Friday, September 24, 2004
HEAD-BANGED AND HAPPY
It’s working and a rejuvenated English side will battle the Windies in the final—on plan. Admittedly, didn’t get this right till before the semis , yet am happy that the old mind is alive and well. Pakistan must take a bow for being the gutsiest ( and most brazen ) team in the world—batting first, and then playing a debutant in this match of all—amazing. The Windies bowled within limits and were disciplined. How much Shoaib tried, almost beheading Lara ( who himself had begun to swing wildly ) –little avail. Sarwan seems to be maturing –still aver that Marlon Samuels is much the better bat.
Had an interesting conversation with someone the other day who was convinced that Freddie Flintoff had replaced Beckham as the “ all English family hero “ –down to lil Holly. A few dissimilarities though, the big fella seems to compete with a passion and unselfishness that is almost bucolic, and more importantly, Freddie can play.
WE INVESTIGATE ANYTHING
Had acquired two books on one of these city visits—The Mystery of the Headless Horse –a Three Investigators story, and Workplace 2000—a former HR classic—all from the pavements of course. Managed to get the time to read the former last night—old memories, and fond ones at that, came flooding back. Settings clear, delineation of characters quite steady, fairly simple plots, dollops of reasoning, smart thinking and courage, a dash of humour here, some loaded statements there, nothing overdone and a pacy read from start to the end. A multitude of familiar proper nouns—Rocky Beach, The Jones Salvage Yard, the Ghost-to-Ghost Hookup, Red Gate Rover, Worthington-the golden-uniformed chauffeur of the Rolls-Royce—all served by an author called Robert Arthur—a highly recommended read.
Koi lautade mere, beete huye din…….
The good part about the market visits is that I know good restaurants in most parts of Bombay now—dined in the Grand Central , at Chembur today—clean place, great food and exemplary service. I was pleased and sated.
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It’s working and a rejuvenated English side will battle the Windies in the final—on plan. Admittedly, didn’t get this right till before the semis , yet am happy that the old mind is alive and well. Pakistan must take a bow for being the gutsiest ( and most brazen ) team in the world—batting first, and then playing a debutant in this match of all—amazing. The Windies bowled within limits and were disciplined. How much Shoaib tried, almost beheading Lara ( who himself had begun to swing wildly ) –little avail. Sarwan seems to be maturing –still aver that Marlon Samuels is much the better bat.
Had an interesting conversation with someone the other day who was convinced that Freddie Flintoff had replaced Beckham as the “ all English family hero “ –down to lil Holly. A few dissimilarities though, the big fella seems to compete with a passion and unselfishness that is almost bucolic, and more importantly, Freddie can play.
WE INVESTIGATE ANYTHING
Had acquired two books on one of these city visits—The Mystery of the Headless Horse –a Three Investigators story, and Workplace 2000—a former HR classic—all from the pavements of course. Managed to get the time to read the former last night—old memories, and fond ones at that, came flooding back. Settings clear, delineation of characters quite steady, fairly simple plots, dollops of reasoning, smart thinking and courage, a dash of humour here, some loaded statements there, nothing overdone and a pacy read from start to the end. A multitude of familiar proper nouns—Rocky Beach, The Jones Salvage Yard, the Ghost-to-Ghost Hookup, Red Gate Rover, Worthington-the golden-uniformed chauffeur of the Rolls-Royce—all served by an author called Robert Arthur—a highly recommended read.
Koi lautade mere, beete huye din…….
The good part about the market visits is that I know good restaurants in most parts of Bombay now—dined in the Grand Central , at Chembur today—clean place, great food and exemplary service. I was pleased and sated.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
A SUPERMALL NAMED GIANT
Was Baby’s Day out today, was to visit a few supermarkets and imbibe nuances of shopping behaviour, customer frenzy, impulsive purchases interspersed with schemes and stratagems, supply and stocking. Did that—for once the weather was pleasant and cloudy, and hardly any humidity—all thanks to my many good deeds in Bombay.
Visited Malad, Goregaon & Versova for the first time—am fast turning into a sputnik. They seemed a little different to the rest of the city I’d seen –vast expanses of land for parking lots, loads of space enough for three corpulent aunts to pass in aisles, trolleys the size of tables and a more relaxed air on the whole.
I am forever stupefied at the fact that there is so much stuff in these supermarkets that I do not need. Stuff that I did not even know existed until recently—all kinds of preserves and spreads, Ready-To-Cook almost anything, varieties of magic potions and mysterious concoctions. The plethora of discounts on offer is staggering and is capable of inveigling even the most intransigent bystander.
What caught my eye were soft “ S-M-I-L-E” tennis balls which I played around with ( before the icy stares around me made me put them back, most hesitantly ) and some humongous cases of pet food. For all kinds—bonny dogs, blasé dogs, happy dogs, hep dogs, and for pups too. Amazing ! My dog ( dear Ruff, bless him ! ) used to quite happily snack on fruits, veggies and milk—of course his particular favourite was thengozhal , a typically Tamilian savoury prepared on festivals.
:”Whoever said money can't buy happiness simply didn't know where to go shopping”
Death to the kirana store ? We’ll see—they yet hold some charm.
THE ELEPHANT-HEADED GOD
I am still getting used to the idea that the Problem-Solving Pachyderm can be immersed on any of these eleven days. ( I had believed, erroneously, that we had to wait till the 11th day and Chowpatty was the only Davy Jones locker available ). Anyway, the story is that most of the office staff has cleared off citing traffic difficulties –curiously, even those who live two blocks away. He has a strange pull—this Ganpati….
ZOOM
Caught unguarded a few nights ago by this new TV Channel, called Zoom, launched by the multi-talented Times Group, for purposes unexplained and mystical.
Decided to sit through what was an essay at a stand-up comedy show by a chap called Vir Das ( who does some film-based shows too ). Suffice to say, it was straight out of Wodehouse, you know, the time when a pink-faced Earl is asked to day something light and gay, to a bunch of ruddy-faced schoolkids, and one by one, the witticisms are studiedly ignored and not laughed at. Pity the set audience—hum tum se mohabbat karke sanam, haste bhi rahe, rote bui rahe.
Well, there’s a corporate Karaoke competition at the hotel I live in, the last song of dusk amidst the cinnamon-tied crooners and the barons of buzz.
|
Was Baby’s Day out today, was to visit a few supermarkets and imbibe nuances of shopping behaviour, customer frenzy, impulsive purchases interspersed with schemes and stratagems, supply and stocking. Did that—for once the weather was pleasant and cloudy, and hardly any humidity—all thanks to my many good deeds in Bombay.
Visited Malad, Goregaon & Versova for the first time—am fast turning into a sputnik. They seemed a little different to the rest of the city I’d seen –vast expanses of land for parking lots, loads of space enough for three corpulent aunts to pass in aisles, trolleys the size of tables and a more relaxed air on the whole.
I am forever stupefied at the fact that there is so much stuff in these supermarkets that I do not need. Stuff that I did not even know existed until recently—all kinds of preserves and spreads, Ready-To-Cook almost anything, varieties of magic potions and mysterious concoctions. The plethora of discounts on offer is staggering and is capable of inveigling even the most intransigent bystander.
What caught my eye were soft “ S-M-I-L-E” tennis balls which I played around with ( before the icy stares around me made me put them back, most hesitantly ) and some humongous cases of pet food. For all kinds—bonny dogs, blasé dogs, happy dogs, hep dogs, and for pups too. Amazing ! My dog ( dear Ruff, bless him ! ) used to quite happily snack on fruits, veggies and milk—of course his particular favourite was thengozhal , a typically Tamilian savoury prepared on festivals.
:”Whoever said money can't buy happiness simply didn't know where to go shopping”
Death to the kirana store ? We’ll see—they yet hold some charm.
THE ELEPHANT-HEADED GOD
I am still getting used to the idea that the Problem-Solving Pachyderm can be immersed on any of these eleven days. ( I had believed, erroneously, that we had to wait till the 11th day and Chowpatty was the only Davy Jones locker available ). Anyway, the story is that most of the office staff has cleared off citing traffic difficulties –curiously, even those who live two blocks away. He has a strange pull—this Ganpati….
ZOOM
Caught unguarded a few nights ago by this new TV Channel, called Zoom, launched by the multi-talented Times Group, for purposes unexplained and mystical.
Decided to sit through what was an essay at a stand-up comedy show by a chap called Vir Das ( who does some film-based shows too ). Suffice to say, it was straight out of Wodehouse, you know, the time when a pink-faced Earl is asked to day something light and gay, to a bunch of ruddy-faced schoolkids, and one by one, the witticisms are studiedly ignored and not laughed at. Pity the set audience—hum tum se mohabbat karke sanam, haste bhi rahe, rote bui rahe.
Well, there’s a corporate Karaoke competition at the hotel I live in, the last song of dusk amidst the cinnamon-tied crooners and the barons of buzz.
Monday, September 20, 2004
BOMBAY RAINS ( REIGNS )
Watched the match yesterday, almost believed India could pull it off—was of course pleased to see that they did not. Lost it from Ball One—leaving out Kumble for Gavaskar Jr. was daft—ineluctable now that playing seven “batsmen” defies logic and gravity. What I fancy about playing a specialist keeper is that it renders possible the choice of dropping Dravid on form if necessary—something that one cannot contemplate now. Am rooting for an England-Windies final now, suspect otherwise.
Journeyed all the way to Khar –for the uninitiated , “Juna” means “old” , as in the award-winning “ The Juna Man and the Sea”. A wet day, managed to get drenched thrice, humidity at its peak, hot under the collar. Covered an area where my good friend Chaitanya lives—no wonder as the place is teeming with mendacious Gujjus, who in turn are teeming with dough. Extremely street-smart and wordly-wise. Santa Cruz also appears to be a decent hangout. Bumper-to-bumper traffic on the return leg, a BEST bus had veered off the edge and was lying at an ungainly angle of 30 degrees—I suggested a puncture, my auto driver’s grim conjecture was that it was an accident .
Bombay in the rains is dense, ridden with potholes and sweaty—still one of its more inviting seasons. Am yet to sight any of the many-splendoured worms that rise like the Phoenix in other Indian towns only in the monsoons. The city also overdoses on bhutta then. In fact, with reference to one earlier post on songs in the rain, hardly any are filmed in Bombay—except drunken sequences, or after 11 at night ( can belong to the first category yet ). Maybe that’s because Bombay doesn’t give you space, on the streets, on pavements, in shops, in supermalls, in trains, in theatres. Jaayen to jaayen kahaan. ( The only song that comes to mind that actually captures some elements of life in Bombay monsoons is Saawan barse tarse dil—Dahek-Sadhana Sargam, Hariharan, albeit from a warped romantic angle )
A CHORUS FOR US
There is this curious phenomenon that has now occurred to me a few times , and hence I am convinced that it is more than a statistic or an exception, but the rule itself. There are a great many songs that I find foul, tasteless, a-lyrical, and devoid of any sort of melody. Into this list would fall “ Mein to raaste se ja raha tha “, “ Ek do teen “, “ piya piya “ and many others, I’m convinced that the music directors would have composed them with something in mind, it’s just that I did not/do not get it. Now these songs cause me untold misery, earaches and aural agony, whenever played. But-now listen to this-when they are played back-to-back collectively, after a while , I find myself considerably less tense and more relaxed, I cease to mind them at all, and only after I leave the place do I remember my earlier exasperation. ( Almost as if Singular Bad bows to Collective Good )
I find this remarkable and cannot explain it.
The first time I realized this was at the sprawling Siemens canteen ( during my Engineering Project )where they insisted that decibel levels were an integral feature of music appreciation ( what say Hirak ? ), and the latest was today at the omnipresent Ganesh pandal during my sojourn.
On trying to ratiocinate, the only criteria that I could think of were—these have to be Hindi, and my physical propinquity must be impossible.
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Watched the match yesterday, almost believed India could pull it off—was of course pleased to see that they did not. Lost it from Ball One—leaving out Kumble for Gavaskar Jr. was daft—ineluctable now that playing seven “batsmen” defies logic and gravity. What I fancy about playing a specialist keeper is that it renders possible the choice of dropping Dravid on form if necessary—something that one cannot contemplate now. Am rooting for an England-Windies final now, suspect otherwise.
Journeyed all the way to Khar –for the uninitiated , “Juna” means “old” , as in the award-winning “ The Juna Man and the Sea”. A wet day, managed to get drenched thrice, humidity at its peak, hot under the collar. Covered an area where my good friend Chaitanya lives—no wonder as the place is teeming with mendacious Gujjus, who in turn are teeming with dough. Extremely street-smart and wordly-wise. Santa Cruz also appears to be a decent hangout. Bumper-to-bumper traffic on the return leg, a BEST bus had veered off the edge and was lying at an ungainly angle of 30 degrees—I suggested a puncture, my auto driver’s grim conjecture was that it was an accident .
Bombay in the rains is dense, ridden with potholes and sweaty—still one of its more inviting seasons. Am yet to sight any of the many-splendoured worms that rise like the Phoenix in other Indian towns only in the monsoons. The city also overdoses on bhutta then. In fact, with reference to one earlier post on songs in the rain, hardly any are filmed in Bombay—except drunken sequences, or after 11 at night ( can belong to the first category yet ). Maybe that’s because Bombay doesn’t give you space, on the streets, on pavements, in shops, in supermalls, in trains, in theatres. Jaayen to jaayen kahaan. ( The only song that comes to mind that actually captures some elements of life in Bombay monsoons is Saawan barse tarse dil—Dahek-Sadhana Sargam, Hariharan, albeit from a warped romantic angle )
A CHORUS FOR US
There is this curious phenomenon that has now occurred to me a few times , and hence I am convinced that it is more than a statistic or an exception, but the rule itself. There are a great many songs that I find foul, tasteless, a-lyrical, and devoid of any sort of melody. Into this list would fall “ Mein to raaste se ja raha tha “, “ Ek do teen “, “ piya piya “ and many others, I’m convinced that the music directors would have composed them with something in mind, it’s just that I did not/do not get it. Now these songs cause me untold misery, earaches and aural agony, whenever played. But-now listen to this-when they are played back-to-back collectively, after a while , I find myself considerably less tense and more relaxed, I cease to mind them at all, and only after I leave the place do I remember my earlier exasperation. ( Almost as if Singular Bad bows to Collective Good )
I find this remarkable and cannot explain it.
The first time I realized this was at the sprawling Siemens canteen ( during my Engineering Project )where they insisted that decibel levels were an integral feature of music appreciation ( what say Hirak ? ), and the latest was today at the omnipresent Ganesh pandal during my sojourn.
On trying to ratiocinate, the only criteria that I could think of were—these have to be Hindi, and my physical propinquity must be impossible.
Saturday, September 18, 2004
THE BOUNTIFUL MOTHER OF FOOD
If Music be the Food of Love, well, eat on eat on.
After a good day following myriad practices of Medical Detailing, as is my wont, dodged a hi-fi Citibank prez at the hotel ( there were two guys who almost ushered me in, decisive that I was one of them ( I didn't know that I looked like a Citibanker, now ), and clambered onto a restaurant called Annalakshmi. It is dedicated to serving vegetarian food, as an offering fit for the Gods, and even donates some to charity. Rave reviews had preceeded my visit and I was naturally eager, and hungry to sample the fare.
And I was not disappointed--bowl after bowl of magical dals, koothhu, pachedis and dish after dish of varieties of rice. Topped off with some super payasam.
What I liked was none of the stuff actually tasted like non-home food and the service was desultory but personal and caring. Mark that down as well.
Just returned from a brand launch--no point mentioning as it will be only a Tamil Nadu thing over the next three months.
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If Music be the Food of Love, well, eat on eat on.
After a good day following myriad practices of Medical Detailing, as is my wont, dodged a hi-fi Citibank prez at the hotel ( there were two guys who almost ushered me in, decisive that I was one of them ( I didn't know that I looked like a Citibanker, now ), and clambered onto a restaurant called Annalakshmi. It is dedicated to serving vegetarian food, as an offering fit for the Gods, and even donates some to charity. Rave reviews had preceeded my visit and I was naturally eager, and hungry to sample the fare.
And I was not disappointed--bowl after bowl of magical dals, koothhu, pachedis and dish after dish of varieties of rice. Topped off with some super payasam.
What I liked was none of the stuff actually tasted like non-home food and the service was desultory but personal and caring. Mark that down as well.
Just returned from a brand launch--no point mentioning as it will be only a Tamil Nadu thing over the next three months.
Friday, September 17, 2004
KROW-CHEE-TAI-GOH HEE-DAN-DRA-GOH
Watched a much-touted film on the telly called " Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon ", an angst-ridden saga by Ang Lee.
It's the story of an old martial master Li Mu Bai and the sword he seeks--rather inscrutably named the Green Destiny , or as they can say Hari Kismet ( Hmm, another rotten film I tried to watch, Kill Bill, was on another sword which was called something else ) This sword too is about 5 centuries old, looks like it has been in a few skirmishes and is obviously pure and just and truthful which makes it coveted. Hey, what's with all these swords ? (The last time I read something good on a sword was " The Mysteru of the Headless Horse", a Three Investigators tale on the Cortes sword.). The capers of the protagonists enable them to transcend the self-imposed constraints of the body and conquer the dark recesses of the mind. Nateeja,peeth ka dard--they leap with feline grace from rooftop to rooftop, slide off doors, mount ferocious attacks from the sides of walls, gallop in the stratosphere and such aesthetic impossibilities. It is mind-numbing to watch and while I've seen humans achieving God-like qualities, this string of inanities is ludicrous and jarring. Kill Bill was another eyseore and what pulls on the half-numbed sensibility is that the people lauding these kind of films are the same who mock at Indian heroes polishing off a dozen assailants, who intrepidly catch a bullet with their teeth, run faster than a train and the like. Atleast the numerical probability of such occurrences is more than what Mr. Lee's Punch and Judy cast manage. Hypocrisy, thy name is the Indian viewer.!
As part of the orientation ( is there a word called occidentation ? ) , had to get into the heat of battle ( and humidity ) by covering a market set in Central Madras. Language was mercifully comprehensible and was able to get a few insights into the psyche of the retailer. Had an interesting conversation too with a chap who was quite truculent on a recent local ad featuring a hero whose star is on the wane, and a failed Hindi actress who is quite popular in these parts. His contention was the profile of the lead does not match the product image. Quite sharp, that !
Was also privy to a crowd in the throes of filling water pots from a private lorry. Found myself saddened and low after this. How can a city in which water comes through taps for a majestic hour every two days be even rated on a " Best City to Live in " survey ? Madras managed a respectable Second after Chandigarh. And how is it that the Government of the State, represented by the Municipal Corporation cannot get water for its dehydrated and desiccated denizerns but a few thugs can ? Would support a revolution on the matter here-it's piteous.
After tiring of the hotel food, decided to venture out into the vast unknowns yesterday and found refuge in a refectory called the Vellore's Gyan Vaishnav Punjabi Dhaba--all veg. The service was timely and preemptive, the food was great and filling and the owner - a portly Sikh was warm, engaging and inviting. A strong recommendation, this being in the heart of Mount Road.
Aus walloped NZ --incredibly athletic for such giants and rest assured, I'll support India against them in the series ( For a change )
Missed a reading of Neruda's poems next door and all the other action begins in Madras on Monday--so will have to wait until next time. Will be back in Bombay tomorrow.
|
Watched a much-touted film on the telly called " Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon ", an angst-ridden saga by Ang Lee.
It's the story of an old martial master Li Mu Bai and the sword he seeks--rather inscrutably named the Green Destiny , or as they can say Hari Kismet ( Hmm, another rotten film I tried to watch, Kill Bill, was on another sword which was called something else ) This sword too is about 5 centuries old, looks like it has been in a few skirmishes and is obviously pure and just and truthful which makes it coveted. Hey, what's with all these swords ? (The last time I read something good on a sword was " The Mysteru of the Headless Horse", a Three Investigators tale on the Cortes sword.). The capers of the protagonists enable them to transcend the self-imposed constraints of the body and conquer the dark recesses of the mind. Nateeja,peeth ka dard--they leap with feline grace from rooftop to rooftop, slide off doors, mount ferocious attacks from the sides of walls, gallop in the stratosphere and such aesthetic impossibilities. It is mind-numbing to watch and while I've seen humans achieving God-like qualities, this string of inanities is ludicrous and jarring. Kill Bill was another eyseore and what pulls on the half-numbed sensibility is that the people lauding these kind of films are the same who mock at Indian heroes polishing off a dozen assailants, who intrepidly catch a bullet with their teeth, run faster than a train and the like. Atleast the numerical probability of such occurrences is more than what Mr. Lee's Punch and Judy cast manage. Hypocrisy, thy name is the Indian viewer.!
As part of the orientation ( is there a word called occidentation ? ) , had to get into the heat of battle ( and humidity ) by covering a market set in Central Madras. Language was mercifully comprehensible and was able to get a few insights into the psyche of the retailer. Had an interesting conversation too with a chap who was quite truculent on a recent local ad featuring a hero whose star is on the wane, and a failed Hindi actress who is quite popular in these parts. His contention was the profile of the lead does not match the product image. Quite sharp, that !
Was also privy to a crowd in the throes of filling water pots from a private lorry. Found myself saddened and low after this. How can a city in which water comes through taps for a majestic hour every two days be even rated on a " Best City to Live in " survey ? Madras managed a respectable Second after Chandigarh. And how is it that the Government of the State, represented by the Municipal Corporation cannot get water for its dehydrated and desiccated denizerns but a few thugs can ? Would support a revolution on the matter here-it's piteous.
After tiring of the hotel food, decided to venture out into the vast unknowns yesterday and found refuge in a refectory called the Vellore's Gyan Vaishnav Punjabi Dhaba--all veg. The service was timely and preemptive, the food was great and filling and the owner - a portly Sikh was warm, engaging and inviting. A strong recommendation, this being in the heart of Mount Road.
Aus walloped NZ --incredibly athletic for such giants and rest assured, I'll support India against them in the series ( For a change )
Missed a reading of Neruda's poems next door and all the other action begins in Madras on Monday--so will have to wait until next time. Will be back in Bombay tomorrow.
KROW-CHEE-TAI-GOH HEE-DAN-DRA-GOH
Watched a much-touted film on the telly called " Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon ", an angst-ridden saga by Ang Lee.
It's the story of an old martial master Li Mu Bai and the sword he seeks--rather inscrutably named the Green Destiny , or as they can say Hari Kismet ( Hmm, another rotten film I tried to watch, Kill Bill, was on another sword which was called something else ) This sword too is about 5 centuries old, looks like it has been in a few skirmishes and is obviously pure and just and truthful which makes it coveted. Hey, what's with all these swords ? (The last time I read something good on a sword was " The Mysteru of the Headless Horse", a Three Investigators tale on the Cortes sword.). The capers of the protagonists enable them to transcend the self-imposed constraints of the body and conquer the dark recesses of the mind. Nateeja,peeth ka dard--they leap with feline grace from rooftop to rooftop, slide off doors, mount ferocious attacks from the sides of walls, gallop in the stratosphere and such aesthetic impossibilities. It is mind-numbing to watch and while I've seen humans achieving God-like qualities, this string of inanities is ludicrous and jarring. Kill Bill was another eyseore and what pulls on the half-numbed sensibility is that the people lauding these kind of films are the same who mock at Indian heroes polishing off a dozen assailants, who intrepidly catch a bullet with their teeth, run faster than a train and the like. Atleast the numerical probability of such occurrences is more than what Mr. Lee's Punch and Judy cast manage. Hypocrisy, thy name is the Indian viewer.!
As part of the orientation ( is there a word called occidentation ? ) , had to get into the heat of battle ( and humidity ) by covering a market set in Central Madras. Language was mercifully comprehensible and was able to get a few insights into the psyche of the retailer. Had an interesting conversation too with a chap who was quite truculent on a recent local ad featuring a hero whose star is on the wane, and a failed Hindi actress who is quite popular in these parts. His contention was the profile of the lead does not match the product image. Quite sharp, that !
Was also privy to a crowd in the throes of filling water pots from a private lorry. Found myself saddened and low after this. How can a city in which water comes through taps for a majestic hour every two days be even rated on a " Best City to Live in " survey ? Madras managed a respectable Second after Chandigarh. And how is it that the Government of the State, represented by the Municipal Corporation cannot get water for its dehydrated and desiccated denizerns but a few thugs can ? Would support a revolution on the matter here-it's piteous.
After tiring of the hotel food, decided to venture out into the vast unknowns yesterday and found refuge in a refectory called the Vellore's Gyan Vaishnav Punjabi Dhaba--all veg. The service was timely and preemptive, the food was great and filling and the owner - a portly Sikh was warm, engaging and inviting. A strong recommendation, this being in the heart of Mount Road.
Aus walloped NZ --incredibly athletic for such giants and rest assured, I'll support India against them in the series ( For a change )
Missed a reading of Neruda's poems next door and all the other action begins in Madras on Monday--so will have to wait until next time. Will be back in Bombay tomorrow.
|
Watched a much-touted film on the telly called " Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon ", an angst-ridden saga by Ang Lee.
It's the story of an old martial master Li Mu Bai and the sword he seeks--rather inscrutably named the Green Destiny , or as they can say Hari Kismet ( Hmm, another rotten film I tried to watch, Kill Bill, was on another sword which was called something else ) This sword too is about 5 centuries old, looks like it has been in a few skirmishes and is obviously pure and just and truthful which makes it coveted. Hey, what's with all these swords ? (The last time I read something good on a sword was " The Mysteru of the Headless Horse", a Three Investigators tale on the Cortes sword.). The capers of the protagonists enable them to transcend the self-imposed constraints of the body and conquer the dark recesses of the mind. Nateeja,peeth ka dard--they leap with feline grace from rooftop to rooftop, slide off doors, mount ferocious attacks from the sides of walls, gallop in the stratosphere and such aesthetic impossibilities. It is mind-numbing to watch and while I've seen humans achieving God-like qualities, this string of inanities is ludicrous and jarring. Kill Bill was another eyseore and what pulls on the half-numbed sensibility is that the people lauding these kind of films are the same who mock at Indian heroes polishing off a dozen assailants, who intrepidly catch a bullet with their teeth, run faster than a train and the like. Atleast the numerical probability of such occurrences is more than what Mr. Lee's Punch and Judy cast manage. Hypocrisy, thy name is the Indian viewer.!
As part of the orientation ( is there a word called occidentation ? ) , had to get into the heat of battle ( and humidity ) by covering a market set in Central Madras. Language was mercifully comprehensible and was able to get a few insights into the psyche of the retailer. Had an interesting conversation too with a chap who was quite truculent on a recent local ad featuring a hero whose star is on the wane, and a failed Hindi actress who is quite popular in these parts. His contention was the profile of the lead does not match the product image. Quite sharp, that !
Was also privy to a crowd in the throes of filling water pots from a private lorry. Found myself saddened and low after this. How can a city in which water comes through taps for a majestic hour every two days be even rated on a " Best City to Live in " survey ? Madras managed a respectable Second after Chandigarh. And how is it that the Government of the State, represented by the Municipal Corporation cannot get water for its dehydrated and desiccated denizerns but a few thugs can ? Would support a revolution on the matter here-it's piteous.
After tiring of the hotel food, decided to venture out into the vast unknowns yesterday and found refuge in a refectory called the Vellore's Gyan Vaishnav Punjabi Dhaba--all veg. The service was timely and preemptive, the food was great and filling and the owner - a portly Sikh was warm, engaging and inviting. A strong recommendation, this being in the heart of Mount Road.
Aus walloped NZ --incredibly athletic for such giants and rest assured, I'll support India against them in the series ( For a change )
Missed a reading of Neruda's poems next door and all the other action begins in Madras on Monday--so will have to wait until next time. Will be back in Bombay tomorrow.
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
MADNESS AT MADRAS
Arrived in Madras on Sunday evening, and within minutes of stepping out into the sweaty and sticky humidity, my concupiscence for the hills was never stronger. It was an absolute straight line from the airport to the hotel and accorded me a look at many sights familiar. Madras, of the harrowing weather, of jasmine flowers worn regardless of whyme or reason, of stately Ambassadors, of fast and furious State buses, and of autorickshaws drooling with skulduggery and thievery , is as it always was.
If there is a change, it is in the increasingly rampant consumerism, all brought about as a result of burgeoning awareness levels thanks to media, higher disposable incomes thanks to the service sectors opening up, and an inherent inferiority complex that has always prided itself on knowing Boston better than Bareilly. What could have changed also is--it seems to have transformed from a middle-aged city to a young one.The yuppie culture so held in thrall in a decadent Bangalore seems to hold sway.
Remarkably congested, yet a country mile away from the crawling traffic of Bombay. The streetside shops are the same, bustling with activity and eager patrons at all times of the day.
The denizens, as unmindful of "the other world" as ever, except when it suits their selfish ends and then new records at being unctuous and obsequious are set.
Ensconced in what is now called the Taj Connemara, am reliably informed that this haven used to be the hangout of glamorous cricketers of yore and hence the object of jaw-dropping awe--quite glad that my loved ones derive some vicarious pleasure in my staying there. Quite a departure from some of the other places I've stayed, Victorian settings, ramrod cupboards with wooden overtones, an honest and simple elegance that was earlier called class, and a very impressive study--cordoned off by a curtain and topped off with a high sofa-both reminiscent of a Prithviraj Kapoor in repose. A bed that is soem distance from the floor and the overall feel is one of the rooms built by the British in a hill-station. Quite homely !
Visited my gran and aunt yesterday in a throbbing suburb called Velachery. Bailed out of what could have been a potentially pernicious journey by a kindly colleague driving there. Had a grand time ( was admonished yet again for not taking them anything (--the funny thing is this time I remembered, but though better of it as I find this excessively formal and unbecoming :) ). Was on a sticky wicket on the way back--what with the time being 10 am. Boarded what is yet another travelling innovation ( Madras is way ahead of the others in terms of retail and transport )--a private bus and then another which covered the 16 kms in a jiffy. And got to listen to some Tamil oldies too . ...
The US Open was unspectacular--my team won the women's doubles expectedly, and slept at 4 30 after staying up to watch Federer at his regal best, vanquishing a hapless Hewitt licking dust. ( Although the latter avers that Sampras may have been able to challenge Roger, I don't think so )And yes, my slip about the Russian girls being far away from a Grand Slam has left me eating my words ( I still say that they are not good enough--the commentators backing of Kuznetova in the women's doubles , a day after she won, opining that she would have walloped Pascual and Suarez had it been singles, was preposterous and reactive). These Russians are far below standards achieved by Helena Sukova, Mary Joe F, Manuela Maleeva, all who never won a major.
Yet, results are against me--Has Time passed me by ? ...
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Arrived in Madras on Sunday evening, and within minutes of stepping out into the sweaty and sticky humidity, my concupiscence for the hills was never stronger. It was an absolute straight line from the airport to the hotel and accorded me a look at many sights familiar. Madras, of the harrowing weather, of jasmine flowers worn regardless of whyme or reason, of stately Ambassadors, of fast and furious State buses, and of autorickshaws drooling with skulduggery and thievery , is as it always was.
If there is a change, it is in the increasingly rampant consumerism, all brought about as a result of burgeoning awareness levels thanks to media, higher disposable incomes thanks to the service sectors opening up, and an inherent inferiority complex that has always prided itself on knowing Boston better than Bareilly. What could have changed also is--it seems to have transformed from a middle-aged city to a young one.The yuppie culture so held in thrall in a decadent Bangalore seems to hold sway.
Remarkably congested, yet a country mile away from the crawling traffic of Bombay. The streetside shops are the same, bustling with activity and eager patrons at all times of the day.
The denizens, as unmindful of "the other world" as ever, except when it suits their selfish ends and then new records at being unctuous and obsequious are set.
Ensconced in what is now called the Taj Connemara, am reliably informed that this haven used to be the hangout of glamorous cricketers of yore and hence the object of jaw-dropping awe--quite glad that my loved ones derive some vicarious pleasure in my staying there. Quite a departure from some of the other places I've stayed, Victorian settings, ramrod cupboards with wooden overtones, an honest and simple elegance that was earlier called class, and a very impressive study--cordoned off by a curtain and topped off with a high sofa-both reminiscent of a Prithviraj Kapoor in repose. A bed that is soem distance from the floor and the overall feel is one of the rooms built by the British in a hill-station. Quite homely !
Visited my gran and aunt yesterday in a throbbing suburb called Velachery. Bailed out of what could have been a potentially pernicious journey by a kindly colleague driving there. Had a grand time ( was admonished yet again for not taking them anything (--the funny thing is this time I remembered, but though better of it as I find this excessively formal and unbecoming :) ). Was on a sticky wicket on the way back--what with the time being 10 am. Boarded what is yet another travelling innovation ( Madras is way ahead of the others in terms of retail and transport )--a private bus and then another which covered the 16 kms in a jiffy. And got to listen to some Tamil oldies too . ...
The US Open was unspectacular--my team won the women's doubles expectedly, and slept at 4 30 after staying up to watch Federer at his regal best, vanquishing a hapless Hewitt licking dust. ( Although the latter avers that Sampras may have been able to challenge Roger, I don't think so )And yes, my slip about the Russian girls being far away from a Grand Slam has left me eating my words ( I still say that they are not good enough--the commentators backing of Kuznetova in the women's doubles , a day after she won, opining that she would have walloped Pascual and Suarez had it been singles, was preposterous and reactive). These Russians are far below standards achieved by Helena Sukova, Mary Joe F, Manuela Maleeva, all who never won a major.
Yet, results are against me--Has Time passed me by ? ...
Thursday, September 09, 2004
THE CURIOUS INCIDENT OF THE DOG IN THE NIGHT-TIME
No, this is not a heist ending with " the dog did not bark " , which I have incorporated into my lingo. More to do with this delightfully, witty, touching and raw read that I polished off at Crossword yesterday. The day began with my right ear perfunctorily telling me that it had proceeded on urgent leave, without permission. Unable to hear with it, I duly hit office dreading the worst ( The last time I was afflicted was at an inopportune time,before an interview, with the outcome that everytime the interviewer asked a question, I was forced to lean forward queruously, and ask " Eh, what ?". Fortunately, I had mitigated the damage somewhat by stating this at the beginning with my assurances that I was not , at least, genetically, a Deaf Adder. )
Anyway, with this obvious handicap ( unable to hear cars whizzing by ), I reached the good bookstore with the intention of reading a book end to end, having been inspired by a write in the Sunday's Hindu professing to being an irrational browser.I selected two books to drag to the empty corner, in the manner of a lion dragging a freshly-killed beast--decided that there was no way I could even think of completing Bill Bryson's A Short History of Almost Everything... and began the Mark Haddon title.
Twas an amazingly easy read and I could feel myself getting into the head of the autistic fifteen year-old protagonist, Christopher Boone, accused of murdering his neighbour's dog Wellington and setting out using his considerable powers of mathematics and Holmes, chancing upon his parents' unhappy married life and taking a brave decision or two along the way. There, i hope I've not spoilt it for somebody--I recommend this heartily and unabashedly !
Came back to the hotel and found a Robby Grewal movie ( who's he ? )called Samay was just beginning--I had been promising myself that I'd watch something soon and this was just the setting--comfy breaks ensured my poor ear got periodic rests and daresay the poor brain too.I found the movie eminently watchable--not a thrill-a-minute script but one that ensured the unrelenting pressure and mounting tension I've never liked Sushmita, Sushant Singh was a tad too unctuous ( jee, madam jee , after every exclamation is galling ! ) but Jackie has a nice hammy role and the direction was taut.Overall, a Thumbs Up.
RED HOT CHILE PEPPERS
A word on the exploits of the intrepid Massu & Gonzalez at the Olympics. Well, this is not the first time, they won the World Team Cup earlier in Dusseldorf last year, Incredibly, they defended the title in 2003. So, this is a pedigreed team indeed and the only thing that I know of was they were coached by a former Argentine with the longest hairdo I've seen ( bar Bruno Oresar ) called Horacio de la Pena. Of course, Indian readers will remember that it was against this team ( Martin Jaite, H d l Pena, Christian Miniussi and Javier Frana ) that the Great Indian Rope Trick at the 1987 Davis Cup began, What a time it was..... !
Watched a rivetting Agassi-Federer match today--excellent quality and I may actually support Agassi on this one. I know Federer was takig it seriously because two strands of hair were outside his bandanna ( a la Jeeves arching his right eyebrow a full sixteenth of an inch when deeply perturbed ).
Kuznetsova was handpicked by Navratilova as her doubles partner, so I'd be careful.
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No, this is not a heist ending with " the dog did not bark " , which I have incorporated into my lingo. More to do with this delightfully, witty, touching and raw read that I polished off at Crossword yesterday. The day began with my right ear perfunctorily telling me that it had proceeded on urgent leave, without permission. Unable to hear with it, I duly hit office dreading the worst ( The last time I was afflicted was at an inopportune time,before an interview, with the outcome that everytime the interviewer asked a question, I was forced to lean forward queruously, and ask " Eh, what ?". Fortunately, I had mitigated the damage somewhat by stating this at the beginning with my assurances that I was not , at least, genetically, a Deaf Adder. )
Anyway, with this obvious handicap ( unable to hear cars whizzing by ), I reached the good bookstore with the intention of reading a book end to end, having been inspired by a write in the Sunday's Hindu professing to being an irrational browser.I selected two books to drag to the empty corner, in the manner of a lion dragging a freshly-killed beast--decided that there was no way I could even think of completing Bill Bryson's A Short History of Almost Everything... and began the Mark Haddon title.
Twas an amazingly easy read and I could feel myself getting into the head of the autistic fifteen year-old protagonist, Christopher Boone, accused of murdering his neighbour's dog Wellington and setting out using his considerable powers of mathematics and Holmes, chancing upon his parents' unhappy married life and taking a brave decision or two along the way. There, i hope I've not spoilt it for somebody--I recommend this heartily and unabashedly !
Came back to the hotel and found a Robby Grewal movie ( who's he ? )called Samay was just beginning--I had been promising myself that I'd watch something soon and this was just the setting--comfy breaks ensured my poor ear got periodic rests and daresay the poor brain too.I found the movie eminently watchable--not a thrill-a-minute script but one that ensured the unrelenting pressure and mounting tension I've never liked Sushmita, Sushant Singh was a tad too unctuous ( jee, madam jee , after every exclamation is galling ! ) but Jackie has a nice hammy role and the direction was taut.Overall, a Thumbs Up.
RED HOT CHILE PEPPERS
A word on the exploits of the intrepid Massu & Gonzalez at the Olympics. Well, this is not the first time, they won the World Team Cup earlier in Dusseldorf last year, Incredibly, they defended the title in 2003. So, this is a pedigreed team indeed and the only thing that I know of was they were coached by a former Argentine with the longest hairdo I've seen ( bar Bruno Oresar ) called Horacio de la Pena. Of course, Indian readers will remember that it was against this team ( Martin Jaite, H d l Pena, Christian Miniussi and Javier Frana ) that the Great Indian Rope Trick at the 1987 Davis Cup began, What a time it was..... !
Watched a rivetting Agassi-Federer match today--excellent quality and I may actually support Agassi on this one. I know Federer was takig it seriously because two strands of hair were outside his bandanna ( a la Jeeves arching his right eyebrow a full sixteenth of an inch when deeply perturbed ).
Kuznetsova was handpicked by Navratilova as her doubles partner, so I'd be careful.
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
LIFE AS A HOUSE
What's common to Avalon, Norita, Birchwood & Valencia ?
Well, if I'd been exhorted to guess,I 'd have said all have roots in the Bard's works or all gave rise to names of football clubs.
Nothing as terribly intricate as all that--these ae the names of the four building where the great one prospected for a house today. Am in the midst of toting up a swot but will reveal the results of this caper later.
After doing my best to complete the veritable agonised and agonising rendezvous with various folks as mandated by my Orienation schedule, I could only scurry for the Panvel home at about 8 pm. " It was a dark and stormy night" sums it up nicely and I scampered and ran, looking neither left or right. I should have, because very soon , I found myself outside a hedge with a much-travelled path through what very evidently was the jungle. Enquired about this and was told confidently told that this was the way to go. Discretion is the better part of valour, what with the downpour, my speed for the 100 dash not being what it was--decided prudently to retrace the whole way back and presently reached the bus stop.
Was taking a call in the rain and in vain trying to not get wet ( Murphy's law on the mobile --the phone will always ring when you cannot reach it ) when espied a bus titled Vashi, which was the intended destination, and hopped in. Ulp, another false move because the bus I should have taken was No. 524 & not 523. Result--the bus I boarded in my misguided haste took the more scenic ( and much much longer ) route and hence was able to reach the precincts of the Vashi Bus Station only by 10 .
All's well that ends well, and managed to reach home safely enough.
Began a Perry Mason that I'd not read ( or not remembered reading, in my dotage , both mean the same )--The Dubious Bridegroom, a tale that had its first scenes right opposite Mason's office. Will not let the cat out of the bag.
GOVINDA AALA RE
Hitherto, the only significance the festival of Janmashtami has had is--it's a holiday ( significant ) and one gets sweetmeats to eat ( even more significant ). But this time , got an entirely new dimension on this thing. Many-colour attired youth ( no plural, please ) descend upon various points of public congregations ( on invitation , I am told ) and endeavour to use collective brawn and brain on breaking the " dahi-handi " which contains curd, water and turmeric.( maximum three attempts per toli ) For this tough task, some asinine politicos have been known to pay sums upwards of Rs. 10 lakhs. All this poses a few questions for me, ( and as I realized also for the perspicacious news reader on my favourite news channel Aaj Tak )--Where does the money come from ? ( wrong question-politics is a very lucrative job )
What is the money for ? ( breaking the pot--seems ludicrous )
If more than one team turns up, then how do we manage ? ( draw of lots, perhaps )
I could be reading too much into this seemingly innocent religious fervour-after all, the people who assembled in droves were remakably well-behaved, there seemed to be enjoying themselves and I am in favour of anything that has people getting together for non-political reasons--So there !
POGO
Was told at the Head Office induction, that a lot of advertisements of the company's products appear on Cartoon Network . I remember bristling with righteous indignation--what about those of us who watch Pogo ?
Barney and Friends can do with more watchers--will do a proper review later, but was aghast to find that even Noddy was in Hindi. How mundane " yeh hai suhana din" sounds when compared to the original " It's a Happy Day ".
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What's common to Avalon, Norita, Birchwood & Valencia ?
Well, if I'd been exhorted to guess,I 'd have said all have roots in the Bard's works or all gave rise to names of football clubs.
Nothing as terribly intricate as all that--these ae the names of the four building where the great one prospected for a house today. Am in the midst of toting up a swot but will reveal the results of this caper later.
After doing my best to complete the veritable agonised and agonising rendezvous with various folks as mandated by my Orienation schedule, I could only scurry for the Panvel home at about 8 pm. " It was a dark and stormy night" sums it up nicely and I scampered and ran, looking neither left or right. I should have, because very soon , I found myself outside a hedge with a much-travelled path through what very evidently was the jungle. Enquired about this and was told confidently told that this was the way to go. Discretion is the better part of valour, what with the downpour, my speed for the 100 dash not being what it was--decided prudently to retrace the whole way back and presently reached the bus stop.
Was taking a call in the rain and in vain trying to not get wet ( Murphy's law on the mobile --the phone will always ring when you cannot reach it ) when espied a bus titled Vashi, which was the intended destination, and hopped in. Ulp, another false move because the bus I should have taken was No. 524 & not 523. Result--the bus I boarded in my misguided haste took the more scenic ( and much much longer ) route and hence was able to reach the precincts of the Vashi Bus Station only by 10 .
All's well that ends well, and managed to reach home safely enough.
Began a Perry Mason that I'd not read ( or not remembered reading, in my dotage , both mean the same )--The Dubious Bridegroom, a tale that had its first scenes right opposite Mason's office. Will not let the cat out of the bag.
GOVINDA AALA RE
Hitherto, the only significance the festival of Janmashtami has had is--it's a holiday ( significant ) and one gets sweetmeats to eat ( even more significant ). But this time , got an entirely new dimension on this thing. Many-colour attired youth ( no plural, please ) descend upon various points of public congregations ( on invitation , I am told ) and endeavour to use collective brawn and brain on breaking the " dahi-handi " which contains curd, water and turmeric.( maximum three attempts per toli ) For this tough task, some asinine politicos have been known to pay sums upwards of Rs. 10 lakhs. All this poses a few questions for me, ( and as I realized also for the perspicacious news reader on my favourite news channel Aaj Tak )--Where does the money come from ? ( wrong question-politics is a very lucrative job )
What is the money for ? ( breaking the pot--seems ludicrous )
If more than one team turns up, then how do we manage ? ( draw of lots, perhaps )
I could be reading too much into this seemingly innocent religious fervour-after all, the people who assembled in droves were remakably well-behaved, there seemed to be enjoying themselves and I am in favour of anything that has people getting together for non-political reasons--So there !
POGO
Was told at the Head Office induction, that a lot of advertisements of the company's products appear on Cartoon Network . I remember bristling with righteous indignation--what about those of us who watch Pogo ?
Barney and Friends can do with more watchers--will do a proper review later, but was aghast to find that even Noddy was in Hindi. How mundane " yeh hai suhana din" sounds when compared to the original " It's a Happy Day ".
Sunday, September 05, 2004
Learnt that the good site has just deemed it fit to post my last blog twice--yeh kya hua kyon hua kab hua.....
Have vacated my earlier residence and with the help of my father and a few others, have successfully expunged all traces of the life lived over the past five months at Colaba--a breezy life with exposure to adrenalin surges at unearthly hours, a lot of travel and meeting people, deepening and recapturing a long-last love for marketing and working hard, very hard. Remains to be seen what vestiges of these attributes continue in my new job.
And what are the learnings ? asks the keen reader-- a diffuclt poser at the best of times. Hmmm.... Well, don't work too hard, have the time to enjoy the roses as you race down work lanes--something like that.
Hiranandani seems to be pretty good for the nonce--lots of eateries, banks ( not as in Freddie the Fly ) and the odd bookstore. Staying in a place called Roda's , an EcoTel ( purportedly one whose heart bleeds more profusely for the environs ), and the househunt could commence tomorrow.
Just saw in a store that our worthies had made 175--great going for a set of models. And yes, maybe now's the time to say it, Freddie Flintoff is a favourite of mine now.
Just a parting shot on the Olympics--performance of the Games--Nesterenko smashing all the big names with impunity, visual spectacle of the Games--a theatrical performance from La Belle Isinbayeva, eminently watchable, prediction of the Games--Kelly Holmes in the 1500m, well all I really did was listen to the BBC World Service and they were sure, i did shock my parents though even as I pointed that out midway in the last lap, she was about 7th then, heartwarming moment of the Games--Hicham Hicham Hicham, was glad he won although Bekele has loads to prove, ovation of the Games--for the incomparable Pyrros Dimas--I heard it on the radio, our telly-suckers would have missed it, boy it comfortable dwarfed Martina's farewell at Wimbledon, the Don, Sampras last year--it went on and on and on--wow, that's loe for you and settles the Tebitt test to ( he's of Georgian stock ). I liked these Games !!!
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Have vacated my earlier residence and with the help of my father and a few others, have successfully expunged all traces of the life lived over the past five months at Colaba--a breezy life with exposure to adrenalin surges at unearthly hours, a lot of travel and meeting people, deepening and recapturing a long-last love for marketing and working hard, very hard. Remains to be seen what vestiges of these attributes continue in my new job.
And what are the learnings ? asks the keen reader-- a diffuclt poser at the best of times. Hmmm.... Well, don't work too hard, have the time to enjoy the roses as you race down work lanes--something like that.
Hiranandani seems to be pretty good for the nonce--lots of eateries, banks ( not as in Freddie the Fly ) and the odd bookstore. Staying in a place called Roda's , an EcoTel ( purportedly one whose heart bleeds more profusely for the environs ), and the househunt could commence tomorrow.
Just saw in a store that our worthies had made 175--great going for a set of models. And yes, maybe now's the time to say it, Freddie Flintoff is a favourite of mine now.
Just a parting shot on the Olympics--performance of the Games--Nesterenko smashing all the big names with impunity, visual spectacle of the Games--a theatrical performance from La Belle Isinbayeva, eminently watchable, prediction of the Games--Kelly Holmes in the 1500m, well all I really did was listen to the BBC World Service and they were sure, i did shock my parents though even as I pointed that out midway in the last lap, she was about 7th then, heartwarming moment of the Games--Hicham Hicham Hicham, was glad he won although Bekele has loads to prove, ovation of the Games--for the incomparable Pyrros Dimas--I heard it on the radio, our telly-suckers would have missed it, boy it comfortable dwarfed Martina's farewell at Wimbledon, the Don, Sampras last year--it went on and on and on--wow, that's loe for you and settles the Tebitt test to ( he's of Georgian stock ). I liked these Games !!!
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
THE METEMORPHOSIS
An eventful day, by any yardstick. One of those rarest of rare days in the last four years where I've not been contributing my mite in shoring up a company's bottomlines ( ahem ! ), a day of precarious Trishanku-like suspended animation, a day between the f.p. and the fire, but mostly a day of transition between my last and my future employer. One of the more poignant also because although for reasons outlines above, I get no income but was considerably poorer by more than a few grand.
Gave peremptory instructions to all and sundry to stop whatever they were doing for/to me at the Colaba abode--which of course also bids adieu to the leech-like Pest Control company that sends me mailers on when they plan to disinfect my house ( this is a monthly ritual and has never actually materialised due to being away during the day and most of the night).
had the Samsonian locks shorn ( another indefatigable attempt to lose weight ), returned the still-unswunm murky waters of the borrowed BCL books and harked to Vashi for an epileptic bout of shopping with my sister.
The CentreOne mall at Vashi has its priorities just right--an entire floor devoted to the epicurean predilections of those who have been unsuspectingly dragged. Did find the patience and the strength of mind to pick up the odd touch of sartorial necessity and made the dash all the way to VT.
Despite my best efforts, Tele-check in and all that, managed to miss the flight to Delhi--the first time I''ve contrived to do so, and an education nevertheless. All my entreaties fell on deaf ears and was forced to take recourse to an 8 pm flight . Mde a sheepish way to the Lounge where my missing the plane proved to be a b. in disguise, cos' I caught sight of my first boss ( from Bhopal days ), himself having given a though too much to the chicken snack and behind the eightball in his Indore endeavour--a quick exchane of words and he was off. Completed my Sunday Hindu edition before I asked ( and received ) a warm glass for saline gargling from the helpful attendant, came backn and found to my chagrin that my newspaper had been purloined by none other than Aziz Mirza, and his companion. Now I couldn't say much , could I , given the act itself ? Waited patiently till they decamped on their Calcutta flight. Never take a celeb for granted, you never know what they will whack.
The niggling sore threat turned to a full-blown cold by the time I touched down in Delhi and was received by a placard-holder.
Ode to the Placard-Holder
No poetry here, but I doff my non-existent hat to the hours of toil and sweat put in by the placard-holder--he stands in rain or shine, holding up an inanimate piece of corporate memorabilia ( nonsense really ) expecting a response from a person he's never seen. He seldom even knows if the flight is on time , delayed or in fact whether his stooge has even boarded. Cannot delve into the depths of his emotions, and all of them bunched together gives the entire thing a piquant feel--I half suspect a revolution of sorts is brewing in their minds.
Checked into a hotel called the Lemon Tree, an unusual name with even more burlesque designations like Nimboo Pani ( that's for Junior Officer ) and Nimboo Soda ( for Senior Officer ) . The whole bally place is replete with Dilber, Calvin and Hobbes--the elevators, the dining tables, the aisles, the galleries--full of wit, wisdom and indubitably somethign to make you chuckle. Much appreciated from a beleagured corporate pawn.
The first day of reckoning was good-except my health whicb deteriorated, but the meetings seemed decent, the people seemed warm and courteous. Looking forward to tomorrow.
India's been thrashed--hurrah !!!
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An eventful day, by any yardstick. One of those rarest of rare days in the last four years where I've not been contributing my mite in shoring up a company's bottomlines ( ahem ! ), a day of precarious Trishanku-like suspended animation, a day between the f.p. and the fire, but mostly a day of transition between my last and my future employer. One of the more poignant also because although for reasons outlines above, I get no income but was considerably poorer by more than a few grand.
Gave peremptory instructions to all and sundry to stop whatever they were doing for/to me at the Colaba abode--which of course also bids adieu to the leech-like Pest Control company that sends me mailers on when they plan to disinfect my house ( this is a monthly ritual and has never actually materialised due to being away during the day and most of the night).
had the Samsonian locks shorn ( another indefatigable attempt to lose weight ), returned the still-unswunm murky waters of the borrowed BCL books and harked to Vashi for an epileptic bout of shopping with my sister.
The CentreOne mall at Vashi has its priorities just right--an entire floor devoted to the epicurean predilections of those who have been unsuspectingly dragged. Did find the patience and the strength of mind to pick up the odd touch of sartorial necessity and made the dash all the way to VT.
Despite my best efforts, Tele-check in and all that, managed to miss the flight to Delhi--the first time I''ve contrived to do so, and an education nevertheless. All my entreaties fell on deaf ears and was forced to take recourse to an 8 pm flight . Mde a sheepish way to the Lounge where my missing the plane proved to be a b. in disguise, cos' I caught sight of my first boss ( from Bhopal days ), himself having given a though too much to the chicken snack and behind the eightball in his Indore endeavour--a quick exchane of words and he was off. Completed my Sunday Hindu edition before I asked ( and received ) a warm glass for saline gargling from the helpful attendant, came backn and found to my chagrin that my newspaper had been purloined by none other than Aziz Mirza, and his companion. Now I couldn't say much , could I , given the act itself ? Waited patiently till they decamped on their Calcutta flight. Never take a celeb for granted, you never know what they will whack.
The niggling sore threat turned to a full-blown cold by the time I touched down in Delhi and was received by a placard-holder.
Ode to the Placard-Holder
No poetry here, but I doff my non-existent hat to the hours of toil and sweat put in by the placard-holder--he stands in rain or shine, holding up an inanimate piece of corporate memorabilia ( nonsense really ) expecting a response from a person he's never seen. He seldom even knows if the flight is on time , delayed or in fact whether his stooge has even boarded. Cannot delve into the depths of his emotions, and all of them bunched together gives the entire thing a piquant feel--I half suspect a revolution of sorts is brewing in their minds.
Checked into a hotel called the Lemon Tree, an unusual name with even more burlesque designations like Nimboo Pani ( that's for Junior Officer ) and Nimboo Soda ( for Senior Officer ) . The whole bally place is replete with Dilber, Calvin and Hobbes--the elevators, the dining tables, the aisles, the galleries--full of wit, wisdom and indubitably somethign to make you chuckle. Much appreciated from a beleagured corporate pawn.
The first day of reckoning was good-except my health whicb deteriorated, but the meetings seemed decent, the people seemed warm and courteous. Looking forward to tomorrow.
India's been thrashed--hurrah !!!
THE METEMORPHOSIS
An eventful day, by any yardstick. One of those rarest of rare days in the last four years where I've not been contributing my mite in shoring up a company's bottomlines ( ahem ! ), a day of precarious Trishanku-like suspended animation, a day between the f.p. and the fire, but mostly a day of transition between my last and my future employer. One of the more poignant also because although for reasons outlines above, I get no income but was considerably poorer by more than a few grand.
Gave peremptory instructions to all and sundry to stop whatever they were doing for/to me at the Colaba abode--which of course also bids adieu to the leech-like Pest Control company that sends me mailers on when they plan to disinfect my house ( this is a monthly ritual and has never actually materialised due to being away during the day and most of the night).
had the Samsonian locks shorn ( another indefatigable attempt to lose weight ), returned the still-unswunm murky waters of the borrowed BCL books and harked to Vashi for an epileptic bout of shopping with my sister.
The CentreOne mall at Vashi has its priorities just right--an entire floor devoted to the epicurean predilections of those who have been unsuspectingly dragged. Did find the patience and the strength of mind to pick up the odd touch of sartorial necessity and made the dash all the way to VT.
Despite my best efforts, Tele-check in and all that, managed to miss the flight to Delhi--the first time I''ve contrived to do so, and an education nevertheless. All my entreaties fell on deaf ears and was forced to take recourse to an 8 pm flight . Mde a sheepish way to the Lounge where my missing the plane proved to be a b. in disguise, cos' I caught sight of my first boss ( from Bhopal days ), himself having given a though too much to the chicken snack and behind the eightball in his Indore endeavour--a quick exchane of words and he was off. Completed my Sunday Hindu edition before I asked ( and received ) a warm glass for saline gargling from the helpful attendant, came backn and found to my chagrin that my newspaper had been purloined by none other than Aziz Mirza, and his companion. Now I couldn't say much , could I , given the act itself ? Waited patiently till they decamped on their Calcutta flight. Never take a celeb for granted, you never know what they will whack.
The niggling sore threat turned to a full-blown cold by the time I touched down in Delhi and was received by a placard-holder.
Ode to the Placard-Holder
No poetry here, but I doff my non-existent hat to the hours of toil and sweat put in by the placard-holder--he stands in rain or shine, holding up an inanimate piece of corporate memorabilia ( nonsense really ) expecting a response from a person he's never seen. He seldom even knows if the flight is on time , delayed or in fact whether his stooge has even boarded. Cannot delve into the depths of his emotions, and all of them bunched together gives the entire thing a piquant feel--I half suspect a revolution of sorts is brewing in their minds.
Checked into a hotel called the Lemon Tree, an unusual name with even more burlesque designations like Nimboo Pani ( that's for Junior Officer ) and Nimboo Soda ( for Senior Officer ) . The whole bally place is replete with Dilber, Calvin and Hobbes--the elevators, the dining tables, the aisles, the galleries--full of wit, wisdom and indubitably somethign to make you chuckle. Much appreciated from a beleagured corporate pawn.
The first day of reckoning was good-except my health whicb deteriorated, but the meetings seemed decent, the people seemed warm and courteous. Looking forward to tomorrow.
India's been thrashed--hurrah !!!
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An eventful day, by any yardstick. One of those rarest of rare days in the last four years where I've not been contributing my mite in shoring up a company's bottomlines ( ahem ! ), a day of precarious Trishanku-like suspended animation, a day between the f.p. and the fire, but mostly a day of transition between my last and my future employer. One of the more poignant also because although for reasons outlines above, I get no income but was considerably poorer by more than a few grand.
Gave peremptory instructions to all and sundry to stop whatever they were doing for/to me at the Colaba abode--which of course also bids adieu to the leech-like Pest Control company that sends me mailers on when they plan to disinfect my house ( this is a monthly ritual and has never actually materialised due to being away during the day and most of the night).
had the Samsonian locks shorn ( another indefatigable attempt to lose weight ), returned the still-unswunm murky waters of the borrowed BCL books and harked to Vashi for an epileptic bout of shopping with my sister.
The CentreOne mall at Vashi has its priorities just right--an entire floor devoted to the epicurean predilections of those who have been unsuspectingly dragged. Did find the patience and the strength of mind to pick up the odd touch of sartorial necessity and made the dash all the way to VT.
Despite my best efforts, Tele-check in and all that, managed to miss the flight to Delhi--the first time I''ve contrived to do so, and an education nevertheless. All my entreaties fell on deaf ears and was forced to take recourse to an 8 pm flight . Mde a sheepish way to the Lounge where my missing the plane proved to be a b. in disguise, cos' I caught sight of my first boss ( from Bhopal days ), himself having given a though too much to the chicken snack and behind the eightball in his Indore endeavour--a quick exchane of words and he was off. Completed my Sunday Hindu edition before I asked ( and received ) a warm glass for saline gargling from the helpful attendant, came backn and found to my chagrin that my newspaper had been purloined by none other than Aziz Mirza, and his companion. Now I couldn't say much , could I , given the act itself ? Waited patiently till they decamped on their Calcutta flight. Never take a celeb for granted, you never know what they will whack.
The niggling sore threat turned to a full-blown cold by the time I touched down in Delhi and was received by a placard-holder.
Ode to the Placard-Holder
No poetry here, but I doff my non-existent hat to the hours of toil and sweat put in by the placard-holder--he stands in rain or shine, holding up an inanimate piece of corporate memorabilia ( nonsense really ) expecting a response from a person he's never seen. He seldom even knows if the flight is on time , delayed or in fact whether his stooge has even boarded. Cannot delve into the depths of his emotions, and all of them bunched together gives the entire thing a piquant feel--I half suspect a revolution of sorts is brewing in their minds.
Checked into a hotel called the Lemon Tree, an unusual name with even more burlesque designations like Nimboo Pani ( that's for Junior Officer ) and Nimboo Soda ( for Senior Officer ) . The whole bally place is replete with Dilber, Calvin and Hobbes--the elevators, the dining tables, the aisles, the galleries--full of wit, wisdom and indubitably somethign to make you chuckle. Much appreciated from a beleagured corporate pawn.
The first day of reckoning was good-except my health whicb deteriorated, but the meetings seemed decent, the people seemed warm and courteous. Looking forward to tomorrow.
India's been thrashed--hurrah !!!
