When watching videos on Youtube, it is nice when you are provided with a related list of songs to watch. Depending on the song you pick, you are provided with more choices. Each decision is linked to the previous decision.

For example, if you start off watching a song from the 1960s with, say, Sharmila Tagore, you will likely be shown more songs from the 1960s starring Sharmila Tagore to select from. There will likely be one or two outliers where either the song is from the 1970s or 1950s, or the actress is different. If, then, you pick a song with, say, Mumtaz, your subsequent choices will include more Mumtaz songs, and so on. You’ll get the feeling of being in a train, and the train has the potential to switch tracks based upon each of your selections. Talking of tracks …

Thanks to those years of listening to BBC News and Sports, and also cricket commentary over the radio, I can identify a handful of English accents, especially British English, Australian, several within the Indian subcontinent, and American. Since coming to the USA, I have added to my kitty the ability to identify a couple of European English accents (French, German), and a couple of African ones (South African and a mixed West African – i.e., I cannot tell apart the Ghanaian and Nigerian accents). All these are generic, in the sense that I cannot distinguish between the various accents within each of these nationalities.

While watching PBS a couple of weeks ago, I was totally thrown off track by the accent of a reporter for the Financial Times – just when I thought I was getting a handle on her accent, it switched, very much like a train that is not really continuously changing tracks, but is going and back and forth within the same set of two or three tracks. Noting her name, I googled her, and sure enough, she had the set/combination of complementary accents – part British, part French, part American – that, when “shaken, not stirred,” served to addle me pretty good!! Maybe there is a specific mix of accents that she speaks, but I am not that proficient at accent identification. Now that I am referring to accents …

I just watched The Interpreter. While Nicole Kidman does a good job of masking her (natural) Australian accent, her refactored accent was no African accent. She ought to have taken lessons from Charlize Theron; better yet, maybe they should have chosen Ms. Theron for the role.

* = there is a rhyme and reason to this specific choice of words. Back in school, I remember us students using arbitrary to signify random, and we were corrected by our English teacher thus: While the word random does imply random, in the sense that there is no reason one option would be picked over the other, arbitrary, on the other other hand, though similar, is not the same because it would likely be based on the whim of someone.

In other words, though to the observer, it would still appear to be a random selection, to the doer, there would be an underlying reason (his or her own, or even truly random) for making the selection. Of course, in this post, I do explain my arbitrariness in picking a potpourri of seemingly random topics!

A few months ago, I thought that Michael Hussey was the next edition of The Great One and Dhoni was another Brearley (except for the fact that, in addition to captaincy, he could also bat, keep wickets … and this I learned recently, take wickets!). Unfortunately, those hopes have now been officially dashed. Hussey has reverted back to normalcy and it appears that though Dhoni can still bat, keep wickets (and maybe take wickets too, if he gives himself a chance), he cannot captain or motivate the team. Sample this …

Before the latest match or two, Ponting had cried himself hoarse about the depleted resources at his disposal. [Sidenote: It is a testament to India's progress in The Civilized World that Delhi Belly, which used to be The Reason of Choice, was the only one among all tried-and-tested ones, that was not mentioned in reference to the players missing in action.] So, naturally, guess what our desi players do? Take away Ponting’s excuses.

While Australia’s best players were only physically missing from action, India’s “best” showed up but decided not to play. Sample these scores at the top of the order: Sehwag 6; Tendulkar 10; Gambhir 0; Yuvraj 6; Raina 0. Also, to fight fire with fire, we picked equally unknown batsmen to deliver the goods: Ravindra Jadeja 57 and Praveen Kumar 54 not out. Conspicuously absent among the run-scorers: Harbhajan 5-2 Singh 0! Oh, maybe Bhajji meant the full-strength Aussie team, not this rag-tag and bobtail outfit.

As if granting the Aussies a batting handicap was not enough, Dhoni also made sure that we were generous in the bowling department as well (though the low target might be claimed as the excuse): other than Gambhir and Dhoni, everyone else got a chance to twirl his arm over.

Conclusion: Australia might have beaten India, but it was only because they – Australia, not India, which even dropped folks who are too old such as Dravid (Tendulkar? Oh, he is all set to play in the 2011 World Cup. Can anyone say otherwise after that gem of a 175?) – did not have a full-strength team.

Well, plenty, as a friend’s wife found out (she probably already knew it, but now she has practical experience plus proof). As a serial joiner of social networking sites, one day she found herself in hot water when she signed up on one specific site; her mailbox was suddenly bombarded with e-mails from dudes wanting to friend, or befriend (for those who are sticklers for authentic English grammar), her.

Finding herself suddenly elevated to the status of an Indian Nobel laureate – and having meagre resources to deal with the issue at hand by herself (her spouse, i.e., my friend, totally distanced himself from the issue, very unlike this dude) – she suddenly had a brainwave. Unlike our friendly Nobel laureate (who could not unNobel himself), she just changed her gender*. Voila! No more e-mails!!

Wait! There is more (history). When I heard her story, an old wound came alive. Almost two decades ago (give or take a year or two), I had struck up a good e-mail friendship with a girl who lived far, far away from where I did. Now, as all you readers are probably (hopefully) aware, I am 100% certified male. However, as a South Indian, my name can be confused as a girl’s name – especially by folks who are not South Indians (and even by some South Indians). In those days before www, there was no way of knowing the gender of a correspondent unless he/she specifically (and truthgully) volunteered that information.

As most of our correspondence was related to old film songs and FOB kinda stuff, I did not see any real reason for me to specifically proclaim that I was/am a male. Not only that, I thought that I had made specific references to my short hair, my moniker (Porcupyn) etc that I thought was sufficient for her to realize my gender.

And so it went on for some time. One day, for some reason, I said something that was specifically male. I have no idea what it was that outed me. Anyway, at that point, it became obvious to me that she had no idea until that time that I was actually a male.

Obviously, I did a ROTFL right there and e-mailed her what I was having a paroxysm. I don’t know whether it was the ROTFLing or the fact that she felt deceived – though I still don’t know why she should have felt that way – but I never heard back from her since I sent that e-mail.

Tejaswini, wherever you are, I think you owe me one big apology!

* = online profile only!!

To help Baab share in the tradition of Halloween from India, I rigged up this setup that included two speakers, a webcam and a Skype connection via the internet. Got Mrs. Porcupyn to wake up Baab at the unearthly hour of 5:15 am (thankfully, it was a Sunday) to greet trick or treaters in his USA neighbourhood. Baab was only too glad to have some fun at the expense of some dressed up kids.

Though the ‘halo’ was missing from Happy Halloween, Baab was very audible, and louder than this dry run indicated.

The funniest part was when this eight or nine year-old pirate showed up, wearing a mask and carrying a bloodied sword. First, he was taken aback at being greeted. Then, after getting his candy, he regained his composure and peered through the wire mesh of the window screen. In spite of seeing no one there (what could he have seen? there really was nobody there), he brandished his sword at the webcam (at the center of the photo on the left below) and screamed “I can see you!”

Baab was ROTFLing, and so was I. At around this time, the pirate realized that he was all by himself and his fellow pirates, ghouls and goblins had left in search of fresh blood (or candy). So he hotfooted it out of there, still saying “He is there … I can see him!”

So there we were, waiting at a station platform for our train – the mighty Karnataka Express with two engines and 24 compartments – to arrive. Not having had much of a chance to taste authentic roadside food the last few trips to India, this time I thought I might as well check it out, especially since I had already digested most of the full lunch I had eaten at home before starting out.

As luck would have it, the food stall at the platform was making fresh kachories; however, my eyes were on the samosas. Obviously, I wanted steaming hot samosas. So, I asked the shopkeeper how long would it be before he would make hot samosas. He replied that right now they were working on kachories; how many did I want? I said that all I wanted was a couple. “No problem,” he said.

Even as my eyes were roving around for a microwave (with the country improving by leaps and bounds, I felt that that thought was not as far-fetched as it appears), he took two samosas that were ready for sale and dunked them into the hot oil. After a couple of minutes, I held two hot, refried, dripping-oil-onto-an-old-newspaper-fragment samosas in my hands. Of course, I enjoyed them (Mrs. Porcupyn averted her eyes – not only could she not eat those savories herself, she could not bear to see me eat them either), though I had to drain a teaspoonful of oil just before I had the last bite (no, I am NOT kidding)!

Now, in hindsight, I wonder whether that approach would have worked in the USA? Probably not. Had I had asked for hot Krispy Kreme glazed doughnuts (see picture here and a video here) when french crullers were being made, the answer would have been an unequivocal “No” or “Please come back tomorrow morning at 6 am” or some such. Score one for the enterprising Indian shopkeeper(s).

PS: The hot refried platform samosas having whetted my appetite for samosas, I could not contain myself and helped myself to a few more at different station halts during the course of our 20-hour journey. Even Baab partook a small piece once, in defiance of his mother’s orders! Please note that this behaviour is strictly not recommended for a “First World” stomach, unless you are prepared for a Delhi belly.

Andre Agassi, please shut the heck up. We do not need to know what all controlled and uncontrolled substances you took and got away with. Wait a minute! We do want to know all the “right” things you did to maintain that level of fitness, but if you are saying that it is impossible to do so without the banned substances, you might as well recall your book. Surely, you don’t need the money, do you?

We reached the South Rim of the Grand Canyon about an hour or so before sunset. However, as we approached it from the east, we got stuck behind a line of vehicles stopped at the checkpoint (I believe to get entry permits or to get them verified). After a few minutes’ delay, we re-entered the Park, and decided to spend some time at the first viewing point (see Desert View on the map) to freshen up, as most of the members in the party had had a nice nap along the way.

What was supposed to have been a stop for a few minutes turned into a half an hour pit stop, during which we climbed up the … and took pictures. As a result, time was running out to find a good viewing point of the sunset. I drove like crazy to cover a few more miles to get closer to the Visitors’ Center (our original destination for sunset), but the Sun was faster. So, I had to take the first available viewing point (we probably got to Moran Point – refer to map – but I have now forgotten where we took the turn) to take Sunset photos. Here are some of them …

Sunset approaches at the Grand Canyon's South Rim

Before this trip, I somehow had the impression that the river cannot be seen from the South Rim; obviously, I was wrong

The lush greenery provides a refreshing contrast to the painted landscape behind. Those are not just shrubs but full grown trees!

Sunlight bounces off the cliffs ...

... at sunset

Tricks of the camera! Would you believe it if I said that this photo was taken ...

... before this one?