you're driving down a busy bombay street and you turn off into this walled compound. suddenly you're disoriented. this could be anywhere. there's a big maidan in front of you, and bordering it are these small cottages. you cross the maidan and navigate the small lanes to go to a particular cottage. thing is, it's hard to find, unless you keep your eyes peeled for a couple of enfields outside and the sound of singing from inside.
but once you do, it's like coming home.
this is anoop's house. (who's anoop? you might ask. well, i don't know him very well, so we'll leave that for another post. but i visit often, like the proverbial bin bulaye mehman, and quitely orgasm at the though of living in that space)
back to the house. it's a small cottage. with a garden out front and a courtyard at the back. perfect for dinners/lunches/breakfasts or whatever meal you want to make a ceremony of. the bricks are whitewashed with a charmingly rustic uneveness to it that makes you want to run your fingers through it. the false ceiling has skylights. and the house itself has soul.
a friend who once lived in bombay, had a picture window in his living room, with a panoramic view of the sea. he once described this view to me as a "chadi utarao view" (claimed it helped him score like crazy). i never did see that view so i can't comment, but anoops house, IS a chadi utarao house. it has a raw sensual feel to it. the red brick walkway to his front door, the jharokas set into the wall in the courtyard, the wire mesh wall of the bedroom that brings the outside in. it's a house that makes you want to cuss (so you can't just exclaim "it's cool" you'd want to say "behenchod, it's cool") because it's so wonderful. not in a carefully crafted beige palace kind of way. rather in a carelessly lived in kind of way.
i almost missed christmas this year. it's easy to, when the only evidence of christmas is found in shopping malls and you're too busy working to bring in into your house.
then i found my way to anoop's. in a not-planned-move-from-one-party-to-another way. his courtyard had a christmas tree. with tinsel (don't you just love tinsel? it's fun and it's elegant. it's also twisty and fuzzy. silver tinsel that looks blue by candlelight). and peppermint canes. and shiny red balls. but that wasn't it. what clinched the deal for me was the mood. mellow and yellow. with drunken singing. and people cloaked in their own thoughts in flickering candlelight. it was like everyone existed in a plane thats a perfect balance between their own private space and the space they share with a bunch of good people.
it was christmas. in a perfect house. and i didn't have to go to a mall to find it.
i guess, christmas magic doesn't just belong to the movies.
Monday, December 25, 2006
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
going through the junk in my trunk
There are some people who are crazy beautiful. Who fill your life with magic and a certain kind of childhood glee. Who take you on this crazy journey into the Land of Oz. People who you can never forget because they are a part of a fanciful imperfection. Yet, these are the people you never want to meet again. Because somehow, they made the transition from being gorgeous people to being a gorgeous image in your head. And you like that image…more than (you think) you'd like them, now.
So there they stay, crazy beautiful people, in picture perfect memories.
So there they stay, crazy beautiful people, in picture perfect memories.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
the aunty speaketh
i just turned twenty-seven a week ago. and i have to admit that i don't feel twenty-seven. and what's more, i don't remember the last time i felt my age. except maybe when i was sixteen. (i felt all grown up and adult. like this was it. i had done all the growing up i had to do) then i turned seventeen. and next thing i know, i'm twenty seven, just like that, without ever feeling my age.
it's worrisome. not feeling your age. because then you don't know how to behave. on a certain occassion, i've been known to pull off over-the-hill with great flair (especially when it comes to climbing six flights of stairs with tar laden lungs) and other times, the twelve year old giggly idiot(which, by the way, is a personal favourite, and an age i carry off to perfection).
it's worrisome. not feeling your age. because then you don't know how to behave. on a certain occassion, i've been known to pull off over-the-hill with great flair (especially when it comes to climbing six flights of stairs with tar laden lungs) and other times, the twelve year old giggly idiot(which, by the way, is a personal favourite, and an age i carry off to perfection).
unfortunately, there's nothing remarkable about twenty-seven. no code of conduct that is inherent with the age. no adjective that will give you a rough idea to work with. like the terrible teens or sweet sixteen or even the daintily adult twenty-one.
problem is, twenty-seven is very very commonplace as ages go. except for a few things maybe. you know you've hit it when -
1. your skin cells stop renewing themselves (and you actually know that for a scientific fact) .
2. you drink alcohol, not because it's a stimulant but because it's a preservative.
3. the only songs that you recognise on music television are the ones played on a programme called "zzzzz".
4. you remember drinking goldspot.
5. your mother starts talking about your ovaries in third person.
6. people who you called dada/didi out of respect, you now call by first name, out of sheer embarassment.
7. you remember dates (history doesn't seem dull when you realise that you've lived through a bit of it).
8. and yes, you forget all the items on your list before you can actually finish it.
living in. falling out. floating around.
i woke up at 11:30 today. and it wasn't bright and sunny, as it usually is. i knew then. it was going to be a good day.
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while i was living in delhi, i hated the winters. but i loved the onset of winter. i still do. the smell of woodsmoke in the air. knowing that you can't leave the chairs out on the balcony because the cushions get dewy. taking your wollies out of storage, deciding if it is a wash or an airing that going to get rid of the musty smell emanating from them. sitting at dilli haat and slurping thukpas at the manipur stall (because they play the best music).
anyway, i love the onset of winter, because it's that in between time. summer fighting a losing battle to winter. not quite cold. but not hot either. not anything. but a bit of everything.
and here, i miss it. bombay is the town that winter forgot, or just plain left out. i mean, it's november for gods sake. stop with the sun shining. lets get out the mufflers, the nice wool coats, and my gorgeous gorgeous boots. lets be adventurous- lets have a third season.
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sunday night, saw b and me joining ayappa and his spanish friends at the irish bar. it was a nice evening. don't you find that when you meet someone new, it just takes one defining moment, for the evening to go from casual to intimate? well, for us, it was the moment where we started discussing the role fights play in a relationship. whether it marks the begining of an end or whether it makes for interesting dynamics.
i think the latter. like good fences, good fights, i think make for good relationships. crazy, but good.
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b has bought the latest scissor sisters cd called ta-dah. most evenings when i reach home, i find someone or the other has it playing. i love it. it's full of pop-py happy sounds with a certain edge that makes it really cool. it makes me want to dance. or lie on my living room rug in a little happy bubble.
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while i was living in delhi, i hated the winters. but i loved the onset of winter. i still do. the smell of woodsmoke in the air. knowing that you can't leave the chairs out on the balcony because the cushions get dewy. taking your wollies out of storage, deciding if it is a wash or an airing that going to get rid of the musty smell emanating from them. sitting at dilli haat and slurping thukpas at the manipur stall (because they play the best music).
anyway, i love the onset of winter, because it's that in between time. summer fighting a losing battle to winter. not quite cold. but not hot either. not anything. but a bit of everything.
and here, i miss it. bombay is the town that winter forgot, or just plain left out. i mean, it's november for gods sake. stop with the sun shining. lets get out the mufflers, the nice wool coats, and my gorgeous gorgeous boots. lets be adventurous- lets have a third season.
------------------------------------------------------
sunday night, saw b and me joining ayappa and his spanish friends at the irish bar. it was a nice evening. don't you find that when you meet someone new, it just takes one defining moment, for the evening to go from casual to intimate? well, for us, it was the moment where we started discussing the role fights play in a relationship. whether it marks the begining of an end or whether it makes for interesting dynamics.
i think the latter. like good fences, good fights, i think make for good relationships. crazy, but good.
------------------------------------------------------
b has bought the latest scissor sisters cd called ta-dah. most evenings when i reach home, i find someone or the other has it playing. i love it. it's full of pop-py happy sounds with a certain edge that makes it really cool. it makes me want to dance. or lie on my living room rug in a little happy bubble.
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there are four people living at home now. and on an average, when i wake up in the morning, i find one person up, one asleep and one already out of the house. the evenings are the same. at no point are two people ever doing the same thing, except when it comes to sharing a spliff.
i like this atmosphere a lot. i enjoy having a lot of people around, each doing their own thing without intruding on the other's space.
maybe, it's a throwback to my boarding school days. or maybe, it's just fetish for inbetween contradictory spaces. but whatever it is, it's good to wake up to.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
love etiquette or "how to say i love you too, without throwing up on your living room rug"
remember when we were young. we'd dream of love. of meeting knights in shining armours, who otherwise weren't lost in forests. of men who left the toilet seat down. of giddy phases of unaldulterated glee. of riding off into the sunset. or alternatively, of women with d cups, who waited in sheer teddys for you to come home. or whatever your idea of perfect love was/is.
thing is, we just didn't know better. because all those stories - those dreams, were all spell checked, spruced up, edited, call it what you will. devoid of the usual faux pas and heartbreakingly embarrassing i-want-to-curl-up-and-die moments that are integral to the plot.
i mean, what the hell, do we ever dream of falling in love with people who don't love us back. or falling in lust with people who could only be uncle festers (from addams family, if you've been on a different planet) answer to a love machine. no we don't. because
a) we are inherently optimistic/stupid.
b) card companies are in a giant conspiracy to keep up this farce of perfect relationships (although, i can't imagine why, because they could just as well sell cards for 'down with love. up with sex day'. and make pots more money in the bargain)
c) hey, what kind of moron dreams of making a complete fool of themselves (that's what real life is for).
nonetheless, i've given this some thought and i've realised that love ain't the problem. it's love etiquette, that's the problem. the answer to 'i love you' is not 'who wouldn't. i'm wonderful after all' as commonly believed. hard as it is to do, one should stick to the old fashioned guidelines for this one. we're a billion of us, so obviously the old fogeys were doing something right. (mostly i think, it was a whole lot of insincere 'i love you toos')
but since we as a generation, are more honest on the whole, (along with being more uncouth) i've made a handy list for those who tongues get furry at the though of bubblegum declarations (like i love you too, honey. what's not to love?). here's to you adoptiong some i'm-as-cool-as-a-cucumber-too-and-love-doesn't-scare-me-shitless flair-
1. practise saying it in front of the mirror. of course, you're stunning and bright and love yourself to bits, so it'll come easy. then, when you're with him/her, look deep into their eyes (at your reflection) and utter those little words. it'll fall off your lips like butter.
2. record the magic words. loop it. and play it while you're asleep. not only will it lull you to sleep, it'll come to your lips unbidden while you're awake.
3. slip it into conversations. say you're sitting at a diner.
person 1: pass the ketchup, please. (our in our case it'll be pass the sambhar, please)
you: i love you, too
person 1: (pretty sure he heard you wrong) i said could you please pass the ketchup.
you: i love you too
person 1: 'you're bloody nuts. waiter, can i get another seat, please' or alternatively, 'sure honey, let's go back to my place and discuss it'
okay, think about it this way, if you can say it to complete starngers, you definitely can say it to people you love. and this way, at least you can entertain yourself.
4. fall in love with an exotic foreigner who speaks in a language you don't. that way, your translator will do the job for you. (i must take a minute here. is this a fantastic idea, or what?)
5. learn sign language. or make one up. chances are your partner will think a declaration like that is a lot more romantic.
that's it folks. the rest of the time, you're on your own.
thing is, we just didn't know better. because all those stories - those dreams, were all spell checked, spruced up, edited, call it what you will. devoid of the usual faux pas and heartbreakingly embarrassing i-want-to-curl-up-and-die moments that are integral to the plot.
i mean, what the hell, do we ever dream of falling in love with people who don't love us back. or falling in lust with people who could only be uncle festers (from addams family, if you've been on a different planet) answer to a love machine. no we don't. because
a) we are inherently optimistic/stupid.
b) card companies are in a giant conspiracy to keep up this farce of perfect relationships (although, i can't imagine why, because they could just as well sell cards for 'down with love. up with sex day'. and make pots more money in the bargain)
c) hey, what kind of moron dreams of making a complete fool of themselves (that's what real life is for).
nonetheless, i've given this some thought and i've realised that love ain't the problem. it's love etiquette, that's the problem. the answer to 'i love you' is not 'who wouldn't. i'm wonderful after all' as commonly believed. hard as it is to do, one should stick to the old fashioned guidelines for this one. we're a billion of us, so obviously the old fogeys were doing something right. (mostly i think, it was a whole lot of insincere 'i love you toos')
but since we as a generation, are more honest on the whole, (along with being more uncouth) i've made a handy list for those who tongues get furry at the though of bubblegum declarations (like i love you too, honey. what's not to love?). here's to you adoptiong some i'm-as-cool-as-a-cucumber-too-and-love-doesn't-scare-me-shitless flair-
1. practise saying it in front of the mirror. of course, you're stunning and bright and love yourself to bits, so it'll come easy. then, when you're with him/her, look deep into their eyes (at your reflection) and utter those little words. it'll fall off your lips like butter.
2. record the magic words. loop it. and play it while you're asleep. not only will it lull you to sleep, it'll come to your lips unbidden while you're awake.
3. slip it into conversations. say you're sitting at a diner.
person 1: pass the ketchup, please. (our in our case it'll be pass the sambhar, please)
you: i love you, too
person 1: (pretty sure he heard you wrong) i said could you please pass the ketchup.
you: i love you too
person 1: 'you're bloody nuts. waiter, can i get another seat, please' or alternatively, 'sure honey, let's go back to my place and discuss it'
okay, think about it this way, if you can say it to complete starngers, you definitely can say it to people you love. and this way, at least you can entertain yourself.
4. fall in love with an exotic foreigner who speaks in a language you don't. that way, your translator will do the job for you. (i must take a minute here. is this a fantastic idea, or what?)
5. learn sign language. or make one up. chances are your partner will think a declaration like that is a lot more romantic.
that's it folks. the rest of the time, you're on your own.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
MADNESS (post 1)- from london
anusha, i have to admit, is mad. in the nicest way possible.
i think madness as a character trait has been much abused by hollywood and writers of horrid creepy thrillers. at one time, it was perfectly respectable to be mad. to follow white rabbits down burrows. (now not only is it hard to find burrows, it's hard to find parents who don't have an apoplectic fit if they lose sight of their child, even for a moment.) to drink your own piss (like meatloaf). marry your children (like woody allen). use mars bars as sex toys (redlands bust), chew off bats heads (this you gotta know).
anyway, i feel madness is slowly declining. and we really should do more to keep it alive in our lives.
i'm glad anusha is doing her bit. she threw up her job and such like, moved to london to study photography, and ensures top of mind recall by sending these weekly emails full of her mad dehati takes on london. here's one of them.
desi eye on firangi guy
i discovered today that THE kevin spacey lives in the same building as my young friends nishant and rhea. just three floors above.
there was a time i wanted to marry him.
until last night i still wanted to but..unfortunately as i was informed. this morning...he is into young boys...very very sad for me. one more out of range.
anyway we saw his red mini cooper, his black lambretta scooter andhis blue lexus parked in the basement.. and felt closer to him...aakhir hamare dost ke gaadi uske gaadi ke paas parked hoti hai.. ROZ!
atleast he has decent taste in transport. every day he takes a private elevator up to his pent house apartment. we are wondering if we should invite him for a warm indian meal "kuch khayenge.. mutton biryani.. indian chai tea, garam ya thanda??"or stalk him.. leave intelligent sounding notes on his car or leave anonymous message with the conceirge.
he has a dog too. who is walked by a dog walker. wondering if i should at least apply for that job. and i imagine myself having intelligent conversations about world cinema, with at least the dog, who apparently in his own right is a star. (for reasons i don’t know) but paparazzi ke liye kevin naheen touska kutta chalega! heheheheh! anyway thought you all must know..about latest amusing london news.
glad to see that the beer has definitely gone to her head. you can catch more of her here.
i think madness as a character trait has been much abused by hollywood and writers of horrid creepy thrillers. at one time, it was perfectly respectable to be mad. to follow white rabbits down burrows. (now not only is it hard to find burrows, it's hard to find parents who don't have an apoplectic fit if they lose sight of their child, even for a moment.) to drink your own piss (like meatloaf). marry your children (like woody allen). use mars bars as sex toys (redlands bust), chew off bats heads (this you gotta know).
anyway, i feel madness is slowly declining. and we really should do more to keep it alive in our lives.
i'm glad anusha is doing her bit. she threw up her job and such like, moved to london to study photography, and ensures top of mind recall by sending these weekly emails full of her mad dehati takes on london. here's one of them.
desi eye on firangi guy
i discovered today that THE kevin spacey lives in the same building as my young friends nishant and rhea. just three floors above.
there was a time i wanted to marry him.
until last night i still wanted to but..unfortunately as i was informed. this morning...he is into young boys...very very sad for me. one more out of range.
anyway we saw his red mini cooper, his black lambretta scooter andhis blue lexus parked in the basement.. and felt closer to him...aakhir hamare dost ke gaadi uske gaadi ke paas parked hoti hai.. ROZ!
atleast he has decent taste in transport. every day he takes a private elevator up to his pent house apartment. we are wondering if we should invite him for a warm indian meal "kuch khayenge.. mutton biryani.. indian chai tea, garam ya thanda??"or stalk him.. leave intelligent sounding notes on his car or leave anonymous message with the conceirge.
he has a dog too. who is walked by a dog walker. wondering if i should at least apply for that job. and i imagine myself having intelligent conversations about world cinema, with at least the dog, who apparently in his own right is a star. (for reasons i don’t know) but paparazzi ke liye kevin naheen touska kutta chalega! heheheheh! anyway thought you all must know..about latest amusing london news.
glad to see that the beer has definitely gone to her head. you can catch more of her here.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
follow the moon
the thing about jobs is that it interferes with the rest of your life too much.
suddenly everyone i know is talking about one thing - the moondust festival (and the only reason i’m not is because i’m not going). you bump into somebody at a bar and the conversation is eventually going to turn to, tra la “the md festival”. you get a phone call from a friend you haven’t heard from for a bit, and he’s calling to ask if you’re going for the festival. your sister elaborately juggles her schedule which involves missing her classes, convincing her parents to pay for the tickets, and wriggling out of the iron grip of family affection so that she can be there for the festival. if someone i know doesn’t mention it within 30 mins of our meeting, i’m like “what rock have you been under?” it’s gotten so that i’m thinking of dispensing with the regular formalities like hello and replacing it with ‘moondust’. using it like budweiser did ‘wassup’ and the romans ‘ave’.
anyway, for those who genuinely have a life/those who really have none and haven’t heard about it, the festival is being held at a location 35 kms from jaipur from november 3-7, 2006. moondust is being held to bring together some of india’s finest psytrance talent alongside some of the world’s most respected and sought-after artists. a range of styles of music will be represented, from pounding, darker psytrance to emotionally charged morning music, right up to deep progressive and chill (that’s what they say). they do have a huge lineup of artists from pretty much everywhere, though. you can find out more about the festival at www.moondust.in or on the other hand, just drive down to jaipur and follow the moon.
Monday, October 23, 2006
the beautiful and the damned
crazy beautiful
the new york times style magazine has a slide slide show on the bad boys of celebdom called "the beautiful and the damned" with a byline that says, "their faces hold out the possibility of an inner life. And what could be sexier than that?" they're right. the stark black and white photographs make the men look stunning. it includes photographs of hugh laurie, sam shepard, jeremy irons, billy bob thornton, nick nolte, ed harris, the absolutely delicious robert downery jr, and of course the poster boys of gorgeous disintegration - mick jagger and keith richards.
this makes coming in to work on a monday totally worthwhile.
crazy cool
my favourite person of late has been nagesh kukunoor. i came out of the theatre after watching dor with a huge grin plastered on my face. here's why:
1. nk is as good at directing as he's bad at acting. and trust me he's crap at acting.
2. the script for dor is fantastic. tight and crisp. funny and sad.
3. it's a rather emotional movie but has none of the bollywood tamasha. no overemphasied pathos. no overplayed scenes. no bullshit.
4. the shots are framed beautifully. for a computer engineer, nk has a great sense of asthetics.
5. from hyderabad blues to dor, the man has really evolved as a storyteller. his stories have just gotten more and more interesting and he has, on the way, cultivated a flair for telling them. and that absolutely shines through in dor.
but don't take my word for it. go out and see the movie for yourself.
crazy weird
i went for the mtv lycra style awards a few days ago. for people who claim to set standards in style, they were surprisingly unoriginal, and hence, totally not stylish. why?
because they were not pushing the boundaries of fashion. the shows were the same old. the same old. no new talent. no designers who were pushing the envelope. although, i must admit rohit and rahul gandhi's collection called white carnival was rather stunning. white and gold were the predominant colours. and they mixed them well to come out with a collection that was suprising wearable and utterly chic. as soon as i find some photographs of the clothes, i'll put them up.
because they gave out awards like "the best accessory designer" without even having a showcase of her work. so everyone was left wondering exactly what niharika somebody did to get that award.
because they gave the most stylish film award to KANK. eeew. what were they thinking? and when did style become something you pick off the rack at some american mall?
because there was an element of farce that ran through the whole show. like no one really cared what it was really about. just a hastily put together award show, to gain some publicity, show some star power and make a little bit of a noise.
'tis was a shame.
the new york times style magazine has a slide slide show on the bad boys of celebdom called "the beautiful and the damned" with a byline that says, "their faces hold out the possibility of an inner life. And what could be sexier than that?" they're right. the stark black and white photographs make the men look stunning. it includes photographs of hugh laurie, sam shepard, jeremy irons, billy bob thornton, nick nolte, ed harris, the absolutely delicious robert downery jr, and of course the poster boys of gorgeous disintegration - mick jagger and keith richards.
this makes coming in to work on a monday totally worthwhile.
crazy cool
my favourite person of late has been nagesh kukunoor. i came out of the theatre after watching dor with a huge grin plastered on my face. here's why:
1. nk is as good at directing as he's bad at acting. and trust me he's crap at acting.
2. the script for dor is fantastic. tight and crisp. funny and sad.
3. it's a rather emotional movie but has none of the bollywood tamasha. no overemphasied pathos. no overplayed scenes. no bullshit.
4. the shots are framed beautifully. for a computer engineer, nk has a great sense of asthetics.
5. from hyderabad blues to dor, the man has really evolved as a storyteller. his stories have just gotten more and more interesting and he has, on the way, cultivated a flair for telling them. and that absolutely shines through in dor.
but don't take my word for it. go out and see the movie for yourself.
crazy weird
i went for the mtv lycra style awards a few days ago. for people who claim to set standards in style, they were surprisingly unoriginal, and hence, totally not stylish. why?
because they were not pushing the boundaries of fashion. the shows were the same old. the same old. no new talent. no designers who were pushing the envelope. although, i must admit rohit and rahul gandhi's collection called white carnival was rather stunning. white and gold were the predominant colours. and they mixed them well to come out with a collection that was suprising wearable and utterly chic. as soon as i find some photographs of the clothes, i'll put them up.
because they gave out awards like "the best accessory designer" without even having a showcase of her work. so everyone was left wondering exactly what niharika somebody did to get that award.
because they gave the most stylish film award to KANK. eeew. what were they thinking? and when did style become something you pick off the rack at some american mall?
because there was an element of farce that ran through the whole show. like no one really cared what it was really about. just a hastily put together award show, to gain some publicity, show some star power and make a little bit of a noise.
'tis was a shame.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
the crazy blue of e - 602 : post two
samrat bharadwaj. musician. friend. do-his-own-thinger. samrat is singular, in the way he uses his words. you can't see it so much in this article, but you have to hear him speak. in his world, a movie is not merely bad, it is 'supreme shit'. people can't be floozy, they are 'panty'.
his expressionas are original. and yes, fun. pretty much like the guy himself.
he was in bombay for 4 days. to play a gig at zenzi (and boy! was that a good evening). he stayed at home. and therefore, he had to write a post. this is it:
how the east turned to west (and vice versa)
as a kid, with the given freedom to aspire and achieve and an abundance of western literature, music, philosophy et al, i grew up with a preconceived notion of a world, where the east was ancient and rooted and the west was expanding and superior. but this myth fell apart piece by piece, and new information and opinions helped create a new world order in my mind. the cliches and romantic notions about the west and its culture (taught in schools and by our parents and peers) seemed to continuously fall apart and the apathy and struggle of the east seemed to provide more answers to survival than the thousands of books written in west could ever describe.
what if there was no industrial revolution, what if there was no bourgeois, what if there was no colonization, what if the western explorers (fueled by their respective monarchies) didn't set sail to foreign lands with corrupt intentions, what if there was no automation, what if benjamin franklin hadn't discovered electricity?
what am i going on about ?
to me, the world today at large is governed and cultured by western principles and western standards of consumption and prosperity. ancient traditions and regional ways of life are being constantly wiped out by industrialization and automation. if change be the harbinger of progress, then one must be ready for it, and not be scared of the consequences.
take a look at india for example. a land invaded and colonized by several races, ethnic groups, barbarians and religious sects for more than 2500 years now. india has been on the road map of illustrious invaders like alexander, darius, ghazni, babur and vasco da gama and the eventual east india company. with each of these invasions and others, a new wave of settlers and tribes befriended the indian subcontinent and contributed to the culture and legacy of india. each new tribe and invader attempted to wipe out the native population, and in turn got slowly consumed and absorbed into the ever increasing spectrum of what we know as the indian tradition.
as the world stepped into the 20th century and western colonizers approached the saturation point of their colonization & power (devastated by two horrid world wars), the east re-emerged as the new frontier. now, it was time for the west to turn into the east and the east to turn into the west. two thirds of human population emerged from the east, struggling to feed and shelter its millions and millions. world trade and economics were the new doctrines of supremacy and the west laid down most of the rules based on capitalist or marxist ideologies. new frontiers based on technology, law and commerce were marked out by west european nations and america unto the east. in short economic colonization was the agenda. the greatest impact of western civilization would take place outside the west itself, deep inside the east, as the teeming billions from india, china, japan, latin america, africa, southeast asia and arab nations would embrace it and have to live with the consequences of change.
as the marxists tsunami swept through china and the far east, the capitalist culture of consumer goods and freedom to consume arrived in india and the arab world. india emerges as perhaps the most interesting nation in this case. technology, automation, consumerism and the idea of the "opportunity" were introduced into the lives of millions through western methods of education and production. older customs & classes crumbled at the feet of these standards, giving rise to a paradox of aspiration and disillusionment.
the effect has been gradual yet total across india, deep inside remote nooks & villages to the suave urban image of a better life and opulence & comfort. opposed by numerous reformers, political leaders and prophets ( remember "be indian buy indian" ) to avert this change, has had little or no effect on the general psyche of the indian. as much the effect of western technology and production, the popular culture of west, especially american standards have had a very interesting effect on almost every indian. we have embraced, improvised, aped and plagiarized the sheen and allure of western pop culture and with the advent of mass communication in india the effect has been complete. the western format of mass media and television can seen across every channel often on the verge of saturation.
urban life, based on western ideologies and fashion, gives us the impression that we are living in an ever speeding and changing world. incidents of stress, disillusionment, corporatization, suicides, divorce are new to our society. so, is the west going to consume and process us to an assembly line life ? will tradition and customs be wiped out by technology and automation ? would ancient barriers of caste and creed be rearranged into classes based on economic layers ? will traditional art & music be digitized into electronic oblivion ? the answer to all the above questions is no.
india, as a culture and way of life is churning over the decades. change is inevitable yet the basic sentiments and traditions have improvised to modern redefinition. the mass of population in india, shaped by centuries of native and foreign customs and conversion has formed manifold roots which keep the sense of "indianess" alive and going. divided and often criticized, the spirit of india is re-evolving, providing a space for us in the future. indians are stepping out into the west and making their presence felt in almost all walks of life. be it a cab driver in london, aeronautics engineer at nasa, or the haute couture of rajasthan in los angeles, indians are increasingly taking to the world, slowly yet surely. labour, craftsmen, skilled workers and entrepreneurs are being sought after by the west as a gold-mine of human resources (we are 1 billion plus after all). as much ancient religion and the ways of a simple un-industrialised life is alluring thousands of westerners to seek india for solace, nirvana, and final destination (and i'm not talking about the click happy tourist) . one can view this as an eventual sell out, but that’s short term. a century from now, indians would be all over the world and the east would be so far deep inside the west, that one would have redefine society at large.
the west is returning to india to seek resources, inspiration and intellectual avant-garde. to help the decadence, to plunder the art, mythology and rituals, to acquire human resources and to even find ways of redefining western life and ethics which have been visibly violent and out of control. we witness, this change gradually, as geographic, social and economic barriers fall to the feet of giant population armed with technology and tradition, as the greatest crossover of humanity. where the balance of power and the concept of an old world (india) redefining itself and holding up the new world (west) into the future.
his expressionas are original. and yes, fun. pretty much like the guy himself.
he was in bombay for 4 days. to play a gig at zenzi (and boy! was that a good evening). he stayed at home. and therefore, he had to write a post. this is it:
how the east turned to west (and vice versa)
as a kid, with the given freedom to aspire and achieve and an abundance of western literature, music, philosophy et al, i grew up with a preconceived notion of a world, where the east was ancient and rooted and the west was expanding and superior. but this myth fell apart piece by piece, and new information and opinions helped create a new world order in my mind. the cliches and romantic notions about the west and its culture (taught in schools and by our parents and peers) seemed to continuously fall apart and the apathy and struggle of the east seemed to provide more answers to survival than the thousands of books written in west could ever describe.
what if there was no industrial revolution, what if there was no bourgeois, what if there was no colonization, what if the western explorers (fueled by their respective monarchies) didn't set sail to foreign lands with corrupt intentions, what if there was no automation, what if benjamin franklin hadn't discovered electricity?
what am i going on about ?
to me, the world today at large is governed and cultured by western principles and western standards of consumption and prosperity. ancient traditions and regional ways of life are being constantly wiped out by industrialization and automation. if change be the harbinger of progress, then one must be ready for it, and not be scared of the consequences.
take a look at india for example. a land invaded and colonized by several races, ethnic groups, barbarians and religious sects for more than 2500 years now. india has been on the road map of illustrious invaders like alexander, darius, ghazni, babur and vasco da gama and the eventual east india company. with each of these invasions and others, a new wave of settlers and tribes befriended the indian subcontinent and contributed to the culture and legacy of india. each new tribe and invader attempted to wipe out the native population, and in turn got slowly consumed and absorbed into the ever increasing spectrum of what we know as the indian tradition.
as the world stepped into the 20th century and western colonizers approached the saturation point of their colonization & power (devastated by two horrid world wars), the east re-emerged as the new frontier. now, it was time for the west to turn into the east and the east to turn into the west. two thirds of human population emerged from the east, struggling to feed and shelter its millions and millions. world trade and economics were the new doctrines of supremacy and the west laid down most of the rules based on capitalist or marxist ideologies. new frontiers based on technology, law and commerce were marked out by west european nations and america unto the east. in short economic colonization was the agenda. the greatest impact of western civilization would take place outside the west itself, deep inside the east, as the teeming billions from india, china, japan, latin america, africa, southeast asia and arab nations would embrace it and have to live with the consequences of change.
as the marxists tsunami swept through china and the far east, the capitalist culture of consumer goods and freedom to consume arrived in india and the arab world. india emerges as perhaps the most interesting nation in this case. technology, automation, consumerism and the idea of the "opportunity" were introduced into the lives of millions through western methods of education and production. older customs & classes crumbled at the feet of these standards, giving rise to a paradox of aspiration and disillusionment.
the effect has been gradual yet total across india, deep inside remote nooks & villages to the suave urban image of a better life and opulence & comfort. opposed by numerous reformers, political leaders and prophets ( remember "be indian buy indian" ) to avert this change, has had little or no effect on the general psyche of the indian. as much the effect of western technology and production, the popular culture of west, especially american standards have had a very interesting effect on almost every indian. we have embraced, improvised, aped and plagiarized the sheen and allure of western pop culture and with the advent of mass communication in india the effect has been complete. the western format of mass media and television can seen across every channel often on the verge of saturation.
urban life, based on western ideologies and fashion, gives us the impression that we are living in an ever speeding and changing world. incidents of stress, disillusionment, corporatization, suicides, divorce are new to our society. so, is the west going to consume and process us to an assembly line life ? will tradition and customs be wiped out by technology and automation ? would ancient barriers of caste and creed be rearranged into classes based on economic layers ? will traditional art & music be digitized into electronic oblivion ? the answer to all the above questions is no.
india, as a culture and way of life is churning over the decades. change is inevitable yet the basic sentiments and traditions have improvised to modern redefinition. the mass of population in india, shaped by centuries of native and foreign customs and conversion has formed manifold roots which keep the sense of "indianess" alive and going. divided and often criticized, the spirit of india is re-evolving, providing a space for us in the future. indians are stepping out into the west and making their presence felt in almost all walks of life. be it a cab driver in london, aeronautics engineer at nasa, or the haute couture of rajasthan in los angeles, indians are increasingly taking to the world, slowly yet surely. labour, craftsmen, skilled workers and entrepreneurs are being sought after by the west as a gold-mine of human resources (we are 1 billion plus after all). as much ancient religion and the ways of a simple un-industrialised life is alluring thousands of westerners to seek india for solace, nirvana, and final destination (and i'm not talking about the click happy tourist) . one can view this as an eventual sell out, but that’s short term. a century from now, indians would be all over the world and the east would be so far deep inside the west, that one would have redefine society at large.
the west is returning to india to seek resources, inspiration and intellectual avant-garde. to help the decadence, to plunder the art, mythology and rituals, to acquire human resources and to even find ways of redefining western life and ethics which have been visibly violent and out of control. we witness, this change gradually, as geographic, social and economic barriers fall to the feet of giant population armed with technology and tradition, as the greatest crossover of humanity. where the balance of power and the concept of an old world (india) redefining itself and holding up the new world (west) into the future.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
i vs i
have you noticed how all great stories are stories of revenge and/or equaling a score? how all great protagonists spend their life engaged in a battle of wills with their rival, to emerge (always) victorious in the end? stories like that have everything – lots of passion, characters with an unbending resolve, ambition, some blood and gore, a light drizzle of stolen kisses on the steps of some beautiful building, a few car chases, a little bit (or a lot – depending on your preference) of sex, and of course, melancholic pictures of gorgeous people.
thing is, none of this is possible or worth anything at all, without a worthy adversary. not in the films. not in books. and definitely, not in your life.
in today’s day and age - you’re nobody (at least nobody important), if you don’t have somebody gunning for you.
those of you are generally one step ahead (and it doesn’t matter ahead of whom, if you’re wondering) and know this, also know that there are certain advantages to having an enemy. firstly, people start treating you with respect. sometimes also with great sympathy, but you’ve got to ignore that and concentrate on the respect, since, it’s a known fact that only important people have enemies. secondly, your life (till now only occupied with mundane earthly to-dos) suddenly becomes worthwhile. there is reason for living. there’s excitement in things even as ordinary as brushing your teeth. having an enemy is like being in love. only there’s no chance of it burning out or fading away.
now i don’t have a wildly exciting life. no adrenalin pumping car chases. no frame worthy black and white photographs of melancholic moments, no blood and gore, unless you could count the numerous cuts and bruises i give myself by just standing still.
but it (my life, ie), i have to admit has its moments. i spent half of last week in bed with food poisoning, thinking i was going to die. and the other half, partying like i just graduated, celebrating the fact that i was indeed alive. and in between that i realized one thing – i might not have an enemy worth basing a film on, but i do have a worthy adversary - in myself.
seriously, i am out to kill me.
it wasn’t enough that last week, i gave myself food poisoning from a masala toast sandwich, i bought from a shifty looking sidewalk vendor, because i thought his set-up had atmosphere (puh leese). today, i walk into office, and at the threshold, i trip over my own feet, almost breaking my teeth on the murky beige tiled floor.
there is an upside of being your own worst enemy, though, apart of relying on yourself for moments of high drama in your life. it’s just that one of you is going to win and for once, you can be damn sure, that it’s going to be you.
thing is, none of this is possible or worth anything at all, without a worthy adversary. not in the films. not in books. and definitely, not in your life.
in today’s day and age - you’re nobody (at least nobody important), if you don’t have somebody gunning for you.
those of you are generally one step ahead (and it doesn’t matter ahead of whom, if you’re wondering) and know this, also know that there are certain advantages to having an enemy. firstly, people start treating you with respect. sometimes also with great sympathy, but you’ve got to ignore that and concentrate on the respect, since, it’s a known fact that only important people have enemies. secondly, your life (till now only occupied with mundane earthly to-dos) suddenly becomes worthwhile. there is reason for living. there’s excitement in things even as ordinary as brushing your teeth. having an enemy is like being in love. only there’s no chance of it burning out or fading away.
now i don’t have a wildly exciting life. no adrenalin pumping car chases. no frame worthy black and white photographs of melancholic moments, no blood and gore, unless you could count the numerous cuts and bruises i give myself by just standing still.
but it (my life, ie), i have to admit has its moments. i spent half of last week in bed with food poisoning, thinking i was going to die. and the other half, partying like i just graduated, celebrating the fact that i was indeed alive. and in between that i realized one thing – i might not have an enemy worth basing a film on, but i do have a worthy adversary - in myself.
seriously, i am out to kill me.
it wasn’t enough that last week, i gave myself food poisoning from a masala toast sandwich, i bought from a shifty looking sidewalk vendor, because i thought his set-up had atmosphere (puh leese). today, i walk into office, and at the threshold, i trip over my own feet, almost breaking my teeth on the murky beige tiled floor.
there is an upside of being your own worst enemy, though, apart of relying on yourself for moments of high drama in your life. it’s just that one of you is going to win and for once, you can be damn sure, that it’s going to be you.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
"you'd better tell his majesty that many people nowadays like marmalade instead"
i love breakfasts. sunshine filled mornings on the front lawn, sitting on wicker chairs, with a table laden with fresh fruits and thick round sausages bursting at the seams, and poached eggs, and lichies and cream, and mutton chops, and cold milk cereals, and liver fry, and toast with the butter having melted right in. (aah, to eat your fill, and just lay down and die there.)
yeah, i completely, totally, irrevocably (is that declaration enough, doubting thomases?) love breakfasts. thing is, i can just never do them.
not that i haven't tried. (god, how i've tried). i've set alarms. i've called up friends in the dead of the night to inctice them to meet me for breakfast the following day (and yes, wake me up for it). i've gone to sleep thinking of sausages and bacon and eggs or pancakes with maple syrup or even croissants. but to no avail. sure as the day is sunny (with possibilities of mild rain), i wake up at ten-0-clock, rush into the bathroom, rush out of the bathroom, rush to office, rush to the coffee machine, rush outside with coffee to have a smoke, rush back in and start working.
as you can see, my morning schedule leaves very little time for breakfast. unless i plan to eat on the run.
but it wasn't always like this. when i was littler, i DID breakfasts. i'll skip over the details of breakfast at boarding school (though i shovelled that down my throat, too), which like all boarding school breakfasts was totally tasteless while having all the nutrients necessary for growing children (or such like). but breakfast at home (see first para) was divine. there's no other word for it. it was my first thoroughly orgasmic experience, when i still didn't know what an orgasm was. sure i hated waking up in the morning for it (especially since i was on holiday) and sure i never understood why the whole family had to have breakfast together, just because my dad deemed it so, and sure i didn't enjoy it as much, because it was the norm at home...but hell, it was great and what i wouldn't do (apart from going back home for a holiday) for a breakfast spread like that.
now breakfast is a distant dream. to be worshipped from afar (which helps me retain my love for it). to be had only if and when you don't end up going to bed at all, on a given night or if a fanciful lover takes it upon him/her to serve you the meal (take a minute to till your head to one side and say "aaah").
i miss it. and so (in a rare, pro-active moment) i've decided to introduce it back in my life. for the sake of my future children and my future childrens children, who otherwise might grow up (if we haven't obliterated the world, ie) never knowing what breakfast is. so today onwards, my new motto is, "take back the morning".
i shall henceforth endeavour to wake up every morning. early (but not too). just early enough to take back the morning. and i shall do this, not just for me, but for breakfast lovers everywhere (who have witnessed the demise of their favourite meal). for hedonists (for whom this has become a forgotten pleasure). for lovers (because breakfast after sex is a great way to start your day. who am i kidding? just sex is a great way to start your day). so no, not lovers, children instead, who will grow up to reject their coffee for a good old fashioned breakfast.
and you my dear readers, can join the movement too. if you are in the neighbourhood, lets meet for breakfast.
yeah, i completely, totally, irrevocably (is that declaration enough, doubting thomases?) love breakfasts. thing is, i can just never do them.
not that i haven't tried. (god, how i've tried). i've set alarms. i've called up friends in the dead of the night to inctice them to meet me for breakfast the following day (and yes, wake me up for it). i've gone to sleep thinking of sausages and bacon and eggs or pancakes with maple syrup or even croissants. but to no avail. sure as the day is sunny (with possibilities of mild rain), i wake up at ten-0-clock, rush into the bathroom, rush out of the bathroom, rush to office, rush to the coffee machine, rush outside with coffee to have a smoke, rush back in and start working.
as you can see, my morning schedule leaves very little time for breakfast. unless i plan to eat on the run.
but it wasn't always like this. when i was littler, i DID breakfasts. i'll skip over the details of breakfast at boarding school (though i shovelled that down my throat, too), which like all boarding school breakfasts was totally tasteless while having all the nutrients necessary for growing children (or such like). but breakfast at home (see first para) was divine. there's no other word for it. it was my first thoroughly orgasmic experience, when i still didn't know what an orgasm was. sure i hated waking up in the morning for it (especially since i was on holiday) and sure i never understood why the whole family had to have breakfast together, just because my dad deemed it so, and sure i didn't enjoy it as much, because it was the norm at home...but hell, it was great and what i wouldn't do (apart from going back home for a holiday) for a breakfast spread like that.
now breakfast is a distant dream. to be worshipped from afar (which helps me retain my love for it). to be had only if and when you don't end up going to bed at all, on a given night or if a fanciful lover takes it upon him/her to serve you the meal (take a minute to till your head to one side and say "aaah").
i miss it. and so (in a rare, pro-active moment) i've decided to introduce it back in my life. for the sake of my future children and my future childrens children, who otherwise might grow up (if we haven't obliterated the world, ie) never knowing what breakfast is. so today onwards, my new motto is, "take back the morning".
i shall henceforth endeavour to wake up every morning. early (but not too). just early enough to take back the morning. and i shall do this, not just for me, but for breakfast lovers everywhere (who have witnessed the demise of their favourite meal). for hedonists (for whom this has become a forgotten pleasure). for lovers (because breakfast after sex is a great way to start your day. who am i kidding? just sex is a great way to start your day). so no, not lovers, children instead, who will grow up to reject their coffee for a good old fashioned breakfast.
and you my dear readers, can join the movement too. if you are in the neighbourhood, lets meet for breakfast.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
how to win friends and influence people (in delhi)
you're new to the city. you want to get to know it well. hang out with the locals. make new friends. basically, get a life outside the pages of the well worn travel guide you're carrying. and you're wondering how. here's a quick 5 step guide to meeting the people of delhi.
first of all, you should pack yourself a suitcase and move to bombay. there's nothing like moving out of delhi to meet delhi-ites. and the sooner you understand this, the better. bombay seems like a favourite haunt. i mean seriously, i've met more people from delhi in bombay than i ever did in delhi. (and i've spent 8 years in delhi as opposed to two weeks in bombay)
if that's just a wee bit impractical and you want to remain in delhi, and still make some friends (though god knows why) try the whole strong-and-silent attitude. go out. lean against some wall somewhere (preferably, in the shadows) and watch people. nothing captures attention like that does, in a city where everyone's talking nineteen to the dozen, about themselves. and if you don't get arrested for suspicious loitering, you'll definitely make some new friends.
take autos to get around. they'll always take you somewhere that's not even remotely close to where you wanted to go in the first place. that way, instead of going someplace where you already know people, you'll land up in a strange place with strange people. and that's where you bring the strong-silent attitude into play to befriend them.
start frequenting restaurants/pubs/cafes that have opened in the last three months. they'll be new enough to have a certain buzz to them and will attract the locals in droves (your chance to mingle). visit any place older than that, and you'll see just a half of the original customer/potential friend base. so strike when the iron is hot, my dear, and keep on the lookout for any new openings.
if all else fails, go to TC on a wednesday night. you'll meet everybody (and i mean, everybody. you can't ignore people, especially those who are joined to you at the hip- and the shoulder and yes, the toes too) and you'll get to know them because the same people will be there every wednesday. and you'll never think they're dull or stupid, because you'll never be able to have a conversation with them anyway. and and, everyone will be tall and beautiful or you'll think they are because you'll be filled to the gills with alcohol.
first of all, you should pack yourself a suitcase and move to bombay. there's nothing like moving out of delhi to meet delhi-ites. and the sooner you understand this, the better. bombay seems like a favourite haunt. i mean seriously, i've met more people from delhi in bombay than i ever did in delhi. (and i've spent 8 years in delhi as opposed to two weeks in bombay)
if that's just a wee bit impractical and you want to remain in delhi, and still make some friends (though god knows why) try the whole strong-and-silent attitude. go out. lean against some wall somewhere (preferably, in the shadows) and watch people. nothing captures attention like that does, in a city where everyone's talking nineteen to the dozen, about themselves. and if you don't get arrested for suspicious loitering, you'll definitely make some new friends.
take autos to get around. they'll always take you somewhere that's not even remotely close to where you wanted to go in the first place. that way, instead of going someplace where you already know people, you'll land up in a strange place with strange people. and that's where you bring the strong-silent attitude into play to befriend them.
start frequenting restaurants/pubs/cafes that have opened in the last three months. they'll be new enough to have a certain buzz to them and will attract the locals in droves (your chance to mingle). visit any place older than that, and you'll see just a half of the original customer/potential friend base. so strike when the iron is hot, my dear, and keep on the lookout for any new openings.
if all else fails, go to TC on a wednesday night. you'll meet everybody (and i mean, everybody. you can't ignore people, especially those who are joined to you at the hip- and the shoulder and yes, the toes too) and you'll get to know them because the same people will be there every wednesday. and you'll never think they're dull or stupid, because you'll never be able to have a conversation with them anyway. and and, everyone will be tall and beautiful or you'll think they are because you'll be filled to the gills with alcohol.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
the crazy blue of E - 602 : post one
this is the first post in the new series. and at the rate at which this house encourages visitors, there will be about half a dozen more this month. last week i had ophélie - friend and frenchwoman, who burys us in thank you's, please's and sorry's, and infuses our life with enthusiasm - over for 4 days. this here is her post.
mes dix raisons d'aimer sushmita
1 - si je ne l'avais pas connue, j'aurai continué à parler de l'inde sansjamais y aller. et je ne serais jamais tombée amoureuse de ce pays.
2 - si elle n'avait pas été là pour m'accueillir à l'aéroport, chez elle,pour me présenter ses amis, pour me faire célébrer diwali avec elle, pour mefaire apprécier delhi ou bombay, je serais partie en courant au bout de deuxjours.
3- elle m'a fait connaître le plus incroyable bar de delhi - le TC - et leplus délicieux bar de restaurant de bombay.
4 - elle a des amis si formidables - parmi lesquels la fabuleuse aparna/jija et le dévoué vineet - qu'on se sent triste dès le premier jour en lesvoyant, parce qu'on sait qu'on va devoir les quitter.
5 - elle a une soeur supercalifragislisticaspialidocious, qu'on ne sauraitrésumer en moins de cent mille mots. lona, incroyable lona/sangeeta: jolie,drôle, prévoyante, cultivée, intelligente - tout le contraire de ce qu'elleprétend être. et si semblable à sa soeur.
6 - elle a un appart génial. que ce soit le pocket 40 introuvable de delhiou le pioneer heritage building de bombay tout aussi introuvable, la maisonde sush vaut le coup de se perdre. on s'y sent tellement chez soi, tellementbien qu'on n'a jamais envie d'en partir. et quand on en part, on sait qu'ilnous faudra y retourner.
7 - elle est exactement comme on aimerait être. insouciante, se levant tardparce qu'elle n'arrive pas à réveiller tôt le matin; fêtarde, ne refusantjamais une bonne soirée par fainéantise; énergique et drôle; jolie etsociable, amoureuse de tout et de tous, ouverte à toutes les possibilités età tous les univers.
8- mais elle a les mêmes faiblesses que nous: indécise, elle a toujours peur culture et sa génération, elle ne sait pas si elle doit enfin "s\'installer"dans quelque chose ou avec quelqu\'un ou continuer à découvrir le monde quis\'ouvre à elle. une seule chose l\'importe: être heureuse.
9- elle n\'aime pas bollywood et surtout pas kabhi alvida naa kehna, mais çane l\'empêche pas d\'aller demander au DJ de mettre la chanson pour me faireplaisir et de danser ensuite avec moi.
10 - tout cela pour dire que je ne la connais que depuis un an et demi, maiselle est déjà devenue pour moi comme une soeur jumelle. ma petite (grande?) et folle soeur indienne.
1 – if it wasn’t for her, i would have kept talking about india but wouldhave never been there, and i wouldn’t have fallen in love with that country
2 – if she hadn’t been there to pick me up at the airport, take me to her place, introduce me to her friends, celebrate diwali with me, make me appreciate delhi or bombay, i would have run away within two days
3 – she made me know the best bar in delhi – TC’s – and the most delicious restaurant in bombay
4 – she has such incredible friends – from the fabulous jija/aparna to the always devoted vineet – that you feel sad the first day you meet them because you know you’ll have to leave them someday
5 – she has a supercalifragislisticaspialidocious sister, that couldn’t be summed up in less that a hundred thousand words : lona, incredible lona :pretty, funny, always there when you need her, smart, cultured– the exact contrary of what she claims to be, and so much like her sister.
6- she has a great apartment, whether it be the cannot-be-found pocket 40 of delhi or the cannot-be-found-either pioneer heritage building in bombay, sush’s house is worth the search for it. you feel at home, and you feel so good that you never want to leave. and when you leave, you know you will have to come back.
7 – she’s exactly the way we dream to be : carefree - waking up late because she doesn’t feel like going to work early in the morning ; reveler - never declining a good party because she’s tired ; dynamic and funny ; pretty and well-at-ease with people ; in love with everything and everyone, open to all possibilities and to all worlds
8 – but she has the same weaknesses as we have : she’s always afraid of doing the wrong thing, she’s torn between her culture and her generation,she doesn’t know whether she should settle in something or with someone, or keep discovering the world that is opening to her. she has only one thing in mind : being happy
9- she doesn’t like bollywood and especially not kabhi alvida naa kehna, butit doesn’t prevent her from asking a DJ to put on the song for me, to make me happy and then dance with me
10- all those things only mean one thing : i’ve only known her for one year and a half, but she’s already become like my twin sister. my little (big ?) and crazy indian sister
mes dix raisons d'aimer sushmita
1 - si je ne l'avais pas connue, j'aurai continué à parler de l'inde sansjamais y aller. et je ne serais jamais tombée amoureuse de ce pays.
2 - si elle n'avait pas été là pour m'accueillir à l'aéroport, chez elle,pour me présenter ses amis, pour me faire célébrer diwali avec elle, pour mefaire apprécier delhi ou bombay, je serais partie en courant au bout de deuxjours.
3- elle m'a fait connaître le plus incroyable bar de delhi - le TC - et leplus délicieux bar de restaurant de bombay.
4 - elle a des amis si formidables - parmi lesquels la fabuleuse aparna/jija et le dévoué vineet - qu'on se sent triste dès le premier jour en lesvoyant, parce qu'on sait qu'on va devoir les quitter.
5 - elle a une soeur supercalifragislisticaspialidocious, qu'on ne sauraitrésumer en moins de cent mille mots. lona, incroyable lona/sangeeta: jolie,drôle, prévoyante, cultivée, intelligente - tout le contraire de ce qu'elleprétend être. et si semblable à sa soeur.
6 - elle a un appart génial. que ce soit le pocket 40 introuvable de delhiou le pioneer heritage building de bombay tout aussi introuvable, la maisonde sush vaut le coup de se perdre. on s'y sent tellement chez soi, tellementbien qu'on n'a jamais envie d'en partir. et quand on en part, on sait qu'ilnous faudra y retourner.
7 - elle est exactement comme on aimerait être. insouciante, se levant tardparce qu'elle n'arrive pas à réveiller tôt le matin; fêtarde, ne refusantjamais une bonne soirée par fainéantise; énergique et drôle; jolie etsociable, amoureuse de tout et de tous, ouverte à toutes les possibilités età tous les univers.
8- mais elle a les mêmes faiblesses que nous: indécise, elle a toujours peur culture et sa génération, elle ne sait pas si elle doit enfin "s\'installer"dans quelque chose ou avec quelqu\'un ou continuer à découvrir le monde quis\'ouvre à elle. une seule chose l\'importe: être heureuse.
9- elle n\'aime pas bollywood et surtout pas kabhi alvida naa kehna, mais çane l\'empêche pas d\'aller demander au DJ de mettre la chanson pour me faireplaisir et de danser ensuite avec moi.
10 - tout cela pour dire que je ne la connais que depuis un an et demi, maiselle est déjà devenue pour moi comme une soeur jumelle. ma petite (grande?) et folle soeur indienne.
ophelie's article. babel fished in english.
why i really love sushmita
1 – if it wasn’t for her, i would have kept talking about india but wouldhave never been there, and i wouldn’t have fallen in love with that country
2 – if she hadn’t been there to pick me up at the airport, take me to her place, introduce me to her friends, celebrate diwali with me, make me appreciate delhi or bombay, i would have run away within two days
3 – she made me know the best bar in delhi – TC’s – and the most delicious restaurant in bombay
4 – she has such incredible friends – from the fabulous jija/aparna to the always devoted vineet – that you feel sad the first day you meet them because you know you’ll have to leave them someday
5 – she has a supercalifragislisticaspialidocious sister, that couldn’t be summed up in less that a hundred thousand words : lona, incredible lona :pretty, funny, always there when you need her, smart, cultured– the exact contrary of what she claims to be, and so much like her sister.
6- she has a great apartment, whether it be the cannot-be-found pocket 40 of delhi or the cannot-be-found-either pioneer heritage building in bombay, sush’s house is worth the search for it. you feel at home, and you feel so good that you never want to leave. and when you leave, you know you will have to come back.
7 – she’s exactly the way we dream to be : carefree - waking up late because she doesn’t feel like going to work early in the morning ; reveler - never declining a good party because she’s tired ; dynamic and funny ; pretty and well-at-ease with people ; in love with everything and everyone, open to all possibilities and to all worlds
8 – but she has the same weaknesses as we have : she’s always afraid of doing the wrong thing, she’s torn between her culture and her generation,she doesn’t know whether she should settle in something or with someone, or keep discovering the world that is opening to her. she has only one thing in mind : being happy
9- she doesn’t like bollywood and especially not kabhi alvida naa kehna, butit doesn’t prevent her from asking a DJ to put on the song for me, to make me happy and then dance with me
10- all those things only mean one thing : i’ve only known her for one year and a half, but she’s already become like my twin sister. my little (big ?) and crazy indian sister
the crazy blue of E - 602 : introduction
i have always gravitated towards monster houses. not really dark cobwebbed houses of B grade movies, but bright cheerful, sunny houses that could none the less swallow someone up. and i don’t mean literally (that would only make you believe that i’m on some hallucinogenic drug and give you an excuse to not take this post seriously). instead, houses that give you enough space to not spend a single waking moment in them, for months at an end, yet still feel that completely overwhelming sense of being sucked into a different reality when you step into them.now, those are the actual monster houses. the real mccoys. the dangerous ones. the ones that masquerade as sunshine homes and then suck you into a vortex of another world. houses that somehow encourage people other than you to just s-t-a-y. cocooned in a lazy languid time.
there are a lot of people who have come and vegetated in whatever monster house i currently inhabiting at any given moment in time. there are a lot of people who’ve spent short periods of time there – coming and going as if connected to it with an elasticised umbical cord. there have been complete strangers who have dropped by on a certain evening to watch a film, and stayed on for three months.
but the true test of a monster house, (and one that all the houses i’ve lived in have aced) is not how many people it enfolds in its energy, but how many people it keeps away. and thankfully, all my houses have scared away as many people as it has welcomed. there are people who quicken their pace when walking by, when they aren’t walking 4 kilometers out of their way to avoid the vibes that my house radiates. (gleeful rubbing of hands happening here)
anyway, i now have a new monster house (in as much as it's possible to own a house, while trying furiously to not let it own you). and in case you haven’t realized, it’s E-602. i have to admit that, it has got a good, full-bodied, sunshine filled, monster character. this i can tell because, there has been a spate of guests every since i moved in and my cartons have barely been stripped of the tape.
so to celebrate that, i’m introducing a new series on my blog (it’s called “the crazy blue of E-602”, just in case you were wondering). everyone who comes to stay has to put up a post. about anything. this shall serve a two fold purpose. one, it will appease the monster house gods (and i have to tell you, that there are very few things apart from drinking rituals, which actually do). and two, it shall give me material for my blog, while i concentrate on the aforesaid rituals.
could life get any better?
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
kanpur ki rani ka anti-aging formula
a few days ago, tulika called me. (who the fuck is tulika?, you're thinking) well, tulika was my art partner at lintas. we started our careers together. she fresh out of art school and me fresh out of dropping out of my masters. it was a mad time. we worked crazy hours. spent days altogether at the studio. shared a couch with 8 people most nights. contributed heavily towards increasing the income of the guy who owned blues. and yes, we learnt to sell soap.there was this other thing too. tulika and me had a song. our song (no relationship is complete without one). that we'd sing on top of our voices when we though office was getting too quiet. we sounded terrible (think chalk againt the blackboard). but what we lacked in melody we more than made up in enthusiasm.
that was then. in the last couple of years, we fell out and kind of lost touch. for no particular reason. just one of those things.
and then, a few days ago, tulika called me.
i knew it was her because she burst into song as soon as i picked up the phone. it took me two seconds to react, that was all, and then i joined her line for line (although the both of us only know four lines of the song).
suddenly i was 21 again. green and gauche. full of spunk and optimism. ready to take on the world. cocooned in the comfort of having friends that you share years of history with. singing because i loved my job. singing because the world held promise. singing because i was heartbreakingly happy. singing because i could.
and to think, all it took, was one phone call.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
home is where the cartons are
this is what i had to say to friend when he was moving house.
"a new house. a new life. decisions. decisions. i would think it's all a little overwhelming. either that, or wildly exciting. there's always such a rush that accompanies moving into a new place. usually because moving would require you to leave some not so nice things behind..old jobs, failed relationships, weird screaming neighbours. not that your new house won't come with it's set of problems, but at least you don't know about them right now.
i've moved houses more times than i can count and i thought i'd share my "essential house movers checklist" with you.
one, a bottle of wine in the fridge, (well, i guess you'd need a fridge first) since you never know just how gorgeous your neighbour might be.
two, the softest, smoothest, yummiest, starched cotton sheets. (if you're going to be sleeping alone you might as well enjoy it.)
three, take away menus. (just to ensure that your neighbours don't wake up one moring to a strange decaying smell of your body rotting from starvation next door)
four, some good music. you need it to air the heavy silence out of the house.
and thats it. once you have this everything else just falls into place. and even if it doesn't, you don't care anymore"
i just moved house and this is how it is.
chaos. chaos. chaos. and cartons, cartons, everywhere. and not a single storage space in sight. my wardrobe is over flowing with clothes. my bedroom looks like the storage room of a salvation army depot. my gorgeous cotton sheets are being used to hold piles of linen. i can't unpack the remaining 11 cartons, which cover my living room from wall to wall, because there's noplace to keep anything. my hair is frizzing with the stress and humidity. nothing is falling into place. and i do care.
why am i getting my knickers in a knot about a mere house, when my complete life is in chaos, you would think. well, because, lives are meant to be chaotic and honestly, it's going to take me a heck of a long time to straighten out 26 years. a house is a mere trifle compared to that. and house by nature are supposed to be an oasis of peace and tranquility, (at least when it's not being a hotbed of sex, drugs and rock and roll). where children can run around and dogs can lol about in front of the fireplace. or such like.
clearly, mine doesn't make the cut. so i'm treating the situation with the gravity it deserves by ignoring it. and taking a well deserved one week break in delhi.
"a new house. a new life. decisions. decisions. i would think it's all a little overwhelming. either that, or wildly exciting. there's always such a rush that accompanies moving into a new place. usually because moving would require you to leave some not so nice things behind..old jobs, failed relationships, weird screaming neighbours. not that your new house won't come with it's set of problems, but at least you don't know about them right now.
i've moved houses more times than i can count and i thought i'd share my "essential house movers checklist" with you.
one, a bottle of wine in the fridge, (well, i guess you'd need a fridge first) since you never know just how gorgeous your neighbour might be.
two, the softest, smoothest, yummiest, starched cotton sheets. (if you're going to be sleeping alone you might as well enjoy it.)
three, take away menus. (just to ensure that your neighbours don't wake up one moring to a strange decaying smell of your body rotting from starvation next door)
four, some good music. you need it to air the heavy silence out of the house.
and thats it. once you have this everything else just falls into place. and even if it doesn't, you don't care anymore"
i just moved house and this is how it is.
chaos. chaos. chaos. and cartons, cartons, everywhere. and not a single storage space in sight. my wardrobe is over flowing with clothes. my bedroom looks like the storage room of a salvation army depot. my gorgeous cotton sheets are being used to hold piles of linen. i can't unpack the remaining 11 cartons, which cover my living room from wall to wall, because there's noplace to keep anything. my hair is frizzing with the stress and humidity. nothing is falling into place. and i do care.
why am i getting my knickers in a knot about a mere house, when my complete life is in chaos, you would think. well, because, lives are meant to be chaotic and honestly, it's going to take me a heck of a long time to straighten out 26 years. a house is a mere trifle compared to that. and house by nature are supposed to be an oasis of peace and tranquility, (at least when it's not being a hotbed of sex, drugs and rock and roll). where children can run around and dogs can lol about in front of the fireplace. or such like.
clearly, mine doesn't make the cut. so i'm treating the situation with the gravity it deserves by ignoring it. and taking a well deserved one week break in delhi.
Friday, September 01, 2006
grand standing
i have a slight problem. a kind of disease. more like an average-phobia. i expect a certain grandness, a whimsy romance to permeate my life. and you know what, most times it does. though not all the time. now even i’d be hard pressed to find some splendour in the dampness that is spreading through the walls of my spanking new house. but you know what i mean.
now this comes with its own set of issues. how could i even begin to explain to anyone that i’m standing in the rain because it warm and wet at the same time. because despite hemingway, the rain conjures up images of water slicked bodies coming together rather than death and decay. because it is at times full of passion and fury and other times soft (and definitely not as creepy) as cobwebs.
thing is, when you go looking for grandness and romance, you find other things too. wary side steps sometimes, and complete bafflement at others. and sometimes you find nothing. zilch. kuch bhi nahi. thenga.
this whole finding nothing is when your faith will waver and you’ll tell yourself that you’d rather have some good random sex than wait for imaginary men to climb your bloody balcony in your fanciful quest of romance and grandness. this is the time when you’re going to have to be strong. you’re going to have to daate raho. to believe that even when you’re not getting any action you’re not a complete loser. (note: this is not a sour grapes thing. it could be, but it's not)
because in between searching and not finding and finding and not searching, your life will be fraught with excitement. how could it not be? how could it not break your heart to watch a beautiful stranger leave the room? how could cream bell’s strawberry stick, with grainy bits of seed not make you want get down on your knees and thank the good lord? how could a cup of coffee mean so much if you didn’t drive 300 kilometers to get it? how could you not have a pretty wonderful conversation that stretches for half an hour without knowing who's on the other side? how could you ever find yourself in the wrong place with the right guy or right place with the wrong guy? how could you ever invite trouble and then court it with pleasure? how could you not take someones hand and dance in front of strange beautiful houses?
and how could your heart withstand it all, if it wasn't battered, bruised, trampled upon, broken, fixed, refixed, bursting, thumping, beating, doing cartwheels and set free a thousand times over?
now this comes with its own set of issues. how could i even begin to explain to anyone that i’m standing in the rain because it warm and wet at the same time. because despite hemingway, the rain conjures up images of water slicked bodies coming together rather than death and decay. because it is at times full of passion and fury and other times soft (and definitely not as creepy) as cobwebs.
thing is, when you go looking for grandness and romance, you find other things too. wary side steps sometimes, and complete bafflement at others. and sometimes you find nothing. zilch. kuch bhi nahi. thenga.
this whole finding nothing is when your faith will waver and you’ll tell yourself that you’d rather have some good random sex than wait for imaginary men to climb your bloody balcony in your fanciful quest of romance and grandness. this is the time when you’re going to have to be strong. you’re going to have to daate raho. to believe that even when you’re not getting any action you’re not a complete loser. (note: this is not a sour grapes thing. it could be, but it's not)
because in between searching and not finding and finding and not searching, your life will be fraught with excitement. how could it not be? how could it not break your heart to watch a beautiful stranger leave the room? how could cream bell’s strawberry stick, with grainy bits of seed not make you want get down on your knees and thank the good lord? how could a cup of coffee mean so much if you didn’t drive 300 kilometers to get it? how could you not have a pretty wonderful conversation that stretches for half an hour without knowing who's on the other side? how could you ever find yourself in the wrong place with the right guy or right place with the wrong guy? how could you ever invite trouble and then court it with pleasure? how could you not take someones hand and dance in front of strange beautiful houses?
and how could your heart withstand it all, if it wasn't battered, bruised, trampled upon, broken, fixed, refixed, bursting, thumping, beating, doing cartwheels and set free a thousand times over?
why do you do, what you do?
yesterday, sitting at this gentlemen’s club that’s posing as a bar (and i’m surprised no one has noticed. and even if they have, they haven’t torched it down just to get rid of a huge pocket of dullness) at the intercontinental, my friend looks at me from across a table and asks me, ‘why do you drink?’
first off, i should mention, i hate people asking me questions to which i don’t know answers to. the simple ones are especially irritating. the things you really should know but have never thought about since you’re too busy worrying about whether it’s a dry day today - it being the 6th day of ganesh chaturti. and it's really not fair. i mean, how can you come across as a terribly bright woman who makes sparkling conversation, armed with a little knowledge about a lot of things, if people ask you questions that flummox you.
secondly, people are not supposed to ask you deep meaningful questions like that when you’re on your first bucketful of beer. the first drink is when your brain cells are casually disintegrating the information it has amassed during the course of the day and rearranging themselves into little cerebral cavities to turn in for the night. (brain cells work pretty much the same was government institutes work) and when suddenly forced to think of an answer to a question like that, the poor little things stressed, shriveled, and got into a manic buzz of activity in angry protest. (i have to admit, i felt extremely guilty about lulling them into a sense of false security, pretending that they were off the job, when my friend rudely pulled them right back into the thick of things.)
thirdly, it's an intensly private thing to ask someone. it should rank right up there with, 'how old are you?', 'how do you vote?', 'how often do you shave your armpits?' and such like.
i’m still trying to figure why he though i needed a reason to drink. drinking is like breathing, only more pleasurable since you aren’t ingesting huge amounts of toxic fumes. and i’m still trying to figure why i proceeded to give him plenty of reasons (each more far fetched than the other) all of which he conscientiously rejected.
but i have to admit, the answer came to me when i woke up this morning, clear of the head and cramped of the muscles.
i drink, because people like him drive me to drink. to get over the trauma of not being able to answer his totally irrelevant question yesterday, i drank another two bucketsful of beer.
and i really wouldn’t mind another one right about now. (hear, hear, nikhil)
first off, i should mention, i hate people asking me questions to which i don’t know answers to. the simple ones are especially irritating. the things you really should know but have never thought about since you’re too busy worrying about whether it’s a dry day today - it being the 6th day of ganesh chaturti. and it's really not fair. i mean, how can you come across as a terribly bright woman who makes sparkling conversation, armed with a little knowledge about a lot of things, if people ask you questions that flummox you.
secondly, people are not supposed to ask you deep meaningful questions like that when you’re on your first bucketful of beer. the first drink is when your brain cells are casually disintegrating the information it has amassed during the course of the day and rearranging themselves into little cerebral cavities to turn in for the night. (brain cells work pretty much the same was government institutes work) and when suddenly forced to think of an answer to a question like that, the poor little things stressed, shriveled, and got into a manic buzz of activity in angry protest. (i have to admit, i felt extremely guilty about lulling them into a sense of false security, pretending that they were off the job, when my friend rudely pulled them right back into the thick of things.)
thirdly, it's an intensly private thing to ask someone. it should rank right up there with, 'how old are you?', 'how do you vote?', 'how often do you shave your armpits?' and such like.
i’m still trying to figure why he though i needed a reason to drink. drinking is like breathing, only more pleasurable since you aren’t ingesting huge amounts of toxic fumes. and i’m still trying to figure why i proceeded to give him plenty of reasons (each more far fetched than the other) all of which he conscientiously rejected.
but i have to admit, the answer came to me when i woke up this morning, clear of the head and cramped of the muscles.
i drink, because people like him drive me to drink. to get over the trauma of not being able to answer his totally irrelevant question yesterday, i drank another two bucketsful of beer.
and i really wouldn’t mind another one right about now. (hear, hear, nikhil)
Thursday, August 31, 2006
est
the downside of belonging everywhere, is belonging nowhere.
i have a feeling that i’m going to like bombay. everything just seems so much more intense here. it’s like a city of superlatives. people are busier. poverty is poorer. the stink is stinkier. the glamorous, somehow even shinier. the industrious even more hard-working. the parties, more laid back and more fun. the gods more perfect. the crowds bigger and more magnificent, than elsewhere (they demand attention. and sometimes, shock and awe. they are a collective. and most politicians in bombay have learnt to harness that power. the power of a crowd that only thinks and feels in superlatives). and the contrasts will constantly hit you on your face.
it’s like people are more involved with life. like they share a personal equation with it. like they need to squeeze it of very last bit of what it has to offer. like they can’t bear to be short changed. they can’t bear to be in the sidelines. and they won’t let you stand there too. you have to be there, in the thick of it. in the midst of a mad crowd. you have to be there, racing against time. being pushed and jostled. you have to be there, breathing the air, heavy with fumes and the slightly salty, slightly decaying whiff of the sea. you have to be there, playing by their rules or yours, but playing the game.
and every once in a while, you can stop to take a breather, by the edge of the sea. where the city leaves you be. where the winds blow through your body. where for a brief fragile moment you can straddle the space, between a world you belong to, and a world you don’t and be perfectly content.
i have a feeling that i’m going to like bombay. everything just seems so much more intense here. it’s like a city of superlatives. people are busier. poverty is poorer. the stink is stinkier. the glamorous, somehow even shinier. the industrious even more hard-working. the parties, more laid back and more fun. the gods more perfect. the crowds bigger and more magnificent, than elsewhere (they demand attention. and sometimes, shock and awe. they are a collective. and most politicians in bombay have learnt to harness that power. the power of a crowd that only thinks and feels in superlatives). and the contrasts will constantly hit you on your face.
it’s like people are more involved with life. like they share a personal equation with it. like they need to squeeze it of very last bit of what it has to offer. like they can’t bear to be short changed. they can’t bear to be in the sidelines. and they won’t let you stand there too. you have to be there, in the thick of it. in the midst of a mad crowd. you have to be there, racing against time. being pushed and jostled. you have to be there, breathing the air, heavy with fumes and the slightly salty, slightly decaying whiff of the sea. you have to be there, playing by their rules or yours, but playing the game.
and every once in a while, you can stop to take a breather, by the edge of the sea. where the city leaves you be. where the winds blow through your body. where for a brief fragile moment you can straddle the space, between a world you belong to, and a world you don’t and be perfectly content.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
take it to the limit - one more time
i’m two hours away from moving out from the city i lived in for eight years. and i’m sitting at a cyber café asking myself if i really want to do this.
don’t get me wrong. i do want to leave. i’m restless. i realise that my time here is up. and i’m really looking forward to living in bombay. thing is, i hate having to leave the people i love behind. now i know you’re going to tell me, it doesn’t make a difference. my friends will always be my friends. and bombay, it’s hardly that far away. but, trust me, anyplace that’s not an auto ride away is far away.
and that is what sucks about leaving. and that is what i’ve been struggling with. not being able to get into an auto, at any hour, for any reason, to see some one you love.
i’m making a hash of this. i need to leave for the airport. so i’m going to use laura’s help. friend. traveller. listener. whale watcher. wolf lover. will-o-the-wisp. in between two thousand words about watching bears in alaska, she had this to say - "but in between these highlights there has been a lot of reflection. a contradiction has arisen that grows stronger and harder to ignore with each passing day. a dilemma i do not quite know how to resolve.
it’s fairly simple, really. life is all about choices and choices we make have consequences. and all things do come at a price, but a price we often come to fully comprehend only when it is almost too late.
i guess i am a bit of a gypsy at heart and in a world this filled with wonders at each and every corner there is always this drive to go explore, to be on the road, temptation to be on the move towards somewhere i've never been. lets face it, i suck at being stationary. now, that of course is not a problem as such. at least it hasn't been thus far. but if i was asked to name my top priority in life (or at least one of them) it would come down to people i love, my family and friends. see the problem? my future always seems to be somewhere else and way too often it means at a distance from everyone i love. (and, to this one can add the additionally challenging fact that my loved ones aren't exactly geographically concentrated either.)
now, i've tried to compromise with bits of time spent here and there, home and away, but the end result seems like a greatly diluted version of either of the ideal extremes, a compromise that really satisfies no one and one that brings along a sense of guilt for neglecting either others or that deep-seated drive within me. it results in me being neither here or there. but if i change will i still be me or does that mean sacrificing a part of who i am in essence? is this travelling lifestyle a true choice or do i in fact lack the ability to put my roots down even if i so wished?
i don't know.
but i sure got to find out.
during one of those night time greyhound stops at a gas station somewhere (a toilet or a smoking break for passengers in need, in other words) i stood outside the bus stretching my numb legs and from inside the words of an old eagles song lingered on and provoked a perhaps somewhat melancholic smile to my face. for some reason finishing this giant of a letter with a quote from that very song seems appropriate.
you know i've always been a dreamer
spent my life running around
and its so hard to change
cant seem to settle down
but the dreams i've seen lately
keep on turning out and burning out
and turning out the same…
so put me on a highway
and show me a sign
and take it to the limit
one more time…”
i don’t know if she’ll find a place between traveling and staying put. and i don’t know if i’ll find a place between leaving and staying. but i do know this, if i have to move again, or if i want to move again, i will do so only after getting myself an auto that will give the boeings a run for their money.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
that stoopid feeling
stupidity, it’s a virtue. (or so i keep telling myself. sometimes on an almost daily basis) it’s especially important to remember this when you’re caught in the spotlight of a wholly irrational exploit. when the alarm bells in your head are clanging out loud, but not loud enough to drown the forceful imaginary voices of wisdom which are telling you that you should have known better. when you’re praying to the high heavens to open up the ground beneath your feet or shower you with lightning bolts or some such like. because god knows, you’re never never ever going to live it down.
stupidity, it’s an asset. it’s inversely proportional to age. directly influenced by spontaneity. and has a residual after-effect that lasts for as long or as little a while as you want it to.
the young do stupidity gloriously. with consummate ease. with a beautiful lack of self consciousness in the act. like they were born to it. like it’s fun. like it’s okay to be stupid.
they’re right, it is.
let me tell you why:
usually you only end up feeling stupid because you took a chance, put yourself out there, and had it blow up in your face. now, don’t associate stupidity with the 'blowing up in your face', instead, associate it with ‘taking a chance’. and at once you’ll see why stupidity is a desirable quality.
people look at you with kindness. they shake their heads as if to say, ‘poor sod’. but hell, they'll treat you with patience and thoughtfulness.
you’ll find that your reactions to your stupidity are even more stupid than the original stupidity itself. so quit at the first stupidity and feel really happy with your self that it wasn’t much worse. we should all count our blessings, where we find them.
and that’s not all, stupidity is fun. really fun. it’s fun to not have to worry about other people’s image of you. it’s fun to go out on a limb. it’s fun to not always think something through. it’s fun. period. and we could all do with a little more of that in our lives.
that said, if you don’t see me around for a bit, know that i’m living in a little hole in the ground under your feet, waiting to live my latest stunt down.
stupidity, it’s an asset. it’s inversely proportional to age. directly influenced by spontaneity. and has a residual after-effect that lasts for as long or as little a while as you want it to.
the young do stupidity gloriously. with consummate ease. with a beautiful lack of self consciousness in the act. like they were born to it. like it’s fun. like it’s okay to be stupid.
they’re right, it is.
let me tell you why:
usually you only end up feeling stupid because you took a chance, put yourself out there, and had it blow up in your face. now, don’t associate stupidity with the 'blowing up in your face', instead, associate it with ‘taking a chance’. and at once you’ll see why stupidity is a desirable quality.
people look at you with kindness. they shake their heads as if to say, ‘poor sod’. but hell, they'll treat you with patience and thoughtfulness.
you’ll find that your reactions to your stupidity are even more stupid than the original stupidity itself. so quit at the first stupidity and feel really happy with your self that it wasn’t much worse. we should all count our blessings, where we find them.
and that’s not all, stupidity is fun. really fun. it’s fun to not have to worry about other people’s image of you. it’s fun to go out on a limb. it’s fun to not always think something through. it’s fun. period. and we could all do with a little more of that in our lives.
that said, if you don’t see me around for a bit, know that i’m living in a little hole in the ground under your feet, waiting to live my latest stunt down.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
may i take a minute to PANIC
i leave delhi in three days time. after eight long wonderful years. and this is how i'm preaparing for it.
have been busy orienting myself at the new workplace. taking time off to pack up eight years of junk. saying goodbyes to some. and 'please, please, please, for the love of god come and visit me' to others. transferring bank accounts, gas connections and affections. being the perfect daughter for my mum's visit. travelling outside the boundaries of my little world (to gurgaon) everyday. and all the while, quietly going (completely, totally and absolutely) crazy for having made the decision to move.
no wonder then that i haven't found the time to write. but yes, i promise to be back soon.
have been busy orienting myself at the new workplace. taking time off to pack up eight years of junk. saying goodbyes to some. and 'please, please, please, for the love of god come and visit me' to others. transferring bank accounts, gas connections and affections. being the perfect daughter for my mum's visit. travelling outside the boundaries of my little world (to gurgaon) everyday. and all the while, quietly going (completely, totally and absolutely) crazy for having made the decision to move.
no wonder then that i haven't found the time to write. but yes, i promise to be back soon.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
hello, miss what'syourname!
what do you call a girl who tells stories the best way she knows how - in squiggly figures and loopy words? who doesn't know whether she should follow her idle time passion. who has a style that's original and an eye that's fun, fresh and absolutely fabulous. who, like all of us at some point, is wondering if she should freefall. who has got talent and sass in equal measures. who takes transitory moments in time and transforms them into permanent delicate lines on paper.
what do you call her - crazy child woman with great stories?
i still haven't figured. but she calls herself runjhun. and these here, are some of her stories.
what do you call her - crazy child woman with great stories?
i still haven't figured. but she calls herself runjhun. and these here, are some of her stories.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
on a wing and a prayer
silvio simonit. crazy italian man who talked with his hands. who made space for me in his life and on his couch. who listened to my completely non-existent, irrational, self-created problems. with half an ear (but listened, none-the-less). who was passionate about CNG, kebabs and quiet dusky women (and not necessarily, in that order). who was willing to talk about anything but his phd thesis. who really believed that he was indian royalty in his last birth (i don’t know which was more amazing, that he believed in reincarnation or that he believed he was a king). whose fridge was always full of coronas and devoid of food. who wanted to stay but had reasons to go.silvio simonit, who looked at me yesterday and said “where’s my rakhi?”. and saying so, took the last flight bound for italy.
i hate that he’s gone. but thanks to some unknown people of pakistani descent in london, i’m glad he flew yesterday. and not today.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
the art of having good mornings
you wake up in the morning. bright and early, for a change. the sun is shining. the birds are chirping. and your head doesn’t feel like chandani chowk on a monday morning (chalk up some brownie points for yourself, for that). you think to yourself, “it’s going to be a wonderful day”.
now, if you were watching yourself from the outside, you’d give yourself till the count of ten, just about the time you’d be standing in front of the bathroom mirror. by now the warm fuzzy feeling is madly whooshing out of your body, only to be replaced by the sheer adrenalin thumping horror of what you did last night.
it could be going home with mr totally-completely-absolutely-irrevocably wrong. well, not just going home with him, but somehow spending the night looking at him with the love light blazing in your eyes.
it could be going out to celebrate your friend’s 5 hour old mercedes slr, and on the way back pulling out the ashtray and throwing up in it. (a f -up where horror, amusement, disgust, concern all come together magnificently, don’t you think?)
it could be collecting all the files in your office at the conference table and setting fire to it. only, and this is important, only after having worked for five days and five nights straight.
it could be deciding NEVER to have a relationship again, after having dealt with commitment-phobic men for 32 years. and then going to a bar to celebrate that by picking up a man, who turns out to be the only one in the universe who is looking for a relationship.
i have been witness to, as well a participant of a great many f-ups, and i have to admit this - not everyone can be a f-uper because not everyone has that special talent of orchestrating a truly imaginative f-up.
like all jobs, you require a skill set for it.
you need perfect timing. every f-up requires one or all of the below - wrong place. wrong person. wrong time. (appropriate wrong words). in f-ups, as long as you are wrong, you’re right.
you need to understand that, they are lying when they say, ‘you learn from your f-ups. no, you don’t. you can’t. for the simple reason that no f-up is quite like another one.
you need a short memory span. you can’t make the same f-ups again and again. this just won’t do for a professional. you need to forget them once they’ve occurred and find fresh avenues in which to f-up in.
you need to move on. you need to be able to hold on to your embarrassment/ horror/ incredulity for a certain period of time and then let go at just the right moment to move on to bigger, brighter things. like the next f-up.
those of who were not born with this special talent, need not fret. for you can learn to be a good f-uper. all you need to do is start small, (a school suspension, for example) and then progress, slowly, one tiny f-up at a time, till you’re orchestrating f-ups worthy of several entertainment awards. something that involves a bigger audience, a lingering sense of embarrassment and moving up the rating scale from ass to supersize jackass.
and maybe, then, the sheer adrenalin thumping horror you feel while standing in front of your bathroom mirror will slowly change back into a warm fuzzy feeling. of accomplishment.
now, if you were watching yourself from the outside, you’d give yourself till the count of ten, just about the time you’d be standing in front of the bathroom mirror. by now the warm fuzzy feeling is madly whooshing out of your body, only to be replaced by the sheer adrenalin thumping horror of what you did last night.
it could be going home with mr totally-completely-absolutely-irrevocably wrong. well, not just going home with him, but somehow spending the night looking at him with the love light blazing in your eyes.
it could be going out to celebrate your friend’s 5 hour old mercedes slr, and on the way back pulling out the ashtray and throwing up in it. (a f -up where horror, amusement, disgust, concern all come together magnificently, don’t you think?)
it could be collecting all the files in your office at the conference table and setting fire to it. only, and this is important, only after having worked for five days and five nights straight.
it could be deciding NEVER to have a relationship again, after having dealt with commitment-phobic men for 32 years. and then going to a bar to celebrate that by picking up a man, who turns out to be the only one in the universe who is looking for a relationship.
i have been witness to, as well a participant of a great many f-ups, and i have to admit this - not everyone can be a f-uper because not everyone has that special talent of orchestrating a truly imaginative f-up.
like all jobs, you require a skill set for it.
you need perfect timing. every f-up requires one or all of the below - wrong place. wrong person. wrong time. (appropriate wrong words). in f-ups, as long as you are wrong, you’re right.
you need to understand that, they are lying when they say, ‘you learn from your f-ups. no, you don’t. you can’t. for the simple reason that no f-up is quite like another one.
you need a short memory span. you can’t make the same f-ups again and again. this just won’t do for a professional. you need to forget them once they’ve occurred and find fresh avenues in which to f-up in.
you need to move on. you need to be able to hold on to your embarrassment/ horror/ incredulity for a certain period of time and then let go at just the right moment to move on to bigger, brighter things. like the next f-up.
those of who were not born with this special talent, need not fret. for you can learn to be a good f-uper. all you need to do is start small, (a school suspension, for example) and then progress, slowly, one tiny f-up at a time, till you’re orchestrating f-ups worthy of several entertainment awards. something that involves a bigger audience, a lingering sense of embarrassment and moving up the rating scale from ass to supersize jackass.
and maybe, then, the sheer adrenalin thumping horror you feel while standing in front of your bathroom mirror will slowly change back into a warm fuzzy feeling. of accomplishment.
Monday, August 07, 2006
big deal
there is something about bombay, (and i have a niggling suspicion that it’s bollywood) that causes most musicians to gravitate towards the city. i could be wrong, maybe it’s not the huge amounts of work that the industry provides that’s the cause of this mass movement. maybe the attraction lies in the nice balmy air (when it’s not raining cats and dogs) or the laid back attitude of people which is completely at odds with the city that bustles and buzzes. or maybe, just maybe, small cramped apartments, clogged roads and a daily life that makes you feel like you’re living smack bang in the middle of a bollywood movie is very conducive for making music.how else would you explain the fact that some of the best bands i hear in delhi, seem to belong to bombay. a few years ago, it was ‘bombay black’ (that’s the story of another post, though) and this time around it’s ‘black market’ and ‘interplay’.
i first heard ‘black market’ at dv8, having had gone there with a friend, straight from work, tired and yearning for six feet of horizontal space to lie down in. but minutes into their gig, and i could have kissed my friend. these guys were fantastic. funky, fresh and a complete treat to listen to. combining influences from r&b, rock, acid jazz, the outfit had a line up, i’m told is ‘killer’ – consisting of dhruv ghanekar (guitar), lindsay (drums), sonia saigal (vox), harmeet (keys) and sheldon (bass).
‘interplay’, i caught on thursday at haze. in a city, where jazz enthusiasts sit around twiddling their thumbs (i say that loosely, since i really don’t know what they do) and wait for the ‘jazz yatra’ to hit town, ‘interplay’ comes as a can-i-bend-down-and-kiss-your-rings relief. primarily a jazz band, ‘interplay’ has sonia and harmeet (from black market) joined by adrian dsouza and rushad mistry. the reason i enjoy them so much is, when you watch them play, they look like they are enjoying every single moment of it, as much as you are. they play with genuine ‘feel’. and that is fantastic. and fun. like harmeet says, “we basically do all kinds of other things and other music by day, to pay our bills ... we don't really get too many opportunities to play jazz which is all we really want to do ... so when we do get to play a gig where we can go and play this music that we love, it's a big deal for all us”.
well, harmeet, it’s a big deal for us too. you guys should play here more often.
and those of you who haven’t seen either of these bands in action, should absolutely make a point of it the next time they’re in town. if only to find out what the big deal is.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
1979
- alien was released and went on to reinvent the sci-fi horror genre.
- mother teresa won the nobel peace prize.
- 21 year old paul shirley of australia, sucked a lifesaver for 4 hrs 40 mins.
- the sugar hill gang released the first commercial rap hit, "rapper's delight," bringing rap off the new york streets and into the popular music scene.
- religious leader ayatollah khomeini made a triumphant return to iran after 14 years in exile.
- president carter was attacked by a rabbit on a canoe trip in plains ga.
- iranian militants seized the us embassy in teheran.
- the soviets invaded afghanistan.
- someone in stamford, texas paid the highest price for a pig- a whopping $42,500.
- margaret thatcher became the new prime minister of the UK.
- rocker tom petty filed for bankruptcy.
- vietnam and vietnam-backed cambodian insurgents announced the fall of the cambodian capital phnom penh and the collapse of the pol pot regime.
- sex pistols' bass player sid vicious died of a heroin overdose in new york.
- pakistan's former prime minister, zulfikar ali bhutto, was hanged in spite of international calls for clemency.
- elton john becomes the 1st pop star to perform in israel.
- the chicago blizzard started on friday night january 12 and lasted until 2 a.m. sunday january 14.
- longest doubles ping-pong match is played. it lasts over 101 hours.
- gulf + western paid $3.2 million for a single periodical ad in time.
- due to equipment failure and operator error, a partial nuclear core meltdown of the tmi’s unit 2 reactor, the worst nuclear plant emergency in united states history, occurred.
- pink floyd premiered their live version of "the wall" in los angeles.
- world's worst oil spillage occurred in the gulf of mexico.
- sri lanka beat india by 47 runs in cricket world cup upset.
- dancin' fool by frank zappa hit #45.
- muhammad ali retired as boxing champ.
- soviet cosmonauts vladimir lyakov & valery ryumin returned to earth aboard soyuz 34 after a record 175 days in space.
- snow fell in the sahara.
no wonder i came into the world, kicking and screaming.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
pataka
"in india images are loaded, they explode with meaning... they have great potential," writes peter nagy, former director of new york's nature morte gallery, in his introduction to the provacatively titled ‘cock’ - a book about indian firework art. compiled by gavin aldred on his trip to india, it is a stunning and rather pointless book that was released a few years ago.for those of us who have grown up here, the almost violent colours, the mad and sometimes crude graphics, and the extreme typography that you would find in firework/calendar/street/billboard art is pretty ho-hum. yet, when you see a collection of images together, it’s like an explosion in the brain…too much, too soon.
printed on boards in concertina form and packed in original fireworks boxes, this book (like a reviewer claims) celebrates a graphic language where understatement is suicidal, excess equals success, and sheer spectacle is everything.
it’s difficult to find a copy here, so, on your trip abroad you could pick one up. or simply order it on amazon.
Monday, July 31, 2006
blame it on her
alana davis, who sings like she has marbles in her mouth-you've got your home of the brave and i've got my land of the free
you conform to what society says and i conform to me
looking for light in the corners getting caught in the spider web
you look at me as if i'm giving a performance when i'm just feeding my head
and you know that i'm doing all right
and i won't explain myself to you just to avoid a fight
how i'm living ain't correct but for me it's just right
i'm not completely insane, i'm maybe just a little bit crazy
there's no one to blame, got no shame about game
don't want nobody to save me
i've got a pair of ruby slippers that i don't wear much anymore
and if i had the nerve i'd click my heels and return to the wonderland i knew before
i'm waiting to slow boat to china, want to sail away to the sun
i've been searching for myself and i know i'm gonna find her if i break away from everyone
so the way that i act may not fit in
just because i've got a mind of my own doesn't mean it's a sin
i don't ask you to give up; don't expect me to give in
'cause i'm not completely insane, i'm maybe just a little bit crazy
- crazy, blame it on me
padh bosedk
in a city where the most overused word has to be ‘behenchod’, comes a design label from designer duo jiten thukral and sumir thagra called ‘bosedk’. and if that doesn’t catch your attention, their work will. it’s like being drenched with a pail of ice cold water – deliciously fresh and aggressively in your face.
their t-shirts range from ones that declare ‘rose meri marlo’ and ‘bank ke lorry’ to ones that say ‘pen chor’ and ‘pee bosedk’. bright colours, wild graphics and their trademark glass jar packaging, makes you want to quickly run out and fill up your wardrobe with them.
at 1200 bucks a pop, they don’t come cheap, but they are completely worth it.
the designers themselves- they’re young, restless and focused. pretty much acknowledged by everyone i know in the industry as ‘sahi’. i went to catch an exhibition of theirs last year, and i found that along with being softly mad, they were also surprisingly sharp – bring the same passion and energy into their business venture (their store at 2MG, that was demolished by the MCD) as they put into their work.
check out their website at http://www.bosedkdesigns.com/ pick up a couple of tshirts or just revel in their crazy brand of humour.
Friday, July 28, 2006
i come in friendship
i come back into town after two months away. i'm having dinner with some acquaintances. a friend calls. where are you, he wants to know. having dinner with some friends, i say. ok, he replies, i’ll be right over.
no waiting for an invitation. no “are you free to meet up?”. no “is it okay if I join you?”. no questions. period.
and this is the most beautiful (and the most aggravating) thing about friendships. taking your friends for granted.
so you take calls at 4am in the morning. you be nice to their partner, who you might not like. you listen and dole out advice and tissues with equal elan. you invest time, energy and sometimes love into it. and on the whole take them as they come. because you know, they do the same.
not all of them, though. all of us have categories of friends. there are the sleep-over kinds, the drinking buddies, the ones who you have nothing in common with except the past, the childhood kinds, the ones you meet when they or you are passing through, the ones who listen and the ones who talk, the ones who you meet every single day, and ones, as Mr. Epstein describes in his book "friendship: an exposé", who play the role of best supporting friend.
some of them we definitely could live without. and some we have to live without. because they are traveling halfway across the world to be with their partner. or because they want to live by the sea and watch whales. or simply because they’ve gotta go.
yet I take solace in the fact, that friends, how ever far they go, they’ll just be one 4am phone call away.
and when they do call, there will be no questions.
no waiting for an invitation. no “are you free to meet up?”. no “is it okay if I join you?”. no questions. period.
and this is the most beautiful (and the most aggravating) thing about friendships. taking your friends for granted.
so you take calls at 4am in the morning. you be nice to their partner, who you might not like. you listen and dole out advice and tissues with equal elan. you invest time, energy and sometimes love into it. and on the whole take them as they come. because you know, they do the same.
not all of them, though. all of us have categories of friends. there are the sleep-over kinds, the drinking buddies, the ones who you have nothing in common with except the past, the childhood kinds, the ones you meet when they or you are passing through, the ones who listen and the ones who talk, the ones who you meet every single day, and ones, as Mr. Epstein describes in his book "friendship: an exposé", who play the role of best supporting friend.
some of them we definitely could live without. and some we have to live without. because they are traveling halfway across the world to be with their partner. or because they want to live by the sea and watch whales. or simply because they’ve gotta go.
yet I take solace in the fact, that friends, how ever far they go, they’ll just be one 4am phone call away.
and when they do call, there will be no questions.
Monday, July 24, 2006
how to get a visa to the states (from someone who’s never gotten one)
get your friend’s friend’s brother’s sister-in-law to put in a good word with her cousin who knows somebody that works in the embassy. (never mind he’s doing his summer internship)
wear your favourite wonderbra and furiously bat your eyelashes (note: it never seems to cut any ice with the women, but the men fall it every single time. EVERY SINGLE TIME.)
produce imaginary boyfriends/lovers/fiancées/husbands. as many of them as you can. most visa officials believe that their countrypeople are the most irresistible race on earth, and if you are going to go visit, rest assured that you are going to be enamored by them and absolutely crave to have their babies. any evidence to the contrary, will (strangely) earn you a certain no of brownie points. and in case you’ve forgotten, that’s what we are aiming at.
claim that your parents hit you. considering that most indian children live with their parents till they have grandchildren themselves, that should be entirely believable, whatever your age.
pretend to be yogi. the whole place is littered with them anyway. (hint: all you need are loose flowing robes and a stoned expression) thing is, even the slightest unspoken threat of being damned to the fires of hell, is not a chance any of the visa officials are willing to take. c’mon, no job pays that much.
spend the 148 days (yes, that’s how long it takes to get a visa appointment) brushing up on all the things that you dislike about the country. because chances are, the less you want to go, the more likely you are to.
if all of the above fail, walk down to your neighbourhood McDonalds and order the all american aloo tikki burger. to go.
wear your favourite wonderbra and furiously bat your eyelashes (note: it never seems to cut any ice with the women, but the men fall it every single time. EVERY SINGLE TIME.)
produce imaginary boyfriends/lovers/fiancées/husbands. as many of them as you can. most visa officials believe that their countrypeople are the most irresistible race on earth, and if you are going to go visit, rest assured that you are going to be enamored by them and absolutely crave to have their babies. any evidence to the contrary, will (strangely) earn you a certain no of brownie points. and in case you’ve forgotten, that’s what we are aiming at.
claim that your parents hit you. considering that most indian children live with their parents till they have grandchildren themselves, that should be entirely believable, whatever your age.
pretend to be yogi. the whole place is littered with them anyway. (hint: all you need are loose flowing robes and a stoned expression) thing is, even the slightest unspoken threat of being damned to the fires of hell, is not a chance any of the visa officials are willing to take. c’mon, no job pays that much.
spend the 148 days (yes, that’s how long it takes to get a visa appointment) brushing up on all the things that you dislike about the country. because chances are, the less you want to go, the more likely you are to.
if all of the above fail, walk down to your neighbourhood McDonalds and order the all american aloo tikki burger. to go.
the sound of the city
i like cities. all cities. well, most cities. they are like people- the most interesting ones are the ones with the maximum amount of layers. the confused ones. the ones heavy with history and ghosts of the past, yet young, exuberant and growing in ways they can’t fully understand. chaotic, beautiful and full of a strong sense of individuality.
when i’m feeling low and drained of energy, drowning in mundanity, i dream of standing by the side of a road, in the middle of a city (nada, no blue skies and green meadows for me). and when i close my eyes i can almost feel myself absorb the energy that surrounds me, like neon motion streaks. (maybe i’ve been watching too many movies that use that particular shot.) but whatever the reason, i like cities. especially delhi. it has a certain buzz. an energy that makes you hit the ground running. a pulse, that’s the same, for the rich and poor alike. something that brings together the stuffy babus enjoying their single malts in luytens delhi and the obnoxious jats getting sozzled in their cars at parking lots. something that binds the ones that have put their roots down and the ones that are just passing by.
some call it soul. but a band of musicians i know, call it rhythm.
they’ve compiled an album that captures and celebrates the spirit of delhi. i’ve heard it, and i like it. i like the sound. and i like the artwork on the cover. as much as i like the idea of it. the album is called “sahi bol”, which at the same time means so many different things. “sahi bol” literally means “say the right thing”. it’s also an expression that loosely translates into “for real???”. and in musical terms, “sahi bol” means the right lyric.
i like the way the musicians describe it – the music as well as themselves. they call themselves the kids of the 80’s (remember the time when rockstars were ROCKSTARS and everyone had a bad hairdo), who stumbled into the 90’s. sometimes making music. and sometimes noise. yet always holding on to the idea of independent expression. inextricability linked and strangely free from the city they live in.
the two cd compilation spans a great many genres (sufi, rock, blues, electronic, urban styles, dance, indo-fusion, folk and the undefined) and a great many artists (midival punditz, orange street, them clones, euphoria, mili bhagat, audio pervert, stargazer, mystique, radius, adhvaitaa, arjun sen, donn bhatt, da saaz). so when it hits your neighbourhood music store be sure to check it out. and in the meantime, as and when I learn to, i’ll put the demo’s up on the blog for you to download.
when i’m feeling low and drained of energy, drowning in mundanity, i dream of standing by the side of a road, in the middle of a city (nada, no blue skies and green meadows for me). and when i close my eyes i can almost feel myself absorb the energy that surrounds me, like neon motion streaks. (maybe i’ve been watching too many movies that use that particular shot.) but whatever the reason, i like cities. especially delhi. it has a certain buzz. an energy that makes you hit the ground running. a pulse, that’s the same, for the rich and poor alike. something that brings together the stuffy babus enjoying their single malts in luytens delhi and the obnoxious jats getting sozzled in their cars at parking lots. something that binds the ones that have put their roots down and the ones that are just passing by.
some call it soul. but a band of musicians i know, call it rhythm.
they’ve compiled an album that captures and celebrates the spirit of delhi. i’ve heard it, and i like it. i like the sound. and i like the artwork on the cover. as much as i like the idea of it. the album is called “sahi bol”, which at the same time means so many different things. “sahi bol” literally means “say the right thing”. it’s also an expression that loosely translates into “for real???”. and in musical terms, “sahi bol” means the right lyric.
i like the way the musicians describe it – the music as well as themselves. they call themselves the kids of the 80’s (remember the time when rockstars were ROCKSTARS and everyone had a bad hairdo), who stumbled into the 90’s. sometimes making music. and sometimes noise. yet always holding on to the idea of independent expression. inextricability linked and strangely free from the city they live in.
the two cd compilation spans a great many genres (sufi, rock, blues, electronic, urban styles, dance, indo-fusion, folk and the undefined) and a great many artists (midival punditz, orange street, them clones, euphoria, mili bhagat, audio pervert, stargazer, mystique, radius, adhvaitaa, arjun sen, donn bhatt, da saaz). so when it hits your neighbourhood music store be sure to check it out. and in the meantime, as and when I learn to, i’ll put the demo’s up on the blog for you to download.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
runners are a different breed
we’re a generation brought up on some sport shoe commercials. some really fantastic ones. we applaud the good ones. talk about the bad ones. and on the whole let them influence us enough to buy a pair every 6-8 months.
and that’s not all, we believe what they tell us. they tell us the road is free. they tell us to leave the couch. they tell us that there’s rhythm in our footsteps. they tell us to run.
and so we run. with a certain flair. a certain ease - a bearing - that comes from years of practice. we run from one day into the next. totally absorbed in ourselves. (and of course the tunes that our ipods belt out)
and so we all run. from the day we are born. some of us just do it better than others. take this girl i know, she’s run after this one man all her life. ever since she was fifteen, actually. and the man in question, well he’d run after anything in a skirt. he still does. last i heard, he met this girl in thailand, who ran away with all his belongings from his hotel room. (there has to be a moral in there somewhere)
so we’re all running. sometimes around in circles. sometimes from our potential. in search of that perfect job. in search of that to-die-for man. in search of home. in search of what’s around the next corner.
little realizing that, sometimes it’s worth it to stop for a drink at a bar on this one.
Monday, July 17, 2006
behind every blog, there's an ignored bored depraved blogger
why should one have a blog? why would one have a blog? i mean, they are not really the most convenient things in the world. pretty much like having a plant at home. something you have to water daily (or at least when you remember) and take out for a walk every once in a while.
it’s a lot like being in a relationship too. you have to invest time in it (quality time at that)…be honest with it…and stuff like that. only it’s better maybe, because it doesn’t talk back.
okay, so why should one have a blog? here’s what I think:
one, you have to be surrounded by friends (who love you and you love them…and all of that) who have completely stopped listening to what you say. not that they mean to tune you out, but chances are they are too busy eyeballing the cute young thing at the other end of the bar.
two, you have to be really bored at work. seriously, how good the blog is, is directly proportional to dissatisfied you are at work. (unless you are one of those lucky bastards who get paid to blog.) it’s like melancholic troubled people are just better at writing.
three, you have to not be getting any. or not nearly enough. (think about it, how many people do you know, who are doing like it like rabbits and still being able to or finding time to blog?)
four, you are suffering from a sensory overload. too much news, too many images and lots and lots of completely useless information is crammed into your brain. you are never able to say the right thing at the right time, mostly because by the time you sift through the data in your head, the moment has gone.
and five, you see yourself in the future, in a great big house surrounded by cats (while obviously, a cute young pool boy in his speedos is working outside) with your memory a little dim, and unless the world is taken over by aliens or AI and the www is down for ever, your blog will remind you that at one point, you didn’t need a life, since you were trying to lead half a dozen already.
it’s a lot like being in a relationship too. you have to invest time in it (quality time at that)…be honest with it…and stuff like that. only it’s better maybe, because it doesn’t talk back.
okay, so why should one have a blog? here’s what I think:
one, you have to be surrounded by friends (who love you and you love them…and all of that) who have completely stopped listening to what you say. not that they mean to tune you out, but chances are they are too busy eyeballing the cute young thing at the other end of the bar.
two, you have to be really bored at work. seriously, how good the blog is, is directly proportional to dissatisfied you are at work. (unless you are one of those lucky bastards who get paid to blog.) it’s like melancholic troubled people are just better at writing.
three, you have to not be getting any. or not nearly enough. (think about it, how many people do you know, who are doing like it like rabbits and still being able to or finding time to blog?)
four, you are suffering from a sensory overload. too much news, too many images and lots and lots of completely useless information is crammed into your brain. you are never able to say the right thing at the right time, mostly because by the time you sift through the data in your head, the moment has gone.
and five, you see yourself in the future, in a great big house surrounded by cats (while obviously, a cute young pool boy in his speedos is working outside) with your memory a little dim, and unless the world is taken over by aliens or AI and the www is down for ever, your blog will remind you that at one point, you didn’t need a life, since you were trying to lead half a dozen already.
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