Of Police, media and other forms of recreation

Been M.I.A for a while, huh, fellers? What to do, it's well nigh impossible to attend to two blogs at a time. And my other blog had been keeping me completely busy these last few days.

I kid, of course.

In actual point of fact, the venerable broadband service providers of this holy state of Jharkhand were playing games with me. I was practically out of net at home (save a pathetic GPRS connection), and somehow I haven't really got around to writing posts at work. (Don't get me wrong here, it's not about scruples. I mean trading stocks, reading blogs or downloading Madelyn Marie at work is okay for me. Writing something takes a bit of peace and quiet.) It can all be put down to a copped out ADSL modem that took one week to detect and another to replace. But that wouldn't be an interesting story, no? Thought so.

In interesting news, then, there's this young stud. Bears a striking resemblance to Jeff Goldbaum the fly. If looks were the only criterion he would be babe magnet. Maybe he is. What matters, however, is that he and five of his friends took one girl to a pub. They all had plenty to drink. And smoke, maybe . Rest of the matter is sub-judice. This chap,Vinamra Soni, was on a train to Jamshedpur two days later. He took a call from his father, telling him to alight midway and wait for his parents, who were on their way to take him back to Mumbai, to surrender at a police station.

The parents-in-law of my good friend In dino (you can see him here, the bottle opener guy) live in Jamshedpur. They have this sprawling three-storied house in Sonari area. The ground floor they have rented out. Their tenants for the past twenty years are a well-to-do business family who own a few retail outlets in the city and are, reportedly, nice gentle folks. The landlords also report they used to raise their kids in a strict disciplinarian fashion.

You know where this is going, don't you? Only it's not getting there. The young Mr. Soni already has some support in the bloggosphere. I'm not here to strengthen it. Though he appears now to be in the deepest pile of shit. And I tend to have a bit of sympathy for anyone in deep shit.

It went like this. In the morn 21st last week, the Sonis told their landlords they'll be out of town for a few days. Business related problem, they said. Towards evening, cops were all over the premises. State cops and Mumbai police crime branch together. Short of a sniper and a coupla armoured cars, it looked exactly like a terrorist bust. They asked the landlord where were his tenants, and moreover, why he kept such shady tenants. They tried to kick open the tenants' front door. They accused the landlords of not keeping an eye on their tenant's errant son. Eventually they got tired after an hour or so (the door was solid teak) and left in a huff. Perhaps they had received news of the arrest. The landlords slept fitfully through the night.

Only to be woken up by scores of microphone wielding TV people in the morning. Ye hai aj tak, aur ham dikha rahe hain woh ghar jisme... They thrust the mic at their faces, the poor in-laws. Since when have you known Vinamra Soni? Did he have a normal childhood? How do you feel now that the boy who lived under your roof is today a wanted criminal?

I rolled on the floor when narrated the scene. Not because it was funny or anything. But it instantly reminded me of the one scene from Notting Hill, where Spike, in briefs, opens the front door for the paparazzi.


Oh how one wishes one could be in the right place at the right time, wearing the right sort of underwear!

In other news, I was leafing through an old Roald Dahl collection yesterday, when I stumbled on, and re-read, PIG. In these days of swine flu. Funny coincidence. Oddly, I've always loved stories like these, where terrible things happen to protagonists without reason or logic. So much so the macabre borders the surreal. I think I had a troubled childhood.

Don't take chaddis lightly!

On a fine day many moons ago, we were in the presence of RK the sage. (I believe I've introduced him earlier on this blog). Being the keen observer of human situations he is, RK was making his trademark original observations. Presently over chai, we got talking about the improved buying power of the middle class in India, their good life thanks to a rising disposable income and nonsense like that. Somewhere in the middle of it, RK wondered aloud : "All you ever talk about is a better standard of living. How is it better, I ask you, when I still haven't got more than a coupla chaddis in good shape. It never went from two to three. The old ones will retire in a week whenever I buy a new pair." This was quite some years ago, and the observation struck a chord. For until then, we used to buy chaddis in pairs and inevitably, not too early. The concept might sound a little dated now as we're well into the American way of life. Then again, maybe not. Consider this. If we buy two, we get three free. In no time, two of them mysteriously disappear from the clothing lines (or the machine eats them, I'm not too sure) and we're back to status quo.

But I'm not back after a longish break to theorize on chaddis. In fact, I'm mighty peeved over the way the venerable chaddi is being tossed about over a piffling non-issue. For one thing, I don't really fancy the celebration of Valentine's day. In fact I'd go so far as to contest the very existence of such an institution. You may well argue that this is because back when I was young, it did not exist, and I never got to waste my parents' money on the occasion, and you'd have a point there, but what the heck anyway.

What I prefer however, is something more direct and impacting. More importantly, something one can afford to give away freely (after all you don't give away something you've got only a pair of, at any point of time). Why not send to the Sri Ram Sene something which they should think is more alien to Indian Kulture than chaddis? Something that suggests immoral activity in their eyes more powerfully? With that objective, I'd send them this over the coming weekend:


p.s. We hope to resume regular programming pretty soon. It's just that of late the urge to post has ebbed a mite. We watched Slumdog and tinkered with the idea of damning it with faint praise. But valuable days passed by. We'd been preoccupied. Among other things we were caught up in post production work for the DVD release of our last year's vacation video. The missus gave an ultimatum that there'd be no vacation this March unless we finish the video beforehand. We plan to post a clip here. In the interim, we are trying to watch Vicky Cristina Barcelona and write on the experience. Coming March we'll be off to parts of Madhya Pradesh, plans for which are underway. Hopefully that will be good for more stories after that trip.

p.s.2 All of the above is bull, of course. All I need to do is keep off the Savita Bhabhi forums if there's to be any hope for this 'ere blog.

Update : I swear on my chaddis I didn't know of their existence at the time of going to press. The thought had just occurred independently to me, I guess, though in a different way.

Rab and aur sab


Do you see Rab, i.e, God, in Shah Rukh Khan's countenance? Do you, Punk? Because this young lady here, she does. And, of course I don't. But then I've had myopia since about the same time they discovered Ethiopia, which was way before this young lady was even up to the task of wetting her nappies. The lady has a condition, you say? Pity, no? Such a fetching young girl. Like a breeze of fresh air, a friend remarked. Like the girls in breeze soap commercials, I added. Anoushka, her name was. Proficient in every-thing. Dancing, emoting, raising hell on a hyabusa, you name it. Only thing she has a glitch with is her face recognition software. It seems she has difficulty in identifying people every time they change their clothes, don a pair of contacts, or put mousse in their hair. No problemo, I said. You only gotta buy yourself a lenovo, lady, and you're all set. (Wait ! Are those lenovo laptops designed to recognize chhote nawab's mug only? food for ponderance.)

Decades ago, one thirty-something filmmaker had told a story of a couple who got married by circumstances. How they lived the bliss of love blooming haule haule in the surroundings of mundane domesticity until tragedy struck, was the mainstay of his masterpiece, celebrated for decades around the world. Ever afterwards, dozens of films have been made in India with a similar starting point. The premise is a tad frayed at the edges. Umpteen directors good, bad and ugly have grabbed that ball and run with it. Until one day, the ball dropped. With apologies to John Donne, one needn't send to ask on whom the ball dropped, it dropped on Adi.

Several reviewers have trashed the movie and vent disappointment over Aditya Chopra's fall from grace. I wouldn't dwell on it. Let me list the positives. The sets are good. SRK as the bespectacled John Doe a.k.a Surindar Sahni gets a B- plus for effort. But only as Suri, mind you. In his other avatar he is insufferable. If you can skip the movie but sneak inside the hall at about 70 minutes into the proceedings, you could stay for 5 minutes and watch the Shyamak Davar choreographed Bollywood tribute dance, which I found kind of nice despite ghastly music. Especially Kajol briefly impersonating Nargis which was really something. And surely among positives, young Anoushka too, she's a darling. I can never forgive Adi Chopra for giving her a wrong launch. In spite of being YRF product with an Amritsari backdrop, the film has very little sarson-da-saag and makki-di-roti, like some apprehensive souls had feared.

What else is there? Oh, SRK will walk out of this debacle unscathed. Same for Yash Raj Films, who look like they can take 10 flops for every moderate hit they make. Not so much Aditya Chopra, whose credentials as the midas man should take a serious beating after this.

The year end is drawing nigh. It's been a pathetic year for the big budget vehicles for top league Mumbai stars and directors. The biggest success among which was perhaps Singh is Kingg, a fact that pretty much tells the whole story. I'm, however, going to put my money on the Christmas release. Maybe Amir has a finger on market pulse. Maybe Ghazini will deliver. One lives in hope.

Holy water


Water Dress - Mattoni Spring Water Commercial

Loving this commercial. Somewhere somebody 'd said sex sells. Used in refinement, and higher quotients of soft titillation, it still delivers. Some viewer has asked why is the word "bitch" briefly superimposed at 39 seconds. Beats me. Watch and comment.

Rambhai ekdum neat and fresh

They were doing a case study. That's what they had gone to B-schools for anyway. No surprises there. But why in the name of sweet Jesus did they have to get fresh with Rambhai? Sample this:

'The man after 25 years of service, today works relentlessly to make both ends meet. Students and staff of IIM-A passionately wait at the 'window' to get tea, cigarettes from Rambhai. People get bothered on not seeing Rambhai at the shop. They love to share a few passionate words(sic) with him.' link.

One feels seriously concerned for the wellness of the IIM-A students and Profs when they start getting all passionate with Rambhai. Now Rambhai is a world renowned figure who everybody worth his cup of tea on the net would have heard of. It's also good to see that the IIM-A academic body has roped in Mainstream media into Rambhai's life to give him his fifteen minutes of fame. It was just that the opening lines had me ROFL. I'd have let it pass thinking it was another TOI gem, but the article goes on :

These words are from a case material prepared by the Faculty Development Programme (FDP) participants at the Indian Institute of Management-Ahmedabad.

Great. Just great. Now that the team have presented their case (the case study, to my mind, is another reinvention of the wheel, since the successful small entrepreneur model is age-old case material in B-schools anyway), and Rambhai has had his day under the spots, all decked up and freshened, one has a word of caution for him.

Careful with them boys, Rambhai. These MBA types, I tell you.

Bovine Divine (As in Jawaani Diwani)



This, on an otherwise unenthusiastic evening. Reminded me of the great cow-lover of our times. Venerable Mr. Verma, are you watching too?

What's the story



A stunned silence befell the blog neighborhood since I did the last post. In one short week, it has caused a sharp fall in already scanty readership, commentlessness from old faithfuls, and a general air of distaste. I admit that there was no point in digging up that item except to let forth some bad jokes. The incident has also jolted my deep-rooted belief in the saleability of sex and bad taste. So much so that I also contemplated pulling it out. But one should be reminded of past follies from time to time, so it keeps.

In the meantime, yours truly has uncharacteristically mustered enough enthusiasm to write an entry for the flash fiction contest organized by Caferati and Livejournal. It required a story to be done within five hundred words. For want of story ideas, I'd borrowed from a real life incident that took place in our city coupla years ago. To win a positive response from the caferati people who also organize the cultural festival with that name, I have cleverly named it Kala Ghoda. Without further pretext, then , here goes the story. I'd rather you read it while listening to the excellent rendition of Kali Ghori Dwar Khadi from the film Chashme Baddoor. The connection between the song and the story is like nobody's business, except both have a motorcycle in it.

Kala Ghoda

Su. Her dupatta , powder blue in cream. Ombre’. Her longish hair teased up in a simple pony. Her pearl white kurta, half a size too small. Making her look all the more curvy. Maybe she’s put on a little weight since moving here. Maybe it’s her not having to do house chores anymore. Tis Hazari court Metro Station. Noisy intersection. Almost seven. It’s getting dusky. Surekha, unsure. Still from Bijnor.

“Careful with that Dupatta, miss. Try and keep it off the wheel. Here, are we comfortable now?” RJ had sized the girl up while easing up his Pulsar to her side. Small-town, lower middle class. Enrolled in some college in the city. Possibly looking for part time employment. Lost look. Great rack. Attractive, if imperfect features. Rabi Johar the Lajpat Nagar smartypants went to work.

-Said you were waiting for somebody?

- I was meeting Pilu. Childhood friend. She’s been in Delhi for some time. She’s a model. She was to take me to South extension.

-I’m going that way only. Where in South-ex?

-I’m not sure. We were going to see one Mrs. Tandon. I have her address. She runs the Glitz model agency. She might have openings for new faces.

-So what happened to Pilu?

-She got stuck in traffic. Cell out of range. At last she called, minutes ago. Asked me to reach there on my own. She’ll be waiting. I don’t know that area well. See, I’m new in this city.

-No worries miss. You’ll be OK. What did you say your name was?

Too smooth, this guy. Was that beer in his breath? Beware the city slickers, Didi used to warn her. Evening fell rapidly around them. RJ talked nineteen to the dozen.

-Indraprastha College? Fresher, eh? Know Monica there? The cultural secretary? Good friend of mine. Tell her Rabi said hi.

Speed breakers near Sadar Bazaar. He knows how to use them. Touchy feely. Awkward blush from Su.

-I’m sorry. Bit of trouble with the brakes. You OK? Be there in fifteen minutes now. Where are you staying in Delhi?

Janpath is a lonely stretch even at this hour. RJ lets loose the throttle. They’re riding into the wind. Su keeping an uneasy hand over his shoulder. Doesn’t want a rerun of the brake incident.

-Stop! Stop your bike now!

A flash of powder blue and cream. A dupatta in flight. The breeze is strong.

They alight. Su with arms folded over her breasts. Conscious of her young body. Poor girl’s got a long way to go if she wants to be a model, RJ thought.

-Wait. I’ll fetch it.

-Thanks.

Had RJ looked back, he could’ve seen her smile. Her easy confidence as she straddled the machine. The graceful flick of her leg as she kicked. But he was busy catching a swirl of powder blue. A black pulsar faded away like distant thunder.

Random Hurrrh

Nothing tastes as good as being thin feels. Having said that, we must acknowledge the wisdom in opting for the second best.


Thank God for handy phrases. Take the phrase ''having said that". Instantly allows you to go back on your premise. How useful is that?

By the way, I'm also mighty impressed with a Punjabi word which I've been hearing recently in a lot of songs. Some word that sounds like Hurrrh. Used once in the Singh is Kingg title (See earlier post). Now, go back to yesteryear's Mauja hi mauja. Again, lots of Hurrrh. Used with great efficacy as a resounding refrain. Makes the sound of somebody herding stray livestock. Like many a potent word, I suspect it can convey most anything under the sun. Even in this authentic qwaali by Nusrat ( singing Bulleh Shah's poetry)

Get this widget | Track details | eSnips Social DNA

I would much appreciate it if anyone will enlighten me on the connotations of Hurrh. See, even wiki is not able to offer any help. Plus I'm encouraged by the kind of success gawker had with getting linguistic info on his blog.

In other news, the nearest theater showing Jane tu is 25 miles away, so I couldn't catch it. Saved the trouble of putting down a reaction.

Till kingdom come

The modernists said, " Style is king" ( These were people who also said green is the new fuschia, thereby proving they must never be taken seriously.)
The purists said, "Content is king." ( They were believers of the maxim " God gave you eyes. Plagiarise.")
Proponents of free market said, "Consumer is the king"(and then made a career of royally duping him)
Wiki acknowledges that Simon Pulsifier is the king.
Post US-Open, there's widespread belief that Tiger Woods is the new king (of pain)
Knowledgeable beer lovers would still call Gambrinus their king.



Well it appears that none of them was the real deal. Because come the 8th of August, only Singh is.

Our very own Pritam-da ,who is auditioning for the role of the fattest apostle in the upcoming Monty Python flick called Monty Python and the last supper (hence the tonsorial abstinence and and all that bread and wine he's been soaking up), is all hurt and dejection these days. He is saying, "What variety of a dog needs two g's? And who now are the new RDB? More than one of them, it seems? I mean, I worship Pancham-da and all, and although his tunes are are so oft-heard they're hard to lift, I'm working on it. In the meantime, these RDB chaps and their Dogg come along and steal a number from right under my..er..nose? What sort of a dog-eat-dog business is this?"
(The assorted animals have actually done some groundbreaking work, I think. They've put together, for the first time in the history of music, a lullaby laced with hip-hop sounds.)

So the fun begins to sizzle. And while we're on the subject, I'd love to put in a word sideways about Katrina Kaif the living doll. The way, with every passing day, she's starting to look more and more like a creature of flesh and blood, is making me develop a tender crush on her. Though I must also admit, that when it comes to leggy supermodels my heart is still in the right place. It is in safe hands, so to speak, with Giselle. Like Sir Paul would sing, Giselle, ma belle, those are words which go together well.....

Under duress to go watch Jane tu etc. on the July 4 opening. Wifey's still got a thing for those boy-girl stories. Let's see.

Update: I made a mistake, the video above actually shows the title composed by Pritam-da and not that bunch!

Lie down and Listen

Abeeda, bless her soul, is easily one of my five most favorite singers. She of the wild headshakes and the late Fatty Ali Khan Sahab (No offense; just terms of endearment.) This blogger is completely floored by her power, style and range. Alas, it's her inimitable style, that today I'm about to make a weeny-teenie complaint on. You see, it's like this. Whenever Abeeda opens her mouth and lets forth the first notes of her song, she is in communication with divinity. It's a great thing when she's singing sufi. I mean it's overpowering. It makes an agnostic like me go into trances and have visions of a Supreme Being. Take Raqs-e-bismil.

Now consider her singing a simple song of love. She is still talking to Almighty.

Woh Jiski Deed Mei...

Don't get me wrong here, this song also is a big favorite. It's still an awesome rendition and all. It's just that whilst listening to it all these years, I had a foolish notion the poet had meant to convey delicate things about God, in those lines. Thanks to Abeeda's power singing and my proficiency in Urdu. It's only recently I've learnt , that Janab Faiz Ahmad Faiz sahab actually wrote this fine ghazal while hanging out by the wayside and ogling at the beauty queen of Sialkot as she walked by. For all we know. I wanted to translate it, but later realized that like much of great poetry, it's not about what the poet is saying but how he says it. And that, unfortunately, is impossible to translate.

Nuff chitchat. Listen to the song. Browse the lyrics, courtesy schwetank. I've included meanings of certain words and expressions. I had looked for them here and here, while attempting the translation. Thought it might come in useful for people with prolific Urdu, like me.

Woh jiski deed mein laakhoun masarratein pinhaan

Woh husn jiski tamanna mein jannat pinhaan

Masarrat: Happiness, Joy; Pinhaan: Concealed, Hidden

Hazaar fitney tah-e-paa-e-naaz khaak-e-nasheen

Har eik nigaah khumar-e-shabaab se rangeen

Tah : Plait, fold, multiplicity, perplexity; Fitnaa: Sedition, Mischief, Quarrel, Revolt, Temptation, Wickedness

Naaz : coquetry, amorous playfulness

Shabaab jis se takhaiyul pe bijliyaan barsein

Waqaar jiski rafaqat ko shokhiyaan tarsey

Shabaab: Juvenility, Youth ; taḵẖaiyul : imagination, fancy ; Waqaar : Solemnity ;

rafāqat : companionship, society, friendship ; Shokhiyaan : Coquetry, Mischief, Restlessness

Ada-e-laghzisheiy paa par qyamatein qurbaan

Bayaz-e-rukh pey sahar ki sabahatein qurbaan

Laghzish: Blunder, Lapse, Mistake, Tottering ; Bayaaz: Album, Handbook, Notebook, Vade Mecum

Sahaba : Wine, Esp. Red Wine ; Rukh : Face, Cheek, Side

Siyaah zulfoun mein badaaon sa nikhatoun ka hujoom

Taweel raatoun ki khwabeedah raahatoun ka hujoom

Siyaah :Black, Dark ; Baadaa : Booze, Wine ; Nikhat: Fragrance;

Hujoom: Assault, Attack, Crowd, Onset, Throng, Tumult ; Taweel: Extended, Lengthy, Long ;

Raahat : Quiet, rest, repose, ease, tranquillity

Woh aankh jiski banao pe khaliq dey raae

Zabaan-e-shair ko tareef kartey sharmaae

Banaao : Appearance, form, shape, colour, Adornment; ḵẖāliq : The Great Creator, the Originator

Gudaaz jism qaba jispe sajke naaz karey

Daraaz qad jisey sarw-e-sahi namaz karey

Gudaaz: Well-Mixed, Well-endowed ;Daraaz : Long, tall; Qaba: Gown, Long Coat Like Garment

Sarw : Affluent, Opulent, Rich, Wealthy; Sahi : A religious mendicant, a Mohammadan faqīr;

Kisi zamaney mein is rah-guzar sey guzraa thaa

Ba-sad guroor-o-tajammul idhar sey guzraa thaa

Tajammul : Dignity, pomp, splendour, magnificence; guroor : pride, vanity, haughtiness,

Ba-sad : by a hundred

Aur ab ye raah guzar bhi hai dilfareb-o-haseen

Hai uski khaak mein kaif-e-sharab-e-sair makeen

Dil fareb : Alluring, Beautiful, Charming, Enticing; Sair : Walk, Excursion, Stroll

Makeen : Firmly fixed; well-established;--in a high station; Kaif: exhilaration, Happiness, Intoxication, Joy

Hawa mein shokhi-e-raftaar ki adaaein hain

Faza mein narmi-e-guftaar ki sadaen hain

Fiza ; Atmosphere, Environment; guftaar : discourse, conversation ; Raftaar: Going, motion, walk, gait, pace

Shokhi : Playfulness, fun, mischief; pertness, sauciness; coquetry, wantonness

Garaz vo husn is raah ka juzu-e-manzar hai

Niyaz-e-ishq kou eik sajda gaah maiyassar hai

Garaz: An object of aim or pursuit, or of desire; aim, end, object, design, view, purpose;

Manzar: Aspect, Countenance, Landscape, Scene, Visage ; Niyaz : Petition, supplication, prayer; Mayassar: easy, feasible, practicable; favourable

Kabhie Kabhie Pyar Mein

You know, you don't have to be wearing Raymonds to be a complete man. For that matter, you don't really have to be a complete man at all. But it helps.




There, it was a-waited. So, Part 2 is now on air. Part 2 is hardly about fairness. Part 2 is about impossible mush. That sort of gooey mush where the fair maiden storms out on an engagement ring when her beau chips her nail trying to put it on her finger. In this mushy world, the jilted girl will still have the number of the man she once loved and lost, through years and through continents. In this world, the greatest dilemma will be over pressing that send button. It's now easier to see where O&M is coming from and where they're trying to go with this. It's all about soft sell. Just replace suitable words in the Raymonds base line from above. And you still have the promise of newsprint white. In fact you have two choices. TOI white and Economic Times white.

Worries me. My daughter (ten going on seventeen) is liking this. In my opinion, she's kinda fair already and really doesn't need to get fairer, but who gave a hoot for my opinion, ever?

Teh Funnies

When the creative juices run dry and yet you feel there should be something to show for all the time you'd been wasting on the web.

Like pondering over this.

“If a tree falls on the Really Big Button in the forest when nobody is there, does it do something?”

This is the ultimate take on the theory of perceived existence. Which combines two of the greatest conundrums of modern times, namely this and this. And by the way, how cool is uncyclopedia? I just can't get over their whacky sense of humor satire on this article, and practically every article of theirs. Jonathan Huang and "Stillwaters", I bow to thee.

In a quirk of serendipity I stumbled on Mr. Lan Bui's fickr photostream. And came across this beauty. Priceless.

Source

And finally, found some ten-year-old funny quotes that are still relevant today.

I think men who have a pierced ear are better prepared for marriage. They've experienced pain and bought jewelry.
--Rita Rudner
I went into a McDonald's yesterday and said, "I'd like some fries." The girl at the counter said, "Would you like some fries to go with that?"
--Jay Leno
Don't spend two dollars to dry clean a shirt. Donate it to the Salvation Army instead. They'll clean it and put it on a hanger. The next morning, buy it back for seventy-five cents.
--William Coronel
The No. 1 sign that you have ODed on the web...
When you read a magazine, you have an irresistible urge to click on the underlined passages.
--Anon

Words, words,words

I've recently taken issue with certain words that have come to represent the uber-chic of today. Given that I'm quite the philistine when it comes to high fashion, and the swinging high life in general, my point of view must not be taken seriously.

1. Ombre' Source

n. A French term meaning "shaded." Usually a multicolored stripe, with colors graduating from light to dark. The color effect is woven into the fabric. Generally produced by arranging different tones in the warp.

That doesn't even begin to convey the madness associated with it. How many times have we seen a halfway decent design idea stifled by overkill and a little French? Besides, what's so original about that light to dark theme in the first place, I ask? In Kolkata, in the early eighties, everybody and there uncles were wearing "loadshedding shirts", so ingeniously named after the ethos of the times ( loadshedding meaning powercuts) in which the light used to slowly go out top downwards. Exactly like the ombre' of today. I had one such beauty in red, though I don't have pics to show, alas!

And while we dwell on this, I have something else to ask. Does the repetitive ombre' also qualify? I mean I've had this shirt for some time, which I sparingly wear because I suspect it's too flashy, has it now fallen into the HOT category?


I really need to know. That shirt cost an obscene amount by my standards. I would love to save it from mothballs.

2. Bling

source

Def: Preity's necklace is bling. I have it on good authority.

Now here's a potent word. Can be used as one-off or in repetition (bling-bling), as a noun, or a verb (maybe adjective even, though I haven't come across that usage.) While this is otherwise a good strong word, what intrigues me is why something which makes an ejaculating sound should be used to describe gaudy jewelery. Nah, I'll discount that joke about mother explaining to kid how she gets her jewelry. Really, who needed another slang for funky tinsel when worthier candidates like himbo and farticle are begging for induction?

3.Bicurious

I love the word "bicurious". I also love Shah Rukh Khan. Yes, I know that'll take some explaining, so please read on. I think SRK is a master of repartees. A coupla years ago, when someone asked him "Are you metrosexual?" he replied, "No, I'm just sexual." A coupla months ago some intrepid scribe hinted " Are you bisexual?" he retorted " No, I'm Trisexual. I keep trying." (Laugh tracks)


Source

But I'm still curious. I'm bicurious. No, not in THAT way, the horror! (I'm completely, what's the word now? 'heterorigid '; and I want to stay that way, thanks very much) I'm just curious to know if certain people are bi. Like, say, SRK and Karan. Like, say SRK and that Ramphal dude now. Just curious, y'know.

There, I've said it. I'll now prepare for the worst. Possibly libel action, maybe death threats. I'm afraid. Very afraid.

4. Trapeze


Source

A beautiful word that evokes visions of scantily clad beauties flying high in the air. Curse on those fashionistas of today who have brought it to denote tent-like billowing cuts suited particularly for mid-heavy women and expecting mothers. Need I say more? O irony, how cruel can thou get?

I had a few more of them on my mind but seem to have lost steam. Contributions from my two-and-a-half readers will be greatly appreciated.

A Streetcar Named Desire


All of this last week, in Kolkata, we revisited with bitterness that feeling of constantly walking in water. A mere 300 kilometers away, our sleepy Industrial township has summers when, if you happen to go out in the sun in late morning or mid-afternoon, in all probability you'll catch the loo (not what you think/ plis check out the link) and peacefully drop down and die. On the other hand, if you can mostly stay in the shade and have something cool to drink you'll be fine. Not so in Kolkata. There, thirty seconds outside air-conditioning can get you so wet the sweat will get into your eyes. BTW, I saw the same thing happening to Dhoni in Chennai the other evening. (T20 can be a cruel game, Charlie Brown.)

One evening, while coming back from hospital after visiting a post-surgery uncle, we met this creature.


We had to walk a few hundred yards home, and it was starting to pitter patter. So we hailed, and he did oblige. We sat, he pedaled. His rickshaw was a pleasure vehicle. The seats were low-slung, wider, softer and the hood, when raised, would allow you to sit straight even if you weren't a dwarf. As opposed to your house and garden variety rickshaws in a Kolkata neighborhood. Man was the ride way comphier than any other pedicab! And that peekaboo window at the back, so romantic! Before you raise your hands and holler, yes, the photo was taken the morning after. Be coming back to that.

We reached home and had to alight. Could've gone on for miles y'know. Radio Mirchi was playing Tashan Se on the rickshaw's sound system. We asked him how much. Just being polite. We Knew the fare. He said, "Ja Ichhchhey Diye Din" (Whatever you dim right) "Aar to ei sapta-ta achhi. Next week theke ar amake paben na." (You won't find me here next week on)
"Why? Is anything the matter?"
No. Apparently the Bangla Cinema-r lok-ra had come and talked him into working in a film, so he'd be busy with shooting and all.
The missus, cruel woman, still asked, was it your special pedicab, or yourself, that got them so interested? The man replied mischievously, both, Boudi, both. Thus ended an enjoyable evening of rickshaw-riding. I remember inquiring after the Director and Producer of his debut feature. Only he wasn't into those unimportant details. And how did the Bangla Cinema-r lok find him? Oh, they must have read his interviews in Bartaman and watched him on Tara Bangla.
We nodded in awe, and silently entered home. Us ordinary mortals, with the distinct feeling of having peeked into celebrity zone.

But the slow fluorescence kept itself flickering in my head. By next morn I had seen light. This man had to be put on yonder blog. I went to the rickshaw stand he plied from. He was out, So I had to leave a message and a number. Within minutes, a missed call. I called back, asked him to wait, and went fortified with my camera. I hope this video does justice to the cosiness of the rickshaw, resplendent with all sorts of blinking lights, and belting out chartbusters one after another.




One final nugget. While parting, I offered the fellow a twenty. Compensation for time spent, lost fare and all. I might have taken, like, fifteen minutes of his time. Surprisingly, while he was indifferent about fare earlier on, this time he practically snatched away another fifty with a smile and all the charm of a smooth operator. I was awestruck once again. This man clearly had star quality. He already knew the market economics of interviews and photo shoots. He also knew where real money was for the making. Maybe all these media people have got him wizened up.

Shooting starts on 29th. Wish Ashok-da all the very best.

Sitemeter Blues

Looks like it was not such a hot idea writing that piece on litti-chokha. Though whatever little traffic I get on this page is more than welcome, it's not a very amusing thought that gentlemen from Turkey and Israel should land up here from google searches for litti-porno and naynon porn. What in the world are these deviant forms of entertainment they're seeking, I wonder? Among these two, the second chap has paid me a visit twice, the first visit being weeks ago. Bloke sure seems to be earnest and desperate. I can't, for the life of me, figure out what have I done to deserve this special favor from m/s google. The fun, per se, hasn't yet started on my blog. Not that I don't think of giving it a go sometimes. Anyway, I wish the Turkman all the very best. May he find what he's looking for. And when he does, he should send over some of the stuff.

In the same context, I feel sorry for the person who just alighted here from a search for "Ghee manufacturers in Bihar". None of your fault, dude. Happens all the time with these wicked search engines.

Google Adsense, in the meantime, has proved to possesses a great sense of humor. They're frequently splashing their space with exiting lines like " Ultimate Potato Peeling Solutions" and "Are you watching your cholesterol?" BTW, does anybody know how I can claim from them the sixpence that's so rightfully mine thru' all these adverts? Last I heard, one needs to have a social security no. in Amreeka to make that claim. Any hope for us desi Desis, anyone?

I mean business

I have since long had this business plan. Last night I was reading Naren's groundbreaking business plans which started giving me ideas, and in no time I was climbing up the shelves and dusting off this old DPR volume. I've also posted the gist on his comment space. But that doesn't make it his intellectual property now, does it? Feel free to steal, only after paying me my finder's fees, a paltry fifty grands (greenbacks, silly),plus taxes.

Let me, at the outset, clarify that I do not hail from the illustrated state of Bihar. But I've lived in the vicinity long enough to have tasted, on many occasions, a Bihari delicacy called litti-chokha. Recipe here.

Pic source : foodieshope.blogspot.com

I'm sure the downmarket version one may also notice as street food in many big city ghettoes of India infested by Raj Thackerey's favorite cousins. Do note that it makes for an uber-healthy, wholesome vegetarian meal. It can also be made completely cholesterol-free by making the ghee(clarified butter) dip optional.(won't taste the same, of course)

So, here's my business plan :

Product : Microwavable designer litti-chokha

Product description : Spicy baked doughballs in dip(ghee optional) with assorted veggie mishmash

Suggested Brand name : Choklittoes

USP : Wholesome nutrition of wheat grain cereals, gram and assorted vegetables in designer ready-to-eat packaging.

Designer logo : A piece of sal leaf laminated into the wrapper ( OK OK so I borrowed that one)

Target customer : 1. Health and style conscious professional who needs to make a statement with the workaday lunch he eats, preferably in the company of peers.
2. Sucker.

Retail Price : $ 19.95 for a pack of two doughballs with mishmash and dip(ghee optional : packs containing ghee dip will cost $24.95).

Manufacturing : Sourced from Bhojpuri designer litti company of Chhapra, Bihar@ $19.95 per 100-pack carton

Quality Policy : Will tell the Bhojpuri fellows....forget it, they invented quality, right?

Apart from the obvious profitability of the proposition, it will also generate a good deal of employment locally, and hopefully ease some irritation off the Mumbaikar's mind. I'm sure the scheme will find instant support from Nitish Kumar and Laluji.

There's one small catch. Unlike in Guangzhou, China, they do not have an existing facility for every manufacturing need at Chhapra. A small investment of $10000 will be needed to help the chaps set up their packaging unit. Which will pay itself back in a matter of weeks, of course.

Since you people seem to hobnob with a number of VCs, would you consider selling the plan to one of them, for a handsome 2% of the profits?

Of mice and men

Son-Of-A-Bitch Mouse Solves Maze Researchers Spent Months Building

This is teh make-my-day funny. Wondering, however, if there was a video somewhere? Someone knows of a link? That would be real ROFL stuff.

And on the same funny lines, here's another that I chanced upon :
If a programming language was a boat not that I've ever so much as heard of turing, or ruby and other such languages, it's still hilarious. Do check out!

Whose torch is it anyway?

Thanks to the greatest free thinker of our times and his everfresh views on the subject (the alma mater bred such great minds in those days!) , and this article below from Mukul Kesavan on The Telegraph Kolkata yesterday, I now have an opinion vis-a -vis Torch, Tibet and Amir Khan.Excerpts :

The moral of this story is that it’s a PR mistake to air mixed feelings in public. The trouble with the derision heaped on Aamir Khan, though, is that it seems to teach another lesson: namely, that it’s feeble-minded, unprincipled and immoral to not have a list of correct, categorical views on Everything, that if you’re tentative, less than encyclopaedically informed or ambivalent about a particular issue, you shouldn’t talk about it in public. This is a bad lesson to teach and a worse one to learn.

And then some,

So how is the Dalai Lama’s opposition to boycotting the Olympic Games (despite the fact that he virtually embodies the Tibetan struggle) different in principle from Aamir’s reluctance to boycott the Olympic torch run (despite his sympathy for the struggles of the Tibetan people)?

The short answer to that could be that the Dalai Lama has a rather longer record on Tibet than Aamir Khan does. So while his stance on the Games will be be seen as a strategic position in a long struggle, Aamir’s position is likely to be seen as expedient fence-sitting. Link..

In my opinion it is best not to have an opinion. I didn't have one before, but now I've made an informed choice not to. See how cleverly Mr. Kesavan covers his tracks in every paragraph, so it gets almost impossible to rant over his article. (Dear confused , you now have a challenge on your hands .)

Not having to have an opinion is relief enough. Especially as, post TZP, I feel inclined to forgive Amir much of his vaunted page3 activism and double standards.

O Parmanand !

Now don't talk to me about the polar bear
don't talk to me about the ozone layer
ain't much of anything these days, even the air
they're running out of rhinos - what do I care?
let's hear it for the dolphin - let's hear it for the trees
ain't running out of nothing in my deep freeze
it's casual entertaining - we aim to please.....
Dire Straits..My Parties

Many a blogger would write enthralling posts about their PMS, their mood swings, bad days at office, a secret being pondered upon if at all to be shared or not, and such existential angst. (I've astutely observed that a majority of these is distaff, but that's neither here nor there.) Then there are many who will gallantly rally on for the Tibetan cause and make a case against Amir Khan's decision of torch-running. Much do I admire their sincere efforts towards shaping public opinion and start a raging debate. Personally speaking, I've reached an age most events don't touch me much anymore (excluding ,of course, "Team India" being routed for 76 in 20 overs, I'm still reeling in horror over that ) , expressing opinions no longer seems a priority (actually I've been taking a long hard look inwards to determine if I have an opinion on Tibet and Amir at all, and the jury is still out)

Thus, the only sort of writing I can attempt can be either anecdotal or about trivial experiences and thoughts. Speaking of which, last night, at a party, a good deal soggy, we were revisiting the Ghost of Tom Joad, oops, Parmanand. One of our elderly colleagues told this story. This gentleman, let's call him RK because that's his real name, was in engineering college with a Parmanand, a very sincere and hard-working student. This is by far a minority group in engineering colleges across India, most people should agree. Our RK boss, one of the smarter majority, did not and still does not believe in work. (don't we all love him?) He just got to be a good pal of Parmanand, and for those four long years, happily leaned on P to glide through batteries of project work, thesis papers, tech labs and.... you get the picture. The day they were passing out, P said to RK, RK old man, now you're going out into the big bad world, fending for yourself, sweating your ass off for a loaf of bread. Prepare for work, bro, cause where'll you find another Parmanand ? To this RK answered, dear P, you may not believe it, but there are myriad Parmanands out in that big bad world, one just has to find one's own Parmanand to lean on.

And RK is still making do. Nay, he's thriving. He's given a new turn to this simple story. In his postulate, Parmanand is not a mere mortal. P is a way of being. जीवन प्रतिनियत एक खोंज है अपने परमानंद का। Life, as he sees it, (and it's so easy to see, all of us can) is one's constant journey towards finding a Parmanand for every situation, every problem, every requirement. In the process, one may even have to transiently assume the role of someone else's P. The roles are shifting, but the matrix encompasses all.
Unfortunately, no one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself. Thus spake Morpheus. In my ears. Dizzy after having had too much to drink. O Parmanand, where art thou?

An exchange

Lost and found friend : I went to Kolkata recently. Got a few great European films. One of Godard. When are you coming to Kol next?

Me : Can't resist those arty film festival type movies now can we? Send me the dvds.

Friend: i will olive to share the files. but not by post or courier. it is too risky. we need to meet in kolkata. someday.

my collections are not too bad. i have
kurosawa, bunuel, tarkovski, felini, godard, a bulk of bethoven, mozart, rashid khan, the whole set of seinfeld and the special ones.

what about urs?

Me: You will olive? What? Pardon me, am I technically challenged here?
Actually I was being jocund when I talked about the irresistibility of
film fest type movies in first person plural. I was never too arty, if
you can still remember. My choices, till date, are pretty much
mainstream. A li'l bit of Tarantino here, and a li'l bit of Bertolucci
there.And a dash of Coen Brothers and Farelli brothers thrown in
between. Not to forget Scorsese. For European, I've four of Monica
Bellucci's very best ( ah yes, the lady has done some great work, I
kid you not. Watch Irreversible.) And now for the classics. As in
films. These days I got something innate that hampers my ability to
concentrate while watching anything created before 1975. Not to put
too fine a point on it, One Flew ....seems to be the borderline.
anything beyond, like Seven Samurai, or, To kill a ...zzz is bound to
put me to sleep.Don't get me wrong, I love those films. It's just that
age maybe is catching up with me. I just can't keep awake that long.

Muzzak. If I will be allowed to brag, I have nearly all that the late
Nusrat Fatty Ali Khan Sahab ever lent voice to.I also have a sizeable
chunk of Abeeda, Billy Joel, Dylan, Kenny Rogers, Belafonte, Simon &
G, Norah Jones, Los Lobos, Shania Twain, Santana, Gypsy Kings,
Credence, Marc Cohn and anything you can think of on those lines.
A smattering of Pt. Bhimsen Joshi and a dollop of Ustad Amir Khan.
Symphonies I have none, save a cd or two.

I really envy your collection of Seinfeld. I'm hunting for the whole
set of Yes Minister and Yes Prime Minister myself.

Love