Protestors defy recession and G20 summit by spending more money.

(NB: This article was written two weeks prior to the publish date.)

Headless chickens convened in Washington D.C at the G20 summit this past Saturday. They feigned decorum and sanity while frantically searching for their heads in a waste pile outside the IMF headquarters. Further exacerbating their ordeal were the dozens of local chefs who tried to pluck their feathers and cook them in their restaurant kitchens. Several important attendees were seen strung upside down in the window of one hole-in-the-wall restaurant in the nearby Chinatown district.

Throngs of protesters descended upon Chinatown to splurge at one of its many restaurants. On offer were varieties of oriental cuisines including Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, and Diarrhea. Yours truly found himself by happenstance at the "Burma" restaurant. The management was caught off-guard by the mob of people packing its corridor for a chance to be seated. Such was the state of disarray that you would have been forgiven for assuming that the headless chickens had taken over in a revengeful coup (coop?).

Accompanying me were my spouse, my colleague and his wife. The latter two were British and Brazilian, respectively. Our Model UN delegation was served by the Spanish speaking wait staff who went about their duty with an admirable sense of determination and responsibility despite the surrounding chaos. Our food was heavily laced with turmeric which gave it a pale-yellow hue. It vaguely matched the neon-yellow wall paint, however other than that, it was of unremarkable quality.

Nearby, rambunctious fans gathered for an AC/DC concert. We joined the overwhelmingly blue-collar crowd to hear the Aussie band belt out classics like "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap", "Highway To Hell", "Hell's Bells" and a host of others. Going by just the song titles, you would have thought they were lamenting the economy. Unfortunately, the only tune in DC (the new financial capital of the world) these days is "Bailout" and "Stimulus" (BS). And while it may lack 'soul' as is often said by its critics, at least the city has some culture. Even if it is imported.

(NB: This article was written two weeks prior to the publish date.)

Fishing in troubled waters...

Dubai's newest house of hedonism has been getting some negative publicity (here and here) since it's much touted opening. Now the endangered whale shark in their mega-aquarium has drawn the ire of environmentalists. The saga of this big fish in a small pond is reported here. Reading through reminded me that the more things change, the more they remain the same.

Several years ago we visited Al-Ain, a sleepy oasis town under the patronage of Abu Dhabi. Historically this is where UAE residents went to enjoy the sight of green lettuce patches and date plantations. It also boasted gardens at every city block. By Emirati standards, it was verdant enough to qualify as a rain forest.

During the trip, we visited one of gardens that carpet the city center. It had a pond that was brimming with a foreign species of fish which had bred rapidly in the artificial habitat. So dense was the population that the hues of red and orange floating in the water reminded me of an overflowing jar of jelly-beans.

A trio of local municipality workers were having a field day fishing them out. Such is the lure (pun intended) of fishing, that instead of efficiently scooping the fish out with a net, they were leisurely using fishing lines. I suppose they were stalwarts of the fishing mantra 'Will work for fish'.

The authorities to-be, in their wisdom, had not provided the unwitting fishermen with the resources to relocate or dispose their catch. This meant that their entire labor camp would be feasting on fish that night. They offered us a couple of their prize catches. We felt inexplicably compelled to oblige and drove back to Sharjah with the fish wrapped in newspapers and laid in the car's trunk. The ride wasn't too odoriferous. It's well-known that fish and visitors don't smell until three days and our drive was only two hours.

If the Atlantis staff needs some help relocating 'Sammy' the whale shark, then I know a few guys who will be eager for the job. For them, it will be God's answer to every fisherman's prayer:

Lord help me to catch
a fish so large
that even I in the tell of it
never need to lie...

For Sammy's sake, I only hope he doesn't end up on the sushi menu.

(Thanks to Tahir Jilani for all the fishing related "catch"-phrases)

Road cycling in Virginia

In Virginia (the Real kind and the Northern kind), the law requires drivers to provide a one lane buffer when passing a police car that is conducting a traffic stop. Correcting for any stationary vehicle is common sense but most drivers perform an evasive, knee-jerk maneuver at the hint of a squad car. Said maneuver involves slowing down, veering away and avoiding eye-contact. Presumably, this drastic reaction is not because of an awareness of the law. Rather it is the common sense being compounded with an irrational fear of ticket-happy cops.

Unfortunately, there is no such law for protecting road cyclists, who can expect about to be buffeted blithely by speeding motorists. There are some exceptions though. Cyclists with a trailer (even if empty), riders without a helmet, and female cyclists enjoy more room. There have been a number of studies about the hazards of road cycling and ways to alleviate them. One such study proved that attractive female cyclists will get on average the most buffer space. So for those male cyclists who can't catch a break on the road, there are two possible options: wear police strobe lights and/or wear a wig.

Of course, in all fairness, Virginians (Real and Northerners) enjoy the most miles of dedicated and shared bike routes than residents of any other state.

Bicycling in America

I've been cycling to work almost daily during the last two seasons and have come to really enjoy it. Most of my colleagues are avid cyclists and have been so long before the current wave of fashionability that cycling is enjoying in America. I attribute my wife for providing the nudge that finally got me into regular bicycle commuting. Had it not been for her, I'd still be spending more time waiting at red lights than actually driving.

This season has been particularly good for cycling. Four dollar gallon of gas was the psychological benchmark that convinced people that cycling was a feasible means of transport. Had I been living in the UAE or Pakistan, I'm sure I would probably never have been able to enjoy bicycle commuting except if I was a door-to-door tradesman. In Amsterdam, cycling doesn't suffer from the same stigmas as it does in the US, UAE, or Pakistan. Here is an article contrasting cycling trends in Amsterdam with those in the US. This quote does an excellent job of explaining the antagonism faced by road cyclists:

Cycling is a purposefully esoteric subculture, populated by rich, fit white people who wear tight, expensive regalia, and feel morally superior. What could be more hateable?

I find this to be paradoxically true. Cycling has become the yuppie's golf. There is even a manifesto that dictates the rules associated with this lifestyle. While it is essentially free to utilize recreational trails and public roads, the cost of equipment and apparel is exorbitant. A high-end road bike runs into several thousands of dollars. When Lance Armstrong won the Tour de France it gave the sport a minimal surge in popularity. But it was a god-send for Local Bike Shops who racked up record sales of expensive equipment purchased by existing cycling enthusiasts. Yet, this exclusivity is responsible for preventing cycling from really flourishing in the US.

Perhaps cycling's image needs a makeover the world over. While some countries need to produce cycling heroes of the celebrity kind, other countries need to produce cycling heroes of the working-class kind, namely dhobhis and doodhwallas.

(Hat Tip: Matthew Yglesias)

"Shaan" of the Dead

Lahore has four boulevards that stretch latitudinally through the city. There is the aptly named Canal Road which has a deep, thirty-foot wide murky ditch as a median. It's a pretty road, lined with old, expansive oak trees. Then there is Jail Road which derives its moniker due to the famous city jail which it runs past. It is a wide highway boasting modern underpasses and connecting numerous new housing developments that have mushroomed on the outskirts of the city. A little less modern, but equally important is Ferozpur Road which is where you will find yourself dodging potholes were you going to the industrial complexes of the packages factory or the wholesale markets dealing in textiles, electronics, and plumbing supplies.

Lastly, there is the original Mall (Maal) Road, the grandest of the boulevards. A drive down this magnificent mile is sure to invoke nostalgic images from a bygone era. Where it once played host to the classiest residences in town, now you find them superseded by the Lahore Gymkhana, Avari hotel, and The Pearl Continental hotel. Gothic and mugal buildings house the Supreme Court, Post Office, Lahore Museum, National College of Arts, Masonic Temple, and YMCA, to name a few.

Driving on each of these roads offers a unique chance to gain insights into the historic city of Lahore. On my first trip to Lahore, my wife who considers herself a daughter of the city offered to give me a condensed afternoon tour. We made several stops during the afternoon, unhindered by traffic or pedestrians who had long reached home to catch a snooze. Our only concern was the tandoori sun that was baking the deserted streets.

As the evening approached and we reached the end of our itinerary, my wife reluctantly handed the wheels of the car over to me. I had never driven in the city center before but given that the traffic was sparse, our apprehension might prove to be misplaced. No sooner had I turned on to Mall road to make our way back to sanctity of DHA via Cantonment that the denizens started to come out of the wood work. A zombie duo, disguised as a mother-daughter pair hopped onto the road and lurched towards the center lane where I found myself slamming the brakes lest I clip their toes. My wife instinctively screamed, "DON'T BRAKE! DON'T BRAKE!" while the zombie-women locked their gaze and froze in place. A crash of cars screeched to a halt behind us while I gestured the women to cross, oblivious of their undead nature.

Contrary to my naive expectation, they did not cross. I falsely attributed the momentary stalemate as a sign of their mistrust of pedestrian-friendly drivers. After all, conscious drivers in Lahore are not nearly as plentiful as wheelchair-bound contestants in a Pampalona bull-run. As they looked on with suspicion, I maneuvered around them and started to drive away. Just then, I caught a glimpse of them returning to the curb and triumphantly high-five'ing each other like the malevolent GEICO insurance squirrels. The fading sight of guffawing zombies made me realize that my first-world instinct had almost gotten us into a third-world wreck thanks to their stunt. Well-played zombies, but next time I'm gunning for your legs.

Updated Oct-08-2008:
From Tahir Jilani:
Would like to add here that the three Main Boulevards, Ferozepur Road, Jail Road and Mall Road (now named as Shahrah-e-Quaid-e-Azam), run parallel to each other from North West to South East. The Canal Bank Road cuts across these Roads at an angle of 90 degrees. The Canal Bank Road has a series of underpasses, since it leads to the Motorway. According to me this was stupid planning, just for sake of the Motorway, which was an obsession of Nawaz Shareef. The bulk of the Lahore traffic which flows along the three main roads gets stuck up when it reaches the Canal Bank Traffic Signals. Priority should have been given to these three roads instead of the Canal Bank Road. By the way another point to note is that the Canal more or less is the dividing line between old and new Lahore.

I finally get it...

The experience of visiting my work place has been described by a wise man as 'being inside a giant super-computer'. When I first interviewed on-site, this was one of the things that instantly appealed to me, but I was unaware of it. I knew a person of my geeky persuasions would be sufficiently challenged, however I lacked the discernment to make an astute observation like that. My discernment ability has improved much since then though. I can confidently regurgitate second-hand observations as original thoughts.

Most small hi-tech companies (and some big ones too) offer relaxed work environments. Casual dress codes, workplace showers, cafeteria lunches, etc are the norm. Our company allows employees to bring their dogs to work. On most days, the place is teeming with at least six or seven dogs. Each of them have very unique traits and foibles which deserve a post by itself. However all of them are well-behaved and the owners are responsible for ensuring that they abide by certain rules, eg: no harassing visitors, no running through equipment racks, no going #1 or #2 indoors, etc.

One particular Friday afternoon, I got up from my desk and walked to the restroom (like the dogs we too are bound by the same office rules). Some of my colleagues were enjoying an early lunch seated at a large desk in the common area. Suddenly, two of the smaller dogs launched a fusillade of yelps which briefly attracted the attention of those of us who were nearby. The dogs became self-conscious when they realized that their outburst had garnered a few head-turns and irked looks. They retreated inside an office with a characteristic puppy-dog look on their faces. Once it became obvious what had transpired between them, we were willing to forgive. After all, they finally got the lipstick-on-a-pitbull joke.

W&OD Sights - Part 1

The Washington & Old Dominion Trail is a 40+ mile recreation trail that stretches east-west through Northern Virginia. It runs along what used to be a railroad track for transporting coal from the mines in the west to power plants in the historic city of Alexandria, Virginia. The trail is popular with cyclists, runners, roller-bladers and horse enthusiasts. The latter use an unpaved trail that runs parallel to the asphalt trail.

The power plant in Alexandria is still in-service, so it's not clear how the coal is transported in this post-train era. But if they ever wanted to do it on the backs of unsuspecting joggers, some of them would be happy to oblige. I suspect exercise nuts would find the sense of a higher purpose appealing. Sure, the detractors would argue the downsides like inefficiency and inhuman cruelty. But that is a small price to pay for unparalleled character-building experience.


Around Mile 17, the trail intersects with Wiehle Avenue in Reston and users have to carefully cross by using the marked pedestrian crossing. It's a busy intersection laid out at the edge of a nondescript office park. One of the tenants in the office park used to be a CRO called Hazelton Labs. In the mid-1980s this obscure facility was shot into international limelight. Hundreds of research monkeys (bananas, not lab-coats) contracted a non-deadly strain of Ebola Virus. But when a researcher (lab-coat, not bananas) also got accidentally infected, the situation became frenzied.

After being quarantined for several days, the researcher didn't exhibit any symptoms so he was released. The incident resulted in a best selling book and haunted Reston residents for a long time. The monkeys were culled and the building was razed for good measure. Eventually, the world forgot about the incident (almost). If you were to stray off the trail today and visit the office park, you would be greeted by the sounds of young children playing on swings and slides. Shockingly, a "Kinder Care" day care center was erected at the infamous Reston Ebola site. You may disagree but Hazelton thinks that children make better test monkeys. The real monkeys certainly agree.