Andy Roddick’s Kooyong Classic Trophy Ceremony 2007

I swear this guy (at the risk of sounding cliched) r-o-c-k-s! He’s tasted defeat, no longer the invincible juggernaut. What’s scary about these perfect types is just that. They’re PERFECT! Too good to be true. The perfect types-a species in their entirety-what’s intimidating about them is that not only do they desire perfection, but also attain it. The epitome of excellence, if there could be one.

Another video I haven’t been able to find is that of Roddick as a contender on The Weakest Link hosted by Anne Robinson. Watched it on BBC Prime when I was in Dubai. Most of the time, he resembles a student who can’t figure out what he’s doing in front of the headmaster’s study. Anne Robinson, the tight-lipped “lady” who hurls expletives with a certain skill, that is becoming of her vs. Andy “D’uh what am I doing here” Roddick!

Review: The Cabinet of Curiosities

By Preston & Child.
Topline: Two authors is one too many.

The first thing that strikes you after reading this book is, why did they bother? The book is flawed, right from beginning to the end. And it definitely is not one of those un-put-down-able books as the reviews on the back page say. Events happen just too smoothly, too conveniently, making the storyline rushed, rather than aiding it. If the authors looked to scare the living daylights out of readers, they couldn’t have failed more miserably.

The story runs from 1870 right down to the 1990s, the flashback more a hindrance to what you’re reading. The characters come across as more comical than sinister, their actions predictable, and at times, downright irritating.

Morgen-Fairhaven is a real-estate firm headed by Fairhaven-the suave, press-friendly guy.
The FBI gets a representation in the form of Agent Pendergast-albino-skinned, blond, but definitely not the blond-blue-eyed hunk type. He’s got magic coursing through his veins, literally, his ancestors being magicians, with a flair for clairvoyance. The author(s) like to point out that his coat contains a lot of mysteries yet to see the lights. Nothing significant to point out there.
Next in line, Nora Kelly, archaeologist, of the National Museum, ever the good-looking, copper-haired bimbo. Not to forget her guy, the blubbering journalist, Smithback-he’s got a knack of dropping his food right down his new Italian suit, just the way his mommy told him not to.

What does one get when the authors force contact between them? A total mess that would even make Smithback blush. Fairhaven’s agency, when in the process of constructing a new skyscraper, accidentally unearths a “Cabinet of Curiosities”, a museum of sorts for the sole entertainment of the people in the 19th century. Found in the cabinet are skeletons and clothes, very obviously worn by the people who were left to decay there. Pendergast is conveniently on the site with his chauffered Rolls-Royce, we don’t know how. He gets Kelly to work for him, permission grudgingly granted by her boss. Reason? He’s apparently got a way with people that will make them dance to his tunes, again very convenient. He and Kelly scour the site at his insistence and find clues about a mass-killer of the 19th century, a la Jack the Ripper style. Smithback runs a story about the serial killer in his newspaper, which, according to the police (no, not the FBI) has encouraged another killer to follow suit. In the meantime, Mister FBI and Kelly take it upon themselves to get to the bottom of it (don’t they always?) and look through the museum archives. Bingo! They spot the letter revealing the true identity of the killer. The reason he killed: certain organic chemicals in the live spinal column that could aid in prolonging the life span. Next, Pendergast gets a brainwave during one of his clairvoyant interludes and finds a clue that could lead them to the killer and the “copycat killer”’s house. But Smithback beats him to it, reaches the house, an abandoned bunglow in Harlem, aloof, at his own peril. The killer, all this time, seems to be present wherever Kelly, Pendergast and Smithback appear, despite his non-magical ancestry. He waits at his “house” for Smithback, literally skins him alive by the time Pendergast and Kelly reach the bunglow, manages to chain them. But FBI cannot, must not give up. He breaks free, accosts the killer, who happens to be Fairhaven himself, gets shot, lands up in an arms room. Now Fairhaven picks up one of the arms, facilitating the flow of poison to his body and..and..everyone is saved! Why did Fairhaven do this? His brother perished due to Hutchinson-Guilford syndrome, a spark plug for Fairhaven to seek the elixir of life. Here’s the killer. Why did Pendergast take a personal interest in the case? The 19th century reluctant, moral killer was his grea-grand-uncle!

Bottomline: Definitely not worth a night’s sleep.

Ethics didn’t save his life

This post comes at the heels of my last exam, that of Engineering Ethics. Although some of it may sound ridiculously obvious, here’s what we’re taught:
1. Honesty-in speech, thoughts action, beliefs and conduch.
2. Various theories about ethics. Just a bunch of opinionated blokes with nothing better to do than formulate theories about “right action, conduct…”
3. Whistleblowing-Engineer thinka himself as saviour of masses. He gonna blow-whistle, blow-whistle and continue saying he’s working with a bunch of ethically disoriented till it costs his life.

And that’s what happened. Not once, not twice, but quite a few times over again.
Satyendra Dubey was an alumnus of IIT-Kanpur. An exceptionally hardworking student hailing from a family that wasn’t exactly well-off, he managed to crack the IIT-JEE, and remain in form for the 4 years he spent there. Being an alumnus of an institution that was ranked world no. 58 was almost synonymous with being in the upper echelons of his society. No wonder that his village came to regard him as their saviour. While most of his friends either went off to the “land of opportunities” or landed in MNCs with fat paychecks, Dubey preferred to stay close to his hometown, in Bihar, and serve an unforgiving bureaucracy. Straddled in a 4 by 4 room, he seeked to work with morals and values that was so uncharacteristic of his state. Corruption was rampant not only in the NHAI, where he began, and prematurely ended his career, but also in the other branches of civil service. Striving to right the wrong, he wrote a letter to the PMO, Prime Minister’s Office, stating the deplorable moral status of the employees, and certain not-so-clean practices involved in allocating contracts. His cover was blown, he was intercepted while going home, murdered, his suitcase burnt. Something very run-of-the-mill in a place where electricity is available only 3 hours a day due to illegal bypassing, where crime after 6 in the night isn’t something shocking to people, where bribery is a way of life. That night, someone lost a brother, someone a son, someone a colleage, someone a good friend, someone a confidant. A year later, one of the killers escapes and all the forgetful nation does is a snippet in a leading daily or a small news piece with the CM claiming that the killers will be caught. I’m sure people know better than to believe that outrageous piece.

Somehow, had he joined an MNC or opted to study higher, earning an amount substantial than the meagre govt salary, he might jus still have been around. Ethics sure as hell didn’t save him.
And I don’t doubt why. The book prescribed is by a Mike Martin, who’s ignorant of what lengths people in developed, stuffy bureaucracies go to to save their skins. Whistle-blowing seems ridiculous when the odds that you’re going to be stabbed are stacked high against you. Equality is still a perception and will remain so. Ethics cannot be taught when you’ve existed for 20 years, no longer the proverbial sapling that can be bent. Better yet, scrap the subject. I’m sure we could all do with a bit of breathing space.

Is it really worth it?

I’ve been on a sort-of blog-procrastiantion mode for the past few weeks, owing to the very inspiring schedule of our university exams. Can’t say they were really worth it. Yes, people do study. After all, there’s nothing like a BE degree from Anna University. At least, if you are in Chennai. So exams over, putting away the likes of M. Morris Mano and Muhammad Rashid (thank you, but I’m not exactly in favor of Bakshi, Chitode & Co. More in another post), I got down to checking what the rest of the dented world has been upto. It looks like our near-abysmal performance in cricket was “compensated” for in the Asiad, the Asian Games. Now I’ve put compensated in quotes because even though our medal tally is 10 times lesser than the golds China’s obtaind, it is indeed a very significant performance. Indian atheletes don’t usually go around bringing glory to the nation unless there’s chess, cricket and recently, tennis involved. Bhupathi/Paes have f-i-n-a-l-l-y shown that they’re worth it (the opponents weren’t of the cadre of Nadal or Federrer, but it still is substantial) by winning the gold *applause dies down*. But there’s more to it. In a country that’s known for its spices, what better way to spice up the win than add a bit of spat, a la soap opera style. So what Paes does is, he gives a conference saying he isn’t ready to play more often with Bhupathi, who gives another one saying, his life was a soap opera the past 10 days and he’s gonna split with Paes. Something he termed the “greatest split” (sorry, u were a wee bit late. The last one happened when the MPs had a split over err, umm, let’s skip this). This wasn’t broadcast. Just a news flash. The NDTV (which I think is on a free fall since Rajdeep Sardesai left) had something more important to tell the viewers: Orkut. Make 360mn friends on cyberspace is what Srinivasan Jain prefers to call it. Okay mayb orkut lets you stay in touch, meet people after years, blah the usual. But that’s no reason why people gotta “make frenship” with you. (Hey i dunno friendship was “made”. Enlightenment throught the most unexpected sources). More annoying are those who go around asking blokes who send random requests, “do i know you?” Of course you do! We met seven lives back, remember? That’s with us Indians. Give us a medium, we’ll find a way to ruin it, make its users exasperated.

Previous posts

Previous posts can be viewed here