herbiehancock

I find even the name funny. I’ve Walt Disney for company. He has a character named after it. Pluto. And I find the backlash against the International Astronomical Union (IAU) for demoting Pluto to being a ‘dwarf planet’ even funnier. What got me thinking about this was an article in HT about how different groups are coming out in support for Pluto’s planethood. In it was a mention of a society called “Society for Preservation of Pluto as a Planet”. I find this funniest. Different people, different views. It is also one of the reasons why the world is such a fascinating place to be in. I, for one, couldn’t care less about it. And the way I see it for a substantial percentage of people in the world, this hardly means anything as well. Apart from this chunk of astronomers and those students who are still in school. Even for the students, it’s just another line added to their textbooks which they’ll forget right after their next exam. Calvin was right on the money when he said that all h

“Hi… waiting for someone?” “Yeah, you too?” “Yep. Same here. It's funny. Some people just can’t be on time!” “True. It’s weird. My friend even stays close-by while I traveled quite a distance to get here, yet I was on time.” “And who wants to go for a movie, half an hour late? I’m actually thinking about chucking this movie now. You wanna take a walk? “Yeah, but I can’t go far. My friend would expect me to be here.” “Ah… that’s okay. You study or work?” “I work for a small company in South Delhi. What about you?” “I’m working too. Work for Hindustan Times. Just down the road…” “So… You an engineer?” “Naa… Graduate in Arts.” “Hmm... Which college?” “Correspondence actually… And what do you work as?” “I just joined the Radio Division’s Marketing Team. What’s your name?” “Kaavya. And you are? ” “Issac… I-Double-S-A-C” “Hmm... does it mean something?” “Yeah… something like a smile in the Hebrew language.” “You know, it’s interesting how names come about. In India a lot of names are der

Mr. Arora wouldn’t mince words when reminded of his childhood days. “Yeh poora Nehru pariwaar kameeno se bhara hain…” He was born months after Partition and could relive those days like yesterday. And every time Mrs. Arora would listen like never before. She must’ve heard this story a hundred times yet wouldn’t fail to take her place on the sofa when her husband would recount those instances all over again. This time, Mr. Arora was narrating the story to his newly moved in South-Indian neighbor, Mr. Swamy. This was a Sunday morning and they’d invited the Swamys for a breakfast. Ms. Arora’s culinary skills were legendary. The last time she’d invited her relatives for dinner, food kept flying into the plates till 2 in the morning. Nevertheless, to return to Mr. Arora's story, he was born in September, 1947. And at the height of the rioting in Noakhali and Punjab, his father was trying to get in touch with his mother. His father owned a flourishing cycle business. Flourishing, because