Came across this spoof on Six Sigma. Thought I should preserve this for its entertainment value...
A shepherd was herding his flock in a remote pasture when suddenly a brand-new BMW advanced out of the dust cloud towards him. The driver, a young man in a Broni suit, Gucci shoes, Ray Ban sunglasses and YSL tie, leaned out the window and asked the shepherd, "If I tell you exactly how many sheep you have in your flock, will yougive me one?"
The shepherd looked at the man, obviously a yuppie , then looked at his peacefully-grazing flock and calmly answered, "Sure."
The yuppie parked his car, whipped out his notebook and connected it to a cell phone, then he surfed to a NASA page on the internet where he called up a GPS satellite navigation system, scanned the area, and thenopened up a database and an Excel spreadsheet with complex formulas. He sent an email on his Blackberry and, after a few minutes, received a response.
Finally, he prints out a 150 page report on his hi-tech, miniaturized printer then turns to the shepherd and says, "You have exactly 1586 sheep." "That is correct; take one of the sheep." said the shepherd.
He watches the young man select one of the animals and bundle it into his car. Then the shepherd says: " If I can tell you exactly what your business is, will you give me back my sheep?" "OK, why not." answeredthe young man."
Clearly, you are a Six Sigma Black Belt." said the shepherd. "That's correct," says the yuppie, "but how did you guess that?" "No guessing required." answers the shepherd. "You turned up here although nobodycalled you. You want to get paid for an answer I already knew, to a question I never asked, and you don't know crap about my business. Now give me back my dog."
What the @##$$%%$...?!
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Chalte, chalte...
When my boss approved my request for leave on Monday, I was on cloud nine already. I dreamt about ushering beautiful young girls into the banquet hall at Srichakra International, one of the better known hotels in Palakkad. I could not explain amid all self-centeredness why the bride and groom (my cousin, whose wedding reception I was gonna attend) were missing from my dream. After all, it was my dream and I could fabricate it the way I wished to see it. Boy, I spend that Friday night at home in the world of dreams "entertaining the crowd with jokes that I saw myself learning by rote during the 8-hour long train journey."
Traveling with parents by train is anything but exciting. With due respects to Jean Jacques Rousseau, "I found myself in chains everywhere." It filled me with remorse that all those pretty ones sitting not so far away from me are completely helpless to save a 20-something (that's me) from being wasted away. I would not give up though!
I grabbed Jack Welch's "Straight from the Gut" from my backpack and began skimming through the pages. Through the corner of my eyes I kept track of the metaphysical changes in the surrounding. When I was convinced that mum and dad had shifted gears to slumber, I broke out of the shell and struck a cockeyed conversation with my immediate neighbor, a new college graduate who had just started working on a philanthropic project at Nimhans. I listened curiously as Vidya comfortably switched from one topic to another with the ease of a conductor. While I had conned her to believe that I was listening, my co-passengers saw me running around trees in the thick eucalyptus forest singing Kitna hasin hey yeh ek sapna...
I had not even completed a mukhda of the song, when a hard blow on my left cheek startled me awake. The book was still wide open in my hands. A transvestite was staring at me ready for a second blow in case I spurned her/his romantic advances one more time: Bhaiyya dena. Talk about romance in a train.
Vidya was thoroughly enjoying the scene. That was the last time I looked at her or attempted to speak with her. I fixed my gaze at the distant hills ebbing and falling like tides on a full moon night. Sun played hide and seek announcing every now and then the arrival of monsoon. And the train continued her journey unmindful of the mysterious ways of the mind.
Traveling with parents by train is anything but exciting. With due respects to Jean Jacques Rousseau, "I found myself in chains everywhere." It filled me with remorse that all those pretty ones sitting not so far away from me are completely helpless to save a 20-something (that's me) from being wasted away. I would not give up though!
I grabbed Jack Welch's "Straight from the Gut" from my backpack and began skimming through the pages. Through the corner of my eyes I kept track of the metaphysical changes in the surrounding. When I was convinced that mum and dad had shifted gears to slumber, I broke out of the shell and struck a cockeyed conversation with my immediate neighbor, a new college graduate who had just started working on a philanthropic project at Nimhans. I listened curiously as Vidya comfortably switched from one topic to another with the ease of a conductor. While I had conned her to believe that I was listening, my co-passengers saw me running around trees in the thick eucalyptus forest singing Kitna hasin hey yeh ek sapna...
I had not even completed a mukhda of the song, when a hard blow on my left cheek startled me awake. The book was still wide open in my hands. A transvestite was staring at me ready for a second blow in case I spurned her/his romantic advances one more time: Bhaiyya dena. Talk about romance in a train.
Vidya was thoroughly enjoying the scene. That was the last time I looked at her or attempted to speak with her. I fixed my gaze at the distant hills ebbing and falling like tides on a full moon night. Sun played hide and seek announcing every now and then the arrival of monsoon. And the train continued her journey unmindful of the mysterious ways of the mind.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
"Enter the Dragon"
It's not everyday that you would be very happy about burning a deep hole in your pockets at a restaurant. But Wednesday, 22nd June was different: My friends would not wait for the weekend to celebrate my birthday. So, without much fussing about, we set off to party. All of us agreed on wine and dine at one of happening pubs on M G Road.
The 13th Floor on Barton Center was the first unanimous choice. But when we got there, we were disappointed to know that the balcony was either occupied or reserved. The raised chairs on the balcony would have given us the awesome view of the well-lit city, the trooping crowds, and the fleeting vehicles 13 storeys below us. But the drizzle was threatening to turn into a heavy downpour any time. When the staff offered to seat us at the next best spot indoors, I pitched in to support them. But I could not convince my friends enough to hang on for a later ticket to the balcony.
Spinz, Urban Edge, Peecos, and Down Town popped up next on the list. These were quickly turned down as either frequently visited or too crowded. One of my PG classmates had recommended Taeka (am not sure if that's how it is spelt). We weren't even sure if we pronounced the name correctly. In the end, our efforts to locate this place did not yield positive results. Meanwhile, I could see that our patience was fast running out. RR and Bhima, the two Andhra restaurants on Church Street, were too conservative for our jeering and brawls. When it seemed like we were near the end of our options, Nikhil suggested Aromas of China. Having run out of options, we did nothing to hide our excitement. Off we left for hinterland.
Aromas of China is located in an aging building on the Richmond Circle junction. Its visibility is further obscured by a flyover rising like the Phoenix. We did not expect to see much of a crowd here, let alone think about letting our hair down on a Wednesday evening. But, we were not prepared for what we saw and experienced. There was "Enter the Dragon" written all over the place. The wall hanging, carpet, table mats, flower vases, murals...everything had distinct China flavor. But what made us go gaga over the place is not any of these, but the chopsticks. Like battle hardened soldiers we wielded the sticks between our fingers and began what can be mildly described us a forgettable adventure.
The Chinamen (no offenses meant) laughed their way to stomach cramps watching us feed our clothes and litter the entire table. They did not need much time to conclude that we are better off using the sticks to chase away flies. Polite as they are, one of them quickly came to our rescue. With eyes barely open, and well-oiled hair falling on his face, Lu Chuk quickly demonstrated how to use the chopstick. The four of us looked at each other in disbelief at Chuk's adeptness. Ignoring the polished crowd around us enjoying a pleasant dinner, we set out on our own paths taking off from where Chuk had left. In no time, Kotti was seen eating sauced cabbage leaves with the sticks. Each one of us enjoyed the exotic meal thanks largely to the chopstick.
They served us complementary China Tea. For once, tea tasted better than "Black Dog" on the rocks. Marinated cucumber slices and manchurian kept us busy until we were served the main course. When we left the restaurant, the aromas of China lingered on.
The 13th Floor on Barton Center was the first unanimous choice. But when we got there, we were disappointed to know that the balcony was either occupied or reserved. The raised chairs on the balcony would have given us the awesome view of the well-lit city, the trooping crowds, and the fleeting vehicles 13 storeys below us. But the drizzle was threatening to turn into a heavy downpour any time. When the staff offered to seat us at the next best spot indoors, I pitched in to support them. But I could not convince my friends enough to hang on for a later ticket to the balcony.
Spinz, Urban Edge, Peecos, and Down Town popped up next on the list. These were quickly turned down as either frequently visited or too crowded. One of my PG classmates had recommended Taeka (am not sure if that's how it is spelt). We weren't even sure if we pronounced the name correctly. In the end, our efforts to locate this place did not yield positive results. Meanwhile, I could see that our patience was fast running out. RR and Bhima, the two Andhra restaurants on Church Street, were too conservative for our jeering and brawls. When it seemed like we were near the end of our options, Nikhil suggested Aromas of China. Having run out of options, we did nothing to hide our excitement. Off we left for hinterland.
Aromas of China is located in an aging building on the Richmond Circle junction. Its visibility is further obscured by a flyover rising like the Phoenix. We did not expect to see much of a crowd here, let alone think about letting our hair down on a Wednesday evening. But, we were not prepared for what we saw and experienced. There was "Enter the Dragon" written all over the place. The wall hanging, carpet, table mats, flower vases, murals...everything had distinct China flavor. But what made us go gaga over the place is not any of these, but the chopsticks. Like battle hardened soldiers we wielded the sticks between our fingers and began what can be mildly described us a forgettable adventure.
The Chinamen (no offenses meant) laughed their way to stomach cramps watching us feed our clothes and litter the entire table. They did not need much time to conclude that we are better off using the sticks to chase away flies. Polite as they are, one of them quickly came to our rescue. With eyes barely open, and well-oiled hair falling on his face, Lu Chuk quickly demonstrated how to use the chopstick. The four of us looked at each other in disbelief at Chuk's adeptness. Ignoring the polished crowd around us enjoying a pleasant dinner, we set out on our own paths taking off from where Chuk had left. In no time, Kotti was seen eating sauced cabbage leaves with the sticks. Each one of us enjoyed the exotic meal thanks largely to the chopstick.
They served us complementary China Tea. For once, tea tasted better than "Black Dog" on the rocks. Marinated cucumber slices and manchurian kept us busy until we were served the main course. When we left the restaurant, the aromas of China lingered on.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Stay hungry, stay foolish.
"Stay hungry, stay foolish." What a statement to sign off a fantabulous speech to Stanford graduates? When I reached the end of Commencement address by Steve Jobs, I could not control my tears. They flowed down my cheeks unperturbed by the people and noises around me. There was a devastating silence amid the chaos. My fingers were hitting hard at the keyboard trying desperately to keep pace with the flow of thoughts. The noise resounded in my ears making the overall experience next to heavenly. Suddenly, I woke up to reality.
What am I fantasizing and why am I doing it? Perhaps, it had to do with Steve’s speech. When I read, see, or hear experiences of life, love, and death they transform me to a different plane. Death turns out to be the agent of change today. In all my fantasies, death has never instigated me to ‘act’. Today, it’s different. I have vowed to live everyday of my life as if it was my last day. Thank you Steve!
I have loving parents, caring friends, interesting colleagues and friendly neighbors. I play with my neighbor’s two-year old almost everyday. When I wish her good night and tell her that I’ll bring chocolates tomorrow, I’m unknowingly playing god. When I go home after a long day’s work, I hope my mom would wait with a cup of hot coffee in her hand. At office, we plan the tasks for the next few hours; we prepare project schedules for months on end with ‘delivery’ dates. We make hollow promises to our girl friends or spouses. Never once do we envision the role of death in any of these activities. How strange and unavoidable? How else can we explain our hope in future? What is the guarantee that we will live to see the sun rise again?
There should no such thing as procrastination or plan in any dictionary for the simple reason that you have to be god to procrastinate or plan. Let gods do their work. I’ll be a happy man if … well, there are no ifs and buts in death.
I do long for that day when I will have the opportunity to shed my "old skin" as mentioned in the Bhagavad Gita. Until then my hunger for knowledge will remain suffused; my foolishness will ensure that I'll never run out of fodder for my brain.
What am I fantasizing and why am I doing it? Perhaps, it had to do with Steve’s speech. When I read, see, or hear experiences of life, love, and death they transform me to a different plane. Death turns out to be the agent of change today. In all my fantasies, death has never instigated me to ‘act’. Today, it’s different. I have vowed to live everyday of my life as if it was my last day. Thank you Steve!
I have loving parents, caring friends, interesting colleagues and friendly neighbors. I play with my neighbor’s two-year old almost everyday. When I wish her good night and tell her that I’ll bring chocolates tomorrow, I’m unknowingly playing god. When I go home after a long day’s work, I hope my mom would wait with a cup of hot coffee in her hand. At office, we plan the tasks for the next few hours; we prepare project schedules for months on end with ‘delivery’ dates. We make hollow promises to our girl friends or spouses. Never once do we envision the role of death in any of these activities. How strange and unavoidable? How else can we explain our hope in future? What is the guarantee that we will live to see the sun rise again?
There should no such thing as procrastination or plan in any dictionary for the simple reason that you have to be god to procrastinate or plan. Let gods do their work. I’ll be a happy man if … well, there are no ifs and buts in death.
I do long for that day when I will have the opportunity to shed my "old skin" as mentioned in the Bhagavad Gita. Until then my hunger for knowledge will remain suffused; my foolishness will ensure that I'll never run out of fodder for my brain.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Killing Writer's Block with wandering thoughts...
Wanderer strikes an instant chord with me. The name was spontaneous, like this archaic piece of literary diarrhea. I guess the blog name was wandering somewhere in the back of my mind, waiting for an outlet to gush out. Finally, it had to be today at this time.
I had been thinking about blogging for a long time. I realize after umpteen attempts that I was a chronic victim of "Blogger's block". It gives me a rare sense of satisfaction today as I wander into my grey cells culling out what I think are interesting words to construct these meaningful sentences. So, I am not too surprised when the darker corners of the grey space does not return anything meaningful or colorful (guys, you know what I am talking about...)
Talking about color, I am coaxed (once again by my wandering mind) to wander into not-so-distant ITPL (the International Tech Park in Bangalore) where my company was once located. It seems like a long time since we have shifted here; believe me, it's been less than a fortnight. Ever since we have relocated to a 'bigger campus with better opportunities', the colors have dimmed. I, for one, have become completely color blind. Day in and day out, we meet the same people, talk about the same stuff, eat the same food. The day was when three or four of us friends would submerge ourselves in a thickening crowd of post lunch nomads who would congregate at the lawn for a fag, or for cooling the eyes, or for warming in the sun, or just for the heck of it. We would be the last ones to leave the lush green meadows after the pretty ones have called it a day. Talk about nostalgia!
Hang on guys! Something tells me am on the wrong side of the day for wandering too far... let me pen down for the day. Catchya soon...
I had been thinking about blogging for a long time. I realize after umpteen attempts that I was a chronic victim of "Blogger's block". It gives me a rare sense of satisfaction today as I wander into my grey cells culling out what I think are interesting words to construct these meaningful sentences. So, I am not too surprised when the darker corners of the grey space does not return anything meaningful or colorful (guys, you know what I am talking about...)
Talking about color, I am coaxed (once again by my wandering mind) to wander into not-so-distant ITPL (the International Tech Park in Bangalore) where my company was once located. It seems like a long time since we have shifted here; believe me, it's been less than a fortnight. Ever since we have relocated to a 'bigger campus with better opportunities', the colors have dimmed. I, for one, have become completely color blind. Day in and day out, we meet the same people, talk about the same stuff, eat the same food. The day was when three or four of us friends would submerge ourselves in a thickening crowd of post lunch nomads who would congregate at the lawn for a fag, or for cooling the eyes, or for warming in the sun, or just for the heck of it. We would be the last ones to leave the lush green meadows after the pretty ones have called it a day. Talk about nostalgia!
Hang on guys! Something tells me am on the wrong side of the day for wandering too far... let me pen down for the day. Catchya soon...
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