</id><published>2005-12-12T20:15:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-12-12T20:18:05.520+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                   THE CUP THAT CHEERS…Overstayed the Sunday night chill to watch an enthralling Davis Cup tie going the distance in Bratislava, the mercurial Croatia finally downing a feisty Slovakia 3-2, a contest I had called a 5-0 drubbing in favour of the eventual champions. How little we know ! (Ed—Er, you know !)Hats off to the Slovaks under Big Cat Mecir—first Karol Beck, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113439888466247442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113439888466247442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/12/cup-that-cheers-overstayed-sunday.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-113292740108465360</id><published>2005-11-25T19:31:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-11-25T19:33:21.096+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                          A VISIONARYNow, I know a good many peers, adversaries and others who have been implicitly or explicitly envious of my vision, my outlook, and perspective. I had hitherto shrugged this off as a harmless approbation of another’s visible superiority.I was served a rude reminder of the pettiness of my cohabitants of this planet when a worthy made off with the</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113292740108465360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113292740108465360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/11/visionary-now-i-know-good-many-peers.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-113110661658834117</id><published>2005-11-04T17:45:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-11-04T17:46:56.600+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                    THE LAST OF THE MALEEVASMagdalena Maleeva retired from competitive tennis last week, a straight sets loss to Patty Schnyder at the Zurich Open signalling the end of a twenty-two old passage of play on the WTA Tour in which at least one Maleeva featured.One of three Maleeva sisters coached by mother and former player Julia, between then they practically </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113110661658834117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113110661658834117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/11/last-of-maleevas-magdalena-maleeva.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-113030515566323627</id><published>2005-10-26T11:04:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-10-26T11:09:15.670+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                                 A VOICE IN THE WILDERNESSThere are some who find themselves in a minority with consummate ease, drawn inexorably to the bylanes and un-macadamized dusty paths. Without having any earthly reason to do so, these souls find that a sudden darkness envelops their sight, confounding them and leaving them awestruck.  I have always thought that the Quiz </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113030515566323627'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113030515566323627'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/10/voice-in-wilderness-there-are-some-who.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-113016572860036166</id><published>2005-10-24T20:20:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-10-24T20:25:28.733+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                         OF LESSONS LEARNT AND LEARNING UNSAID..Needed a cathartic dose of something sensational to knock me off the thankless task of agonizing over somethings and uncharacteristically flipped on the telly to watch “Padom Onnu Oru Vilapam” .( One Lesson, One Wail )Now, my Malayalam ain’t that good but if I could sit through the masterly Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon in its </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113016572860036166'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/113016572860036166'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/10/of-lessons-learnt-and-learning-unsaid.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-112920171489760780</id><published>2005-10-13T16:34:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-10-13T16:38:34.906+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                            PLAY IT AGAIN, SHYAMHad taken the forgettable decision of inviting my sister over to watch a Perry Mason thriller on the telly. Between the two of us, we are fairly certain that we could manage a passable imitation of Erle Stanley Gardner’s writing style. At one time, I could even think of doing an A A Fair. After all, there had always been an inviting </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112920171489760780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112920171489760780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/10/play-it-again-shyam-had-taken.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-112895161161225403</id><published>2005-10-10T19:05:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-10-10T19:10:11.973+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                                WIN D'OH's 95My proven superiority at being able to prognosticate weighty advances in technology coupled with my celerity in adopting them and welding them to my gizmo-savvy lifestyle has resulted in my being several steps ahead of these Luddites. I surprise myself with the time that the rest of the world takes to catch up with my tech prowess but </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112895161161225403'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112895161161225403'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/10/win-dohs-95-my-proven-superiority-at.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-112815675368593259</id><published>2005-10-01T14:19:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-10-01T14:22:33.693+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                        IN THE HERE AND NOW                                                 YahaanMy implausibly low number of films seen this year should have ensured that this was not a pike that caught itself in my cine fishing net. It did, and stayed long enough before wriggling itself free and forever sinking into the morass of flops/failures/duds or whatever else they are </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112815675368593259'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112815675368593259'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/10/in-here-and-now-yahaan-my-implausibly.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-112737223317337801</id><published>2005-09-22T12:19:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-09-22T12:27:13.183+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                            GUNS AND ROSESIt is eight o’ clock at 52, Donnay Road, Preston, the sun’s streaming in through the crevice in the wall that has never quite been repaired. The radio is softly playing the closing bars of a popular 60’s number. A scene of simple domestic bliss unfolds.Enter The Fred ( Ed—A nodding salutation to the exploits of That Man from Basel ).</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112737223317337801'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112737223317337801'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/09/guns-and-roses-it-is-eight-o-clock-at.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-112670295527478666</id><published>2005-09-14T18:28:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-09-14T18:32:35.276+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>              BUYING A FISHING ROD FOR MY GRANDFATHERThis collection of six short stories from the famed mandarin Gao Xingjian was my first step in exploring works I had studiedly ignored claiming racial or social distance. Each story is suffused with a mellowed narration of disjointed experiences, placed in a setting that only incompletely captures the moment in its entirety, leaving the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112670295527478666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112670295527478666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/09/buying-fishing-rod-for-my-grandfather.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-112670266089640809</id><published>2005-09-14T18:22:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-09-14T18:27:40.903+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                                  SIDDHARTHAMy bibliophilic friends have for long derided me for having escaped this Hermann Hesse book. Siddhartha, is a learned Brahman’s son—intelligent and handsome,  who musters up the wisdom to relinquish all and become a samana, a wandering ascetic along with his bosom pal, Govinda. They meet the Buddha one day—Govinda decided to join His </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112670266089640809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112670266089640809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/09/siddhartha-my-bibliophilic-friends.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-112653477301780842</id><published>2005-09-12T19:44:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-09-12T19:49:33.026+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                               AN UNEQUAL MUSIC The Bard wrote –If music be the food of love…( Ed—We’d need a low-cal diet !) One of the few grouses I harbour into adult life is that I’ve never really quite learnt music. True, ‘twas a virtuoso performance that blotted my near-perfect marksheet of Class 10 ( I ended up doing a Bade Ghulam Ali Khan on a Babul Supriyo number, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112653477301780842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112653477301780842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/09/unequal-music-bard-wrote-if-music-be.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-112549682292870402</id><published>2005-08-31T19:19:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-08-31T19:30:22.936+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>GOA..N WITH THE WINDThe inclement climes of work make one land up in faraway, unseen lands, having taken some big steps and some little ‘uns. While most places look like something the cat dragged in in a fit of petulant spite, some rare ones accord the weary traveller bliss, bounty and beatitude. But these also make the w.t. wonder why that w.t. is working in the first place !Goa featured rather </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112549682292870402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112549682292870402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/08/goa.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-112471689415347131</id><published>2005-08-22T18:49:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-08-22T18:51:34.156+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                             BE POSITIVECaught a couple of films over the weekend, both coincidentally on the same topic—HIV positive men and their increasing alienation leading to ostracization within their families and then from society as a whole, before desolate and benumbed with anguish, they succumb.Phir Milenge &amp; My Brother Nikhil are honest attempts, painfully so, as </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112471689415347131'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112471689415347131'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/08/be-positive-caught-couple-of-films.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-112471673091563599</id><published>2005-08-22T18:46:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-08-22T18:48:50.990+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>QUIETLY FADES THE DONYet another era in the glorious annals of Indian cinema melted away, another Great in the Pantheon of Reel Heroes segued into the sunset today. Matinee idol, heart-throb of the swooning masses, shimmering star of the tinsel galaxy, and performer above par excellence, Faizal Khan decided to quit fims today. The news, quickly relayed to all the news agencies &amp; television </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112471673091563599'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112471673091563599'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/08/quietly-fades-don-yet-another-era-in.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-112427834437205884</id><published>2005-08-17T16:54:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-08-17T17:02:24.380+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                               VIDEO KILLED THE RADIO STAR There has been a sudden upsurge in the advertisements for WorldSpace Satellite Radio of late and I must pitch in with my two bits for the benefit of humanity and our feathered friends. My demystification follows the tech-spiel."""""""WorldSpace uses its two satellites, AfriStar™ and AsiaStar™, to broadcast more than 100 </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112427834437205884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112427834437205884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/08/video-killed-radio-star-there-has-been.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-112359400663493713</id><published>2005-08-09T18:46:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-08-09T18:56:46.646+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                              SEASONS IN THE SUN Twas a happy hour that saw Suresh Raina’s doddering grandfather, tending his farm in Modinagar in the outskirts of Ghaziabad, learn that the apple of his eye had got the coveted selector’s nod to don India colours. Mohan Raina’s favourite grandson had at last fulfilled a promise that the lad’s own parents had never shared, less </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112359400663493713'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112359400663493713'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/08/seasons-in-sun-twas-happy-hour-that.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-112290101719472806</id><published>2005-08-01T18:18:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-08-01T18:26:57.406+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                               Frailty, Thy Name is Woman                       (But Fealty, Thy Name May Not Be Man Either !)                                Over the past fortnight, two sporting incidents, nay, revelations have had me gasping for air. Both involve sportsmen of the highest echelons and their future absence may prove apocalyptical for their respective teams. Vastly differing </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112290101719472806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112290101719472806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/08/frailty-thy-name-is-woman-but-fealty.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-112272880364461566</id><published>2005-07-30T18:33:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-07-30T18:36:43.656+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                             OF BROWN EARTH AND POURING RAINThere is an opportunity in every problem—thus spake the wise owls. I concur, with the caveat that one must avoid problems to the extent possible, and on the whole follow the hallowed precepts of the Alcoholics Anonymous. One cannot castigate anyone for losing it in the heat, or in this case, moisture of the moment, if you will. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112272880364461566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112272880364461566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/07/of-brown-earth-and-pouring-rain-there.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6362880.post-112235578044957009</id><published>2005-07-26T10:56:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-07-26T10:59:40.456+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                                     ( C ) ADS !Standing proud in the foggy firmament of Indian advertising are two “tech” worthies who’ve had me frothing at the mouth. I have always presumed that mass media is meant to cater to the lowest common denominator of human comprehension—some hit the netherworld without batting an eyelid. In the bargain, most end up as smarmy inducements</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112235578044957009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6362880/posts/default/112235578044957009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ssanand.blogspot.com/2005/07/c-ads-standing-proud-in-foggy.html' title=''/><author><name>Anand</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07950338953048746347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
