By-Two Kaapi in an oilfield

The weblog of Abhilash Ravishankar, India.

Here I blog about my personal experiences [posting rarely]

At my tumblelog Intoxicated by possibility I blog about my opinions/likes/dislikes [posting heavily]

Pick-up Pool

Fed up of racking my neurons to debug some damn error in my project, and thanks to Sam being here, I hit Brigade Road here last nite. Prim, Gum and Dar joined in too.

Earlier in the day, I was reading more about the PUA Society, and then stumbled on this blog entry through DesiPundit. I was ROTFLMAOed by the detail of the whole incident where this Desi-turned-Pick-Up-Artist in OC, teaches four software-engineer-geek-desis in a pub, the art of approaching chicks. So, you know what was running on the back of my head in Brigade Road.

Anyways, we were roaming around the streets there after a cup of kaapi(C'mon bro, that's how an evening oughta start! and yeah, end with beer!). After we got tired of ogling, we decided to go bowl or unwind over pool. None of us knew a pool joint over there, so me, (the alpha male of the group) decided to do some enquiring.

Two females munching corn to me:
"Probably you must ask someone over there"
(with a tone which was better off, saying "Desperate bastard!")

Two females walking down the alley:

Gang of four females just out of a shop:
Female 1: "Pool!!!???" (More of a "Wow! What's that?" and less of a "Pool! What crap!" tone)
Female 2: blink-blink
Female 3: (staring at my hairstyle. I know it's unkempt. I like it that way!)
Female 4: "I think you should try going down this road" (Felt like a "Would love to answer only if I knew where it is!")
Me: "Thanks" (Throwing a glance around them, with a "My Mistake!" look)

The best part was what happened as I walked away and my other pals caught the girls commenting about me among themselves:
Female 1: "Why is he asking 'girls' about pool?"
Female 4: "Maybe he thinks we are hep!"

I almost laughed my liver out, when I heard this from Sam.


I got bored, as usual, of my blog.
Thought of dumping it.
Thought of moving to WordPress. (That's definitely not for geeks - they don't allow you to edit HTML!)
Thought of changing template. No new one's good though.
Thought of changing URL. Might do it!

Finally ended up rechristening it. By-Two Kaapi.
A tribute to the way coffee(kaapi) is usually shared between two friends out here in S. India.
Sakkath Hot Maga!


Venice, remains a city which has always enchanted me for no specific reason. Is it becuase of the canals, the history of the city, the monuments, the bridges? I don't know. To put it plainly, it is one city that I would love to live in for a pretty long time.

I stumbled upon this amazing pic of the Ponte Dei Sospiri or the Bridge of Sighs, as it is called. The name comes from the suggestion that prisoners would sigh at their final view of beautiful Venice out the window before being taken down to their cells. Sigh!

Passing through this bridge, I wonder what would be running in the minds of the prisoners.

Would they have felt the pain of imprisonment? The pain of seeing their last sight of the smooth flowing water in the canals? The pain of not being able to take their loved ones again on the Gondolas? The pain of not being able to take those solitary rides along the narrow lanes late in the night?
Or would it be that they felt relieved, happy and free? Relieved from the pains of love. Happy because beauty won't torture them any more. Free from the lure of bliss.

Whatever they thought, this would have been their last sight of Venice. Of Beauty. Of Love. Of Bliss.

No New Mail

The guts squeeze.
The heart aches.
The lungs collapse.
The limbs lose life.
From that wretched sight of not seeing new mail in your inbox.

That mail from

  • the University confirming your admit
  • the Program Chair saying that your Paper has been accepted
  • your love, telling you that she's doing great
  • your best pal, telling you that he won the race
  • mom, reminding you to cut your nails
  • your team-mate, announcing a break-through idea he just hit upon

That mail never came.

To My Zahir

Talking of the Zahir, I found a purely awesome piece of poetry on thw web on Ajay's blog.

Here's a slightly customized version of the same.

Its another day in another world,
A new place with a new face

So many have come and so many have gone.
How many more? How many more,
Will I see , Will I love , will I part.
How many more will walk with me,
Walk beside me in the sands of time,
As brothers , sisters , lovers.
All to fade away into my Yesterday.

Like a mirage the memory shimmers,
In the distant corners of my mind it beckons,
So alluring so seductive, It lingers
Filling my soul, my whole.

I close my eyes and am taken to it.
Living once more in a yesterday of my choice,
Colors all bright and the lights all lit.
This is life, this is eternity, says the voice.

But then I open my eyes and I see my world
This new place and this new face
And then I know that tomorrow,
You will be part of the yesterday I chose,
You will, however, remain,
My true love. My Zahir.

This goes out to my Zahir.

The Zahir

It begins with a glimpse or a passing thought.
It ends with obsession.

I hated Paulo Coelho's 'The Alchemist'. But then, seeing this book lying by Tony's bedside, I did ask him how he rates the book. Though he went on to say that he didn't actually like or dislike 'The Alchemist', he found that 'The Zahir' was thoroughly different and much more interesting and engrossing. And then I read the back cover and the dedication page in the book. I knew it right then. That I had to read the book. So, now that Tony has gone to Kochi, I flicked it from his bedside and started reading it.

The most mesmerizing part in the book, IMHO, is the Islamic concept of 'Zahir'. The title comes from a tale by Jorge Luis Borges, published in his book The Aleph.
In Arabic Zahir means 'visible, present and unable to go unnoticed.' It refers to something or someone that ends up being the only thing we can think of. This state of 'possession' can be understood as saintliness or insanity, with a fine line between the two.
Luis Borges goes on to say in one of his short stories titled 'El Zahir':
Others will dream that I am mad, and I [will dream] of the Zahir. When all men on earth think day and night of the Zahir, which one will be a dream and which a reality, the earth or the Zahir?
The protagonist in 'The Zahir', an accomplished writer (this novel is supposed to be extremely autobiographical) finds out that his Zahir is his lovely wife who, one day, just leaves him and vanishes. And the book is all about his quest to understand his love and obsession for his wife.

A thin line between holiness and madness. I just love standing on these thin lines!

Hmm...That's funny

Isaac Asimov once said:

The most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, isn't 'Eureka!' but rather 'Hmm....that's funny'.

Well, for almost a week now, I'm slogging, in vain, to get my simulation to work. Maybe, I'm at the crossroads of vaporizing the Fast Fourier Transforms. Maybe, this is the next big thing in the Transform Domain. Hmm...Very Funny!


Mindless surfing pays off through some really nice stuff that you come across once in a while, like this piece:

Sometimes people come into your life and you know right away they were meant to be serve some sort of purpose, teach you a lesson, or to figure out who you are or who you want to become. You never know who these people may be but you lock eyes with them and you know that very moment that they will affect your life in some profound way.

The people you meet affect your life.

If someone hurts you, betrays you, or breaks your heart, forgive them because they have helped you learn about trust and the importance of being cautious to whom you open your heart to.

If someone loves you, love them back unconditionally, not only because they love you, but also because they are teaching you to love and open your heart and eyes to little things. Make everything count. Appreciate everything you possibly can, for you may never experience it again.

Let yourself fall in love, break free, and set your sights high. Hold your head up because you have ever right to. Tell yourself you're a great individual and believe in yourself, no on else will believe in you. Create your own life and then go out and live it.

Reminds me of the legendary Fransisco d'Anconia in Atlas Shrugged when he said:

"Will I want to sleep with you? Desperately. Will I envy the man who
does? Sure. But what does it matter? It's so much-just to have you here, to love you and to be alive."

Takeaway: It's so much just to have met someone who can have an influence on you, who can teach you something. No point in expecting something in return. Because unknown-to-you that person has already given what he/she was meant to.

A Historical error corrected:

Somehow I knew...

Sitting in a 23-degrees-celsius cooled room, after hogging on an average lunch, I lean back on my reclinable chair and let my mind wander. And this is what it throws up -

Somehow I knew you would leave me this way
Somehow I knew you could never stay
And in the early morning light
After a silent peaceful night
You took my heart away
And I grieve
In my dreams I can see you
I can tell you how I feel
In my dreams I can hold you
And it feels so real
I still feel the pain
I still feel your love

Cannot figure out why, but Anathema's One Last Goodbye rings in my ear.

Somehow I knew that life had to be this way. Will be this way.
  • A cup of coffee once in a week.
  • A computer with internet in an AC room.
  • Not spreadsheets, but waveforms on the screen.
  • Check your mail every hour just to see that no one has mailed.
  • Login on an IM client, but hate to chat with people.
  • Catch the same bus every night, which takes you around the city.
  • And on that bus, remember, dream and cry.
  • Wish to talk your heart out, but no ear in sight.
  • The striking realization that you are 'truly' alone.
  • Read books, as if that's the only way you can understand life.
  • You laugh, but not at a joke; at yourself, at life.
  • Memories will just remain like a dream, and full of pride.
  • The only friend of yours is that smokin' chimney seen from the balcony.

Somehow I knew it.

The car stopped

And the car stopped.
The gushing air stopped.
The speeding lamp-posts stood still.
The engine sealed its thunder.
The wheels froze.
The speedometer died.

It was the end.

Or was it just stopping at the mechanic's for a spruce-up.


This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own and not those of the people, institutions or organizations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.


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