New Category- Bullets

I am writing this article to clarify a certain misconception regarding membership rules for the new category, Bullets. Graduating and buying (buying, not leasing) a house in Singapore is but an example of the larger class of actions that have the potential to confer the title of “Bullet” on a person. It is not the ONLY criterion as Arun has been telling people. On the other hand, a simple statement may suffice to explain what makes a person, a Bullet-

eg. Rushi’s comment: ” KSP is a Bullet” is self explanatory.

http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/photo.php?pid=1080143&id=508943511&ref=mf

From the above line, you sort of understand what makes a bullet, a bullet although KSP is only an example again. Here is another example, watch the video below. To do justice to the Bullet, please, turn off the volume. Obviously the narrator does not like the fact that this guy is such a Bullet and he does everything in his power to make this video seem like a documentary of sorts. So please, just enjoy the visuals and you will realize what a Bullet this guy is. I do concede that the boundary is not quite well defined as some people, Aswin for instance, think the guy is a “para helmet” (uber helmet).

Anybody who has been an exceedingly steady helmet, may go on to become a Bullet. So the term should be used only sparingly, as it is a matter of pride for those who hope to and have achieved this status. I myself, hope to be a Bullet someday.

The grain that never fell

The hour glass, that ruthless keeper of time showed no mercy. Every grain awaited its turn and unerringly slipped into the abyss below. The keeper would then right himself after the last grain had fallen to the depths and watch with unwavering attention, as the grains went by again, with time.

As the last grain found itself skidding down the smooth curves leading to the sink, something went terribly wrong. It didn’t quite drop to. The keeper didn’t right himself, partly because there was that one grain left and partly because he loved this phase he was stuck in, loved it all. Had he not waited long for this moment? Had he not yearned for it?

And the keeper remained in this state of bliss while everything around him changed, everyone did too. It all seemed to last until the last grain fell, catching the keeper unawares and he realized how things had changed around him, how people had changed too, making it seem like a surreal time warp that he was forced into. No, this was not his world.

He couldn’t right himself. He couldn’t quite recover. Had the last grain truly fallen?

As the curtains fall, the keeper makes his exit. There are no grains left and there will be none again, for the keeper’s time has come to an end. He will be no more.

The Helmet culprit

I have uncovered the identity of the culprit we have all been seeking. My life-long suspicions were confirmed the moment I hit the 18th second in this video. Senthil is a Royal Helmet.

As if my suspicion were not enough to elicit this article, Senthil had to surrender himself, Tehelka-style. Watch the video and read on.

0:18 That gave him away. They say every criminal has a signature “move” (like when you hear a “what”/”yeah” after every line in a verse, you instantly know that lil jon was allowed to sing along with the artiste, shout, rather). Senthil could not contain himself during the video shoot of “Apologize”, he had to lay something to waste with a hammer, just like he does in this video. He even managed to convince a few caucasians to watch him decimate the egg (remember, every criminal leaves a trail, no matter how small)…

0:44 Evidently, mobile phones were still fairly new entrants in the Indian market back in 1998 when Senthil was an up and coming Helmet. In order to silence his critics once and for all, he had to do something unprecented. What better than pouring some used engine oil on a mobile phone and lighting it up? As a matter of fact, Samsung was so inspired by the act that it introduced the SGH-A837 “Rugby” model, popularly dubbed the “Anti-Senthil phone”. Watch the amount of abuse this phone can take, but I doubt it can fend off Senthil’s calculated attacks.

1:36 Senthil’s secret to remaining a helmet. The ancient Greeks entertained their ladies with a harp while most modern day Romeos prefer playing a piano or a guitar. Senthil however, fell in love with the video casette the very first time he saw one-bigger than its audio counterpart, yet small enough to grasp firmly in one hand and woo the magnetic tape out with the other…one loop at a time. Striking a dashing pose when doing this can safely assure you a P.H ( Permanent Helmet)status in that country and in its immediate neighbors.

2:01 When Senthil realized that trends in fashion apparel were backtracking to the swinging 60s, he decided to bring vinyl records back in vogue. Now mind me, he only did what he knew best- open the shrink wrap on a brand new record and test its strength against a hammer blow. Cant blame him, he tried…

2:57 How many of us know that “Sumeet” (the Indian kitchen appliances giant) was one of the sponsors for this movie (Its “Jeans”, if u havent watched the movie before)? They wanted some publicity for the money they paid and Senthil seemed like a good choice for a brand ambassador. Little did they know that Senthil’s style of endorsing products was rather unconventional, if not sig (read the article on “sig” for its definition-http://galeejnus.wordpress.com/). It wasnt a bad move if you ask me, some people did end up being convinced of the mixer’s abilities (OK dad, I havent mentioned explicitly that its you and if anyone is to blame for the missing bulbs in our house, its you. I didnt want to test the mixer in the first place…at least not by myself…)

3:06 Another sig signature helmet move. If you think the news reader is “attoo”(thats how Ajay VM pronounces “attu”), simply load the remote with 2 AA sized batteries and hurl it at the screen.  2 birds in one stone- inform the people around you about your thoughts on the presenter and also switch off the TV as a permanent proof of your opinion.

3:32 Enraged at Michael Jordan’s success in promoting the “Air Jordan” line of shoes when HE had failed in his endavour to make vinyl records the next coolest thing, Senthil decided to stage a dharna. The agenda was to BBQ a pair of Air Jordan shoes and it just so happened that this song was shot at the same time as the dharna.

4:03 As if incinerating a mobile phone were not enough, Senthil added a laptop to the list just to be safe. I have lighted numerous bijilis, 1000-waalas, 10,000- waalas, lakshmis, kuruvis, snake-bombs, hydrogen bombs, atom bombs, netajis, double bombs, mysterious bombs, saraswathis, adi-parasakthis besides a variety of locally-made fireworks, but never have I seen such a cosmic explosion as the one Senthil wrought on the sets that day…

4:28 Realizing that he was being shot out of focus in preference to the chicks next to him, Senthil reacted in typical fashion. Not finding a hammer nearby, he had to content himself with the placard he had made in preparation for his dharna.

In conclusion, I am of the opinion that the mysterious hand we see in the “Apologize” video (shown destroying various objects with a hammer) in fact, belongs to Senthil.

Helmet Discovery

I know this is quite random, but I had to write it at 3:30 am. I believe I have made an important discovery- a new helmet. Please watch this video and you will notice the joker’s hand when 2 minutes and 58 seconds have elapsed. Once you have done that, please read my explanation below (watch the video first!!).

Who else, but a staunch helmet would break a brand new bulb with a sledge hammer? Not satisfied with himself, he had to reduce a tree-like figurine to smithereens with the same hammer at 3:16. Do we need more evidence? That, is my premise ladies and gentlemen. I am nonetheless proud of the steady helmet who decided to do this in the middle of a multi-million dollar video. Inspiring.

Chapter II: The first 3 years

And so, born into an ordinary Tam-brahm household in circa 1987, I successfully added to the noise levels of 71st street, K.K.Nagar. The following events would be narrated to me by mother, years later-

1989, and its Saraswathi poojai at home. Amma, wearing her yettu mozham sari (a highly inconvenient sari measuring 8 yards, worn by south indian women on festive occassions) decided to get her kids dressed up as well. So mesa got outfitted with a pattu veshti (silk dhoti) and my sister, I cannot remember with what (nowhere near as glamorous as me, they say ). Paati had come home to spend time with our family then and so what happened that day earned me her wrath, at least for a while. When the rituals came to an end, amma asked us all to pray silently for a few moments before doing the aarthi and offering fruits, sweets and other cool stuff to the goddess. Enter me. Thoroughly bored with the proceedings and waiting to sample the sweets, I devised a complex plan. Back then and even for a while in the early 90s I remember, there was a drove of pigs that made their usual rounds through the surrounding areas. Thinking about it now, my street never had muck, litter or anything that would attract pigs, but they still decided to hangout once in a while. So distracted as I was, I jumped at the first oink and with my plan ready, grabbed the nearest silver vessel I could find and ran out. The plan was simple and quite honestly, foolproof- I would pick up a piece of expensive pooja thingy and run behind the pigs. That would make amma chase me, at least for the vessel if not for my sake and I would successfully outrun her, take a diversion, run back home from the other direction, slip in quietly while my family would be standing outside anxiously awaiting the return of their vessel (and me) and grab a few mouthfuls of the sacred offerings. So amma did chase me, although with some difficulty owing to her sari and i ran like there was no tomorrow. The pigs ran too- seriously, you see a fat kid charging at you with a gleaming weapon and you happen to be a pig, you would run too. My plan was working well until the dominant male could stand it no longer. He stopped running and turned back to size me up. This I did not expect and was forced to stop or risk being charged at in return. Amma caught up with me and carried me home (quite unceremoniously at that).

I got no sweets that day and the silverware portion of my inheritance disappeared from my parents’ will…

1990, was around when I had my first real encounters with common backyard animals, the first being a depressed toad. How was I to know that the fella had problems of his own? We had a nellika (amla) tree besides guava and papaya, in our little backyard. One night, I walked out and under the nellika tree to examine the ground underneath it. I found the little fella, rather quiet for a toad and sitting motionless. In all innocence I picked him up, turned him around in my palm a few times, tossed him from hand to hand, played ‘car’ with him (something I used to do as a kid. Take hold of a toy car and run it on the ground and accompany that with car-like sounds of my own), played car-climbing-the-tree with him, played car-upside-down with him and finally positioned him like the laughing buddha next to the tree. Honestly, was it so bad? He took a leak on me and disappeared. Two days later, my hand sprung an allergic reaction to the toad’s parting shot.

The first cat I was introduced to was black as hell. He used to sleep on our window sill, but never deigned to drink the milk appa would pour for him. His meal almost entirely consisted of meat- chameleons (there were loads of them), mice, anything. But sympathizing with appa one day, he decided to sample our milk. What happened next discouraged appa from approaching animals (even with those that I would bring home years later). The cat fainted, or at least something to that extent happened. Appa discovered him lying motionless on our window sill later that day- absolutely motionless, after drinking the milk. In the evening, appa spotted him moving woozily across the street to his hunting grounds, as if in a drugged state. He never came back to us…

Later that year, I was admitted to pre-kindergarten at Padman Seshadri Bala Bhavan Senior Secondary School (P.S.B.B.S.S.S in short) and my parents were happy at that. Kindergarten brought new friends and new people into my life and interestingly, some of them would attend college with me years later…

Chapter 1: 1987, The Genesis

In an attempt to record the 21 years of my life thus far, I have started this series. I call them “The Damaged Chronicles”, and I must say it feels good to write an autobiography, being a nobody

615 am, Friday What did I ask of my parents as a foetus? A hero’s welcome? No, just a nice name. And what did I get? A shortened version (thankfully) of what my late grandmother suggested -‘Karthikeyan’. Given the circumstances, I did not know whether to laugh or to languish in sorrow as soon I was put out of commission as a foetus. The doctors, misjudging my predicament, took me by my heels and beat me black and blue till I decided to appease them by crying. The brutes…

7 am, Friday Later as I looked up into my mother’s kind face, I wondered if she understood what they had all done to me. Three years from then I would be sitting in a class with 4 other mites bearing the same name. Did they forget my foetal request? Was I being punished for having been a bad foetus? These thoughts troubled me till I slipped into a deep slumber…

12 pm, Friday When I woke up, I heard them whispering that babies smile during sleep because they see God handing em a rose or something     -_-

First they spy on me in my private moments and then they give a gay reason for my smiling. I felt my head throb as I realized I was having another bad day. Need coffee and a smoke…

1 pm, Friday Then came the unintelligible names that added insult to injury. There I was, brooding over the name “Karthik” and people were calling me highly imaginative versions of “pappu”, “pattu”, “rajathi (gay I know)”, “raja (zzz)” etc. Exactly where was this creativity when I needed a proper name on my birth certificate? I even remember someone coming up close to me, peck my cheek and say “meow!! kitten!!!”    -_-    13 years later, remembering the sore incident and with a vague picture of the joker in mind, I would confront Sangeetha (my cousin, 10 years older). I still have a feeling it was her, but she denied it then, saying I looked more like a hippo on Day 1. Zzz…

2 pm, Friday And so without much fanfare (I saw no point in letting the world know of another Karthik’s birth) I was carried home. And there I met someone who would vie with me for space, food, privileges and other assortments that come with being a dependent, for the next 18 years of my life. Maanasa. She was an absolute terror, 2 years old and domineering by nature, she gave me no choice but to back down. So I decided to lay low until I could walk or something you know, and then strike when least expected. Hah! Surviving in the same house with a predator that constantly waited for a chance to pinch my cheek was not easy. But survive I did, using tricks that I learnt over the next 2 years…

Meaningful posts

The title is self explanatory. Maanasa’s carefully chosen words (that best remain in my mailbox) and appa’s “Father-son” discussion about growing up have left me spent. Put simply, the former feels indisposed to handle an imminent “How old is your brother?” question from her peers and the latter is worried about the “Srinivasan” appearing on my matriculation card, passport and other sundry legal documents.

As for more posts, there will be none until I can compose myself to write something “meaningful” or suffer a crass comment from my dear sister, a lawsuit from appa and a letter of rejection from the Math ( the last issue being rather close to my heart)- A Letter to the Math

I am considering reviewing a Vijay Kanth- starrer for my next post (It took a while to convince them of the “meaning” within). The task being momentous, I will gladly accept any help from anyone who cares to read my blog, given in this form-

1. Title of the movie that you think needs expert review

2. Any witty comments/ observations that you have made while watching the movie. All such witticisms will be published in courtesy of the contributor.

(P.S. Anyone know Fourier Transformations really well?)

Revisiting B-409, Temasek Hall

A terror amongst freshmen, the person in question roams the hallowed halls of the School of Computing, lives off movies and when we were freshmen, was my room mate. Thyagarajan is known by better names, some of which will be featured in this article. Back to freshman year-

Day 1, as roomies

Thyagarajan: “Hi, I am Thai”

Me: -__-

Day 2 at a TH gathering

Thyagarajan (to an unknown member of the fair sex): “…and they call me T”

Me (thinks): damn, thats one gangsta roomie…

Day 3 at a TH roll call

Hall master (out loud): “#31, Natarajan”

Thyagarajan (booms): “Ullen ayya!” (“Present sir”, in Tamil). Apparently, his surname is Natarajan and he was asserting his nationality in that gathering

Me: *Fervently praying for a rift to open beneath my feet.*

Day 4

I perchance discover that my dear room mate looks like a frog when he is sleeping. So I promptly baptize him “Thavalai” (“frog”, in Tamil).

And so Thavalai and I got along fairly well, except he would never forgive me for that name. And I paid the price. Not once, but many times over and this is how he did it-

Ever been in a room, so deathly-quiet? Have you then, listened to water drip- one drop at a time? Steadily. If you have, you might discover that under similar circumstances, hearing a sniff (just a “sniff”, nothing big really) over and over again might produce the same effect on the listener. Terror at first (I was almost always still asleep at 7:00am), and then you sort of lose sleep and start concentrating on the “sniff” for no reason in particular… and thats when you lose it. T was an early owl- sleep at 10 pm, wake up when your roomie turns off the clock for you. I was an insomniac though- sleep at 6 am, wake up to T sniffing on his side of the room at around 7am. And then sort of lie still under my blankets (in hopes that he would get the cue and stop, you know..sniffing, sort of) and listen to T getting ready. Hear the door open, close, count till 330, hear the door open again, SLAM!!, hear his cupboard door open, half open, then the other half painfully slowly ( to get the hinge to squeak), count till 23, SLAM!!, count till 10, start concentrating on the sniffs…

This I endured for almost a year. With a picture like that on top, its hard to believe eh? Sadly, Anoj ( I warned him not to take T’s case too often, which he did at every opportunity), I believe, is now facing retribution.

Otherwise, life was quite cool. T was and still is a major movie buff and with my beggarly knowledge in this aspect, he never fails to amaze me. So I was obliged to play St. John

John the Baptist

all over again. This time around it was his information bank and I named it, the “Thavalai Movie Database” or TMDB in short. And there was this once when we crowded around T’s laptop- Sunil, Anoj and I, to watch a documentary on Ganghiji’s life. So Sunil, clicked the address bar on T’s browser and hit “S” on the keypad There was a moment of deep silence (T flushing scarlet), then Anoj and I erupted. With Sunil frantically scribbling down the addresses (for private use) and Anoj and I quite nigh incapacitated with laughter, there wasnt much T could do by way of explanation, except he secretly swore to avenge himself. And who paid the premium? The damage to my sleep due to this incident alone totaled 63 days.

Now is the boring part, when I am obliged to write all sorts of nice things for having had fun at his expense. So to sum it up, a list of things you can/ cannot do with T about you-

1. Cannot organize a party, if you do not have sufficient resources (T is blessed with a good digestive system)

2. Must discuss movies, politics and sundry gossip with (Believe me, Thai can hold his own in a discussion)

3. Cannot have things strewn over your bed, if you have invited Thai over (hes quite unmindful of what he sits on, really. To what do you think I lost my room key, a CD and a miniature earthen pot, so lovingly made by my girlfriend?)

4. Must have lunch with on a lazy afternoon (He gets generous at times)

5. Cannot do without in a movie-outing.

6. Cannot afford to to get on his wrong side (…)

7. Must-have as a room mate, provided you follow rule #6.

Affiliations: Alpha Beta Kappa, Gamma Beta Phi, Galeej Gang.

Methinks letting the G2 Unit (Galeej Gang) slip under “Affiliations” would do no further harm to an otherwise mostly damage-control resume. Mealsothinks that without the ABK and the GBP (they have been listed in the title only to put things in perspective), my only affiliation with the Gang wouldn’t escape notice. But why should it?

When I was a sophomore, I started hanging out with Ram, Shanker and Krishandan and their company brought me in occasional contact with the exco- Raju, Mani and Prabhu. A few thanni sessions and I became a Galeej Trainee. A few more sessions, dum- breaks over coffee and tea ( mostly with Ram, Shanker and Kris), dinner and such made me a Galeej recruit proper. At around the same time, Anoj joined the force and Chibi was initiated last year amid much speculation over fast-disappearing coffee stocks ( Ram’s idea that the only way to stop Chibi from raiding the gang’s supplies was to take him in). The whole of last year was filled with idle debating over cups of filter coffee and masala tea, whenever we met in the HQ (level 8 balcony, EA). At other times, rooms were randomly raided (with the exception of Chibi who preferred raiding kitchens) and advice freely given and taken ( more than once was I sternly advised to not pretend that I was asleep with a member of the Galeej Gang at the door). Fruitful existence.

Although it may seem to the lay reader that the Gang is another congregation of birds of the same dirty feather, things cannot, in reality be more different. Raju needs little by way of introduction save for the fact that he is already into his second year of the Singapore-MIT-Alliance Program. Prabhu, the swashbuckling batsman that he is, turned down an offer from Team Singapore when he realized that a citizenship status in Singapore was frowned upon by the elders of his village. Two consecutive centuries in the selections were sufficient to silence even the most annoying critics. Ram, sadly, needs an intro (he is single). A patent filed under the governances of the US office and 2 papers published in scientific journals- all in a period of 12 months. Need I say more? Contemplating the number of neurons firing collectively in an investment bank, though, used to be his favorite pastime. I doubt he would ever do that again, not while he is sitting in his Credit Suisse office now. An adept of Carnatic music, Shanker lent his voice to numerous events in the 4 years that he spent in NUS and not many people know the smooth salesman within that mighty frame. It is always fun to drink with Shanker in the group, when 3 shots down he realizes that you are his best friend. You receive a place of honor next to him and he even pours you the drink himself! If the group needed a neutral person, we had it in the form of Kris. The result of a perfectly normal Tamil couple that decided to settle in Sri Lanka, Kris was quite naturally an outcast among all forms of life until the Galeej Gang came to. Never have I heard Kris say anything that was unnecessary in a conversation and his choice of words still amazes me! If there was one person you would definitely miss in the event of a homecoming, that would be our dear hybrid, Kris. Anoj needs little/ no introduction depending on who you are. If you work for the OSA, you know him. For some others, including my own self, his perseverance and that never-ending supply of energy are subjects of considerable awe. He is probably the one person in my own batch, who I have turned to for advice more often than I can remember. Galeej to his very bones, staying in the same room as him can be featured on Animal Planet’s “Wild Chronicles” ( an adept at staying alive, Anoj can miraculously live off unwashed vessels for months together. I haven’t been able to use my oven-bowl since the summer of 2007). They say you save the best for the last. The most mysterious, highly discreet and little-known member of the Gang- Chibi, definitely warrants the space. Chibi, as Ram opines, is the pinnacle of evolution, so little known and highly secretive. This mysterious blob is generally harmless and can be spotted roaming the campus and in the kitchens of various halls. Chibi is one guy I sorely miss in EA, what with all the coffee we had together in the last one semester alone. A sincere chap and an adept at playing the Kanjeera, Chibi is among my best companions in NUS till date. And now Karthik Balasubramaniam (alias Bobby) has joined us and I am happy to inform the reader that he has already grown accustomed to our ways.

How do I explain all this in an interview?

A Letter to the Math

I wrote this short story during my semester exams. Blame it on the stress, Chibi’s unrelenting raids on my coffee stores or the time spent on preparing informational interview requests. It even has a disclaimer, as I do not wish to elicit trouble from any faction (assuredly with Chibi at the lead for my having mentioned his crusades in this article). The story-

Disclaimer

This story is devoid of any form of truth, save for the addresses mentioned. Anything that is read in between the lines is wholly credited to the reader’s fertile imagination.

I, the narrator, have assumed the role of a highly prejudiced young man in this story and it is my express desire to make as much clear to the reader even at the beginning. It may be likened to an author assuming the role of a racist male protagonist in a story that would obviously be filled with the latter’s prejudiced thoughts. The author is but producing an account of his protagonist’s life and may not be liable to condemnation from the general public or otherwise. I hope for the same understanding from my readers as this story and its contents (including the protagonist’s thoughts) are mere figments of my lately fertile imagination.

TB 336, Ridge View Residences,

25 Lower Kent Ridge Road,

NUS 119081

HR Manager,

Srimatam Samsthanam,

#1, Salai Street,

Kancheepuram 631502

19 April, 2008

Dear Sir,

Application for the post of the next Sankaracharya.

I am responding to your advertisement in the Kanchi Kamakoti newsletter for the post of the next Sankaracharya and I would like to apply for the said position. I am twenty years old, hail from Chennai and can speak English and Tamil fluently. While I am pursuing a bachelor’s degree in mechanical engineering, one of my numerous searches for a career in the spiritual world led me to your newsletter and hence this application.

I am pleasantly surprised to note that some of the qualifications required of a Sankaracharya are commensurate with my own. I was a prime-time radio presenter on my campus radio station in the year 2007-2008 while simultaneously hosting several key events over a period of three months. These activities have greatly enhanced my public speaking skills and I am positive that the weekly discourses (both live and recorded) expected of a Sankaracharya at the Peetham should not be a problem. Although I am fluent only in Tamil and English, I have cursory knowledge of Hindi and Telugu (the latter owing to my mother’s sin of having grown up in Hyderabad). I am sure that given some time I can become more proficient in Hindi and other Indian languages by interacting with the Peetham’s diverse clientele. At the same time, I assure you that my limited knowledge of Telugu will, in no way be of hindrance to the Peetham’s daily activities and I hope for your kind understanding in this matter as my knowledge of this infernal language is wholly unintentional. I will be learning C, C++, Java, SQL and ASM languages this summer and in all, I hope to attend the interview with at least 11 languages in my portfolio. Although I am aware that the lineage of Gurus and in particular Maha-Periyava Chandrashekara (who knew 17 languages at the time of his interview) knew such a repertoire of languages as would be deemed sufficient to start an entrepreneurial venture as professional interpreters, I believe that my arsenal of skills and well-rounded activities make up for the want in language proficiency.

I learnt Yoga in the formative years of my life and took to volleyball in middle school. Constant training has since lent me the fitness of body and a firmness of mind that is of great personal pride. This coupled with my natural interest in traveling would greatly enhance the spiritual journey I wish to embark on, by tracing the path taken by Jagadguru Adi Sankara on his dig-vijaya, should I become the next Sankaracharya.

Besides possessing the necessary skills, I believe that I also have the right attitude it takes to be the most revered spiritual guru of a religion. Aum and Karma are the two foremost concepts in my life, so much so that to this day, I wear a pendant fashioned after the aum around my neck. I also advocate the principle of bhakthi to my peers by prescribing a daily play list consisting of devotional music such as the following numbers- and AND

Ok…uh…maybe not the last one…but you get the idea…

I am well presented, positive and enjoy working with others. I would love to spearhead the holy mission of Hinduism by expanding the current fan base, instilling Bhakthi in devotees and inspiring generations to come. For all these reasons, I would like to be the next Sankaracharya.

Thank you for your time. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Karthik Srinivasan