Let me know what you think of it.

—

The surrounding area seemed familiar, yet so different. The Mogadishu of my memory was that of disparity. Now, I saw it through different eyes.

My CarpalComputer™ notified me of my meeting. Updates of the space-time travel theory from a scientific bulletin put a smile on my face as I kept a brisk pace before stopping in front of a towering building. The plasma glass recognized my features as a name on the staff list. The “glass” became a slightly viscous substance and allowed me to pass into the elaborate, African headquarters of UNICEF.

I opened the doors to the conference room slowly but surely. The moment I set foot inside, my presence was acknowledged. Rowdy executives were silenced. Their laughter was stifled to grunts and chortles. I bore an expression of nonchalance nonetheless.

I smiled lightly and took my seat at the head of the table, where the executive director sat during meetings.

Me. The executive director.

After I sat down, the young ones launched a two and a half hour presentation that I had little trouble tuning out. After all, these people were just talking. They never knew. I was going to change that. I readily welcomed the break for lunch.

After locating the nearest Chipotle, I sent in my preset order, and in minutes, the food was ready for me to eat.

Resuming my pace and swiftly nearing the eatery, I was buried in my CarpalComputer™, collaborating in real time to stabilize a terrorist situation in Japan. Thank goodness it retained most of its functions on the journey, I thought to myself. To my left, there was a dark alley. An ordinary alley to most, but I did a double take as I passed it.

A dangerously thin pair of legs was the only thing visible of a boy rummaging through a dumpster. As he emerged, he shoved a small tortilla strip into his grime-coated face and chomped furiously.

My eyes widened as waves of nostalgia crashed on me: I had stood in that very same alley 40 years ago. The child’s eyes met mine. An invisible current connected the two of us with a bond that could not be severed. His steely gray irises, surrounding scarlet pupils, reflected mine exactly.

“Hello?” The timid voice startled me not only because he spoke English, but it was also hauntingly familiar.

My stifled voice replied “Hey.” I sounded more scared than him. I hastily retrieved the order I had sent in to the restaurant to add another burrito to it. I glanced quickly at the boy again.

I added another.

I silently watched him devour everything on the restaurant table and babble about his difficult life. His mental tenacity impressed and intrigued me.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Bahdoon,” he replied. His words were barely coherent with the food in his mouth.

The shock slowly morphed into realization at the resemblance. Both of us had been orphaned by the age of eight. At thirteen, we were providing for our siblings. And we both had the same birth names.

I looked at him carefully, hoping my vision would penetrate his skull and the inner workings of his mind would reveal themselves to me. His thirst to learn, to experience, made him so unique. His eyes pierced through mine with intensity comparable to my own endeavors. They were young with vigor, but had wisdom about them.

“Come with me.” My voice had silenced his protest. I had plans for UNICEF. And they started with me. Or Bahdoon. I couldn’t tell the difference.

“I think I’ve done enough listening. – now it’s your turn.” I motioned for Bahdoon to come out from his secluded corner back in the conference room. My conviction was renewed after observing his confidence fight back the fronts of disgust emanating from the people at the table.

“This,” I addressed to the congregation, “is why we are here, folks. Here is a kid, barely a teen, fending for himself and his eight siblings – parentless. Now imagine me in that situation.” I paused. “Yes – I was an orphan four decades ago.

“Many of you have preconceived notions about who I am. Some think I am a conceited businessman who has come to destroy the organization’s good name. Others think that I’m here to relive my days as a powerful entrepreneur. I will tell you now – my objective is to serve the less fortunate of this world, and nothing else. You may have your own agendas, but none shall interfere with mine. UNICEF has been prone to corruption in the last decade, but the underlying cause shall continue with my direction.

“This orphan,” I grasped Bahdoon’s shoulders in a paternal manner, “speaks from experience: the most important resource we have available. He is the closest relative I have. He is one of half a million in Mogadishu and ten million in all of Africa. He is our link to them. Bahdoon is more qualified an executive director than I.” I winked at Bahdoon. I saw a wet sheen pass across his eyelid, a mirror of my own resolute gaze.

*****

20 years later…

I stared into the mirror. Sigh, adjust, and repeat.

The wall of windows behind my desk pulled me in like a magnet. Every moment I looked out these windows on to the living entity of the great city, Father’s words resonated in my mind: “People think we aren’t smart. What they don’t know is that they don’t know. Ignorant of ignorance. You and I, we are special. You have the power to change things, Bahdoon. Power! Bah, the things that can happen, the wonders you will work!”

I straightened my tie one last time, took a deeper sigh than those preceding, and mustered the courage to step out my office doors. I wore the aura that Father spoke of well.

The old conference room doors parted for me now. My arrival was greeted with thunderous applause with a hint of a whistle before I launched into a speech about the works of UNICEF and how far we had come as an organization. I attempted to emulate Father, but I could never compare. I wished he were by my side then.

I stepped outside after the crowd dispersed. My mind was occupied with a recent breakthrough on the front of mathematics: practical time travel.

The Space-Time Transportation Module (STM) was the revolution of the front between physics and engineering. Recent findings published proved to be the missing link in completing the designs for the machine.

The clamor of children laughing made my head snap to the right instinctively. They were huddled around an ice cream vendor, laughing huskily. I recognized some of the children as street urchins – orphans in and around the inner city.

I walked over to the man, gravitating to his intimacy and empathy for the children. My approach scattered the children. A bleep notified me on the status of the STM design.

“Well, hello there.” His voice was like an enthusiastic grandfather’s – a charm about it made me smile just as wide as he did. He wore a thick pair of glasses that were just dark enough to hide his eyes, also enhancing the laugh-lines outlining his face. “Ice cream?”

“Sure,” I said absentmindedly. He glanced at my CarpalComputer™ as he handed me the cone.

“Time travel, eh? Between, you and me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“You have experience with it?” I made little effort to hide my sarcasm.

“Yeah. I was the one who experimented on the theory that the space time continuum could be manipulated over small amounts of matter by applying Euclidean geometry and calculus.”

I was speechless for an awkward time. “What made you want to do that?”

“I don’t know. I never felt like I was helping anyone with science. Ice cream had been a favorite treat of mine and—”

“No, no. I meant the experimentation; what was your motivation to pursue it?”

A pensive look crossed the man’s face. “I felt that I hadn’t utilized my life properly. An orphaned childhood left me bitter and cold for the better part of my life. If I could steer my younger self in the right direction, I thought my life would be something I could be satisfied with on the other end, a life of service to those I could relate to. You know what I mean?” He paused expectantly. “Just look at yourself, Bahdoon.”

He flashed a knowing smile, winked, and strode to the back of a building without warning. Suddenly, a flare of light followed in his wake, and the ice cream cone he had given me had left no trace. But before he left, he did peer over the top of the opaque glasses into my eyes with a wise, scarlet and gray stare. It was a glimpse into the future, but still a reflection of who he had left behind. Or rather, taken with him.

But perhaps too worthy. My mom then ordered me to put the large box of watermelon in the fridge. My mom’s is quite miserly when it comes to quality. I think I got it from her. I walked over with the box to the fridge, opened the door and….

There was absolutely no room.

None, whatsoever.

The entire fridge was stocked with milk over a month old, mango pulp that my mom wanted to use but never did, and various leftover dishes dating back to the Cretaceous Period. Thinking quick on my feet, I opened up the freezer. I frown. Ice cream and coconut all over the place. Just for kicks, I open up the pantry. My frown stretches into a full-blown scowl. The pantry is EMPTY with nothing in it except for some crumbs of Honey Bunches of Oats. This would have to be the home of this delectable watermelon, where it would rot and ferment in the room-temperature air. The taste, gone…

I then realized that this is exactly what we do with our lives. We keep on storing, holding on to things, that whenever something extraordinarily brilliant comes along, we can’t readily welcome it. It is sent to the graveyard of life (apologizing for the oxymoron) where it will rot away and never be seen again. Because some opportunities are literally once-in-a-lifetime.

In a few short moments, I learned that I need to remain broad-minded, no matter how enticing narrow-mindedness may be. I also learned that I need to eat more out of the fridge and less out of the pantry.

To dissect what we call memory, first we have to analyze the medium by which we think: the mind. The term mind was coined to personify the abstract aspects of consciousness and intellect expressed through thoughts, emotions, innovation, perception, and discrimination. The brain, being the tangible representative of the mind, is directly correlated to the mind in day-to-day life. However, the truth is that the mind, although connected to the brain, is something entirely transcendental of biological and physiological attributes of body. I feel that the mind is an innate entity, one that unites each and everything in this universe through its common thread.

From my own personal experience, memory has taken three different paths:

Rote Memorization – Obviously the most common practice, but not necessarily the quickest. I have found it effective, nevertheless. It has become my “Go-To” memorization technique.

Mnemonic Link Systems – Now this one can mean a lot of things. This generally entails a network of readily available mental constructs that signify something when put in context. A visual cue, a familiar sound, or a recognizable touch could trigger a memorization. Much of this can happen subconsciously. Even an unrelated stimulus can be linked to a memorized concept.

Random Recollection – Like an over-excited, random friend, I find myself thinking of events that happened years ago that are completely unrelated and unimportant to the situation at hand. These remembrances are few and far between.

Now from a proactive perspective, goal-oriented memorization seems to be the easiest to carry out. When a direct correllation is visible between memorization and fruits, I am immediately motivated to pursue the memorization with added gusto. However, repetition, as I have found, makes for loss of interest, and discourages the entire endeavor. It looks like now that I’ve laid my thoughts down, I need to start applying this to my life.

I recently finished the book A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini, and can safely say that you aren’t cool if you haven’t read it. A successor of equal or greater caliber of that of The Kite Runner, the book speaks of gender inequality and culture of the Middle East. It delivers powerful messages in its lines, growing ever poignant between them.

Excuse me as I go Facebook some more…

All around the world, the tastes (and sounds) of spice are coveted. It was not until Europeans began to trade for spices with those in the East that our favorite dishes such as pasta and pizza acquired their beloved taste.

I LOVE SPICY FOOD. My taste buds and stomach are wired to make spice taste and stay down better than most. You may spend hours groaning on the toilet seat after a mildly spicy meal, but I confidently eat green peppers with now problems. You’ll even find that most Indians will down spice like candy. Seriously. Sit down for a meal with an Indian and I guarantee the preceding statement true at least 75% of the time. Just be careful which dishes you pick. Anything your friend says tastes perfect, avoid like The Plague. If he spits it out and calls it disgustingly bland, enjoy. Don’t forget to keep a glass of water by your side, though.

I have a relatively accurate theory about this quirky behavior. I link the love of spice in Indians to their cultural and psychological upbringing. Indians are conservative in body, but liberal in mind. In terms you can understand, we’re a bunch of braniacs who can’t pack a punch. Generally, Indians are pretty mellow people. So, as you would expect, excitement doesn’t come our way often. Quick! What’s the most exciting flavor you can think of? Exactly: spice. You see, spice is a form of escapism for us. It applies to my mother, my father, and even me (to a much lesser degree). I’m bored now, so to the hot sauce bottle I shall go.

—————-

*I sincerely apologize to any Indians offended by my post. I took full liberty in writing the above thoughts because they were of my own ethnic background.

Most of us know the nursery rhyme “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” But definitely not like this. If you’re aware of Indian geography, this should be all the more awesome for you.  Otherwise, just laugh at the fact this woman can speak more than five different languages fluently — including “annoying shy girl.” Here you can find what is referred to in the video as “twinkle twinkle mini star.”

OK, this next one is kind of like an inside thing. If you get it, you get it. It was made by the young adults of Dallas.

Heard of Ozzy Osbourne? Well watch him get blown away by a kid fifty one years younger than him. Here’s Crazy Train — try to get past the struggling vocals (the 9 — year — old doesn’t know how to speak English), and focus on the guitar, and I guarantee that you will be amazed. The expression on his face is priceless!

If you’re Youtube-literate, you have probably heard of the Youtube Trinity. Smosh happens to be a member of that trinity. Here’s one of his videos:

Next, my least favorite of the Trinity (not saying much…still pretty funny), Fred:

Finally, the best of the Trinity, NigaHiga!

Hope you enjoyed this!

]]> http://shivram9.wordpress.com/2009/07/03/youtube-video-montage/feed/ 0 shivramv http://shivram9.wordpress.com/2009/07/02/slumdog-millionaire/ http://shivram9.wordpress.com/2009/07/02/slumdog-millionaire/#comments Thu, 02 Jul 2009 13:17:12 +0000 Shivram http://shivram9.wordpress.com/?p=112 ]]>

I finally saw it! I’m simply going to say this, as anything else would do an injustice to the film:

Eight Oscars? It should have been ten.

To many, it was the opening up of an abyss in popular culture.

2:11 PM marked the death of motown music great Michael Jackson. A great songwriter, musician, dancer, and person to boot, Jackson’s parting turned the final page in a musical legacy that will forever be remembered with reverence.

His career, though splotched and blotched with controversy and tabloid-fodder, was one of the most successful in history. The success is represented through his thirteen Grammys and hit singles, his induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame twice. MJ’s Thriller still stands as the best selling album of all time.

From a personal standpoint, Michael’s music speaks to me. I can confidently say that he is among the top ten artists of all time. Below is one of the most popular songs he’s written:

MJ’s passing prompts me to remember another person. Another musician, dying of cardiac arrest, at approximately the same age. Yes, qawwali-enthusiasts have me all figured out; Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan died twelve years ago. His music went beyond mundane lyrics and simple melodies. Music was defined and sculpted with his devotion and intensity for God. Nusrat’s songs don’t originate from his vocal chords, but rather straight from his soul. I easily lose myself in Allah Hu’s pure devotion.

So whether it’s Shahenshah-e-Qawwali or The King of Pop, I think we all can recognize that these two musicians are influential and incredible in their own right. Though they do not remain in the flesh, they forever remain in our hearts. But beyond that, beyond mortal bodies, and fogetful minds, they are immortalized in their music. That is something that will always remain. Always.

Done? OK, these are all clothing stores, just to clear all doubt, and we went to both and more on a trip to the outlet mall. The good thing about outlet malls is that anything you want, you can get like fifty times cheaper in these retail stores. Inexpensive products await! I now have a decked out wardrobe. Next time you see me in person remember to comment on how well I dress these days

Haggar

Haggar is the store for the most elegant clothing shopper there is. Everything there is either suitable for a wedding or a dinner party — and nothing more. Nevertheless the clothes there are incredible, but that plays second fiddle to the price. Retail prices being more than thirty dollars above the sale price, the amount of money you have to spend (or lack of) speaks louder than anything else. Other than the fact that the shirts are HUMONGOUS…

Nike:

Universally known, Nike is the shop that most “guy” guys immediately seek out. Of course, I’m no exception. Simply through quality, Nike maximizes physical performance with whatever gear you have. I can now run without procuring enough sweat to create a puddle .

But why do I like shopping? Sometimes I think that I should have been born as a girl. It’s unnatural! Perhaps it’s simply culturally ingrained that girls like shopping and boys like sports. It probably doesn’t have anything to do with thought patterns and psychological differences between boys and girls. It just so happens that whatever psychological behaviors are stereotypically “girly” tend to occur more in the female gender. The same applies to men as well. And it’s not just clothes; anything and everything…for myself that is. I moan and groan when I have to go to Justice or Claire’s for my mom or my sister.

Tell me what you think:

Monday night + $5 movies at the theater + Nothing to do  = MOVIE NIGHT!

Last Monday, I ended up watching Star Trek, because that’s the kind of geek I am

In all seriousness, it was actually a lot better than I expected. Even though I’m somewhat of a “Trekkie” (I’ve been trying to master the Vulcan neck pinch to use against some of my more formidable foes — i.e. my Xbox), I can’t say that I’m an avid fan. As in I’ve never seen the show…or read the books…or even eavesdropped on any nerdy conversations about said phenomenon. But man…it was one hell of a movie concerning the subject matter; movies about Star Trek don’t get any better than warp speed starships and laser guns, and those things can’t get any better than they are today, what with special effects and what not…

In fact, I think this movie is so good, that after watching it, you will proceed to play pretend games as Kirk or Spock, regardless of your age. I’m not saying…I…did……oh never mind!

The only drawback was that it lacked a substantial climax in the plot. Instead, there was a rather mellow culmination of events. A considerable and disappointing lack of “BANG” and “POW” in the movie, even though its claim to fame is the blasting of evil intergalactic species out of space, if you ask me.

Go watch it!

“…and that’s an order.”

- Captain James T. Kirk

Grade: A-