Casual and serious thoughts / ಹಗುರ ಹಾಗು ಗಂಭೀರ ಆಲೋಚನೆಗಳು

ಇದು ನಾನು ಬರೆದದ್ದಲ್ಲ. ಆದರೆ ಬಹಳ ಸತ್ಯದ ಮಾತೆಂದೆನಿಸಿತು. WhatsAppನಲ್ಲಿ ಕಳುಹಿಸಿದ್ದವರು ಒಬ್ಬರು ಆಪ್ತರು. "ನನ್ನ ಬ್ಲಾಗ್‌ನಲ್ಲಿ ಪ್ರಕಟಿಸಬಹುದೇ?" ಎಂದು ಕೇಳಿದೆ. ಕೃತಿಚೌರ್ಯವೆನಿಸದಿರಲೆಂದು ತಮ್ಮ ಹೆಸರು ಪ್ರಕಟಿಸುತ್ತೇನೆ ಎಂದೆ. ಪ್ರಕಟಿಸಿ ಆದರೆ ನನ್ನ ಹೆಸರು ಬೇಡ ಎಂದರು. ಅವರ ಕಾವ್ಯನಾಮವನ್ನು ಗೌಪ್ಯವಾಗಿಡಲು ಪ್ರಯತ್ನಿಸಿ, ಸ್ವಲ್ಪ ಮಟ್ಟಿಗಿ ಪರಿಶ್ಕರಿಸಿ ಈ ಬ್ಲಾಗನ್ನು ಪ್ರಕಟಿಸುತ್ತಿದ್ದೇನೆ. ಇಲ್ಲಿ ತಿಳಿಸಿರುವ ಅನೇಕ ಅಪರಾಧಗಳನ್ನು ನಾನು ಮಾಡಿರುವೆ / ಮಾಡುತ್ತಿರುವೆ. ತಿದ್ದಿಕೊಳ್ಳುವ ಪ್ರಯತ್ನಗಳೂ ಇವೆ.  🌀💫🌀💫🌀💫🌀💫🌀 ನಮ್ಮ ಮನೆಗಳಲ್ಲಿ ಶುದ್ಧ ಹಾಗೂ ಸ್ಪಷ್ಟವಾಗಿ ಕನ್ನಡದಲ್ಲಿ ಮಾತನಾಡುವುದನ್ನೇ ನಿಲ್ಲಿಸಿ ಬಿಟ್ಟೆವಾ?  ನಾವು ನಮ್ಮ ಮನೆಗಳಲ್ಲಿ ದಿನವಹಿ ನಡೆಸುವ ಸಂಭಾಷಣೆಗಳನ್ನು ಅವಲೋಕಿಸಿದರೆ, ನಾವು ಶುದ್ಧ ಕನ್ನಡದಲ್ಲಿ ಮಾತನಾಡುತ್ತಿಲ್ಲ ಎಂದು ಭಾಸವಾಗುತ್ತದೆ. ನಾನು ಈ ಕೆಳಗೆ ಉಲ್ಲೇಖಿಸಿದ ಕೆಲವೇ ಕೆಲವು ನಮ್ಮ ಸಂಭಾಷಣೆಗಳ ತುಣುಕಗಳನ್ನು ಅವಲೋಕಿಸೋಣ. ಡೋರ್ ಲಾಕ್ ಮಾಡಿಕೊಳ್ಳಿ, ನಾನು ಹೋಗಿ ಬರ್ತೀನಿ. ಡೋರ್ ಲಾಕ್ ಮಾಡಿಕೊ. ನನ್ನ ಕೀಸ್ ಎಲ್ಲಿ? ಇಲ್ಲಿ ಡೋರ್ ಲಾಕ್, ಕೀಸ್ ಪದಗಳಿಗೆ ಬದಲಾಗಿ ಅಚ್ಚು ಕನ್ನಡ ಪದ ಬಳಸಬಹುದಲ್ಲವೇ... ಇಲ್ಲ ನಾವು ಬಳಸುವುದಿಲ್ಲ. ಕಾರಣ? ಒಂದು ಇಪ್ಪತ್ತು, ಇಪ್ಪತ್ತೈದು ವರ್ಷಗಳ ಹಿಂದೆ ಬಾಗಿಲು ಹಾಕ್ಕೊಳ್ಳಿ, ಕದದ ಹಾಕ್ಕೊಳ್ಳಿ, ಬೀಗ ಹಾಕಿ,...

An AI generated image With all the buzz around AI these days, I figured it was time to jot down my thoughts on the journey—from hating statistics to embracing AI.   The Early 1980s: Hating the "Magic" Back in my engineering college days, I despised statistics. It felt like some magician's trick: "There are 5 black and 8 white balls in a bag. Pick one at random—what's the chance it's white?" Pulling rabbits, pigeons, or balls from bags? No thanks. I deliberately dodged it. Mid-1980s: Thrown into the Deep End Then I joined MICO (now Bosch) as a trainee engineer and rose to become an Inspection Foreman. Suddenly, I was swimming in that "magic" sea. No desktops yet those day—just mainframes like Data General or IBM (too big for our small tasks) or we crunched data manually: plotted histograms, frequency charts, used log-normal plots to calculate averages (X Bar) and standard deviations (s or sigma). Probability helped predict defects and decide whe...

Where it all started From my younger days, I've been randomly obsessed with cooking—like a moth to a flame, except the flame is from a gas stove. It kicked off helping and being my mother's "Sous Chef" with the grunt work: manually wet grinding (ರುಬ್ಬುವುದು), pounding (ಕುಟ್ಟುವುದು), and dry roasting (ಹುರಿಯುವುದು). Soon I was her Gokulashtami sidekick, churning out Kodubale,   thengina kaayi mithai and kadale kaayi mithai . When she got seriously ill during my engineering days, I stepped up—entered into the kitchen and it was no optional. Kitchen jaunts have been my chaotic hobby ever since. I adore it, or so I tell myself. Traditional sweets and savouries? Nailed them—mostly (According to me). My carrot halwa once bowled over friend MS Mohan's family; his mom recollected and mentioned it for many years later. Corporate Grind: Kitchen Exile Corporate life as a young engineer? Forget cooking— I was too busy working in the day, studying evenings or lecturing at ICWA(I...

An AI generated image This incident happened many years ago. Why remember it now—after all these years? I don’t really know. It surfaced suddenly as I was walking through Munich airport, on my way to Tangier via Madrid. Perhaps a voice triggered it. Perhaps the atmosphere of an airport did. I’m not sure. But the memory came back vividly. This happened at an airport—one I can’t quite remember. Possibly in Germany. When I say many years ago, I mean the BC era: Before Cell phones. A Phone Call to Be Made Back then, making an international phone call meant hunting for a public telephone booth and using what were called calling cards. These cards were sold in 24×7 tobacco shops across Germany and much of Europe—this was before the Schengen Treaty, when borders were sealed and every country had its own currency. Armed with my calling card, I approached a phone booth already in use. The man inside seemed deeply engaged in conversation. Expecting it to end soon, I sat down on one of the near...

I have always been intrigued, when do we cross that thin line between an act of self respect and when does ego set in? Do we disguise our ego as self respect? This topic has occurred to me many a time and recently, I faced a situation where a long time friend of mine started to “cold shoulder” me. I have a choice to a. either reach out to him and seek to understand the reason for this behaviour. Ask if I did something wrong? If yes, I could have been blind to it and would not hesitate to apologise and make amends. after all we are childhood chums. b. or stick to myself and shrug it off by telling that it is his problem and why should I bend over backwards and reach out while the other person is not willing to (according to me) accommodate me.  I even wrote a poem in Kannada (as it is easy for me to express myself in my mother tongue)  ಸಂಬಂಧಗಳು Even at work I have often wondered if I am transgressing that thin line between self respect and ego. I have even justified that the “P...