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.