O P o t B

Now if there is one secret you need to know about Indians, or as we so often fondly refer to ourselves charos, is that we love airports.  Don't believe it, next time you at an airport, take a look around and you will see what I mean. In India, if you do not have a ticket, you are not allowed into the airport. Security they claim, but I know better.  If they allowed people into the airport freely, people would spend days in the airport lobby basking in thought of international travel.  Filling up the eating places and leaving no room for those passengers who are waiting to check in or waiting to catch their connecting flights.  I strongly suspect that this is the same reason they locate airports far from residential areas. I have thought long and hard about this tendency to gravitate towards the airport, have spent hours nay days meditating on this trying to figure out what is it that draws me to airports.  I must admit that even now the reason eludes me. I suppose it must ha

The other day I received an SMS and could for the hell of me me not make head to tail of it, from a number I did not know.  Suspecting that it may be some new encryption routine, I sent it over to a group of encryption experts, whom I happen to know, and after three days of deliberation over the content of the message threw their arms up in despair and handed me a report stating that there was no known cipher that would be able to make head or tail of the message that was sent. Being determined, and I must admit, feeling somewhat like a spy in one of the spy thrillers, that I have been addicted to for years, akin to 007, or the likes, I proceeded on my mission, to determine the content of the message.   Was this some message that related to the impending attack on some government agency that would eventually lead to chaos, or some international organisation that would invariably change the world as we know it. I had to know! The Mall, and into a cell providers store.  Maybe they c

9am, the air stuffy with heat.  The sun beating down on the asphalt and the AC barely able to keep the air inside the car bearable.  My t-shirt damp with perspiration while the driver tries to negotiate the traffic.  I will have to leave this haven of comfort soon and join the throngs that are making there way across the path that leads to our destination. The hot dry dusty air meets me as I step out of the vehicle, quite unusual for a coastal city The pathway, a slab of concrete and rock, is only accessible at low tide. It is wet from the ocean that has barely receded and slippery from the algae that has attempted to lay claim to its rough surface.  The limbless, the destitute, the homeless, anyone in need line the edges of the pathway, sitting or laying down, extending their hands or a cup or a piece of cloth in the hope of receiving some alms. Looking on I think these are the fortunate, and unlike me, they are in need of the material, a need that can more easily fulfilled.  For