Tuesday, December 30, 2008
I shall think of him and his lucky, lucky wife with even more affection this year because they gave me an interesting hamper packed with chorizo, pate, olives, smoked salmon and sun-dried tomatoes among other things to bring 2009 in. I can't wait to say goodbye and good riddance to a paricularly lousy year!
Monday, December 29, 2008
1. The food was lousy, lousy, lousy. The ancient land of milk and honey is now the land of chicken and paneer. Those are the only things available everywhere. Hate both with a passion- would much rather eat paper. Had to settle for eggs (henceforth referred to as yuggs) and if I see another yugg in my life I'll throw up. Violently. Was desperately in need of a stomach pump after every greasy meal. On the last day (typically) finally discovered a decentish Parsi joint and stuffed self with strawberry milkshake, dhansak and mutton biryani. No Bhindi Paredu for me, though- yuggs ew!
2. Pillow talk: If ever I open a hotel, I'm going to give guests the freedom to choose their own pillows. Every darn hotel in the world I've stayed at seems to believe that mile-high fluffy pillows are the epitome of comfort. Such bullshit. I like my pillows firm and flat like abs. Needless to say I spent 3 miserable sleepless nights. The crick in my neck persists.
3. Beloved Husband kept threatening to attempt paragliding. I kept threatening to leave him in return. Would much rather be divorced than a widow- not particularly fond of the idea of the being haunted by Beloved Husband's ghost for the rest of my life. Going by our caring relationship, he'd probably be a poltergeist.
And now the good part: Visited Freddy Mercury's school (St. Peter's) and saw his piano. Well, the one he used to practice on. Touched it lovingly too. Have washed my hands thereafter, only because I'm an adult and not a rock star-struck teen. Was sad at the state it's in, though. It was rescued too late from a fire and now it's just a shell. No keys, no wires. The school authority who showed us round reassured us that plans are on the anvil to restore it to its former glory. He also said that the school owns many Queen CDs and plays them regularly. Yay!
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Saturday night was lovely- a little area off the street where I live was cordoned off for a carol singing session with a live band - a come one, come all invitation was issued to the neighbourhood. I'd heard the singers practising in a building next door for a few months, and they were marvellous! One evening, trudging back from the gym, I was treated to a very special moment: They were singing a hymn I didn't recognise and a driver parked below had his radio tuned to a news channel. They merged beautifully. So now I'm wondering if that's how Simon & Garfunkel got their inspiration for their goosebump-raising version of Silent Night.
Begged Beloved Husband to accompany me to the carol singing session when he got back from work but he was doing his impersonation of Ebenezer Scrooge. Didn't feel like hanging out alone so spent the evening in the kitchen straining my ears to hear the carols. Was richly rewarded. A few days later, our building was warmly glowing with fairy lights and a ginornmous Star of Bethlehem. Lovely. It rubbed off on Beloved Husband too, who entered the house smiling, for a change. No 'Bah! Humbug!' that night!!! It feels so heart-warming to be included in other festivities- that's the nicest part of being Indian!
So peace on earth, mercy mild, and I do hope Orissa enjoys a lovely Christmas too.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
"...and oh I have to tell you this. since really it was YOUR idea. I actually put an egg on my face and tried to make my dear-love-you-forever kiss me, just for kicks. and well, the result ... egg on my face! It was terrible! He just ran away saying I was losing it :-D And what's worse, he stayed away for the next 24 hrs. What a sissy ,I cried! What a freak, he cried back! Ha ha. I guess something's are better off in books. Hey you need to put warnings next time - you know something like this stunt has been performed by experts, do not try at home, may cause injury to self respect :-)"
Way to go, Spunky Sahiba! Rest assured this guy will never forget you! You've left scars on him for life!
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Also discovered in the papers today that the captured terrorist's real surname is not Kasav- the Mumbai cops gave him that surname: Kasav means butcher! Ooh I love the cops!
Which brings me to Mohsin Hamid's The Reluctant Fundamentalist. Read it a couple of years ago, and had serious problems with it. The book really should have been called The Ingrate or The Ungrateful Fundamentalist. Cut through the symbolism and literary devices and this is the story in short: Wealthy, educated, upper-class (and not overtly-religious) Pakistani works in a mega finance joint in the US. His White bosses love him, his friends love him, no reason to crib and carp. He falls in love with an American girl who is mourning the death of her long-time boyfriend. She likes the Pakistani hero but can’t love him- or anyone else for that matter. This gives him heartburn that no amount of antacids can neutralise. Then Kargil happens (for which he squarely blames India- tsk, was Hamid's hero really intelligent after all?) and he gives it all up to return to Pakistan. Thereafter, he becomes a terrorist, singling out Whites. A classic case of biting the hand that fed him. Even a dog wouldn’t do that. But, in all fairness, this book was a piece of fiction.
I didn't believe that Hamid really got into the psyche of a terrorist-can people be that ungrateful? Now, however, I see what he means: the fact that Pakistan is, by nature, an ungrateful nation*. The West will continue to flaunt Pakistan as an ally, foolishly wishing and hoping that they will actually help them. Proving, yet, yet, yet again that Westerners are ridiculously gullible. Practically every Islamic terrorist in the world today wears a Made in Pakistan lable. This is the only product that the country successfully manufactures. And look at how beautifully they are using this product to extract more and more money from the West. They’re chortling all the way to the bank. Asking them to help stop terrorism is like asking them to shut down their most profitable business. Dream on!
*Please do note, however, that I am not damning all the citizens of Pakistan in that statement. There are good people out there- but too few and far between. And if there are more than I can count on the fingers of one hand, they should speak out.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
-'Let the military rule for a year!' (What? We want to be like bloody Pakistan?).
- 'Give each city to a corporate group!' (Yeah, right. We want monopolies?)
-'Let the media take control of the country!' ( So you want Rajdeep Sardesai, Barkha Dutt or Arnab Gosmai for PM? All they'll say in times of crisis will be an insensitive, "How do you feel?").
What the hell are we? A mobocracy or a democracy? Stop being childish and foolish- please do vote!
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Please do read this article.
Oh he's just apologised. Finally. Realised that he needs votes, no doubt.
And the rally at the Gateway of India is a tremendous success- have been watching it on TV. Thousands of Indians united against terrorists and politicians alike!
Honestly, I'm getting a little worried about the politician bashing now. We the people had better get our act together too and excercise some restraint or else this may lead to a state of anarchy. Not a nice thing at all. Shudder.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
1. I LOVE BOMBAY. YOU DON'T SCARE ME.
3. "I cannot leave the island. I was born here and belong." (This is the last couplet from Nissim Ezeikel's poem Island, on Bombay.)
You can order the tees at Time Out if you're not planning to be there. I'm not going- I don't do public grief. I did not order a tee either. But I did inform Time Out that if they tell the t-shirt maker to put the following message on their tees, I'll buy millions of them.
Visual: Graphic of a finger. Not an ordinary finger- the finger.
Copy: Sit on this, Lashkar!
I also wish Leopold would create a special chair in the finger gesture and place a little white card on it: Reserved for the L-e-T.
Those sodding brainwashed bastards deserve special treatment from us, don't they?
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Better still, this provided transparency. Now we can sleep at night without wondering whether some poor, innocent Muslim vendor was picked off the streets and paraded as a terrorist by the bone-lazy authorities. Sadly, we do not trust our politicians. And till that changes we have only the media and the judiciary to fall back on.
-Hats off to the Muslim Council for categorically refusing to allow the burial of the terrorists in their cemetries! We are cosily united in our hatred for terrorists.
-Hats off to the news channels, particularly Arnab Goswami and Rahul Shivshankar of Times Now, for making scathing remarks about politicians rushing to deliver sound bytes after the attacks were contained. I particularly remember the incident outside Nariman House when the BJPs Gopinath Munde arrived on the scene to claim credit. Just as I was in the act of flinging my shoes at the TV screen, Arnab Goswani hastily intervened: 'Relax, he happens to be in the frame only because it's a long shot- we are not going to focus on him nor air what he says!' He admitted that howls of outrage from the viewers made him take that decision.
-Hats off to the people of India who circulated text messages about the cowardly Raj Thackeray and other slimy politicians.
-And finally, hats off to all of us for putting intense pressure on the UPA to unceremoniously dump the jerks who were in charge of Maharashtra.
Deputy Chief Minister R.R. Patil has finally resigned, yay! All the banned bar dancers must be executing some pretty mean moves in the privacy of their homes with joy too! And, better still, there is speculation that Chief Minister Deshmukh will be forced to resign as well- hooray! Both of them are utterly useless- they couldn't even stop that weasel Raj Thackeray and yet the Congress high command expected them to stop terrorist attacks? What the hell was Sonia Gandhi thinking? Ritesh Deshmukh should be hugely relieved though- no more dirty looks at the gym from a wacko woman (i.e. me). The poor chap always looked puzzled when I glared at him.
Today I also discovered what I'd suspected for a long time: Raj Thackeray's nasty antics were responsible for delivering crippling blows to the state's economy. This man loves Mumbai? Dream on. He loves himself and hates his cousin. Period.
And a big boo to all the cowardly Bollywood stars like Amitabh Bachchan, self-serving socialities/scribes and wily businessmen who prostrate themselves at the feet of the senior Thackeray and/or his dissenting nephew. You think we can't see through your airy public claims of, "Oh we only meet a couple of times a year- their wives/daughters-in-law are very sweet." Get a backbone. Get integrity. Stop associating with people who are intent on dividing this beautiful city. Or shut up!
India was shining on the sea,
Shining with all her might:
She did her very best to make
Her global image shiny and bright-
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of a blood-splattered night.
Pakistan was shining sulkily
Because she thought India’s sons
Had no business to accuse her
Of the evil that was done-
"It's very rude of them," she said,
"To try and spoil our fun!"
India’s eyes were wet as wet could be,
Pakistan’s were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
Smoke had obliterated the sky:
No birds were flying overhead-
They were too scared to fly.
A Mulla and the ISI,
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of blood on India’s land:
"If terrorists were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be grand!"
"If India and Pakistan joined hands and
Pondered over it for half a year.
Do you suppose," the Mulla said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I hope so," said the ISI,
And shed a crocodile tear.
"O Indians, come and talk to us!"
The ISI did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
Come one, come all-and rest assured
We’ll give a helping hand to each."
The wisest Indian looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The wisest Indian winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head-
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave his cosy Indian-bed.
But four young Indians hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat-
And this was odd, because, you know,
Terrorists had blasted off their feet.
Four other Indians followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more-
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.
The ISI and the Mulla
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
And all the eager Indians stood
And waited in a row.
"The time has come," the ISI said,
"To talk of many things:
Of RDX-and terrorist-infected ships-and the LeT-
Of the economy-and Bollywood kings-
And why your rage is boiling hot-
And whether the captured terrorist did sing."
"But wait a bit," the Indians cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For all of us have gaping wounds,
And some of us smell a rat!"
"No hurry!" said the ISI.
They thanked them much for that.
"A couple of naans," the ISI said
,"Is what we chiefly need:
Onions in vinegar besides
Are very good indeed-
Now if you're ready, Indians dear,
We can begin to feed."
"But not on us!" the Indians cried,
Turning a little blue.
"After such reassurances, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the ISI said.
"Do you admire the bloodied view?
It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!"
The Mulla said nothing but
"Pass the salt:
I wish you were not quite so deaf-
I've had to ask you twice!"
"It seems a shame," the ISI said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Mulla said nothing but
"The ghee is spread too thick!"
"I weep for you," the ISI said:
"I deeply sympathize.
"With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.
"O Indians," said the ISI,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none-
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Get real. I'm shedding my cynicism on this one. Who knows, I may be proved wrong. But if we don't take that chance, if we let history colour our view of the future, we may be unbelievably screwed.
In the recent past, Pakistani's too have become victims of terrorism. Finally they experienced what their home-grown, state-sponsored terrorists have been doing to us for years. Needless to say, they don't particularly enjoy the experience. I must guiltily confess that, inititally, I did experience fleeting moments of schadenfreude- serves you right, you bleeding Frankensteins, is what I thought. Stupid childish behaviour on my part.
We should, we must accept the olive branch that's currently being extended and let's see if that helps. Can't we do that to save our own skins? Here's hoping that the meeting with Pak's ISI chief leads to a better future. Oooh wouldn't it be luverly if he brought us a little present too? Like say, a pair of shiny silver bangles with Dawood Ibrahim attached? That ought to make us believe that Pakistan is serious about co-operating with India.
Just got a report: my schoolfriend was killed in the attacks. See how difficult it is to be friends with Pakistan? Yet, we must try. Even though I say this with considerably less enthusiasm this time.
Oh, and you must read this article by Mohsin Hamid. "bound by sorrows", about the mumbai terrorist attacks and india-pakistan relations, from: the guardian
Friday, November 28, 2008
A couple of terrorists are still lurking around the Taj. Not so easy to catch them- it's like looking for dirty filthy garbage-encrusted cockroaches in a massive structure. The Oberoi is cockroach free, whew. And work is in progress to make Nariman House cockroach-free too!
So, looks like, we may not need external help to rid our country of pestilential critters. Our men appear to be doing a fine job on their own. Give them the license to go ahead and they deliver!
At the end of it all, I suggest that our politicians observe a few moments of silence in their honour: about 6 months of silence at least? Particularly the two-faced LK Advani and, of course, Raj Thackeray. Just received an interesting SMS that's being forwarded about him. I've copied it below:
"Where is Raj Thackeray and his 'brave' Sena? Tell him that 200 NSG Commandos from Delhi (No Marathi manoos! ALL South & North Indians!) have been sent 2 Mumbai to fight the terrorists so that he can sleep peacefully. pls fwd ths so tht it finally reaches th coward bully!"
Hmm. Not very popular is he?
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Crushed. If any one uses the phrase 'Spirit of Mumbaikars', I swear I'll scream. Right now the only way my spirits will lift is if I storm into the hotels and beat the terrorists to a pulp. With my own fists. Oh, how I wish!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Terrorists have evidently read Who Moved My Cheese along with their religious texts and are inventing new ways to get at us. Why bother to create these new ways, I ask -we're still a million steps behind. As I write this the seige is still on. I've seen paunchy* NSG chaps taking position, while one lithe terrorist does a parkour sort of act, jumping from one building to another and landing on his feet! Photographs of one of the terrorists at VT reveal that he's just a boy- my god, I want to slap the brainwashed idiot real hard and make him stand in a corner!
Reactions from family and friends: shock and horror of course and a few wisecracks too.
One said: It's like watching a movie, and I'm waiting from Katrina Kaif to come dancing into the frame.
Another said: It's like a Rambo movie, only Rambo still hasn't made an appearance.
If there is a God, he's bloody incompetent!
* Correction: Not paunchy! Beloved husband has astutely pointed out that bullet proof vests add bulk!
Monday, November 24, 2008
Am not the sort of person who starts praying when I fly. Not even if I fly the day after watching a program on the worst airline crashes ever on Nat Geo. I'm fairly 'sanguine' (fav newspaper word, tee hee) about stuff like that. But this morning my heart skipped several beats when I boarded an early morning flight to Delhi. A copy of the Hindustan Times was neatly folded and laid out on the seats and guess what the screaming headlines were: Pay cuts for Jet staffers. Great, I thought, now the staff will be anxious or angry and spill or throw food on us. But the worst was yet to come: the article went on to say that pilots were the ones who were going to bear the major brunt of the pay slash and that the Indian pilots demanded that expat pilots were axed. Gleeps. And to think that a second earlier all I worried about was getting food stains on my clothes before my meeting! So I prayed real hard that the cockpit wasn't manned by an Indian pilot and an expat co-pilot. Suppose they'd started hitting each other? Ooh that was a scary journey. Fortunately the only mishap was 'dog on runway' ! Well, that's what they said to explain the half hour delay in landing. Maybe the pilots were hitting each other after all while the plane was circling Delhi airport! Man, no more flying for me till the economy improves. Back in Mumbai now (whew), and I hereby solemnly declare that I'm not travelling further than Toto's Garage for a long, long while!
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Get this, this guy spends every waking moment crouching behind bushes, yearning for the moment when he can leap out to catch smokers who are breaking rules. What, was he a tiger in his last life? He does this every darn day, and the days that he doesn't catch anyone flaunting the rules, he goes home a broken man. He's even started whining to the papers that he hasn't caught enough people yet. Perhaps, dear Vincent, smokers are indeed following the rules? Think about that!
So the next time you feel blue, think of Vincent, and trust me, no matter how dull and drab your life may seem, it's not as pathetic as Vincent's - is it? Cheers to that!
Friday, November 21, 2008
Anyway, Roger Waters is coming down for the Live Earth (I think that's what it's called) concert.
Thought I would go despite the other acts: pretty Bon Jovi and Black Eyed Peas, among others, but hastily changed my mind when the papers gushingly informed us that Bollywood stars would be playing nautch girls & boys at the concert too! Chee!
Now will have to wait for Waters to come on his own show, damn! Wish he'd hurry up! And wish the Stones would come back soon too. Not going for Spyrogyra though, was never a big fan. And, ha ha, the concert venue happens to be a stone's throw away from where I live, so maybe I can listen in gratis!
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
This, of course, is followed by helpless giggles for about 3 minutes 20 seconds (I timed him). Thereafter he sobers up slowly, only intermittent giggles follow for another 5 minutes. Then he's into his usual bang bang verminator games till another victim arrives on the scene and the joke is enthusiastically trotted out again. (Same timing for his giggles- that never varies!)
Rohan's riddle of the month (in his words):
Q. What goes zzub zzub?
A. A bee buzzing backwards, silly!
Once upon a time there lived a black queen who had a mulatto step daughter called So White. He disliked her with a passion because she was far prettier than him, and all his gay friends became straight the instant they saw her. This made him feel like the odd man out, a terribly uncomfortable feeling if you really think about it.
After a great deal of sleepless nights alone, he hired a punk to lure her into the depths of Harlem, and to do away with her there. Once in Harlem, So White’s womanly intuition took over, and she escaped. The punk didn’t bother to pursue her, because, as the old Harlem maxim goes, 'Why chase girls when you can chase cocaine?’
So White clambered up a rusty drain pipe, pushed open a window, and tumbled into a room belonging to an acid group called ‘The Dwarfs’. The seven men – Junky, Dopey, Stony, Drunky, Hippy, Snorty and Cokey accepted her immediately as they desperately needed someone to play the tamborine because their woman, Moll, had taken off with a New York Philharmonic cellist. And So White took to them instantly because she saw in them the realisation of her favourite fantasy : Seven at one blow.
The Queen happened to see her playing at his favourite gay bar in the Bronx, and immediately made enquiries. Having extorted her address, he injected some more female hormones into his veins, singed his hair, wore white socks with black shoes, dark glasses, and, armed with a syringe containing an overdose of heroin, he rang her doorbell determined to mainstream her. The minute she opened the door, he shot the needle into her arm, and sang ‘Beat it’. On returning home that evening, the Dwarfs found her lying in a stupor. ‘Dipsomaniac broad’, snarled the disgusted Dwarfs (no doubt due to the influence of their strict Mormon upbringing). They dragged her out into the porch, and set out in search of a tamborine replacement for that night’s gig at Brooklyn.
A few days later, America’s chart-buster Prince, happened to stumble over So White on one of his nostalgic walks down Harlem. He fell over and in love with this mulatto vision, and rushed her to hospital. Several hours later she opened her baby blue eyes to find him perched at her bed side. ‘Who are you?’ she whispered weakly, ‘Prince’ was his modest reply. ‘Oh you’re shamming’ she chuckled, ‘and cute’. Upon which he French kissed her, and she passed out again, but for a shorter period this time. After their marriage and subsequent divorce, they lived happily ever after.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Hilarious! I so love the anonymous writer!
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Politicians, bah! More transparent than glass.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Incidentally, he paid mucho dinero for it- Rs. 23.7 lacs! That could have bought her some pretty cool diamonds too, but I assume the clever man thought that this was the more precious gift, much more memorable, and would possibly give him brownie points for the rest of his life. I'm sure she loves him all the more for it- and hey, I don't even know this man, but I love him too!
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Right. Just heard The speech. His speech. Not as rabble-rousingly stirring as Mark Anthony's 'Friends, Romans and Countrymen' speech, but emotionally charged in a fetching restrained manner. The crowd at Chicago, wow! It was like a rockshow, and eyes were moist. Sigh, waiting for the day an Indian politician in my lifetime will make my eyes moist too- with joy not sorrow!!!!
Friday, October 31, 2008
As for Obama, at first I badly wanted him to win because of Iraq. Now I want him to win even more because of Sarah Appalin!
Can't wait for the results next week. The tension is KILLING me!
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
And what's with the media these days? One day I see a pix of Raj Thackeray with his Great Dane (hello, why doesn't he have a local street dog?), the next day they show us a pix of Raj Thackeray with a German sausage. Are they trying to portray him as a cuddly person or are they subtly implying that he's gone to the dogs? Oddly enough the accompanying caption did not attempt a take off on Gerald Durrel's best book: Raj Thackeray and Other Animals.
Now for a small quiz:
Q. What's the difference between Vilasrao Deshmukh, RR Patil and Raj Thackeray?
A. Nothing! Absobloominglutely nothing! For shame!
Sunday, October 26, 2008
And while on the word 'diminished', I'm reminded of that awful, awful early 2000 music video, Kaanta Laage. WHY was the song called Kaanta Laage? I strongly suspect it's because the chick in the video was wearing G-strings. See, Rash, granny panties should NEVER be knocked!
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
What I love is comfort and grunge, and old friends who are as comfortable as circa 1999 torn granny panties (they're airier, see?) with weak elastic. They don't cling, they don't constantly remind you that they're around, which is why you never feel the urge to pitch them into a bin.
You're supposed to grow out of school friends, but two of mine have remained my best friends ever. We loved the same music when we were in school, laughed irreverently at the same things, and nothing has changed. Oddly enough, our views on politics are astonishingly identical. Here's an article on the Hindutva brigade by one of them: http://www.dnaindia.com/report.asp?newsid=1197746
Thursday, October 9, 2008
On the road to Trivandrum
Coconut oil in my hair
Warm smell of avial
Rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance
I saw a bright pink tube-light
My tummy rumbled, I felt weak and thin
I had to stop for a bite
There he stood in the doorway
Flicked his mundu in style
And I was thinking to mysel
fI don't like the look of his sinister smile
Then he lit up a petromax
Muttering 'No power today'
More Mallus down the corridor
I thought I heard them say
Welcome to the Hotel Kerala-fonia
Such a lousy place,Such a lousy place (background)
Such a sad disgrace,
Plenty of bugs at the Hotel Kerala-fonia
Any time of yearAny time of year (background
)It's infested here
It's infested here
His finger's stuck up his nostril
He's got a big, thick mustache
He makes an ugly, ugly noise But that's just his laugh
Buxom girls clad in pavada
Eating banana chips
Some roll their eyes, and
Some roll their hips
I said to the manager
My room's full of mice
He said,Don't worry, saar,
I sending youMeen karri, brandy and ice
And still those voices were crying from far away
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them pray
Save us from the Hotel Kerala-fonia
Such a lousy place,Such a lousy place (background
)Such a sad disgrace
Trying to live at the Hotel Kerala-fonia
It is no surpriseIt is no surprise (background)
That it swarms with flies
The blind man was pouring Stale sambar on rice
And he said
We are all just actors here
In Silk Smitha-disguise
And in the dining chamber
We gathered for the feast
We stab it with our steely knives
But we just can't cut that beef
Last thing I remember
I was writhing on the floor
That cockroach in my appam-stew was the culprit
,I am sure
Relax, said the watchman
This enema will make you well
And his friends laughed as they held me down
God's Own Country? Oh, Hell!
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Went out for lunch yesterday and while waiting for my companion to arrive, promised self that I'd buy a rubix cube to keep me busy since I can't smoke in restaurants. Will not go out on the streets to exhale. Ironically enough, the first victim of Ramadoss's anti-smoking campaign was raped a few days before the ban was in place: a German who had stepped out of a non-smoking hotel in Jodhpur for a smoke. And not a seedy hotel- I think it was the Taj. Sadly, I can see more incidents like that happening in the future. See, that's the problem with Ramadoss's plan. It may not have had any adverse effects in Europe because female smokers on the streets are not regarded as vamps and sluts. It's different in India. Maybe I should write a letter to Renuka Chowdhury (union minister of women and child development ministry). Look, I may be able to hold back from smoking in the streets, but other women may not. And you can't expect us to always have a male escort. Please, we don't want to go back to those sorry old days when women couldn't venture out without a protective male do we? Oh dear, methinks Ramadoss is creating Taliban-like conditions here. Help!
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Contrary to what my friends believe, I’m not going to burn a tobacco-stuffed effigy of Union Health Minister Dr. A. Ramadoss on the 2nd of October. Hello, why should I waste good tobacco? Besides, I’m a reasonable person, and I think Ramadoss has given smokers a fairly decent deal. In a gracious Marie Antoinette manner he has proclaimed, ‘Let them have all the streets and parks in the country.’ So kind. Incidentally, I’m betting heavily on the possibility that he’ll be forced to throw in a few government issue ashtrays too- not to placate us, oh no, smokers don’t have feelings, if you cut us we don’t bleed either. It’s the robust morning walk, barefoot-in-the-park brigade who will complain acrimoniously about doing a modern day version of the Great Indian Walking-On-Live-Coals Act. But hey, that’s not my problem.
And as for those scary visuals that will dominate cigarette packs, ah come on. As my hero Alfred E. Neuman says, ‘What, me worry?’ Pictures of infected lungs don’t make me shriek in terror or wail for my mommy. Now, if Ramadoss had any insight, he’d have put pictures of cockroaches and slimy slugs instead. Ew-creepy. Those may not inspire me to kick the habit either, but they certainly will make me shudder convulsively. That’s a step in the right direction, innit?
It’s the streets that give me sleepless nights, though. Ever since he issued that diktat, I’ve been forlornly singing a post-Ramadoss version of REMs Losing my Religion in my head. It goes like this: ‘That’s me in the corner, that’s me under the street light, being checked out by shady people.’ I don’t know what you’re going to do about it, but I have a plan in place. I’m getting a dozen tees printed with the following message: ‘I’m a good girl I am, it’s Dr. Ramadoss who made me do it.’ That would help clear the air considerably when passersby shiftily mutter ‘How much?’ Rest assured I’ve sternly instructed the printer to ensure that the message is repeated in Hindi and Marathi too. Get real, I’m willing to pay a hefty fine for smoking, but I’m not particularly keen on being lynched by our local political worthies.
The end of the article. And the end of my life too. Never imagined that this day would come. Also never imagined that I would enjoy Justin Timberlake and ACTUALLY ADMIT IT IN PUBLIC, GASP! But, hey, I kind of love Sexy Back. It's a sexy song.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Cook, Cleaner and Driver broke into smiles when they discovered Beloved H was out of town- it's slack-off time for all of us. Esp. Cook. Don't blame her- am persuaded that Beloved H was a rabbit in his last life. Eats loads of greens and is very starchy about take aways. Cook has to spend at least an hour and a half slaving over a hot stove for him. For me, it takes 10 mins. max- I'd much rather eat out.
Did a spot of work in the day and wound up at 2 pm coz neck was screaming in pain. Degenerative tissues suck. Then lay down and spent a couple of happy hours reading Decline and Fall of a British Matron (by Mary Mitchell). Marvellous book. Caustic to the extreme and leaves you feeling a wee bit uncomfortable. Was first published in 1937 - those days the Brits could write! These days, um, not really.
Did my vampire thing after I was done with the book-waited for the sun to set before slinking off to the gym. Did a desultory work out, endorphins stubbornly refused to surface. Was obsessing over Pot Pourri's Pizza Funghi with bacon. Sternly kicked lascivious thoughts of 500-calories-a-slice-pizza out of head and went to new steak joint next to Toto's after gym. Glanced at the menu but did not order a thing. Am ashamed to say I could not read a word, point size very small. Okay, so I forgot my glasses. Once again viciously kicked thoughts of pizza out of head. Bought gigantic bar of chocolate from shop near Pot Pourri instead. Kicked wicked thoughts of Thums Up out of head too and started to wend my way home.
Had a temporary black out (alien abduction?) and when I came to, discovered that I was at Pot Pourri. Ordered a take away pizza, since I was there. Then went back to shop and got a bottle of Thums Up. Oh well. Will penitently ask Cook to make karela for me tommorow. Though knowing self, her dog will probably eat it the day after.
Friday, September 26, 2008
I clearly recall Mr. Patil jumping up and down and going purple with outrage over the bar dancers. Compare that to his benign reaction to Raj Thackeray's actions.
Tsk, Mr. Patil, if you really believe that citizens are totally blind, what harm would the bar dancers have done to us, hmm?
Thursday, September 18, 2008
So I wake up this morning with a song in my head from way back: Animal Nitrate by The London Suede. How wierd is that? Haven't heard that song in years and it just pops right into my head. Wasn't too crazy about it either, come to think of it. Oh god Freud- where are you when I need you? This is driving me crazy!
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Friday, September 5, 2008
Written in moments of extreme frustration!
Just few days back only we is went to Mr. Makarand sir’s house,
After 8 hours Navratan co-op housing society meeting.
As I am telling to you before,
Mr. Makarand sir is hon’ble building society president.
Boss, he is so chakaas, this year we has made profit that will make Ambani & Sons look like beggerts,
even after paying fees to rat catchers, dog neuterers and ghoos to municipal corporation.
Hence we are unanimouse to get giant Ganpati this year, just fewer inches smaller than Lalbaug cha Raja.
Makarand Sir is in very excellent mood, and is asking gents members to take rum
and different different types chakna to celebrate,
But ladies committee members is getting rasna and puran poli because they are delicates.
We is all having jolly good time and going ha ha hee hee,
When Mr. Baburao is saying, ‘And what you piples is thinking about those nekkid dancing girls at sarvjanik dahi handi contest?’
Then party is becoming like trust vote parliament session-
Only Ms. Lata is doing blushing and whispering ‘hai la’,
Rest all is shouting angrily at sacred Indian culture being defiled by Western indecencies,
Arrey, why those imported girls can’t wear proper clothes, no?
But Mr. Makarand is saying ‘Oi chad yaar, ki pharak paaida’ in loud voice.
We is all shockinged. What if train-chaap party heard? He is not talking native Marathi, no?
I am most worried because Mr. Makarand is like blessed big brother to me
And my missus and myself is suspectful that Mr. Mangesh is party worker-
I swear on you we saw him on TV smiling and throwing stones at taxis few months back.
Silence is falling and we is all looking at our plastic paos Bata chappals.
Nobody is wanting to go against Mr. Makarand because we is all respectful of him.
Mr. Makarand is looking like cat who has eaten stolen surmai fry and saying,
‘You tell to me, which man is not secretly liking to look at nekkid ladies?’
Distraction is caused because Miss Lata is vomiting out her puran poli.
After Mr. Makarand’s missus is cleaning chattai with nimbupani-bena-shakaar look on her face,
We is getting back to discussion.
‘Krishna is bigger flirtatious than Sallu Bhai,’ Mr. Makarand Sir is saying jovially,
‘You is having guts to pass comments on god?’
Miss Lata is now urgently requesting for Patiala rum with rasna
And drinking it like pani-puri pani in one gulp and then asking for more,
Just like shameless girls in chicken little novels.
We is now more shockinged.
What this country is coming to I can’t tell,
Where our morals is gone if even Makarand Sir and Miss Lata are behaving like nonsense piples?
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Sunday, August 31, 2008
The first 7 times, I had to spend a couple of months in bed every damn year. Not so wonderful, I can assure you. Lots of chocolates have to be consumed to get a happy feeling, and calories only get burnt when you turn from this side to that. So say 5000 calories of chocs (hey, I was bloody miserable, I needed a massive dopamine high!) a day minus 3 or 4 calories from turning. Also, I was working then and all my leave was frittered away staring at the damn ceiling fan and wishing I were dead instead of just being dead bored. What's even worse is this- with all that time to do nothing, you think. And even if you become enlightened by all that thinking, all you really discover is that life stinks and nirvana is a damn good concept and hope it happens (to me) super fast!
The 8th time it happened, I went to yet another doc and discovered that, hello, the second coming has already come. This man, Dr. Vijay Sheel Kumar, is Jesus! He put me back on my feet within 48 hours- he made a bed-ridden woman walk again!!!!
Sadly, 5 years later, the problem is back (cheap pun) and Dr. Kumar's in Delhi, I'm in Mumbai, but Alexander Graham Bell has brought us together again. Medicines and physio precribed over the phone. Within 72 hours I'm going to be doing a Murakami- or else it's the ceiling fan again. Not staring at it but hanging from it. If I can stand up unaided, that is.
Only silver lining in my cloud of gloom: physiotherapist plays rock.
Monday, August 25, 2008
My humble contribution (below) is not my own work, though. It's by the best worst poet in the world: Ern Goon. Five Find-Outers & Dog- ring a bell?
This is the opening line of my fave pome by Ern: 'How sad to see thee, pore dead pig...'
For more of Ern's profound thoughts, go to:
Sunday, August 24, 2008
And while on the subject of movies, saw Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day last night- way too many holes in the plot, but sweet nonetheless.
One guy becomes CEO of Citibank, and then the papers are crammed with pictures of him as a baby, as a toddler, as a gawky, gangly, zit-infested teen, getting married, his first car, and his mummy and daddy smiling proudly (but of course). Man, I even know what his favourite dish is now!
Can't we learn to take success in our stride? I like sharp-shooter Abhinav Bindra for that reason alone. He's so laid-back about his gold medal- that's so damn cool! I only wish that the anecdote about him doing a William Tell on his maid when he was six was apocryphal. That sucks. Now if he'd placed an apple on a doting, willing grandparent's head for target practise, I'd have ruffled his hair. Goddammit, the TOI reporter put that dreadful politically and socially incorrect incident in the papers too- in a yucky, gushing, aw-wasn't-he-cute manner at that. Madness. Utter madness.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
* My astute** little sister's phobia
** Astute- a descriptor for Winne-ther-Pooh, a very stout and clever bear- and my all time favourite hero!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Dedicated to Manmohan Singh:
(A verse from The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by S.T. Coleridge)
The self-same moment I could pray ;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Saturday, June 7, 2008
The people of Mumbai are, perhaps, India’s most enthusiastic rain-worshippers. In the run up to the rains, Monsoon reports bag front-page headlines, relegating political storms to the less important inside pages. Please, this is more interesting than the state of the nation! The Met Department is quoted more frequently than Bollywood stars, even if Bollywood stars have been very, very naughty. Good-natured bets are taken on the arrival date, and when the first pre-monsoon shower breaks, whoops of joy drown out angry rumbles of thunder. Children rush outdoors to do their versions of the Bollywood wet sari dance, and I have to shame-facedly confess that I do like-wise, though in a more refined and restrained manner. After all, the building watchman may not respect me thereafter.
When the earth turns to slush, mine isn’t the only brain that turns to mush. Romance lingers heavily in the cool air, and sentimental rain songs top request lists on radio stations and at pubs. Astonishingly enough, even songs from the Palaeolithic Age like Raindrops keep falling on my head are revived. Popular sea fronts like Marine Drive, Worli Sea Face and Bandstand are dotted with couples, some huddled under umbrellas, others unabashedly flinging themselves under the arc of muscular waves that soar gracefully like dolphins out of the choppy sea. Policemen who happen to catch them in the act flash spontaneous smiles; it’s obvious that they’re yearning to do the same.
But for me, nothing but Marine Drive will do. I can sit on a soggy bench for hours under a heavy downpour, tasting the salty ocean spray, inhaling the aroma of corn on the cob roasting on the promenade, chuckling evilly when fierce gusts of wind turn umbrellas inside out. Oh, you just have to see the faces of the stodgy umbrella-wielders when that happens! It’s only when bolts of crackling lightning rip the skies apart that I duck for cover. I could, of course, let myself be burnt to a frazzle, that’s one way of ensuring that I die happy, but that defeats the purpose. The whole charm of the Monsoon is that it makes me feel gloriously alive!
On weekends I make my way to the neighbouring mist-shrouded hill stations of Mahabaleshwar and Panchgani or Lonavala and Khandala (they come in pairs!). The ubiquitous couples are here too, enjoying romantic walks under sheets of rain, families picnic on damp grassy slopes and the more intrepid (usually alarmingly large gangs of college students) literally do what their rival gangs beg them to: take a hike!
Floods, squelching shoes, ticklish throats and runny noses notwithstanding, there’s one rain song Mumbai will never ever sing. And that is, Rain, rain, go away.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Despite the annoying Ramadoss man though, I will continue to support the UPA. If you do a reality check you may well agree with me: communal parties are more injurious to India's health than smokers. (Said very virtuously, shiny halo hovering above head and all that! Oh, and Bharat Mata ki jai!)
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Oh God, why can't it bloody start raining now!!!!? I can't take this anymore!
Thursday, May 1, 2008
So the poor rhino, bless his broken heart, will be forced into celibacy. But then, sex is a bad thing in India, innit? This restraint is probably good for the rhino's soul. Now, if only the MNS stopped its members from breeding too, the nation and the rhino could exhale. But then, who would make me laugh?
* See, that's why I tell my nephews and niece that it's vitally IMPORTANT to read the papers. How else would we have known that rhino's were worshipped in Maharashtra? Live and learn!
Friday, April 25, 2008
Lonely, I'm so lonely, I'm so lonesome, I could die/cry.
Rash, if you're reading this, HELP!!!!! This is KILLING ME!!!!! And can't locate it on google. There's a Johnny Cash song with a similar title and several others but the lyrics don't seem to match perfectly. ARRRRRRRRHG!
Which movie? Who is the original singer? Tell me!!!!
Friday, April 11, 2008
"Apartments in Noo Yawk are far cheaper and way classier," he muttered incredulously, while eagerly scanning the living room for a friendly piece of furniture that resembled a bar.
My humble home showed him the finger then. No bar. No booze. No cough syrup, nail-polish remover or glue either. I'm a born-again good girl, I am.
I unapologetically gave him a 2 litre bottle of chilled water with a cheerful, "There, there!"
"So you may have to live in the burbs if you want the house of your dreams," I shrugged.
"But the traffic to town? I can't do the bloody commute everyday!" was his alarmed rejoinder.
"Oh, the burbs do have their advantages," I airly said. And really they do:
1. You can start and finish The Rise And Fall of The Third Reich on your way to work, and start and finish The Complete Works of William Shakespeare on your way back to home sweet home.
See, Bombayites truly are street-smart!
2. No one in your family will attempt to kill you for your flat, so you save on food-tasters fees.
3. Your neighbours will be so exhausted from their commute they won't ring your doorbell to bother you for a cup of sugar and suchlike.
4. You get unscheduled holidays during the Monsoon, yay!
5. Finally, if you're really, really, really smart (like me), you quit your full-time job and work from home. Hey, what's the internet for?
One of my fav childhood poems- the one that always comes to mind when I'm being tortured in a Mumbai traffic jam:
A beetle got stuck in a jam,
And he cried, 'How unhappy I am'.
His ma said, 'Don't talk, if you really can't walk,
You'd better come home in a tram.'
Saturday, March 29, 2008
So, I laughed myself silly over this NYT article titled It's not you, it's your books (http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/30/books/review/Donadio-t.html?8bu&emc=bub1). It took me back to the good old days (sigh) when I was playing the dating game too. There was this guy who was hotter* (in the looks dept.) than an active volcano. Gosh, he really smouldered. On the first date, he said we'd have a small drink at home and then pop out to a restaurant. Cool so far? I ring his doorbell and he answers it with a copy of Ayn Rand (The Fountainhead, I think it was) in one hand-hey, can you get more obvious than that? Ew! Ew! Ew! My first instinct was to run, but I was way too stunned to think up excuses like, 'Oops sorry, gotta go, forgot to feed the hamster.' There was, needless to say, no second date. I couldn't even bring myself to talk on the phone with Mr. So F***ing Pretentious anymore!
*Truth be told, he was the hottest living man I've ever had the fortune to meet! Too bad about his taste in books, though. It could never have been. Not for me.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
LEADER ARTICLE: Don't Punish The Victim
It's a free for all out there, isn't it? And now Mumbai cabbies have taken to kissing passengers too! And hello, no mistletoe dangling from the rear-view mirror either. Holy shit!
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Oh, and his song is sort of a Lennon cover- Imagine. But fiery, not wistful.
Friday, March 14, 2008
And while on the subject of sons, Rahul Gandhi is making wonderfully naive statements, and a lot of us are brushing tears away and sighing, 'So like his daddy, isn't he?' My advice to him is, be like mummy- she knows best!
Sunday, March 9, 2008
International Spare Ribs Fest
I’m beginning to feel sorry for men, really I am. Women are so much better off, aren’t we- we’ve got one full day a year dedicated to us, hooray! Time to bring out the pink bubbly and listen to Cindy Lauper’s frothy Girls Just Wanna Have Fun till our ears bleed. Amy Winehouse’s smoky Back to Black is for later, when we’re all fabulously pickled and maudlin and muttering darkly about the Great Indian Bustard. Hey, it’s a bird, no offence meant to anyone, promise.
Of course, after all those years of oppression and injustice, we do have darn good reasons for a knees-up, and more important, an occasion to remind ourselves that the fight must go on till every man in the world is mentally liberated enough to regard women as equals. I’m not just talking about cave men relics in Afghanistan, but (gasp) America too. Recently, while on the campaign trail, a couple of hecklers shouted, ‘Hillary, iron my shirt!’ Mrs. Clinton refused to oblige and batted them off politely, but me, I’d have cheerfully hollered, ‘Sure hon, while it’s on your back!’ Maybe because I’m a warmer, friendlier person.
Still, we’ve come a long way. Unlike our primitive ancestors we don’t have to spend our lives ducking and hiding from men whose idea of fun was to drag us by our tresses to deserted caves. Gosh, no wonder those poor women had worse hairdos than pop stars in the Eighties. These days, with date rape drugs and what not, the process is much tidier, and so much more civilised, innit? Modern science, wow! Also, with so many cricket matches on TV these days, where can men find the time to bring us to rack and ruin? During commercial breaks?
And, joy, we don’t spend all our time barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen anymore, oh no. We’re free, gloriously free, to go to work and bring home the bacon. No big deal if we have to spend a couple of hours cooking it too. But be careful, accidents do happen in the cooking arena, so please do not be in the kitchen at the same time as your mother-in-law - particularly if she’s been talking wistfully about a new car. Look, I’m just saying.
But on to more cheerful things. Today, women have broken through most of the traditional male bastions, yay! (Note to self: check if the BMC hires female rat-catchers). Okay, so we’re not paid the same salaries for the same jobs, but that’s only because men are a bit slow –the precious darlings still believe that they are solely responsible for bringing freshly slaughtered Woolly Mammoths home for the family’s sustenance. Women are not seen as natural born providers, they would just squander their salaries on something silly like shoes, and you can’t eat those, not even doused in ketchup or accompanied with grandma’s sexy mango pickle, can you?
But, by far the most important reason to celebrate Women’s Day, is pants. Not just the fact that we wear them metaphorically, but literally too. For centuries, many cultures deliberately handicapped women’s movements by imposing a dress code on them that was only fit for one-legged critters or mermaids. Come on, how fast can you flee from predatory men in an ankle-length sheathe that binds your legs together? And really, how comfortable is it to sit side-saddle on a horse or a bike? I say this with deep feeling because of a sepia-tinged photograph in our family album. Picture this: the pyramids of Giza in the background, my grandparents on camel-back in the foreground. Guess which one of them is not smiling in a carefree manner- go on!
So yeah, all things considered, some of us are doing fine. A few bumps on the head from that blasted glass ceiling, but even so. Right, here’s to the sistah-hood, and may our powers increase!
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Yes, there's music on his blog! He has a fabulously eclectic collection- Suzanne Vega, Carly Simon and America, to name a few. And his writing is cool too. This is fun!
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Saw The Lives Of Others yesterday. Marvellous. Best movie I've seen in years- it made Hollywood fare seem loud and theatrical in comparison. I loved the restraint so much, that I even forgave the token schmaltz at the end. Heck, who doesn't like happy endings?
I'm not saying this is going to happen, BUT, you may find me sheepishly sneaking in to International film fests to watch edgy movies with subtitles. This is an image I've always shied away from, I'm frightened of being mistaken for a terribly earnest pseud thirstily absorbing culture. Come on, we all have our deepest, darkest fears! Maybe I'll wear dark glasses and an overcoat, like Don Martin's Spy vs Spy protagonists. Or should I startle the pseuds by wearing a Mickey Mouse mask?
Friday, February 29, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
1. Eat more chocolate.
2. Eat even more chocolate.
3. Assiduously follow instructions in points 1 & 2.
Am currently reading David Davidar's The Solitude of Emperors (his take on communalism), and honestly, it wouldn't be such a bad thing if the end of the world was nigh! Too bad the satellite is merely the size of a bus.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
As I write this, hospitals in the city are gearing up their OPDs to treat battered adults who are caught clutching teddy bears. More importantly, they’re also brushing up on the Hiemlich Manoeuvre to save poor innocent women from choking to death on diamond rings deviously planted in pastries/cocktails. Tell me again, why do men do this?
Ah well, love hurts.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
The most exciting piece of news in the papers today is that a new lizard species has been discovered in Satara (Hemidactylus Sataraensis, if you must know!). These newly discovered darlings have overshadowed the ridiculous hysteria over the lesser Thackeray's imminent(?) arrest, proving that some reptiles are decidedly more charming than others. I frankly don't give a shit if the rabble rouser is arrested or not- who cares, he'll be let out in half a second anyway. Maharashtra Chief Minister Vilasrao Deshmukh is a weedy wishy washy wimp, incapable of saying boo to a goose (not even a dead, roasted, honey-glazed one!). And as for Deputy CM RR Patil, he'd only have taken stern action if the lesser Thackeray had claimed that North Indian cabbies moonlighted as transexual bar dancers! Which means Thackeray would still be out holding his head up high, looking comically stern and earnest, as is his wont. @$#%^*((*&$#@!!! And @#$ %^& $^ for good measure!
Monday, February 11, 2008
Here he viciously attacks Toad the Wet Sprocket (but not as viciously as he may have attacked Barry Manilow- go on, read the article to find out! It's hilarious.). I don't just love Dave Barry for his sense of humour, we evidently share the same taste in music too. Remember America (the band, not the country)? Not hot, but not crap either, it's the 'easy listening' music stuff. Except for that dreadful muskrat song and Tin Man (shudder)-you have just got to read Barry on the yucky muskrat song, he's brilliantly caustic! And my sister breaks into angry red spots if she so much as hears the opening bars of You can do Magic- but I can deal with it. Why, I even went for their concert in Mumbai. Though I was shocked when some friends invited me to sneak a swig of vodka in their car- good heavens, you don't knock back booze before an America concert, you drink chocolate milkshake! Naturally, I refused-I have principles, I do!
Saturday, February 9, 2008
P.S. Have to guiltily confess that I've written on the lesser Thackeray too, but since it's for a monthly, it won't be out till next month. So you've been spared, lucky you!
Friday, February 8, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
It was published in Hindustan Times (Mumbai edition) today. And pasted below too, for your (hang on, ghastly archaic phrase coming up) kind persual.
I'd originally called this article, 'Give the Bharat Ratna to Mr. Makarand', but it was published as, 'And the Bharat Ratna goes to...Mr. Makarand.' Much better, really. And they did a fab illustration of Mr. Makarand too! So here goes:
Friends, please join me in on-line petition to respected Prime Minister,
Telling to him to give Bharat Ratna to Mr. Makarand on Republic Day function.
Arrey, if every neta is giving him ulcers asking for their own peoples,
What goes of anybody’s father if humble citizens humbly ask too?
We have voice also, no?
As great Indian saying is saying, what less is there in me?
Mr. Makarand Sir is hon’ble president of my co-op housing society,
And very fine man too, standing upright all the time,
Except when he is tripping over potholes and falling into manholes.
Then, hai la, he is cursing like Australian cricket team,
And screaming that BMC-wallahs will surely lose next election
For reason of anti-incompetency, not anti-incumbency.
Mr. Makarand is respecting every religion in Bharat and in world also,
Every night, top DJ is hired to play music on building lawns to celebrate.
Sometimes when one-two residents are complaining that children are failing SSC,
Mr. Makarand is smiling gently like enlightened sadhu in Amar Chitra Katha comics
And saying, ‘Forget exams-shegzams, they are passing as human beings, no?’
I am thinking he is best candidate for Nobel Peace Prize too.
One day, Mr. Makarand is putting up notice for neutering drive on notice-board.
All building peoples are queuing up with Jimmy, Tommy and Moti from locality,
But Mr. Makarand is shouting, ‘No no, dogs can go, only dirty-minded youths stay in line!’
He is sagely saying molestation cases are spreading like gastric disease,
And even small little childrens are knowing that prevention is better than cure.
Now all building ladies are solemnly swearing to make him rakhi brother.
Mr. Makarand is having very great friendships with environment also.
Why, when Aamchi Mumbai is recently doing batti-bandh campaign,
He is going from flat to flat carrying candle with mango scent,
Sternly warning us to switch off all electrical appliances in building-
Not lights-shites only, but life-support systems too!
Where else you will find like this integrity?
So please, I am requesting you with folded hands to vote for Mr. Makarand.
Even if you are migrant, don’t take tension,
He won’t give you one tight – God promise, I swear on you.
During humorous talks, he is saying he has new slogan for Mumbai,
‘Mee Mumbaikar, you Mumbaikar too’!
You won’t forget to give him your blessings, na?