Hey chill! I'm talking to myself... I've read what I've written the last few weeks and need to snap out of it... it's only one life and it ain't that bad. Or sad.
It's like bitter chocolate... bitter, dark yet delicious.
Managed some today. Must find more...
But chill first, Jack!
Friday, February 29, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
Won't be down...
I will not let this day get me down. Nor any other day like this.
No matter what, no matter when.
Not even when Don McLean is played back...
No matter what, no matter when.
Not even when Don McLean is played back...
Friday, February 15, 2008
Connections
It's been a mixed day thus far.
One connection broken - a dear colleague decides to quit despite much persuasion that obviously hasn't worked. I'll miss him. I'm also hoping he'll miss us.
And one old, fractured link re-established - not repaired but established again at least.
Amazing how easy it is to connect people, situations, coincidences. Like last night, surfing channels on the dumb box watching V-Day being celebrated, I got the feeling that Someone up there's trying to tell me something...
First this on MTV:
Then this on VH1
One connection broken - a dear colleague decides to quit despite much persuasion that obviously hasn't worked. I'll miss him. I'm also hoping he'll miss us.
And one old, fractured link re-established - not repaired but established again at least.
Amazing how easy it is to connect people, situations, coincidences. Like last night, surfing channels on the dumb box watching V-Day being celebrated, I got the feeling that Someone up there's trying to tell me something...
First this on MTV:
Then this on VH1
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Murgi
A friend in Radio Mirchi shared this wonderful spoof they've created on the Bird Flu... in brilliant Bengali!
See it, listen to it, enjoy it.
And remember, chicken is good for you, your soul, whatever!
See it, listen to it, enjoy it.
And remember, chicken is good for you, your soul, whatever!
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
The Dentist
I seem to have this love-hate relationship with my teeth.
I love the way they help me nibble (not just food but other heavenly-body protrusions as well). And I hate looking after them.
Mercifully, I've never smoked; but endless cups of black or lemon tea have left their mark. A craving for sweets has added to the torture the teeth go through. And not brushing regularly at night has been the last nail on the calcium.
So, fillings and root canal treatments are things I'm au fai with. And I love my dentist as well - enough to traverse 32 kms. (one-way) to try and get 20 minutes with her. She’s good and gentle with my pearlies. And she’s nice to talk to as well. Plays good instrumental music, is fussy about cleanliness – obsessively so. All this out of a tiny but very-much-in-demand clinic out of her home.
I’ve been going to her for some years now but something sparked off a chain of thoughts that led to this post...
Sitting in her waiting room yesterday, leafing through back-issues of magazines, I came across a book review in an old issue of The Week. It’s not the book that interests me but the person it’s about and one particular quote... Echoes & Eloquences: The Life & Cinema of Gulzar’ by Saibal Chatterjee, in which he quotes Gulzar saying “ No relationship ever ends completely. No relationship ever dies. It transcends to a different meaning.” (He must've said it with far more evocative words in Urdu - need to find it and post it in its original form).
What that “different meaning” is is something that every one of us has to individually fathom, I guess. But it struck a chord: some ageing teeth in my mouth may fall off, but hopefully the few friends I've found will remain for good. And the ones that have gone will return....even if the cavities in these relationships need filling.
Perhaps I need another kind of dentist...
I love the way they help me nibble (not just food but other heavenly-body protrusions as well). And I hate looking after them.
Mercifully, I've never smoked; but endless cups of black or lemon tea have left their mark. A craving for sweets has added to the torture the teeth go through. And not brushing regularly at night has been the last nail on the calcium.
So, fillings and root canal treatments are things I'm au fai with. And I love my dentist as well - enough to traverse 32 kms. (one-way) to try and get 20 minutes with her. She’s good and gentle with my pearlies. And she’s nice to talk to as well. Plays good instrumental music, is fussy about cleanliness – obsessively so. All this out of a tiny but very-much-in-demand clinic out of her home.
I’ve been going to her for some years now but something sparked off a chain of thoughts that led to this post...
Sitting in her waiting room yesterday, leafing through back-issues of magazines, I came across a book review in an old issue of The Week. It’s not the book that interests me but the person it’s about and one particular quote... Echoes & Eloquences: The Life & Cinema of Gulzar’ by Saibal Chatterjee, in which he quotes Gulzar saying “ No relationship ever ends completely. No relationship ever dies. It transcends to a different meaning.” (He must've said it with far more evocative words in Urdu - need to find it and post it in its original form).
What that “different meaning” is is something that every one of us has to individually fathom, I guess. But it struck a chord: some ageing teeth in my mouth may fall off, but hopefully the few friends I've found will remain for good. And the ones that have gone will return....even if the cavities in these relationships need filling.
Perhaps I need another kind of dentist...
Monday, February 04, 2008
A Lucknow Wedding
A Sindhi gem-trader based in Bangkok marries a Thai girl. In Thai style. Stylish, tranquil, very Buddhist.
They then come to Lucknow, where the boy's family lives, to repeat the rituals in a gurdwara. The priest, meanwhile, has forgotten to brief his folks that a pink turban is a must. So, everyone waits while three people dash off to find a long, pink satin cloth from which a turban will be made. The girl's two sisters accompanying her (two of 10 other siblings, mind it) are aghast and amused but maintain a straight face.
Many Sindhis have descended from Kolkata, Mumbai, Pune... all hosted in a hotel where 'running hot water' refers to housekeeping staff scampering floors with buckets of warm water; breakfasts, lunches and dinners are occasions to catch up, to meet cousins for the first time, to discover that a cult brand 0f t-shirts is owned by a nephew in Colaba who I've never met...old uncles are bonded with, babies drooled over, gossip is encouraged and mirth flows over some rather horrid paan, guitar strumming happens over a bonfire and presents are exchanged while unpleasantries are whispered.
Free time is spent rediscovering my mother's old school and home, the grand old Imambara and the bylanes of old Lucknow where bangles, saunf, munchies and mojris are bought.
Along with, if you please, red chillies by the arty brother in the khaandan.
Wonder what the poor bride had to say - she went from a red silk sari to a stunning white satin gown admirably. Her palate, however, has probably been laid numb by the curries and chaats that were omnipresent.
All in all, a hectic, crowded two days of socialising but a great way to escape from this mad world of work.
Pity, there aren't any more weddings coming up. But Ms Nair should consider a sequel...
They then come to Lucknow, where the boy's family lives, to repeat the rituals in a gurdwara. The priest, meanwhile, has forgotten to brief his folks that a pink turban is a must. So, everyone waits while three people dash off to find a long, pink satin cloth from which a turban will be made. The girl's two sisters accompanying her (two of 10 other siblings, mind it) are aghast and amused but maintain a straight face.
Many Sindhis have descended from Kolkata, Mumbai, Pune... all hosted in a hotel where 'running hot water' refers to housekeeping staff scampering floors with buckets of warm water; breakfasts, lunches and dinners are occasions to catch up, to meet cousins for the first time, to discover that a cult brand 0f t-shirts is owned by a nephew in Colaba who I've never met...old uncles are bonded with, babies drooled over, gossip is encouraged and mirth flows over some rather horrid paan, guitar strumming happens over a bonfire and presents are exchanged while unpleasantries are whispered.
Free time is spent rediscovering my mother's old school and home, the grand old Imambara and the bylanes of old Lucknow where bangles, saunf, munchies and mojris are bought.
Along with, if you please, red chillies by the arty brother in the khaandan.
Wonder what the poor bride had to say - she went from a red silk sari to a stunning white satin gown admirably. Her palate, however, has probably been laid numb by the curries and chaats that were omnipresent.
All in all, a hectic, crowded two days of socialising but a great way to escape from this mad world of work.
Pity, there aren't any more weddings coming up. But Ms Nair should consider a sequel...
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