Old Age

So I told you about losing my Scooty keys and also about “almost” losing my wallet? Ok, here’s the full story.

One night last week, we had gone (on the new bike) to the nearby bus ticket booking counter to get tickets for our forthcoming (last week, it was forthcoming) trip to mangalore. We had - in our assorted wallets - all the cash we currently could muster. The ATM (Syndicate Bank) in front of our house was, as usual, refusing to dispense notes.

So with our meagre Rs 1500 we went, hoping to get two tickets to mangalore and back. When we got there (and parked, without too much hassle) we seated ourselves in the office and set about getting tickets. Then came the time to pay, and I found the zipper compartment of my handbag open! Ohmygod!!! Desperately, I groped around in its spacious interiors, which were even more spacious because they were empty. Luckily, my house key was still there, but my wallet wasn’t.

I panicked. I would have left the tickets, but Amit, ever the level-headed, practical one, somehow scraped together enough 100-rupee notes to pay up. We walked out and Amit walked back looking for the wallet along the way, while I scurried back home hoping against hope (whatever that means) that I had left it around somewhere. Somewhere, most likely, would be on the dining table or on the bed.

Well, I got the bike home in one piece, but I was so distracted with this wallet issue, that instead of parking it, I just sort of gracefully let it fall to one side and lie there, while I rushed upstairs to look for the blessed wallet. I didn’t even pause to take the keys out of the bike, just left it, all Rs 60,000 worth of it, without a second thought. (The wallet had all of Rs 500 in it.)

Really I don’t know why I panicked like that, but I just did. I think I really found it so unbelievable that I should do something like that. Me, the ever-organized, careful, blah, blah, blah… (Chris, you want to re-think your opinion of me a little.)

Anyway, a quick look around showed that there was no wallet to be seen in the house, so I went back down to look around the area the bike had been parked before we went out. I hadn’t, of course, had the foresight to take a torch with me, so I doubt I would have seen it, even had it been there.

At once I called Amit with the bad news. He hadn’t had any luck either, and - worse - he was almost home. Call the credit card company and tell them to cancel the card, before someone uses it, he told me calmly. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that. Credit card company. Now. Which credit card did I have? What number should I call? What was my card number? Where was that file where I kept all this information? I rushed around blindly, pausing briefly to put the bike in the vertical and achieving altogether nothing.

Before I could get very far - that is, I had managed to call the credit card company, but not yet succeeded in getting the card cancelled - I found the blasted wallet. I had kept it carefully away in the drawer, where we keep another disused wallet. Suddenly I could breathe again.

It was only two or three days later, that I lost the Scooty key. I was in Church Street, getting a number of errands done and trying to finish them all in time to make it to the nearest facility for a meeting I had to attend (virtual meeting, that is). It was raining and I had my hands full of things, apart from helmet, raincoat and umbrella.

Raincoat and umbrella, see. One for me and one for the laptop that I was carrying. You can’t use an umbrella while driving a scooty, you see.

Well, anyway, somewhere on the way, I dropped it, I presume. At least I didn’t panic. This time I was cool, calm, and collected. I would walk to office and still make it in time for the meeting (this facility is just off MG Road, not too far from where I was. Driving would likely take longer due to rain, traffic, and one-ways). (Don’t look at the punctuation of the previous sentence too closely, please.)

I made it in time for my meeting, albeit looking like something the cat dragged in. Then I called Amit and he came and rescued me, bringing the spare copy of the scooty key which lies in the car. Why? That’s because the Scooty is usually employed as a “No Parking” sign to block the parking space which the car usually occupies. Get it? No? Ok, forget it.

So, as I said earlier, OLD AGE IS HERE!

But you know what takes the cake? And this is the point all this is leading up to (if you managed to stay with me this far). This morning, when I dragged myself out of bed, Amit had left for tennis. Which was fine, except that the two tennis rackets were still lying on the table (where he keeps them the night before, in readiness for the early morning start). I glanced at them and thought, hmmm, that’s strange. I guess his coach wanted him to try out some other racket. He couldn’t have forgotten them here, surely. Surely he would never do something like that.

But guess what - he had forgotten them.

Whatever next?

Raring to Go

Here I have a brand new unicorn parked at home and my hands and feet itching to take it for a ride and I just CAN”T get it out on the road!!!

It’s a long story…

Well, when it was first delivered to us last Saturday (ohmygod, that’s more than a week ago and only 50 km on the milometer!) it had a “temporary” number plate on it. That is to say, the number was scrawled by hand with a black felt pen. Scant attention had been paid to font and size. And if you so much as looked at it, it faded away without a trace. Well, that was definitely going to land me in trouble if the cops set eyes on it.

So last Tuesday, I traipsed off to Church Street, where I know there is a number plate maker. I had hoped that he would make it and give it to me the same day, within say a couple of hours. But no such luck. Come back tomorrow, he said firmly.

Well, I managed to lose the key of my Scooty that day, which necessitated getting the spare key out of the car, which Amit had taken to office. So I sheepishly called him up and he gallantly came to the rescue as usual. This, mind you, in the same week that I “thought” I had lost my wallet. Old age is HERE!!!

Anyway, I couldn’t go back the next day, nor the day after because it was raining raining and still raining! And after getting back from work at 7 p.m. who wants to drive out to Church Street in the dismal rain? Not me!

So on Friday I begged and pleaded with Amit, who in any case was also getting equally impatient, and he agreed to go pick up the number plates on his way back from work. As it happened, I came home early on Friday, and the rain held up, so I *could* have gone, but… he had the number plates.

Ok, let me explain. The bike came with one set of number plates, but when I ordered new number plates, the chap said that he would make the number embossed on the plate, for which he would not use the existing plates, but cut new ones, because he needed a different kind of metal. Ok, maybe he sold me a line to make me pay more, but I had just spent 60k+ on the bike, so what the hell? But I told him I would bring the original number plates, so that he could drill the holes for the screws correctly.

Now, Amit had taken the old number plates, and duly on Friday he returned with the new ones. I immediately went to fit the number plates on the bike, but the front one wouldn’t fit. The holes were correctly spaced, but too low on the plate - they would have to be shifted up!

So what with the beachy weekend, it is Tuesday today and I still have only ONE functional number plate.

GRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRR!

I Bought a Honda Unicorn!

Why Unicorn?Well, I always wanted to ride a bike – I mean, a motorcycle, with all its steel and power. 150 cc seemed to be the way to go, because it might be able to take both of us – a formidable 150 kg combined! And besides, with bikes, bigger is always better. Of course, we should have gone for a 350 cc or bigger, but I thought we should work our way up to that, rather than jumping from a 60 cc Scooty straight into the big league.

The Unicorn came highly recommended. Apparently, it has a revolutionary approach to suspension, with a mono suspension instead of separate front and back suspension. It is more powerful than other bikes in its class, developing higher power at lower revs. That means you don’t have to change down to low gears so often, which is a good thing given Bangalore’s driving conditions.

Oh, and its ad line is “Real men never lose sight of their goal,” which is somewhat better than Pulsar, which is “definitely male”! (For more info on the Unicorn, check the Honda website: http://www.honda2wheelersindia.com/unicorn/ )

Besides, Unicorn had one particularly convincing review, which is not, strictly, relevant to me, but interesting to know anyway. If you want to know what on earth I am talking about, click this link: http://www.indiabike.com/readfeedback.asp?id=987836497&bc=010&model=Uni…

(Keep in mind that this feedback is not mine, nor of anyone I know, and I am not in a position to either confirm or refute it.)

So anyway, during my long sojourn in the Himalayas, I decided that it was so much fun to do the things that you really really want to do, that I decided I would finally be brave and buy a bike. I also had a little left over from my travel kitty – enough to buy a bike after a couple of months’ earnings and savings. Luckily for me, Amit was kind enough to spare me my meager savings and happily bought the bike for me.

Not knowing much about bikes, I didn’t do many test drives. I just rode the Unicorn, found that my feet would just about reach the ground, and decided that that was good enough to start with. Two days later, the bike was delivered home without incident. I immediately took it for a spin and, ambitiously trying a u-turn, dropped it. I got a few scratches on my elbow, and the Unicorn lost its brake lever. That seemed a good way to get to know each other better.

The next day, we finished the petrol and had to roll it down to the nearest petrol station. Amit said it was too low for him to roll it comfortably, so I did the hard work. Luckily, the nearest petrol bunk is only 200-300 m away from home. I got some strange looks as we rolled up at the petrol bunk, and after filling up, when I got on the bike to start it, several men hurriedly got out of the way (which was probably a smart thing to do).

The next day, I dropped it again, while parking it. There were extenuating circumstances (I thought I had lost my wallet and was rushing back panic-stricken to check if I had left it at home, which, thank goodness, I had!) but the fact remains that for the second time, the unicorn found itself resting ignominiously on its side.

I guess things can only get better. Today evening I will get its legally valid number plate, and tomorrow this mean machine is going to hit the road (hopefully in the vertical)!

Computers and Associated Paraphernalia

Computers, believe me, are troublesome creatures. I speak from long and personal experience.

My troubles started with a single computer. Just one. A desktop. Not even a branded one. But that’s where the trouble began. First, I remember, there were relatively minor challenges to tackle. For instance, the kind of cabinet it used. Once upon a time, a cabinet was a large piece of furniture that you kept your stuff in. Now you have cabinets that need to be turned off manually and cabinets that turn themselves off automatically when you shut down. If you have the latter type and you don’t realize it, you will keep pushing the button every time you want to turn the thing off. Which, of course, turns it on again. This endless loop can result in being hopelessly late for whatever crucial meeting you were running late for (or, alternatively, burning the rice, again!).

I should have known that from this auspicious beginning that things could only get worse.

It was only a matter of time – and not very much time at that – before we got an Internet connection. The joys of configuring the pop server to download mail were left to Amit, whom they kept in happy entertainment for many long hours. Downloading mail had several prerequisites, the main one being the installation of Linux. Windows used to be what you opened to let some breeze in (or let the climate come in, as an erstwhile teacher used to proclaim). Nowadays, it appears, it only lets viruses in. Linux was duly installed in dual boot mode (nothing to do with footwear). Now I had to be alert when starting the computer to promptly jab appropriate keys, or else, without further ado, the computer would boot Linux and leave me floundering helplessly in its murky, non-GUI depths.

Slowly, and at immense cost to Amit’s patience, I started unraveling the mysteries Linux. There existed between the three of us a perpetual state of cold war with occasional hot flashes. Typically, the situation would develop something like this:

Me: How do I…?

Amit: Type $*(&#*(TY(PY(H(PT^*%* at the shell.

Me (typing furiously): That won’t work

Computer: It appears you are speaking a different language or are from a different planet. Switch to one of 35,667 languages that I speak.

Me: It’s not working. This stupid computer…

From there on, the situation would deteriorate rapidly, with me and Linux trading insults and Amit trying to justify why the computer was right and I was wrong.

Amit eventually hit upon a workable solution. We would get another computer! And how, exactly, would that solve the problem, I wondered aloud. Oh, we would use the Linux box only for mail and for his occasional weekend fling with the computer. The “other computer” we would use for all “normal” activities on Windows. 

I’m not quite sure how, but somehow the second computer evolved into a laptop. This would not have mattered, but for the added dimension: wireless capability. Very soon, a wireless router had been flicked from a friend and was cluttering our telephone table with wires (not as wireless as it sounds)!

Amit was mightily pleased because it meant that he could surf the Net from the bathroom, but I had to come to grips with wireless connectivity. One wire from phone line to modem. One wire from router to modem. One line from modem to cordless phone (also not very cordless). One wire from each to electric mains. All it needed was tomato sauce and you’d have a veritable spaghetti bolognaise over there behind the telephone table.

Now, instructed Amit, to use the phone, pull a wire from here to here, but don’t pull this one, pull that one. To use the Internet, do the opposite. Oh, and if you want to dial up directly from the laptop, pull that wire from over there and put it here. That way, you use the internal modem, so you can be online even if there’s a power cut (provided the laptop battery is up to it). And by the way, if you want to know the status of the connection, just glance at the modem. If all eighteen lights are glowing, you’re online. If only half of them are glowing, you’re offline. (If none of them is glowing, turn on the mains and try again.) But only if you connected wirelessly. If you connected via your laptop, it’s the internal modem, remember. Remember? Are you kidding?

I didn’t remember and I still don’t. I am continuously puzzled about why the modem is lit up like a Christmas tree when the telephone wire is clearly plugged into my laptop (it’s because you can still dial up wirelessly even if the wire is in fact connected to the laptop). Or why my internet connection drops when there’s a power cut (and that’s because if you connect wirelessly, you depend on the wireless router and external modem getting a continuous power supply, explains Amit patiently through gritted teeth for the umpteenth time).

Meanwhile, the geography of our home kept changing significantly. At first, the telephone line had to be close to the desktop, so that the desktop could dial up. Later, the telephone line had to be close to the telephone set, which had been moved miles away from the desktop. So a very long telephone wire was bought, which would stretch across the living room, across the dining room, across the hall, and across the study, to the back of the desk on which the desktop sat. Of course, after disconnecting from the Net, one had to wind up this never-ending length of wire as well.

When we went wireless, the use of this wire slowly dwindled, and the desktop was very rarely connected to the Net (Linux and security issues notwithstanding). Then, one day, Amit came up with the bright idea of connecting the desktop’s large monitor to the laptop. This done, it was inevitable that keyboard and mouse should follow suit. So now the desktop was just a box, bereft of its input/output devices. What on earth do we do with it, we can’t use it now, I pointed out. Oh, that’s not a problem at all, said Amit blithely. He switched it on, attached a spare keyboard and mouse (but not the monitor) to it, pressed a few buttons and waited for Linux to boot invisibly. Then he started a tool on the laptop, which on the large monitor displayed the desktop of the desktop. Now the desktop’s Linux was appearing as a window on the laptop’s Windows, displayed on what had thus far been the desktop’s monitor (but was now the laptop’s) – if that makes sense to you.

This set up was quite effective, once you got used to it (which took a while). The only problem was when there was a power failure. The desktop and the monitor were both on the UPS, and the UPS had a very short life. Its life could be maximized by turning off the monitor, which made it quite impossible to shut down the desktop. Of course, if the desktop were already off when electricity went, then all you had to do was to turn off the monitor, and your dependency on power was at an end until the laptop battery failed. The thing was, a couple of times Amit actually forgot that the laptop had a screen of its own. So when, following my own impeccable (for once) logic, I turned off the laptop:

Amit: You nincompoop! Now how am I going to shut down the computer.

Me (innocently): Which computer?

Amit: The laptop!

Me (really worried now): But can’t you just leave it on? You can even continue working on it.

Amit (scathingly): And how am I supposed to do that?

Me (nervously opening the lid): Like this?

Amit: Sheepish grin

Then there’s IR. This wasn’t a problem as long as we had only a laptop and a desktop, but then my office went and gave me a laptop, so now there was a total of three of these troublesome gadgets at home. If there’s no electricity at home, but both laptops’ batteries are charged, they can still talk to each other using their infra-red ports (though why they would want to I don’t know; just showing off, if you ask me). But you have to make sure they are aligned just so. Since on one laptop even the most thorough scrutiny has not divulged exactly (or even vaguely) where the IR port is, getting the two IR ports to see eye to eye (as it were) has turned into quite an interesting exercise, somewhat like introducing two highly pedigreed dogs to each other in the remote hope that they might agree to mate. Both machines sit there, sniffing each other disdainfully and refusing to make contact. Push them this way and that, nudge them sideways, turn them at right angles to each other and suddenly there it is that magical ping that announces contact has been made. Now, don’t touch them, or you might lose it, which happy event will be announced by another loud, joyous ping.

The worst part is that on no two successive attempts does the exact same orientation seem to work. I do believe the IR ports – at least the unidentified IR port – move around from day to day, or even from hour to hour, though I am assured that this is not possible.

The advent of my office laptop also introduced a new dimension to the Internet connectivity puzzle. This laptop came with its own dial up connection, which would connect it directly to the office network. By the time I began using this, I had it firmly in my mind that any time one computer at home was connected to the Net, all of them were connected, thanks to the wireless network (provided the desktop was connected to something with an Ethernet cable). But this assumption was no longer valid. At least, in theory it was possible, if my office laptop had been set up as a gateway, which it hadn’t. This, again, led to some interesting situations:

Amit: Are you online?

Me: Yes, I am.

Amit: Ok, tell me when you are going offline.

Me (busy at work): hmmm… ok

An hour later…

Amit: Are you done yet?

Me: No, I’m still online, you can continue working, I’ll tell you when I am going offline.

Three hours later…

Amit: Ok, I really need access to the Net now!

Me: Oh! I was just about to disconnect. Haven’t you been using it all this time?

Amit: You %(&*#$_&!!! How could I be using it, you’ve been online all day!

Me (tentatively now): Yeah, but that means you’re online as well, doesn’t it?

Amit (explosively): How many times do I have to tell you! When you are connected to your office network, I can’t get online!!! Your laptop is not configured as a gateway! You $&()#*$&56&%$()W&%

Now, I am told, at last a clear and simple solution has been worked out. We will get DSL. Then we can both be online all the time, without our phone line being held up, and we can both connect to our respective office networks using something called VPN. Tomorrow, the lineman will come to install yet another mysterious box with wires. This box has to communicate with the wireless router, three laptops and a desktop (Linux!!!) and connect all of them to the Net, jointly and severally; clearly a tall order. What worries me is, does this mean that I will now have access to Amit’s office network and he to mine, if each of us is working on our own laptops??? I mean, after all, we are all connected wirelessly. Aren’t we?

I think life was simpler when everything was wired up and stationary.