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.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
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.
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