Absence makes the mind wander
A heart or two drawn asunder
Messages and mails make me wonder
Could there be days fonder?
Showing posts with label random. Show all posts
Showing posts with label random. Show all posts
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Here comes the sun
One downside of going the full tonsure is your scalp fights a lost battle against the sun. Stepping out for lunch turns into an excessively perspiring expedition unless you have protection of a cap/hat, which doesn't give you that naked feeling on top.
Ri-baldry apart Bangalore has turned quite into an oven over the last couple of weeks. And its only February! Climate change is here and its on your (at least my) head. When was the last February night you remember having turned the fan on full blast, apart from the last two weeks? Never in my living memory! An Uncle of mine mentioned of how they hadn't even installed a fan when they initially settled in Bangalore some 30 years back. Air conditioning is the norm now.
I have always hated the heat. Even though I was born in Madras and root around Trichur in Kerala. Summer holidays were never as romantic as in Enid Blyton stories. A month would be spent half naked fakir like in Trichur, gulping down coconut water by the dozen from the decently endowed garden in my grandfathers house. Sweet mangoes would be decimated after lunch, only to lead to further discomfort with their strange ability to increase gastronomic combustion. Just as we were getting comfortable with the frying pan we would be shunted right into the fire, a moist one at that, to Madras. A city known for its wide variety of weather conditions- hot, hotter, hottest. I would invariably land up around the peak of the last option. The evenings would provide some respite, from the sea breeze, but you would still look like you have just emerged from a sauna right after a shower. I never found much reason to having a shower in Madras. The only right thing would be stay under it-forever. In hindsight, despite the flak against heat, those days were enjoyable-they were after all the summer holidays, a time when you had absolutely no responsibilities, no deadlines, no bosses, no most things that irk me now.
What is happening to all this solar energy anyway? Apart from making us and other natural entities we share this planet with tick, what does it do? Oh, it makes a lot shiny panels generate electricity which is then used to cook food, heat water and an assortment of such nice stuff. What happens to the rest of it? I am sure there is a lot which is wasted, being absorbed by the earth to bake one hell of a huge pie. What are the scientists and other knowledgeable characters in such matters doing? Can't all this energy be tapped to run- more air conditioners? There's also the catch, the more we use such equipment, the more chemicals released into the air, blocking the sun's rays from escaping back into the upper zones of the atmosphere and leaving us hot (not just under the collar).
If things are so hot why doesn't it melt all the fat stored under my skin? Just imagine the possibilities, eat, drink, lead a merry life in say Manali or Ladakh and come down to Chennai for therapy. At the rate Bangalore's temperatures are soaring, we could heat up the competition. After reading news bits about melting ice caps and glaziers, increasing sea levels and becoming a victim of a burnt scalp I have resigned to my fate and decided to wait and marginally increase the waistline of a polar bear:
Ri-baldry apart Bangalore has turned quite into an oven over the last couple of weeks. And its only February! Climate change is here and its on your (at least my) head. When was the last February night you remember having turned the fan on full blast, apart from the last two weeks? Never in my living memory! An Uncle of mine mentioned of how they hadn't even installed a fan when they initially settled in Bangalore some 30 years back. Air conditioning is the norm now.
I have always hated the heat. Even though I was born in Madras and root around Trichur in Kerala. Summer holidays were never as romantic as in Enid Blyton stories. A month would be spent half naked fakir like in Trichur, gulping down coconut water by the dozen from the decently endowed garden in my grandfathers house. Sweet mangoes would be decimated after lunch, only to lead to further discomfort with their strange ability to increase gastronomic combustion. Just as we were getting comfortable with the frying pan we would be shunted right into the fire, a moist one at that, to Madras. A city known for its wide variety of weather conditions- hot, hotter, hottest. I would invariably land up around the peak of the last option. The evenings would provide some respite, from the sea breeze, but you would still look like you have just emerged from a sauna right after a shower. I never found much reason to having a shower in Madras. The only right thing would be stay under it-forever. In hindsight, despite the flak against heat, those days were enjoyable-they were after all the summer holidays, a time when you had absolutely no responsibilities, no deadlines, no bosses, no most things that irk me now.
What is happening to all this solar energy anyway? Apart from making us and other natural entities we share this planet with tick, what does it do? Oh, it makes a lot shiny panels generate electricity which is then used to cook food, heat water and an assortment of such nice stuff. What happens to the rest of it? I am sure there is a lot which is wasted, being absorbed by the earth to bake one hell of a huge pie. What are the scientists and other knowledgeable characters in such matters doing? Can't all this energy be tapped to run- more air conditioners? There's also the catch, the more we use such equipment, the more chemicals released into the air, blocking the sun's rays from escaping back into the upper zones of the atmosphere and leaving us hot (not just under the collar).
If things are so hot why doesn't it melt all the fat stored under my skin? Just imagine the possibilities, eat, drink, lead a merry life in say Manali or Ladakh and come down to Chennai for therapy. At the rate Bangalore's temperatures are soaring, we could heat up the competition. After reading news bits about melting ice caps and glaziers, increasing sea levels and becoming a victim of a burnt scalp I have resigned to my fate and decided to wait and marginally increase the waistline of a polar bear:
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Jahaan Pyaar Hota Hai Vyapaar Bankar
But for the bomb blasts at German Bakery, Pune, the media would have been quite happily covering the sappy story of how Valentine's Day is being celebrated across the nation. While Arnab Goswami might have been quizzing Muthalik on why he suddenly feels democracy has been kidnapped by gundas in the background of his face blackening at a chat show discussing the much debated V Day, he will now focus on internal security lapses or how David Headley could be connected to the blasts and where will the diplomatic talks with Pakistan now lead. Bigger issues at the heart of it, more research and fleshing out of details for journalists following the story, negotiation scripts to be redrafted for the Indo-Pak diplomats and on a lesser note, lesser stupid cupid stories thankfully on the news.
Now this is not a rant from an embittered soul who has minimal experience in the what a close friend calls "complicated human emotion that has done so much destruction rather than construction of good faith between people" department apart from the unrequited and familial variety. This is more a rant against what shenoy refers to as the Love Day Cabal- A group of money-minded publicity-hungry companies that seek to make money from unsuspecting suckers on the great Day of Love. So while restaurants exhort that food and wine is the right way to your darlings heart (what if she has a bad case of indigestion?) and multiplexes proclaim to spend a few cozy hours, hands clasped around each others stargazing at what must be the most creatively titled rom-com till date Valentine's Day, I spent a quiet afternoon (for lack of anything more exciting) scanning the TV.
You are not spared much on the idiot box too. While The Wedding Singer clears his throat on WB, Ashton Kutcher and Brittany Murphy have Just Married on Star Movies. World Movies redeemed Cable TV itself by showing François Truffaut's Jules et Jim. What arrested me for the next couple of hours however was Doordarshan which has a series on Sunday's titled Film Utsav. The programmer must have presumably undergone what I was going through (though mine was more of a self pitying nature) and decided to wreak hell on the big V Day with- Guru Dutt's Pyaasa. For all the venom and vitriol I attempt at venting, not just on the V Day itself but other larger issues, it will remain a rant on this digitised diary. Which brings me to my moment of realisation brought on me care of Messers Sahir Ludhianvi, Mohammad Rafi, S.D.Burman and Guru Dutt and thebollywoodfan (for the translation):
Now this is not a rant from an embittered soul who has minimal experience in the what a close friend calls "complicated human emotion that has done so much destruction rather than construction of good faith between people" department apart from the unrequited and familial variety. This is more a rant against what shenoy refers to as the Love Day Cabal- A group of money-minded publicity-hungry companies that seek to make money from unsuspecting suckers on the great Day of Love. So while restaurants exhort that food and wine is the right way to your darlings heart (what if she has a bad case of indigestion?) and multiplexes proclaim to spend a few cozy hours, hands clasped around each others stargazing at what must be the most creatively titled rom-com till date Valentine's Day, I spent a quiet afternoon (for lack of anything more exciting) scanning the TV.
You are not spared much on the idiot box too. While The Wedding Singer clears his throat on WB, Ashton Kutcher and Brittany Murphy have Just Married on Star Movies. World Movies redeemed Cable TV itself by showing François Truffaut's Jules et Jim. What arrested me for the next couple of hours however was Doordarshan which has a series on Sunday's titled Film Utsav. The programmer must have presumably undergone what I was going through (though mine was more of a self pitying nature) and decided to wreak hell on the big V Day with- Guru Dutt's Pyaasa. For all the venom and vitriol I attempt at venting, not just on the V Day itself but other larger issues, it will remain a rant on this digitised diary. Which brings me to my moment of realisation brought on me care of Messers Sahir Ludhianvi, Mohammad Rafi, S.D.Burman and Guru Dutt and thebollywoodfan (for the translation):
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Parading charading
My earliest memories of Republic Day are probably from the mid nineties Doordarshan telecast of the Parade. After a cursory glance of the headlines in the paper my father would switch the television on right after the morning dose of patriotic songs on Vivdh Bharathi. I was lost among the aggressively swishing hands of the thousands of soldiers marching and the greater wave of humans witnessing the spectacle on Rajpath. As the National Anthem would sound I would stand to attention ignorant of why the Red Letter Day was constantly being mentioned and also quite stumped by the commentary alternating in a rather officious sounding Hindi and sonorous English. As soon as the aero display finished I would run off for things which I presently donot remember.
Through the years Republic Day's significance (at least in historical terms) dawned on me, apart from the fact that its a day of rest and general display of patriotism at the local welfare hall. The last few years have also been taken over the manic thirst for consumer gratification through reduction sales to a new height by that 'Retail Raja'-so to speak, Kishore Biyani, whose Big Bazaar sales culminate on Republic Day.
The media typically playing to the gallery takes on 'tough' debates to dissect the Indian socio-political scenario, raising our polity's consciousness, covering stories which cover the spectrum of the burning issues of the hour. Sagarika Ghose in a poll on State of the Nation deciphers that one in two people across India consider themselves a misfit in age terms while the ungraciously aging, Shobha De with a sprinkling of vampish grins declares she never felt better. Such is the state of the nation not worth a nano-glance rather than a whole hour suffused with the necessary 'inflows into coffers' breaks.
India has come a long way since drafting and amending the longest written Constitution of any sovereign nation. Its role of inclusiveness rings in its assurance to citizens- of justice, equality and liberty. A fact belied in Manmohan Singh's response to India being a slow elephant at the recent Pravasi Divas function, he said- India is a slow elephant as it has to accommodate the various sections of society which believe in the process of a democracy, but when it moves it leaves a deep imprint.
In an age of instant gratification and messaging not many subscribe to the old school of thought of informed deliberation and much want the pachydermous pace to hasten. Speed and development would come at a cost though, but surely not at the cost of the ecology, human dignity and the society.
Through the years Republic Day's significance (at least in historical terms) dawned on me, apart from the fact that its a day of rest and general display of patriotism at the local welfare hall. The last few years have also been taken over the manic thirst for consumer gratification through reduction sales to a new height by that 'Retail Raja'-so to speak, Kishore Biyani, whose Big Bazaar sales culminate on Republic Day.
The media typically playing to the gallery takes on 'tough' debates to dissect the Indian socio-political scenario, raising our polity's consciousness, covering stories which cover the spectrum of the burning issues of the hour. Sagarika Ghose in a poll on State of the Nation deciphers that one in two people across India consider themselves a misfit in age terms while the ungraciously aging, Shobha De with a sprinkling of vampish grins declares she never felt better. Such is the state of the nation not worth a nano-glance rather than a whole hour suffused with the necessary 'inflows into coffers' breaks.
India has come a long way since drafting and amending the longest written Constitution of any sovereign nation. Its role of inclusiveness rings in its assurance to citizens- of justice, equality and liberty. A fact belied in Manmohan Singh's response to India being a slow elephant at the recent Pravasi Divas function, he said- India is a slow elephant as it has to accommodate the various sections of society which believe in the process of a democracy, but when it moves it leaves a deep imprint.
In an age of instant gratification and messaging not many subscribe to the old school of thought of informed deliberation and much want the pachydermous pace to hasten. Speed and development would come at a cost though, but surely not at the cost of the ecology, human dignity and the society.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Turn Turn Turn
In a few hours from now it will be the final turn for this particluar linear period of turning we along with a few billion other homo sapiens would do around that predominantly hydrogenous ball which forms the centre of the solar system we have existed in since the turn was initiated. A plethora of mails and messages will be sent out wishes exchanged for peace, prosperity and well being. Every year it turns out with the same old acts of terrorism, molestations, rapes, bombings, climate talks which remain talks, insert your preferred mode of violence/disasters/evil or hopeless act here. The only happy souls not under induced happiness aided by sufficient intake of intoxicating liquids and other substances are the mobile service providers I guess!
As all including me prepare for celebrating this last turn and welcome- Surprise! Surprise!- a new turn, I feel glad, sad, mad and mostly apprehensive about bidding adieu to 2009 and in effect the decade termed the noughties. Glad that there are more days ahead to keep drifting, which at the moment looks like forever.
Mortality so far has never crossed my mind, having witnessed only close to two and a half decades on Terra Firma, two and a half decades of a rather peaceful existence marked by the usual highs and lows of growing up and coming to terms with the rat race that life offers. It has been a trial of understanding my horizons and limits of socio-eco-political nature were tested. The next decade and a half presumably should witness more than having to accept the way things have plodded on so far and cement my existence here.
Mad about the sheer stupidity we as a race can to stoop to and not realise it. Or probably realise and decide to keep mum about it. Speaking of keeping mum, many people dont realise the benefits they would endow on us if they decided to keep mum. We should probably legislate to insert a section in the Income Tax Act (a full year of study [or lack of it rather] of the subject in the final year of graduation, with frequent visits to Santhrupti Wines opposite our college to mellow the pain enthuses me to add various clauses and sub-clauses to the Act at random will) where people should be taxed quite heftily according to the amount of words they spout in public forums or even a one-on-one conversation. Anyway I dont see any changes in these uncalled for but nevertheless unbearable situations in the years to come.
Sad that a few fellow travellers had to get off the bus on this what I assumed neverending journey. Fellow travellers (both in spirit and physical)who have changed course on this unknown journey, some parallel, some at a tangent, some hopefully who will join the course of our run again, sometime...
The mood of apprehension is always visible when we decide to chart out a new route. And so I stand at the crossroads-the last few years have been spent adrift, experimenting, learning, doing new things. Some bad, some good, some worth forgetting, some entombed in the back alleys of my mind to resurface at specific moments of doubt/joy/grief/hope.
In the middle of all this not so semi-fake despair and cynicism mixed with nostalgia and an attempt at reclaiming a what I can say a dull to mildly interesting life I take comfort in a song by The Byrds-Turn Turn Turn. The words which were adapted from The Bible, book of Ecclesiastes and set to music by Pete Seeger reads-
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven
The 'heaven' mention apart it reads perfectly well to state New Year or not, we just need to keep on turning. To more turns ahead...
As all including me prepare for celebrating this last turn and welcome- Surprise! Surprise!- a new turn, I feel glad, sad, mad and mostly apprehensive about bidding adieu to 2009 and in effect the decade termed the noughties. Glad that there are more days ahead to keep drifting, which at the moment looks like forever.
Mortality so far has never crossed my mind, having witnessed only close to two and a half decades on Terra Firma, two and a half decades of a rather peaceful existence marked by the usual highs and lows of growing up and coming to terms with the rat race that life offers. It has been a trial of understanding my horizons and limits of socio-eco-political nature were tested. The next decade and a half presumably should witness more than having to accept the way things have plodded on so far and cement my existence here.
Mad about the sheer stupidity we as a race can to stoop to and not realise it. Or probably realise and decide to keep mum about it. Speaking of keeping mum, many people dont realise the benefits they would endow on us if they decided to keep mum. We should probably legislate to insert a section in the Income Tax Act (a full year of study [or lack of it rather] of the subject in the final year of graduation, with frequent visits to Santhrupti Wines opposite our college to mellow the pain enthuses me to add various clauses and sub-clauses to the Act at random will) where people should be taxed quite heftily according to the amount of words they spout in public forums or even a one-on-one conversation. Anyway I dont see any changes in these uncalled for but nevertheless unbearable situations in the years to come.
Sad that a few fellow travellers had to get off the bus on this what I assumed neverending journey. Fellow travellers (both in spirit and physical)who have changed course on this unknown journey, some parallel, some at a tangent, some hopefully who will join the course of our run again, sometime...
The mood of apprehension is always visible when we decide to chart out a new route. And so I stand at the crossroads-the last few years have been spent adrift, experimenting, learning, doing new things. Some bad, some good, some worth forgetting, some entombed in the back alleys of my mind to resurface at specific moments of doubt/joy/grief/hope.
In the middle of all this not so semi-fake despair and cynicism mixed with nostalgia and an attempt at reclaiming a what I can say a dull to mildly interesting life I take comfort in a song by The Byrds-Turn Turn Turn. The words which were adapted from The Bible, book of Ecclesiastes and set to music by Pete Seeger reads-
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven
The 'heaven' mention apart it reads perfectly well to state New Year or not, we just need to keep on turning. To more turns ahead...
Saturday, April 4, 2009
In the Middle of the Night and Death
Having wrongly read a news report of an electronica music show at the Max Muller Bhavan by Mouse on Mars a descendant of Kraftwerk and having also wrongly informed a friend M about the show, at about 22:00 hrs last night I felt it was only right that I make up for having brought her all the way from Koramangala to CMH Road. After downing a hot chocolate, a cappuccino and a rosemary chicken quiche at Gloria Jean's cafe and knowing she had traveled the distance to capture the electronic colours and hues on her Nikon I suggested that we go down the road to the Lakshmipuram Hindu Cemetery. A cemetery in the night time being one of the bullet points on her "To Capture" list.
A silence intermittently broken by the barks of dogs and ever excited, ubiquitous crickets welcomed us as we crossed the open gates. The quintessential cemetery, stood in the stark yellow light of street lamps throwing an occasional shadow which required a furtive second glance to make sure no mysterious characters were lurking in them. Having set up the tripod M got shutter happy and I just looked around, n stick glowering.
Knowing the area from childhood I was aware we were being observed by a couple of inquisitive characters. Ignoring them for a while didnt quite please them as one of them walked in and started questioning us in Hindi first followed by Kannada. On explaining that M was just taking a couple of snaps and not disturbing the environment or creating a ruckus the ruffled inquisitor inquired if we had permission from the gatekeeper who I assumed to be tucked in bed. The time being past 23:30hrs I contested his suggestion believing the gatekeeper didnt want to be disturbed and the fact that I rather didnt want to disturb him right now. On that repartee the inquisitor took the onus of knocking the door of the gatekeeper's ramshackle hut and after repeated knockings and pleas the lady of the house stepped. Much like Helga, wife of Hagar the Horrible in appearance, the rumpled lady was not in much too a friendly mood to have a chat on what we were doing there and our exact purposes. We explained that we were here just to take some photos of the cemetery in the night time and we would not create any issues natural or supernatural. The inquisitor tried convincing that we were upto no good and had to be evicted from the property immediately. "Helga", rubbing sleepy eyes thought otherwise, warned us not to venture into the crepier looking areas and promptly went back to bed. Inquisitor in question slightly ashamed, slunk away after threatening that we should not disturb the peace of the people in their final rest..supernatural blah...supernatural blah...
We moved ahead. M capturing gravestones, trees, the crescent, inquisitive(apparently our man was not the only one) dogs, smoke from my n stick (quite unsuccessfully though), boards advertising coffin and undertaking services. By about 00:30hrs we decided to head back home. On the way back there was another stop to capture the traffic below, on and beyond the flyover connecting the Inner Ring Road and 100 Feet Road. Some beautiful snaps later I saw M off at her home and called it a rather early Saturday morning.
10:30 hrs or so there was some commotion heard from my neighbour's house. On investigating I found that the purohit who had performed the annual death observance ceremonies had uttered the final ritual incantations and had himself collapsed. Further investigation led me to conclude from a body already quite cold as well as any visible lack of breathing that the man was dead. However to reassure the neighbour that such was not the case and that there could be hope I quickly put the man into the car and drove him to the nearest nursing home. The doctor on duty presumably shared my sentiments explaining that she could not feel a pulse and advised us to rush to Chinmaya Mission Hospital. After weaving in and out of traffic for about 15 minutes we reached the hospital only to be confirmed that the purohit had indeed died. Tight lipped the neighbour and I waited for the purohit's son and daughter in law to arrive, complete the necessary formalities and then returned home.
It was only at home when it struck me that I had a near reverse chronological experience of visiting the cemetery first and then the death, all in less than a span of half a day.
Its a funny thing how after a life of division; from birth through caste, creed, sex, wealth, knowledge, position, health; a life of being ahead or being beaten by someone; a life of compromises, competition, celebration, confusion; everyone meets the same end-Death. Death is the ultimate leveler.
A silence intermittently broken by the barks of dogs and ever excited, ubiquitous crickets welcomed us as we crossed the open gates. The quintessential cemetery, stood in the stark yellow light of street lamps throwing an occasional shadow which required a furtive second glance to make sure no mysterious characters were lurking in them. Having set up the tripod M got shutter happy and I just looked around, n stick glowering.
Knowing the area from childhood I was aware we were being observed by a couple of inquisitive characters. Ignoring them for a while didnt quite please them as one of them walked in and started questioning us in Hindi first followed by Kannada. On explaining that M was just taking a couple of snaps and not disturbing the environment or creating a ruckus the ruffled inquisitor inquired if we had permission from the gatekeeper who I assumed to be tucked in bed. The time being past 23:30hrs I contested his suggestion believing the gatekeeper didnt want to be disturbed and the fact that I rather didnt want to disturb him right now. On that repartee the inquisitor took the onus of knocking the door of the gatekeeper's ramshackle hut and after repeated knockings and pleas the lady of the house stepped. Much like Helga, wife of Hagar the Horrible in appearance, the rumpled lady was not in much too a friendly mood to have a chat on what we were doing there and our exact purposes. We explained that we were here just to take some photos of the cemetery in the night time and we would not create any issues natural or supernatural. The inquisitor tried convincing that we were upto no good and had to be evicted from the property immediately. "Helga", rubbing sleepy eyes thought otherwise, warned us not to venture into the crepier looking areas and promptly went back to bed. Inquisitor in question slightly ashamed, slunk away after threatening that we should not disturb the peace of the people in their final rest..supernatural blah...supernatural blah...
We moved ahead. M capturing gravestones, trees, the crescent, inquisitive(apparently our man was not the only one) dogs, smoke from my n stick (quite unsuccessfully though), boards advertising coffin and undertaking services. By about 00:30hrs we decided to head back home. On the way back there was another stop to capture the traffic below, on and beyond the flyover connecting the Inner Ring Road and 100 Feet Road. Some beautiful snaps later I saw M off at her home and called it a rather early Saturday morning.
10:30 hrs or so there was some commotion heard from my neighbour's house. On investigating I found that the purohit who had performed the annual death observance ceremonies had uttered the final ritual incantations and had himself collapsed. Further investigation led me to conclude from a body already quite cold as well as any visible lack of breathing that the man was dead. However to reassure the neighbour that such was not the case and that there could be hope I quickly put the man into the car and drove him to the nearest nursing home. The doctor on duty presumably shared my sentiments explaining that she could not feel a pulse and advised us to rush to Chinmaya Mission Hospital. After weaving in and out of traffic for about 15 minutes we reached the hospital only to be confirmed that the purohit had indeed died. Tight lipped the neighbour and I waited for the purohit's son and daughter in law to arrive, complete the necessary formalities and then returned home.
It was only at home when it struck me that I had a near reverse chronological experience of visiting the cemetery first and then the death, all in less than a span of half a day.
Its a funny thing how after a life of division; from birth through caste, creed, sex, wealth, knowledge, position, health; a life of being ahead or being beaten by someone; a life of compromises, competition, celebration, confusion; everyone meets the same end-Death. Death is the ultimate leveler.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Going down cancer street
when you re going...
it winds long and dark
tenacious muck dually lined
perceived emotions of lightness dawn
burdens add drawing deeper within oneself
yellow stains mark ends
constantly gnawed at to hide and cover
sticks in packs of ten add
false cheer and misery too
addicted comprehended realisation evades
rock n roll angst ridden rebel act
psychoanalytical reasons put forth
anthemic songs pour praise
denounced closer home
days of sunshine burn
...down cancer street
it winds long and dark
tenacious muck dually lined
perceived emotions of lightness dawn
burdens add drawing deeper within oneself
yellow stains mark ends
constantly gnawed at to hide and cover
sticks in packs of ten add
false cheer and misery too
addicted comprehended realisation evades
rock n roll angst ridden rebel act
psychoanalytical reasons put forth
anthemic songs pour praise
denounced closer home
days of sunshine burn
...down cancer street
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Reader's block
I am facing a major (atleast I think so) problem for the past couple of weeks or more. I cant read anything for more than 5 minutes. I start off something and then 5 or max 10 mins later I have turned to something else. Concentration is becoming highly economic. Irritability is also high. Withdrawal symptoms was my first guess, and then I asked from what?
Settings might be main cause I have decided. Most of the reading now happens on the way and back from office. Travel takes a good 2 hrs of my day. Its tough to concentrate when you are virtually in the middle of a death race with each driver taking out his bit of anger, with the world, on Hosur Road. Add to it the high bass effects of the latest hits from Hindi and Kannada mixed with the non stop raucous talk of RJs, and any reading goes for a toss.
The downside of such travel and 9 hours of work in between is when you are back home the only thing you wish to do is get numbed by the TV. Its quite unbothersome in the way it sits there and lets you stare at it. Apart from exercising your eyes It hardly troubles the body. The lone digit that has to change the channel gets slightly vexed at moments but never feels strained. But wait I am digressing, my reading habits were being talked about till a while ago. See, its the same with writing. I have in my to do list 3 posts pending, one on the trip to Bijapur, one a short story and the third about the Bullet ride to Sakleshpur. The topic of discussion wanders away, untethered. Is it a sign of a crossover from the classical to the days of hyperlinking and shortening of patience?
Maybe I just need a good lazy Sunday to put up the legs and open a taut thriller or a mellow travelogue.
Maybe I just need to put my mind to it.
Settings might be main cause I have decided. Most of the reading now happens on the way and back from office. Travel takes a good 2 hrs of my day. Its tough to concentrate when you are virtually in the middle of a death race with each driver taking out his bit of anger, with the world, on Hosur Road. Add to it the high bass effects of the latest hits from Hindi and Kannada mixed with the non stop raucous talk of RJs, and any reading goes for a toss.
The downside of such travel and 9 hours of work in between is when you are back home the only thing you wish to do is get numbed by the TV. Its quite unbothersome in the way it sits there and lets you stare at it. Apart from exercising your eyes It hardly troubles the body. The lone digit that has to change the channel gets slightly vexed at moments but never feels strained. But wait I am digressing, my reading habits were being talked about till a while ago. See, its the same with writing. I have in my to do list 3 posts pending, one on the trip to Bijapur, one a short story and the third about the Bullet ride to Sakleshpur. The topic of discussion wanders away, untethered. Is it a sign of a crossover from the classical to the days of hyperlinking and shortening of patience?
Maybe I just need a good lazy Sunday to put up the legs and open a taut thriller or a mellow travelogue.
Maybe I just need to put my mind to it.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Promises
Half baked, never kept
Hypocrite you rant
Bastard and what not
Silent I shall remain
Time will come
When I fly the coop
Jailed till then
Beating blue funk
Drunk as a skunk
I will wander
Exploring ladder theories
And Gorky Parks
Dots and lines join us
Hemoglobulus fluids too
Antipathy I cannot offer
The truth will blow when you agnise
I am mine.
Hypocrite you rant
Bastard and what not
Silent I shall remain
Time will come
When I fly the coop
Jailed till then
Beating blue funk
Drunk as a skunk
I will wander
Exploring ladder theories
And Gorky Parks
Dots and lines join us
Hemoglobulus fluids too
Antipathy I cannot offer
The truth will blow when you agnise
I am mine.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Benevolence
On the way to Melkote last week, I saw a truck with a North Indian registration. On the look out for funny messages usually painted at the back of trucks, this particular one struck me for the owners/drivers benevolence-"Buri nazar wale, tera bhi bhala ho."
Also on the trip was a movie placement never heard of or thought of before. My biggest scoop so far...
Also on the trip was a movie placement never heard of or thought of before. My biggest scoop so far...
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Swinging all the way
Six things that swung all the way....
1 Yuvaraj Singh's 6's in Durban.
2 Sensex crossing the 16000 mark
3 6 years since the 9/11 attacks
4 Today I had my 6th haircut in 6/3 years. (Bad one i guess!)
5 Gold hitting a 16 month high
6 My waist is fast approaching 36. Glad to see that I am still in the OK zone.
1 Yuvaraj Singh's 6's in Durban.
2 Sensex crossing the 16000 mark
3 6 years since the 9/11 attacks
4 Today I had my 6th haircut in 6/3 years. (Bad one i guess!)
5 Gold hitting a 16 month high
6 My waist is fast approaching 36. Glad to see that I am still in the OK zone.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Of Past Haunts(loves)
Last week was convocation day in college. Had to give it a miss though as I was not in town. So decided to collect the degree certificate today, in the hope of seeing myself finally having achieved the status of a GRADUATE, some fifteen months after I had passed out of college! Unfortunately the concerned person was having his lunch, hence I am still not in mine own terms a graduate.
The time earned thus was quickly diverted to make a couple of calls to old loves and haunts. Love being an emotion (for me) restricted so far only to books, music, movies, food and a couple of other unmentionables and not the fairer sex (apart from the familial subset) as might have been thought of by you my discernible reader. Though I did come close to exploring it.......
The first stop was made at SK Bakery, on that colourful road named after a certain Markham. Two lime juices (sweet and salt) downed faster than I can type this last word, and a quick exchange of gossip about the alma mater with the Malayalee owner later, I parked my bike outside the Kerala Beef Stall near Johnson Market. Though Khazana with their delectable beef biryani and vonderful veal kebabs called out, time constraints, made me dash to Mecca Cafe for that timeless brew of Sulaiman Chai. Lime pips bobbed up and down tickling the lips till they were left low and dry at the bottom of the cup, their services completely used up.
All this brought back memories of the numerous discussions we had at Mecca and SK topics ranging from the latest cover of the Rolling Stones magazine to Britney's tonsured head. All the jokes cracked, laughed at loud and cut short by the killer stares to maintain decorum from the maitre de at Mecca. All the classes missed, all the ego clashes, all the last one rupee coins pulled out to pay for the chai, juice, samosa, et al.
The sepia tinted smoke clears in a flash. The memories remain......
The time earned thus was quickly diverted to make a couple of calls to old loves and haunts. Love being an emotion (for me) restricted so far only to books, music, movies, food and a couple of other unmentionables and not the fairer sex (apart from the familial subset) as might have been thought of by you my discernible reader. Though I did come close to exploring it.......
The first stop was made at SK Bakery, on that colourful road named after a certain Markham. Two lime juices (sweet and salt) downed faster than I can type this last word, and a quick exchange of gossip about the alma mater with the Malayalee owner later, I parked my bike outside the Kerala Beef Stall near Johnson Market. Though Khazana with their delectable beef biryani and vonderful veal kebabs called out, time constraints, made me dash to Mecca Cafe for that timeless brew of Sulaiman Chai. Lime pips bobbed up and down tickling the lips till they were left low and dry at the bottom of the cup, their services completely used up.
All this brought back memories of the numerous discussions we had at Mecca and SK topics ranging from the latest cover of the Rolling Stones magazine to Britney's tonsured head. All the jokes cracked, laughed at loud and cut short by the killer stares to maintain decorum from the maitre de at Mecca. All the classes missed, all the ego clashes, all the last one rupee coins pulled out to pay for the chai, juice, samosa, et al.
The sepia tinted smoke clears in a flash. The memories remain......
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