how's it going?

two months into the consulting life and the questioning has already begun. there's no glory to be had. no rush of blood to the head. no startling insights. no sudden bursts of creativity. just a steady pace. a steady race. a steady snip of the the scissor hands. a cut here. a cut there. heads roll. and the dollars roll in. and it seems, that's all that matters. the question then is, what am i doing here again?

story of my life

happy independence day!

happily, there's been a deluge of independence day specials everywhere. but nothing as special as this tribute by india's best musicians. gives me gooseflesh every time.

that thing called star power

so here i was, still waking up after my siesta, holding my chai and letting harsha bhogle give me an update on the oval test. harsha, sunny & i shook our heads at how jaffer threw his wicket away. and then it was time for a break. harsha made mention of some special guest or other. geoff boycott, i hoped. and then, for a teensy weensy moment, the camera shifted. SHAH RUKH KHAN!

i was suddenly awake, excited and unexplicably gleeful.

you'd think she'd know me by now

aunty: "so footloose, do you like watching movies?"

jaw crashes to ground. eyes fall out of head.

heartbreak on centre court

"anyway, i lost", said nadal. i wish he won. anyway, he will.

stuck in my head

is that something-else rahman song from sillunu oru kaadhal, new york nagaram.

i've no clue what the song's about but it keeps coming back to loop endlessly on my laptop. in my head. on lazy afternoons. at midnights.

the oldest trick in the book

so my camera's been dead since the first lion sighting on safari. it fell at the precise moment that i had been saving its batteries for. after much murphy-cursing, i left my sleek little sony to its lifeless fate for the next 3 weeks. and then, over chai on a nice rainy afternoon, a much-had epiphany struck. like a bolt from the blue. just like they say. i took my sleek little sony and flicked it. and again. no luck. no life. epiphany failed.

this morning, emboldened by my success with the idea customer service chaps, i tried my luck again. and voila! i have a fully functional sony DSC-T33. what can i say, these laaton ke bhoot are just wired to be beaten.

and btw, all you fellow idea dialer tone sufferers, call idea right away. you just have to say the d in dialer for them to scamper around and promise prompt action and freedom from all d-rated promotions.

whoa! this thing looks good, steve!

i'm thrilled with the brand spanking new iPhone.


NYT has a pretty promising review. my favorite parts:

"You’ve probably seen Apple’s ads, showing how things on the screen have a physics all their own. Lists scroll with a flick of your finger, CD covers flip over as you flick them, e-mail messages collapse down into a trash can.

...

You scroll with a fingertip — much faster than scroll bars. You can double-tap to enlarge a block of text for reading, or rotate the screen 90 degrees, which rotates and magnifies the image to fill the wider view.

Finally, you can enlarge a Web page — or an e-mail message, or a photo — by spreading your thumb and forefinger on the glass. The image grows as though it’s on a sheet of latex."

so! what about africa then?

first things first. to travel, you need visas. and it ain't fun running around for those with an indian passport. if you actually manage to wangle a passport, that is. pick any mildly exotic destination and you can look forward to a maze of broken links, long obsolete 6-digit phone numbers and bheja fry travel agents. and then there's the ever ubiquitous note on foreign embassy sites: "no visas required for citizens of commonwealth countries EXCEPT india, pakistan, bangladesh, sri lanka..."

so anyhow, sapped and battle scarred, i got on the kenya airways flight to zambia. could barely lift a finger, so there was no question of excitement or enthusiasm. i exaggerate, of course. or the opposite. but you get the picture. had to change flights in nairobi. as i dragged my feet across the tarmac, i saw the sunrise. the great african sunrise. my first sunrise in decades. it was a spirit awakening moment. a life altering one even. and i fell in love with the vast, unspoiled, dark continent. NOOOOOOT! was a pretty lovely sunrise though. and that was that. welcome to africa.

my brand new buddies rescued me at the lusaka airport just as i was cursing myself for not calling ahead to find out what exactly the plan/protocol was. the three of us then stylishly rode off in mawala's chariot to meet up with the rest of the gang. and a fine, fine gang it was. and fun, fun too. a very good thing when you have three weeks of 24x7 to spend together.

the most unexpected thing about lusaka was this constant sense of deja vu. everything about it was familiar. this was NOT the africa i was promised on the discovery channel or even the BBC, come to think of it. from its street-side stores with crazy signs to its fancy multiplexed malls, lusaka could've been any city in india. the landscape was familiar. the mango trees were familiar. and most jaw droppingly, even the street dogs were familiar.



wow. such a long post. and i'm still on day one. now you know why i was stalling.

more after the break. don't touch that remote!

if you broke your camera

like i did, you might want to check this out. precis writeups on the best digital SLRs in the market.

when, oh when, will we have teeny SLRs?

that feeling of redundancy

seems like every thought has been thunk, every song has been sunk. every feeling has been felt, every word has been sait. every angle has been shot, every clever thing in the world has been dont.

i figured. i might as well sleep.

the african hangover

is going to last a while. at least as long as my tan does. i've been back a week & i'm still shocking assorted people. 'ooooooooooh, what happened to you!', is the common refrain. that, of course, is the cue for my african story. i've told it several times. and i still haven't told much of it.

trouble is, i'm still figuring it out. and by the time i figure it out, i might not want to tell the tale any more. even if i do, you might not want to hear it any more. and that's just the way it goes.

i protest

against this madness.

hyderabad is hurt, but i hope it gets well soon.

there are 10 types of people in this world

those who understand binary, and those who don't.

old joke, new toon. courtesy xkcd, of course.

he's got radioactive blood!

no, really! got radioactive blood, does our friendly neighborhood spiderman!

fist pounding, hair tearing, mind numbing

head banging, skin crawling, teeth gnashing. it's been that kind of a day. fiends, defined here, can do that to you. the boy at the gym. the girl at the gym. the travel agent woman. the hospital staff. the doctor's assistant. the embassy phone. fiends all.

and did i mention that idea cellular randomly sticks 'dialer tones' on your cell, your wishes be damned? in the midst of all the fiend-fighting today, out came the most jarring filmi song and danced on my nerves. out of mine own cell.

so call me then.

where are you from?

nice work again at xkcd!

can't hardly wait!

can't hardly wait.

---
rain?! r-a-i-n?!! gah.

---
bat first?! f-i-r-s-t?!! what're you smoking, punter!

---
murphy at work?

---
game over. punter's right. woohoo!

i am never going to die

said the man who wrote this prayer:

"Dear God, Compassionate and Merciful, Master of the universe, we who are steeped in sin, kneel in supplication before Your throne and beseech You to recall from this world Saadat Hasan Manto, son of Ghulam Hasan Manto, who was a man of great piety. Take him away, O Lord, for he runs off from fragrance, chasing filth. He hates the bright sun, preferring dark labyrinths. He has nothing but contempt for modesty but is fascinated by the naked and the shameless. He hates what is sweet, but will give his life to sample what is bitter. He does not so much as look at housewives but is entranced by the company of whores. He will not go near running waters, but loves to wade through slush. Where others weep, he laughs; where they laugh, he weeps. Evil-blackened faces he loves to wash with tender care to highlight their features. He never thinks about You, preferring to follow Satan everywhere, the same fallen angel who once disobeyed You."

he's the same man who wrote toba tek singh. went by the name of sadat hasan manto.

story of the vanishing bees

and suchlike in the new york times.

btw, anyone see a crow in hyderabad lately?

"have i entertained you?"

he asked. at the end of his last ever international cricket match. ever. the answer, brian charles lara, is a super emphatic YES.


i could've pelted something at pietersen for the glee he showed on running lara out. and samuels. oh god, samuels. how could you?

of course, i'm hardly being fair. or rational. hota hai, in cricket. these boys will be duly forgiven in time. but brian lara won't be forgotten. ever.

the four legged freaks

the deccan chronicle ran another story on dogs attacking humans. complete with gruesome, bloodied faces of innocent kids on the front page. the marauder, of course, was duly killed. and since we need to see to believe, a picture of the dead dog was buried discreetly in the inner pages.

it doesn't take a genius to deduce that a sinister, sinister plot is being hatched to eliminate the human race. what else could explain the recent fury of the four legged freaks? it all started with that big, fat elephant that trampled its mahout near some temple somewhere. i mean, you take an elephant out of the jungle. give it three square meals a day. and a plush job at a temple. complete with make-up and jewelry perks. not to mention all the attention of fawning devotees. and frequent television coverage to boot. i mean, rakhi sawant would kill for this gig, man. and what does the silly, over-fed jumbo do? it goes and kills its mahout. tramples him in full public view.

so anyways, it all started with that. and now the other freaks seem to have gotten their cue. excitable and abundant as they are, the dogs have taken up the cause with utmost relish. leopard attacks have been happening off and on, but there's what, three of them? not enough. i believe i read something about monkey attacks too, but that might be a figment of my imagination.

let's not worry too much though. these freaks have the saddam syndome. they think they can defeat the greatest species on the planet with their measly claws and canines. we have the authorities and poachers on our side. and they have guns. let's just hope the insects don't join the brigade. swarms of mosquitoes and roaches can be pretty damn hard to fight with guns and canons. it's a good thing we went nuclear.

the match was supposed to sizzle

... but ended up a bit of a fizzle. so said anasuya mathur on 'turning point' about the aussie-srilanka non-match yesterday. i laughed so hard, i fell off the sofa.

but really, i've never liked craftiness of the ranatunga variety. and the legacy seems to have stuck. what's with this 'hiding cards' business? just go win your cricket fair and square, yo! jayawardene, of course, pleads innocence... and i sure hope he is.

going back to 'turning point', it's been such a pleasure to watch the show without rabid navjot sidhu drowning out poor ajay jadeja. and since he could finally finish his sentences, jadeja came up with this:

'the aussies were frustrated, of course. here they were, wanting to crush the lankans... and there were the lankans, lying lifeless, asking the aussies to crush them'. or something like that. no fun kicking a dead dog, i tell ya.

and oh

OH, it's friday the 13th! such a rush it is!

abhi nahi aana

stumbled on the song this morning. been listening to it ever since.

the essence of hyderabad

i was back in the old city last nite. it seemed more crowded than before. more alive. and for once, i was glad not to be in the driver's seat. as we inched closer to the charminar, i braced myself. there's something about these old monuments that makes you hold your breath in anticipation. when i finally caught a glimpse, it was beautiful. there was ugliness all over it. soot, peeling walls and maintenance patches. but it was still beautiful.

this time, the usual road to chowmohalla palace was blocked. a bunch of kids watched as we asked a cop for alternate directions in the old city maze. they prodded one shy kid to go with us -- 'madam ko raasta dikhao re!'. he hesitated for a bit before hopping into the car to show us the way. i asked him why the road was blocked and that was all the spark he needed:

'naya raasta banare, madam... sadak ke neeche lights daalte kate... ekdum bombay jaisa ho jayenga apna hyderabad!'. he went on 'do teen saalon mein dekho, madam... charminar poora badal jaata... traffic rok dete kate, charminar ko achha banate kate... abhi elections aate na... uske liye unko kuch to karke dikhana padta!'

such excitement the kid had. he was absolutely convinced of charminar's glorious future. i was too.

my first youtube video

stars a parrot. there was something irresistible about the way it perched on a branch and just let the breeze do its thing. just 18s long. it's time to buy more memory for the ol' camera.

charulata and the goat

it's been two days since i watched charulata and i can't get the film out of my head.

satyajit ray is a name that you learn to respect in india. even if you never watched any of his films. charulata was the first ray movie i watched since i grew to my full height. and i was absolutely, utterly fascinated. am still. and very, very glad that i watched it on the big screen. i almost didn't. 'coz i couldn't imagine why or how 'the lonely wife' could be interesting.

of course, there was no goat in that film. or in the french film called the goat. which, i guess, was precisely its point. a funny, funny flick!

and all this good stuff thanks to the hyderabad international film festival!

it's just not cricket, love

that's what maud might've said of the goings on these days.
here's what sambit bal had to say. sanity isn't altogether dead.

can *you* laugh like this?

bah. kids. thanks for the link, poput!

rest in peace, bob woolmer

you will be missed.

koffee with kousin

she: fool, i've decided to stop eating chicken.
me: why. *sigh*
she: u know, those chickens are given lots of hormones and stuff these days.
me: oh.
she: i've decided to eat only fish from now on.
me: but fish have lots of mercury (or was it lead) these days.
she: yeah yeah, i won't eat only fish. guess i'll have to eat vegetables too.
me: vegetables have pesticides.

point is, we worry too much about this stuff. i mean, look at the hyderabadi mosquitoes. they get bigger and fatter each year. the stronger the repellant, the stronger the mosquito. simple. and this is not some new fangled thought process. it's as old as chanakya. apparently that guy put poison in chandragupta maurya's food every day so the king would develop resistance to it. and how do i know all this? wikipedia, of course.


the cartoon's from xkcd. pretty funny stuff there sometimes.

there's a beehive in my balcony!

and let me tell you, it's the third time that the bees have honored us thus. we are, of course, buzzing with excitement.

funny men get through

if you ever watched the late late show, you'd know that craig ferguson is a funny funny guy. i absolutely love him. him and jon stewart. they'll make you laugh so loud, your mum will have second thoughts about having you in the house. see for yourself!

ferguson on shyamalan (bah, not like that)
ferguson on microsoft (my current favorite)

but really, this is not about the funnies. when i looked for my ferguson fix on youtube this morning, i found this.



and he struck a nerve. just like jon stewart did on crossfire.

or like roberto benigni did with life is beautiful.

edit: right after i hit publish, i found this on indiauncut.

getting all touchy feely

so i went barefoot in the lawn this morning. and my soles wouldn't rest till i told you how good the grass feels on them!

i just think it will happen, soon.

i thought it would last my time —
the sense that, beyond the town,
there would always be fields and farms,
where the village louts could climb
such trees as were not cut down:
i knew there’d be false alarms

in the papers about old streets
and split-level shopping, but some
have always been left so far;
and when the old part retreats
as the bleak high-risers come
we can always escape in the car.

things are tougher than we are, just
as earth will always respond
however we mess it about;
chuck filth in the sea, if you must:
the tides will be clean beyond.
— but what do i feel now? doubt?

or age, simply? the crowd
is young in the M1 café;
their kids are screaming for more—
more houses, more parking allowed,
more caravan sites, more pay.
on the business page, a score

of spectacled grins approve
some takeover bid that entails
five per cent profit (and ten
per cent more in the estuaries): move
your works to the unspoilt dales
(grey area grants)! and when

you try to get near the sea
in summer …
it seems, just now,
to be happening so very fast;
despite all the land left free
for the first time i feel somehow
that it isn’t going to last,

that before i snuff it, the whole
boiling will be bricked in
except for the tourist parts —
first slum of europe: a role
it won’t be so hard to win,
with a cast of crooks and tarts.

and that will be england gone,
the shadows, the meadows, the lanes
the guildhalls, the carved choirs.
there’ll be books; it will linger on
in galleries; but all that remains
for us will be concrete and tyres.

most things are never meant.
this won’t be, most likely: but greeds
and garbage are too thick-strewn
to be swept up now, or invent
excuses that make them all needs.
i just think it will happen, soon.

-- going going, philip larkin

an encore of paheli

i first watched paheli a couple of years ago. watched it again on tv tonite, braving all the ads. such a fun film it is, and beautifully made.









and yes, men should wear dhoti kurtas. women should wear lehenga cholis. in rich earth tones. we must all travel on carts and camels. and drink water from brown pouches tied with strings. use kandeels for light. and write with peacock feathers. we shud dance in the desert rain. and pretend to be puppets.

just for the loveliness.

scorcese's the man!

man, how did i miss the charminar?

so i went down to charminar on a friday night. and got what the fuss was all about. the place has an incredible incredible charm. so much life! and to think i discovered manhattan before my own backyard!

i stopped several times to ask for directions and of course, heard a lot of 'seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeedha jao's. when i stuck my awestruck face out of the car, one man convinced me to visit the chowmohalla palace... 'dekhne layak cheez hai... aap kabhi bhi aa jao... sirf jumme ke din band rehta'.

clocky. gotta hate the damn thing.

clocky.

an alarm clock that can run away from you! ugh. how horrendous is that?

apparently, "while this clock can survive small bumps and falls, it is not guaranteed to withstand an assault by someone who has had to drag it out from under the bed". but of course.

the worst good smell in the world

"the first thing i noticed about bombay, on that first day, was the smell of the different air. i could smell it before i saw or heard anything of india, even as i walked along the umbilical corridor that connected the plane to the airport. i was excited and delighted by it, in that first bombay minute, escaped from prison and new to the wide world, but i didn't and couldn't recognize it. i know now that it's the sweet, sweating smell of hope, which is the opposite of hate; and it's the sour, stifled smell of greed, which is the opposite of love. it's the smell of gods, demons, empires and civilisations in resurrection and decay. it's the blue skin-smell of the sea, no matter where you are in the island city, and the blood-metal smell of machines. it smells of the stir and sleep and waste of sixty million animals, more than half of them humans and rats. it smells of heartbreak, and the struggle to live, and of the crucial failures and loves that produce our courage. it smells of ten thousand restaurants, five thousand temples, shrines, churches, and mosques, and of a hundred bazaars devoted exclusively to perfumes, spices, incense, and freshly cut flowers. karla once called it the worst good smell in the world, and she was right, of course, in that way she had of being right about things. but whenever i return to bombay, now, it's my first sense of the city - that smell, above all things - that welcomes me and tells me i've come home." -- gregory david roberts, shantaram

i know this smell. and this is exactly how it feels.

get.off.ur.ass.

and go places. no, really. look!

ladakh. 'nuf said.

right said, sid :)

and the tenth is just as sweet

rescued by the hippies.

italian restaurant inside a cave

"calcata is also charmingly backward. there are many places to get a tarot card reading or a box of incense, but to withdraw money from an A.T.M., mail a letter or other modern conveniences, you have to drive to calcata nuova or three miles to faleria."

sounds like one heck of a place. and possibly a worthy home for some small eyed folks i know :D

i'm explaining a few things

and you'll ask: why doesn't his poetry
speak of dreams and leaves
and the great volcanoes of his native land?

come and see the blood in the streets.
come and see
the blood in the streets.
come and see the blood
in the streets!

-- pablo neruda

skyte. sky. kite. get it?

i've been accused of abandoning mon blog. bah, all this documentation of life, i tell u. i quite like hazy, air-brushed memories. but then again, i took all these pics so i might as well show 'em off. voila. sankranti, hyderabad.

kite sellers.

kite buyers.

school kid kites.

monster kites.

kite. kite?! kite.

kite flying. hard work yaar.

ah. results. fun.

heat. ice-creams. snatch!

airbrushed kite. prettyness.

spot the accuser!