Lapsus Calami

Teach Failure.

2011-01-28T10:49:00.006+05:30

Life was never meant to be easy, you know? So why do you complain?

This is a vortex. A vortex of I-me-&-myself. And being force fed by all - and all is not just momdad, it's friends and colleagues and significant others - that one is something special, has made one's skin thin, has made one defensive and resistant to criticism.

I am right. I always have been. I am good. I have friends. I have people who like me. I stand apart. I am smart. Fucken smart. Heavens have mercy, I am money-ed!

So how can I be wrong?

See the conundrum? We are the fairly successful, we are the ones that have got better and better every day. We are the uber-snobs, bigger than the garden variety snob one finds in schools, colleges and work, ... because we had earned the right of passage, it was not given to us in a platter.

We are the ones who know the solutions, and if we do not know, we will grunt it through, and if even grunt is not working, we will faff. We won't fail.

No. Stop. Learn to fail.
Learn to try hard. very hard. And then fail..... (PS I am telling this to myself)

Our parents have been failures in that they have only taught us to win, taught us to strive. Our friends have failed us by telling us we are immortal, or at worst- mortal, but only with them, bacause they are immortal too.

Get up. Brush off. Go on. It's ok.

Great to hear. But who wil teach you to brush off?

Shaant, gadadhaari Bheem !

2010-02-09T11:54:00.001+05:30

Yeh sab kyaaaa ho raha hai???

Such a legendary part.

... A large-hearted gentleman ...

2010-02-07T10:08:00.006+05:30

Is how Jim Corbett described the tiger.

Know what, when I was young, I would read ONLY shikar stories. Corbett, Anderson, Buddhadev Guha, and of course that spinechiller from Africa, Man-eaters of Tsavo.

I am 31 now. And I read a lot of other things. But even today, the Jim Corbett omnibus and the Kenneth Anderson omnibus, and the voluminous 'Wrijuda Samagro'-s are important companions.

I'm sure many of you have such memories as well.... tell me, without the tiger in Indian forests anymore, can your kids enjoy the stories the same way as you could, as you can? It all becomes a bit of a myth, doesn't it?

Save our tigers. For our childhood memories. And our kids'.

Three! Three!

2010-02-02T22:07:00.003+05:30

Who was it, Chaitanya, was it you, who once mentioned to me that even if one stops writing, one should never ever put up a 'The blog stops here' post?

Well you were right.

I am not back to this blog. Being back is the equivalent of committing that I will be regular and will treat this blog with affection.

No, really, there is no affection for this blog. I don't care a whit about it. And I am carrying two other blogs, both of which I care a lot more about.

But I will write sometimes. Whatever is not a photograph, and whatever is not on sports, will land up here.

A game of questions and answers

2010-01-31T04:22:00.005+05:30

A few questions (which were asked recently, not over social media, but directly however) require answering.

A) A good friend from college recently dropped in to Bangalore, and her first question was a rather animated 'WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN'?

Well, I have been around. Getting to grips with life. Settling down to a pattern (if you know me even remotely, you will know that I am a sucker for pattern, and similar unromantic terms like logic, sense and continuity. Even peace. Give peace a chance, eh?)... well, I have settled to a pattern now.

If you did not know, I got married about two years back. And married life has been exactly what I had expected it to be i.e. turbulent initially, what with two rather diffident people coming together... and then gradually steady, strong and loving. Love triumphed. And I was discussing with the better half a while back that what marriage gave us was a lot of faith in who and what we are and who we would like to be. Do others feel the same way too? That marriage removes the primary reason for the me-too.

Oh, and might I add, I worked really, really hard at my job. And here's a realization. I love to work hard. I do not really know whether I love my job, I never am able to think rationally on this. And I don't really care. As in, what is the choice? The work is not such that I hate waking up in the morning for it. I am quite happy with work. And when a deliverable is placed, it has to be done, right? And yes, 'Friends claim he's grown aloof and prim/ his boss, though, is well pleased with him'. Fair enough.

B) A colleague asked why I do not write on Business. Especially the outsourcing industry, which he believes (and at the risk of sounding pompous, I concur) that I have a reasonable basic understanding of. At least enough to have a viewpoint on matters. And having worked on Organizational Strategy for a fair bit of time, I have written these humongously long and verbose emails at times which can very easily become blog posts.... On re-reads, they do look like blog posts to me.

I know the answer to this question. The answer is that earlier I did not write because I was not convinced that my ideas were right or logical, and now I don't because I know that my viewpoints are right, and none of these viewpoints are stand-out-ishly new or innovative. They have all been said. And my conviction in them, or non-conviction as the case may be, came about with thought put into the ideas. This comes from increased reading, online and on physical media of course. And am just not interested in actively looking out for the next idea that I could disagree on. Or to tell the world that I have a viewpoint on a certain matter, however staid it might be. There may be another reason, and this stems from my incessant writing on sport. I care deeply about sport. I might not care so deeply about business, that there are points just waiting to come out, even if they have been said a hundred times beforehand.

C) I asked this question to myself. Why are my blog posts the size of tweets, tweets the size of facebook comments, and facebook comments of blogs?

And this is a question that I do not know the answer to very well. Maybe, just maybe, dear reader of this blog, I do not trust you enough to have a conversation with you. I don't know you too well, remember. And facebook friends are fine. Maybe that. I am not sure. I was a fairly regular and diligent blogger once, writing about all kinds of stuff. And I still do write. Then?

D) Why are comments gone?

Answer, for no particular reason. They will be back sometime.

Pine for what is not

2010-01-22T11:08:00.002+05:30

We look before and after,
And pine for what is not:
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

My mother's favourite few lines. To a Skylark, by P B Shelley

Old. List. Success. And Selling short.

2010-01-21T02:24:00.003+05:30

Was reading this blog of a friend. She was speaking about how she never had a concrete few things to achieve by a certain age.

It got me thinking. So a few emails ensued, to a few people. And phone calls of course. You know who you are, if you still read this blog.

Puzzling. Is it that you didn't want to tell me, folks? Or is it that I really am so much of an anomaly?

None of you, not even one of you had actually listed down things you wanted to achieve, (or have ... or get ... or have done) by 30? 35? You NEVER made a list? Really?

The oldest (probably the fourth, in all) list of approximates that I made that I still own, of things that I wanted by age 30, which I then modified to 31 and then 32 (and this last little modification is made now), was made at about age 17, when I had just landed up in Kolkata. I am an inveterate and compulsive listmaker; didn't you guess that, Einstein?

Okay, I did not end up having a relationship with that Banerjee girl (what pragmatism... I even have this written as a margin note - marriage is a long term thing, many things change... a smug 'having a relationship' sits beside a scratched out 'marrying'... man, this is funny as hell .... I spoke to her about twice I suppose, but hell was she cute), and neither have I seen an Aurora Borealis, but many of the things I was looking for then, are either accomplished or very nearly so today. Now c'mon, how difficult is an Aurora Borealis really?

And here's the hark back. Is this being defensive? Is this an extension to not really daring to dream, daring to dare? And is it such that setting the bar low, ensuring that I do not really fall flat on my face even looking at a 14-year old scribble, is just another extension of selling myself short?

Know what, I never really thought I was setting the bar low. But I indeed was very intent on being serious about the whole thing.

Dare to dream, they say. But they also say 'Plan to fail, but never fail to plan'. So? So what's the solution?

What do you do..

2010-01-19T15:07:00.001+05:30

when you start reading a book, and you realise that you are reading it about three years too late.

Would you still read and complete it?

Blogging

2010-01-18T21:29:00.000+05:30

Decided to start blogging again.

Mostly there.

But sometimes here too.

Jim Corbett

2009-11-12T18:26:00.004+05:30

And really, do you not smell the forest when you read him? Of course you need to have experienced what the forest smells like in the first place....

It's some little minor magic. But magic it is.

JCNP. Another on the 'to be visited' list.

Hello Silence

2009-11-12T18:24:00.000+05:30

Hello silence my old friend. I've come to talk with you again.

Roebuck and Anansi and sundry others

2009-10-14T14:32:00.005+05:30

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.

Tubai-er smritir uddeshshey

2009-10-08T01:12:00.004+05:30

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.

Leonard Cohen

2009-09-23T23:56:00.000+05:30

Too late to discover him?

Yes.

Too late.

Rock song

2009-09-23T23:31:00.009+05:30

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.

Don't Outsource. Perish.

2009-09-11T13:02:00.003+05:30

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?

Started reading again

2009-09-05T14:24:00.004+05:30

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.

The West Indies XI

2009-09-02T16:51:00.002+05:30

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

Morbid Deletion

2009-08-21T12:32:00.004+05:30

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?

2009-08-21T12:23:00.004+05:30

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?

OK

2009-08-05T00:23:00.003+05:30

I had been here.
Often.
In the past.

It was another world. Another life. Another kind of magic...

I can't touch it anymore.

It's moved on. I have.

I don't stay here anymore.

Where did it go wrong?
Or did it actually get right, while I wasn't looking?

OK.

Two of the vaguest alphabets.

So be it, then. OK.

Obituary - Tim Russert

2008-06-14T07:17:00.002+05:30

Tim Russert of NBC.

Was very good, very impressive. Will be missed.

Ami Bangla-y Gaan Gaai

2008-05-23T11:56:00.005+05:30

Artist - Pratul Mukhopadhyay.

Aami Bangla-y gan gai / aami Banglar gan gai
Aami amar aami ke chiro din ei Bangla-y khuje pai ...

Aami Bangla-y gan gai / aami Banglar gan gai
Aami amar aami ke chiro din ei Bangla-y khuje pai ...
Aami Bangla-y dekhi shopno / aami Bangla-y badhi sur
Aami ei Banglar maya bhora pothey hetechi etota dur...

Bangla amar Jibonanondo / Bangla praner sur
Aami ekbar dekhi, baar baar dekhi, dekhi Banglar mukh...
Bangla amar Jibonanondo / Bangla praner sur
Aami ekbar dekhi, bar bar dekhi, dekhi Banglar mukh...
----
Aami Bangla-y kotha koi
aami Banglar kotha koi
aami Bangla-y hasi ,Bangla-y vashi Bangla-y jege roi...

aami Bangla-y maati ullashey / kori Bangla-y hahakar
aami sob dekhe sune khepe giye kori Bangla-y chitkar ...

Bangla amar dripto chetona..khipto tir dhonuk
aami ekbar dekhi, bar bar dekhi ...dekhi Banglar mukh...

Bangla amar dripto chetona..khipto tir dhonuk
aami ekbar dekhi bar bar dekhi ...dekhi Banglar mukh...
-------

aami Bangla-y bhalobasi
aami Bangla-ke bhalobasi
aami taari hat dhorey shara prithibir manush-er kachey aasi ...

aami ja kichu mahaan boron korechi binomro shroddha-y
meshe tero nodi jol sat sagore / Ganga-y Paddma-y

Bangla amar trishnar jol / tripto shesh chumuk
aami ekbar dekhi bar bar dekhi dekhi Banglar mukh

------------------
Aami Bangla-y gan gai / aami Banglar gan gai
Aami amar aami ke chiro din ei Bangla-y khuje pai ...
Aami Bangla-y dekhi shopno / aami Bangla-y badhi sur
Aami ei Banglar maya bhora pothey hetechi etota dur...
Bangla amar Jibonanondo / Bangla praner sur
Aami ekbar dekhi, baar baar dekhi, dekhi Banglar mukh...

That one (or those two) moment...

2007-12-09T07:33:00.000+05:30

On the football messageboard (inhabited by equally maniacal football fanatics as I am, from all around the world), there was this recent post requesting us to choose that one favourite ever moment in football for us ......

It might have been a goal, it might have been the blowing of a final whistle or it might have purely been a beautiful bit of football, but what ONE moment in football do you remember more than any other as being your favourite?

And I was a bit late in responding, there's a bit of work to be done, and Boise is freezing... I saw one of my favourite posters on the forum say this about his favourite moment...

Platini's goal against Brazil in the QF of WC1986.
That game changed my life! From a football enthusiast, I became a die hard fan of the game.... my brothers were supporting Brazil, and I was supporting France, specially Platini... what a game, still ranks as one of the best I have ever seen.

And this is what I wrote, as a reply to his post...

That tournament converted me from a kid without a clue to a convert to the beautiful game. I remember that game vividly, my most striking memories being Zico's penalty miss, and in the same tie-breaker, Joel Bats standing still and not diving, and Socrates who was sxpecting him to move, letting go a tame chip straight to his arms.

My life-changing moment was a few days before though. I, seven then, had nodded off while watching the match, when Baba (that's what I call my dad) woke me up -- "It was a handball". he has always been an England supporter .... I, a Diego fan before a football fan till them, was frantically quarrelling with him... how dare he accuse my superhero... When that meandering, mazy run happened.... Life's never been the same since.

My favourite club football memory was much more recent... the Champions League 2006 finals. I was extremely happy that two of my favourite teams were in the finale.... and I promised the others in the group I was watching the match with, that I will be supporting good football... But well, as the match progressed, I continued to get more and more biased, so much so that while I did not mask my disappointment when Lehmann was sent off, by the time Campbell nodded in the goal, I was distraught...... And then, in the last few minutes, I was cheering louder than any of the other Barca supporters.... Cheering against Arsenal! I cannot quite believe myself being so frenetic then now, but I have clearly decided on which of the two was my favourite team.... Thank you, Henrik Larsson, and thank you, Juliano Belletti. May you have a great time at Chelsea. Just screw up on a clearance once, next weekend, alright??

A letter to Andrew Symonds

2007-10-19T22:54:00.000+05:30

A little letter to the aggrieved Lord Roy.

Dear Roy,

Well, to cut a long story short, we are. Racists, that is. Especially the males of our species, and especially during the marriage season. And rather unabashedly so, if I may add, with the standard ‘very fair bride needed’ a rather common sight on matrimonial ads. Oh yeah, since you might not know, there is this esoteric thingie called an arranged marriage here. Not very different from those lonely hearts clubs and singles bars that you have really, if you keep the cultural connotations in mind…
But oh yeah Racists we are. Now really, c’mon, where else will you find products like ‘Fair and Lovely’ on the supermarket shelves? This letter is not to defend ourselves from that accusation.

But Roy, stop being a sissy now. You are apparently a MAN in the typical Aussie sense, and (again something your team has pretty much perfected) there is no reason to cower behind the ICC now. And really, if there is any reason the crowd was booing you, it would be something to make you proud. You are just too big, just too hairy, and those white zinc-oxided lips don’t help matters much either (and may I add, neither the monster batting that you unfurled against our poor bowlers) … But trust me, it has got nothing to do with the color of your skin (ah c’mon, our untrained Indian eyes cannot distinguish between effect of the sun on a Johnson to a Symonds), or that you are one-fourth West Indian (believe me, the crowds are not THAT MUCH knowledgeable about the players here). Also, monkey chants as a form of racism are a very European phenomenon, most Indians not initiated to European football know a great deal about monkey chants in conjecture to racism (and may I add, no thanks for getting that concept introduced to the masses in India. A Chris Gayle will have you to blame for such chants directed at him in the future).

Heckling, especially heckling with numbers on your side (and the aggrieved party helpless to defend himself) is something our crowds rather like to do. And you should know all about it, you Aussies are not too bad at it either… And so you got a bit of lip from the crowd. C’mon, can that really be worse than what you might have faced in Australia?

Not putting forward a reason or something on our crowds’ behalf, we are meek Indians, how dare we really stand up to our colonial masters? It is still ‘Aththih Devo Bhavah’, isn’t it? How dare we heckle a representative of the greatest cricketing team that has ever been? Crowds in Vadodara and Mumbai, you should be ashamed of yourselves, didn’t you know that you were supposed to clap politely and our team was supposed to just stand back and wait to get slaughtered?

Just that the subject of the heckling (monkey chants and what not) was not the color of your skin, but you. It is, indeed, a compliment. You played very well indeed.

And congratulations for the ‘Man of the Series’ award. Richly deserved. Cheers.

Regards,
Sinfully Pinstripe

Col. Suresh Biswas

2007-10-17T20:21:00.000+05:30

Okay, one more thing checked off the register (of that old '100-things-to-do-before-30' checklist).

(p.s. No. No relation)

Surreal Conversation Part 1

2007-10-17T02:08:00.000+05:30

On email, remember.

Statutory warning – the contents of the following conversation has nothing to do with any person, living or dead, material or immaterial, and most of it is a basic sample of humorous repartee. We are all very respectful people. Especially towards our culture. We are very respectful to our KaalChaar (and here I am dead serious), and were not intending to needle any community or whatsoever. Take it easy, this is just banter. If there is a real nasty threat that comes in though, I will conveniently remove the post from over here.

Mo:
Sorry for not having called. Will do so today.
If you haven’t read them yet.
http://roshni.blogspot.com/2007/10/daffodils.html
http://roshni.blogspot.com/2007/10/been-there-done-that.html

SP:
You, dog, have no clue how well you write.
The book, I see, as a distinct possibility.
I might just come up with a book on globalization first though ….. Tom Friedman-esque.

Mo:
Thankies thankies.
Don’t tell me you never noticed the Bong obsession for the poem “Daffodils” (dapphodils?)

SP:
Of course I did.
Oh-aa-rds-oh-aa-rth….
The Pantheon is 1. Daffodils 2. Shelley's Skylark, and 3. Keats's Autumn… Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!

But I actually like skylark….
As in, I even used it while writing about footballers… Paul Gascoigne and the kinds
And hell, 'hail to thee, blythe spirit' cannot not sound great!

Mo:
Me too, I actually like Skylark. “Profuse strains of unpremeditated art”

I actually called Ma and asked why Daffodils was so popular in that generation, and she said the obsession hasn’t finished among the Bong parents yet. They still insist on getting their kids to recite it in recitation competitions.

SP:
I just knew you are gonna say that… profuse strains of unpremeditated art…… Haha! But really, that is Wow!
And there are the cyborg bongs and the neanderthal bongs… will explain the concept sometime.

Mo:
It really is the kind of line you repeat to yourself.
Oriyas are rather simple – they are either peasants or pseudo Bongs. Seriously.

SP:
Oi, by the way, you know this lady Arundhati Ghosh, the Lead india finalist from bangalore?
Guess where she is from? Well, this is the way a friend explains it…

Okay, so I open the newspaper and go to 2nd page, and this Arundhati woman, the same Lead India one, mentions that she is from “a small town in the bengal-bihar border” - and I am like - aiii-gaaa yeh toh apna *SP* ka gaon se hai!

Alas, I do not remain the most famous Asansol-ite in Bangalore!
Toh maine apna Asansol waali didi ko vote kiya ki nahin? You bet!
Rationalism to the dogs, I believe in regionalism!

Mo:
Ohh, really? Tch. But matter of time before you become the most famous Asansol-ite in Bangalore.

I realized my geography sucked, so I bought a world map. And it actually has Asansol on it. No Udaipur. No Bhubaneswar. Cuttack, yes. But Asansol?
I felt damn proud. J

SP:
Ahh! Warms the cockles of my heart! Jubilation.

Mo:
The british had some setup in Asansol?

SP:
Ah, my address was at ApcarGarden… what do you expect? Sir Apcar Alexander Apcar - these are Armenians though….
And man, I have spectacular google skills….
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apcar_Family
http://www.amassia.com.au/calcuttad.html
Ever heard of Apcar and company? Neither did I…..

SP:
I know that :)
Unfortunately, these days, mostly, Bongs are pseudo Delhi-ites. Or peasants. Or clerks in Govt offices.
We are losing our KaalChaar…

Only a very little of the quintessential, archetypal bongs are left over. The ones left are mostly not the 'open of mind and literary of vein', but of the literally VAIN type. I, me and my upturned nose. Oh, these are frustrating folks.
'Hiding in my room, safe within my womb, I touch no one and no one touches me'

By the way, Simon and Garfunkel does talk to me. There are these lines from the Boxer, which are not often used in many versions…. sample them…

Now the years are rolling by me, they are rockin even me
I am older than I once was, and younger than Ill be, thats not unusual
No it isnt strange, after changes upon changes, we are more or less the same
After changes we are more or less the same

Spectacular, and invariably true. How old was Paul Simon when he wrote this?

Mo:
East India Company was mining coal around Asansol?
How come you never told me this!?

Mo:
Bongs are pseudo Delhiites? How can that be?
Klaarks in ghaberment aapesh. And what is a quintessential Bong? With the jhola and the glasses?

So you are back to S&G eh? Strange, I never noticed those lines. So so true.
I have been obsessing over Om Shanti Om songs. J

SP:
I have been obsessing over the Om Shanti Om lady.
Also, sportsman kee bacchi hai, ek soft corner toh rahega…. kyon?

SP:
Chhota Nagpur Plateau touches west bengal, where? Asansol/ Raniganj/ Durgapur….. Raniganj is officially deemed risky for people to stay, beneath Raniganj is all hollowed out…..
Also steel. IISCO.

Arey industrial town hai, kuchh na kuchh industry toh hoga na? And didn't I tell you about my interactions with the coal mafia?
Check out the schools - St. Vincent's; St. Patrick's; Loreto Convent; Assembly of God Church….
Coal Mafia, Missionary schools…. Bingo.
By the way, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asansol

Mo:
Deepika Padukone? Oh she is gorgeous.

Mo:
I knew Raniganj, and Durgapur, and Jamshedpur. Oh, hell, my geography sucks. I have no clue what is where.

You are convent educated, and from an industrial town. And you have had fancy stuff like mafia around. Phir why do you call yourself a villager? Han? You are diluting the experiences of a true villager like me. Bahut na-insaafi hai yeh.

SP:
By the way… Asansol is bigger in terms of population than Udaipur and Bhubaneswar.

30 Biggest cities in India by Population:
Agra · Ahmedabad · Allahabad · Amritsar · Asansol · Bangalore · Bhopal · Chennai · Coimbatore · Delhi · Dhanbad · Faridabad · Ghaziabad · Guntur · Hyderabad · Indore · Jabalpur · Jaipur · Jamshedpur · Kanpur · Kochi · Karimnagar · Kolkata · Lucknow · Ludhiana · Meerut · Mysore · Mumbai · Nagpur · Nashik · Patna · Pune · Rajkot · Surat · Vadodara · Varanasi · Vijayawada · Visakhapatnam · Warangal

Mo:
You fooled me. You did. I thought I belonged. You city boy cheated on the village girl.

SP:
Guffawing till someone came and told me that it is actually getting distracting.
You are the king.
And I am officially highbrow now!

SP:
Well, did you have a clue that there was a shooting for a James Bond movie in Udaipur?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Udaipur

what would you be? Village girl or Bond girl?

Mo:
Yeah octopussy. We got Roger Moore, he was barely a Bond.
So that would barely make me a bond girl.

SP:
Yeh Lo! Sirf Bond se nahi chalega, inhe chahiye Connery!
Moore got Kim Bassinger. So don't crib.

Mo:
I had Maharana Pratap. He ate rotis made of grass while fighting mughals.
And Liz Hurley came to get married in my village.

SP:
2nd best city in Asia, I hear. 2nd best toh chalta hai, but city????

Mo:
There is no list for 10 best villages in India, hence.

SP:
Asansol toh usme bhi nahi aayega :(
Safety mein maar kha jaayega.
Ah, mere pyaare pyaare coal mafia!

Mo:
So tell me the coal mafia stories. Far more interesting than what Rana Pratap did.

SP:
Bad taste buds. Had a serious horse fixation. Horse, jiske naam se scooter banta hai…. Boring name like Pratap. Spawned 20 or so…. The only good bit is, their lineage spawned Kangna Ranawat.

Jai Shivaji Maharaj. Jai Maharashtra.

Mo:
But Shivaji was a guerilla warrior. His agenda was to stay hidden.
Maharana Pratap was at least brave (or at least we like to believe so!).
No other Rathores and Chauhans are well known?

SP:
Let's see.

Prithwiraj Chauhan. Romantic guy.
Rajesh Chauhan… one six in 10 years of cricket
Vikram rathore … worst cricketer to play for india
Raghavendra Rathore . .. scion of maharajas, fashion designer. Therefore (I assume) gay. Moved from horses to men. Good good.

That’s about it.

SP:
Sunidhi Chauhan. God bless her.

Mo:
I meant better known than that.
Tejawats? Shaktawats? Shekhawats?

SP:
Raj Singh Dungarpur. Ganguly Basher. A*shole.
Kangna Ranawat. Awesome. I like curly hair.
Pavitter singh Shekhawat. RV Senior. Bahut ragging kiya tha. B*st*rd.

Mo:
So kangna ranawat twice over.
And Sunidhi Chauhan gets half a point.

So here’s the rest of the take. Of course politicians don’t count. But I have found the ultimate gem. Jyoti Randhawa. Plays the most highbrow sport of the world. Second best in the whole of the country in the game. And one of the luckiest guys in the world, he is married to Chitrangda Singh. Yes, THE Chitrangda Singh.

By the way, our Asansol has Arjun Atwal too....

The Lists Blog

2007-10-01T18:24:00.000+05:30

Are you on track with the lists blog? Do so.

Cynicism, Wonderment, Aging and a Speech

2007-09-28T04:12:00.000+05:30

At 16, you don't know what cynicism means. Almost everything is possible, and the world has come calling at your doorsteps....
At 19, cynics are cool creatures...
At 21, cynicism is cool. Yes, you are cool too....
At 25, cynicism is normal. You are the herd. But it's good being part of the herd....
At 28, cynicism is like cigatettes. You want to quit desparately, but the bastard just never seems to let go...
At 35, you are not a cynic anymore. Or you are useless, a wreck....

And Mo has written about Randy Pausch's lecture, so go check it. I am one of the trained-to-be-one-but-just-not-good-enough-to-be-a-geek-(and-realised-it-early) species, but I saw the 104 minute video straight at one go, so you should too... Nothing much to add to Mo's entry really, but will mention my take-home from the speech.

My take-home was this bit about how one should never lose the sense of wonderment.

That is so very correct, and so very apt.

Thank God, for there is sport.

Brother Kyle

2007-09-25T01:51:00.000+05:30

Br. Kyle was a short man. He was quite old, more than 60 I am sure when he was brought in at the helm of St. Vincent’s High and Technical School, Asansol. A shock of salt and pepper hair, squat, with broad shoulders and a quintessentially Irish face. We had heard stories that Br. Kyle had been a competition-level boxer in his youth. We never did doubt that, he certainly looked the part.

St. Vincent’s was tottering then, with the exit of Br. Emmanuel amidst rumours of various hues. St. Vincent’s was at low ebb. I was in first standard then.

Br. Kyle was a tough, somewhat cold man. Never one to speak a word more than necessary, a slight narrowing of the eye did for him what fulminations didn’t for others. His words of appreciation, just like his words of rebuke, were crisp and conveyed exactly what they were meant to, not a bit more, not a bit less.

St. Vincent’s didn’t need emotions. St. Vincent’s needed tough love. St. Vincent’s needed a father-figure who we, students and teachers alike, could look up to. St. Vincent’s needed strength to steer it, to stop it from veering off into irrelevance. And Br. Kyle was the man. Br. Kyle, in the truest sense of the term, was the reason St. Vincent’s means so much to us all. We believed in Br. Kyle. We believed, we still believe in St. Vincent’s.

He left the school at about the middle of our ninth standard. He left behind an institution which was a mirror of the man; strong, disciplined, somewhat rigid, somewhat austere, yet virtuous and principled.

I remember, in the last school assembly that he presided upon, his voice broke while saying goodbye to us. The rigid, quiet man did have emotions, we always suspected. On his last day in charge, he proved us right.

I wish I knew him better. I wish he stayed back a while longer, I wish I could interact with him, talk with him, learn from him when I was in tenth standard, when surprisingly and unexpectedly, the role of leading a quarter of the school fell unto me. I wish, selfishly, that he stayed back for a year more.

Br. Kyle taught us, by the sheer force of his personality, to be good, to be brave, to be strong, to be modest. Simple things, important things….

Br. Kyle was an idea we believed in.

Br. Kyle taught us to be men.

And then, this message on the St. Vincent’s community in orkut, from Anandaroop, a classmate.

Brother Kyle Passes away - May his soul RIP

I remember the day he came as a substitute teacher , The kind of respect he commanded over the students were unmatched by any Principal to my knowledge, though I must admit that I used to be terrified in his vicinity I must also confess that I had a place for this huge personality in my heart, May his soul RIP. Thanks to the students at St Mary’s for passing on the sad news...

---------------------------- Original Message ----------------------------
Subject: Br. W.E. Kyle - (R.I.P)
From: "martin fernandes"
Date: Sun, July 8, 2007 2:33 am
--------------------------------------------

Dear Sir,

I wish to inform you that Br. Kyle, who would have taught a number of SMO boys in the early 1980s passed away in Chandigarh last night (7th July).

Br Kyle was a wonderful teacher and a highly intellectual person. He could speak with authority on a great variety of subjects. Though he had a stern demeanour he was a wonderfully warm person who always had the interest of his pupils in mind. He was particularly well loved by the boarders and is often spoken about with great respect by any gathering of ex-pupils. Shy and reticent, his quiet sense of humour and sometimes unorthodox ways endeared him to all, staff and pupils alike. He will be missed by so many who had the privilege of coming into contact with him.

May his soul rest in peace.

With kind regards,
Br. Martin Fernandes

--------------------

Rest in peace, Sir. I wish I was able to put into words the grati…… But you would have understood, wouldn’t you?

Edit: An article on The Tribune,Chandigarh on Br. Kyle

Brother Kyle of St John’s dead
Tribune News Service

Chandigarh, July 8
Brother William Eugene Kyle, the superior of brothers at St John’s, Sector 26, and the school’s revered manager, breathed his last at a hospital in Mohali last night, where he had been admitted 10 days ago. Already suffering from a damaged heart on account of myocardial infarction, Brother Kyle died of irregular beating of the heart, a condition called cardiac arrhythmia.

But he seemed quite alive this evening, as if enjoying the love of hundreds who had gathered in the auditorium of St John’s to pay their last respect to the man who made India his home in October 1949. He was the last of the brothers to have migrated from Northern Ireland to India. Most of the Irish brothers serving in India under the aegis of Christian Brothers Society are from the south of Ireland.

For Brother Kyle, however, India was a place of permanent belonging. Born on April 10, 1931, in England, he gave his life to the service of the Lord and entered the Christian Brothers Society in Ledsham, England, thus taking the vow of celibacy, poverty and service. His 62-year-long baptised life ended on a truly holy day, as pointed out by his close friends Brother Finn from New Delhi.

“Seven is a holy number. According to the Bible it is the number of completeness and boldness. It can’t be by chance alone that Kyle died in the 77th year of his life on the seventh day of the seventh month of 2007, and that we put his mortal remains to rest on the seventh day of week. His wanderings have finally come to an end. He rests in peace,” said Brother Finn, at the requiem mass held at St John’s.

There was indeed a holy design in Brother Kyle’s death, for he lived by the rules of Holiness all his life. After serving his society in different capacities as a missionary and teacher across India, he landed in Chandigarh 13 years ago. Here, he made St John’s his home - a place he nurtured with care, as was evident from the gathering of teachers and students at the mass. Leading them was principal Kavita Das, visibly shaken by the loss. “Brother was always concerned about the good of the school and the students. For us, this is a huge loss,” she said.

At school, Brother Kyle was devoted to both teaching and management. He was a master of mathematics, English and value education. “His vocabulary would put Winston Churchill to shame.” said Harold Carver, Brother Kyle’s old associate and friend. In him, the community today lost the cornerstone of the school of old values, a friend of one and all.

A few photos of Br. Kyle at the St. Mary's, Dum Dum site.

Left Brain - Right Brain ...

2007-09-21T18:56:00.000+05:30

Eventually, after all the words are known, scrabble is a number game.

Eventually, after all the teams are known, and football as a game is understood, Fantasy Football is a number game.

I love both. To bits...

Eventually, I am all numbers. Rows and columns and order.

Ergo, this blog.

MS Excel

2007-09-21T18:49:00.000+05:30

"If it cannot be done on MS Excel, then fuck it, it is surely not worth it..."

(p.s. Ashish Mathur, friend from BSchool, and the one true MS Excel whiz, has this site for help. Have a look. And Mathur, for this free publicity, you owe me a treat, eh?)

Puerile Nationalism-kinda observation

2007-09-21T18:07:00.000+05:30

Came to mind during the 20-20 matches

How many of us have

- done the chest-thumping 'I am India, fukk de Pakistani, win the 20-20 game'; and

- mentally sniggered at the guy in that CD100 bike ad, where he refuses a job in the US because he wants to do his stuff IN INDIA?

Living, moving paradoxes, aren't we?

Placeholder

2007-09-21T16:27:00.000+05:30

This is a placeholder to mention that I should write here. You know, it is curious to know that I am happiest when I blog (or is it the reverse, that I blog only when i am at my happiest?).

So well, I am in a rather nice and peaceful mood now.... no reason really not to blog. And well, there is no dearth of things to write about. There are lots, trust me.

So then, was it worth it to just scribble 3 minutes of gab here? No, it wasn't. But what the hell...

Where I debase myself and prove that I am not worth literary conversation

2007-08-28T02:10:00.000+05:30

You are an addict, SP.

Yeah, I know.....

No, there's one more addiction you have that you don't know of, dude.

WTF?

Okay, how many books have you read this year, SP?

Hmm.... Six... oh, OK, 'Deathly Hallows' doesn't count, eh? Why? What the hell... but OK, five then.

OK, name them.

One. Beyond a Boundary.

Oh, sports book, huh?

Bullcrap. Did you read it? Did you read it? Best bloody piece of literature you can find, I tell you. It's the history of the West Indian islands, dude. Read it, I tell you. RIGHT NOW!

Alright, I will. So what next?

Next? One minute. Yeah, OK. John Wright's Indian Summers.

Sports book, no?

Kinda, but no. You know, I like autobiographies. And hell, it's about the BCCI, dude. What sports book?

Theek Hai, dude. Fine. What next?

Fever Pitch. Nick Hornby. Nononono... hold on. You find the book in the humour section of bookstores. It is a Hornby book, dude. It's a fun, angsty book about nothing. And it is super entertaining. Surprisingly deep. Great fun. OK? Basically a growing up saga kinda book, man. Catcher in the Rye more than Castel di Sangro. Alright?

Shit, man. You should try some sports literature sometime. They are good, you know. You might just like them. But anyway, fourth?

Yes. How Soccer explains the World. Franklin Foer. No no, forget the 'Soccer' word, dude. This one is on globalization. That's job. That's what I do for my daily bread. Now tell me.

Oh, educational read, I see. Okay fine. Five?

Okay, five is a sports book. The Rivals - Chris Evert and Martina Navratilova.

And I heard you stayed awake the night and finished it at one stretch, like you are reading some kind of a Robert Ludlum or something....

(Smile) ... I mean, it is a real good book and all....

Okay, so which is the last book you bought, SP, this yesterday? Honest, OK?

Okay, I give up. Barca, a people's passion.

So basically, this post is a confessional. I am an addict.

Come on, live a little...

2007-08-24T21:58:00.000+05:30

Was a line in the advertisement poster for a play in which three of my good friends were performing....

And come to think of it, I was wondering some time ago, do I really have a life? Am I living, or just existing, as many a person (and many a blog) often tend to state...

I am still wondering.

I have a job I am rather fond of. I really like the work environment, and the work is quite good in most parts. So I devote about 12 hours everyday to it. I don't begrudge even a minute of it, this is what I want to do, I am a bit of a workaholic, and am not doing badly.

I do not read as many books as i would have liked to, I read a book every two months. That's about par for the course for a lower-middlebrow reader, i suppose. I scrounge the net for hours at end. Doing nothing useful, really. Just gathering useless information and doing useless analysis. I play scrabble. On isc.ro . Was more regular with that earlier.

I talk with my girlfriend. On the phone. It is tough to keep up a long distance relationship, and both of us are committed to making it work. Extensive phone calls are a requisite.

I talk to friends. Regularly. For long durations. Sometimes in person, and sometimes on the phone. My friends are spread all around the world, and this is totally required.

I go out wasting my life drinking with friends and colleagues often. Again, that is equivalent to wasting time.

I play fantasy football on the net, and post on a footballing mailing list. Am very serious about both.

I watch football, cricket, tennis, golf and to a lesser extent the WWE.

I follow the Indian Idol and (to a lesser extent) Star Amul Voice of India.

I download music and movies from the net.

I listen to a lot of music. I watch movies, some in the movie hall, and some on the DVD.

I sleep for 5 hours a day on weekdays and 10 hours on weekends.

[Edit: I forgot, I invest (mostly in Mutual Funds as of now, but will get seriously into dabbling in stocks soon), and spend a lot of time everyday tracking the stock market]

I don't do Salsa, I don't do guitaring (okay, I do play the guitar, but only on the weekend, and i don't take a course or anything), I don't do pottery, I don't do part-time jobs, I don't do French, German, or Spanish. I don't quiz anymore (and am a tad sad about that). I don't blog with any amount of regularity. Which shall change, thanks to Mo, and her comment on not to think of my blog as literary and write whenever and of whatever I feel like. She is doing the same, and doing a great job of it, honestly.

So, do I have a life? Honestly, no. But am I complaining? Hell no. Am doing a decent job at existing. Or whatever, I am happy.

Will try and live some other day.

On Orkut

2007-05-29T00:57:00.000+05:30

You were the stud in college. Maybe the erudite literature maven, or maybe the long haired, tattooed and bearded lead-vocalist of the college band. Maybe you were THE babe, who all of us guys worshiped. Basically, you were beyond the 'somebody'. You were the real thing. You never needed friends, they needed you. They were always there at your doorsteps, maybe outside your class, waiting for the boring lecture to get over so that you will appear, you will deliver your pearls of wisdom, maybe you will play a riff of that Joe Sat song, or maybe you will not say a word and just brush aside the gasps of the guys along the way.. and yes, you WERE looking heavenly that day. In short, you never needed them, they needed you.

We, we were just about toeing the somebody line. The last few folks in the somebody bus. We looked down upon the nobodies; we tittered at them and their gaucheness, while you expectedly (and expertly) ignored them.

We needed you. We needed you to compliment us maybe once in a while to make us feel good about ourselves, and confirm to the rest of the world that we were not nobodies. We, more than anybody else, needed you. We needed affirmation, we needed validation. We never had the chutzpah, we never had the savvy, all that we ever had was the want. We wanted to be you.

We had friends. People liked us. That's an alien term, isn't it, to you? A pedestrian thing, a junta thing, na, to you? You never cared if people liked you, you wanted them to worship you, you wanted them to deify you. And they did. We did. I did.

When we had a breakdown, in college, we had friends to succor us, to shore us up. But you never broke down. You were perfect. You were college gods. You were the stratosphere. And we were strictly the above-average. We were craning our necks to get ourselves above mediocrity. And we did manage that, didn't we…. But we wanted you to notice….. and probably you did so too, in those two occasions in four years of college. Thank you. We needed those two moments.

Yes, you can criticize orkut. You never needed it. We did. We do. Still.

A piece of my heart has cracked today

2007-05-25T13:26:00.000+05:30

She came to my life a long, long time ago. Fat-bottomed, un-pretty, there was nothing spectacular about her. No one would give her a second glance otherwise, apart from her physical size. She was well, rather plain, to be all honest.

I encountered her first at a quiz in IIFT, where we did not qualify for the finals. It was a business quiz, and I was at that point in time not quite well versed in the nuances of business to really be counted among the big guns. I still remember how she actually came to be in my possession. Now all of you who have been reading this blog know that I, even now, near-enough suck at business quizzing, and am (gloat, gloat) rather good at sports. So, there was this sports/business question that was asked by the quizmaster, Gautam Ghosh, in that quiz. It got passed around, nobody answered, and then, when the question was thrown to the audience, I came up with the answer.

And as my gift for answering that question, she came into my possession. Bland, fat-bottomed, she had a blue tattoo of 'naukri.com' on her, and the only saving grace, the only bit of adventure about her was this t-shirt message that she bore. It said 'TEAM WORK is a great leveller. It means never having to take the blame myself!' Nice, na? Especially at the early days of Bschool (this was 2003), when one is exasperated with groupmates / project-mates who are living examples of the term NPA (that's non-performing asset, if you did not know).

I am meandering, so to keep a long story short, that's how I came to own my coffee mug.

Impoverished Bschool students like us had no means of having cut-glass wine tumblers, so she came to my rescue. She served me well, down the years. Coffee in the morning, water throughout the day and whisky in the evening, she was the receptacle and my trusted associate to all that.... And why only me, she showered her love and blessings to all and sundry. Remember her, Arun, Laha, SDG? Remember the maniacally-depressive pre-placement month-and-a-half when the last drink for the day was shared from that same mug of mine, for the simple reason that her tattoo mentioned 'naukri.com'? Yes, it's she we are talking about....

Times changed. Confused Bschooler became confused corporate cog-in-the-wheel. Confused cog-in-the-wheel became slightly-less-confused cog-in-the-wheel. I could afford expensive whisky tumblers now. I quit coffee, started drinking tea (how Brit! how Pommie! Alas!). There were better-looking species (some acquired from the organizations I worked in, some acquired during those momentary fits of attraction to others of the species.... now c'mon! Men will be men...) which jostled for attraction on the shelf. As they say, 'familiarity breeds contempt'. Well, I could never dream of being contemptuous to her, but the attention span became limited. Did she mind? She must have, but never took it to heart. We knew we cared for each other....

And recently, moving to my new workplace, I decided to get her to office along with me. I did move from drinking coffee to tea, but the quantity of the liquid consumed did not vary. So copious quantities of the liquid needed to be gulped everyday morning, and well, she had all the werewithall to perform well in the job. She was quite big, remember I told you? So there she was, adorning the office shelf now, serving me with the best of her abilities.

And today morning, alas, I find that there is a crack - long, vertical, next to the handle - on her. Ah, I can literally feel the crack on my heart. I feel pained, disjointed ... I cannot concentrate on the work at hand, I feel miserable. She is critically ill, I can feel her pain. I realise, there are only two ways I can go with her now .... either I could let her last few days be memorable, or I can leave her comatose, yet alive for ever, I can take her home with me....

Will miss you, darling. You have been precious to me. Thanks for all that you were, and you were wonderful. You ARE wonderful.

(As an aside, having witnessed the copious amounts of tea that I tend to gulp down, and noticing the pain in my heart, friends in office have planned to replace her with a beer pitcher, and they have even planned to provide insulation. Insulation? How? Well, the rubber insulation kinda things come for a price.. so a pack of condoms it shall be, one for each day. AR mentions that if the idea materializes, now I could even have flavoured tea ! Gaak, gaak! )

Air Sahara's Boeing 737 on Chembur streets

2007-05-06T15:54:00.000+05:30

Would have blogged on it if there would not have been this back spasm.

But here are the links

BBC's report 1; NDTV's report;

and thankfully

HT ;

But then, where?

BBC's report 2 ;

And apart from NDTV, has this really been covered by the MSM? Or is it just that I have missed all the noise (ah, my back!)? Such an AajTak-esque news item!

(thanks to the great MNB for the info....)

A blog and a faux-pas

2007-05-01T00:49:00.000+05:30

The blog:

Getting Drunk in First Class: Crazy Ass Consulting Stories Once a Week.

Genuine mirth. Real ha-ha laughing-out-loud funny. Do read. Everyday.

The Faux-Pas:

Snippet from an official mail-

The data has been collated from (and therefore the basis of the analysis is) primarily secondary sources, some previous analysis......

Please note: primarily secondary sources

The statement mentioned as above IS by me.

Alas, for once upon a time not so long ago, I was able to write in English.

Mandira Bedi, a grey and white sari, and 281

2007-04-29T00:48:00.000+05:30

Apart from Australia scoring 281 in 38 overs, Gilchrist's fantastic innings, and my stupid and silly insistence that it is not over till it IS over, I was extremely impressed by the way Mandira Bedi handled herself w.r.t. the furore started by the morality brigade (ugh, not again...) over the Indian flag pasted (was it?) on her sari. She was graceful in her apology, and I seem to get more impressed with her by the day. She has not just picked up the nuances of the game, but also a fair bit of diplomacy. Good job, lady. No point courting unnecessary shit controversy, na? I guess there is more to her than just a pretty face and body.

[Celebrity name throwing alert: She did come across as quite a dumb bimbette though, the only time I actually met her]

This is to the grey and white sari then.

And Mandira, please put the BCCI flag / logo on your sari next time.

[Edit: They, the Lankans did try. Proud of them. But well, I guess the best team won. Can't really complain.]

Holding on

2007-04-23T13:45:00.000+05:30

Holding on to the Lara post. I have to, I know. Perspective, perspective, dear. Hold on.

U2-esque enough?

DON'T GET YOUR KIDS TO MOVIE HALLS!

2007-04-22T02:08:00.000+05:30

Especially if you cannot control those bloody pests. Especially if they insist on creating nuisance for everybody around. Especially if they ARE doing that right now.

You got those monsters here on earth, ok? So it is your bloody responsibility to control them, or at least see to it that others are not getting bothered (and majorly, as it was in this case), by their actions. Get it?

So here's the story. Had gone to see 'Bheja Fry' (which is surprisingly good, is recommended, rather watchable, ok?), for the 10pm show at PVR at Forum. And this kid insisted on kicking the backrest of the seat in front of her (on the other end of which, unfortunately, yours faithfully was sitting). All throughout the movie. So, 15 minutes into the movie, I turn around, give a big smile and request the kid to please not do that. Any effect? Zilch. 5 minutes or so, and it starts all over again. Turn around. Request again, even more nicely, with an even bigger smile. Zilch happens. 5 minutes, and boom boom boom yet again. So I, even more politely, turn to the mother and request her to please ask the kid to stop the nuisance. The lady does not even look away from the screen. I continue asking her, but to no avail. So, I sit up and continue to watch the movie in that pose, backrest be damned. Come interval, I request the dad, sitting next to the mom (both of them dressed rather sophisticatedly and all that), to please control the kid .....
So the second half is alright, na? Bullc**p. The boom boom boom starts probably even before the movie's even started. And this time I again turn around and insist on the dad and the mom to stop this nuisance. Stony silence. Both of them simply look away.

Now you know, there's only that much shamelessness I can bear. So I turn around, and continue to watch the movie sitting up.

So, not finding any fun from the kicking, now the kid starts to scream and shout. Grunts of disapproval from the people around. Requests to shut the kid up. Anything results? Zilch. Nada. Illa. Nothing. The kid continues to be a nuisance all throughout the movie. The parents don't even react.

Post the movie, I tell Banner that I am planning to talk to the couple. Banner says, and very correctly if I may add - will it make an iota of a difference to these people? They are what they are, and that is trash, right? Right.

So, balding man in white shirt and fancy well trimmed beard, and his wife over-painted fat woman in green and red salwar, sir, ma'am, YOU are to blame. YOU are the culprits. Of course for shameless thick-skinned creatures like you, this will hardly make a difference anyway. But if any of this gets to you. Please know.

Well, here's something. I had been a major nuisance for a full 5 minutes in the first movie that I went to see with my parents at a movie hall. At the first complaint, Baba, Ma, apologetically, walked out of the movie hall, taking me along with them. That was the last movie I saw in a movie hall for 10 years. And that was in what some of you will call hinterland, not in fancy metropolis Bangalore, and not especially at a multiplex with the movie tickets costing what is more that what some people in the same country earn in 5 days.

And don't you, reader, say "Bachcha hee toh hai". Please do know this, that Bachcha hee hai, lekin aap kee hai, Ek-sau-pachhattar rupaiye, on the other hand, meri hai, coke meri hai, popcorn ka packet meri hai and bloody hell, teen ghantein bhi meri hee hai.

Addendum: As you can see from the first comment to this post, I don't speak Hindi much. Well, am trying.

Genius ! Magic !

2007-04-21T17:38:00.000+05:30

It's been 21 years. And yes, the wait has been long... And the wait's over now.

Messi / Barca / 16-Apr-07 / Getafe / Copa Del Rey / Semi-finals / 29th minute / Report.

Meandering thoughts, rains, and a prayer

2007-04-20T01:20:00.000+05:30

You know, I am scared to put my own pieces (as in, what you call creative writing) on to this blog. Yeah, I know the my-blog my-personal-space go-take-a-hike yadyaydayada. But ….Why is sinfully pinstripe, this caustic, cynical creature, somehow mired in self-doubt while writing fictional pieces? Because my observations, my arguments, my judgments, my verbosity, my vociferousness in all other cases can be backed up with real data, with facts. For creative literature, it is me vs. the world, where the piece has to stand on its own, and can not be backed by reason. You know, while writing on things that have actually happened is the same as putting my observation of worldly facts under test (whereby I am posing as an analyst, definitely my happiest and most confident avatar, or at the least, as an observer); on the other hand, imagining up an event which has probably never happened, maybe a feeling which I only have encountered, and putting it up for public perusal is akin to baring my creativity, baring myself to the analysis and criticism of the world. Here I am then, subject, not observer. And that is uncomfortable. I would prefer any day my observations, and not me to be the subject of scrutiny.

So, I remain Sinfully Pinstripe. Fearfully Creative.

And so, today, Bangalore was drenched with rain. Torrents. Gushes. And I like rain. I hate traffic. And stopping the motorbike on the wayside soaked to the skin, picking up deep-fried, piping hot chicken kebab down the dirty shop streetside, trying to balance the kabab (onioned, lemoned, on a banana-leaf-and-newspaper plate) in one hand and the wet, crumpled Classic Milds in the other, trying in vain to escape the rain under the miniscule cornice …. It reminded me, if even for a bit, of Asansol. Asansol keeps coming back, through some convoluted path of memory, somehow, to the conscious, to the today. I guess Asansol, still, in bits and pieces, is me, somehow.

And comes also Aadorer nouko. That haunting paean to Calcutta. Calcutta, minibuses, rains, La Martiniere, Minto park, Kalighat metro… few, very few memories. But I can understand. I can identify. Vaguely. But yes.

And yet, Virginia Tech happened. Singapore writes - I know you don’t like (reading) Falstaff, but here, he has put forth a point. Please read.
He has. With clarity. Very poignantly. Please read.

And one of my favorite people in Bangalore, is having a bypass surgery in a few days.. I will be selfish in my fear, in my concern, in my anxiety, in my prayers. In all my prayers. Uncle will be discharged from the hospital in a week or so, but till then, I will have my thoughts and my prayers for him. Please spare a second, you too, and pray for his speedy recovery, could you please?

Damn! Another cricket post...

2007-04-19T01:21:00.000+05:30

To continue on the barrage of posts for the day, here goes a copy-paste of two emails I wrote, talking about the state of Indian cricket with a group of friends.

Mostly trying-to-be-funny, mostly failing-to-be-funny, mostly harmless.

Post 1:

Discussion string: How to improve the state of Indian cricket, and Subhash Chandra trying to boost the future of Indian cricket...

Well, in all honesty, Subhash Chandra is trying to boost the inflow into his bank account. And doing a mighty good job of it.

To actually make Indian cricket get anywhere, what's needed is for the ranji trophy to be abolished and replaced by a pan-india club level tourney. The clubs could be sponsored by corporates. Pretty much like the Indian super football league ('super' - ah, the hilarity of it all!). Corporates will not be bothered about boosting cricket, any sport for the matter if there is no chance of revenue generation / brand building yadayadayada....

But then, one should look at the unification-of-the-nation aspect of it. Sample this. The moneyed Mysore Sandal Bangalore tyar-sadam XI buying in Sourav Ganguly for a 3-year contract, and Simoco Kolkata Bagher bachcha XI branding him a traitor for defecting a-la Luis Figo... you remember that, na, guys..... And after a few super innings by the prince of Kohl-koota, when we hear paeans about 'namma maga Ganguly-anna' in the Bangalore buses.......... Ah, that is when we will really become one country.

..........................

Discussion string: On a more serious note....

On the holy cow syndrome - completely in agreement. But that's the equivalent of world peace. Hero worshipping, in India, will never stop. It will not change. Cannot really blame the countrymen (and women) for something which is so deeply embedded in their psyche. We are a nation of hero-worshippers, a nation of hierarchy. Be it politics, sports, cinema, everywhere, in every sphere. So there's our own dad's army for the world cup, and assorted Rajani-appa Rajkumar &c, and gerontocracy.

Funnily, we are equally likely to bring down our failed gods. And poor Dhoni's house gets destroyed.

Performance back home - I disagree. All countries make tracks to suit their team. It is called home advantage. If anything, looking at the playing tracks on offer in the windies (slow turners, small grounds where mishits go for six), we should have done well, really.

Selective amnesia - A manifestation of point 1. Agree.

So ok, why am I blabbering and cracking sidey (which, clarification for the highbrows, would mean inane) jokes? Do I have anything sensible to offer? Maybe. here's reason, at least in my book.

Cricket is a team game, and increasingly, a power game. Specifically, one day cricket.

Indians are traditionally bad team players. Indians, traditionally, are on an average, bad at power sports. So here's story. We will, unless a miracle of some sorts happen, not win anything major in cricket. In one day cricket. Ever again.

Test matches are, yet, not as much a power game as one day matches. One can play controlled innings and plot and plan the opposition out. Check the performance of india in test vs. one-day cricket in the last 10-15 years. Home and away. You get your answer. I got mine that way.

As I said, mostly harmless.

On my to-read list

2007-04-19T00:46:00.000+05:30

"Bangalore Tiger" by Steve Hamm - If for no other reason, because I love his blog. And recommend it to all and sundry. He is even more bullish about India that I am. And the debates (and even the rants) are extremely entertaining.

"The Halo Effect" by Philip Rosenzweig - Nice review here. The guy, Rosenzweig, apparently, is a cynic and a pragmatist.
Check this out

The delusion of absolute performance diverts our attention from the fact that success in business means doing things better than rivals, not just doing things well. It is potentially very serious because it may cause us to take our eye off rivals, and to avoid decisions that, although risky, may be essential for survival in a particular context of industry and competitive dynamics. Believing that success follows predictably by following a simple set of steps misunderstands a key element of business success.
................................................................
Why then are so many business books of questionable quality so popular? Not because they are based on solid evidence, but because they work well as stories. They inspire us and comfort us. They reassure us that our good efforts will lead to success. They provide a sense of certainty. But they do not accurately grasp the reality of the world around us.

Blogging in Bangla

2007-04-19T00:24:00.000+05:30

Someday, someday, when blogger makes this happen in Bangla, I will create a blog in my mother tongue.

Miss India

2007-04-07T19:21:00.000+05:30

Veena Parshuram was a classmate of ours at RV. And well, one of those ‘that female is crazy, man’ classmates if I may add. Hailing from Kengeri, a rather déclassé suburb of Bangalore, and armed with a pronounced Kannada accent, and with the announcement that SHE IS Miss Kengeri, it wasn’t long since she was the subject of polite titter. Skinny like nobody’s business, with hair coloured brown (the color of which I have heard being compared to that of water left behind post dishwashing), with absolutely zero dressing sense and the abiding ambition of becoming a supermodel (and honestly, she wasn’t a bombshell in college), she was quite funny really. She was sorta ok with us wild boys, we anyways made fun of everybody and everything and she was a good sport, but the prim-and-propah Baldwin’s and Sophia’s girls had their bit of fun at her expense. Well, one had to credit her for two things. a) She was totally fearless and b) Never for one day did she compromise on her dream. She was Miss India in her head the day she joined RV, and sure as hell she didn’t relinquish that position the day she left the college. Oh well, what is she thinking anyway, people laughed, does she even have a clue?

But well, someone mentioned once, ‘You know what, you see her after a while, and she would have improved something in her. Maybe the dressing sense has got better, maybe the accent is neutralized somewhat, maybe the hair colour is toned down, maybe she has picked up some class…. she is, you know, improving everyday…..’

And well…

Thursday, when I was out drinking at Purple Haze with office friends, I had a frenetic call from Gina. Conversation as follows…
G: Dude, Veena Parshuram has made it to Miss India. She is on TV right now! I am having a heart attack, man!
I: What? You serious?
G: Yeah, really. Seriously.
(and the rest of whatever she said was drowned amidst a barrage of heavy metal)

I forgot about the call … well, the first of April was not so long ago….

Next day, morning. Raghav.
R: Dooode. Veena’s participating in Miss India, maan!
I: Yeah, Gina was telling me that yesterday also. Really?
R: Yeah dude. Check the net, or the TV.

Come to think of it, remarkable.

No, seriously, you can keep the titter to yourself. And also cynical comments about how hollow and baseless these Miss India contests are, and assorted belittling remarks. Here’s some appreciation, from the whole of our batch of RVCE Instrumentation Technology to the spirit. She has really made it, hasn’t she?

Veena, dude, win the title, alright? Really, this is something to be proud of for all of us. And well, not too many people get to say that they studied in college with Miss India, isn’t it? So win it, ok?

Cost of traffic congestion, anybody?

2007-04-07T00:06:00.000+05:30

Read this article by Swaminathan S. Anklesaria Aiyar. Very topical, very relevant. Have a look.
And while there are many pertinent questions and points raised there, I will especially like to bring your attention to these two.

The Centre for Science and Environment has launched a campaign to make drivers of cars and two-wheelers pay the full social cost that they impose on the economy, which I fully support. These costs are typically invisible to the public, but are real and gargantuan.
……..
Fourth, we suffer high costs of congestion. Time wasted is money wasted. Slow traffic consumes more fuel and pollutes more. In the US, says Sunita Narain of CSE, the cost of traffic congestion in 85 cities was estimated at a staggering $63 billion in 2003, on account of time wasted alone.

Fifth, cars impose high social costs by occupying parking space. Residential space in Delhi sells for Rs 1.5 lakh per square yard in most localities. So a parking lot 100 yards long and 20 yards wide has a social cost of Rs 30 crore. A single parking space of 23 sq m has a social cost of Rs 37.8 lakh. A car occupies more space than an office desk, yet the desk space pays full commercial rent while parking space costs just Rs 10 per day. This is a huge, unwarranted subsidy, especially to those who keep their cars parked all day. In New York or Washington DC, parking costs $9 (Rs 400) per hour. CSE's efforts to raise the parking rate to Rs 120/day in Delhi were kayoed by the middle class and politicians. The parking space occupied by cars is estimated by CSE at 11% of Delhi's area, as much as all its parks put together. That is a measure of the social cost.

I think point 5 is especially relevant, and is something that we commonly fail to notice. And point 4? We do notice that, don’t we?
So how much do we in Bangalore, at an average, lose due to traffic congestion? That’s a research paper in itself, but I will just provide some basic numbers. At an average, let us assume 5 minutes (why, I will reduce it even further, say 2.5 minutes) lost everyday due to traffic congestions for every employee in Bangalore, (realistic I guess, and this is not including opportunity cost lost, and this is assuming, and knowing that many companies anyway have a float of 30 minutes or so for the employees before start of the business day).
So where does that leave us? As per this Hindu article, we lost Rs 500 Crore due to the Bangalore strike in Feb. Calculating from there on using our previous assumption, we have about 104 Million dollars in business losses every year due to traffic congestion! Nearly the same, higher infact than the loss incurred due to that day in Feb. And I thought I was working with very conservative numbers. Bad, na?
As you could well have figured out by now, this started off as a rant after an impossible amount of traffic faced while traveling down to office yesterday morning.

The joy of Indolence

2007-04-04T23:01:00.000+05:30

In La Martiniere, the first essay that we were made to write by Harry (yes, the same Indrashish Laharry, the slowest handkerchief-slinger in town), was on “the joy of indolence”. A very long time ago, in fact almost exactly 12 years ago. And only knowing what indolence means and not the significance of it, being a rather hyperactive kid myself, I made a hash of it. But that will be Tom Robbins-esque meandering from the topic of discussion …

The significance is that today, for a bit more than half an hours, I experienced the absolute joy of indolence.

I like Bessie more than Marina in whatever little of Chennai that I have experienced. But today, between 1600 hrs and 1630 hrs, sitting on the Marina beach with the harsh sun beating down, sunscreen and sunglasses-adorned I was reading about Sissy Hankshaw’s hitchhiking romp across beatnik America while listening to tales of the music celeb who has a blister on his little finger, and maybe one on his thumb, and the one banging on the bongos like a chimpanzee….

Absolute indolence. Joy. Transitory, yes, but there isn’t anything such as perfect happiness, as war-hardened professionals like us will know. Na?

Just a mention. I realize that I tend to gravitate towards art which has a crafted feel to it, and natural be damned. I like the edges (just as Knopfler is edgy, just as Robbins is edgy), but not the jagged, rough edges of say a Palahniuk or a Kobain. In my music, in my reading, I like order. The overwhelming completeness of the U2 sound, for example.
Some suggestions?

Song: Dilli Bass - Rabbi Shergill [OST Delhii Heights]

2007-03-27T01:36:00.000+05:30

And yes, I downloaded this song just because they at rediff mentioned that the guitaring in this song is reminiscent of U2.

That means The Edge. Who happens to be my favourite guitarist (and not Mark Knopfler, because we are talking humans here) of all time.

And you mean someone had replicated The Edge's ringing guitaring and the trademark delay in a bollywood song?

And yes, Rabbi did too.

Remember Rabbi? Bulla ki Jaana? Laundiya ke pallu sey? That Rabbi.

And Kitni der takk from the same movie has been getting decent airtime on TV, and I like the song (and Neha Dhupia). And if you refer back to the rediff review, that song sounds nothing like Knopfler. But it's a nice song. So I went ahead and downloaded Dilli.... and...

... pretty much got myself bowled over. And have been playing the song for the last three hours on my computer.

The music really works. We are having a certain amount of influence of rock in recent bollywood music. There have been few out-and-out rock songs like Bheegi Bheegi, but a certain influence of rock can only be good. Pop does not last, it has little repeat hearing value. Jhankaar beats (of the Nadeem Shravan and not the Sanjay Suri, Rahul Bose and Shayan Munshi variety) don't either. Melody (otherwise referred to as old hindi film songs) does. Rock does too. Now this Dilli Bass is not out-and-out rock, but uses certain influences of rock to a catchy, poppy tune. The guitar intro is really good. The lyrics are refreshing, simple and (rather Delhi-esquely if I might add, pardon the stereotyping) aggressive and edgy. And catches the somewhat devil-may-care, somewhat over-the-top yet often aaram-se core of Delhi rather well. And I was convinced on first hearing that the vocalist was Mohit Chauhan of Silk route, who I really like, but I suppose Rabbi has himself sung this one. And has done a commendable job. Extremely listenable, hummable, and yes, memorable.

Oh yeah, and what's in it for me? Well, at a certain point in my life, I was in Delhi. At a certain completely reckless, Sadkein thi sabb mere baap ki point in my life, I was in Delhi. And this song took me, for a little bit, to those days. Ah well...

One sport less....

2007-03-24T03:08:00.000+05:30

...... to watch. Forever, I think.

You kill a coach. How can you?

Laha was right. It's bloody WWF.

Oh, and we lost too......

Another Frame...

2007-03-21T00:43:00.000+05:30

It's another tequila sunrise
Starin' slowly 'cross the sky,
said goodbye…

I do not listen to the song.

Have not listened to the song for the last eight years…..

And today Raghav dropped down to 186, and was fiddling around with my iPod.

And got to this song among about 15 other Eagles songs.

And took the earphones off.

And exclaimed, “You remember Vicky”?

I remember Vikramjit Choudhury.

My next-to-next door neighbor during the unsure, jittery, wide-eyed first few days at RV.

The kid.

The kid who listened to that song 24 hours a day.

The kid who IS, to us, that song.

The kid who died.

We cried, I remember, in the Woodlands hospital, the last time we saw him.

We still cannot listen to the song.

Night Safari at Bandipur

2007-03-05T00:17:00.000+05:30

A night safari at the Bandipur National Park, where night safaris are illegal, was among other things, what constituted the weekend.

And while elephants from Tamil Nadu are more intent on taking lives, pachyderms from Karnataka stand and pose for the camera.

Summer of '69

2007-03-02T22:22:00.000+05:30

They smiled. A little.

So true, no?

I sobbed. A little. And then, I smiled.

That's my story too.

Ekalavya

2007-02-28T15:35:00.000+05:30

My friend S was asked to describe 'Ekalavya', the movie, which as of now, he and nobody else within our friend circle has watched. His response?

rajasthantourism.com

The lower-middlebrow reader.

2007-02-24T02:42:00.000+05:30

Definition: Who /what is this species:

One who technically should not be having any views on Llosa or Woolf because he appreciates Tom Robbins, but one who has sniggering rights at that hot babe who is turning the pages of 'Angels and Demons' at Coffee Day (And why just sniggering rights, who can even walk up to her and suggest her a book. Umm, now let me see, Angela's Ashes? That would be a good one. Did so too, last week. It generally works. Note, DON'T suggest a Murakami or something, she will be scared away. On the other hand, if you, ladies, are suggesting anything to that hot guy with the John Grisham, I'd say DO suggest a Murakami. Nothing is a better stimulant than a really smart woman. And look, he would read that Murakami for sure, and it just might change his life, y'know).

Back to the topic, a lower-middlebrow reader is one who regularly looks into Jai Arjun's book reviews but is too filled with trepidations to comment lest he be swatted away like a lowly maggot, and who can only look at spectacular Kitabkhana with wonderment, and promise to himself that one day, ONE DAY, he will be able to at least attempt to appreciate the exotic writers with even more exotic names mentioned there.

Who could criticize a bit of Tokyo Cancelled, but nobody among the highbrows would care really. On the other hand, who can criticize Transmission, and people will rah-rah that bit. But don't you step out of the line. Don't you dare speak a word about Banville. You can talk about a hundred years of solitude or the unbearable lightness of being or even midnight's children, but only in complimentary terms. Sure, you have read them, everybody has, but are you qualified enough to pan either of them? Even mildly? Hell no you are not.

One who alternates between calling others pseuds and being called a pseud by others.

One whose admiration comes easy. Throw one Calvino or one Cortazar into a conversation and you have got yourself a fan. But of course you need to write like this to get a devotee out of the lower-middlebrow, and if you write like this .... well, in that case you get nothing. Remember, when Infy used to come to your Engineering college and none of the toppers got selected through the puzzle round? The concept's called upper cut-off.

So, that's me. Lower-middlebrow. Hi!

But if nothing, I think I can suggest to you, dear reader of mine, how you can move from lowbrow to lower-middlebrow really quickly.... Here, for your perusal:

The 'taken' road (i.e. the road that is not 'not taken')

So you liked that book which was made into the movie where Audrey Tautou (who I will really marry some day) played Jesus's great-great-granddaughter... so now you should read a Frederick Forsyth
Keep at it for a while.... And then move to Wodehouse.... naah, too easy. It's a crime not to like Wodehouse. I'm sure even the higher-brows like him too.... but read a few Wodehouses, just to get ready for sterner tests up ahead....
OK, now let's get back to thrillers....... Happy with Forsyth? Dogs of War? Odessa File? Day of the Jackal?... Good.... Now the next step, read The spy who came in from the cold.
How was that? Good, na? Next, The little drummer girl and The Honorable Schoolboy.....
Good, you are nearly there now.... Know what, you are lower-lower-middlebrow already. You can discuss (or at least contribute in discussions regarding) the merits and demerits of Le Carre.
Next? .....listen to me carefully now, this is critical .... Tom Robbins. Still life with woodpecker. Not too many have read it. And I'm sure you will love it.
Next? Pause. A few more Robbinses if you please. Or go through the track you went through a few times.
OK, good, a decent few Le Carres, a decent few Robbins. Chip in a Life of Pi and a Curious Incident... Now is the time for the next stage. Portnoy's complaint. Rabbit, Run. The world according to Garp. .... Go through the experience of Catch 22. It was painful for me, it might not be so for you. No please, no Ayn Rand or Catcher in the Rye. Every Teresa, Daniella and Henrietta has read it. You add no value to any discussions on this. And you are looking at saving time, right? Gotcha.
Read some John Irving and John Fowles just to build on the resume of yours. At your present state of the batsman Irfan Pathan-esque literary glory, that should be quite easy.
Next, move to Steinbeck. And you will like Steinbeck. I just know somehow that you will like Steinbeck........ And hey presto, there's a nobel laureate who you like and can atleast pretend to really appreciate.

And there you are, buddy, you are in my team now. You are lower-middlebrow, just like me. I might have gotten there earlier, but you certainly did get there quicker.

The 'bold' road- for the ballsier types only

On the other hand, you could read a Joyce or a Woolf (finish it, please.... I wouldn't know, but it might be worth it, or better still, it might really save face someday) and fake it all thereafter. Don't talk too much, the studied silence is worth more than a thousand words.... Just add once in a while in conversation how Joyce / Woolf changed your life. Memorize a few lines, a paragraph even. Quote them. In moderation. Other lower-middlebrows like me will take you to heart, none of them have moved to beyond 10 pages of any Joyce. I haven't.

Your pick. Oh, and don't ask me how I got to lower-middlebrow-ness (or lower-lower-middlebrowness, but I hope I've graduated). Long story. Some other day, maybe.

Observation: Blogspot ban, and mirth

2006-07-17T22:37:00.000+05:30

The email read

Hello all,
This is to inform all my friends in India and throughout the world that in the wake of the recent terrorist strikes in Bombay, the government of India has covertly started blocking access to all blogspot.com pages. ...

And of course I was convinced that this guy was trying to pull a fast one on me. Now c'mon, our politicians are not known to be the smartest species on planet earth (IMHO the IQ of the honourable Prime Minister and the honourable President might just add up to more than that of the rest of the Lok Sabha combined), but this would really take the chocolate mousse.

Well, you know what? This DID take the chocolate mousse. So, friends from outside India, enjoy the coffee-brown pages of Lapsus Calami. That's something I cannot do currently.

But yeah, I CAN enter blogger.com. I CAN write posts and edit them. I can do everything, infact, except see the goddamned front page.

Man, so crazy smart these politicos are!

Observation: Rediff does an engineering college exam

2006-07-15T19:27:00.000+05:30

What was that concept in Engineering college exams? If you only know a little bit of the answer to a question, write the same thing three, four times, rejigging the sentence formation in each paragraph etc etc till you make two pages worth.

Well, here's rediff for you, doing exactly the same thing. Saw this first at Amit Varma's India Uncut.

And back to the article, was just wondering, if Mallya actually buys out Fosters, what will the Aastraalians be calling that golden liquid then? In India, we call it 'Child Bear' by the way, so we wouldn't all of a sudden start calling it Fosters... weird dilemma, na?

Entity: The Microsoft Sound

2006-07-15T02:15:00.000+05:30

"The idea came up at the time when I was completely bereft of ideas. I'd been working on my own music for a while and was quite lost, actually. And I really appreciated someone coming along and saying, 'Here's a specific problem -- solve it.' The thing from the agency said, 'We want a piece of music that is inspiring, universal, blah-blah, da-da-da, optimistic, futuristic, sentimental, emotional,' this whole list of adjectives, and then at the bottom it said 'and it must be 3¼ seconds long.' I thought this was so funny and an amazing thought to actually try to make a little piece of music. It's like making a tiny little jewel. In fact, I made 84 pieces. I got completely into this world of tiny, tiny little pieces of music. I was so sensitive to microseconds at the end of this that it really broke a logjam in my own work. Then when I'd finished that and I went back to working with pieces that were like three minutes long, it seemed like oceans of time."

- Brian Eno

(thanks to everything2)

And OK, I personally have nothing against this entity Eno creates, but tell me, wouldn't silence have been better?

Phrase: My karma ran over your dogma

2006-07-15T02:00:00.000+05:30

Probably the most irritating, disgusting phrase ever to have been created / popularised. The mother of all pseud phrases, seriously.

Song: Guncha - Mohit Chauhan [OST: Main Meri Patni aur Woh]

2006-07-13T22:41:00.000+05:30

"Saaki ney firr sey mera... jaam bhar diya/
Guncha koii... mere naam... kar diyaa"

Probably one of the best songs to have come out of the Hindi movie soundtrack stable in the recent times. Melody has been a sort of a rarity nowadays. This aural treat, instead, is a hark back to those days of melody, while all this while Hindi soundtracks have been all about rhythm.

What makes the song mysterious and alluring is the apparent simplicity of it all. 'Subaha koh teri zulfon ney shaam kar diyaa' and 'Tum jaisa koii nahiin is jahaan mein' are not words that will come out of a Gulzar's or a Javed Akhtar's pen, they will have a million better, more poetic ways of putting across the same feelings. The lyricist Rocky Khanna (Rocky Khanna! For pete's sake, how can a lyricist have a name like Rocky Khanna?), obviously lacking in the virtuoso verbosity of those lofty names, keeps it simple. He explains the feelings exactly the way he feels them, giving it a curiously wholesome common man touch. The music, almost fading in the background, plays its part and allows Mohit's (remember Silk Route? Boondein? Dooba Dooba? The same guy) vocals to come to the forefront and completely take it away.

Mohit Chauhan's vocals, of course, are the heart and soul of the song. There is this untrained, natural quality to Mohit Chauhan's vocals which it extremely catchy. I could almost see a more classically trained singer running through the song, rounding off all the audible-to-the-untrained-ears edges to the vocals, and taking all the magic out of it and making it just one of the run-o'-the-mill mushy romantic numbers. Mohit does not, sings like himself and not Bhupinder, and here you have it, a modern gem.

For the lyrics, go here.
Listen to it in raaga.

To put it in perspective

2006-07-13T21:44:00.000+05:30

Ghosh puts it in proper perspective (and very well, must I add)

There is no use talking about it again and again. Every news channel, every website and every mail that I receive talks about the same thing. But let us not hold Zizou responsible for France losing the cup. Maybe he would have been instrumental in getting that winning goal - 12 minutes is a long time in football. But for 109 minutes it did not happen. Trezeguet would have anyways taken one of the kicks. That was destiny.

Read the whole article here.

And when will I write about the world cup? Soon, soon...

Call quality, anyone?

2006-07-13T15:49:00.000+05:30

(doo doo doo ... Uptown girl) ringtone on my cellphone

Me: Hello SP here.

Voice: Hello sir, this is XYZ from Citibank.

Me: OK.

Voice: Do you want to take a personal loan?

Me: Why?

Voice: Just asking...

Me: No.

Don't these people have any call quality checks? What's the point with these calls? Will they ever get a customer this way?

Seriously, I had once done telesales for a few months, and am generally not rude to salespeople. "Why?" is the perfect hook to start a conversation. Seems to me that these people are a) Not trained at all at outbound calling; b) not really interested in getting a client, all they really care about is getting their call numbers done.

This just fails me, what are these folks being paid for? For “just asking”? And this is not the first time. Just yesterday, another company called up to sell credit cards. I asked the person what this credit card has which my credit card does not. And in reply she says, “Do you want it or do you not want it”?

I know that telemarketing is a good ploy. But with many credit card and personal loan companies getting into telemarketing just because the rest of the world has, and not really giving a damn about training their people to actually sell, and I’m sure not tracking agent performance (in terms of on-call performance and client targets) either, all that they have managed to end up being is of nuisance. And useless salespeople such as this ‘just asker’ continue to hold a job.

Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun

2006-07-12T23:43:00.000+05:30

Come on you stranger, you legend, you martyr, and shine....

Shine on you crazy diamond...

Syd Barrett RIP

Mumbai

2006-07-11T23:19:00.000+05:30

mumbaitrainblast
Originally uploaded by Sinfully Pinstripe.

Terrorists have no religion, no caste, they belong to no race nor any country. They have lost all reasons to be called human, and should not be treated as humans either.

I hope all of you in Mumbai are well. I know most of you are, I found out. For the rest of you, hold on. Tell me you are alright.

The world will be beautiful again. Someday. Someday soon.

YES!

2006-07-10T02:57:00.000+05:30

Expressions for the day

2006-07-08T23:04:00.000+05:30

Ewww
Awwwwwwww

Haven't you wondered what these commonly used (by women) expressions might mean? So did I. So I asked this person about them yesterday. The text (and context), as explained to me by her, are as follows.

Ewww -
explanation: Apparently an expression of disgust. The type that emanates (or should emanate) when, say, a person blows his / her nose on his / her palm, wipes the aforementioned palm on his / her denim, and then extends the aforementioned palm to shake someone's hand.
usage tips: Ideally delivered from one side of the mouth. Nose should be twitched. Accompanied with a shrug of the shoulder and a shudder of the head. The last of the three w's should be softer than the previous two. Closing of eyes optional.
impossibility quotient: 9 on a scale of 10

Awwwwwwww
explanation: A little less clear than Ewww. Might be an expression that emanates from witnessing something ( a person, a thing, an action) that's extremely cute. Say for example that pink round toddler, which is trying on her mother's lipstick or something (Addendum 1: Questions such as how the aforementioned example qualifies as extremely cute, are not to be directed at me. This is the example that has been given to me, and has been replicated verbatim here. Addendum 2: No, that PYT you saw at Spinn does not qualify as Awwwwwwww. And yes, I know and agree that she should).
usage tips: The first AW are louder, the w's that follow are softer. Gets low pitched as you go along. Slight bowing of head / narrowing of eyes optional.
impossibility quotient: 11 on a scale of 10.

Impossible for guys to copy. Believe me, I have tried the Ewww. Was not even close. Didn't have the daring to try the Awwwwwwww.

Goal! The dream begins...

2006-07-07T23:05:00.000+05:30

Aw c'mon now, it WAS supposed to be wish-fulfilment stuff all along. What were you expecting?

And keeping true to my tradition of loving every sports movie to bits (I didn't pan even Wimbledon, remember?) I will be all complimentary. A believable main protagonist, one you could root for, is a necessity in a sports movie (remember Chariots of Fire?), and Kuno Becker fits the bill perfectly. And he looks like a footballer (a better looking version of Rooney, did someone say?) and not like some pretty male model. Thankfully! And those sudden appearances of Shearer, Zizou, Raul, Sven Goran and Idiot No. 7 do give a certain amount of believability to the story.

And that scene of Santiago running past the waves down at Newcastle, with 'Don't look back in anger' playing in the background, is one that will stay with you for quite a while after you are through with the movie.

Please do not watch it if you are not a sports fan. This is not the 'Remember the Titans' kind of a movie which inspires and uplifts you, or is a social commentary of some sorts. This, very simply, is one that celebrates the game, the Joga Bonito, in all it splendor.

And if you are a football fan, you must have seen it by now anyway...

Song: Mr. Jones - Counting Crows

2006-07-07T21:25:00.000+05:30

Was screaming this song while coming back home from office today (I don't blog from office, remember?).

This one is about two musician blokes yearning for success the traditional way, and the perks that come along with it. About dreams. About that time in life when dreams still come naturally (and yes, I can still identify with the song), but while chasing your dreams, you also know somewhere deep within that this dream destination of yours might just not be the utopia you always thought it will be. And the irony is not hidden to the writers of the song (or to the listener) that "When everybody loves you, you can never be lonely" is not quite the way it is.

Nice rhythm; simple, easy-to-identify-with guitaring and drumming; great vocals, a nice hook and some of the best lyrics one can find. High hummability content.

This song hit no. 1 on the Billboard top 100 once. Almost impossible to believe. Not the Billboard No. 1 type of a song really.

For more song facts, go here.
For lyrics, go here.

To listen to the song, go here.

One topic a day

2006-07-07T21:07:00.000+05:30

This goes in the following manner. On a certain day there has been a song that was playing on my head, a movie that I really want to rewatch, a book (let me stretch it a bit farther, a line from a book, or even a poem) that's taken my fancy, a sportsman or a sporting performance that I want to talk about, a politician, a global event, an organization, a TV ad, a restaurant, a movie hall, a city, anything infact... so I will write about it. Maybe two lines, maybe a two-thousand word essay, but I will write something. No observation, no snippet of startling information, no analysis i.e. no value-add... just something, anything to get out of the inertia.

And since I am starting off today, I give you, reader, more than the standardfare one for the day (Edit: on second thoughts, the second set of Baghdatis / Nadal is shaping up excellently. Forgive me, dear readers) (Edit 2: Nadal is good. I am eating humble pie now, and you have a second article).

The ad that inspires me to start a lists blog

2006-07-07T20:48:00.000+05:30

is this.

Thanks are due to Super Mo.

And if you were wondering what they were saying in Spanish all the while; rather, if you could figure out only the "A Casa" and the 'Soy Capitan' (everybody surely knows La Bamba by heart...), this is for you. Thanks are due to Gwynn Dujardin in this case.

As the ad opens, Gordito is bored, chilling out in an old arm chair (next to an abandoned car) outside, as Jose bounces a soccer ball off the wall nearby.

Gordito: Jose? Jugamos?/Jose? Shall we play?

Jose: Si/ Yes.

The scene cuts to the courtyard where Jose and Gordito do their version of "rock, paper, scissors" to see who gets first pick of the players.

Gordito: Pares -- uno, dos y tres!/ Stop -- one, two, three! (They each throw a hand in, Jose loses.)

Jose: Ach!/ Ach! (the international language of frustration). Gordito gets first pick; the players arrive, running in from various angles of the courtyard, some in their native team gear, some more casual.

G: Cisse!/ Djubril (Edit: Djibrill) Cisse, of France, who is injured for the Cup (broken leg).

J: Kaka!/ Kaka, of Brazil (remember, lots of them go by one name).

G: Zidane!/ Zinedine Zizane (Edit: Zidane) (Zizou), of France.

J: Beckham!/ David Beckham, of England.

G: Defoe!/ Jermaine Defoe, who plays for Tottenham, but is not playing for England in the Cup.

J: Kahn!/ Oliver Kahn, German goal-keeper, who won the "Golden Ball" (ringing Austin Powers?) at the 2002 World Cup.

G: Messi!/ Lionel Messi, of Argentina.

J: Mm, Beckenbauer!

G: . . . [realizing what Jose had just said] Beckenbauer!? ha ha ha ha ha ha ha/ The joke that they're sharing is that Jose has selected the player Franz Beckenbauer -- which sounds like "bake-un-bow-yea" in their idiom -- who was a German star (and former national team manager) from the late sixties and seventies (and an Adidas icon to boot).
Just when they're laughing, however, Beckenbauer turns up, in the era-appropriate kit (and his old number, 5). Oliver Kahn, the current -- and great -- German goalie (in the middle of the photo to the right), is especially dumb-struck, and Beckenbauer approaches him first to shake his hand. Neat moment.

But having cottoned on to the kids' m.o., Zidane whispers in Gordito's ear the name of a French football icon from the late seventies and eighties, Michel Platini -- G: Platini! -- who duly arrives to hug his no. 10 heir, Zidane (i.e., Germans don't hug. . .).

The players are stretching, smiling, and getting to know each other while they warm up, but Jose and Gordito are all business.

G: Oye, Defoe!/ Listen up, Defoe! Gordito throws Defoe the goalie gear, surprising -- and amusing -- because Defoe is a forward; but we've established that these are the kids' teams, as Jose then makes explicit.

J: [the coin toss; Cisse stoops to pick it up; Jose swipes it from his hands] Soy capitan!/ I'm the captain!

G: [calling out to his players behind him] Oye, cuatro cuatro dos!/ Four four two! The standard soccer line up of four defenders, four midfielders, then two forwards, or strikers.

J: [to his team, very seriously] Cuidado Cisse, porque el corre muy rapido . . .vale? vale. / Watch out for Cisse, because he runs very fast . . . All right? All right. (Cisse nods and wags his finger in agreement).

G: [pointing to two players in his backfield] Lampard, Robben, venga, ramos!/ Lampard, Robben, come on, to the wings! (or sides, of the pitch, with a gesture that tells them to switch -- which they do). And that's Frank Lampard of England, and Arjen Robben, of the Netherlands.

The match begins when Jose shoves German player Michael Ballack to the side and says, pita!/ the whistle (has blown), and takes the first touch. I'm not going to call every touch of the match itself (unless pressed).

G:Vengamos! Venga, corre!/ Let's go! Come on, run!

Jose tackles -- okay, trips -- the rapidly advancing Robben, who considers it a foul. Jose shrugs off his protest with a clipped "sorry!" to continue play. . .

J: Aqui, Beckham!/ Here, Beckham! (who produces his trademark bending cross).

Kaka ends up with the ball, advances, shoots, and Defoe -- remember, a forward -- manages to deflect it, with a laugh. Jose, disappointed in Kaka, orders, Tu, al banquillo!/ You, to the bench! -- in which the joke is who benches Kaka?!-- but then he shouts, Duff, ven! / Duff, come! Damien Duff, of Ireland, comes in off the bench. Play continues.

G: Oye, Zidane!/ Hey, Zidane! (whom he passes the ball). Zidane to Cisse. As Cisse heads up the wing, Capitan Gordito yells something I can't make out (he's running, and huffing and puffing); whatever it is, he wants him to cross the ball in . . .

Lampard collects the cross and shoots; the goalie, Kahn, grabs it. G: Gol! Kahn: "Nooooo!" Lampard, and Gordito's team, consider it a goal. Jose and Kahn argue (in their respective languages) over the goal line when . . .

Jose's mother calls from the balcony: Jose!

J: Que?!/ What?

Jose's mom: A casa!!/ Come home! He shakes his head and throws up his arm in disappointment, and heads for home, as the camera pulls back to reveal noone on the "pitch," save for Jose and Gordito, reluctantly exiting their fantasy. . .

Edit: Would also like to mention that in another version of the ad, Patrick Vieira comes to Ballack and says "Deja Vu! after Kahn stops the ball on the goalline while Gordito's team is claiming (and celebrating) a goal from Lampard's kick. This refers to the '66 World Cup finals where England were awarded a controversial goal against Germany when Geoff Hurst's kick bounced from the crossbar onto the goalline and then bounced back. Did the ball cross the goalline? The controversy continues.

To resurrect a comatose blog...

2006-07-07T20:30:00.000+05:30

But before that, answer this. Why do you need to? What got you in here in the first place?

Here's the answer.

a) Sometimes, I have too much to say. Say for example about football. Say about the World Cup. I cannot cease to get overwhelmed by the (admittedly underwhelming) World Cup '06. Often too overwhelmed to write. So there.

b) To keep up the public image. When I know what I want to say about profound topic X might not amount to much, I desist. Pathetic? Yes. I am slave to my blog.

c) Too much work. Aargh, not again!

d) I don't really love blogging. Yes, maybe...

But back to the original question. What do you do to resurrect a comatose blog?

Here's the answer to that too.

a) Plagiarize. Something spectacular that you have seen is taken in toto, and replaced verbatim. (Please, please don't forget to mention the original writers etcetc), and your blog is alive. On life support, yes, but alive all the same.

b) Cheat. Don't put in effort to dig up information, analyse and provide value-added (ahem) posts. Think about something easy that can sustain regular blogging for a while, and implement. Flip side is, it takes a bit more of effort than the former practice. But well, originality (even if it is original trivia) has its minuses.

So there. What will come in next will be examples of both. Yes, I have decided (again) to resurrect this blog...

The Onida Devil

2006-06-22T09:41:00.000+05:30

And am I the only guy who has noticed the fact of Onida making a complete U-turn in their advertising message?

What used to be "Neighbor's Envy, Owner's Pride", is now "Nothing but the truth", and "Don't buy to show off" !

Irritating!

2006-06-22T00:29:00.000+05:30

"Duniya Goal Hai" wins! It has overtaken the Alpenliebe ads at the footer of TV screens during cricket matches as the most irritating sporting peripheral experience of them all.

Damn! Why? For god's sake, why?

It was 26-touch, I counted

2006-06-20T03:25:00.000+05:30

I was distinctly lucky, 20 years ago, that Baba woke me up to see the greatest solo goal ever in the World Cups live on TV.

I was distinctly unlucky to miss seeing the greatest team goal ever in the World Cups live on TV. I was just about a minute and a half or so late to the office cafetaria.

Here's what the Official World Cup site says about it.

In a move comprising fully 26 passes and involving nine different players, Argentina moved the ball from one end to another in the space of 57 seconds. The Serbo-Montenegrins could only look on in wonder as the sublime movement and technique of the South Americans ripped their feted defence to shreds.
The goal was football poetry in motion. First Maxi Rodriguez, well inside Argentine territory, laid the ball back to Gabriel Heinze. From Heinze to Mascherano, from back to front, and from right to left; a perfect example of Argentinian artistry. Rodriguez was involved on five occasions, Mascherano and Juan Roman Riquelme four times each, while the hapless Serbo-Montenegrins were forced to play the role of hypnotised onlookers.
Their agony was finally complete when, with his third and most telling contribution to the move, Cambiasso stroked the ball home to spark wild celebration in Argentina and open-mouthed acclaim from the rest of the world.
Fittingly, it was the conductor of the Argentinian orchestra, Riquelme, who best summed up the significance of the strike. “With that goal," he said, "we showed what kind of team we are. When the squad is united and we’re feeling good, these things happen. Knocking the ball around is what we like doing best.”

Maybe, just maybe, the misfortune of Bati's shot hitting the upright in the '98 World Cup quarters against Holland is to be set right. Maybe, just maybe, it's time.

Oh-gill-vee!

2006-06-20T00:36:00.000+05:30

Ogilvy
Originally uploaded by Sinfully Pinstripe.

Oh-gill-vee ! Oh-gill-vee ! Oh-gill-vee !

Was rooting for him all this while (I hate Mickelson as you all know). Phew!

Spacey: "I Gave Up After Oscar"

2006-06-17T21:19:00.000+05:30

Kevin Spacey
Originally uploaded by Sinfully Pinstripe.

From IMDB.

Kevin Spacey's career peaked when he won the Best Actor Oscar for American Beauty in 2000, and he has dedicated himself to helping others ever since. The actor decided to quit striving for greater success and has thrown himself into projects like his artistic directorship of London's Old Vic theatre. He says, "As far as I'm concerned, when I looked at what happened in my career in 2000 - after American Beauty - I thought it couldn't get much better. What was I going to spend the rest of my life doing? Trying to top myself? Trying to stay hot, trying to make sure I was in the right movies? I don't give a s**t. I'm trying to do something with my success which is bigger than myself. I'm no longer interested in my personal career. I am interested in the impact I can have on a lot of other people's careers and on audiences."

Way to go, dude...er ... Keyser.

Tunisia : Saudi Arabia (2-2)

2006-06-15T14:51:00.000+05:30

jaidi
Originally uploaded by Sinfully Pinstripe.

Radhi Jaidi scores at the 90th minute to fetch the draw for Tunisia.

And to know that the tickets to this game were available for me. Alas ... and so is life!

Anonymous?

2006-06-14T03:47:00.000+05:30

I agree, this blog would have been fun had it been anonymous. Atleast a little. Atleats I would have put in some effort at that.

But it is anonymous!

Like, yeah, right! Every friend, every un-friend, every ex-girlfriend, every college-mate, every friday-evening-booze-pal, and (shudder, shudder) every office colleague... and their grandmothers know me as the writer of this blog. And how do they know? Oh yeah, from the horse's mouth. Always the show pony, ain't I?

Oh, and chicken, what's more. So the blog remains impersonal. And un-fun.

Let's have some more...

2006-06-14T02:39:00.000+05:30

... literary exhibitionism. I seriously should write about the lower-middlebrow literature lover, a class that I belong to.

1. Mistaken Modernity by Dipankar Gupta

Unceremoniously taken away from, and will never be returned to Vivek Laha. Why? The back cover reads:

From Hindu notions of dirt, South Asia's preference for women leaders to patronage in democratic politics, Dipankar Gupta resolves many of the paradoxes of contemporary India in this book. In the process, he issues a damning indictment of the westoxicated elitist Indian middle class, and shows how unmodern the people of this class are in the very areas in which they are considered to be modern. Modernity, argues the author, is not about technology and consumption, as is mistakenly believed in India, but has to do with the attitudes, especially those that come into play in our social relations. It is there that the Indian middle class is found severely wanting.
Family connections, privileges of caste and status, as well as the willingness to break every law in the book characterize our social relations very deeply. The past clings tenaciously to our present - traditional India thrives in contemporary locales. A brilliant and chilling treatise on the hypocrisy and vanity of the Indian middle class, and its pathetic attempts to cloak its traditional ways in superficial modernity.

Anyone still asking why?

2. Currrently reading: The Kingdom by the Sea by Paul Theroux

Amazon says

After eleven years as an American in London, Paul Theroux set out to travel clockwise round the coast and find out what Britain and the British are really like. It was 1982, the summer of the Falklands War and the royal baby, and the ideal time, he found, to suprise the British into talking about themselves. This book is the result of this trip.

And I am only down twenty pages or so, but have already encountered snippets like

Once, from behind a closed door, I heard an Englishwoman exclaim with real pleasure, “They are funny, the Yanks!” And I crept away and laughed to think that an English person was saying such a thing. And I thought: They wallpaper their ceilings! They put little knitted bobble-hats on their soft-boiled eggs to keep them warm! … They charge you for matches when you buy cigarettes! They smoke on buses! … They spy for the Russians! They say “nigger” and “Jewboy” without flinching! They call their houses Holmleigh and Sparrow View! … And they think we’re funny!

and

Americans also boasted. “I do some pretty incredible things” was not an English expression. I’m fairly keen” was not American. Americans were showoffs- it was part of our innocence- we often fell on our faces; the English seldom showed off, so they seldom looked like fools. The English liked especially to mock the qualities in other people they admitted they didn’t have themselves.

I quite like travel writing, but this is the first one I am reading from the high-priest of that fine art. And from the looks of it, it is going to be a joyride.

The best

2006-06-06T07:38:00.000+05:30

Murali
Originally uploaded by Sinfully Pinstripe.

The best spinner in the world? Yes. You have to be an especially patriotic Australian (or Bishen Bedi) to believe otherwise.

The best spinner ever? Probably. You never know about the really old guys. But very possibly.

The best bowler ever? Hmm, tough to say. The statistics vehemently say so, though. And for no other country, in no other era, has the performance of a national cricket team depended so completely, so entirely on one man.

Give him a semi-competitive total to play with, against any opposition, in any kind of a track, in the fourth innings, and chances are that you are on the winning team.

And will I yet again duck the small issue of his bowling action? No, this time, I wouldn't.

On a friend's blog, I had made this comment once, to this comment. Too loud, in retrospect. But IMO pretty much correct.

This is like Sita's Agni Pareeksha. Some idiotic Darrell Hair decides that he chucks. So he has a check. He clears. Then some dumb Ross Emerson wants his 15 minutes of fame. so he calls Murali for chucking as well. Murali again goes through the Agni Pareeksha. And clears again. And now that his action is checked for every ball a-la Shabbir Ahmed (whether he chucks a few and bowls a few, or not...), nobody is really complaining.... apart from these murmurs.

So the sore loser Aussies cannot say that he chucks. It was in their labs that he was proven to be a 'bowler' through and through. So what do they find now? Ah of course, Murali has been playing against bad opposition all the while, na?

Well, cheap wickets for sure. Warnie's got 172 of those.

P.S. Why compare the two, someone asked. Both are genuine greats of the game, aren't they? Absolutely, both are. But you have to find someone to compare this great man's performances with, for a sense of perspective, don't you? And who better to compare Murali with than the second-best spinner of the modern era? Guess I would have had go back to Clarrie Grimmett or even Sydney Barnes otherwise.

Where are.....

2006-06-05T14:56:00.000+05:30

...the soccer posts, do you wonder?

Have been really busy, so .....

Am still really busy. So?

Ghosh, ol' pal from LMB (and one of only two people I know in this world with whom the Horacio de la Pena, Vikram Venkataraghavan, Ibrahim Ba, Jose Luis Brown, Sambaran Banerjee and Glen Chapple discussions can happen), has started a World cup blog. I should follow suit. Would. Boredom commences soon, get ready.

Bangalore University splits boys, girls

2006-05-19T02:37:00.000+05:30

A LoC (line of control) has been drawn at the Bangalore University. A brutal attack on a group of women students in the English department on May 2, has prompted its Syndicate, the highest decision-making body, to pass a resolution: not to let boys and girls sit together during classes!

--TOI: Bangalore, 18th May 2006

Do read the article I wrote on Metroblogging Bangalore on this.

Ce sont les meilleures équipes, die Meister, die Besten

2006-05-18T19:25:00.000+05:30

At the 70th minute, I spoke for the first time. I said, let the beautiful game win. And it did.

Sad for Arsenal. But happy for the game.

Henrik Larsson, what a farewell ...

Snivel, Murakami and Peeves

2006-05-14T21:49:00.000+05:30

First of all, a little ditty about my present state.

Fever
cold, shiver
snivel
oh yeah, and dribble
Would be good to have a moll,
a nice li'l tab of paracetamol...

And yeah, a Nobel awaits someday, I know...

Apart from that, the return of our favourite peeve leads to a visit to Blossom. The following result:

One day in the life of Ivan Denisovich - Alexander Solzhenitsyn
The Martian Chronicles - Ray Bradbury
The Quiet American - Graham Greene
And Quiet flows the Don - Mikhail Sholokhov
Goalless - Boria Majumdar, Kausik Bandyopadhyay
The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer
Pigeon Feathers - John Updike
Kafka on the Shore - Haruki Murakami
Waiting - Ha Jin
Of Human Bondage - W. Somerset Maugham
Beyond a Boundary - CLR James

The last two mentioned are read, but needed a copy in hand. So there.

Ah, how eventful my life is !

I blog about my city

2006-05-13T02:19:00.000+05:30

bangalore.metblogs.com
Originally uploaded by Sinfully Pinstripe.

Remember that post on Street food in Bangalore that basically made me rich and famous ... (bah, or so you think)?

If you'd remember, I mentioned there about Metroblogging : Bangalore. Well, today is when *applause, applause* I become a member of the Metrobloggers of Bangalore. I blog about my city. I blog for my city. So do keep checking that site too, and bolster my ego ...

Also, read more about Metroblogging here.

Never grow up / Craziest

2006-05-10T23:03:00.000+05:30

Now a great short film is one which focuses on, and captures the true essence of the product/ theme about which it is made. And the following two, both encountered today, are living examples of the same. I love both the games to bits. And loved both the videos too. Do have a dekko.

1. Never Grow Up. The wonderful game, its greatest artiste of the modern times, and the joy of soccer. You do not need to be a Ronaldinho to appreciate the joy of playing, of being. (Thanks to Harish KS).

2. Craziest. Scrabble is a very different sport from soccer. Or is it? Love, passion... aren't they universal feelings?

[Edit: Tending-to-average player that I am, I have had the good fortune of playing a triple triple. This was during my first few days at isc.ro , when I played broCaded (the capital letter indicates a blank) for 149]

The current favourites of the news channels

2006-05-09T09:33:00.000+05:30

... are Shane Warne in yet another sex scandal (and I wish he has a zooter or a doosra or something in his public-persona armory, he is getting rather predictable these days) and little Budhia Singh the marathon runner.

Funny:

Hindi translation of Warne's ladies' quotes in AajTak (or was it NDTV India?). It's weird how sleaze, in Hindi, always manages to sound hilarious. And it's even more weird that whenever I hear Hindi sleaze, it reminds me of tha 'Bade Ladkey' talk show scene in Monsoon Wedding.

Funnier:

Sonia Verma, on NDTV, trying to converse with Budhia Singh's coach, Biranchi Das in Hindi. "Biranchi-jee, jab Budhia run karta hai..."

No name

2006-05-08T00:11:00.000+05:30

2006. Low drone from the drawing room while I am playing scrabble. The lazy drawl of Peeves, the booming baritone of BSC and the occasional murmur of PK.

1998. Insecure to-be-engineers, for the first time out of home, at a distant land where the language nor the culture ring a bell, I saw the others' trials and tribulations, I saw them suddenly transform into men, and somehow unnoticed to myself, I had grown up too. From the unsure, volatile kid from Calcutta to the cold cynic that I am today, and these guys are testimony to it. Yes, lives change as circumstances change, but some things are for ever. Somehow, some things don't go away. Thankfully.

Please to note

2006-05-05T12:39:00.000+05:30

Tailenders are not getting much better at batting. Atleast the numbers don't suggest so.

It's curious how much information numbers throw out. How many popular beliefs they break, or at least seriously question. Will need to look through these numbers and do my own analysis sometime though. Till then.... chew on the report.

Quizzing in Asansol

2006-04-29T22:09:00.000+05:30

Do they still quiz in Asansol? Is the Graduates’ Association quiz still held every year on that quaint tree-lined street in Burnpur? What about the one at the Asansol Book Fair every year, jostling for space with poetry-reading sessions of Joy Goswami and Sunil Gangopadhyay? Does Kamalendu Mishra still conduct quizzes there? And who conducts the Inter-school Rotary club quiz at Asansol Club nowadays?
Are there, even now, questions asked whose answer could be Komitet Gosudarstvennoi Bezopastnostyi? Do you still see rather gauche, under-confident young boys from Bengali medium schools there, who pronounce the word ‘quiz’ with a ‘j’ at the end, but who also have a record of winning quite a few major events in the city? Do you still see mothers sitting in the first row of the audience, discussing the relative merits of their children’s mathematics tutors and sometimes gesticulating frenetically at the daughter, on stage, who has forgotten the name of the first person to give a speech in Hindi at the UN general assembly? And sometimes enthusiastic teachers from St. Vincent’s and St. Patrick’s too, surrounded by a bagful of tiny 12-year olds, vehemently cheering two of their boys who have qualified for the finals and are on stage.

How do they quiz in Salem? And Chikmagalur, and Meerut, and Bokaro, and Vaapi, and Bhilai? Can you find dapper quizmasters with a pronouncedly Hindi-accented yet clear English and unbridled enthusiasm, who do not mind having a word or two with the parents of the kid whose team has come fourth, there? Do you have champion quizzers in your city, dear readers from Chikmagalur and Bokaro, who are inconspicuous, polite, mild gentlemen who answer to the name of Kanhaiyalaal Sharma, or brash, snooty, shockingly knowledgeable 15-year old enfant-terribles like Subhadeep Barman? Do you find teams of 15 year olds as winners of the most prestigious quizzing trophy in the city?
Will you find a few 60 year olds, trying their luck in the quizzes, teaming up with their grandchildren? Will you find wide-eyed 13-year olds in half-pants, who scream at their teammates when they miss a question, leading their mothers to stop talking to each other in the middle of a particularly important and interesting gossip? Will you find Tiffin-box adorned mothers asking their sons whether they have been able to answer the one on the full name of Jyoti Basu, in the qualifiers? Do they have prize money yet, in quizzes, in your hometown?

Is there an Asansol in every small town in India?

Tagged

2006-04-29T13:58:00.000+05:30

I don’t like these tagging games. But here, I was tagged by good friend Harry.

So I will relent. So here I am . Let’s keep this light hearted, ok?

Five people on my shit list:

1. Ones who use words like tht, dat and d in emails, blog posts and even sms-es. Yes, I haven’t kept up with the times, so don’t remind me of that.
2. Karan Johar, Subhash Ghai and the Barjatiyas
3. Racists, sexists, casteists, xenophobics… you have been reading my blog, you’ll know.
4. Most of the sporting teams which wear red. Ferrari and Manchester United top this list
5. Snobs. Culture snobs, society snobs, and I hate my occational knowledge snob avatar. Remind me to keep it in check whenever you notice that avatar of mine.

Close brushes with death/danger:

How close, I do not know. But once almost fell off a railway bridge on a trek at Sakleshpur. It would have been a 100+ feet fall. Had two accidents on my motorbike, both minor. Had been hit by a car at the MDI gate, and had passed out for 5 minutes; and as a 2-year old, tried to ride my tricycle down the stairs of out three-storey house in Asansol.

Five preferable modes of suicide:

1-5. The thought never occurred to me, and cannot get myself to think that way either.. Love myself too fuckin’ much.

Five guilty pleasures:

1. Classic Milds (at a greatly reduced intensity nowadays)
2. Ice-cream and Sundaes. And you know what’s the reason for the nearly-six-pack stomach gradually being replaced by the tiny, soft paunch.
3. Wikipedia and Cricinfo. Should stop spending so much time there.
4. Govinda movies. C’mon, start judging me now.
5. Oversleeping.

Five things you never want to forget:

1. That I have been extremely lucky. I was not supposed to be here.
2. That there are many people over here in this world who like me and are friends of mine. That’s cause for great joy and is a huge responsibility
3. That my parents have gone out of their way to see that I have a shot at success the traditional way (and didn’t I say I will keep it light? Sorry, folks)
4. That I don’t really belong. And that does not make me superior or inferior, that just makes me different.
5. That I am healthy, fit and active, and that it’s a gift.

Five things you wish to forget:

1-5: Just like you, Harry, I will take the rough with the smooth. Nope, nothing. No ‘Eternal Sunshine of the spotless mind’ for me please

Five exotic dishes you've tried:

1. Askey-pithey, Murir-naaru and some extinct (at least to city-breds) bengali sweets from our old village.
2. Squid (a stomach upset followed).
3. Pheasants. My folks used to go hunting once. Never black bucks though…
4. Shukto and poshto. I am steadfastly Ghoti.
5. A weird Mizo mutton preparation. Which was spectacular.

Five loves of your life :

An undercurrent of wanderlust, carefuly camouflaged
Sports. Infact, anything competitive.
The two languages that I know well.
Conversation (or rather listening to two or three people conversing, and conversing well, on an interesting topic, and throwing in my point of view once in a while).
Family in Cal.

Strangest Dream:

You sure wouldn’t want to know. And I self-censor my posts.

Five most valued posessions:

I like my book-collection. But do I really value it? I don’t know. I guess my most valuable possessions would be health, a reasonably level head and that I am as intelligent and knowledgeable as I want to be (which is not much, really, but sufficient enough)

Five favorite superheroes (or fictional characters, ok?):

1. God 1. Diego Maradona.
2. God 2. Mark Knopfler.
3. God 3. Tom Robbins
(You think these are human beings like you and me? Get real!)
4. Sherlock Holmes
5. Feluda

I would not tag anybody. But I would surely like quite a few of you to try this. You know who you are. So go ahead. Yes, yes, I meant you too.

On 'The Constant Gardener', IMDB and skewed polls

2006-04-26T22:47:00.000+05:30

“OK, so those are the numbers. Now prove them.” Often heard. And difficult to implement most of the times.

Had commented on Dhoomk2’s blog today morning on variable pay for the men’s and women’s singles champions in Wimbledon, and had just briefly touched upon the topic of audience survey data, and why it can be fallacious. Will write an elaborate, researched and boring article on the topic sometime.

But as of now, there’s been another (boring too, may I add) topic that I have been thinking about. And the idea for that topic came about after I watched and fell in love with The Constant Gardener (which in case you don’t know, is a movie. It is directed by Fernando Meirelles and stars Ralph Fiennes and Rachel Weisz). And even though I am at a point of being termed an Afrophile, at least in the movie viewer’s sense (my favourite movie seen in the last year was Hotel Rwanda), I will let that pass and would not go on about the movie in this post apart from mentioning that I think it was wonderful, and a must-watch.

Instead, I will talk about IMDB, or more specifically the rankings for the top 250 movies at IMDB. I would prefer you, dear reader, to read this article on Wikipedia first, to get a perspective about IMDB (and especially the rankings) in general.

Done? I hope you have read the bit about the Top 250 carefully. I generally agree to those points. And to take the postulate farther, here’s my take on the rankings. Movies with controversial themes have few chances of coming at the top of the ranking pile. What’s more, if you will take a deep dive into the ranking methodology, you will realise that about 40% of the voters for any movie on IMDB, are from the US.

Thus, what are my observations?
1. That movies that say even slightly negative things about the US (with reason or otherwise) and are still very well made, have a very little chance for reaching the top 250. The votes are common-man votes, remember, and not those of critics.
2. That movies with controversial topics (and thus invoking extreme reactions from the viewers) have fewer chances of reaching the top. ‘Love me, hate me, but you cannot ignore me’, is a theme that is not in sync with IMDB.
3. Movies that hint towards light-heartedness tend to have a tough time. Pretty similar to the Oscars in that sense.

And what's my rationale? Here’s it:
1. Dr. Strangelove, which I think is one of the greatest movies ever made, comes in at number 20. The Shawshank Redemption, which is standard-fare uplifting, moralistic, righteout, good-over-evil, feel-good if there ever was any (and let me mention, a really good movie), comes in at no. 2.
2. Which is the movie no. 250? Walk the Line. Again, a good movie, with nice performances by Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon, but please don’t tell me that it’s a better movie than ‘The Constant Gardener’ which does not feature there. By the way, for Gardener, though, the votes seem to be rather equally distributed among the US and non-US voters.
3. Run Lola Run is better than Gandhi and Patton? You got to be kidding me.

So how should one take the IMDB top 250? Here’s my suggestion. Take it as a list of good movies that you should watch. Don’t expect no. 35 to be better than no. 235, do not have any pre-conceived notions, and just go enjoy. No good movie will be ranked badly, rest assured.

Comment freely. I do want to pick your minds on this topic. And can anyone lead me to similar topics in blogs / forums elsewhere?

P.S. Due to the Sifymax thingie as mentioned in my last post, the number of page views for my blog has absolutely shot up. From about 50 a day to the range of 300 a day. Now for Pete’s sake, even during the IIPM controversy, my page views never hit more than 200.And what’s more incredulous, I was, for a while, listed higher on the Indibloggers’ list than some of the best bloggers in India. Now that initially feels nice, but now I literally feel like cheating, my blog is ranked higher than Anand’s Locana, which in my opinion is absolutely the best blog in the Indian Blogosphere. And one of my longtime favourites.
But then, some good things did come of this (apart from the gloating bit), I discovered Dhoomk2’s blog on the Indibloggers’ list. And from there, this post eventually.

Who has hit bigtime?

2006-04-24T23:14:00.000+05:30

Street Food
Originally uploaded by Sinfully Pinstripe.

I have hit bigtime! Yeah, whatever...

Remember that Street Food article? Scroll down and you will find it..

That article figures among the featured 'Bangalore Blogs' on SifyMax... (see pic)

So if you want to see poor ol' Lapsus Calami in all its bloggloriousness, go to SifyMax and then click on Bangalore Live, or directly hit the Bangalore Live page.

Now however big a cynic I might claim to be, this doesn't feel too bad... hell, honestly, it feels good indeed!

Looking for adventure, and whatever comes our way….

2006-04-23T21:21:00.001+05:30

You know what the problem is with being a cynic? There will always be too little to believe in. There will always be too little one will believe in. There is too little I believe in.

The shit hits the ceiling when one starts questioning the basic rubric of fun. ‘Are we having fun yet’ is a rather unsocial and extremely cool (you know, the nihilistic cool) thing to say… but when you start living it, and start questioning the basic tenets of fun as you define it (or at any rate have defined it for so long), it becomes an issue. As it is at the risk of becoming.

Hedonism is fun when you believe in hedonism. A good conversation is fun when you are conversing without trying to impose your will on the other person. Blogging is fun as long as you care. Getting drunk is fun when you are not smirking, in your mind, at the fool that the rest of the junta in the pub are making of themselves. Polite flirtation is fun when you are enjoying it, and not doing it ‘because you can’. Trekking and travelling are fun until you find something retrograde about them. Books are fun until you read them as a critic. Ditto watching a movie or a play. Watching a cricket match is fun until you think the result is fixed.

Thankfully, I am not a complete cynic yet.

And I don’t really know where this post ended up. I planned it to be something quite different.

Hell, I can only tell you this much, I was certainly not born to be wild.

Happiness is a new bookshelf...

2006-04-23T02:30:00.000+05:30

... Ah, joy to the world. It's here at last.

(Sing it)
Joy to the world,
to all the boys and girls
joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea,
Joy to you and me.

Question: What is the toughest buy for a book lover?
Answer: A book shelf. Hell, couldn't I have bought 20 books instead?

But doesn't matter any which way. Happy, happy. Joy to the world...

Ah, pardon the ramble. Will upload photo tomorrow.

Street food in Bangalore, and a dedication

2006-04-19T23:02:00.000+05:30

And no, I do not get paid for writing this.

A friend from ol' Engineering college has come down to the city, and yesterday she literally arm-twisted me to take her to Kabab Magic for some Shawarma rolls and grape juice. FYI, Kabab Magic, the chain of roadside Arabic restaurants are quite a regular feature around Bangalore. Now I was not really inclined to travel to this specific restaurant in distant 3rd block Jayanagar, especially since there's a perfectly decent branch of Kabab Magic in JP Nagar, much closer to home. But no, this friend was insistent, her old hostel was nearby and she wanted some memorabilia. And after a particularly hectic day at office, there was only so much arm-twisting that I could take. I relented.

But whatever, I'm digressing. Let me tell you a bit about the shawarma rolls. In Bangalore you would not find too many instances of lamb or cow, and what you mostly get is chicken shawarma. Incidentally, since the bird-flu scare has almost come to pass, I have reverted to meting out the normal treatment to my favourite bird. A large slab of the best parts of the bird is hung on a vertical pole and slowly roasts as the pole is rotated. Now the chef (butcher, fencer, cuisine-artiste, whatever you call him... ), with violent slashes of his rapier, chops off minute bits of this slow-burning slab, collects the shreds and shrapnels and adds some onion to the bits. Now, he takes a smartly folded roomali roti, puts healthy dollops of butter on it, and puts the onioned shrapnels on the roti. The roti is rolled up, and there you go, your rich, unhealthy, delicious shawarma roll is ready.

Take grape juice alongwith. This is a KM special, or so they tell me. Purple-pink, with pieces of grape floating about, it is a genuine delicacy.

Worth every penny. Take my word for it.

And this happens to be my dedication to Metroblogging: Bangalore. Do visit.