Haven't we all heard of the magic mantra to happiness- an English Home, American Salary, Chinese Food and an Indian Wife?Looks like the men are catching up, take a look at what I read in The Hindu -
"Import Indian bridegrooms for Russian brides”
-Vladimir Radyuhin
New Russian magic mantra to reverse alarming fall in the country’s birth rate
MOSCOW: Desperate to reverse a steep decline in their numbers, Russians are coming up with some bold ideas on how to overcome Russia’s demographic crisis.
A Russian feminist has proposed a radical solution to the falling birth rate — importing Indian bridegrooms for Russian girls. Maria Arbatova, writer and TV moderator, who married an Indian businessman a few years ago “after 25 years of keeping marrying Russians”, thinks Indian men make ideal husbands.
Why do Indian men make ideal husbands?Let's see -
1)The Indian man's affinity towards reproduction is well known.
Well I can't think of any reasons because I don't know if there is a typical Indian male. Every Indian man I can think of now seems, to me, completely different from the other. O but you do realise I am only speaking for the urban, educated middles class when I say this. Earlier atleast with the strict patriachal structures one could pin a man down. But the modern Indian man comes a little differently, doesn't he?
What do you think- does the modern (urban-educated)Indian male protoype exist? If he does, how is he? And what makes him a good catch for matrimony?
9/21/2007
9/10/2007
Speak kindly to yourself
“What is this self inside us, this silent observer,
Severe and speechless critic, who can terrorize us,
And urge us on to futile activity,
And in the end, judge us still more severely,
For the errors into which his own reproaches drove us?”
-- T. S. Eliot
Severe and speechless critic, who can terrorize us,
And urge us on to futile activity,
And in the end, judge us still more severely,
For the errors into which his own reproaches drove us?”
-- T. S. Eliot
9/02/2007
Koraput
O Koraput! Koraput we don't care
Where people die like the flies infecting their water.
There are far more important stories
To run throughout the day,
And days on end.
There's one woman who died ten years ago
She had a story we would rather focus on.
She married a man with big ears
Slept with her driver
Or was it her bodyguard?
She dated a shopkeeper's son.
Can't you see how much the news loves her?
That they even chased her to her death.
What did you say?
You have a story too?
Your mother took you to the fields, the night you were born
to strangle your new-born neck
Because you were not a boy
But changed her mind the last minute and named you,
Poonam, after the moonlight?
You could climb the highest trees in your village?
You married a man with big greed?
When Arjun who works in the city
Took off his pants for you behind the banyan trees
You wore them and danced to the latest hits?
As the astrologer said you had death by water?
As the life giving source wreaked ruin in your body
And you lay dying, come on , even you din't think
Of how brutal we were to have denied you
What we drink, three litres a day, to make our skin glow.
Well sorry but we can't harp on this.
The Orissa correspondent needed a boost
In his career
So we did cover the story once
for a whole three minutes.
But apart from that , deal with it
It's something we call fate.
You do understand we have other things to say?
You know Paris Hilton's dog needs a mate!
So you small minded village rooster
Bury your story with your bones, and
Go away from Hell.
(Last week over 170 people died of cholera, caused by unclean drinking water in the Koraput district of Orissa)
Where people die like the flies infecting their water.
There are far more important stories
To run throughout the day,
And days on end.
There's one woman who died ten years ago
She had a story we would rather focus on.
She married a man with big ears
Slept with her driver
Or was it her bodyguard?
She dated a shopkeeper's son.
Can't you see how much the news loves her?
That they even chased her to her death.
What did you say?
You have a story too?
Your mother took you to the fields, the night you were born
to strangle your new-born neck
Because you were not a boy
But changed her mind the last minute and named you,
Poonam, after the moonlight?
You could climb the highest trees in your village?
You married a man with big greed?
When Arjun who works in the city
Took off his pants for you behind the banyan trees
You wore them and danced to the latest hits?
As the astrologer said you had death by water?
As the life giving source wreaked ruin in your body
And you lay dying, come on , even you din't think
Of how brutal we were to have denied you
What we drink, three litres a day, to make our skin glow.
Well sorry but we can't harp on this.
The Orissa correspondent needed a boost
In his career
So we did cover the story once
for a whole three minutes.
But apart from that , deal with it
It's something we call fate.
You do understand we have other things to say?
You know Paris Hilton's dog needs a mate!
So you small minded village rooster
Bury your story with your bones, and
Go away from Hell.
(Last week over 170 people died of cholera, caused by unclean drinking water in the Koraput district of Orissa)
8/31/2007
Chak De!Ofcourse!!
In this post please let me review Chak De, I know everyone's doing it, but no one has said what I want to yet.
I like Chak De, I saw it in it's third week at the halls. After the movie I was waiting in an un-usually long que at the toi...restrooms, when an old woman with Kanjeevaram saree, jasmine flowers in hair et all, said to the girl ahead of her, "Isn't this movie nice?So much better than Lagaan"
Well I haven't seen Lagaan but I agree with her. I din't see Lagaan because in some way I dread stereotypes. Chak De on the other hand was interesting, not because it does anything new in terms of story, story-telling, special-effects or infact anything new in the realm of cinema as such.
But what makes it click? I believe it works because it is a super positive film. Well most films which deal with these kind of topics for instance coaches taking loser teams to victory are somewhat inspiring by themselves. But Chak De is not so in your face. It doesn't deal with any kind of melodrama.
It is the story of a coach training a hockey team of women in India. Such a simple story, told so well. Let's break it up because each part has so many parts.
The coach- the coach being Muslim was wrongly accused of siding Pakistan in the past. It made me think of muslims in India who are so often asked to defend their stand on their nationality. It also made me think of Kapil Dev who was wrongly accused and how the media really broke the man. But the strength of the coach Kabir's character lies in his belief and faith in himself and his dream.
Hockey- I often think in a party if one is asked to stand in the centre and tell a joke, the joke should be "Hockey is the national game of India". So it was a nice feeling to see some hockey and this really made me open my eyes to the sports scene!!So now I am proud to know that India won the Nehru Cup in football, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed for Sania Mirza who has reached the third round in the U.S open in tennis!!
Also it was crazy the way everone in the hall was cheering loudly for the players in the movie!
Women- One thing which really angers me, I have noticed, is when men are considered superior just by virtue of being men. So ofcourse I like themes which deal intelligently with gender issues. This movie is not like some movies which deal with gender issues making all men seem like assholes(it's my blog and asshole is not considered indignity of language here).
Apart from the obvious theme of showing women as strong, capable and equal the movie also deals with all the women in the movie itself and all their moods, dreams and complexities, which was nice.
India- For instance many people believe that inherent in nationalism is not love for one's country but hate for another's. But in Chak De there is no downplaying of any other nationality.
Here an attempt is made to look within, to see what it is that builds us together as a nation. It is true we are so diverse, as I sat in the movie hall there were people speaking tamil to my left, people from the North-East behind me, boys speaking Hindi in front of me and to the right were people speaking Kannada and all of us were widly cheering the movie!!
If I were the director I would edit out a couple of scenes in the movie, one for instance would definetely be the part of the Australian man hoisting the Indian flag. That for me is a sore spot in the movie. Apart from some forgivable faux pas, nationalism is treated as team spirit, and how when one plays in the team one plays for the team.
Also interesting was one instance when the team had to play against Argentina and they were getting badly roughed up on the field, the coach tells them that if they were hit once to hit back twice as hard!!Well, well, well leaving our dear Mahatma's words behind......I guess all is fair in love and sports!
Well apart from the themes all actors do so well, the movie has no song and dance routines, thank god! Or else imagine if they had to run around some eucalyptus trees in Australia with hockey sticks and short skirts!
In the Bollywood world of dull, flat, uni-dimensional films Chak De is fun!Chak De is also what I would like to call responsible entertainment.
Well, thank you for sitting through the review.
I like Chak De, I saw it in it's third week at the halls. After the movie I was waiting in an un-usually long que at the toi...restrooms, when an old woman with Kanjeevaram saree, jasmine flowers in hair et all, said to the girl ahead of her, "Isn't this movie nice?So much better than Lagaan"
Well I haven't seen Lagaan but I agree with her. I din't see Lagaan because in some way I dread stereotypes. Chak De on the other hand was interesting, not because it does anything new in terms of story, story-telling, special-effects or infact anything new in the realm of cinema as such.
But what makes it click? I believe it works because it is a super positive film. Well most films which deal with these kind of topics for instance coaches taking loser teams to victory are somewhat inspiring by themselves. But Chak De is not so in your face. It doesn't deal with any kind of melodrama.
It is the story of a coach training a hockey team of women in India. Such a simple story, told so well. Let's break it up because each part has so many parts.
The coach- the coach being Muslim was wrongly accused of siding Pakistan in the past. It made me think of muslims in India who are so often asked to defend their stand on their nationality. It also made me think of Kapil Dev who was wrongly accused and how the media really broke the man. But the strength of the coach Kabir's character lies in his belief and faith in himself and his dream.
Hockey- I often think in a party if one is asked to stand in the centre and tell a joke, the joke should be "Hockey is the national game of India". So it was a nice feeling to see some hockey and this really made me open my eyes to the sports scene!!So now I am proud to know that India won the Nehru Cup in football, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed for Sania Mirza who has reached the third round in the U.S open in tennis!!
Also it was crazy the way everone in the hall was cheering loudly for the players in the movie!
Women- One thing which really angers me, I have noticed, is when men are considered superior just by virtue of being men. So ofcourse I like themes which deal intelligently with gender issues. This movie is not like some movies which deal with gender issues making all men seem like assholes(it's my blog and asshole is not considered indignity of language here).
Apart from the obvious theme of showing women as strong, capable and equal the movie also deals with all the women in the movie itself and all their moods, dreams and complexities, which was nice.
India- For instance many people believe that inherent in nationalism is not love for one's country but hate for another's. But in Chak De there is no downplaying of any other nationality.
Here an attempt is made to look within, to see what it is that builds us together as a nation. It is true we are so diverse, as I sat in the movie hall there were people speaking tamil to my left, people from the North-East behind me, boys speaking Hindi in front of me and to the right were people speaking Kannada and all of us were widly cheering the movie!!
If I were the director I would edit out a couple of scenes in the movie, one for instance would definetely be the part of the Australian man hoisting the Indian flag. That for me is a sore spot in the movie. Apart from some forgivable faux pas, nationalism is treated as team spirit, and how when one plays in the team one plays for the team.
Also interesting was one instance when the team had to play against Argentina and they were getting badly roughed up on the field, the coach tells them that if they were hit once to hit back twice as hard!!Well, well, well leaving our dear Mahatma's words behind......I guess all is fair in love and sports!
Well apart from the themes all actors do so well, the movie has no song and dance routines, thank god! Or else imagine if they had to run around some eucalyptus trees in Australia with hockey sticks and short skirts!
In the Bollywood world of dull, flat, uni-dimensional films Chak De is fun!Chak De is also what I would like to call responsible entertainment.
Well, thank you for sitting through the review.
7/17/2007
:)
I saw Malpe harbour in my dreams
I saw Malpe Harbour.
I saw Malpe Harbour on television.
And all three times it was beautiful.
I saw Malpe Harbour.
I saw Malpe Harbour on television.
And all three times it was beautiful.
6/19/2007
A Matter of Taste
You know these cooking shows where the host will say 'Mmmmmmm' even before he/she has got the spoon anywhere close to their mouths, and how they will go on endlessly on how the kitchen at their end of the camera smells, and how wonderful this cook they have chosen on their show is? Well Vir Sanghvi will have none of that!!
On his show he goes deeply into food. Food is not just to be treated in a superficial manner. It is the very life source. What you put in is what you put out. Now please go beyond the literality of that statement, but it's true. We eat god knows how much without a thought into what we put into our mouths. But it is afterall this food which breaks down to the energy which becomes the output of all our actions. And this guy treats food with that reverence. Food on his programme is not just about the sensuality of the affair, as it is reduced to in most programmes. But he combines that gastronomical sensuality, with the history and cultural value of food.
A tandoori chicken doesn't only become an object of voyeuristic pleasures, but he will tell you how it came to be, and how it has travelled forth hence. Infact the other day he introduced on his show the man who invented 'Gobi Manchurian'. I told my mother this, and she disbelieves that there could be such a person. She, like many of us, has always imagined gobi manchurian to have been here since the first amoeba split into two or it just came into being by some mysterious force. I like it when people go deep into things.
And I love a man who can speak his mind. Not for him the mindless 'ummmm'ing and 'awww'ing. He will tell you when your dish is nice. He likes subtle flavours, so do I. And he will with his subtlety tell you when you stink. When he covered Indian Chinese food on his show, he also tasted of the roadside chinese food in Delhi. I've had it with hosts who romanticise this street food business; come on, I think to myself, for you it may be a romantic fantasy to eat with the roadside walahs, but for many it is an everyday matter, so what is with this elitist fuss one kicks up about the joy hidden in the recesses of a roadside puchchka. Anyways, I apologize for divulging in personal frustrations. As I was saying Vir Sanghvi ate from this cart of Chinese Chaat, he then said 'skdhfeu' and walked up to the chef, shook his hand and said 'Long may they curse you in China'!.
I just realised a strange phenomenon, I think for the first time, I could be a fan!Or maybe not true to the word, because I don't even know at what time the show airs. I have just magically discovered it between my endless channel surfing. I have seen only halves of two episodes so far. One on the Indo-Chinese food and the other on the Tandoori chicken.
But I love the show, because the food makes me weak in the knees, and I hang on hungrily to every word the man says, and I guffaw when things like this happen: Indian chef, famous in U.K for establishing the Chicken Tikka Masala, cooks it on the show, our host tastes a spoonful and says "You maybe a very good cook, but that it absolutely revolting"!
On his show he goes deeply into food. Food is not just to be treated in a superficial manner. It is the very life source. What you put in is what you put out. Now please go beyond the literality of that statement, but it's true. We eat god knows how much without a thought into what we put into our mouths. But it is afterall this food which breaks down to the energy which becomes the output of all our actions. And this guy treats food with that reverence. Food on his programme is not just about the sensuality of the affair, as it is reduced to in most programmes. But he combines that gastronomical sensuality, with the history and cultural value of food.
A tandoori chicken doesn't only become an object of voyeuristic pleasures, but he will tell you how it came to be, and how it has travelled forth hence. Infact the other day he introduced on his show the man who invented 'Gobi Manchurian'. I told my mother this, and she disbelieves that there could be such a person. She, like many of us, has always imagined gobi manchurian to have been here since the first amoeba split into two or it just came into being by some mysterious force. I like it when people go deep into things.
And I love a man who can speak his mind. Not for him the mindless 'ummmm'ing and 'awww'ing. He will tell you when your dish is nice. He likes subtle flavours, so do I. And he will with his subtlety tell you when you stink. When he covered Indian Chinese food on his show, he also tasted of the roadside chinese food in Delhi. I've had it with hosts who romanticise this street food business; come on, I think to myself, for you it may be a romantic fantasy to eat with the roadside walahs, but for many it is an everyday matter, so what is with this elitist fuss one kicks up about the joy hidden in the recesses of a roadside puchchka. Anyways, I apologize for divulging in personal frustrations. As I was saying Vir Sanghvi ate from this cart of Chinese Chaat, he then said 'skdhfeu' and walked up to the chef, shook his hand and said 'Long may they curse you in China'!.
I just realised a strange phenomenon, I think for the first time, I could be a fan!Or maybe not true to the word, because I don't even know at what time the show airs. I have just magically discovered it between my endless channel surfing. I have seen only halves of two episodes so far. One on the Indo-Chinese food and the other on the Tandoori chicken.
But I love the show, because the food makes me weak in the knees, and I hang on hungrily to every word the man says, and I guffaw when things like this happen: Indian chef, famous in U.K for establishing the Chicken Tikka Masala, cooks it on the show, our host tastes a spoonful and says "You maybe a very good cook, but that it absolutely revolting"!
6/14/2007
Paradoxes
She reads the letter from a faraway land
The soldier's words bring tears to her eyes
The child licks on a razor blad dipped in honey
In love pain and joy are not separate
-Jan and Ash's Chinese poem
-------------------------------------------------------------------
I was working with a campaign to end violence against women sometime ago, and our main focus was domestic violence. Domestic violence being the violence, emotional or physical , one suffers at the hands of one's near and dear one's. The violence of loved ones.
As part of my work I had to conduct workshops for young people ,who would then design their own material to talk about this issue with their peers. For this purpose, I gathered posters of work against domestic violence, from as many countries as I could. I would then screen the posters one-by-one and ask the group to react on whether they think the kind of message on the poster appealed to them, and if they thought that they could use these kind of messages for their own discussion materials.
Once in a small town called Bhawanipatna, in this obscure rock-oven of a district called Kalahandi, in Orissa, we had organized a workshop where I met this guy who left an impression.
The group for the workshop was enthusiastic, and we set in with work immediately. We went through poster by poster and the group was forthcoming about their reactions to the same.
I particularly liked an African poster of this strong woman with her hand raised to the sky, with the words " We are a rock, a boulder, if you touch us you will be crushed". Because I was personally fed up with material, especially from some parts of South Asia, where the posters had extremely morbid and scary pictures of tortured women and pleas to end the violence. How could one end it I thought when the poster itself seemed to re-inforce these images. This poster of this strong woman standing to fight back seemed enticing to me. But the group, fed on a healthy dose of Gandhism, said that one could not fight violence with violence.
I shrugged my shoulders and put up the next poster. It was from the U.S.A, it had a picture of a heart with a bandage across, and the words "Love is not supposed to hurt". After translating what it meant in my struggling Hindi, the group went "Ahhhhhhh" and everyone nodded. And a girl right in front said, that this appealed to her, because love is supposed to be so wonderful and not the kind where the man hits the woman to show her that he loves her. There was a general consensus and everyone agreed that this kind of message was strong and one which we could use.
But then right from behind, a guy who had not spoken yet, but who in the tea-breaks would go into the corner to practice his cricket shots with his imaginary bat, raised his hand. He hesitated before saying "But .......love hurts, when I look at this girl I'm in love with in class... and .....she doesn't look back, it hurts. When I want to speak to her so badly........... and I can't, it hurts. When I see her sit with other people for lunch, I hurt deeply inside. When I feel .......that maybe ........she will never know how much I love her, nothing hurts me more".
Few in the group tried to supress giggles, but I had a lump in my throat as I looked at this boy with new eyes. But at the end of that discussion the group decided that they dint think that poster was appealing, as someone then said "Dil tho aakhir dil hain na, meethi si mushkil hain na".
That workshop happened sometime ago, but I look back fondly at that conversation, because it taught me something deep. That though certain things are clear to define, one cannot get carried away with definitions alone.
(PS- I am very wary about publishing this post, because it is vague and has a message which could be misconstrued. Let's please discuss before opinions are formed)
The soldier's words bring tears to her eyes
The child licks on a razor blad dipped in honey
In love pain and joy are not separate
-Jan and Ash's Chinese poem
-------------------------------------------------------------------
I was working with a campaign to end violence against women sometime ago, and our main focus was domestic violence. Domestic violence being the violence, emotional or physical , one suffers at the hands of one's near and dear one's. The violence of loved ones.
As part of my work I had to conduct workshops for young people ,who would then design their own material to talk about this issue with their peers. For this purpose, I gathered posters of work against domestic violence, from as many countries as I could. I would then screen the posters one-by-one and ask the group to react on whether they think the kind of message on the poster appealed to them, and if they thought that they could use these kind of messages for their own discussion materials.
Once in a small town called Bhawanipatna, in this obscure rock-oven of a district called Kalahandi, in Orissa, we had organized a workshop where I met this guy who left an impression.
The group for the workshop was enthusiastic, and we set in with work immediately. We went through poster by poster and the group was forthcoming about their reactions to the same.
I particularly liked an African poster of this strong woman with her hand raised to the sky, with the words " We are a rock, a boulder, if you touch us you will be crushed". Because I was personally fed up with material, especially from some parts of South Asia, where the posters had extremely morbid and scary pictures of tortured women and pleas to end the violence. How could one end it I thought when the poster itself seemed to re-inforce these images. This poster of this strong woman standing to fight back seemed enticing to me. But the group, fed on a healthy dose of Gandhism, said that one could not fight violence with violence.
I shrugged my shoulders and put up the next poster. It was from the U.S.A, it had a picture of a heart with a bandage across, and the words "Love is not supposed to hurt". After translating what it meant in my struggling Hindi, the group went "Ahhhhhhh" and everyone nodded. And a girl right in front said, that this appealed to her, because love is supposed to be so wonderful and not the kind where the man hits the woman to show her that he loves her. There was a general consensus and everyone agreed that this kind of message was strong and one which we could use.
But then right from behind, a guy who had not spoken yet, but who in the tea-breaks would go into the corner to practice his cricket shots with his imaginary bat, raised his hand. He hesitated before saying "But .......love hurts, when I look at this girl I'm in love with in class... and .....she doesn't look back, it hurts. When I want to speak to her so badly........... and I can't, it hurts. When I see her sit with other people for lunch, I hurt deeply inside. When I feel .......that maybe ........she will never know how much I love her, nothing hurts me more".
Few in the group tried to supress giggles, but I had a lump in my throat as I looked at this boy with new eyes. But at the end of that discussion the group decided that they dint think that poster was appealing, as someone then said "Dil tho aakhir dil hain na, meethi si mushkil hain na".
That workshop happened sometime ago, but I look back fondly at that conversation, because it taught me something deep. That though certain things are clear to define, one cannot get carried away with definitions alone.
(PS- I am very wary about publishing this post, because it is vague and has a message which could be misconstrued. Let's please discuss before opinions are formed)
5/21/2007
Try a haiku
Haiku is a three line poem of seventeen syllables in all.
Look for Buddha outside your own mind,
and Buddha becomes the devil .
-Dogen
The break up of the syllables is in little lines of 5-7-5 syllables each.
Yesterday it worked.
Today it is not working.
Windows is like that.
-Microsoft message probably.
Haiku generally do not use metaphor or obscure imagery, nor do they reflect the feelings or inner life of the poet--at least in an obvious way. It is rather an expression of egolessness in which the poet turns outward to fully experience and capture the essence of being in a particular moment at a particular place.
You rice-field maidens!
The only things not muddy
Are the songs you sing.
-Raizan
Haiku shows us how see into the life of things and gain a glimpse of enlightenment.
The snow of yesterday
That fell like cherry petals
Is water once again
-Gozan
Haiku emphasizes being in the moment.
A sudden shower falls
-and naked I am riding
on a naked horse!
-Issa.
Haiku knows when enough has been said.
5/15/2007
How to Write a Chinese Poem
A well-known Japanese poet was asked how to compose a Chinese poem.
"The usual Chinese poem is four lines," he explains. "The first line contains the initial phase; the second line, the continuation of that phase; the third line turns from this subject and begins a new one; and the fourth line brings the first three lines together. A popular Japanese song illustrates this:
Two daughters of a silk merchant live in Kyoto.
The elder is twenty, the younger, eighteen.
A soldier may kill with his sword.
But these girls slay men with their eyes.
I throw it open.......do write a Chinese poem as a guest on my blog.
"The usual Chinese poem is four lines," he explains. "The first line contains the initial phase; the second line, the continuation of that phase; the third line turns from this subject and begins a new one; and the fourth line brings the first three lines together. A popular Japanese song illustrates this:
Two daughters of a silk merchant live in Kyoto.
The elder is twenty, the younger, eighteen.
A soldier may kill with his sword.
But these girls slay men with their eyes.
I throw it open.......do write a Chinese poem as a guest on my blog.
5/08/2007
Alive and Kicking!
A good friend of mine is from a place close to Bihar and takes great pleasure in poking whatever fun he can manage to poke at his worthy neighbours. His work in the rural development sector led him to be posted in a tiny village in Bihar once and he relishes the fact that that stay gives him lots to talk about still.
The other day he told me the story of the Bihari rustic and the funnel. Apparently early, every morning the Bihari villager trots off in all earnestness to the grazing field with a funnel in his hand. Now since we live in a country quite free in it's expression of excretary functions, what with the line of persons along the train tracks eulogized by Mr Naipaul, the "Do not make piss here" signs so generously scattered and the ignorers of the sign even more so, one generally develops a healthy attitude towards nature's functions. This set my imagination racing to how exactly the funnel could serve a purpose.But what I heard was not what I imagined, allow me to share with you the funnel function.
He says that these men wait for the cows nearby to pass through what has been ably digested by their four stomachs in a glorious drop to the ground. As soon as this steaming cake falls to the ground they position their funnels right over it and inhale deeply. The villager unable to afford costlier means has discovered a unique way of getting high, the fresh dung has enough methane to give him a kick which sets him off happily to work.
I personally am of the opinion that if he inhaled the cow's behind itself, he would get a better kick.
The other day he told me the story of the Bihari rustic and the funnel. Apparently early, every morning the Bihari villager trots off in all earnestness to the grazing field with a funnel in his hand. Now since we live in a country quite free in it's expression of excretary functions, what with the line of persons along the train tracks eulogized by Mr Naipaul, the "Do not make piss here" signs so generously scattered and the ignorers of the sign even more so, one generally develops a healthy attitude towards nature's functions. This set my imagination racing to how exactly the funnel could serve a purpose.But what I heard was not what I imagined, allow me to share with you the funnel function.
He says that these men wait for the cows nearby to pass through what has been ably digested by their four stomachs in a glorious drop to the ground. As soon as this steaming cake falls to the ground they position their funnels right over it and inhale deeply. The villager unable to afford costlier means has discovered a unique way of getting high, the fresh dung has enough methane to give him a kick which sets him off happily to work.
I personally am of the opinion that if he inhaled the cow's behind itself, he would get a better kick.
5/01/2007
Please honk less, turn down your stereos, no crackers during Diwali and try whispering sweet nothings.........
My Mother: M.G Road Barthira Pa?
Automan: Neevu yelli helidrenu barthini Madam!
My mum seats herself happily in the auto, and as they zoom off, she says,
"Yenu neevu ishtu olle mood alli idira? Neevu thumba ollevru ansathe...nim hesrenappa?"
"Srinivas, alle lisence alli hakide nodi"
"O illappa naanu kannadka thakond bandilla"
"Kannaddallu ade, English allu same Madam, Srinivaasss"
My Mother: I am going out today in the evening
My Dad: How come?
My Mother: To buy a suitcase
My Dad: Why is it so important to tell me that you are going to buy toothpaste?
Automan: Neevu yelli helidrenu barthini Madam!
My mum seats herself happily in the auto, and as they zoom off, she says,
"Yenu neevu ishtu olle mood alli idira? Neevu thumba ollevru ansathe...nim hesrenappa?"
"Srinivas, alle lisence alli hakide nodi"
"O illappa naanu kannadka thakond bandilla"
"Kannaddallu ade, English allu same Madam, Srinivaasss"
My Mother: I am going out today in the evening
My Dad: How come?
My Mother: To buy a suitcase
My Dad: Why is it so important to tell me that you are going to buy toothpaste?
4/27/2007
First Kisses- Part 2
Guess what? After nine years, Preethi bumped into Nawaz yesterday. Don't you think it's strange that she should, just after I write about her love story a few days back? Well, I think it is.....infact I keep looking down at my hands to see where exactly the magic is hidden.
Anyways, she was walking down precariously, balancing on her high heeled slippers. High heels not only give one the view of a taller person, they also bestow on their owners a sense of zen; the total and complete involvement needed in simply placing one footstep after the other. But ofcourse, some seem as if they were born wearing six inch killers on their heels;maybe there is something zen-like about that too.
Preethi's boyfriend, Mohan was waiting for her in front of the movie hall in Garuda Mall. He had tickets for Mungaaru Male. She was very angry with him, because he hadn't picked her up from work. This time ,atleast, she would make sure she didn't talk to him, even by mistake, until it was the interval. The movie would start in five minutes and the highly polished floor made sure she took her time walking across it. She got off the escalator and saw Mohan standing at the doorway. She conciously looked away when he waved at her. Wondering if she was being sufficently checked out by the hangers-around, she did her ususal scan-across-casually-with intent-look. Much to her annoyment everyone seemed busy in their own worlds.
Suddenly across the floor she saw him. Nawaz stood talking on his cell phone and since he hadn't made the scan-across-casually-with intent-look, to see if he were being checked out, he stood gently stroking his soon to be paunch. Preethi's heart quickened; "Ushu" she thought to herself, maybe she should just pretend she hadn't seen him.She looked back at Mohan who was gesturing wildly about how late is was getting. And immdeiately she turned around and walked towards Nawaz.
"Hi stranger" she said, in a voice that she had cultivated with immense patience, one which she thought combined the right degrees of sexiness and cuteness. He turned his head and his eyebrows shot up after the initial moment of registration. "One minute", he mouthed, sticking up a finger. "Ya ya" she mouthed back animatedly.
O God, she should never have come up to him, she thought. The movie must have started already and Mohan must be getting more bugged than she wanted him to. But this gave her time to look at Nawaz. He seemed too much of a man now. Nothing had changed perceptibly but still it had. "Hmmmm, I think I'll just sign out to him that I'm going off"
Just when she was about to, he hung up and said "HEY How are you?"
"O I'm fine. I'm fine!What a surprise to see you here!"
"Ya I came to book tickets for tomorrow's show"
"O ok!"
"How are you?"
"I'm very fine. How are you?"
"I'm absolutely great!"
"So what are you doing these days?Dad's business only?"
"O you still remember!Ya very well it is going. What are you doing? How is your family?"
"O I'm working in the Human Resources department of this company. Family is good".
"Hmm what a surprise no?"
Both managed to laugh a little, was he already married, she thought to herself.
"So when is your marriage?"
"O mine is in November", he said
She was taken aback, she never expected him to have an answer to the question. She thought he would have laughed it off or said , "Whenever you are ready". Wasn't that the Nawaz she knew?
"What about yours?", he asked
"Huh?"
"When is your wedding?"
"Mine?O........mine... is in October"; she added hurriedly, "Listen Nawaz I have to run, it's getting really late now."
"O ya okay. Nice seeing you here after all these years."
"Ya so surprising!Okay bye ,I'll run now"
"Bye!All the best!!"
She waved quickly and walked towards Mohan. "It's so late already and then you come and waste so much time speaking to some random guys"
"Not some random guy he happened to be completely crazy about me."
"Ya you will surely drive everyone crazy. Can we go in now?"
She hated entering the movie hall late, especially if their seats were not at the corners. After saying the customary excuse-me's, they finally sat down to the show. She sat glumly. The whole world seemed to be moving ahead, leaving her alone in a movie hall, playing a loud, senseless movie, next to a man who.......who....who hadn't picked her up from work! "Uff! Why couldn't she remember that she wasn't supposed to have talked to him until the interval?!"
"Was this the kind of guy she wanted to marry and spend the rest of her life with?", she wondered. "What if he behaved so callously after marriage also?What would she do when she would feel so lonely?When she cried?"
She looked at him "Maybe all that is not important. Atleast he got the movie tickets. And last Sunday had been so much fun. It won't be such a bad idea afterall"
In the interval he walked away to ease himself. She sat alone and wondered when, and if ever, Mohan would ask her to marry him.
Anyways, she was walking down precariously, balancing on her high heeled slippers. High heels not only give one the view of a taller person, they also bestow on their owners a sense of zen; the total and complete involvement needed in simply placing one footstep after the other. But ofcourse, some seem as if they were born wearing six inch killers on their heels;maybe there is something zen-like about that too.
Preethi's boyfriend, Mohan was waiting for her in front of the movie hall in Garuda Mall. He had tickets for Mungaaru Male. She was very angry with him, because he hadn't picked her up from work. This time ,atleast, she would make sure she didn't talk to him, even by mistake, until it was the interval. The movie would start in five minutes and the highly polished floor made sure she took her time walking across it. She got off the escalator and saw Mohan standing at the doorway. She conciously looked away when he waved at her. Wondering if she was being sufficently checked out by the hangers-around, she did her ususal scan-across-casually-with intent-look. Much to her annoyment everyone seemed busy in their own worlds.
Suddenly across the floor she saw him. Nawaz stood talking on his cell phone and since he hadn't made the scan-across-casually-with intent-look, to see if he were being checked out, he stood gently stroking his soon to be paunch. Preethi's heart quickened; "Ushu" she thought to herself, maybe she should just pretend she hadn't seen him.She looked back at Mohan who was gesturing wildly about how late is was getting. And immdeiately she turned around and walked towards Nawaz.
"Hi stranger" she said, in a voice that she had cultivated with immense patience, one which she thought combined the right degrees of sexiness and cuteness. He turned his head and his eyebrows shot up after the initial moment of registration. "One minute", he mouthed, sticking up a finger. "Ya ya" she mouthed back animatedly.
O God, she should never have come up to him, she thought. The movie must have started already and Mohan must be getting more bugged than she wanted him to. But this gave her time to look at Nawaz. He seemed too much of a man now. Nothing had changed perceptibly but still it had. "Hmmmm, I think I'll just sign out to him that I'm going off"
Just when she was about to, he hung up and said "HEY How are you?"
"O I'm fine. I'm fine!What a surprise to see you here!"
"Ya I came to book tickets for tomorrow's show"
"O ok!"
"How are you?"
"I'm very fine. How are you?"
"I'm absolutely great!"
"So what are you doing these days?Dad's business only?"
"O you still remember!Ya very well it is going. What are you doing? How is your family?"
"O I'm working in the Human Resources department of this company. Family is good".
"Hmm what a surprise no?"
Both managed to laugh a little, was he already married, she thought to herself.
"So when is your marriage?"
"O mine is in November", he said
She was taken aback, she never expected him to have an answer to the question. She thought he would have laughed it off or said , "Whenever you are ready". Wasn't that the Nawaz she knew?
"What about yours?", he asked
"Huh?"
"When is your wedding?"
"Mine?O........mine... is in October"; she added hurriedly, "Listen Nawaz I have to run, it's getting really late now."
"O ya okay. Nice seeing you here after all these years."
"Ya so surprising!Okay bye ,I'll run now"
"Bye!All the best!!"
She waved quickly and walked towards Mohan. "It's so late already and then you come and waste so much time speaking to some random guys"
"Not some random guy he happened to be completely crazy about me."
"Ya you will surely drive everyone crazy. Can we go in now?"
She hated entering the movie hall late, especially if their seats were not at the corners. After saying the customary excuse-me's, they finally sat down to the show. She sat glumly. The whole world seemed to be moving ahead, leaving her alone in a movie hall, playing a loud, senseless movie, next to a man who.......who....who hadn't picked her up from work! "Uff! Why couldn't she remember that she wasn't supposed to have talked to him until the interval?!"
"Was this the kind of guy she wanted to marry and spend the rest of her life with?", she wondered. "What if he behaved so callously after marriage also?What would she do when she would feel so lonely?When she cried?"
She looked at him "Maybe all that is not important. Atleast he got the movie tickets. And last Sunday had been so much fun. It won't be such a bad idea afterall"
In the interval he walked away to ease himself. She sat alone and wondered when, and if ever, Mohan would ask her to marry him.
4/25/2007
Baa-thos
(This post is dedicated to my brother-in-law)
Babu, made a friend yesterday in the market-place. When he asked to be introduced, the butcher laughed and said that his goat didn't have a name, but if Babu wished he could call him Bakra.
Bakra had been carefully fed and fattened and today was going to be his day of liberation. Somehow looking at the wise eyes of the meaty goat, Babu felt a deep sense of the world and it's ways. He looked at the butcher and asked "How do you find it in your heart to cut up the friend you fed and brought up with your own hands?" The butcher was like many people I often witness, who think you've made a joke when you've asked a question. He and his skinny assistant looked at each other and laughed. Babu sat sometime near the goat, then got up and asked the butcher if he could take Bakra for a walk.
The butcher's magnificent paunch and the assistants intrusive adam's apple bobbed up and down in mirth, as the butcher agreed to the proposition. Babu untied Bakra and said "Come". Bakra stood rooted. Babu gently tugged at his tether, Bakra's wise eyes seemed like they masked a not so intense intelligence or a great acceptance of one's destiny; one couldn't judge in a hurry. "Hurra Hurra", said Babu. And finally it was that call which usually moves buffaloes that seemed to strike a chord with Bakra, and he bleated a little, and strode forward gently.
Babu and Bakra walked hand-in-rope across the mountains of green chillies, succulent tomatoes and fragrant corriander; past the voluptuous vegetable vendors who broke out in song, touched by the sight which filled their eyes:
"Babu had a fat lamb, fat lamb, fat lamb
Babu had a fat lamb
Who's fleece was black and muddy.
Everywhere that Babu went, Babu went, Babu went
Everywhere that Babu went
Bakra followed like a chaddie-buddy"
In step with the beat of the song, Babu led the way, with Bakra sagely following, savouring the smells of his last walk around the world. Bakra bleated and lovingly butted the kind soul who was leading him. Babu turned around and said "O you poor thing, hold on". Babu stepped to the bakery at the corner and bought a bottle of mineral water. He walked to Bakra and un-screwed the cap and held it to his mouth. Bakra in all his eagerness almost chewed the entire bottle away. There they sat, two friends, not needing any words to bridge the silence they shared.
It was time for Bakra to be taken back. Babu tied him to the post and as he turned to leave, the butcher came up to him and said "I don't think I'll do any business today, my knife seems to have rusted suddenly", and he hesitated, as if to say something else, but he just smiled and lightly touched Babu on his shoulder and went away.
Babu went home but I think it will be a long time till he goes back to the market. He doesn't want to know his friend's fate yet. Until then his wife will be the one who will have to buy the vegetables.
Babu, made a friend yesterday in the market-place. When he asked to be introduced, the butcher laughed and said that his goat didn't have a name, but if Babu wished he could call him Bakra.
Bakra had been carefully fed and fattened and today was going to be his day of liberation. Somehow looking at the wise eyes of the meaty goat, Babu felt a deep sense of the world and it's ways. He looked at the butcher and asked "How do you find it in your heart to cut up the friend you fed and brought up with your own hands?" The butcher was like many people I often witness, who think you've made a joke when you've asked a question. He and his skinny assistant looked at each other and laughed. Babu sat sometime near the goat, then got up and asked the butcher if he could take Bakra for a walk.
The butcher's magnificent paunch and the assistants intrusive adam's apple bobbed up and down in mirth, as the butcher agreed to the proposition. Babu untied Bakra and said "Come". Bakra stood rooted. Babu gently tugged at his tether, Bakra's wise eyes seemed like they masked a not so intense intelligence or a great acceptance of one's destiny; one couldn't judge in a hurry. "Hurra Hurra", said Babu. And finally it was that call which usually moves buffaloes that seemed to strike a chord with Bakra, and he bleated a little, and strode forward gently.
Babu and Bakra walked hand-in-rope across the mountains of green chillies, succulent tomatoes and fragrant corriander; past the voluptuous vegetable vendors who broke out in song, touched by the sight which filled their eyes:
"Babu had a fat lamb, fat lamb, fat lamb
Babu had a fat lamb
Who's fleece was black and muddy.
Everywhere that Babu went, Babu went, Babu went
Everywhere that Babu went
Bakra followed like a chaddie-buddy"
In step with the beat of the song, Babu led the way, with Bakra sagely following, savouring the smells of his last walk around the world. Bakra bleated and lovingly butted the kind soul who was leading him. Babu turned around and said "O you poor thing, hold on". Babu stepped to the bakery at the corner and bought a bottle of mineral water. He walked to Bakra and un-screwed the cap and held it to his mouth. Bakra in all his eagerness almost chewed the entire bottle away. There they sat, two friends, not needing any words to bridge the silence they shared.
It was time for Bakra to be taken back. Babu tied him to the post and as he turned to leave, the butcher came up to him and said "I don't think I'll do any business today, my knife seems to have rusted suddenly", and he hesitated, as if to say something else, but he just smiled and lightly touched Babu on his shoulder and went away.
Babu went home but I think it will be a long time till he goes back to the market. He doesn't want to know his friend's fate yet. Until then his wife will be the one who will have to buy the vegetables.
4/20/2007
Drummer Drums
My sisters most favourite WOW...words of wisdom
If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it’s because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears however measured or far away.
If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it’s because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears however measured or far away.
4/18/2007
First Kisses* (Part 1)
Preethi and Nawaz
Sindu's party was a noisy one, she outshouted the crowd to introduce Preethi and Nawaz to each other. It wasn't much of an introduction because they knew each other's names already. Everytime Preethi would hear his mother call him, she would smile. Their eyes had met all those times across their balconies and now it was time for their fingertips to, in an excuse called a handshake.
That handshake led to lunches, dinners and long conversations. On their eighth date, Nawaz took Preethi for a long drive into the summer evening. She smiled thinking he had given her a life, if life were a box of choclates. He telling her how beautiful she was, they went through their lives, one chocolate after the other, until the last one. She asked him if he would take it, he chivalrously offered it to her.
Intoxicated by the summer breeze, his intense eyes and descriptions of her own beauty, she put the last one in her mouth, and asked him if he had changed his mind.
Years have passed and lines were drawn, where they actually had no business, between hearts. But when Preethi talks about that kiss, she still blushes and smiles slightly idiotically.
(*All names changed on request)
Sindu's party was a noisy one, she outshouted the crowd to introduce Preethi and Nawaz to each other. It wasn't much of an introduction because they knew each other's names already. Everytime Preethi would hear his mother call him, she would smile. Their eyes had met all those times across their balconies and now it was time for their fingertips to, in an excuse called a handshake.
That handshake led to lunches, dinners and long conversations. On their eighth date, Nawaz took Preethi for a long drive into the summer evening. She smiled thinking he had given her a life, if life were a box of choclates. He telling her how beautiful she was, they went through their lives, one chocolate after the other, until the last one. She asked him if he would take it, he chivalrously offered it to her.
Intoxicated by the summer breeze, his intense eyes and descriptions of her own beauty, she put the last one in her mouth, and asked him if he had changed his mind.
Years have passed and lines were drawn, where they actually had no business, between hearts. But when Preethi talks about that kiss, she still blushes and smiles slightly idiotically.
(*All names changed on request)
4/16/2007
I wanted my first entry to be a love story...
I know someone called Balaji. I call him Baals. He calls me rarely. We can't meet as often as I would like us to, because we live in different time zones. When I wake up Baals is falling asleep, when he opens his eyes, I'm busy dreaming about him. Weekends we meet.
I'll call and say 'Let's meet', he'll say 'In or Out?'. Baals is a paradoxical guy. 'Out' means when we stay in. We like to sit around a lot, so we find different places to do so, his room or mine, or some place in the city. 'In' is when we ride on his bike to the outskirts of the city. Baals says that riding out helps us soak in ourselves. Maybe he has a point.
Yesterday was hang out time. We sat in a loud, coffee place. Neither of us drink coffee and noise makes us both cranky. When I'm cranky I say nasty things and I said a lot of them then. Baals is a gentle guy, he hates scenes, especially unnecessary ones. Baals said 'I don't think you particularly want to hang-out today, I'll call you later', and he walked off, without looking back. I called out to him 'Baals....BAALS', this seemed to amuse the young people on the table next to me. They said 'O God, listen to her man!!!', 'Why do people even try to be hep?!!
Funny how people can for no reason say mean things. I shrugged my shoulders and went off. All the way back home, I could only think of how he never looked back.
When things go wrong they really do. Today was an important presentation and my promotion depended on it. I had practised hard in front of the bathroom mirror. Things seemed to be going well. Fully confident of the impact I seemed to be making, I ended with a flourish, 'Now ladies and gentlemen, the court is in your baals'.
I didn't get the promotion. Infact, they've sent me back to training. I sat the entire day with a lady who told me ' It's- Can I take your cOll and not "your caal". One needs to round one's O's'
At the end of that day, I cOlled Baals.
'Baals..', I said.
'In or Out?', he asked. Immediately the burdens of everyone in the whole, wide world, which had somehow gotten misplaced on my poor shoulders, disappeared. Just like that. Still didn't want to push my luck too far
'Don't you have work now?', I asked.
'I'm bunking', he said.
'O then In! In!' I said.
'Ok hang on I'll come to your office and pick you up'.
I hung up and wanted to fly. But my boss would have disapproved a little, he's a strange guy. So I merely jumped a little in my chair.
'However bleak the world may seem', I thought to myself, 'Thank God, I'll always have Baals'.
I'll call and say 'Let's meet', he'll say 'In or Out?'. Baals is a paradoxical guy. 'Out' means when we stay in. We like to sit around a lot, so we find different places to do so, his room or mine, or some place in the city. 'In' is when we ride on his bike to the outskirts of the city. Baals says that riding out helps us soak in ourselves. Maybe he has a point.
Yesterday was hang out time. We sat in a loud, coffee place. Neither of us drink coffee and noise makes us both cranky. When I'm cranky I say nasty things and I said a lot of them then. Baals is a gentle guy, he hates scenes, especially unnecessary ones. Baals said 'I don't think you particularly want to hang-out today, I'll call you later', and he walked off, without looking back. I called out to him 'Baals....BAALS', this seemed to amuse the young people on the table next to me. They said 'O God, listen to her man!!!', 'Why do people even try to be hep?!!
Funny how people can for no reason say mean things. I shrugged my shoulders and went off. All the way back home, I could only think of how he never looked back.
When things go wrong they really do. Today was an important presentation and my promotion depended on it. I had practised hard in front of the bathroom mirror. Things seemed to be going well. Fully confident of the impact I seemed to be making, I ended with a flourish, 'Now ladies and gentlemen, the court is in your baals'.
I didn't get the promotion. Infact, they've sent me back to training. I sat the entire day with a lady who told me ' It's- Can I take your cOll and not "your caal". One needs to round one's O's'
At the end of that day, I cOlled Baals.
'Baals..', I said.
'In or Out?', he asked. Immediately the burdens of everyone in the whole, wide world, which had somehow gotten misplaced on my poor shoulders, disappeared. Just like that. Still didn't want to push my luck too far
'Don't you have work now?', I asked.
'I'm bunking', he said.
'O then In! In!' I said.
'Ok hang on I'll come to your office and pick you up'.
I hung up and wanted to fly. But my boss would have disapproved a little, he's a strange guy. So I merely jumped a little in my chair.
'However bleak the world may seem', I thought to myself, 'Thank God, I'll always have Baals'.
Hello
I write this blog especially for my sister who said she would be proud of me if I did. Don't ask me why she said something like that. But if you still went ahead and did- it's because she's a character. You'll know soon enough because she is going to feature often here.
It's also for anyone I know, well, or even remotely, because you're going to feature here too! It's even for those whose stories I plan to bend so beyond fact, that they feel a little bad I never write about them. It's also for people I don't even know. For the bored. For the interested. For the ones in office who are reading this, (especially the one's who write long blog posts on official time, passionately worrying and complaining about how the system sucks because people don't have integrity). It's for ones who don't have offices to go to.
I even write for the people who dare or care enough to look within and the ones who don't. To those who think they have to ask why and the ones who have all the answers.
I write because I also do. There are countless blogs floating out there, but these are my words. They don't reflect me, they belong to the vast www.
I live every moment.......I also write.
It's also for anyone I know, well, or even remotely, because you're going to feature here too! It's even for those whose stories I plan to bend so beyond fact, that they feel a little bad I never write about them. It's also for people I don't even know. For the bored. For the interested. For the ones in office who are reading this, (especially the one's who write long blog posts on official time, passionately worrying and complaining about how the system sucks because people don't have integrity). It's for ones who don't have offices to go to.
I even write for the people who dare or care enough to look within and the ones who don't. To those who think they have to ask why and the ones who have all the answers.
I write because I also do. There are countless blogs floating out there, but these are my words. They don't reflect me, they belong to the vast www.
I live every moment.......I also write.
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