Salman's Shirt

It has been a while

2006-05-07T07:42:00.000-07:00

I know. I dropped off the face of the earth for months. But, I'm back. I think.

Been a harrowing few months. Shuttling back and forth between the US and India. Ammi hovering near death for weeks at a time. The painful chemo, the mastesctomy, the smell of medicines and sickness, the nausea, then the numbness that takes over after a while.

Abbu had brought Ammi to Bombay from home in Indore for treatment. We stayed with my chacha in Worli. Chacha, chachi, and the rest of the extended family super helpful and patient with Abbu's and my constant demands and bouts of despair.

And Ammi made it. At least for now. She's pale and has very little hair right now. There's been a weird kind of happiness in the family over the last few weeks. We're happy, but somber at the same time. As I embraced Ammi at the airport to catch a flight back to the US, it hit home to me that her contours had changed. A part of her was missing. A cavity. She has to live the rest of her life with this incompleteness. But at least she's alive!

IIPM and its critics

2005-10-10T22:02:00.000-07:00

Okay, so this outrageous spat between Rashmi Bansal & Gaurav Sabnis on the one hand and IIPM on the other has stirred me out of hibernation.

Gaurav and Rashmi have received legal notices for criticizing IIPM for false advertising and other irregularities. From what I can tell, my sympathies are wholly with these two bloggers. First it was the ToI against a blogger whose name I've forgotten. Now it's IIPM. Where will this lead us? Does freedom of expression not mean anything?

Anyway, Sambhar Mafia is tracking this story in detail.

New Indian Express

2005-09-15T23:34:00.000-07:00

I came across this newspaper called The New Indian Express today. At first I thought Indian Express had changed its name. But this is definitely a different paper. How long has it been around? I can't believe Indian Express didn't litigate to force them to change the name.

In it is a nice picture of a Kathakali dancer. I wish I could appreciate this form of dance as much as I do this picture. But I don't get it. It's too obscure for me. Arundhati Roy's valiant attempts at getting me to see its beauty not withstanding.

Also in it is the story of a Ukrainian heroine of a Bhojpuri film. What's with the trend of foreign models and actresses starring in desi phillums? Is it the case of directors taking anyone with white chamda or do they have real talent and are genuinely interested in working in India?

Gangu dada and his amazing comeback

2005-09-15T23:27:00.000-07:00

Those of you who watched the Dada's century, my sympathies to you. So our man now goes around telling the world that differences have cropped up between him and Chappell. The same thing happened with Wright, which was one of the reasons the coach declined to renew his contract. Clearly it is the pressure on him that's making him injudicious. These are signs of a man who has lost it. And hence he must go.

Campus novels

2005-09-11T22:13:00.000-07:00

What's with the sudden spurt in campus novels? The first of its kind that I can recall was Anurag Mathur's 'The Inscrutable Americans', which I thought was quite terrible. Sure, there were moments of humor, but it was a sophmoric attempt at writing a book. Which is why I just don't understand how after all these years that thing keeps appearing on bestseller lists. Either I can't recognize good books, or the world has gone bonkers.

Then after a long gap came Chetan Bhagat's Five Point Someone. I've read it, and I must say I was satisfied with it. Sort of like a good meal at a dhaba: you don't expect much, and you're served a simple fare. This is no high literature, but then every book doesn't have to be. A good timepass read.

Now two more in quick succession. Tin Fish by Sudeep Chakravarti, and Mediocre but Arrogant by Abhijit Bhaduri. I haven't read either, but is their popularity due to the Five Point Someone phenomenon rather than their quality? A friend who has read both says they're both mediocre, which may mean that Jabberwock is being entirely too kind to his ex-colleague.

And with this I shall proceed to pen my own masterpiece based on my experiences on campus, which amount to little more than ogling, hooting and being in a perpetual state of confusion when in class.

Random Thoughts from a Confused Mind

2005-09-09T16:58:00.000-07:00

Random Thoughts from a Confused Mind is another blog I've just discovered. Sagnik Nandy has some hilarious posts on the blog. Sample this:

The film addict in me wants to make movies. Great movies. Movies that will change the way people think - or at least the way women dress. Hmmmm! Here are some projects that are appealing to me right now:

1. A passionate tale where cricketer Harbhajan Singh falls in love with a slutty woman. I call it Bhaji on the Bitch.

2. A family drama where a King finds out that he has a brother in South India. A masterpiece called Anna and the King.

3. A musical (come on, given my expertise in this area, a musical was but expected) involving two stupid idiots. A musical bonanza that moi wants to call Dunce Dunce.

4. The story of an Indian chef who goes on cooking to feed his irritatingly obese child. A heart touching story titled Curry on Papa.

Review of the Indian team's performance

2005-09-07T12:21:00.000-07:00

So finally there's going to be a formal inquiry into the Indian cricket team's non performance.
Prem writes about it. Let's hope something good comes of this.

Rana's Corner has Ranajit Bose's take on the team's decline. He concludes it thus:

We are willing to hold these men up as representatives of our hopes as a nation, allowing our collective fortunes and sense of well-being to rise and fall with their vagaries on the field. Our cinema isn't the only thing that's escapist. So is our cricket and we get what we deserve.

Iqbal

2005-09-03T12:52:00.000-07:00

Uma has a very interesting review of the film Iqbal.

What a nice film. We saw it this afternoon at Regal. What fun we had. Clapping, cheering, wiping those stray tears from our cheeks. It's been a long time since I've seen a film that I don't mind seeing all over again back to back.

I didn't like any of Nagesh Kukunoor's films. I liked Hyderabad Blues somewhat. But this one I gotta see.

Discovering new blogs

2005-09-03T12:28:00.000-07:00

In the last couple of days I've discovered several new interesting blogs.

My net friend Ranajit Bose has started a blog finally.

Prem Panicker's blog now has other contributors as well. If you don't already read that blog, I urge you to, particularly if you're a cricket fan.

I accidentally stumbled upon a reference to my blog in Sambhar Mafia's entry on funny/interesting blog names. I'm flattered.

Via Sambhar Mafia I discovered a bunch of Southie blogs. There are quite a few of them out there. Once you start clicking on links from one site to another, you're in for endless fun. But since I speak no south Indian languages, a lot of it went woosh over my head.

I've always meant to ask one of my Kannada friends what pyol means. RK Narayan uses this word very often in his books. I guess it's a veranda. For you South Indians out there, am I right? And what does thali really mean? I came across this word a few times in a book I read recently and I was confused by it.

...Only to go right back in!

2005-09-01T22:14:00.000-07:00

There is a good reason for the infrequent blogging. I've been busy for a change. I can't remember when I was this busy. But things are settling down at work.

In the meantime, I'm sad to hear about all the destruction in New Orleans. I've spent many fond days in the city, and the bayou country. The destruction is simply unbelievable. I'm even more saddened at the chaos and the senseless eruption of anger at rescuers. Victims shooting their prospective rescuers! Who would have thought that possible. Not long ago when calamity struck Bombay, numerous stories of personal sacrifice and courage emerged, of people sharing what little they have with the stranger next to them and of people risking their lives to save others. Against that, to hear that the residents of a once graceful New Orleans are turning into animals is disappointing to say the least.

Equally disappointing is the slowness in responding to the crisis. Why couldn't the authorities send a squadron of helicopters and boats and planes to evacuate the residents? This is the richest country in the world for god's sake. If this is how the administration responds to emergencies, bin Laden and his cohorts must be watching with glee as they plan their next act of terror.

Back after a hiatus

2005-08-15T22:04:00.000-07:00

I've been silent because I've been traveling like crazy. It's one of those when it rains in pours things. Which unfortunately was the case in Mumbai last month. Someone I know of drowned. Got stuck in his car and so could not get out in time. Pretty bad scene. And now the risk of an epidemic. The people of Mumbai deserve a break.

As for me, I was in Osaka, Chicago and Atlanta in quick succession. Nothing exciting. All work and no play.

I did read a few books during my travels. Shantaram by Gregory Roberts being one of them. I liked it quite a bit. Actually a whole lot. Another book recommended by my dad, and he's right on the mark. A great Mumbai book. But I wish it had been shorter. Too much going on there, too many details. Don't editors do anything these days?

While in Atlanta a friend introduced me to Rabbi Shergill. Boss, this sardar is good! Highly recommend his music. Still can't get Bulla ki jaana main kaun out of my head.

Weekend activities

2005-07-19T15:17:00.000-07:00

Movies, booze, books, boredom. Just about sums up my weekend.

I saw Parineeta and liked it a lot. Boss, this new woman is great! Beautiful photography. Great acting. Saifu outdoes himself. I must now read the book.

Then I read Hari Kunzru's Transmission. I didn't like it as much as his previous book The Impressionist, but still quite a good read. I really liked what he did with the Arjun Mehta character. I thought he captured the life of an Indian professional quite well as well as the culture clash.

Then went boozing with my friends. Bar hopping and a bit of dancing. Nothing interesting happened. Hence the boredom part. Life's all blah at the moment.

We are phamous

2005-07-14T22:17:00.000-07:00

We... haan janaab, the royal we... are happy to be referenced by DesiPundit. And Sunil Laxman nominated us for a blogmela. Pardon us while we take a moment to feel giddy.

While at it, we just added a few links to the right.

Sidhu on Warne

2005-07-12T23:10:00.000-07:00

Even Sidhu reads blogs. Including Prem Panicker's. So he was at this bar doing what he likes best: talking. This evening's topic: Warne's axing from the commentary team of Channel 9, as reported in Prem's blog. "Now you see," the philosopher said to anyone who would listen to him, "Warne is a victim of his own success. He has taken to women the way an ostrich takes to the skies."

"But that doesn't make any sense," pipes one of the blokes at the bar. "The ostrich doesn't fly."

"Very observant," the sardar replies, and adds triumphantly -- "Neither does Warne."

The man gulps down his drink, bracing for more, and Sidhu does not disappoint.

"His relationship with women is like his bowling: Looking Tokyo, going London. Sometimes it is looking London and going Tokyo. And sometimes he goes where he's looking. You can never tell where he's going to look or go next. Now say you're his wife--"

"But I'm not," interrupted the same bloke.

Sidhu looks at him irritably. "I said say, like in imagine. Like in opening your mind and allowing wisdom from others to osmose into your brain like water in a flowering pot."

"What the hell is osmose?" the bloke asks.

"He has a death wish," the others around the bar whiper to each other.

Sidhu looks at him balefully and continues, "As I was saying, say you're his wife."

"Okay, I'm his wife."

Sidhu's voice rises a couple of notches. "You idiot, I don't mean say it. You're supposed to suppose, not say it. Now where was I? Oh, yes, suppose you're his wife. What do you think she asks herself every morning upon waking up? She asks herself if he'll be going to London or Tokyo or stay at home that night. Can that not be nerve-racking? She's like the batsman who faces him on the cricket pitch. Like the batsmen she almost pees in her pants. Note though that she's not an Indian batsman. She pokes around and occasionally manages to get the bat to ball. And finally she gets frustrated. She takes a big swing at him and sends the ball flying in the air like a Qantas flight. What do flights do? They land somewhere."

"Of course they land somewhere," the brave bloke remarks. "Tell us something we don't know."

Sidhu's angry. He wags a bony finger in the bloke's face. "If you don't shut up you'll be the next flight. An Air India flight." He turns to the others, composes himself for a minute. "Well, this flight landed in a divorce court like a carrot in a rabbit's cage."

"So what the hell does a carrot have to do with his commentary on Channel 9?" the bloke asks.

The sardar philosopher gets up. "Listen, mister," he fumes. "Get out of here or I'll crack open your head like a cover drive."

"What would you know about cover drives?" the bloke retorts, standing up to the sardar. "For a cover drive you need to middle the ball."

"That's it!" shouts Sidhu and takes a wild swing at the bloke and misses. Much like the cover drives he attempted in his playing days. The bloke hits back and makes contact with Sidhu's nose. Sidhu yelps. He swings again and misses again. The bloke punches him in the stomach now. A war cry emerges from Sidhu's throat and he jumps on the bloke. After that for a few moments there are stools and glasses and drinks and punches flying back and forth.

At this point I leave the bar. But as I'm exiting, I hear Sidhu scream: "Wait! I'm not done yet. You can't leave in the middle of my story like a guitar player in the middle of a song. Who wants to listen to a guitarless song?"

"You, apparently," I mutter and close the door behind me.

Salman's Shirt clarifies

2005-07-10T14:01:00.000-07:00

A friend read my previous post and demanded to know when I became the prude that I appear to be in what I said about Mallika.

Let me clarify that I have not become a prude. I'm as red-blooded as any desi mard. I'm the same self that was known to stand in the gullies of Bombay and Patna and Jabalpur and hoot and whistle at passing representatives of the female species. The same self that got into trouble several times with outraged parents and brothers and uncles of homely, decent girls. My abbu had to haul my ass out every time, and my ammi cried in shame. Punishment consisted of being stripped of my shirt and being whacked black and blue with ammi's slippers -- the one with the hard leather sole.

No, my dislike of Mallika Sherawat is not a sign of my having turned prudish. It even has nothing to do with her body. In fact I like everything about her from the neck down. The problem I have is the part above the shoulders. Not a pretty sight. Particularly that stuff between her ears.

In the meantime, enjoy these cartoons.

Mallika Sherawat news

2005-07-10T07:24:00.000-07:00

I could well have named my blog Mallika's Blouse. Same meaning. But I didn't want meself to stoop as low as her neckline. And now apparently the actress, if you can call her that, is in a froth over an MMS according to... what else... the ToI.

And speaking of her, the same tabloid has this article about the sex lives of people in its now famous slide-show format. I couldn't read it beyond slide 2. Booorrrring! Others may find it more readable.

I don't have anything to say today

2005-07-07T13:48:00.000-07:00

Given that I probably have an audience of 4, it's a bit presumptuous of me to link entries from more popular blogs in mine. But then blogging is meant to be a self-indulgent activity, and I will indulge away.

Here's a funny post on Mallu names by Sunil Laxman.

I totally disagree with most of the 6 tips in this blog entry. Some of those tips will actually cause even more traffic problems. This blogger has presumably never been to Greece or India, or he wouldn't be complaining about driving habits in America.

And lastly I just realized that I spelled a name incorrectly. In my post on Rage the author's last name should be Venkateswaran, not Venkateshwaran.

That was a joke!

2005-07-06T23:33:00.000-07:00

My comment to this post by Prem Panicker -- also reproduced on my blog -- seems to have been taken seriously by at least a few people, as evidenced by this post and the comments to it.

It was all a joke. I made up that ridiculous story about Kapil Dev clarifying his earlier statement, and all those things about his restaurant and his digging into a sumptuous dessert. I'm surprised that at least a few people fell for it. Come on people, did you really believe that crap I made up in a matter of 5 minutes?

Blogger meet in San Diego

2005-07-06T13:46:00.000-07:00

Jabberwock talks about two Delhi blogger meets. There are comments from other bloggers about their own experiences. Here's my recent experience...

Here in San Diego, two other desi bloggers and I decided to meet last weekend at a local Starbucks. One was a working woman, who sounded lovely on the phone, and the other was graduate student. So I go to the Starbucks, order a chai latte, which seemed appropriate for the occasion, sat down at a table, flipped open my laptop and stared at its blank screen studiously, waiting for someone to tap on my shoulder and ask, 'Is your good name Salman's Shirt?'

Three chai lattes and 20 non-existent news-stories later I'm still waiting for that tap, especially the delicate one that I'd been so eagerly waiting for.

45 mins later I pack up my nonfunctioning laptop and dejectedly go home. When I read my email I see two angry notes. Why-the-hell-didn't-you-show-up type emails, except one of them added you-jerk at the end. But the funny thing is that each note is addressed to two people. What gives, I think. A few phonecalls later it becomes clear that the three of us had gone to three different Starbucks locations, our directions being so precise.

Now that's how blogger meets are done. Beat that!

Kapil Dev will coach foreign teams

2005-07-06T13:17:00.000-07:00

Prem Panicker has commented on Kapil Dev's recent claim that he will only coach the Indian team.

Googling for more information on this story, I came across another contradictory news story. Apparently Kapil Dev was misquoted the first time.

--------------------------------
PTI
Bangalore, July 7, 2005.
Kapil Dev, who was recently quoted as saying that he would only coach his country, has clarified that he never made any such statement.

"I've been misquoted," he replied when contacted by this correspondent after the inauguration of his latest fusion restaurant in Bangalore called 'Dev-ine Aromas'.

The press had recently quoted him as saying: "If I ever want to do (coaching), I will only do it for my country."

He now says that he would be happy to coach any team, as long as it can be done in India. "I said I will only do it in my country, not for my country as I was wrongly quoted."

With a lot of business ventures in India, Kapil Dev says he does not have the time to travel abroad for long periods of time. "So if a foreign team is willing to come to India, I'd be happy to coach them here," he said today, as he dug into a sumptuous desert called 'The Dev-il's Upside-Down Cake'.

Rage

2005-07-05T19:23:00.000-07:00

Rage is a new novel by Balaji Venkateshwaran, published by Penguin. My parents read it last month and sent it over with someone who was travelling from India.

I approached this novel with some reluctance despite my parents saying good things about it -- my father more so than my mother. This was mainly because it was set in Tamil Nadu and I know very little about that part of the country. For example, I like R.K. Narayan, but not as much as everybody else seems to around me. I also tried reading Davidar's The House of Blue Mangoes, but it didn't keep me interested.

But to my surprise overall I liked it. I think it is loosely based on Jayalalitha, but I can't tell to what extent that's the case. Or I may be completely wrong about making that connection. I won't summarize the story here because it's quite complex and there are several narratives in the book. There's also a lot of politics in it. But there's also a commentary on society, class and development in there. About the struggle between the rich and the poor. This is nicely illustrated by the conflict between Lakshmi, the main character in the book, and this scheduled caste type character, who's the father of her illegitimate child.

There is a lot of local description, some of it that I frankly thought I was missing the keys to understanding, like a Tamilian might reading Premchand in translation, but I did get a lot of it. There's also a lot of drama in it, but in some places a bit too much. The writing is very competent, and in some places quite powerful and evocative. But there are also some places where it is a little overdone, and I wish the author had rewritten them.

But this book is also dark and intense, not the kind of book you read lightly. There is a sense of dark foreboding that pervades the book, and it doesn't let up. By the end it diminishes the reader's sense that all is well with the world. This is not a book one would fall in love with. Nor is it a book you should read to get yourself out of depression. But it's also a book that makes you think about a lot of things in the world. I guess the subject matter and the dirt of politics demands that kind of writing.

I did a search on the author on the web. There's very little on him and not much in the newspapers and magazines. But I did come across his website.

More on matrimonial ads on Rediff

2005-07-05T11:31:00.000-07:00

What is it with the matrimonial ads on Rediff and atrocious errors? The curd surd ad was actually very tame, and even professional compared to many others. Here's another example:

Hi i m running couching classes(sort of institutes)self depended girl.

I'm no Shakespeare, but I hope for her own sake this woman is running 'coaching' classes and not 'couching' classes. I make my share of typos and grammatical errors, but this short sentence has almost a dozen of them. This is from someone who says she has an MA in 'English literatura' (sic) and a BA in Music. It is hard for me to imagine her and the many other advertisers making the kind of mistakes they make. Do advertisers compose their own text, which is then displayed verbatim on the site, or is an incompetent person transcribing the text for them based on a phone conversation? I thought it was the latter given the number of ridiculous ads, but then I have come across competently written ones too. So what gives?

Company

2005-07-03T10:24:00.000-07:00

Here's Uma's interesting review of Company.

Having seen the film, I have to agree with what she says, particularly about it not being preachy.

My night out

2005-07-02T14:57:00.000-07:00

So I go out last night with a couple of friends, both single males: ones a white guy and the other a Chilean. First a comedy club, hoping that would cheer us up. But the comics were so bad that we emerged positively depressed. Then we went to a bar where we intended drowning our sorrows. After nursing a couple of martinis we felt more optimistic. We spread out. I spotted a vaguely Indian looking woman with a few of her friends. With a drink in hand, I strutted around her nonchalantly for a few minutes. I was beginning to get dejected at her not taking any notice when she started laughing so loudly at something a friend of hers said that she backed right into me, overturning the drink in my hand right down where it made a mark like I'd pee'ed in my pants. 'So sorry, so sorry,' she said, touching my arm. I clean forgot about the drink and focussed on her hand. I tingled. 'That's all right,' I said suavely.

That gave me an opening. We started chatting. She took a few napkins and wiped my shirt. As she looked down to see where most of the damage was done, she stopped and smiled. Then she handed me a few napkins. Delicacy warranted that I don't wantonly wipe myself in her presence. But I didn't want to go to the restroom either for fear that I might not get a chance to talk to her again. So I pretended that it wasn't really wet even though my jewels were freezing since the drink had been cold. We chatted about this and that. She was clearly flirting. That made me bolder. 'What say I buy you another drink,' I offered her gallantly. She said yes and we sat at the bar, my boys warming a little by now.

And we drank. Mind you she was pretty. Slim, fair, convent educated, smart. In other words, everything my parents would want in their bahu except the homely part. But who cared about homely 'girls'. So we chatted away. God knows how long we were there. I must have narrated every minute of my life. She went a step further and even told me what her future was going to be like. At some point I egged her on, 'How many kiddies do you foresee in your future?' 'Three,' she said, without any hesitation. 'With those wide hips you shouldn't have trouble popping out six of them,' I slurred. She straightened herself and looked at me like I was a museum exhibit. The drinks had not had the same effect on her as they'd had on me. But I was oblivious to that then. 'Tell me,' I said seriously, tapping her arm. 'Are they all mine? Or is someone else also involved?'

At this point she got up. I can't swear whether she swung her bag at me or not. But I did feel something hit me. The next moment she was stomping out of the bar. 'Paro!' I called after her. I have no idea what her name was, but at that time Paro seemed like as good a name as any. 'Don't Paro me, you jerk!' she yelled back as the front door swung shut. I ran after her, but she'd disappeared. I returned to the bar and sat down morosely. The bartender looked at me with a sympathetic eye. 'Here,' he said, giving me a cup of coffee. 'This will help.'

I staggered home at 2 this morning, late even by my standards. God, it hurts. Every part of my body, my head from the hangover, my jaw from the blunt object that she hit me with, and the rest from the effects of my idiocy. If any of you out there knows who this Paro is, please get in touch with me. I'd like to make it up to her with a nice candle-light dinner at an Italian restaurant with Chianti. And I promise to go light on the Chianti. And I'm known to keep my promises.

A new kind of surd

2005-07-01T14:40:00.000-07:00

There are days when realization dawns on me that I'm getting much older than I'd like to acknowledge. And a mild panic sets in, and I start searching. My favorite haunt is the Rediff matrimonials. Great fun, and you get to see what half the world looks like.

Today I came across this ad while on my quest.

Now in the description of the ad is the sentence "Looking for a Curd Surd/Hindu Punjabi guy".

Now who on earth is a curd surd? A curd-eating surd? If so, why only curd-eating surds, when any Hindu Punjabi guy would do? Is this not discrimination? And given the Punjabi penchant for lassi, these parents have set themselves up with a nice little challenge.

Evicting squatters

2005-07-01T09:51:00.000-07:00

No, this is nothing serious like the eviction of squatters in Bombay, but a rag told me that Sushie is going to sue someone for squatting on her domain.

“The guy who has stolen the domain name is sitting in Toronto,” fumes Sen. “He should brace himself for a nightmare as I’m taking him to court.”

Now how on earth is she going to pull off this lawsuit? On what merits? Why can't she just admit gracefully that this guy beat her to it and buy the domain from him? Or ignore him and the domain altogether like tons of celebrities do?

Memories of Vihara

2005-06-30T17:46:00.000-07:00

Sumedha's post on her memories of Bihar jogged my own.

Yummy shingharas and rabdi, murmura and leechis. The sing-song cries of vendors singing past our house, 'Tarkari leba? Muri leba?' The tarkari market on the pavement near the school bus-stop, where you could get 3 kilos of tomatoes for 1 rupee. The madman who wandered around crying, 'Hamra naam kauno jaanat nahi'. The open pit coal mines near Dhanbad, the silvery Subernarekha snaking its way past Ranchi, the belching smoke and planned streets of Tatanagar. Stopping in the dead of the night near Gaya to take a leak, without caring who or what was at the bottom of the bund or what you were leaking on. The muddy Ganga, miles wide, the never ending bridges across it. The mosquitoes biting and parents double checking the doors and windows at night to make sure no dacoits get in. Climbing leechi trees in the neighbor's yard or my friend eating raw tomatoes from his vegetable garden. The porcelain bowl in which the servant boy in the neighborhood ate stale rice with a slice of onion on most days or a limp fish when fortunate. The same servant boy getting beaten black and blue on suspicion of have stolen: a Cadbury's chocolate from one of the kids in the house. Him getting 20 stitches on his head and never talking to any of us again.

How long has it been? Too long to count the years. Too long to count the years.

Back home

2005-06-29T18:29:00.000-07:00

I'm back home, but in a grumpy mood since I didn't get to see much of NYC. My dog bounded up to me, wagging his tail, licked me and sniffed me all over as though he was meeting me for the first time. I suspect he was checking to see if I'd been with some other dog while in NYC. He needn't have worried. No time for anything other than work. Didn't get to meet friends, didn't get to see a play, didn't get to pat other dogs.

But I did get him a bone that a restauranteur was kind enough to give me. I'd been walking down a dirty alley on my way to some place inconsequential when I saw a man, a cigarrette hanging from his lips looking like Humphrey Bogart in a black & white movie, trying to stuff a huge black garbage bag into an overflowing bin. His back was turned toward me, and so he didn't see me. I went up to him, jabbed a morose finger into his back and said, "Your life or you bones." I must have startled him, because he yelped and threw up his hands. "Relax," I said. "Just your bones." He didn't seem to understand at first. I pointed to the bag. "Oh," he said, smiling, relieved. He opened the bag, put his hand into it and a few moments later, emerged with a big juicy bone. "Must have belonged to a nice bovine leg," I said, admiring it. He gave me a friendly wave and showed me a short cut to my destination.

And now my dog is chewing the bone contentedly. He has forgotten all about his jealous instincts. I scratch his ear. He looks up, hangs his tongue out and slobbers all over me in gratitude. "Good dog," I mutter distractedly. I'm already plotting an excuse for my next trip to NYC.

Anti-Japanese animation

2005-06-29T14:20:00.000-07:00

Came across this animation via Critical Montages, which is an interesting blog, worth a visit.

I don't fully understand the genesis of this recent anti-Japanese feeling amongst the Chinese, but I have to wonder why Japan can't apologize for their WWII atrocities in China.

Coaching creativity

2005-06-28T22:02:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine forwarded the audio link of a public radio talk program where they interviewed this chappie who coaches creative people to do better. Click here, and then click on 'Listen' under the entry "Tue, Jun 28, 2005 -- 10:00 AM Eric Maisel".

Pretty interesting stuff on how creative peopele work, what stumbling blocks creative people typically face and how to overcome them. All pretty useless advice for me because I have the creativity of a stoned donkey and hence beyond redemption. But for some of you out there it might be pretty useful.

Sportsmen and fat endorsements

2005-06-27T19:13:00.000-07:00

I read somewhere that P. Gopichand, the former badminton champion, once turned down an endorsement offer from a soda company because his ethics prevented him from endorsing a drink he didn't think was good for kids. If this is true, I admire his idealism.

Compare that with all those useless cricketers who make crores peddling things I'm sure they had not even heard of. A pet peeve I have is that the richest of them all, yes, the God Tendulkar, is not publicly known to have given away any money to the deserving. On the other hand, if you remember, he made the Indian govt. waive the import duty on a sports car -- a Ferrari, was it? -- he once got as a gift from Schumacher -- was it? Poor, little rich kid couldn't afford the duty. Boo-hoo-hoo! What will it take for us to produce a Steve Waugh, whom I admire not only for his on-field skills, but also his post-retirement charity work.

The Hungry Tide

2005-06-27T18:15:00.000-07:00

I started reading this book by Amitav Ghosh over the weekend and finished it on the long plane ride to NYC today. I cannot recommend it more highly. Fabulous book. Loved the Fokir and Nirmal characters. I especially loved the way Ghosh ambiguates Hindu and Muslim customs, thus rendering the distinctions between them rather meaningless, much the same way he renders borders meaningless in The Shadow Lines. The science around the dolphins is a bit overdone, but this is a rather small blemish in an otherwise accomplished book.

BTK pleads guilty

2005-06-27T18:09:00.000-07:00

The man who was alleged to have committed a series of grisly murders, and who called himself BTK (for Blind, Torture, Kill), surprisingly reversed his plea to guilty.

It was Rader's demeanor that struck many here — how he described his killings as "projects" and his victims as "targets," how he "trolled" for victims, how he carried supplies such as rope and tape in a "hit kit," how he spoke of his first four victims almost as animals, saying he decided to "put them down."

I wonder if such men have altered brain or neural phisiology. Or perhaps a genetic abberation. How else can one explain why some people are like this?

America as a rogue state

2005-06-26T17:43:00.000-07:00

Howard Zinn reviews Patwant Singh's new book.

For Americans who have the vision of our country as it came out of World War II -- a defender of freedom, a philanthropist to the world -- it is unsettling to be told that our behavior since that peak of "the good war" has been that of a rogue state, an invader of other countries, a supporter of tyranny.

Adding it to my list of books to read.

It ain't no democracy

2005-06-26T17:26:00.000-07:00

Rummy, that paragon of democracy and freedom, slams Iran's elections as "invalid". Now, I don't think it's a good thing that Ahmadinejad has been elected president of Iran, but by all accounts these elections were reasonably fair, and whether one likes it or not, one has to accept the popular verdict. What next, Rummy, preparing for another regime change?

New York, here I come!

2005-06-26T08:03:00.000-07:00

So I have to go to New York this week on business. The keyword here is on business. There ought to be a law against companies sending their employees to NYC on business only during the week and making them work 12 hour days while there. That's exactly what I'm going to be doing: shuttling between what I presume will be a dingy cubicle and a series of claustrophobic conference rooms. I'm going to get very little time, if any, to see the sights, hear the sounds and smell the smells, of which I'm told there are plenty. Please don't give me any suggestions on what to do there, because that will only give me dyspepsia and green bile.

Plug-in hybrids and 500 miles to a gallon?!!

2005-06-26T07:24:00.000-07:00

I heard this first on NPR's Science Friday's interview with Thomas Friedman. There are conversion kits that can charge up the battery of your hybrid car, giving you the first 30-60 miles completely gas-free. This category of hybrids are called plugin hybrids. More on plugin hybrids. This technology has been launched in Europe.

Add to it the possibility of going 500 miles on a gallon of gas, and the world's dependence on petroleum plummets.

Here's a great site dedicated to setting America free of the shackles of petroleum.

Eco-friendly & disposible slippers

2005-06-26T07:20:00.000-07:00

Can you really have eco-friendly and disposible slippers? Apprently you can. And they're award-winning, too.

Made from papier mache of recycled newsprint or non-glazed paper pulp, the disposable slippers cost less than 50 cents (Rs 22) to manufacture. It is comfortable for the feet, has an anti-skid sole and a mesh texture to quickly absorb water and make it 'breathable'.

OneWorld Health

2005-06-25T22:31:00.000-07:00

Is there such a thing like a non-profit pharmaceutical company. Well, apparently now there is. A friend brought this company to my attention. Sounds like they do fabulous work. While all the other pharma companies are focusing on money-spinning drugs for erectile dysfunction and lowering cholesterol, this company is developing drugs for the poor countries of the world, with a stated ambition of not making a profit.

Cipla, too, does great work in getting cheap drugs for HIV out there, but I don't think they're non-profit.

Debut

2005-06-25T22:11:00.000-07:00

So I've gone ahead and created a blog for meself. Now what? Do I really have anything to say, let alone something intelligent or even just intelligible? I'm awed by some of the blogs out there. Makes me think creating this one was a mistake. But I couldn't resist the temptation of taking a headlong plunge, a spread-eagle dive, a tipsy tumble.

Does this have a theme? I don't think so. I'll write whatever tickles my fancy. One day it could be about our fearless leader Bush the Lesser, another day it could be about Mallika 'Leave nothing to imagination' Sherawat, and on the third it could be about my dog, who, like Salman Khan's shirt, doesn't exist.

So hitherto I set forth into the brave world of blogging. Drumrolls, please!