kshana kshanam

how often do you find yourself discussing a 20+ year old movie? i find myself talking about kshana kshanam a couple of times a month. something about that movie always comes up in conversations. a line here, a scene there, a song, a character, ram gopal varma, paresh rawal, paresh rawal's sidekicks, venkatesh, brahmanandam's 2-minute side-splitter of a scene. and where to begin with sridevi?

of so many movies before and since 1991, why does kshana kshanam endure so? it was one of the freshest, funnest movies of its time, and in the context of telugu cinema, it was a huge surprise. for once, here was a movie where people spoke and behaved like regular folks. the locations, language and characters were so familiar, the movie could be unfolding down the street from your house. no other filmmaker has managed to capture hyderabad's languid casualness the way varma did with kshana kshanam. the scene where sridevi haggles with autodriver makes me grin every single time. it's a nothing scene. a casual throwaway of an exchange that could've only been written by someone who knew the city intimately.

then there was the music. it was quite the rage in my school too, where most kids didn't speak any telugu. andanantha etha was performed on stage and brought the house down. sheetalvyas has more to say about the movie and the music here.

and then, the humor. always deadpan, to ROFL effect. paresh rawal's telugu dialogues: "music sense ledu", "dabbu ante andariki ishtame", "iddaru chaala... friends aipoinattunnaru... mmm", "bridge evaru kattaru ra, ikkada?". brahmanandam's "nenu, neeeenu, neeeeeeeeeenu pedatanu", "changing room antee... just ala, snanam avi cheskoni..." oh heck, why don't you just watch them?







all this was a big deal for its time. it gave us a glimpse into what the future of telugu cinema could be like. but unfortunately, those years from 1988-93 ended up being just a blip. after the promise of geetanjali, shiva, kshana kshanam, nirnayam, aditya 369, govinda govinda, jagadeka veerudu atiloka sundari, telugu films inexplicably pivoted to crassness and misogyny. the exceptions have been few and far between - okkadu remains a standout in the last decade. it's pity, for there couldn't be a more movie crazy place than hyderabad, and surely the local industry could do better. so while we wait, we go back to the precious few films that we love. again and again.

bollywood bond

just caught anupama chopra's front row special on bond films. she had a hilarious segment on bollywood bonds. i think i saw a sheikh being hauled up into the sky by a bunch of balloons - not entirely sure if that's what i actually saw, but surely i'm not creative enough to imagine such a thing. now i want to find all of them and do a bolly bond marathon! here are some of the names if you're feeling similarly inclined: farz (jeetendra), agent vinod (the one from the 70's, with mahendra sandhu), mr. bond (akshay kumar), suraksha (mithun's famous gunmaster g9). i have vague memories of a tolly bond as well - krishna's gudachari 116.



but before anything, i need to beat out fellow hyderabadi crazies and book first day first show tickets to skyfall. craig vs. bardem should be ridiculously fun.

the thing about rahman's music

is that it catches you unawares. you can be totally indifferent the first time you listen to his songs, maybe hate them even. and then when you're absently looping them, one of them breaks into you. and then they all make sense. 

case in point: the yuva soundtrack. and it just happened with the jab tak hai jaan soundtrack.



p. s.

20 years since roja. sheesh

dasara

it’s dasara. it’s hard to tell. except maybe from the lack of traffic on the roads. used to be a time when we used to count down to the big day. new clothes. the big feast. spotting the paala-pitta. the jambi gathering. 100 rupee notes in exchange for bangaram leaves. time was when dasara used to be special. we never managed to create an alternate city tradition.

yaad kiya dil se kahan ho tum

every year, it's the same story. as summer intensifies in hyderabad, it takes over everyone's minds. the heat is all one can feel, and the monsoons are all one can dream of. so after at least two months of yearning, and at least two weeks of obsessively willing the clouds to gather, the monsoons have arrived today. lazily at first (prompting my mom to taunt the clouds with 'oh, that's all the rain you could muster?') and quite determinedly later, as if to prove a point.

i was supposed to meet a friend this evening when it started pouring. knowing hyderabad's roads, setting out in the rain wasn't the smartest thing to do, but i went ahead and drove out anyway. three hours later, it was still pouring as i drove back home. there's something indescribably beautiful about driving in the rain at night while listening to old hindi film songs like this one on the radio.



have you ever felt like bottling a memory so you can sip from it later? this post is that bottle.

midnight music

well, right now it is paimona by zeb & haniya for me.

how excellent is coke studio pakistan? such a beautiful effort. focused on making great music without any nonsense marketing or pandering to folks on social media. they do their job well, and that’s all that the audience cares about.

here's another favorite.

the world cup

for two years, this blog has not seen a new post. returned today to remind myself of the day we discovered mahendra singh dhoni. what a man. what a captain. what a world cup.

Spoofy Times

Does it feel like we’ve been seeing more spoofs than ever before? That’s because we probably have. It might be a sign of the times – with everything from onion prices to diplomatic secrets to the number of zeros in scam valuations (quick, how many zeros in one lakh crores?) spiralling out of control, there’s been plenty of fodder for satirists. And with traditional media lower than ever on credibility, it’s over to the funny folks to tell it like it is and bring some perspective to the proceedings.

2010 was a breakout year for satire in Hindi films, with Tere Bin Laden, Peepli [Live] and Phas Gaye Re Obama making an impact. Tere Bin Laden was a light hearted farce about a poor chicken farmer with an unfortunate resemblance to Osama Bin Laden. While the film had no explicit agenda to comment on global terrorism and associated politics, it ended up highlighting the farcical nature of the ‘war on terror’ anyway. Nothing about Osama Bin Laden is funny, but perhaps laughter at the thought of him (think ‘Osama does Numa Numa’ on YouTube) is a better response than helpless outrage or fear. Same goes for Hitler and the hilarious ‘Hitler reacts to…’ videos on YouTube, based on a clip from the 2004 German film ‘Downfall’. These spoofs of larger-than-life villains humanize their subjects, dulling their power and hold over the public psyche.

Politicians have traditionally provided rich material for caricature. In recent times, our mainstream media folks have kept them company in the ranks of the ridiculous. Anusha Rizvi’s Peepli [Live], a black comedy about farmer suicides in India, lampooned both our politicians and shrill newshounds. Their seemingly farcical excesses – the search for a suitable ‘yojana’ for an as yet un-dead farmer, the ‘sansani khez’ sensationalism, the mad eagerness for ‘breaking news’, the stunning lack of perspective despite being in the thick of things - were actually all within the realm of what plays out on our television sets every day. In effect, Peepli [Live] felt like a spoof of a spoof – as fun to watch as that was, it rang too true for comfort.

Not all spoofs have a serious undercurrent, of course. Most are made for the sheer fun of it. Bollywood’s favourite spoofs are self-parodies of the kind that Farah Khan has perfected. Or had perfected, given the huge slip-up in form that was ‘Tees Maar Khan’. Still, her ‘Main Hoon Na’ remains a pitch perfect homage-spoof of 70’s Bollywood. Rajendra Prasad’s ‘Quick Gun Murugun’, was a less perfect homage to the Sambar Westerns of Madras. And what can one say about that cult classic ‘Andaz Apna Apna’? It spoofed everything from Anil Kapoor’s ‘jhakaas’ to Ajit’s vintage villainy. By the time Shakti Kapoor made his appearance as ‘Crime Master Gogo’, there might have been a few deaths by laughter. 

Tollywood does a lot of mini self-spoofs in its comedy tracks. Remember how Brahmanandam’s ‘Khan Dada’ from ‘Money’ brought the house down way back? More recently, Rayalaseema factionists were mercilessly parodied in ‘Ready’ to hilarious effect. Which kid would want to grow up to be a factionist after watching that? And therein lies the power of satire. What can’t be hammered home with years of schooling or preaching, sometimes can be nudged home with ridicule. 

---

wrote this for channel6, hyderabad.

Looking for Rom & Com

Somewhere along the way, in the attempt to modernize and keep up with the changing times, the heart’s gone missing from our movies. What pass for romantic comedies these days are bland, bloodless bores, always perfectly manicured and trendily attired, but wary of emotion and short on charm. Our filmmakers have upgraded their style quotients and production values – attention is paid to the minutest details, and sets are often immaculately designed - but the characters that populate them are often hollow mannequins, hard to engage with, let alone feel for.

It’s hard to think of more than a handful of memorable rom-coms in the last few years – “Jab We Met”, “Jaane Tu… Ya Jaane Na”, and the recent “Band Baaja Baaraat” come to mind. Right from its first trailer, “Jab We Met” sparkled with a rare charm – one look at Geet (Kareena) taking off on a bewildered Aditya (Shahid) with “Koi doubt mat rakhna dil mein, Sikhni hoon main Bhatinda ki!” was enough to get excited about the movie. It turned out to be absolutely wonderful – honest, funny, superbly well written, with crackling chemistry between the leads, and a strong emotional core. “Jaane Tu… Ya Jaane Na”, too was beautifully written – down to earth and relatable, with just the right amount of whack thrown in with the “Ranjhore Ke Rathore” fable. The most recent of the lot, “Band Baaja Baaraat”, turned out to be surprisingly winsome – not too many people expected much from this latest YashRaj offering, but the production house that was built on the successes of its romantic movies showed that it still knows a thing or two about conjuring magic.

So then, of course Bollywood has what it takes to make great rom-coms. And yet, most of the time it delivers the plastic likes of "Pyaar Impossible", "I Hate Luv Storys", "Anjaana Anjaani" and "Break Ke Baad" – teflon coated movies that simply won't stick in minds or hearts, however much enthusiastic movie buffs might try. Even directors of the best rom-coms in recent years have fallen short when given bigger budgets and higher expectations. After “Jab We Met”, Imtiaz Ali went on to make the far less satisfying, although commercially successful “Love Aaj Kal”. Same with Abbas Tyrewala, writer-director of "Jaane Tu.. Ya Jaane Na" - his "Jhootha Hi Sahi" opened to dismal reviews and a cold box office reception. It's unfair to compare movies, of course, even those made by the same director. But it's rather curious that the moment these talented writer-directors shifted their stories to unfamiliar foreign settings, they seem to have lost their essence. I can’t, for the life of me, fathom why movies about young Indian folks need to be set abroad all the time (*all* the turkeys listed above were either set, or moved rather abruptly, to foreign shores) – do our filmmakers really think our NRIs can’t ‘identify’ with stories set in India, or is it simply a practical matter of sops and easier shoots abroad?

Even when these movies stay in India, they seem to be set in an India that no one can actually recognize. The characters are ridiculously rich by default, their neighborhoods look like they belong in New York or Beverly Hills, most don’t have to work at all, or have “dad ka business” to manage. With all regular human struggles and conflicts eliminated, the only thing left for these characters to fight is their own insecurities, laziness, selfishness or most times, sheer dumbness – small wonder then, they make for very dull movies. What’s there to root for? Who’s going to cry for poor little rich Aisha (Sonam Kapoor)? It’s not that Aisha’s too rich for sympathy, it’s just that she’s way too hollow to evoke any reaction at all. Remember “Dil Chahta Hai”? That gem from a decade ago had all the pitfalls I just mentioned and yet, when Aakash (Aamir Khan) broke down on the phone with his father, it was a heart-wrenching moment. The movie and character arcs built up to that moment, and when it arrived, there was genuine emotional heft.  As opposed to the caricatured emotion that Jai (Imran Khan) evoked in pretty much the same situation in “I Hate Luv Storys” – a laughable attempt by an actor clearly out of depth, in a situation that was clearly too shallow to fish for audience sympathy.

With Bollywood struggling to do what it used to do best, there’s little else to turn to – Telugu romances have gotten stuck in a strange, almost surreal rut, where the same characters and situations get played over and over and over again, movie after movie after movie. The actors remain constant, the actresses keep changing – but their voices remain the same, lest audiences get startled with too much variety. There is an endless parade of fresh new faces with each new Telugu film, and they all speak with the same high-pitched, faux-accented, supposedly chirpy voice. Who speaks Telugu like that? And what are these characters sniffing? They’re always, determinedly, exaggeratedly, cloyingly bubbly. The low-budget “Ashta Chamma” was the last delightful rom-com from the Telugu industry. That was way back in 2008. Last year’s “Ye Maaya Chesaave’ was no masterpiece, but was at least the characters were fresh, and the voices too. Everything else swayed between crass and clueless.

Hollywood has been even worse – serving up washed up old movie stars in the most obviously formulaic fashion. Between Jennifer Aniston, Sarah Jessica Parker and Jennifer Lopez, we got “The Bounty Hunter”, “The Switch”, “Sex And The City 2” and “The Back-Up Plan” – all prime candidates for Razzies. Sandra Bullock & Ryan Reynolds at least managed a bit of charm with “The Proposal”. And then there was the Twilight series that drove teens crazy worldwide, so maybe there’s some hope there. But given that even Ekta Kapoor has jumped onto the vampire love story bandwagon, the trend is a little frightening. What next, a Ramsay brothers’ rom-com?

All right then, I’m done complaining for 2010. Let’s brighten up for the brand new year. And hope that someone, somewhere is listening to the heartfelt plea of all movie buffs the world over – pray, do someone put some heart back in them movies. And while you’re at it, put some spark back too. Happy 2011.

---

wrote this for channel6, hyderabad.

Awards [Live]

It’s that time of the year. When temperatures dip, vacations happen, and connoisseurs of the world gather to judge the best and worst of the year gone by. The international movie awards season is upon us, and soon there will be a deluge of nominees and winners – the BAFTAs, the SAGs, the Golden Globes, and finally, just when you think you can’t bear to see another red carpet, the Oscars. There’ll be hype, there’ll be hoopla and there’ll be controversy. But before all that, there will be hotly debated lists of contenders.

So who are the frontrunners for Best Picture this season? While a lot of movies aimed at the awards season release in December, most are previewed at festivals earlier in the year. So there’s already a pretty good sense for the movies in contention this year. As always, it’s a mix of festival favorites and critically acclaimed mainstream movies.

Remember Inception? It was touted to be the movie of the year till The Social Network came along. Both told rather untellable stories – one a sci-fi tale about corporate espionage in the world of dreams, the other a real-life inspired tale of the geeky beginnings of the Facebook phenomenon. Both were executed with incredible skill and received with enthusiasm by critics and audiences worldwide. Both are strong mainstream contenders for Best Picture. Toy Story 3 is another mainstream success that might possibly become the first animation feature to get nominated for Best Picture at the Oscars this year.

Among the festival favorites, there’s Colin Firth’s The King’s Speech – a period comedy-drama set during the Second World War, based on the real life story of the King of England who was crippled by his stammer at a time when his nation needed to hear the calm voice of its leader. The film just won the People’s Choice Award at the Toronto International Film Festival, and is slowly gathering steam just in time for the biggies. Another much talked about movie is Darren Aronofsky’s psychological drama, Black Swan, starring Natalie Portman. Danny Boyle is back in contention too, with his 127 Hours starring James Franco, based on the true story of an intrepid climber who survived five days trapped under a boulder in Robbers Roost, Utah. Other names being thrown around are Derek Cianfrance’s Blue Valentine, Lisa Cholodenko’s The Kids Are All Right and Matt Reeves’ Let Me In.

In the super competitive foreign film category, there’s Alejandro González Iñárritu’s much acclaimed Mexican film, Biutiful, for which Javier Bardem won best actor at Cannes this year. There’s the winner of the Cannes Palmes D’Or from Thailand, Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives. Other contenders include Semih Kaplanoglu's Bal (Turkey), Igor Sterk's 9:06 (Slovenia) and Javier Fuentes-León's Undertow (Peru) – all winners in the festival circuit. And then there’s Anusha Rizvi’s Peepli [Live] – the third Aamir Khan production to make it as India’s official entry to the Oscars. Lagaan got close with an Oscar nomination back in 2002, and before that Mira Nair’s Salaam Bombay and Mehboob Khan’s Mother India were the only other Indian films that made the cut. With Aamir at the helm, Peepli [Live] has been promoted better than most of India’s past entries – it duly did the festival rounds, got in front of several foreign reviewers and managed to make waves. It faces tough competition, but we’ll cross our fingers anyhow.

No talk of the awards season can be complete without that ode to the best of the worst – the annual Raspberry awards. The Razzies restore balance to the world. They are the Yin to the Oscars’ Yang. Announced a week before the Oscars, they burst the self-important, self-congratulatory bubble that envelopes the awards season each year. Some of this year’s contenders - Sex And The City 2, The Bounty Hunter, Remember Me, Valentine’s Day, From Paris With Love, The Last Airbender, Clash Of The Titans – each sounds horrendous in its own right. May the worst film win.

Movie awards are never just about cinematic achievement. There are usually political, social, even historical dimensions to the selection criteria that warp a purely cinematic order of merit (if there can even be such a thing, but that’s a whole other discussion). Last year’s battle of Avatar vs. The Hurt Locker was telling. As was the Slumdog Millionaire sweep the year before. It’s subjective territory anyway – at best a celebration of a fraternity’s work, at worst an eyeball-garnering commercial opportunity. The reality lies somewhere in between, and as long as they’re orchestrated right, the awards make for a good excuse to discover and re-discover some great movies.

---

wrote this for channel6, hyderabad.

Getting Blockbusted

It’s raining superstars at the box office this festive season. It all started with Salman Khan’s Dabangg for the double whammy weekend of Eid and Ganesh Chaturthi. Barely did that buzz die down, that it was time for the uber-superstar Rajnikanth to show the world what fan hysteria truly is about – 5:00am shows, tickets at thrice their usual price (and not even in black) and theaters still getting sold out within minutes of opening of advance booking. While the rest of the nation had time to get stunned and stay that way after Endhiran/Robot, Hyderabad had to pick itself up, dust itself off, and get in line for tickets to Khaleja. For Mahesh ‘Prince’ Babu was back in theaters after three long years, and online ticketing websites had suitably crashed as a mark of respect.

There’s nothing quite like mainstream mega movies to get the holiday mood going. Their appeal is infectious, and cuts across the social spectrum, taking over casual conversations everywhere - from street corner paan shops and irani cafés to fancy Baristas and office water coolers. The buzz usually starts with sneak peek trailers, but more hardcore movie buffs don’t wait that long – posters and stills are good enough to get them going. The first poster of Mani Ratnam’s Raavan was analyzed by bloggers down to the title font size, while Salman’s new look for Dabangg made waves on twitter way before any poster was even released. Rajni films are on a whole other plane altogether when it comes to anticipation – a mere announcement of his film is all it takes to send fans into a tizzy.

Our mainstream filmmakers don’t get nearly enough credit for the ridiculously high, and deceptively simple ‘paisa vasool’ expectations they take on. It would seem that anyone with a budget and half a brain could pull off a mass entertainer – the formula is simple after all - 5 songs, 4 fights, an item number, a few ‘punch’ dialogues, a couple of emotional scenes and a comedy track. But we’ve seen the formula fall flat enough times to know that it takes serious talent and nerves of steel to handle all the pressure and deliver on that nebulous ‘paisa vasool’ promise.

Over the last few years, as multiplexes morphed movie economics, we’ve seen far fewer of these traditional mainstream entertainers with pan-India appeal, especially from the Hindi film industry. With filmmakers segmenting audiences into niche categories, we’ve been getting NRI flicks, chick flicks, dude flicks, psychedelic flicks and all manner of sub-genre flicks, leading to the fear that the genre-encompassing Great Indian Masala Film might be a dying art. But the smashing success of Ghajini, Wanted and now Dabangg, has made it amply clear that India still loves a good old masala entertainer.

With Dussehra and Diwali round the corner, there’s a string of big releases lined up. NTR Jr.’s Brindaavanam is the big Dussehra release from the Telugu film industry. The other much awaited Telugu release is Ram Gopal Varma’s controversial Rakta Charitra with Surya and Vivek Oberoi. For Diwali, Bollywood has Akshay Kumar and Aishwarya Rai going retro with Action Replayy, and Ajay Devgn, Kareena Kapoor and company going slapstick with Golmaal 3. And then comes Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Guzaarish, followed by Ashutosh Gowarikar’s independence era film Khelein Hum Jee Jaan Se. Topping it all off on Christmas eve would be Farah Khan’s Tees Maar Khan. So there you have it, the potential blockbusters of 2010, although the biggest blockbusters of this year are likely behind us already. Anticipation is half the fun, so go check out the promos and enjoy the buzz.

---

wrote this for channel6, hyderabad.

The multiplex wave

More than a decade ago, an NRI engineer pulled off a rather remarkable feat. He wrote, produced, directed and starred in a super-low-budget film with a bunch of young new faces.  That wasn’t the remarkable part. The remarkable part was that the movie actually made it to the theaters and turned into quite the sleeper hit. Nagesh Kukunoor and his irreverent, slice-of-life debut film, Hyderabad Blues, may have been the butterfly that set off what some people are now calling the ‘New Wave’ of Indian cinema.

Since Hyderabad Blues, we’ve had a steady stream of new filmmakers breaking away from the Bollywood routine, exploring fresh themes, styles and sensibilities.  Vishal Bhardwaj, Farhan Akhtar, Dibakar Banerjee, Anurag Kashyap and Sriram Raghavan are some of the most prominent directors that have met with critical and commercial success in their not-so-conventional ventures. Yet, this isn’t quite a New Wave in the spirit of the original French movement of the 50’s and 60’s. That one was characterized by a rejection of traditional filmmaking norms and a radical shift in cinematic form and expression. What we’ve been witnessing in Indian cinema is a far gentler, incremental pushing of the envelope, characterized more by a new found freedom of expression than an outright rejection of tradition.

The gradual shift in Indian cinema over the past decade has coincided with the introduction and growth of multiplexes across all our major cities. The multiplexes, with their expensive tickets and more homogeneous audiences, skewed movie economics in favor of the urban, English-speaking middle classes. Freed of the burden of catering to an entire nation of diverse tastes, our filmmakers are now able pick subjects of limited appeal and make commercially viable movies. Commercial viability has brought in the production houses (UTV Motion Pictures, YashRaj Films, even Ekta Kapoor’s Balaji Films, for example) and allowed a new generation of writers and directors to dust off their fantasy scripts and put them on celluloid.

Some of our best filmmakers have been responsible for propelling this new wave forward. They have been actively producing films that appeal to them, generating eco-systems that nurture and promote fresh talent and ideas. Ram Gopal Varma was perhaps the first filmmaker to do this effectively. Vishal Bhardwaj, Anurag Kashyap (who incidentally started his career as a writer for Ram Gopal Varma’s Satya), Farhan Akhtar and Aamir Khan, have all produced films with first time directors in recent years. Their mentorship extends to writers, musicians, actors and the entire crew, with the result that we’re seeing fresh talent emerge with amazing regularity. Vikramaditya Motwane and Zoya Akhtar made their excellent directorial debuts with Udaan and Luck By Chance, respectively, after years of waiting in the wings. Sneha Khanwalkar and Amit Trivedi delivered the most memorable soundtracks in recent years with Oye Lucky! Luck Oye! and Dev.D, respectively.

A lot of the new wave films are heavily influenced by Hollywood, European and World cinema. So one might see shades of Guy Ritchie and Quentin Tarantino in Kaminey, or a fan-boy tribute to Roman Polanski’s Chinatown in Manorama Six Feet Under. But there is also the inescapable influence of Bollywood, and interestingly, 70’s Bollywood at that. Many of the current crop of filmmakers grew up in the 70’s, and regardless of the cinema they discovered and admired later in life, nostalgia for the cinema of their childhood is evident in their work. So we have a Kaminey playing off the much loved good brother, bad brother storyline of Deewaar, and a Johnny Gaddaar with riffs of Parwana and Bandini, and dedicated to the films of Vijay ‘Goldie’ Anand.

Whatever the influences and chain of events, the results have definitely been interesting. We’ve had more variety in our theaters than ever before. From edgy noir thrillers to screwball satire, every imaginable niche has been explored. So far this year, we’ve had Ishqiya, Karthik Calling Karthik, LSD, Road, Movie, Tere Bin Laden, Udaan, Aisha, Peepli [Live], Antardwand and The Film Emotional Atyachar. As expected, it’s a mixed bag. Some of the attempts have been very good, some others have been self-conscious, over-indulgent and downright tiresome. But the best ones have been delightful – Ishqiya, LSD, Tere Bin Laden, Udaan, Peepli [Live] – each distinct, assured and impressive in its own way.

We have come a long way in the last decade. And yet we have remained the same. A decade ago, a little film with unknown faces from Chhattisgarh would likely have sunk without a trace. But a decade ago, a big film with a superstar playing a badass cop would likely still have smashed box office records. The good news is that we now get to enjoy both Peepli [Live] and Dabangg, and the entire spectrum of films in between. And that’s an exciting place to be.

---

wrote this for channel6, hyderabad.

summer love

i spied a hint of yellow in my mom's grocery bag yesterday. instantly, all manner of electric pulses made their way to my brain and lit up an area described scientifically as mangothalamus -- are they? could they be? wait, what month is it? kind of early no? -- such thoughts criss crossed (remember kriss-kross & jump jump, any of u fellow fossils out there?) at the speed of light, arguably of course. anyhow, i demanded a clarification on the source of the yellowness and held my breath. the mater gave me a look, paused for effect and nodded.

ah yes, they've been duly sliced, bowled & forked. low-carb diet plans may as well hang themselves with the undying hope of being reincarnated along with the monsoons.

vocabulary

i have a little buddy in the neighborhood. all of 15 months old, he drops by chez moi every so often to hang out with the family.

about a month ago, he spotted the moon while playing ball in the garden. he stood besotted by it for a while and then slowly, with great concentration and awe, repeated after my mom -- 'mmmmmoooooooonnnnn'.

a couple of days ago, he was in our living room when the tv was switched on. he turned to my parents and said -- 'booooooomb'.

if i had to bet my life on someone

i would just have to pick mahendra singh dhoni, wouldn't i!

it's been that kind of a day

you know, the kind where you look in your cupboard for a receipt and find a stack of old photographs? that kind of a day.

a sense of entitlement

economic crisis happens => companies lose money => people lose jobs

that's just how things work. what baffles me is how the indian news media has been crying foul over job cuts, framing every instance of corporate cost-cutting as the sacrifice of poor employees by rich corporate honchos. what do these so called reporters understand about the financial position of these companies? what do they understand about cost structures, bankruptcy risks or long-term strategies governing management decisions? without any fact-based analysis, the media has been rather quick to convict managements of greed & incompetence.

case in point, the indian airline industry. kingfisher & jet airways have been losing tens of crores of rupees every day. in order to stem the bleeding, both have resorted to cost cutting measures. jet laid off several hundred employees while kingfisher announced pay cuts for its senior pilots. jet had to quickly retract its decision after its fired employees took to the streets & sought help from hoodlums like raj thackeray. and now kingfisher is facing flak for cutting pilot salaries. there was a guy on barkha dutt's show, screaming hoarse that vijay mallya should curb his extravagant lifestyle before punishing his poor pilots who have each spent 15 lakh rupees on their training programs. several questions for that genius and other people of such persuasion:

- did mallya coerce these pilots to spend all that money in training & to join his company?
- did mallya provide lifetime guarantees for all jobs & salaries at kingfisher?
- what exactly are mallya & goyal supposed to do with all the redundant workforce? take empty flights for sorties in the sky for the amusement of said geniuses?
- maybe mallya has a lot of personal wealth. why stop at paying people's salaries out of his own pocket? maybe he should make out his will to all kingfisher employees.

truth is, we're all on our own out there. we invest in our training & education because we expect a reasonable lifetime ROI out of it. but like all investments, this too comes with risks associated. it's no different from investing in the stock market. if a broker loses money on a kingfisher stock, does he ask mallya to pay for his losses? the broker invested in the stock knowing fully well that there's risk associated with his investment. he was prompted by his own greed for high returns. the pilots who joined kingfisher bet their training money on a booming airline industry. unfortunately, the industry slumped and it'll take longer for them to recover their investment. it's not like the airline industry is dead, it'll probably recover in due course & provide many more jobs & attractive salaries. but if the media & politicians insist on irrational employment practices, they'll simply end up breaking the industry's back.

tagged out of inertia

poked, commented & phoned out of it by the vyas. so here goes.

my oldest memory: watching a movie out of a tiny square window, projector whirring in the background. kulfi & popcorn during the break & rabbit spotting on the way back home.

10 years ago: i bought my first computer.

my first thought this morning: what a strange dream that was. what was it?

you built a time capsule today what would it contain: a bar of chocolate, a bottle (um, make that a case) of the finest wine (can u imagine what a treasure that would be!), chai & coffee, seeds (of everything), candles, matches, a macbook with a wi-fi card and a ping pong ball.

this year: gives me a sense of deja vu.

14 years from now: stocks might be up.

done and dusted

am hanging up my suits, folks. chaos, here i come!

august 15

heard this song from karma on the indian radio station...



amazing how it manages to pierce through the cynicism after all these years.

happy independence day!

why be consistent...

...when u can be inconsistent?

it's been 15 years

since jurassic park was released. i feel like a fossil.

trip mexico

is an unmitigated disaster. don't even ask.

blur

about a week ago, i realized that i wasn't seeing distant things too clearly. a tiny voice in my head said, "well, so much for lasik.". another rather loud and excited voice drowned out the first with, "woohoo! i can wear real glasses again!". so the blur didn't bother me one bit. and then, something incredible happened.

i decided to work from home this afternoon. but first, i decided to make me some chai. you know how these things go. once the chai was made, of course, i had to step out and get some fresh air. as i stood in the balcony, sipping chai and just letting the mind wander, i looked at the slightly blurry buildings in the distance. for some reason, i widened my eyes. the buildings came into focus. and then blurred again. so i tried doing the eyes wide open thing again. back in focus. back out of focus. after a while, they stayed focused. and then it hit me. my poor eyes could very well see things in the distance but were simply not used to doing so.

what an awful lifestyle we have fashioned. noses buried in laptops, eyes never looking more than 10 feet away. closeted. cubicled. all the time.

of nightmares and peas and an ill tempered sunday morning

so a nightmare woke me up at 2 in the morning. fine, it was that and jetlag. yes yes, i must be the only person on the planet suffering from 2-week long jetlags and suchlike. but let's stay focussed.

the nightmare. basically, it was about reliance running the world. need i say more? i promptly woke up, rebooted and went back to sleep.

now here's the kicker. the nightmare came back. first thing after i woke up. that too, through the mater. i will suspend you no further.

ma: thanks to reliance...
me: WHAT!
ma: i said, thanks to reliance, you're going to get peas for breakfast! in this season!
me: I HATE RELIANCE. and besides, i don't like to eat unseasonal foods. i will not touch those peas.
ma: why do you dislike reliance so much?

noise about last night's IPL match changed the subject.

me: i hope we get an SRK vs. PZ final. oh wait, but i like dhoni. fine, let's have a ganguly vs. dhoni final.
ma: what about sachin? you don't want sachin in the final?!
me: I DON'T WANT that reliance anywhere close to winning. i want sachin to play brilliantly but mumbai to lose quite miserably.

and then i heard some sniffling on TV. it was dravid, of course.

me: bah, i can't stand dravid.
ma: what's wrong with you? what did he do now?
me: well, i just don't like him. he's such a bore. and besides, he declared when sachin was batting at 194*.

and then the newspaper landed and i promptly engrossed myself in news of cannes and kareena kapoor. breakfast was served. and i ate the peas. with quite unwarranted relish, to be perfectly honest.

screaming over rooftops

has got to be the best way to trade soundwaves. just had a totally fun, totally public catch-up session with the neighbours. traded everything from breakfast invitations to updates on current tan levels & flirtatious grandkid.

screw cell phones, i say! henceforth, i shall drive up (erm, bike up?) to the closest rooftop to holler at ya.

a spring in my stride

a glint in my eyes & a grin from ear to ear.

what, oh, what could it be?

earth day

it's funny. the west is trying to go back to growing vegetables in backyards while we're merrily replacing our vegetable stalls & bandis with shiny supermarket chains.

the NYT had some interesting thoughts on why we might bother doing something about climate change.

trust the onion

to be hysterical.

sunday funday

it's pretty cruel what they did to sunday. it used to be the star of the week. i mean, wednesday had chitrahaar, thursday had chitralahari & saturday had spiderman. but sunday, it was in a league of its own. star trek, ek do teen char, assorted cartoons & fairy tales, famous five, ramayan/mahabharat, news for the hearing impaired, a regional film AND an evening hindi film -- all crammed into every special sunday. not to mention blondie, hocus focus and all that good stuff in the deccan chronicle.

and look what happened to poor sunday now. friday has become the new shah rukh khan. and saturday has become aamir. even thursday outshines sunday these days. but since everything is so consistent on this blog, thursday must also have a movie star analogy. i'll call it akshay kumar. poor sunday's fallen like rajesh khanna. sadly, it has no bachchan-style chance of revival. no KBC or anything to its rescue. (um, KBC only airs weekdays. symptom, symptom.)

anyways, the point of this uncharacteristically long post is that i feel very strongly about the plight of sunday. i've been thinking about this for a while and have come to the conclusion that there is only ONE way to save sunday. and that is to eliminate monday. yes yes, it is a bit extreme, but it must be done. monday has turned into mogambo and it's up to us to to take it down.

save sunday. save the world. who's with me?

entranced

by the 'khwaja mere khwaja' track from jodhaa akbar. words fail me.

tagged

by the vyas. and challenged *not* to whine about work or gloat about africa. bah, total dimaag kharab, i tell u. but heck, it's saturday and mohd. rafi has put me in a good mood. so here we go!

"post 5 links to 5 of your previously written posts. the posts have to relate to the 5 key words given (family, friend, yourself, your love, anything you like). tag 5 other friends to do this meme. try to tag at least 2 new acquaintances (if not, your current blog buddies will do) so that you get to know them each a little bit better."

family: heh. here's one with sheetu.

friends: this one stars a vyas, a car and a cop. fun fun. has to be my longest, most enthusiastic post yet!

myself: my life in a nutshell.

my love: aw, it's complicated. can't make up my mind between this and that.

anything i like: one of my favorites.

stuff of dreams

sometimes (very, very rarely), robohit can post uber cool stuff. unintentionally, of course.

heh

this one popped up on my gmail window:

"a high-brow is someone who looks at a sausage and thinks of picasso"

and for some reason, it's giving me the giggles.

ever feel like

you've been there before?
feel that pulse quicken
and hold your breath, wondering
what you'll see
if you turned that corner
again?

and the 38th happened while i was sleeping

life's wickedness knows no bounds.

besotted

i've been up since 2:30am. jetlagged as usual. i called my parents. made some chai. fooled around on facebook. contemplated 2007. planned the great escape of 2008. twiddled my thumbs. tossed moments from last week around in my head. and tossed some more. there's one stand out. far and away, the best. you know love at first sight, right? like that.

i thought it would be one of those palaces. it isn't quite. it strikes you differently. it's not far at all from the bustle of charminar. but it seems far far away. aloof. beautiful. in its own world. not cold. just dreamy. my jaw dropped when i first caught sight of it. and i couldn't take my eyes off it. or my mind, as it turns out. falaknuma, it's called. reaching for the sky. mirror to the heavens. or like my walkie talkie urdu dictionary says, quite simply, divine. vicar-ul-umra took nine years to build it. and almost went bankrupt for it. it's that kind of a palace.

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!

yun hota to kya hota

naseeruddin shah's first movie as a director was interesting and entertaining. the humor was easy. the style was not self-conscious. you could see naseer behind the camera, his eyes crinkling. it left me thinking. reflecting. playing back scenes. scouting for reviews to see what others felt. always a sign of a good one.

u have to listen to this

there was a shrill shriek in the distance. darkness all around. then there was a gentle tug. rays of light and a paw on my nose. my eyes flooded with a toothless grin. and a bundle of drooling fluff was all over me. best wake up call ever :D


p.s. well, it wasn't exactly a toothless grin... there's one budding tooth that's not quite visible but sure can be heard.

it's may day!!!

the alarm went off this morning at 7am. i contemplated going to the biz law class for 1/2 a second. turned off the alarm & went back to sleep. and then peeked at the alarm. i saw the date. i love you, may :)

let the countdown begin!