Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Chivvy along, gentlemen.

(I love this chap - Andy Zaltzman. His zest for the game is only matched by my sheer ineptitude for it. Its probably a good thing to get a political satrist to come in and write up about the plaid-slow game that cricket is.
Go Wisden. )





'No slower human movement has ever been officially recorded than that of two umpires sludging towards each other to confer over the light'

The Ricky Ponting over-rate controversy has been one of the more baffling episodes of recent times, but is something of a breakthrough for those who see slow play as one of the most inexcusable and avoidable blights on the game, a tedious tactic indulged for too long by the authorities.

Cricket has found some spectacular means of worsening its own product in recent times – the current craze for building stadiums which are inaccessible to those unable to paraglide, for example, or pitches as dead as WG Grace, or the rebranding of Bad Light to Mild Murk. Slow over-rates are proud members of this hall of shame, and it is curious that the fitter and more athletic players have become, the less able they have been to average one delivery every 40 seconds.

In my next blog, I will suggest some means of ensuring that over rates are crisp enough to prevent Gubby Allen spinning too dizzyingly in his grave. In the meantime, is it too much to ask for umpires to start setting a brisker example?

No slower human movement has ever been officially recorded than that of two umpires sludging towards each other to confer over the light, like a pair of amorous teenage tortoises unsure of whether to make the first move, or two unhappy commuters trying to miss the same train.

This is sometimes equalled by the funereal dawdle to co-examine the roundness of an allegedly-misshapen ball, as if this responsibility is a holy, god-given ritual as old as time itself, and the ball is a precious relic whose molecules must not be woken.

Such sloth might have been understandable in the olden days of cricket, when umpires were only allowed to stand when they had attained a sufficient age to guarantee that their eyesight had failed. Now, however, the game is officiated by primed, thrusting superathletes (or at least by fit and mostly youngish men who probably have gym memberships). And yet, at stages of matches when they might be expected to scurry urgently in the hope of providing an expectant crowd with maximum value for their considerable money, they seem to move as if they are adjusting tentatively to a brand new spinal cord.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

We'll all float on anyway.

Not to sound like a broken record or anything, but things with my friends are becoming weird, and I’m honestly not sure why I’m caring. I know there’s always been the politics of inter-weaving friendships, treaties and wars, so I shouldn’t really be surprised that some nations are having talks and closing borders while I stand here and govern my own little island.

But alas, less with metaphors/analogies (I don’t know the difference, never have, never will) and more with the real stuff. I'm sitting-out work again today. It was late to start the day with in any case, and the cubicles seem to buzz fervently every time I walk past. Signed up for another set of tests and found something that’s actually interesting.

Yeah, I’m bored.

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Contemplating the Casual Grip of the Workday

Its been the sixth consecutive day in the training schedule. And the end seems to be the really far side of a dark tunnel. Or in my case, a well lit conference hall where most words discussed are written in capitals and nobody cares to elaborate what they stand for. So I have regressed pretty much in to the things that I do best. Doodle as I dawdle.

With the last bits of my sobriety ebbing, I delve into dark voyeurism as I look around me and the strange quirks that hide behind people become surprisingly evident. I find it an incredibly compelling thing to see middle aged people do some very childish things. I don't mean petty or small things, but actual unconscious actions. For instance, there was this suited sales head that complained that his tummy was sore, rubbing it for effect. Or that friendly European woman that kept swatting feverishly at a fly, wanting it to go away but too scared to actually hit it. Or when I see any of the speakers act shy or awkward or nervous. I once had this new geography teacher at school that was terrified of her class, and spoke in a voice that shook along with her hands. And as a class I don't think we made her life any easier either. Felt kind of bad for her, and even made the schoolboy error of voicing concerns to peers, who in turn peered down and declared "you fancy her!"

I guess it is foolish to assume that adults are in fact always adult 100% of the time. My own definition of adulthood is weird and pretty narrow. An adult is someone that is either successfully doing the family thing, and/or doing the whole career thing, who buy photo frames and pepper shakers and have creases in their facebook.

Since there are 2 parties that I have to be at tonight, and it is quite likely that I will end up driving when I shouldn't after I sit up late with friends playing video games and poker. It always makes me smile when we have those same old conversations that we had way back when, and realizing that despite appearances, people don't actually change that much. Not in a bad way of course. All their good points stay the same, its just their vices that evolve. From chocolate to booze to smoking and to other stuff. Our sins become more glamorous whilst our virtues remain true and steady. But then again, that is for later in the day.

For now, I am still in the same training session with its well lit conference hall and boring questions from people. Also, today was one that was wanting of any kind of action. And this kind of day always annoys me, where nothing is really achieved. The real regret is you know that you could easily have done something cool, maybe even awesome, or failing that, at least something useful and productive. I always end up getting all fired up to do shit and then within a few hours lose all momentum to follow through. The vicious and fairly linear circle thing. I blame my incredibly short attention span now that my mid-life angst is fast running out as a legitimate excuse.

Friday, December 05, 2008

You know what really brightens a day?

Being diagnosed with pneumonia.

Yeah, despite starting to feel a little better on Tuesday, the fever returned over the week and never left. I also feel like ass and sound even worse. Finally, I gave in and called the doctor this afternoon.

So, ahead of me, I've got at least a couple of days of staying at home and a nice big pile of antibiotics. On the upside, I have a nice bottle of codeine-rich cough syrup to make my days at home fly by. Hopefully I can avoid any conference calls. I'd hate to slur my way through an important meeting.

I keep see-sawing with the cold, alternating between phlegmy death and 100 health and armour every hour or so. Got caught in some nasty weather yesterday, my own fault for shunning sweaters in favour of the breezy look. I've always felt the cold more than most, and have taken to wearing thermals all the time, and sleeping with both a duvet and a blanket.

Stupid global warming. Why can't it just live up to its name.

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

On this day.

Five years ago I was having problems making the omni-directional vehicle run omni-directionally and swearing that patent applications cost too much. Really.

Four years ago I was sacrificing sleep to tell everyone about the ex-girlfriend. We met up and she returned all my belongings, and then she gave me seven hundred rupees that she owed me. I spent the next weekend drinking myself to death because I couldn’t deal with it.

Three years ago I was wondering if I might actually make it through the mba. All plans to be the suitable boy seemed to be gone with the weed.

Two years ago I was racing down the east coast road. I had candy in my till. A cutie to thrill.

One year ago I was wondering if its normal for your kid sister to gift you a zippo for your birthday. I had to bribe a friend to bring back an i-touch for her.

Six months ago I was buying a camera I couldn't afford.

Today? Hmm.... I just might tell you about it next year.

Monday, December 01, 2008

New Lease on Life

My first day in a house spent alone, I wander around my house wondering what to do with myself. I shower with the door open, alternating between singing cheesy songs as far out of tune as is humanly possible and thinking about post-big-city arrivals, when I’ll have nothing but at least a few more months stretching out in front of me. Suddenly friends are creeping out, half-blinded, and socially inept from spending too long pouring over notes on excel sheets they’ll never really understand, grabbing me by the shoulders and pleading let’s go for a drink as if it’s not quite acceptable yet.

Its my place now, so I dress in my shabbiest and yet comfiest clothes and wander around the house. I empty the box of spoons and pots that my landlord gave earlier, and fill my cupboards, I sit in every antique chair in the living room, each giving me a slightly different perspective than the one before. The doorbell rings and the salesman asks for some name I haven't heard of. I explain the person hasn't been living here and that nobody has lived here for a few years,

I sit, cross-legged on the carpet on my living room floor; organising my office bag & tearing up those sheets that invariable accumulate. I have a series of tests coming up and I choose topics to study, and mark them carefully with a bright post-it. Open book exams are a blessing. When the flatmate finally arrives home, he greets me with an expression reminiscent of the Hillary-Tenzing adventures and a Marks & Spencers bag-full of beer.

It was warmer after that.

Sunday, November 30, 2008

Quantum of Shoelace

xkcd.. you crack me up.

to shoebite.... Respect.

Everything that has a beginning...

Newly folded clothes and three new sets of clothes hanging neatly in the wardrobe with tags still attached just in case the climate changes back too soon or I decide to go on a binging spree. A clean carpet, antique chairs, immensely comfortable beds , a bathroom stand neatly boasting toiletries of many varieties. Is it okay to embrace a new perspective on life at the end of the year? Seemed more like a usher-in-your-new-year-resolution kind of occupation.

Books will line shelves like untidy troopers who have only just learning to march. Eventually some will lie on top of one another, with the odd one that has long been forgotten to be returned to. Some in language that was too tedious to demand turning the page. Nearly-free books about the world at war that Delhi just loves to sell to the most unassuming of customers on the street walks, because the publishers went out of business and the author wanted the privilege of burning them for himself, books with superfluous tales to be forgotten and some verdant with divine comedy that will never disappear.

In a few months this would all be packed again into the same suitcases and moved hours away. Pack up the memories and the books worth keeping, the articles and the old gifts that aid remembering the memories. All packed into the same suitcases and moved somewhere else, or maybe someday just left behind – who needs memories when you can make more? Running away or procuring freedom, the answer to that will only be found when I come out of it struggling for breath.

A fast paced lonely lifestyle I can’t help but imagine. As I travel there, suitcases under each arm, I’ll wave to all the cities that have a memories and people attached to them. Chennai, Calcutta, Bombay, Bangalore, Hyderabad, Noida – I miss you all. Maybe I’ll stay for a while, mull over the memories with the people in them remembering the times we spent together, and then I’ll continue on my own journey where no one else is invited. This I have to do for myself and you can’t be involved.

When I decide to unpack my bags, nobody will know my name. It’s a big new city that does not care for names, everyone can remain unnamed there. In the suburbs everything looks the same but in the midst of the metropolis everything stands out. An anomaly I can’t wait to be a part of.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Lists, Resplendent Lists

To read, I have had:

An Englishman looks at the World - H.G. Wells
The Colour of a Dog Running Away - Richard Gwyn
Anahuac - Edward Tylor
The Kitty Killer Cult - Nick Smith
The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath (severely advise against)
Watchmen - Alan Moore and David Gibbons
The Outsider - Albert Camus
The Dune Series - Frank Herbert (most of it - need to find Hunters and Sandworms)
Cry, the Beloved Country - Alan Paton
Nine Stories - J.D.Salinger
100 Bullets - DC Comics
The Ape, The Idiot & Other People - W.C.Morrow (I only read it because I liked the title)
Of Mice and Men - John Steinback
Brisngr - Christopher Paolini
The Princess & The Raider - Jude Devaraux (Girly, but then why shouldn't I have fun too)
Insomnia - Stephen King
The Last Lecture - Randy Pausch (came highly recommended. lives up every bit to it)
From Hell - Alan Moore
David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
American Gods - Neil Gaiman
Down and Out in Shoreditch and Horton - Stewart Home (you might want to give that one a miss)
Today has Never Happened - Catherine Smith
Ghost in the Shell (1, 1.5 and 2) - Shirow Masamune
I Can’t Wait on God - Albert French
Bleach - somewhere from 290 to 335


To watch, I have had:

City of Men
Cidade de Deus
Tim Burton's - Nightmare Before Christmas
Coffee and Cigarettes
SA-RO-JA
Forbidden Planet
Quantum of Solace
Vanishing Point
How to lose friends & alienate people (again... the title)
Dexter - Season 1,2
The Duchess
Man on Wire
Kaadhalil Vilunthen
My Father, My Lord
Kyles - Season 1,2
Dostana
Cowboy Bebop (I’ve seen it too many times but I just can’t stop)

To do, I have had:

Meet with friends old and new
Survive the mind numbing search for a house
Wake up on time
Not smoke all my cigarettes before dawn (dammit)
Wrench someones heart out
Survive financial crippling
Send letters to various companies to get my money back


To write, I have:

Everything.
I should start.
Lazy Saturday afternoons. You were made for these.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Beauty in the eyes of the Heuristic Algorithm

Tech Republic had this interesting article about some new software that automatically tunes pics of human faces to make them more attractive by reducing the concept of facial beauty to simple vector-based algorithms. In any case, the before and after samples that are provided are stunning; each one does appear more attractive (or handsome as the case may be) after being modified by the algorithm. Well, I have no idea if most of us determine beauty based upon this formula, some formula, or any set of equations at all? I would really like to see this software tackle entertainment superstars. In particular I'd be curious about taking stars that are often lusted after but are not conventionally thought of as attractive.

I am also intrigued by this comment left on the site: "It seems inevitable that software like this will end up on digital cameras, or maybe even social networking websites. Every image of a person could be tweaked. There's even the possibility of digital mirrors that could do it in real time!"

What would the world be like if this kind of technology were placed in real-time devices? Movies would be filmed using this technology to enhance the beauty of the stars. And then for the premieres all fans would just have to get some 'rose colored glasses' that they could wear like sun-glasses to digitally enhance the beauty of the stars as they get on to the red carpet. You wouldnt want the magic to end so abruptly now.

Personally I'm still ambivalent about tech like that... but hell, I had the brighness and contrasts adjusted on my passport photos. So this may not even be a big step. But that can't stop it from seeming like a low-cost Matrix to me-- sure you know people are less attractive then they're being presented but maybe then you don't care.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

In Another World

Another marraiage.... Another set of people that are overtly exuberant... Makes me wish for the remote controls to my life.

I'm haunted by this photograph
Don't know why
Everytime I look, I get shivers down my spine
You're such a beautiful face
I know those eyes
They take me back in time

She could be you
I wouldn't even know
She could be you
But that was long ago
She could be you

I wish that i could tell you
What you don't know
I dream about that day
But it's impossible
In another world,
I'll be yours tonight
But i can't break free from this life

She could be you
I wouldn't even know
She could be you
But that was long ago
She could be you


- Shawn Hlookoff

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

The Group Dynamic

Shoebite makes smoking cool
I make drinking cool
Tripod makes long distance romance cool
Sandy makes abstinence look cool
Mandy makes the workplace cool
Haryal makes breakfast cereal seem cool
And Roger makes the rest of us look cool by comparison. Of course one day he will be cooler and richer than all of us, the reward for all the work he could put in (so lets not hear you complain)

A Lifetime measured in units of Alcohol

The old man walked down the street at night. He felt cold. Part of being old seemed to be feeling cold. There was, after all only one letter separating them. And being old and feeling cold meant being and feeling tired. This would explain to a silent observer why his progress down the Sector 11 Street was painfully slow to behold, though the only other set of eyes that did so were the bright dark ones of an urban cat, staring from the shadows. Pain was another part of age as well. The young felt pain in great flares that could tear them apart. But there were also great intervals between this pain, to the point where they couldn't remember what it was like until it happened again. His pain was a slow dull burning kind, constant to the point where he himself had forgotten what its absence felt like. Still, that’s what happened when you didn’t have successful children to take care of you he guesssed.

After progressing in this painfully slow fashion for some 20 minutes, he finally reached his destination, a late night liquor shop. It was lit up like a fluorescent island in the dull street lamp lit darkness. He pushed the heavy door open, wheezing with effort. The twine attached to it jangled and the man behind the counter looked up from his paper.

The old man walked up to the muslim man behind the counter. In fairness he had no way of knowing whether he was muslim or not. It didn't really matter. Old men seemed to be given a little more leeway than most when it came to political correctness.
He ordered his bottle of not so cheap whiskey in clipped perfect english.

“640” the possible mohammedan replied.

He fumbled in his pocket for the money. His hands seemed to be working better today, and it was with a shameful pride that he took out the right amount and handed it over without dropping any.

“Thank you sir. Goodnight. And a goodnight to you too.”

"Darwaza band karna."

“ummm.. 'night.” I replied.

He hefted the heavy door open and slowly walked home, his progress charted by the tiny glow of a lit cigarette held in his mouth.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

A long time ago

(Since I have so much more time on my hands now, I have since taken to reminiscing about obscure figments of memory that seem to crop up with no warning or implication.)

He shivered and muttered as the icy water went into the gap between his neck and his shirt. It slid down his neck mixing with sweat and grime. It felt horrible, all slimy and cold and sticky and wet. And he was too tightly bundled up to take off any of his many layers. Thick and heavy and slow he was. That was why he had been hit by the ball. Too big and too slow.

He wanted to cry. His nose was running and his eyes were wet from the cold anyway. Instead he bent down and scooped the ball from the stagnant water. Cupping it close he packed it with dirt to face his punishers. His shirt was sodden from previous attempts, hands wet and wrinkling, growing number. He breathed hot air onto them and tried to blow out some of the wetness.

He looked around for a target. Everyone was running and screaming and skidding and falling. Most had formed into gangs, temporary alliances in the heat of battle. But he had only been at school a few days. He didn’t know anyone and so he didn’t know who he should throw the dirt ball at. Not a girl obviously.

Most of them had stayed inside anyway. Not anyone much bigger than him either, or much smaller. He stood dumbly with his hand growing wetter and colder in steadily pouring rain, wondering what to do.

Smack! This time a lump hit him on the ear that was poking through his closely held raincoat. It burned cold pain into him. He burned too, angry and furious red. He saw who threw it, a big kid with a stupid grin. I hated you I hate you I hate you. He threw his missile with all the strength the cold cold day hadn’t sapped from him. It sailed towards the big stupid kid and his big stupid face.

But the kid was fast. He ducked, still grinning and laughing. The ball sailed past and smacked someone else right in the face. They fell to the ground in a heap and let up a wail. It was a little girl, small and pretty and crying. She was so loud that the playground monitor quickly ran over and scooped her up. She shot him a disgusted look as the monitor carried her inside.

That day he got hit by a lot more dirt balls.

Friday, October 31, 2008

Let there be Soup

Having survived yet another gruelling day of work, I am home. I feel lazy, so much so that I didn't stop at the unfriendly neighbourhood store to forrage for frozen dinners and now am left to ponder "what do I eat for dinner?" I have one egg, some rice, no bread, some mushrooms, cauliflower, onion sprouts and a can of sweet corn and tomato soup. I sense no real possibility here. I am stifled by my grocery makings. Damn! I'll have to walk after all to the store later before I sit down to do some actual work. Or we could just eat the can of soup and call it good, I suppose.

Leftovers are still in the freezer. Day three of the chicken sandwich is right on top. Maybe I'll opt to add some stuffing to the mayo, mustard, lettuce and the egg or so. It wont be much. I don't even need to bring bread for the sandwich then. I have just one glass of apple cider left, for that I will be sad to say goodbye to but all good things must come to an end, I guess.

Such grand plans. Sniff. In the end I had cold soup.

Friday, October 24, 2008

Homeward bound

In 6 hours, I head back home for a few days. I love going to visit, it’s so relaxing. After living in Hyd and now Delhi, it’s like an escape to another, calmer world.

Some things I look forward to:

warmer nights
coffee served everywhere, and its not the instant type
mega breakfasts (scrambled eggs, dosas, onions, chutneys and crushed up chillies, served with yesterdays chicken and super-thick, warm sweet sambhar)
the wide, quieter streets & overall lack of traffic (okay comparitively)
Briyani - non sweet, mixed uniformly, lots of meat
the warm air, the high humidity and the gusty winds - always occurring together
the smell of the fresh cut grass on the little garden that my mom rears
plush living in my parents’ house
driving cars again
chamiers
crossword puzzles - i only seem to spare time for them on airplanes


Things I love even more now that I have lived in delhi:

safe tap water and ice
even the most unassuming of people speak un-accented English
sane drivers on the roads. the most road rage that gets displayed is a muttered swear
everybody understands tam
murugan idli kadai
the beach
Catching zzzzzs whenever I want

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Autumn Skies

Now is the time to be a spectator of autumn. We have been experiencing some crisp days. This is our opportunity to take a long relaxing drive, park and enjoy the blue skies above. There is so much beauty to behold. Look up. And make a wish. Look up. And be thankful.






The pictures in this post were taken during a late afternoon long drive in one of those directions you take for no apparent reason other than that you have never taken it before. For some reason, the trees are all coniferous-y.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Natural Blues

Listening to Moby - Why does my Heart feel so bad

And I'm up while the dawn is breaking, even though my heart is aching.
I should be drinking a toast to absent friends instead of these comedians.

- Elvis Costello

Friday, October 03, 2008

With Bated Breath

Anybody with even half an ear to the ground in the musty backwaters of spurned comic novels and little known super heroes, will no doubt be aware of the feverish anticipation which is being generated by every droplet of information which appears in relation to the movie version of Alan Moore and Davie Gibbons’ seminal graphic novel Watchmen. To the uninitiated this excitement may seem odd – comic book adaptations are in abundance these days, from the already well established (Batman, Spiderman, Hulk, Iron Man, Fantastic Four and so forth) to the obscure (Ghost Rider, Hellboy, BPRD).



But Watchmen really is different; an incredibly emotionally and politically complex work, which refuses to paint its world in terms of crude morality, but rather keeps a studied distance from the world it portrays, never shirking from the consequences of its characters’ belief systems, adored, rightly, by those who’ve read it, and regarded in some quarters as one of the peaks of late twentieth century literature. This is a complicated, multi-tiered mystery set in an alternate 1985 America where costumed crime fighters are part of the fabric of everyday society, and the “Doomsday Clock” - which charts the American tension with the Soviet Union - is permanently set at five minutes to midnight. When one of his former c is murdered, the washed-up but no less determined masked vigilante Rorschach sets out to uncover a plot to kill and discredit all past and present superheroes. As he reconnects with his former crime-fighting legion–a ragtag group of retired superheroes, only one of whom has true powers–Rorschach glimpses a wide-ranging and disturbing conspiracy with links to their shared past and catastrophic consequences for the future. Their mission is to watch over humanity…but then he realizes that nobody has watched over the Watchmen?



I can't help but be pretty excited and also slightly terrified that they will muck up the genius of the book. Because the book's straight-up apocalyptic darkness is what makes it a work of genius. And a beauty of a novel like V for Vendetta (again from Alan Moore) had to be hollywoodized with a hair-brained romance thrown in, which results in the mindless waif like Natalie Portman turning in to a strong, proud Vivien-Leighish heroine. The entire sequence ends up creating more holes than it deems to accomplish. Then there are the hurdles of intricate plot layering and the fluidity of time and space to conquer. Let's just say that I will be disappointed to the point of rage if it comes out all Fantastic Four-y.

It should be interesting to see where Zack Snyder (of directing 300 fame) translates the testosterone into superhero adrenaline rush for the Watchmen. Until then, we’ll have to pray every night that, coming out of the cinema, we’ll be glancing to each other, and saying, with relieved smiles, ‘Well, it could have been worse’.

Friday, September 26, 2008

Hungry in Noida

Probably sounds like a title for a personal ad, but yes I am in fact hungry in this sham for a small town. I've been here in the Delhi whereabouts for almost 2 months now and haven't a clue where to go for good food. I must admit that I have been trying to eat cheap lately, and cheap doesn't always equate to good. Wow, eating out in Noida can really eat into your budget. I had been warned before I left, although I never really paid any heed to such sagacious counsel until it was my own money that had to be spent. You see, in my previous company, I got all my food paid for, and now it hurts when there is no one to fall back on.

So, now I have been straying from anything too pricey, but once the pocket gets filled with the salary, I'm definitely not opposed to some fine-dining here and there.

So I'm putting out the call to any Delhiites out there or anyone else in the know, for places I could wine and dine and do it cheap. Fancy eats, cheap eats, pub grub, be it your favourite places to go and secret finds please direct them all my way. I can't stay hungry (and poor) for much longer.

Also, I might not have mentioned in previous posts but I have a bunch of dishes I made at home here that have never made its way onto the blog yet. So I am able to get by. Just barely. I don't have an internet connection to be proud of at the moment, and am making use of free wi-fi in the coffee cafes, so posts are probably going to be even more sporadic than before, until I am once again reunited with the world.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

My Stomach Hurts

Do you ever have the feeling that everything you do and everything you say and everything you write is pointless?

Saturday, August 30, 2008

Feeling my way around

Love is blindness. I don't want to see
Wont you wrap the night around me
Take my heart.
Love is blindness.

In a parked car, in a crowded street
You see your love made complete.
The thread is ripping, the knot is slipping.
Love is blindness.

Love is clockworks and cold steel
Fingers too numb to feel.
Squeeze the handle, blow out the candle
Love is blindness.

Love is blindness. I don't want to see
Wont you wrap the night around me
Oh my love.
Blindness.

A little death without mourning
No call, and no warning
Baby...Was a dangerous idea
That almost made sense.

Love is drowning in a deep well.
All the secrets and no one to tell.
Take the money . Honey.
Blindness

Love is blindness. I don't want to see
Wont you wrap the night around me
Oh my love.
Blindness.


- Bono (Achtung Baby)

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Lessons learnt alone

The following are true lessons that have been learnt by a socially inept, new but clueless employee with too much idle time resulting from spending his nights alone at a guesthouse that is bereft of entertainment sans 26 semi-clear television channels and tends to alternate his days guzzling or thinking how good he used to be at math a long while ago, all the while mulling how in the world he got here in the first place, but in stead sits down to create his most comprehensive post or at least his most time consuming one.

How things were supposed to be



Man, I wish



Why does time have to be money



Ah, those blissful mornings



Whats on TV? Push some buttons.



And you'll get hurt



Fitting in



Equilibrium at work



Eventually . . .



And the cycle repeats this week

Saturday, June 28, 2008

Of passing on

Death has occupied my mind a lot lately.

Actually, I have been ruminating about dying at some point every day for the past 2 weeks, not in a morbid way, but more in an "Am I ready? Is there any unfinished business? How would I want to be remembered?" way, which I guess is constructive. At least, to a point.

What's not is, allowing myself to be tortured by the fear of leaving some people behind. As a new believer, I must draw the line of evaluation there. I can't give in to this distressing hand-wringing. For reasons of my own, I have been reading the Bible for the last couple of weeks.

I have always believed death will be like that dreadful moment of suspension. I cant stop but think about the unique relationship of a trapeze team. When the swinger lets go of his bar and hangs in mid-air for a split second, he has no protection. He cannot see his catcher nor control the catcher's speed or method. But at just the right moment, the swinger's "savior" arrives and whisks him to the base.

In other words, we will not be left hanging for one moment because to let go here makes us present there.

There is one particular place where Paul says, "When you sow a seed, it must die in the ground before it can live and grow. And when you sow it, it does not have the same body it will have later. What you sow is only a bare seed, maybe wheat or something else. But God gives it a body that he has planned for it".

The key phrase is: "that he has planned for it." As the story of our life unfolds, we are safe in the strong hands of our savior and "catcher" who has planned for us to be with Him forever. Nothing can pry us from his loving grip.

But for the more Am I ready? Is there any unfinished business parts - there was this song by Seals & Crofts that my cousin sister gave me years ago that I have on looped play.

windflowers, my father told me not to go near them
he said he feared them always and he told me that they carried him away

windflowers, beautiful windflowers
i couldn't wait to touch them,
to smell them i held them closely
and now i cannot break away
their sweet bouquet disappears
like the vapor in the desert
so take a warning

windflowers, ancient windflowers
their beauty captures every young dreamer who lingers near them
but ancient windflowers, i love you

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

World falls down

I woke to the clock, it was five thirteen
it feels so far from where I've been.
I look around and check under the sheets
fleeting joy and then the energy depletes.
I see the bag and the clothes strewn around too
have the flowers, everything but you.
Broke the chocolates, made a smiling face
I hate it in this sordid place.
I stare and wish upon the spots on the mirror
that things weren't so and you'll walk through the door

Called my mom, she was out for a walk
comforted a cup of coffee but it didn't talk.
Looked through the paper, felt more bruised
more hearts being broken and people being used.
Sat at home in the pouring rain
saw a movie it brought back the pain.
Because it was happy and I was sad
It made me miss you so bad.

Picked up a light and then threw it down
I know you hate it when I make you frown.
Took the roses and stood in the rain
wasted your summer prayers in vain.
Picked your book up, thought I heard your sound
took a deep breath and a good look around.
Sleep walked the day till I moved to the bed
think I'm half alive but maybe I'm dead.
I cry and tell myself it'll be all right
maybe I should just think more of you tonight.

I'll go about my business, I wont do fine
I don't know what I'd say if I had you on line.
Same old story, not much to say
I've broken your heart almost every day.

And I sit in regret till the day is gone
for all the black things I have done.
The gods will have mercy, they are the blessed
as I squirm in the misery that I have wronged.
In dreams till my death I will wonder on
and wait for you there like a stone, alone.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Wishful Thinking

"I do sincerely and solemnly state that henceforth and without further procrastinations or necessitated delays, I will no longer self indulgently and with a due sense of punctiliousness to the aforementioned resolutions, no longer put off doing, what really I could have done 5 minutes ago. Furthermore I will stop showing off by using unnecessary and superfluous words just to show my vocabulary."


1. Be nice to the fat cat. Not the one pictured above, who is a dude, but the other one, who hangs around my house like a lovesick adolescent. The cat who whines all night long. The same one who runs into empty car sheds and yowls neurotically. I will try not to tell her to fuck off. It's going to be hard.

2. Be patient in traffic jams. I grumble and swear, when the traffic stops moving and I realized this year that if I was stuck in a car with me and my patience of a two-year-old, I would throw me out of the car and lock the door. This is going to be hard too, because I enjoy hurling abuse from behind the windscreen (as long as the windows are rolled up) and consider myself quite fluent at it. It would be a waste of talent if I gave it up altogether. I'll still do it if I'm driving alone.

3. When I write down a phone number, I will also write down whose it is. My life is full of numbers on scraps of paper. Whose are they? Haven't a clue. I drive myself crazy

4. Next time I am out shopping, I wont let advertisers treat me as if I were Pavlov's Dog - remember the dog that was trained to salivate automatically every time a bell rang. There is a whole industry out there trying to make me buy stuff on impulse. I hereby pledge to be the true "Decider".

5. Stop interrupting people. I don't enjoy it when people do it to me and when I realize I've done it to someone else, I want to crawl in to a hole in shame. It's awful. So that I promise not to do that any more.

6. I resolve to quit drinking … coffee. Doesn't quite taste the same after beer.

7. I am drawn to the idea of making a product that I can sell. There is no reason for it. I could make perfectly fine living working at this company with awesome people, or try to do freelance work on contract. I am finding, though, that being a creator of things people can actually hold is enormously pleasing. It's feels like something primal, but it's possible that this is merely curiosity.

8. Make a "you-comment-i-reply" policy. From now on, I'll try to reply each and every comment given for my post. I got this idea when I ended up going back to the post I've commented to see whether it has been replied back or not.That means that "me" or in other words 'a reader' loved to be replied.Blogger has made this task easier by allowing my comments to be emailed.

I reckon I'll last a week at the most. This is why I never make resolutions.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

Stagnant waters

It's been a complicated two months. There have been attempts to talk about it, what went wrong, why we needed certain things from each other, what we gave to each other, and what was missing. With the benefit of hindsight, things became more lucid. With the benefit of time, the truth didn't hurt as much. With the benefit of space, we each felt we could approach each other from a more neutral and objective standpoint.

It wasn't simple or easy. There were times of complete and utter closeness and understanding, followed by flashes of tempestuous anger and a desire to pull back and create distance. But through it all we reached an understanding, a break through of sorts: we finally learned about each other - the One True Thing we each needed from a relationship, and how whenever each of our priorities had become threatened, our relationship took a turn for the worse. Every single fight we've ever had has had its roots in it, and it was understanding that that really clarified things between us.

We talked more, in a way more openly than ever before. I think breaking up was the best thing that could have ever happened to us, because it gave us perspective, and untangled us from the inertia that kept two unhappy people together. Something wasn't right, like a fracture that didn't heal properly, and we needed a solid and painful break to try to make it better again.

That's not to say that things are at their absolute best, but we are trying to sort things out and see if there aren't fundamental issues that truly can't be crossed. There's good will between us again, but it's bound to be awkward at times, and occasionally volatile as sensitive topics and unresolved fundamental issues come to the forefront. In the meantime, I think the distance is good, because it will give each of us the space we need and the time to think things through while we live our lives independently, with her spending time with her friends, and cme with myself. And that's what I need right now: more time and space to think about things, and to make sure my steps are measured so I don't rush into anything.



Mood - One Headlight (Wallflowers)

Monday, March 17, 2008

To my Neighbours

In general info for all those people i have maintained radio silence with... This is to clue you in on the latest happenings of my life.

Ok we all know i have to live here. But you people drive me insane.

Creepy Staring Lady- Stop watching me, I know you think I cant see you because you hide behind the stairs, but I can. Your legs are still there. I promise you I am not going to do a dance, burst into flames or bring home someone so you can call my mom. You can stop looking. Also, get rid of that damned phone. The ring followed by the incoherent telugu soundtrack is driving me insane. They are obviously someone you know, so you please do the calling. I'll pay, I promise.

Ex Army Doc lady- You are quite pleasant, you always smile. Your little daughter is a joy. Polite and friendly. We can all hear you screaming at her every night. She is 8 she will get her priorities straight eventually. Cut her some slack

Family from Vizag- I am not sure how you do it. You have 4 adults, a preteen, 2 kids and a baby. I realize the rent is a little steep but for gods sake where do you all sleep? Oh and to the obviously adult son. You aren't a thug, you aren't hardcore. So stop smoking secretly outside and throwing the stubs into my balcony.

Super nice dark guy in the floor above- You and your wife are sweet and awesome neighbors, you don't complain when we make too much noise, and you just say hi when its needed. But when you are home alone we can hear you singing to your 80s zeenat aman music. Dont get me wrong its good. Its even funny, but dont come out all tough. We know your secret!

Bitchy lady- When you order a package and you know it will be sent sent by courier which requires a signature, send it to where you work. The poor courier guy shows up all the time and you aren't home. I made the mistake of signing for a package once for you. I left you a nice note letting you know that when you get home ring the bell and I will give it to you. It would have been nice for you to say "Thank you" instead of "Why did you take my package". Next time I will.... Never mind there will be no next time. Yes you are the bitchy woman. You.

Slightly shady saree clad women- We know you are the gravediggers for the place. (Yeah, thanks to demand for bachelor housing, i live overlooking a nice quaint lil cemetery) And that you keep to yourselves. But do remember normal people like to sleep when you go about your work. Please please dont shout so much at night.

I'm pretty much stuck here and wont be moving soon. So its not like I can say I wont have to deal with you. Maybe I will print this out and leave it for the next person who pays a ridiculous amount for this apartment. Next person....the water pipes clog ever so often, and sometimes the heater conks off. Don't call the plumber if you need to get it fixed. Super nice dark guy is darned good that way. Works well. Doesn't charge.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

My Turkey is Cooked


Unlike music by the Nine Inch Nails, which is better than it sounds, roast turkey is less good than it sounds. For a reason that I have not been able quite to fathom, it is supposed to be this really exotic christmas meal. Or so I, at any rate, have found.

Whether this is because christians somewhere cook it better, or if it is because it is a dish that is appropriate to the country, I am not sure. Perhaps you need to be near dense and dark pine forests, with clearings for witches and wicked stepmothers who either devour small children or send them out to find strawberries in the snow, to appreciate the comforts of roast turkey.

Yet, such is the theoretical allure of this bird that for a number of years I have seen people be reluctant to contemplate the roasting of any other for their traditional and compulsive (if not compulsory) Christmas overindulgence. After all, the connotation of the word turkey, that is to say of dismal failure, seems to me to be entirely appropriate.

Now if turkey were really so good, why is it that do we not eat it at other times of year? We are not very keen these days on self-denying ordinances, so the idea that we save up something delicious just for a single glorious treat once a year isn't very plausible. If something is good we want it all the time, in and out of season, and are prepared to import it at the greatest expense from Ivory Coast if need be.

So why does turkey so rarely appear on menus, other than in the slightly modified form of cold cuts in mildly exotic buffets? I do not think its size can explain everything. If it were really so splendid, we could cook half, a quarter or even an eighth of a turkey. The fact that we don't eat turkey all the time, or even more than once a year, tells us, or ought to tell us, something.

However, I disregarded these skeptical and dissenting thoughts this year, putting them to the back of my mind, which oddly enough feels as though it really is located at the back of my head, somewhere in my occipital lobe. I took no notice of the small, mocking voice that worms its way forward and tells me it, the turkey, will be no good. But it was still a boss that was calling me over. So, I tell myself, as a man whistling in the dark, this time the turkey will be delicious.

The first and most serious problem with roasting a turkey is the fat. There is so much of it that normal dishes cannot contain it all, and one has to repeatedly empty the fat into various containers. And while turkey fat might have been thought by grandmothers to have medicinal and preventive properties when rubbed into the chest, and maybe is indeed excellent and perhaps even incomparable for roasting potatoes, yet there is far more of it than you can possibly want or use in a year.

Turkey fat does not keep to itself, either. Turkey fat vapour (or, I suppose it would be more scientific to say, droplets) soon spreads through the whole house, which begins to smells like a vast roast turkey, and remains roasted for a few days thereafter. Mere soap and hot water are powerless against the insidious invasion of turkey fat.

The meat tends to be dense and not easily digestible. It seems to sink directly into special receptacles in the small intestines , where it settles like a lead weight and saps the will for movement for at least two days.

My boss's nephew was with us the time he called me over for the post Christmas yuletide celebration. He ate it with the undiscriminating voracity natural to adolescence, but in the middle of the night his grandmother roused us from our drinks and the scrabble table to say that he had a terrible stomach ache. We found him groaning in his bed and when we offered to examine him, he said, "I want a proper doctor, not you."

In my time in the market I had been on the receiving end of far worse insults than this, and I told him that no such doctor was available, this being Hyderabad, that I was better than nothing. Reluctantly, he let me examine him. In the end, my diagnosis was that he was establishing an excuse to not do the homework the following day that he had put off ever since he arrived. On the other hand, there is no denying the indigestibility of turkey.

My observations on the disadvantages of turkey as a Christmas bird have been confirmed by others. I am now cured of my illusion. I pledge hereby that in no year, will I be cooking my own goose/turkey. whatever.