Read two books back to back. Neither was difficult to read...
There's Anansi Boys, which is quite a 1500m run, not quite a jog and not quite a sprint... I love Gaiman's writing. Unpretentious. Enigmatic. Quirky. Robbins, though very pretentious, is as much enigmatic. And I don't know, I feel Robbins is quirky in an antiseptic, Dettol-smelling way, while Gaiman could really have a Rasta. Am I falling out of love for Robbins? I don't know. Every phase of my life has had a writer and a musician. Maybe 30 is Gaiman? That sounds ridiculous... 30 should be Llosa or Cortazar or Banville or some similar stuff... This is all the other way round. 12 was Dumas! 15 was Sheldon??!! Peace.
And so to Keep off the grass. Sadly, the book I write will be more Karan Bajaj than Chetan Bhagat. And that’s unfortunate. Writing Chetan Bhagat should be more fun than writing Karan Bajaj.
And of course one needs to be special in many ways to write like Peter Roebuck
Anyways. Till the next time.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Tubai-er smritir uddeshshey
The old neighborhood. All the old boys, from all over the world, still assemble during Durga pujo. All of us old boys, but for Tubai.
Our old neighborhood is choc-a-bloc with petty politics, the houses are quite spread out though. Everyone has something negative to say about everyone else and one way or the other. Some juicy gossip.
Tubai's died about four years ago. Helmetless motorcycle accident. He was 22.
Tubai played the drums, smoked the cigarettes, had a smile and a quick practical joke for everyone and a new music group he had discovered everytime I met him during the pujos.
Tubai spoke of leaving Kolkata... Bujhle guru, Bangalore-i bhalo chhilo. Ekhaney saala kono music band ashey na. Ebar baire-i choley jaabo. Dhur baal. Tobeh ekhono drums bajacchi... ei coding korey korey kee ar oishob kichhu kora jaay?
He was way too young too die. Way too nice. Way too easy-going.
The last drink is always Tubai-er smritir uddeshshey. Nobody has a bad word for a dead guy. Tubai was one of the few for whom nobody had one even when he was alive.
Our old neighborhood is choc-a-bloc with petty politics, the houses are quite spread out though. Everyone has something negative to say about everyone else and one way or the other. Some juicy gossip.
Tubai's died about four years ago. Helmetless motorcycle accident. He was 22.
Tubai played the drums, smoked the cigarettes, had a smile and a quick practical joke for everyone and a new music group he had discovered everytime I met him during the pujos.
Tubai spoke of leaving Kolkata... Bujhle guru, Bangalore-i bhalo chhilo. Ekhaney saala kono music band ashey na. Ebar baire-i choley jaabo. Dhur baal. Tobeh ekhono drums bajacchi... ei coding korey korey kee ar oishob kichhu kora jaay?
He was way too young too die. Way too nice. Way too easy-going.
The last drink is always Tubai-er smritir uddeshshey. Nobody has a bad word for a dead guy. Tubai was one of the few for whom nobody had one even when he was alive.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Rock song
Kolkata beckons.
The rain pelts down. Bangalore's drenched. Forgot to get the clothes in from outside, and there's no point in it now, they've gone wet already.
I write in bullet points these days.
I used to write boring, vapid, overwritten, crafted, descriptive prose earlier. And used to feel sad when nobody complimented them.
I think it's a process of transformation. I have become a point. A reference to context. A one-liner.
I don't fight issues anymore. What's the point in it? It's easier to just pass a smart-alecky something, vaguely knowledgeable.. I still have the gyan, if not the knowledge.
Years move on. From Durga pujo to Durga pujo. Kind of a reference point.
At 30, is it better to be bitter, unpredictable and unsure, or staid and predictable?
I still like rock, AOE and football. That should count too.
I don't have a rock song for every moment anymore. I don't have a quotable quote for every moment.
What I do have is an answer to most questions.
It's easy to put on a show .
It's toughest to make peace with the me of four years ago.
The rain pelts down. Bangalore's drenched. Forgot to get the clothes in from outside, and there's no point in it now, they've gone wet already.
I write in bullet points these days.
I used to write boring, vapid, overwritten, crafted, descriptive prose earlier. And used to feel sad when nobody complimented them.
I think it's a process of transformation. I have become a point. A reference to context. A one-liner.
I don't fight issues anymore. What's the point in it? It's easier to just pass a smart-alecky something, vaguely knowledgeable.. I still have the gyan, if not the knowledge.
Years move on. From Durga pujo to Durga pujo. Kind of a reference point.
At 30, is it better to be bitter, unpredictable and unsure, or staid and predictable?
I still like rock, AOE and football. That should count too.
I don't have a rock song for every moment anymore. I don't have a quotable quote for every moment.
What I do have is an answer to most questions.
It's easy to put on a show .
It's toughest to make peace with the me of four years ago.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Don't Outsource. Perish.
Nice article here...
And another, much older one, here...
Leave apart economics, leave apart reason, here are basic luddite questions. If outsourcing some of your easily outsourceable work (the low-hanging fruit) is the only way you company survives, will you outsource? If hiring a tutor from Korea to cut costs is the only way your kid continues to take violin lessons (youtube is a little too drastic still) ... will you do that?
And another, much older one, here...
Leave apart economics, leave apart reason, here are basic luddite questions. If outsourcing some of your easily outsourceable work (the low-hanging fruit) is the only way you company survives, will you outsource? If hiring a tutor from Korea to cut costs is the only way your kid continues to take violin lessons (youtube is a little too drastic still) ... will you do that?
Saturday, September 05, 2009
Started reading again
It's been a while now.
Started reading in Bangla again. It's been longer.
Kudrat Rangibirangi by Kumar Prasad Mukhopadhyay. Is a beautiful book. About a topic I have no interest in.
Started reading in Bangla again. It's been longer.
Kudrat Rangibirangi by Kumar Prasad Mukhopadhyay. Is a beautiful book. About a topic I have no interest in.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
The West Indies XI
Will be scary.
Greenidge, Haynes, Headley, Lara, Richards, Sobers, Dujon, Marshall, Ambrose, Hall, Holding.
Hell!
Think of this.
Walcott (wk), Hunte, Weekes, Kanhai, Worrell, Lloyd, Constantine, Roberts, Walsh, Gibbs, Garner
Greenidge, Haynes, Headley, Lara, Richards, Sobers, Dujon, Marshall, Ambrose, Hall, Holding.
Hell!
Think of this.
Walcott (wk), Hunte, Weekes, Kanhai, Worrell, Lloyd, Constantine, Roberts, Walsh, Gibbs, Garner
Friday, August 21, 2009
Morbid Deletion
Was writing this fucken morbid post, but somehow, it got edited out. Thank god for the extreme slowness of the internet... need to get it checked.
Well?
Everything seems to be alright. Really.
Office is rather okay in a non-exciting, placid way. We are doing good at home. I am going to the gym regularly. The Premier League season has started. There was a trip to the wilds a while back, and may I add, it was fabulous!
I am not being able to figure out why on earth should I be feeling bored out of my skin, disinclined and disinterested. Everything is good, no? Why shouldn't I get back into the contented, relaxed, easy state of mind?
Well?
Office is rather okay in a non-exciting, placid way. We are doing good at home. I am going to the gym regularly. The Premier League season has started. There was a trip to the wilds a while back, and may I add, it was fabulous!
I am not being able to figure out why on earth should I be feeling bored out of my skin, disinclined and disinterested. Everything is good, no? Why shouldn't I get back into the contented, relaxed, easy state of mind?
Well?
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