Weekend was people filled and beer filled. No movies to boast of, no reviews unwritten. No new experiments except packing plates and a hundred little things to eat a meal by the poolside. And trying out a hundred shoes, a failed attempt at shoe shopping. And making a list of things to do for a pack and move. And chewing nails as a hundred distant others scream through the exciting Liverpool-ManU match. And witnessing a very boring meeting between two very old friends.
Distracted, one runs through a diminutive list of a hundred words in their head.
A hundred words run right back, causing a bit of a collision.
One intentionally hides their intensity behind the accidental frivolity of wordplay.
The clouds form the comforter, and one hides the dark black skies behind the new monday morning blues.
Just when one is about to find their comfort zone, it raineth, it thundereth.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Mojo Rising?
Written a few nights ago, this is mostly a placeholder for thoughts.
--
I, the Money Spinner (a.k.a. the corporate zombie), have done the unimaginable. Right in the middle of a recession, I have quit. No, I didn't get the pink slip. No, it wasn't a momentary lapse of reason. No, I don't have another job yet. But despite the work and perks and money being good, this job was draining me out. I decided that the prime of life was not worth wasting on the petty. There is only so much that achieving capitalist milestones can do for what we all ultimately want: happiness. Plus, I was tired of talking about it and not doing anything..
So we, the Mortified engineer-scientist-consultant, the Monochromatic non-photographer, the Moody photoshopper, the Modest writer of intense pieces, the Morose writer of humour, the Montage of uncertainty, the Motormouth, the Mockingword, the Motivator, the upwardly Mobile, the Model citizen, the Modern artist, the Morally deprave, the Movie lover, the Mover-and-shaker, the Moron, the Mortal, the Moribund -- all of us and Mo -- are happy that some steps have been taken which move us out of our comfort zone. We believe that even if we don't do anything, the ride on the Mobius strip would still be more worthwhile than the nothingness.
Of course the definition of nothingness changed right after MoneySpinner took the step, yet, we are happy that we have taken ownership to reclaim our life.
Now, we use the leftover bits of our daily courage limit to admit that we are a little scared, since we don't seem to have a plan.. MoneySpinner may take over in a few days, who knows?
Anyway, tonight we sleep, for tomorrow we will probably have to dream.
Let's see how the story unfolds..
--
I, the Money Spinner (a.k.a. the corporate zombie), have done the unimaginable. Right in the middle of a recession, I have quit. No, I didn't get the pink slip. No, it wasn't a momentary lapse of reason. No, I don't have another job yet. But despite the work and perks and money being good, this job was draining me out. I decided that the prime of life was not worth wasting on the petty. There is only so much that achieving capitalist milestones can do for what we all ultimately want: happiness. Plus, I was tired of talking about it and not doing anything..
So we, the Mortified engineer-scientist-consultant, the Monochromatic non-photographer, the Moody photoshopper, the Modest writer of intense pieces, the Morose writer of humour, the Montage of uncertainty, the Motormouth, the Mockingword, the Motivator, the upwardly Mobile, the Model citizen, the Modern artist, the Morally deprave, the Movie lover, the Mover-and-shaker, the Moron, the Mortal, the Moribund -- all of us and Mo -- are happy that some steps have been taken which move us out of our comfort zone. We believe that even if we don't do anything, the ride on the Mobius strip would still be more worthwhile than the nothingness.
Of course the definition of nothingness changed right after MoneySpinner took the step, yet, we are happy that we have taken ownership to reclaim our life.
Now, we use the leftover bits of our daily courage limit to admit that we are a little scared, since we don't seem to have a plan.. MoneySpinner may take over in a few days, who knows?
Anyway, tonight we sleep, for tomorrow we will probably have to dream.
Let's see how the story unfolds..
Monday, February 23, 2009
Of Perversions and attention spans.
Dear Mr. Muthalik,
In the midst of Oscar frenzy, while everyone is busy celebrating and criticizing, ranting and revolting, I write to you. Not because I have anything worthwhile to communicate with you, but because I accidentally found this article online: 'Pink chaddi' campaign a perverted act.
I felt an incredible amount of pity for you, for no one really cares about what you have to say. Not any more.. Whether you sue the Consortium of pub going, loose and forward women or not, this story has exceeded it's shelf life. Unless you go get married, and then get involved in some other controversy thereof, your fifteen mins are over.
Pity.
Not that I agree with your doctrine, but my inherent need to look at good in people makes me think hard if your intentions were noble and your execution was pathetic. And apart from airtime and pink underwear, you got nothing more. It actually is a lot if you think about it - Indian women shedding their inhibitions and underwear and being proud of it. Imagine a daughter asking her mother to send some on her behalf. But then again these days salwar kameez clad chammak challos are curling their toes in ecstasy.
Mr. Tharoor had written an article about the disappearance of the Sari, requesting Indian women not to stop wearing Saris. Needless to say, he got a lot of flak for it. His point was rather simple: India has always been firmly grounded in her culture, while making sufficient progress, an example of which is the Sari. It's perfectly normal for a woman on top to "power dress" in a Sari -- despite it being more revealing than western clothes. Japan, China and all other countries have almost entirely given up the traditional attire. You hardly ever see the cheongsam or the kimono except during weddings.
I assume your point was something similar, only you are not as erudite as Mr. Tharoor, and made a mess. But when you said "Prem ek pravah hai", you don't need a day to celebrate it - I kinda got where you were coming from.
You misunderstand our generation. We are not the pravah types, not with the kind of patience to let a thing develop and go with the flow before it strengthens and forms a web of roots.
We go from one high branch to the next. In quick, short leaps. We live because of our short attention spans, hopping from one such high to the next, hopping from one viral to the next, hopping from one controversy to the next, hopping from one bus to the next - for which Sari is the most inconvenient. Glued to our computers, we check for the latest trends, we barely raise our eyes from the keyboards, and when we do, we realize that there are occasionally ordinary people around us, who don't care about goings on in the world. We look down on such people. We claim we are not ordinary, because we are up to speed. Sometimes we are just too fast.
Today we talk about Oscars and the Slumdog win. Tomorrow it will be the filmfare, perhaps. The day after it will be the F1. Then there will be something else. Some days an Indian will win, some days he'll lose to others. Some days there will be a racism row. Sometimes Apple will release a new product. Some days there will be a new election. We will sit and talk about it. Do nothing but talk about it.
Everything will fit itself into the 15 min frame, and then much like the protagonist of that horrendous movie, we'll wipe everything out. We won't allow our memories the luxury of a fade out. We'll forget with a bang.
Hence, the flow business doesn't really work. Even love, like birthday and anniversary needs a day, a quickie -- it only needs those fifteen mins.
Not that this is going to change. A permanent revolution, a change of thought process is not likely to happen. So if you you can't beat them join them - write, tweet, communicate. If there is anything worthwhile in your thoughts, we'll understand. But make it quick, else, well, give someone else a chance for his fifteen mins.
I know I have said this a little too late, yet..
Sincerely,
--
PS: Only 1500 Pink chaddis were received by Sri Ram Sena, the FB group has 51,831 members.
In the midst of Oscar frenzy, while everyone is busy celebrating and criticizing, ranting and revolting, I write to you. Not because I have anything worthwhile to communicate with you, but because I accidentally found this article online: 'Pink chaddi' campaign a perverted act.
I felt an incredible amount of pity for you, for no one really cares about what you have to say. Not any more.. Whether you sue the Consortium of pub going, loose and forward women or not, this story has exceeded it's shelf life. Unless you go get married, and then get involved in some other controversy thereof, your fifteen mins are over.
Pity.
Not that I agree with your doctrine, but my inherent need to look at good in people makes me think hard if your intentions were noble and your execution was pathetic. And apart from airtime and pink underwear, you got nothing more. It actually is a lot if you think about it - Indian women shedding their inhibitions and underwear and being proud of it. Imagine a daughter asking her mother to send some on her behalf. But then again these days salwar kameez clad chammak challos are curling their toes in ecstasy.
Mr. Tharoor had written an article about the disappearance of the Sari, requesting Indian women not to stop wearing Saris. Needless to say, he got a lot of flak for it. His point was rather simple: India has always been firmly grounded in her culture, while making sufficient progress, an example of which is the Sari. It's perfectly normal for a woman on top to "power dress" in a Sari -- despite it being more revealing than western clothes. Japan, China and all other countries have almost entirely given up the traditional attire. You hardly ever see the cheongsam or the kimono except during weddings.
I assume your point was something similar, only you are not as erudite as Mr. Tharoor, and made a mess. But when you said "Prem ek pravah hai", you don't need a day to celebrate it - I kinda got where you were coming from.
You misunderstand our generation. We are not the pravah types, not with the kind of patience to let a thing develop and go with the flow before it strengthens and forms a web of roots.
We go from one high branch to the next. In quick, short leaps. We live because of our short attention spans, hopping from one such high to the next, hopping from one viral to the next, hopping from one controversy to the next, hopping from one bus to the next - for which Sari is the most inconvenient. Glued to our computers, we check for the latest trends, we barely raise our eyes from the keyboards, and when we do, we realize that there are occasionally ordinary people around us, who don't care about goings on in the world. We look down on such people. We claim we are not ordinary, because we are up to speed. Sometimes we are just too fast.
Today we talk about Oscars and the Slumdog win. Tomorrow it will be the filmfare, perhaps. The day after it will be the F1. Then there will be something else. Some days an Indian will win, some days he'll lose to others. Some days there will be a racism row. Sometimes Apple will release a new product. Some days there will be a new election. We will sit and talk about it. Do nothing but talk about it.
Everything will fit itself into the 15 min frame, and then much like the protagonist of that horrendous movie, we'll wipe everything out. We won't allow our memories the luxury of a fade out. We'll forget with a bang.
Hence, the flow business doesn't really work. Even love, like birthday and anniversary needs a day, a quickie -- it only needs those fifteen mins.
Not that this is going to change. A permanent revolution, a change of thought process is not likely to happen. So if you you can't beat them join them - write, tweet, communicate. If there is anything worthwhile in your thoughts, we'll understand. But make it quick, else, well, give someone else a chance for his fifteen mins.
I know I have said this a little too late, yet..
Sincerely,
--
PS: Only 1500 Pink chaddis were received by Sri Ram Sena, the FB group has 51,831 members.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Because we need a superhero story.
Once upon a recent past, in a tropical island not so far away, there lived a girl called, what else, Tomoko. Of unparalleled goodness, niceness and sweetness. since she was a girl, and this has started off as a fairy tale, it obliges us to have a supervillain called evil-stepmama-san.
The evil-stepmama-san, the aerobics instructor, made her do all the work at home, and at her studio. But it kept Tomoko slim, and she didn't complain. And then, Tomoko decided to have other plans. So secretly, next to the cinders, she hatched her great plan of getting out of this mess, and finding a superhero.
She decided to cheat, and looked through the phone book, for all the alliterative names. And after rather bad attempts of making blank calls to people called Bunny,Bugs; Duck,Donald and Parker,Peter she found a name she thought sounded imaginary enough to be that of a superhero. [But I can't tell you what it is, because it would make it his story, and that would be unfair. And we will save his story for another day.]
So she packed her clothes, and her precious glass slippers and gladiator shoes, and set out to find her superhero. After a long day's journey in public transport, she found a little shack called Namastay. As soon as she checked in, she fell asleep. And as soon as she fell asleep, she started dreaming. And her fairy-godmother, poco coco, [a fashionista - Her aim in life is to eliminate all badly dressed people. But we will save her story for another day too] came into her dreams and gave her the message. She told our darling Tomoko, that the Cinderella look was outdated, and to ensnare the man, she needed to dress the part.
Latex body suit - green. She didn't care that sticky latex made her hot (not like thaaat) in that equatorial weather. Next, she coloured her hair an envious shade of green, and wore red lipstick on her grin, (taking inspiration from Joker, who suddenly seemed very popular). And she got a purple cape, which apart from giving her the superhero aura, , also served the purpose of keeping her warm, when the air conditioning froze her to the bones.
--End of story, maybe--
The evil-stepmama-san, the aerobics instructor, made her do all the work at home, and at her studio. But it kept Tomoko slim, and she didn't complain. And then, Tomoko decided to have other plans. So secretly, next to the cinders, she hatched her great plan of getting out of this mess, and finding a superhero.
She decided to cheat, and looked through the phone book, for all the alliterative names. And after rather bad attempts of making blank calls to people called Bunny,Bugs; Duck,Donald and Parker,Peter she found a name she thought sounded imaginary enough to be that of a superhero. [But I can't tell you what it is, because it would make it his story, and that would be unfair. And we will save his story for another day.]
So she packed her clothes, and her precious glass slippers and gladiator shoes, and set out to find her superhero. After a long day's journey in public transport, she found a little shack called Namastay. As soon as she checked in, she fell asleep. And as soon as she fell asleep, she started dreaming. And her fairy-godmother, poco coco, [a fashionista - Her aim in life is to eliminate all badly dressed people. But we will save her story for another day too] came into her dreams and gave her the message. She told our darling Tomoko, that the Cinderella look was outdated, and to ensnare the man, she needed to dress the part.
Latex body suit - green. She didn't care that sticky latex made her hot (not like thaaat) in that equatorial weather. Next, she coloured her hair an envious shade of green, and wore red lipstick on her grin, (taking inspiration from Joker, who suddenly seemed very popular). And she got a purple cape, which apart from giving her the superhero aura, , also served the purpose of keeping her warm, when the air conditioning froze her to the bones.
--End of story, maybe--
Friday, August 15, 2008
Bindra and all that.
As an Indian blogger, I can't possibly miss out on the Abhinav Bindra slice of the blogging pie.
Much has been said about how it's an individual achievement, about how India -- her govt and her people-- had little to contribute and yet dwell in his glory. A generous dose of sarcasm has been meted out to the officials accompanying the Olympic team, with passing comments on lack of sports infrastructure, and lack of money in sports except cricket. Much has also been said about the golden boy being born with a silver spoon -- his father being rich and being able to risk the head of a domestic-help and waste (invest?) money on his son's indulgence.
And yet, somewhere, maybe, we all miss the point. The onus is not on them. It's on us.
--
Very recently, I was at a friend's place. A single mother, she had a tough time controlling her little son who is hyperactive and showed textbook (wikipedia?) symptoms of ADHD. We sipped tea. On Tv, Olympic cyclists reached their destination of the badaling section of the great wall, after a grueling 5 odd hours of cycling. We spoke of their endurance. And A and I joked and bantered whether her son should be trained to be a fencer or a gymnast. The mother looked sternly at us, and said "You two can start a fund if you want, I am only paying for his education, and not for this". She stopped short of uttering the word "nonsense".
By the time the child is 14, he will be enduring marathon study sessions at his table. And before we know it, he would be sitting in front of the TV watching Olympics 2024, looking at the athletes with envy.
And yet, we crave that kind of glory that being on TV would bring us. We like to associate ourselves with glory. We all know "a cousin is a cricket player", "A friend who started his own business and made millions", "An uncle who won the Pulitzer prize", or the "colleague who ran the marathon". We didn't do it, someone else did. Then we spend hours evaluating whether s/he deserved it. If they are related to us, the glory somewhat rubs off on us, by law of association. If not, then we settle for dressing our envy with criticism -- how we are/were equally deserving and they cheated their way out of it, how we never had the opportunity. To give you a simple example, I love repeating that Anil Kumble was an alumnus of my engg. college. The sports teacher in college though, didn't have the nicest things to say about him.
For every one of them that succeeds, there are thousand others that fail. And naturally, we are not willing to take any such risks.
We don't aspire for glory, we aspire for mediocrity under the garb of security. So, the hypermobility is not a reason to take up swimming, it's just a cheap party trick. The big feet are just a shoe-shopping issue that mothers would complain about. And in the end, it's the marks that matter. And frankly, it's not anyone's fault. Without a social security system, the insecurity about bread and butter gets the better of us. Given that it's gonna be a while before this changes, our mindset changes, govt is better off spending their money on additional IITs.
Much has been said about how it's an individual achievement, about how India -- her govt and her people-- had little to contribute and yet dwell in his glory. A generous dose of sarcasm has been meted out to the officials accompanying the Olympic team, with passing comments on lack of sports infrastructure, and lack of money in sports except cricket. Much has also been said about the golden boy being born with a silver spoon -- his father being rich and being able to risk the head of a domestic-help and waste (invest?) money on his son's indulgence.
And yet, somewhere, maybe, we all miss the point. The onus is not on them. It's on us.
--
Very recently, I was at a friend's place. A single mother, she had a tough time controlling her little son who is hyperactive and showed textbook (wikipedia?) symptoms of ADHD. We sipped tea. On Tv, Olympic cyclists reached their destination of the badaling section of the great wall, after a grueling 5 odd hours of cycling. We spoke of their endurance. And A and I joked and bantered whether her son should be trained to be a fencer or a gymnast. The mother looked sternly at us, and said "You two can start a fund if you want, I am only paying for his education, and not for this". She stopped short of uttering the word "nonsense".
By the time the child is 14, he will be enduring marathon study sessions at his table. And before we know it, he would be sitting in front of the TV watching Olympics 2024, looking at the athletes with envy.
And yet, we crave that kind of glory that being on TV would bring us. We like to associate ourselves with glory. We all know "a cousin is a cricket player", "A friend who started his own business and made millions", "An uncle who won the Pulitzer prize", or the "colleague who ran the marathon". We didn't do it, someone else did. Then we spend hours evaluating whether s/he deserved it. If they are related to us, the glory somewhat rubs off on us, by law of association. If not, then we settle for dressing our envy with criticism -- how we are/were equally deserving and they cheated their way out of it, how we never had the opportunity. To give you a simple example, I love repeating that Anil Kumble was an alumnus of my engg. college. The sports teacher in college though, didn't have the nicest things to say about him.
For every one of them that succeeds, there are thousand others that fail. And naturally, we are not willing to take any such risks.
We don't aspire for glory, we aspire for mediocrity under the garb of security. So, the hypermobility is not a reason to take up swimming, it's just a cheap party trick. The big feet are just a shoe-shopping issue that mothers would complain about. And in the end, it's the marks that matter. And frankly, it's not anyone's fault. Without a social security system, the insecurity about bread and butter gets the better of us. Given that it's gonna be a while before this changes, our mindset changes, govt is better off spending their money on additional IITs.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Twittery tales
Everyone is talking about twitter. It seems to be the latest fad, much like the word "shenanigans", which seems to creep in every other review and blog post. Including this one.
But I digress.
Twitter, twitter, twitter, the lesser said the better. It works, and it works well. The authoritative post on why twitter works is here.
I have taken rather well to it. It makes things easier, given my ADD-type behaviour, and because I am always doing ten things at once. As much as I would love to spend time on IM and write long emails, it's getting increasingly difficult to focus on work. Most often than not I just need a quiet little space to share links and tools, debate and have short discussions which are not about the weather :). And to record (and broadcast?) the stream of consciousness. And banter. It's perfect for that. I love the delightful randomness of it all.
The constant flow of information could be overwhelming. Constant tweeting could cause a drainage of ideas, what will you blog about then? I have no idea how people follow tweets from 200 odd people, and have 100 updates a day. I am already confused at 20. Plus, the twitter ego-system is yet to evolve fully for me to figure out what's right and wrong (much like we figured, at some point, that writing in all caps on IM was rude)
Right now, since it doesn't have the penetration, twitter is not diluted. Believe me, even orkut was clean and fun and nice five years ago. Most people are discussing ideas and tools, and not people. Not too many personal updates either, and thankfully, no leetspeak. But I am afraid it's a matter of time before people start murdering grammar to kill time.
But till that happens, I'll write about my life and times in 140 characters or less.
But I digress.
Twitter, twitter, twitter, the lesser said the better. It works, and it works well. The authoritative post on why twitter works is here.
I have taken rather well to it. It makes things easier, given my ADD-type behaviour, and because I am always doing ten things at once. As much as I would love to spend time on IM and write long emails, it's getting increasingly difficult to focus on work. Most often than not I just need a quiet little space to share links and tools, debate and have short discussions which are not about the weather :). And to record (and broadcast?) the stream of consciousness. And banter. It's perfect for that. I love the delightful randomness of it all.
The constant flow of information could be overwhelming. Constant tweeting could cause a drainage of ideas, what will you blog about then? I have no idea how people follow tweets from 200 odd people, and have 100 updates a day. I am already confused at 20. Plus, the twitter ego-system is yet to evolve fully for me to figure out what's right and wrong (much like we figured, at some point, that writing in all caps on IM was rude)
Right now, since it doesn't have the penetration, twitter is not diluted. Believe me, even orkut was clean and fun and nice five years ago. Most people are discussing ideas and tools, and not people. Not too many personal updates either, and thankfully, no leetspeak. But I am afraid it's a matter of time before people start murdering grammar to kill time.
But till that happens, I'll write about my life and times in 140 characters or less.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Indulgence
Ooh, I was digging up drafts and I found this. This one written in late Jan sometime:
--
The one indulgence I allow myself year after year, is writing the birthday post. (Dig up archives you curious people) And this year, I missed the birthday post! I missed the opportunity to write a deliciously self indulgent post about the discovery of another strand of grey hair. Ah, old age... we really should leave it to the kids.
So, today we were having this conversation at a dinner. And everyone claimed that they had no idea where the last ten years went by. I thought it was strange, for I remember having felt each day giving me gooseflesh as it passed me by. I told them that. They thought it was strange. I am miles away from where I was at 18. Ten years is a long time! I have lived, I have grown, I have learnt. And I can say it with no bitterness.
And yet, they ask me to grow up. I heard that four times last year, one for each quarter perhaps. "Grow up", they said "We are waiting". Why should I?
Maybe they are just jealous.
--
The one indulgence I allow myself year after year, is writing the birthday post. (Dig up archives you curious people) And this year, I missed the birthday post! I missed the opportunity to write a deliciously self indulgent post about the discovery of another strand of grey hair. Ah, old age... we really should leave it to the kids.
So, today we were having this conversation at a dinner. And everyone claimed that they had no idea where the last ten years went by. I thought it was strange, for I remember having felt each day giving me gooseflesh as it passed me by. I told them that. They thought it was strange. I am miles away from where I was at 18. Ten years is a long time! I have lived, I have grown, I have learnt. And I can say it with no bitterness.
And yet, they ask me to grow up. I heard that four times last year, one for each quarter perhaps. "Grow up", they said "We are waiting". Why should I?
Maybe they are just jealous.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Joker
"Sometimes I remember it one way, sometimes another, if I have to have a past, I prefer it to be multiple choice"One always want to enter the book loving the hero and hating the villain. That's how it's meant to be, isn't it?
For the record, I am not a graphic novel fanatic. Yet.
I bought the deluxe edition of the "The Killing Joke" only because it looked beautiful on the shelves, and I fell in love with the glossy shiny pages. I also seem to have lost the patience for reading books. It took me three weeks to read the last one which was only 200 pages long, and I had already watched the movie. It's temporary, I tell myself.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Fool's day
Today was good. Awesome, even.
I was surprised with my own enthusiasm.
Was off gtalk. And Facebook. And Yahoo. And all other social stuff.
Checked feeds only twice.
Listened to Bowie.
Sent a few emails though.
All too weird, I know. Who am I trying to fool?
I was surprised with my own enthusiasm.
Was off gtalk. And Facebook. And Yahoo. And all other social stuff.
Checked feeds only twice.
Listened to Bowie.
Sent a few emails though.
All too weird, I know. Who am I trying to fool?
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Back in Black
In the past few days a few people have asked me where I have vanished, and whether I have abandoned this already neglected child of mine. Considering how little I write here, thanks, I feel flattered (while secretly wondering why anyone is waiting for me to write anything). In this world full of rock-star bloggers and prolific writers who get TV coverage and book deals, may be, I am the indie artist with a small, hidden and devoted fan following. Maybe after it's all over, someone will dig up the archives and fit me into well-stitched quotes, word for word. Till that day comes I will stay in the square brackets, stay aside. And yet, I beg you, don't feed my ego so much, please.
Blogging is not what it used to be. People who I used to read have moved or moved on. Busy with lives, or have found other suitable obsessions. Some people who are still writing have lost their edge, like characters in the last season of a long running sitcom who have refuse to evolve. I know them, I know their jokes, and yet the laugh-track seems all too familiar. It's almost perverse... The others who are still writing have few hundred people leaving comments of the order of - "How sweet", "How beautiful" or "How right". It's cloying. Yeah yeah, who am I to say anything? Their blog, their spiel. They are better known than me anyway.
Oh, and the meta blog I liked has been linking to such pointless pieces -- it's almost depressing.
And to be honest, if I still needed to stalk, I have facebook.
Just a handful of bloggers remain who I actually *like* to read.
And I am not talking about anyone or any specific blog, nor is this a state-of-the union address, I am just trying to figure out why it doesn't feel the same anymore. Or maybe, I am not reading the right things.
Anyway, time to dig up the drafts. And to try and write again.
Blogging is not what it used to be. People who I used to read have moved or moved on. Busy with lives, or have found other suitable obsessions. Some people who are still writing have lost their edge, like characters in the last season of a long running sitcom who have refuse to evolve. I know them, I know their jokes, and yet the laugh-track seems all too familiar. It's almost perverse... The others who are still writing have few hundred people leaving comments of the order of - "How sweet", "How beautiful" or "How right". It's cloying. Yeah yeah, who am I to say anything? Their blog, their spiel. They are better known than me anyway.
Oh, and the meta blog I liked has been linking to such pointless pieces -- it's almost depressing.
And to be honest, if I still needed to stalk, I have facebook.
Just a handful of bloggers remain who I actually *like* to read.
And I am not talking about anyone or any specific blog, nor is this a state-of-the union address, I am just trying to figure out why it doesn't feel the same anymore. Or maybe, I am not reading the right things.
Anyway, time to dig up the drafts. And to try and write again.
Friday, December 28, 2007
EOY
I am usually on a hunt for metaphors, I just found mine which should sum the year rather well. I just went to the optician after a year and was told that the power in my right eye has reduced. I am less myopic. I am not as short sighted in my right eye.
And that would be the one line I would write to summarize this year.
So I have decided not to be as emotional as this. But I will write because I need to keep track of what I dealt with, what I achieved and what I lost.
I lost my wisdom tooth. Molar decay, I said.
Apart from that it is nothingness of a year that just flew by, where I struggled with decisions and revisions. And inflation. But that's not gonna change. 2006 was troublesome. 2007 was inconsequential.
Oh, I regained strength. And some of the lost faith. I got a new hairstyle, and I also gained some fashion sense. I now flaunt aviators. But I painted my toenails the same boring shade as last year and the year before.
I saw friends deal with change. I tried be there for them, and yet be still. I tried to keep a neutral perspective.
I wrote many emails. Read not as many books. Spent some time on facebook. Lost interest in orkut. Studied Spanish. Forgot my French. Penned irritating verses.
I forged new bonds. They are the same old people, but there is newfound strength in relationships. This should tide me over any trouble.
Into the third year of working, I had a terrible time at work. One, there was so called "lack of motivation". And then there were the super high expectations. Also, I can't seem to deal with the repetitiveness of this. It's just way too mundane.
Which is like 2007. Random. Mundane.
I have no idea what 2008 holds. But it shows promise.
And at least I am not as short sighted anymore.
And that would be the one line I would write to summarize this year.
So I have decided not to be as emotional as this. But I will write because I need to keep track of what I dealt with, what I achieved and what I lost.
I lost my wisdom tooth. Molar decay, I said.
Apart from that it is nothingness of a year that just flew by, where I struggled with decisions and revisions. And inflation. But that's not gonna change. 2006 was troublesome. 2007 was inconsequential.
Oh, I regained strength. And some of the lost faith. I got a new hairstyle, and I also gained some fashion sense. I now flaunt aviators. But I painted my toenails the same boring shade as last year and the year before.
I saw friends deal with change. I tried be there for them, and yet be still. I tried to keep a neutral perspective.
I wrote many emails. Read not as many books. Spent some time on facebook. Lost interest in orkut. Studied Spanish. Forgot my French. Penned irritating verses.
I forged new bonds. They are the same old people, but there is newfound strength in relationships. This should tide me over any trouble.
Into the third year of working, I had a terrible time at work. One, there was so called "lack of motivation". And then there were the super high expectations. Also, I can't seem to deal with the repetitiveness of this. It's just way too mundane.
Which is like 2007. Random. Mundane.
I have no idea what 2008 holds. But it shows promise.
And at least I am not as short sighted anymore.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Winter Solstice
I wait for what could have been the longest night of the year.
It doesn't make much of a difference at the equator.
And I scratch, pick skin off the scabs, while I wait for inspiration.
The bookshop is in an old shop house, nestled against a hawker center.
Irony of that quiet corner, that isolation.
I buy a notebook. Moleskine. Clad in plastic. Used by Hemingway, Picasso and Chatwin.
I look at it with hope. Oh, the desperation.
The bookshop owner puts a small packet of punched holes into my bag. Paper snow, a handwritten note says.
"Did you notice he put in a packet of paper snow?"
The thought collates.
A sign, perhaps. Maybe I should put in my papers now.
The resignation.
I think I was much happier when I was discontent.
It doesn't make much of a difference at the equator.
And I scratch, pick skin off the scabs, while I wait for inspiration.
The bookshop is in an old shop house, nestled against a hawker center.
Irony of that quiet corner, that isolation.
I buy a notebook. Moleskine. Clad in plastic. Used by Hemingway, Picasso and Chatwin.
I look at it with hope. Oh, the desperation.
The bookshop owner puts a small packet of punched holes into my bag. Paper snow, a handwritten note says.
"Did you notice he put in a packet of paper snow?"
The thought collates.
A sign, perhaps. Maybe I should put in my papers now.
The resignation.
I think I was much happier when I was discontent.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Office attire
The company I work for is a privately held French firm. The partners are all naturalized French citizens - they of Lebanese descent. Most of their families, and those of many of my colleagues are still in and around Beirut.
It's a cool place to work. They let us be. As far as attire is concerned, they don't care one bit. We dress to our nines only when we go to the client side. Rest of the time, everyone is casuals - Jeans and t-shirts, even on weekdays. Yes, they are nice to us. Which is why I was stunned when I saw my teammate wear "Israeli Defense Forces" T-shirt to work. I casually asked him if he didn't think that it was kind of inappropriate. He said "It's just a T-shirt man! My friend got it for me". Following which, he hurled a mild accusation at me for making a big deal out of it. I smiled and changed the topic. I admit, I have heightened sensitivity to things, but somehow this unnerved me, and I began wondering how much are our T-shirt messages meant to demonstrate what we stand for. Maybe it struck me as odd because I feel the company is being nice to us by not insisting on proper business attire, and my colleague shouldn't misuse this freedom.
It really is a T-shirt. There is little reason for one to be sensitive, or to believe that it portrays ones allegiance. Like a foreigner wearing a t-shirt with a bold "Om" emblazoned across it, doesn't mean he believes in Hinduism, or is remotely spiritual. The figure of Ganesha has become more or less a commodity, till a bunch of religious fanatics find it on a piece of clothing and create a furore. We argue - it really is nothing but a t-shirt.
And yet, I still feel that there is a thin line between coolness and impropriety.
----------------
Now playing: The Beatles - While My Guitar Gently Weeps
It's a cool place to work. They let us be. As far as attire is concerned, they don't care one bit. We dress to our nines only when we go to the client side. Rest of the time, everyone is casuals - Jeans and t-shirts, even on weekdays. Yes, they are nice to us. Which is why I was stunned when I saw my teammate wear "Israeli Defense Forces" T-shirt to work. I casually asked him if he didn't think that it was kind of inappropriate. He said "It's just a T-shirt man! My friend got it for me". Following which, he hurled a mild accusation at me for making a big deal out of it. I smiled and changed the topic. I admit, I have heightened sensitivity to things, but somehow this unnerved me, and I began wondering how much are our T-shirt messages meant to demonstrate what we stand for. Maybe it struck me as odd because I feel the company is being nice to us by not insisting on proper business attire, and my colleague shouldn't misuse this freedom.
It really is a T-shirt. There is little reason for one to be sensitive, or to believe that it portrays ones allegiance. Like a foreigner wearing a t-shirt with a bold "Om" emblazoned across it, doesn't mean he believes in Hinduism, or is remotely spiritual. The figure of Ganesha has become more or less a commodity, till a bunch of religious fanatics find it on a piece of clothing and create a furore. We argue - it really is nothing but a t-shirt.
And yet, I still feel that there is a thin line between coolness and impropriety.
----------------
Now playing: The Beatles - While My Guitar Gently Weeps
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Linking park
I can't type Linkin Park without making a mistake.
Anyway, I went for the concert two days ago. It wasn't because I still listen to them, it was because I listened to them eons ago, and I wanted to watch them then and hence had to watch them now. For completeness.
Lights were fantastic. Really really well done. I was truly impressed. Sound was ok, though A claims it was better than many other concerts he has gone for. The vocalists are mindblowingly good. Considering that having two vocalists (and their egos) may be a bit too much for a band.
Oh and the turntables and the DJ were in a position which rightfully belongs to the drummer. The drummer was kind of sidelined. At one point of time, there were major drum-rolls going on, and we caught the drummer getting a drink, and we figured why he was placed in a corner. Rest of the band kept themselves occupied - they changed guitars as often as they could even between songs. For appeal. (Heh!)
Much of their stuff is programmed, so it gives little scope for improvisation or interaction with the audience.
So that's that.
As an aside, what's with the encores? The bands pretend to go off stage without performing their best-selling/most-popular songs, leave the guitars on stands, and then the crowd will scream and clap. Then they will come back on stage and play three whole songs.
Mockery. I can't stand the farce of encores anymore. I am yet to experience the euphoria of a genuine encore.
Anyway, I went for the concert two days ago. It wasn't because I still listen to them, it was because I listened to them eons ago, and I wanted to watch them then and hence had to watch them now. For completeness.
Lights were fantastic. Really really well done. I was truly impressed. Sound was ok, though A claims it was better than many other concerts he has gone for. The vocalists are mindblowingly good. Considering that having two vocalists (and their egos) may be a bit too much for a band.
Oh and the turntables and the DJ were in a position which rightfully belongs to the drummer. The drummer was kind of sidelined. At one point of time, there were major drum-rolls going on, and we caught the drummer getting a drink, and we figured why he was placed in a corner. Rest of the band kept themselves occupied - they changed guitars as often as they could even between songs. For appeal. (Heh!)
Much of their stuff is programmed, so it gives little scope for improvisation or interaction with the audience.
So that's that.
As an aside, what's with the encores? The bands pretend to go off stage without performing their best-selling/most-popular songs, leave the guitars on stands, and then the crowd will scream and clap. Then they will come back on stage and play three whole songs.
Mockery. I can't stand the farce of encores anymore. I am yet to experience the euphoria of a genuine encore.
How dare he?
Was rushing to work this morning, late and stuck in traffic. As usual.
At the traffic light, there was this old man behind us on what I would call a luna/moped/what-do-you-call-them-here.
And he was whistling. A song he liked perhaps. And he was whistling. With ups and downs and vibratos. Like there was no tomorrow.
How dare he? How dare he enjoy the morning rush?
At the traffic light, there was this old man behind us on what I would call a luna/moped/what-do-you-call-them-here.
And he was whistling. A song he liked perhaps. And he was whistling. With ups and downs and vibratos. Like there was no tomorrow.
How dare he? How dare he enjoy the morning rush?
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Om Shanti Om.
No review, just notes.
I might even watch it again.
I am not watching Saawariya. No chance in hell.
- Its like a big party that you have been invited to, and everyone seems to be having a whole lot of fun, and you do too. But at times one just has to stand in a corner and wait to get noticed. It's full of in-jokes that only a die hard Bollywood fan will appreciate. It's full of these moments that one will remember and guffaw about, but the story-telling is very average. The story is obviously predictable, that's what Farah Khan intended to do. The point being that the this predictability doesn't have to be in the face.
- Shah Rukh Khan: In a place which seems to be reserved for people with connections, he has really made it. He hams, overacts and does all that people claim that is SRK. He is a natural in the role. I love him.
- Deepika Padukone: We argued over whether she is hot or cute. Sam summed it up rather well "She is trouble". I am not qualified to rate her talent, but the thing about her is that she's got the appeal, the aura of a star. She walks into the screen, and you stare at her in wide-eyed amazement.
- Songs:
- Dard-e-disco: Ok only. The song was not a stand out. Even the choreography very ordinary, especially by Farah Khan's standards. I prefer the others.
- Deewangi Deewangi - I love that song. However, it's not actually 31 *stars*, it's less than that. Aftab Shivdasani and Dino Morea are stars?!?
I might even watch it again.
I am not watching Saawariya. No chance in hell.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Diwali
Diwali is supposed to make one nostalgic, and homesick. Sadly, it doesn't do anything for me. Not any more. Have been away from home for far too long. Nine years is a long time. In any case, the hostel Diwalis can hardly be counted as proper celebrations. We walked up and down in our new clothes, jumped and danced around a little bit, and then went back to our rooms to gossip about the warden. Oh and we visited our local guardians. But, that wasn't really home.
For me, Diwali is supposed to signal the onset of winter. If there is anything I miss, it's the crispness of Diwali air. The chill you feel after you have finished bursting your stash of fire-crackers and have settled to see those black tablets conjure up long snakes. Yes, the ones that burn their way out of fire.
But I don't feel a strong wish-I-was-in-India sentiment anymore. I am fine here. Here is where I want to be.
Maybe I really have moved on. Maybe there is no going back. I can only visit, but I can't lead my life here thinking about how much it was better back there. Because even if I go back, it won't be the same. I think the harshness of it struck me when I went back home after the first semester, and I realized that time hadn't stood still. Things hadn't waited for me to come back and continue from where I had left them. Ma had found use for the cupboard that once belonged to me - she had stuffed linen in there.
Anyway, I have cooked up my own ritual for Diwali here - I wear a sari, go to the temple and pray. And pray hard.
--
Here's wishing all the five devoted readers of this blog a very Happy Diwali.
For me, Diwali is supposed to signal the onset of winter. If there is anything I miss, it's the crispness of Diwali air. The chill you feel after you have finished bursting your stash of fire-crackers and have settled to see those black tablets conjure up long snakes. Yes, the ones that burn their way out of fire.
But I don't feel a strong wish-I-was-in-India sentiment anymore. I am fine here. Here is where I want to be.
Maybe I really have moved on. Maybe there is no going back. I can only visit, but I can't lead my life here thinking about how much it was better back there. Because even if I go back, it won't be the same. I think the harshness of it struck me when I went back home after the first semester, and I realized that time hadn't stood still. Things hadn't waited for me to come back and continue from where I had left them. Ma had found use for the cupboard that once belonged to me - she had stuffed linen in there.
Anyway, I have cooked up my own ritual for Diwali here - I wear a sari, go to the temple and pray. And pray hard.
--
Here's wishing all the five devoted readers of this blog a very Happy Diwali.
Counting Sheep
Confucious says: Don't hold on to a post too long, else you will hate it.
I hate it. It pretends to be informative and intelligent and worse still, funny.
Anyway, since I put in all the effort typing it, I will post it here. For completeness.
---
No, its not another pint of whine about Insomnia.
Now that I have ruined the opening gambit, I might as well tell you that it's about the NZ landscape. The rolling plains with balls of wool. For miles and miles. Speckled landscape. Dotted eyes.
In that country, the sheep outnumber people by 10 to 1. If they were not the aww-inspiring mild mannered creatures of our metaphors, I would be scared.
Far away from civilization, we focussed on subjects in sight - the sheep. The conversation ranged from bitching (Why don't they get tired of eating?), to curiosity (Is grass sufficient nutrition for them? Do they have boring lives?). The sheep were judged, classified (the ones by the highway, the "City sheep" - confident, conversant - they flock to look at us, as opposed to the ones on the off-roads, the "country bumpkins" who run for their lives instead of making good use of the photo-op). Their enclosures were judged - crowded ("Downtown Tokyo") to sparsely populated ("Singapore CBD on a Sunday afternoon"). Jokes were created ranging from bad (Sheepish grin/ Silence of the lambs - DIY jokes) to worse (Why are songs by Meatloaf not kosher for the sheep?) . There were some games too, but trust me, no counting or throwing of sheep was involved.
We went for a farm adventure, which promised us the real thing. As the farmer took us around his never ending acres, the complexity of it all struck home. Farming is far more difficult than studying/working can ever be. Farming needs common sense which as we well know, is in short supply and that itself should discourage anyone with the herd mentality.
The amount of effort needed for a human baby from conception to infancy - now imagine managing 3000 sheep through their pregnancy and raising 4000 lambs through infancy (?). And that doesn't even include the circus of worrying about their healthy diet, how to gather them together to shear them and the selection process of which ones to keep. (Cows are much worse, anything and everything scares the crap out of them.) Anyway, I dont think I could have ever been able to take that kind of stress. I am glad my teachers warned me when I was young, that if I don't study I will have to become a farmer.
And now that I am noticably in love with the species, please don't throw any sheep at me.
----------------
Now playing: Om Shanti Om - Om Shanti Om - 02 - Dard-E-Disco
I hate it. It pretends to be informative and intelligent and worse still, funny.
Anyway, since I put in all the effort typing it, I will post it here. For completeness.
---
No, its not another pint of whine about Insomnia.
Now that I have ruined the opening gambit, I might as well tell you that it's about the NZ landscape. The rolling plains with balls of wool. For miles and miles. Speckled landscape. Dotted eyes.
In that country, the sheep outnumber people by 10 to 1. If they were not the aww-inspiring mild mannered creatures of our metaphors, I would be scared.
Far away from civilization, we focussed on subjects in sight - the sheep. The conversation ranged from bitching (Why don't they get tired of eating?), to curiosity (Is grass sufficient nutrition for them? Do they have boring lives?). The sheep were judged, classified (the ones by the highway, the "City sheep" - confident, conversant - they flock to look at us, as opposed to the ones on the off-roads, the "country bumpkins" who run for their lives instead of making good use of the photo-op). Their enclosures were judged - crowded ("Downtown Tokyo") to sparsely populated ("Singapore CBD on a Sunday afternoon"). Jokes were created ranging from bad (Sheepish grin/ Silence of the lambs - DIY jokes) to worse (Why are songs by Meatloaf not kosher for the sheep?) . There were some games too, but trust me, no counting or throwing of sheep was involved.
We went for a farm adventure, which promised us the real thing. As the farmer took us around his never ending acres, the complexity of it all struck home. Farming is far more difficult than studying/working can ever be. Farming needs common sense which as we well know, is in short supply and that itself should discourage anyone with the herd mentality.The amount of effort needed for a human baby from conception to infancy - now imagine managing 3000 sheep through their pregnancy and raising 4000 lambs through infancy (?). And that doesn't even include the circus of worrying about their healthy diet, how to gather them together to shear them and the selection process of which ones to keep. (Cows are much worse, anything and everything scares the crap out of them.) Anyway, I dont think I could have ever been able to take that kind of stress. I am glad my teachers warned me when I was young, that if I don't study I will have to become a farmer.
And now that I am noticably in love with the species, please don't throw any sheep at me.
----------------
Now playing: Om Shanti Om - Om Shanti Om - 02 - Dard-E-Disco
The gate
----------------
Written a while ago, after looking at the new structure at the entrance of the alma mater. Very emotional moment that.
--
Once upon a time, there was a fragile looking board, faded, rusted, stood in a corner. The name was written on it.
More than an institution, it was our passage to adulthood.
A fancy structure, an arch of stone, now marks the entrance. And a slab, also of stone, bears the name. Etched and fitted with metal letters. Shining. Tall. Promising matching futures all the same.
And an MBA school sits where Dreamland once used to be.
I can still see us.
It wasn't time that was passing by, it was you and I.
Written a while ago, after looking at the new structure at the entrance of the alma mater. Very emotional moment that.
--
Once upon a time, there was a fragile looking board, faded, rusted, stood in a corner. The name was written on it.
More than an institution, it was our passage to adulthood.
A fancy structure, an arch of stone, now marks the entrance. And a slab, also of stone, bears the name. Etched and fitted with metal letters. Shining. Tall. Promising matching futures all the same.
And an MBA school sits where Dreamland once used to be.
I can still see us.
It wasn't time that was passing by, it was you and I.
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