The blog about nothing

A letter to Aravind Adiga

2008-10-16T03:48:00.000-07:00

Dear Mr. Adiga,

Firstly, I congratulate you on winning the prestigious Booker prize. It is a remarkable achievement indeed for a young first-time novelist.

I started reading “White tiger” but was straight away baffled by a work in English that begins, “Neither I nor you speak any English, but there are some things that can only be said in English”. Why would a major work in the English language adopt the epistolatory voice of someone who does not know the language and be addressed to someone else who does not know both English and the language spoken by the letter writer, I wondered. But, that is not why I am writing to you.

I have read much about how you came to write this book. You have been quoted as saying,” So, where's this Shining India everyone's talking about? It was time someone broke the myth," and that “The world needed to see the other side of India."

But then Mr. Adiga, India Shining was a merely a marketing slogan and marketing slogans are not the gospel truth (it is probably the very opposite). I do think that the real perception of India outside the country is still very third world. It is not as though we are being seen as a developed country simply because there have been some positive economic developments recently. No one thinks that the spectacular GDP growth of recent years has wiped out poverty in India! This growth has not been inclusive and income inequality is a huge problem; these facts are well acknowledged by economists, the Prime Minister and the Finance Minister. If you want proof, I can Google and send you some links. It is obvious that the Indian growth story has a long way to go.

You also talk about this incident which seems to have been a key inspiration. “I was buying furniture in New Delhi five years ago and the storeowner said, `Don't give me cash, give me a deposit of Rs 1,000 [$25], and give the rest to the man when he delivers it.' So when the man came to my house -- and he was a very poor man -- he put down the furniture and then I paid him the money. Then he asked for a Rs 10 tip which I gave it him. I was amazed that this man who made a maximum of Rs 1,000 a month or perhaps even less, was taking a bundle of money to give to his master. I wondered what made this man and people like him honest? This is something people in India take for granted. In essence, the novel began as a way of understanding this phenomenon. The social structure of the master and the servants, I realised, was not anything like in the [rest of the] world”.

I, would like to suggest that what made him honest had nothing to do with servant-master (your expression, I myself would not care to use it) but rather police-jail. Let us assume he was not servile at all, he had no family to think about, but, if he stole the money he could end up in jail. Most people like to avoid jail. A whole system of law and order is based on that.

You further say, “It is, like, basically you follow your dharma or code of life because who you are depends on the economic well-being of your family and the name your family has. You cannot take the money and run because that will put your entire family in peril or in disgrace”.

Firstly, you almost sound like you want the man to take the money and run! Secondly, if you try to take the money and run, you could end up in jail and that is an excellent reason not to do it. And it is merely universal human nature to pause and think about the consequences of your action on your family; it is not some special dharma and code designed to keep poor Indians poor! We do have to be more mindful of the “family name” in India, but all Indians have to do that. Finally, did you even consider the possibility that all masters are not bad people and that some actually treat their servants with kindness and that is why large scale servant rebellion has been prevented? Do consider my explanations too because they are simple and they do not strain logic to it’s limits.

The letter writer of your novel, Mr. Balram Halwai is upset that visiting dignitaries such as the Chinese premier Mr. Wen Jiabao are shown how “Moral and saintly India is”; what would Balram want us to do? Should we go, “Welcome Mr. Jiabao and now here is a tour of the seamy underbelly of India”? The angry but clear thinking Mr. Halwai could have done better than to expect that, officially speaking, we would do anything other than paint a rosy picture of India. That is only reasonable, is it not?

I only wish Balram had realized that the foreign dignitaries are not so stupid as to believe everything they are told (he seems intelligent enough); that the visitors do know that the carefully orchestrated presentation of India they have received is not the “real” truth about India. They know that all Indians don’t live in the same five-star hotel conditions that they have experienced and eat gourmet food prepared by talented chefs. These people do business with India and I am sure they encounter corruption, bureaucracy, politically motivated hurdles and all other sorts of obstacles. They could tell Mr. Halwai a thing or two!

Now, there would be a real problem if the dark side of India went unexposed in the mass media. But, that is not the case. I dare you to open the daily newspaper and not see grim news about corruption, the recent communal violence in Orissa, Karnataka, Assam and Maharashtra, terror attacks, caste oppression and the lack of basic infrastructure in terms of housing, education and medical care for many millions. You know how I know these things? I read “The Hindu” daily, available on the Internet for everyone in the world to read.

To act as though the dark realities of India have gone unexposed is to discredit the work of intrepid Indian journalists, you yourself were one of them. The system is not perfect but truths do come out and receive wide coverage outside India; people are afraid to visit India due to a perception of increased terror risk, devout Christians around the world are worried about atrocities in the far corner of Kandhamal in Orissa. I doubt that we can quietly cover these things up by saying Incredible India and India Shining. So we sometimes come up with marketing slogans, what is wrong about that? Good things have happened too you know; the GDP growth of the last few years is not a myth.

You did manage the “darkly comic” Mr. Adiga, with a citizen of a democratic country- where the media functions with a decent amount of freedom-writing a letter exposing it to the head of a state famous for it’s non-transparent ways and where the truths are actually hidden!

Your literary achievement cannot be doubted, you have presented your take on things that need to be talked about and you have a written a very important book. But, the truth about India is neither shining nor dark; it is one of partial illumination. India shining does not work and neither does dark India.

Regards,
Meera

Travel Notes......Continued

2007-11-09T09:59:00.000-08:00

Something else that is dripping with ye olde world charm and not to be missed is the Montmartre area of Paris. Montmartre (‘mountain of the martyr') is a little hill in the outskirts of Paris that takes you out of Baron Haussmann’s grand central Paris and transports you to the rustic settings of windmills, vineyards, rolling hills, beautiful views and the distinctly lingering flavors of a deliciously decadent, bohemian and artistic past.

Since Montmartre-annexed to Paris in 1860-was outside city limits, it was subject to fewer taxes. Also, the only vineyard in Paris is located here. These factors combined well and people came here to lead the good life of drinking and cabarets. The good life attracted the artistic people in particular. In the mid-1800s, the first of the famed artists of Montmarte, Camille Pissarro, came to live there. By the end of the century, the area was not only the epicenter of art in Paris but home to some of the most influential movements and artists ever. It has nurtured movements such as Impressionism, Cubism, Fauvism and Surrealism and many greats have worked here, maintaining their studios and living quarters in the area. Vincent van Gogh, Henri Matisse, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Edgar Degas, Henri Toulouse-Lautrec, Pablo Picasso, Georges Braque, Paul Cézanne, Claude Monet, Salvador Dalí, have all worked in Montmartre and have been inspired by the surrounding sights and scenes.

One artist commune, where artists lived and rented studios is Le Bateau-Lavoir; the site is now a museum. It was home to Pablo Picasso (1904-1909), Amedeo Modigliani and Juan Gris who lived there as impecunious artists. Renoir, Emile Bernard, Suzanne Valadon, Maurice Utrillo and Raoul Dufy all had studios there towards the turn of the century and it was the meeting place for a lot of important artistic figures like Guillaume Apollinaire, Georges Braque, Henri Matisse and Jean Cocteau. Picasso painted in this studio during his blue period till the early works of cubism and one of his classic works ‘Les Demoiselles d'Avignon’ was painted here.

Montmartre is also known for it's cabarets. The better known ones being the 'Moulin Rouge' (red windmill) whose most famous patron was Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, the venue is well represented in his works and the 'Au Lapin Agile' whose patrons included Picasso, Modigliani, Apollinaire and Utrillo.

The spirit of bohemian Montmartre is intact today and an imaginative person can almost see the small distorted figure of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec strolling into the 'Moulin Rouge' and painting the ‘can-can’ dancers and the ‘Bal du Moulin de la Galette’ (Renoir’s depiction of the dances that used to be held at the Moulin de la Galette) swirls in front of your eyes as the 'Moulin de la Galette' (a windmill)comes into view walking uphill.

The windmills are relics from a rural past of the village of Montmartre where they were used to grind grain. Some of them can still be found here. A well recognized symbol from that past being the rotating bright red blades of the Moulin rouge; one of the most visible landmarks of the area.

Montmartre is full of surprises; you will find all sorts of things here-from the statuesque church of 'Sacré Coeur’ to the hectic ‘Place du Tertre’ bustling with artists of varying talent who are eager to paint the tourists a portrait, from a little train that runs through the main sights of the neighbourhood to a small funicular that transports passengers to the top of the hill of Montmartre and back down. The only Vineyard of Paris still produces wine. Although the product is widely regarded as being dodgy, it is sought after for the novelty value and because the proceeds go to charity. There is so much more to see like the ‘Dalí Espace Montmartre’, ‘Musée de Montmartre’, and ‘Cimitière de Montmartre’.

One eye catching little thing that I came across was this irresistibly quaint sculpture of what appears to be a man passing through a wall. And that is exactly what it is; a dedication to author ‘Marcel Aymé’ who created Le Passe-Muraille or ‘The Walker-Through-Walls’. This is an everyman character whose life is dramatically altered, aged 42, when he discovers that he can pass through walls. The sculpture depicts Aymé from a poignant moment in his own story. It is a simple little sculpture but no one can pass by it without being fascinated.

I finish my walk through Montmartre at the church of 'Sacré Coeur’ - a church that seeks forgiveness for the ‘Franco-Prussian war’ and other sins-the highest point in Paris which has breathtaking views of city below and when you descend and look up, a grand view of the ‘Sacré Coeur’ looming above.

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Being alone in a new city is somewhat brutal (though interesting). There is literally no way of escaping myself, wherever I go and whatever I do; my thoughts cannot be interrupted or distracted. Even the mindlessness of TV is denied because it is mostly in French.

I am regularly watching ‘two and a half men’, ‘who wants to be a millionaire’, ‘young and the restless’ and ‘desperate housewives’ in French. I see some French cinema although here it must be just cinema and listen to French hip hop which is just as wonderful as English hip hop; the musical rhythms of angry swearing seems to be universal and does cut across language barriers. I could not wait for ‘Les amis’ (Friends) and it did not disappoint. It was utterly hilarious to see the familiar gang talking in French. But, thank God there was no ‘Le Seinfeld’; I would have drawn the line at a French Kramer.

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I warm to Madrid/ Spain instantaneously. I think it was being greeted by unexpected sunshine as late as 8:30 PM and the spacious, artistic interiors of the ‘Stirling prize’ (for architecture) winning Barajas International airport. It is a design that not only looks exotic with it’s wavy undulating bamboo roofs but these are cleverly designed to maximize use of light, give the appearance of warmth, spaciousness and many other tricky little things. It is a brilliant and appealing design and great way to enter any city/ country.

Travel is exhausting. There is a lot of walking and carrying involved. I cannot step out on any given day without an umbrella, a light jacket, a lonely planet and maps, language book, a notebook, camera, wallet and other sundry items. I have already been traveling for a month before I get to Madrid. The spirit is enthusiastic enough to do this forever but the body is not nearly as willing.

So, I am only too happy to live the spirit of Spanish somnolence and siestas. I never wake before noon; I then slowly drink a few cups of coffee standing in the balcony watching eager tourists pass by, a long and relaxed lunch at 2 ish, then a small break-light reading or sleep, some sights and then dinner at 9 ish, which is also as relaxed as a meal can possibly be. It is the good life on a grand scale. If I wasn’t ambitious, I would be only too happy to pursue this lifestyle.

I am content to just stand in the balcony (third floor) looking out, resembling the 'The girl in the window'. To be precise, girlhood has passed and I was not looking out to the sea and it was not so much a window as a balcony. But the broad principle of standing and gazing applies. Directly in front of me is the ‘Congreso de los Diputados’ building-the lower house of the Spanish Parliament-which is as impressive a neoclassical facade as you can see anywhere, with it’s Corinthian columns and two bronze lions at guard. If I look right, at the far end is the 'Plaza de neptuno', as pleasing a Romanesque fountain as any and the church 'Claustro de San Jerónimo el Real', as pleasant an old church as can be found anywhere looms in view behind the fountain.

I can’t actually see the ‘Golden triangle of art’. But I am aware that the somewhat unimaginatively named ‘Golden triangle’, which is three fine art galleries all located near each other is but a stone’s throw away from me. I can get to the ‘Museo del Prado’ in a 3 minute walk, the ‘Museo Thyssen Bornemisza’ in 2 minutes and the ‘Museo Sofia’ in about 8 minutes.

I ask the readers to take a good look at the view from the balcony. Where I was standing was the very heart of Madrid, the best of the city has come to me-all around me to see and to imagine; I felt no real need to leave and go do something.

But, I did. The Golden triangle features the best of Spanish art and of course much more, each with a distinct niche. Whilst the Prado is awe inspiring in its show casing of Diego Velázquez, Francisco Goya and El Greco and houses Las Meninas (The Maids of Honour) possibly the second most acclaimed painting ever. The Reina Sofia focuses on the modern with an outstanding collection of Picasso and Dali and is very proudly the home of Picasso's Guernica. Mind you, they are very proud of it and be warned that they will simply direct you to it, even if you are only asking for directions to the washroom. The Thysssen Bornemisza, an erstwhile private collection delights with its eclectic selection of the smaller and less known works of famous artists. Collectively, it comes together very nicely and anything that I can say about the wealth of art to be found here will be inadequate. So I won’t do it.

During my stay, I also visit 'Puerto del sol', a busy city square with the campy tourist buzz of fake ‘Louis Vuitton’ handbags and ‘Dolce and Gabbana’ belts, the ‘Parque del Buen Retiro’ which means Pleasant Retreat and it lives up to the name. I enjoy walking the wide green boulevard of ‘Paseo del Prado’, get captivated by the beauty of the ‘Plaza de Cibeles’, catch a flamenco show and taste gazpacho, the only food that I find that that is Spanish and vegetarian. Then there is the usual thing like shop at ‘Zara’; well, this was a Spanish ‘Zara’. That is all I could manage in five days.

The streets here are incredibly wide and laden with greenery; then there are fountains aplenty and grandiose architecture is a leitmotif. The sun shines brighter, the sky is bluer, the air more ineffably promising than anywhere I have ever seen or experienced. I am sure I will come back to Spain.

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Politically speaking, the far right seems to be gaining in popularity and the feeling of xenophobia is on the rise, but Europe lets the traveller lead the good life. I eat, drink, shop and visit interesting places and I am not surprised that Europe is popular. I love the places I was going through and riding a train, sitting in an airport, sitting in a café, I experience these moments of just being blissful enough, when both the past and the future cease to matter, and only that moment exists-seemingly infinitely.

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Done

Travel Notes......Part Deux

2007-10-25T09:37:00.000-07:00

The Latin Quarter of Paris is parts of the 5th and 6th arrondissement; the curious name arises from that fact that Latin was spoken in the middle ages in the areas surrounding the (Sorbonne) University. The Latin Quarter has been the heart and soul of Parisian intelligentsia for centuries. It is lively and literary; full of delightful browsing for books and music -first, second and other multiple hand; cafes- Greek, Turkish, Armenian, Indian, even vegetarian and the whole area is dotted with parks, churches, and monuments.

One of the monuments is the Panthéon- an impressive neoclassical structure –which was originally supposed to be a church dedicated to St. Genevieve (the patron saint of Paris). But as it approached completion the French Revolution began and the new government-apparently not a big fan of religion and churches-converted it to a mausoleum. It became a place where the great men of France will be interred. It has since then gone back and forth between being a mausoleum and a church and now performs both functions. Interestingly, it has also been a scientific laboratory; this is where physicist Léon Foucault conducted his experiment on the rotation of the Earth by constructing a pendulum, suspending a 28-kg bob with a 67-metre wire from the dome. The original pendulum is still there, something to thrill all physics lovers.

The Panthéon is dedicated to the ‘Grands Hommes La Patrie Reconnaissante’ –‘To great men the grateful homeland’. It is a high honor to be accorded a place here; entry is governed by a parliamentary act for ‘National Heroes’ and requires major achievements, lesser achievers will themselves at the Cimetière du Père-Lachaise. The Panthéon is the resting place of luminaries such as Voltaire, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Victor Hugo, Émile Zola, Alexandre Dumas and Louis Braille. It opened it’s doors to great women as well in 1995, when Marie Curie became the first woman to be buried here.

From monuments to book stores, the iconic ‘Shakespeare and co’ bookstore (and library) run by George Whitman is also located in the Latin Quarter. This is not to be confused with the establishment that belonged to Sylvia Beach that famously published James Joyce’s ‘Ulysses’. Beach bequeathed some of her collection of books and the rights to the store name to Whitman. The original Shakespeare & Co, a happy hunting ground for Ernest Hemingway, Ezra Pound, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein, and James Joyce no longer exists.

The present store has been the stuff of legend since it opened in 1951. Henry Miller called it "A wonderland of books". I won’t describe it because it is one those places you have to discover on your own. I find it's kookiness to be somewhat studied rather than spontaneous and it has the complacent air of being legendary, name dropping but acting as though it were perfectly natural to do so. But, it is undeniably delightful and is open incredibly enough from noon to midnight.

But this far more than a book store. Whitman thinks of Shakespeare & Co as "a socialist utopia masquerading as a bookstore". This is a place that supports the written word in every way. From day one Whitman has allowed people-aspiring writers and bibliophiles impecunious as only aspiring creative types can be- to live in the premises in exchange for helping out at the store. Author Jeremy Mercer who spent five months there says, “All he asks is that you make your bed in the morning, help out in the shop, and read a book a day.”

Whitman has hosted over 50,000 people, some of the more well known being the beat generation authors like as Allen Ginsberg, Gregory Corso and William Burroughs, am guessing when they were dead beats. This is a platform like no other for new writers-letting them live for free, network with like-minded individuals and being a forum to give exposure to their work; all of this in beautiful and cultured Paris.

So, you get to work in a bookstore with great atmosphere, live across the river Seine-more atmosphere, read and write, savor reasonably priced eclectic cuisine from cafés and restaurants nearby; the whole thing does sound like a state of utopia dreamt up by a bibliophile. I think there must be some flaw in the scheme but am content to not look for it; just knowing that there is a set up like this somewhere in the world is good enough for me. The store is also the hub of English language literary and cultural activities-book readings, workshops and the like-in Paris. For the tourist, it is a good place to visit in Paris if you are pining for some English.

‘The Abbey Bookshop’-30000 new and used books (English) - is also to be found in the Latin Quarter along with the ‘Gibert Jeune’ bookstores. There are nine stores totally of the latter, all located near each other, easily identifiable by their distinctive yellow logo and one of these stores- I think the one devoted to literature-stocks English books. I also saw the reliable 'W.H Smith' somewhere in Paris. So, there is a lot of fantastic and absolutely satisfying English language book hunting to be done in Paris. Further, the all of Latin Quarter is less pricey and full of bargains as it is frequented by the student community.

The gardens of the area are perfect to laze and take a break. Of the gardens and fountains here, the highlight is the Jardin du Luxembourg, beautifully landscaped as can be expected in Paris. It is the largest public park in the city and one of the best too. The park belongs to the French Senate, which is located at Palais du Luxembourg (Luxembourg Palace). But, the senate most kindly lets the public use the garden area and it is an extremely popular family hangout, especially in the summer.

I finish exploring the Latin Quarter by browsing at the ‘Boquinistes’. These are stores that are nothing more than little Green boxes all in a row along the Seine. The first time I see them I am thoroughly taken in by the quaint charm of their appearance, not to mention their wares- second hand books, new and old CDs, copies of magazines like the ‘Paris match’ from the 60s and 70s, plenty of posters of events like concerts by ‘The Beatles’ and ‘The Doors’ and of course posters, prints and paintings of Paris itself. There are also plenty of souvenirs and a nice assortment of oddities.

But, I keep wandering along the Seine plentifully, and I check out the green boxes whenever am there and after I have been there a few times I start seeing the repetitive themes like the posters for performances at the ‘Moulin rouge’, the ‘Paris exposition’, the famous advertisement for the tour of ‘Le Chat Noir’ cabaret by Théophile Steinlen. These posters catch the eye with their appealing style of artwork from the early 19th century. There is the feeling of a throwback to past, the air is scented with nostalgia.

I sense a wistful longing for the past when Paris was the center of the world, so many of the posters of the city are in black & white. Paris is not nearly as happening today as it used to be in the spheres of art, literature, fashion or food. Everywhere in Paris you can trace the presence of geniuses of the artistic and intellectual world-the impressionists, the existentialists, the creators of modern fashion and so much more, but nothing really dating in a time period after the Second World War.

I sense a deliberate tourist trap here- to cash in on the emotions created by this blast from the past. However, there are many good bargains at the ‘Boquinistes’and what is the harm really in being a sucker for a piece of nostalgia. This is one trap to fall into, and though I feel that the locals will snigger at these posters and prints, they are great buys for the visitors. There are also plenty of portrait artists all over the place who will paint you a personalized souvenir. The Boquinistes are full full of ye olde world charm and are not to be missed.

From there, you can see the church, Notre Dame (Our lady) de Paris, a splendid Gothic cathedral across the river. France's ‘Point zéro’, the reference point for mapping local road distances in Paris is located in the square in front of the cathedral and it is believed that visitors who stand on Point zéro will come back to Paris again some day. That is not a bad thing at all.

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In Paris, the footprints of famous people can be traced through the places that they lived in, through a small engraving of some sort in the building that has the name, profession and the time period that the person spent there. Something like this, (look carefully). If you are the kind that gets excited at the prospect of a hotel that Sigmund Freud spent a couple of years in or a house where Pablo Picasso lived, you will be in state of perpetual excitement because any and everyone has come to Paris to be inspired. So, you need to pick and choose what interests you specifically.

I go looking for the café ‘Les deux Magots’ and ‘Café de Flore’; favourite hang out of intellectuals such as Simone de Beauvoir, Jean-Paul Sartre, Ernest Hemingway and Albert Camus. These cafes are especially famous because the first two mentioned used to rendezvous here. In fact, the street where they are located was renamed Place Sartre Beauvoir in 2000. I figure it should be interesting to pay a visit. Plus, I really wanted some coffee.

I don’t what I was expecting but I could not have been more disappointed regardless. May be I wanted something small, with atmosphere and a view. Les deux Magots is huge, full of people, hustle and bustle and is generally very loud. It is not the sort of place you can associate with intellectual exchanges; when your own thoughts are drowned out how can you hear anybody else’s. When I find artsy interiors and décor, I often feel that it is pretentious. But in this place, I would not have minded an artsy thing or two. The presence of the eponymous magots in the form of two wooden statues of Chinese commercial agents (magots) on a pillar is the sole interesting thing about the decor. As for the view, what I got was an ‘Emporio Armani’ showroom. I am guessing things have changed around these parts. At least I got my coffee.

The nearby Café de Flore, which is closed for summer, looks more promising. If they are packing off on a summer break, they must be a cool and small business. But, I won’t be able to find out on this visit.

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One Sunday, I am at the Lord’s watching cricket and the next Sunday morning I am taking a slow walk along the Champs-Élysées towards the Arc d’Triomphe, although the eventual intention was to watch the finish of the tour de France.

I am surprised at the amount of people who have come to book a spot along the route as early as 11 am considering that the cyclists would ride in only a good six hours later. The crowds are well prepared, armed with portable chairs, something to protect them from the persistent drizzle and enough food to last the long wait. A mini economy of food, umbrellas & plastic macs and souvenirs sold from portable vans has sprung all along the way.

There is not too much to see in such an event. But it is a great sight when the cyclists appear racing into view and it feels good to cheer the athletes who have completed a task so remarkably arduous. It is certainly worth turning up if you are in Paris at that time.

Assuming that the race survives the all the doping scandals, I have some simple advice for those who intend to be there. There is no real need to be early to find a suitable viewing spot; it will suffice to go to one end of the Champs-Élysées, close to the Arc d’Triomphe with a portable stepladder. This will ensure the best views and this is what the people in the know seem to be doing. If portable stepladders are not within the realm of possibility, then you can go into one of the shops or restaurants from where you can comfortably watch the event from the first or second floor. Surprisingly, the stores let the public use their premises as a viewing gallery. But whatever you do, it is a bit of an effort to show up, find a spot and watch. I will surely be mad if it ever turns out that this year’s winner, Alberto Contadar-a name I will not forget-cheated.

It is a perfect day to be on the Champs-Élysées and I went there again. This time taking a rambling walk- eating, drinking coffee as usual, window shopping and actually buying things in the pleasurable languidness of a Tuesday afternoon. The charms of the famed street are best appreciated standing at the median in between, with the Arc d’Triomphe on one end and the avenue stretching endlessly on the other; it is possible forget to cross and get to the other side.

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To be concluded, only 1972 words to go.

Travel Notes

2007-10-03T10:07:00.000-07:00

Four more weeks, three cities, travelling, airports, stations, art and architecture, galleries and museums, countless paintings and sculptures, food and beverages, cafes and restaurants, cemeteries, churches, palaces, sundry monuments and other tourist attractions, bridges and the banks of rivers, opera, concert, play, sporting events, parks, gardens and other public spaces, festivals, markets, literary quests, multiple languages, currencies and time zones, walking around, shopping, thinking, reading, photographing, observing , reflecting, lazing and writing. That is the short version of what happened after 25 July. The detailed version is a work in progress.

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Lacking any imagination, I head for the ‘Eiffel Tower’ one day, much the same way I would go to the 'landmark' book store on a restless Saturday afternoon. But, this is not a bookstore in Chennai. This is the one of the leading tourist destinations in the whole wide world and it is peak tourist season as well. One must be PREPARED to stand in long queues when visiting tourist hot spots; I still cannot believe that I did not anticipate the massive crowds.

I would not stand in a queue as long as the one in front of me if it had turned out that Elvis Presley was actually alive and back in the building performing, much less to go up the ‘Eiffel tower’. I decide to just lie down in the surrounding grassy lawns and laze. From this vantage point, the only observations to be made are that it is a large and pointless structure. But after a good half hour lying in front of it and looking, I cannot but feel a grudging admiration for the degree of audacity on both counts; it does require a lot of courage to design and construct something along these lines.

I hate the thought that I am gradually liking something large steel and popular. But, it has a certain je ne sais quoi (an expression I absolutely love as it helps avoid tedious explanations) that it takes to be practically synonymous with Paris, as only the ‘Statue of Liberty’ is with New York, the ‘Big Ben’ with London, the ‘Statue of Christ the Redeemer’ with Rio. Surely, they all must have earned that right for a good reason, I am thinking. Although it feels like the reason is largeness and a lack of utility per se, it is still something.

However, the real charm of the ‘Eiffel Tower’ is not in going up it or near it but the way it comes into view time and again, gently reminding that you that you are in Paris and to buck up and enjoy the experience. That is perhaps why these large and pointless creations become popular.

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The 'Musee du Louvre' has to be the Paris Hilton of museums; it is in the news and apparently very very famous but for no good reason.

I am told that it has been a dungeon, then a royal residence-which does not make much sense-and is now a museum. It is enormous and rambling; it is utterly tiresome to get from exhibit A to exhibit B because of the long walks involved and it is hard to spot any unifying theme or concept from what appears to be a random selection of paintings, sculptures, crown jewels, Egyptian artifacts not to mention the sudden appearances of glass pyramids and carousels.

To say that you have a collection where it will take nine months to view every item therein is hardly anything to proud about, rather it is wasteful. If on the other hand, the collection were to broken into several smaller niche museums, people can access it as per their interests and tastes.

Of course there are huge crowds in front of the ‘Mona Lisa’, the pièce de résistance of the entire collection. Seeing the ‘Mona Lisa’ is a little bit like watching ‘Citizen Kane’, it is very hard to understand why of all the countless amount of works of brilliance and genius in their respective categories this has to be the work; why have they captured the imagination of critics and admirers to such an extent. It is something to think about though beyond the scope of the present discussion. I myself would admire an empty framed canvas if it were the work of ‘Leonardo Da Vinci’, but I can confidently say that not many would give this painting a second glance but for its formidable reputation.

I don’t think that I have earned the right to diss anything but if I had I would say that the ‘Musee du Louvre’ is eminently avoidable. If you merely stumble, you can find something more interesting to do in Paris.

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In order to avoid anything remotely touristy I head for peace, quiet and serenity of Cimetière du Père-Lachaise. Sure, some crackpots (me) wander searching for the graves of Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison, but they are still barely tens of people walking about, compared to the teeming millions anywhere else in Paris. There is no place quite as peaceful as a cemetery and if you are not given to any morbid fancies the loveliest walk is possibly through a cemetery. The graves themselves are worth looking at-small, huge, plain, ornate, unvisited or much visited, but always a somber tribute to people loved; everything put together conjuring up the lives of persons gone.

I am drawn to the 'Musée Rodin' for ‘The Thinker’ alone. It is an unexpectedly wonderful experience. Even in a city filled with immaculately landscaped jardins, the garden here is exquisite. It is a stroke of genius to layout the sculptures in the garden. It is a perfect setting for ‘The thinker’ with a helpfully provided seat in front, in case you are inclined to sit down and do a bit of thinking yourself, not to mention other works such as the intriguing ‘The Burghers of Calais’, the magnificent ‘The Gates of Hell’ and the sublime ‘The Kiss’ (located indoors). It is far more enjoyable to be in a small museum focused on the work on one person. Both of these places are the perfect antidote to the tourist madness in Paris.

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I am trying to speak French but on closer inspection it is quite clear that it is not so much French as English spoken slowly and with a bad accent. What is worse, it is not even the right bad accent. It is more the sort of thing you can expect to hear from a character named Tony in a bad mafia movie.

My attempts at speaking French are appreciated by the friendly locals. Many people try to help me pronounce things correctly. But, I have no idea where these French sounds are being produced from; I cannot roll the Rs like that by gargling much less by speaking.

It is a generally held view that the French do not like to speak English. But, that is not true. People I speak to are quietly amused by my lousy French and start speaking English; no doubt to be spared the torture of seeing their beloved language being butchered (Lord knows I feel the same way about English).

It is very painful for a glib and articulate argumentative Indian such as myself to be reduced to a simple profusion of bonjours and mercis; but, not knowing the local language, a situation that I have not been in a long time, actually feels good. I can just tune out the world-because if Emmeline is complaining about her boss to her boyfriend on the Metro, I sure can’t be distracted by it-and be peaceful. In fact, I come to realize how conversation is not really necessary. If it were not for food, the need to identify what on earth is it that I am being offered and if by the grace of the good Lord it is vegetarian, I would have had no genuine need to speak at all.

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I have been in a curious state of mind for a long time now; utterly consumed by this urge to do something. I do many things in terms of experiencing world-class art, sports, music, shopping etc, and I am not underestimating the true worth of these experiences, I do take away a lot from it. But, none of this is nearly as satisfactory as say getting a sentence right on this blog, because this is my work.

To reinforce the idea, let me use the words of Ian McEwan (in 'Saturday'), “For the past two hours (performing surgery) he’s been in a dream of absorption that has dissolved all sense of time, and all awareness of the other parts of his life. Even his awareness of his own existence has vanished. This state of mind brings a contentment he never finds with any passive form of entertainment. Books, cinema and music can’t bring him to this. Working with others is one part of it, but it’s not all. This benevolent disassociation seems to require difficulty, prolonged demands on concentration and skills, pressure, problems to be solved, even danger. He feels calm, and spacious, fully qualified to exist. It’s a feeling of clarified emptiness, of deep, muted joy.” That is the sort of feeling that I am talking about.

But traveling feels like doing something. There is a lot of physical activity involved, there is the physical sense of movement or motion, there is plenty of planning and coping with uncertainty, it is hard work and it is quietly satisfying. I have a pact-apparently with myself-that whilst am obsessed and questioning about how I live my regular life till the point where full blown psychosis often seems merely three doors down; when am away I get to just enjoy the good things in life without any qualms.

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They say Paris is a “walking city”, which is probably true of all of Europe. It is wonderful to discover the city by walking, especially in weather which could not have been better if I had personally ordered it, just around the 22-24 degree C mark, that transition point where cool turns to warm, with no rain, and the air blessedly salubrious. It all boils down to the weather and the quality of the coffee for me. They are both perfect when I was there.

My feet have touched the cobblestones of nearly every arrondissement. The city gets familiar. I am seeing places for the third or fourth time. I visually comprehend the city. I can navigate the travel system even when am falling asleep. It is really sensible, with alphanumeric and color-coded indicators and you can’t go wrong unless you try very hard. It is very charming to make a journey from ‘Alexandre Dumas’ to ‘Victor Hugo’ or walk the earthly ‘Elysian fields’.

I am happy that I get to spend two weeks in Paris; people flit in and flit out of places-‘36 hours in Barcelona’ or a ‘Weekend in Athens’ kind of visits. But, I am not a flitter and I cannot do that to Paris anyway. Paris is a sumptuous treat, best had in small bites. It stimulates all the senses; with it’s sights, sounds, smells and tastes, it’s food displayed so alluringly that it always tempts you, the myriad visual arts, music and opera, -all rich and delectable.

I am also a slow traveler. I like to wander aimlessly. I like getting off at ‘Bastille’ (metro) not because I have anywhere specific to go but because I have not done that before. I particularly like to get lost. I like to lose sense of time (which I did successfully, I was in an airport looking at the date on a giant screen thinking, ‘it is the 19 th, how interesting and it is August, why I had forgotten that and ah!, it is the year 2007, is it?’). I like to watch people-people with jobs no doubt- go by. I like to experience things with all my senses. But, most of all with the great cities of the world, which are recurrent themes in popular culture and world events, I like to spend time forming my own impressions and understandings of these places.

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I wonder why the Parisians have a bad reputation. They seem friendly enough to me. Not just ordinary friendly, but the will-rush-to-help-me-if-I-have-problem-opening-doors-or-look-lost kind of friendly. But, that may have been me; women even remotely tolerable looking get good treatment or so it has been theorized. So, I cannot definitively comment on this one but am happy to find likeable people.

But something about the nature of the Parisian is revealed by the fact that their first reaction to anything seems to be disapproval. They did not like the Impressionists, hated the Eiffel tower and more recently the glass pyramid. But, they do seem to come around later though I am not sure of the reasons or how the coming around process works. But, the good thing is that they come around.

In terms of fashion, I notice a touch of the whimsical and a focus on accessories. I did not see a single woman in a business suit or something semi-formal, which is a little odd. It is all a tad too informal. Even the newsreaders are reading the news clad in avant-garde creations (which are shocking for someone whose benchmark would be BBC). Avant-garde styles are excellent from the viewpoint of creativity but the aesthetics are often not pleasing and some times they are just plain horrendous. Further, the problem here is that you start life as a young girl, whimsical and fashionable; but this is sort of thing addictive as cocaine, you cannot stop, one day you are sixty, still doing the gothic eyes and gold shoes and then you are just scaring the public.

To me they seem relatively less celebrity obsessed, they don’t seem to have a compulsive desire to do something, even on long journeys, they can simply sit, possibly thinking or may be not, but they don’t have to read or talk or do something, mobile phones are not very visible and the place is full of healthy and supremely bonny babies.

As for the visitors to Paris, even in an age of cheap and easy travel, Paris seems to be an aspirational destination for many tourists. There is a sense of happiness and achievement in having made it here for the early middle aged couple, possibly John and Sally, probably accountants in their native United States, who have always dreamed of going to Paris since they were high school sweet hearts, eighteen years later they are here and they seem to be enjoying it kind of visitors. Then there are the Gino, perhaps a plumber in his native Philippines, with his wife Nikki, clicking photos, joyously posing in front anything that has the faintest touch of artsy, upload the photos on a photo sharing website and send the link to his friends kind of tourists. Then there are the many many young teens and pre teens, mainly from the EU region, being shepherded around by anxious mothers who want to give their offspring that vital dose of culture. Then there are the people like me; vaguely creative types who hope to find their spiritual home here. These are the people in Paris.

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I am surprised by how comfortable I am, how at home. I expected to like and admire Paris but not enjoy it.

I realize that I have a lot of what it takes to be a good traveler. I am curious, excited and open-minded. I have the happy gift of not missing anything; I occasionally crave sambhar and rasam but I am good for 2-3 months eating anything as long as it is healthy and vegetarian. I am happy traveling on my own, so if my plans are subject to any restrictions at least they are all my own. I make friends easily and I revel in the solitude when I am alone.

This is also the best time in my life to travel; not being attached-to employment or any person- is very liberating. My friends and colleagues write to me and call me reasonably regularly, so I do feel connected. In fact, it is a perfect state of being as I feel the pleasure of belonging but not the pain of longing.

Never do I have the desire to be “home”. Home is comfort, home is belonging, home is people you know, home is people who care, home is a routine-a place to go to and a place to return to. It is not necessary that these things can be found only in the place that is designated as “home”. Home to me is the spot that I am standing in and friend is the person next to me. I could be happy just about anywhere.

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To be continued

25 July 2007

2007-07-25T11:32:00.000-07:00

The Louvre is just across the street and already I have passed it so many times. Now, it is just a building across the street. Ok, I am not yet as blase (as the French would say)as that:)

I decided to spend the day at the Musee d'Orsay. After spending several minutes poring over a map trying to find the way, I threw it away and I approached the hotel front desk. After not understanding the person's instructions twice I decide to simply step out and hope for the best.

The key to enjoying any place is the weather. It was a beautiful day today-sunny, warm and not a cloud in sight; the sort of day when simply stepping out and taking a deep breath alone feels joyous. I have no idea if I am headed in the right direction but it is such a beautiful walk-along the Seine once again-that I don't really care. The true pleasure in beautiful cities is just the aimless walking, slow lunches and coffees and lolling about in the plentiful rolling parklands and greenery. Still, museums must be visited and I decide to ask someone for directions.

This is the moment of truth. The time to speak more French than just bonjour and merci. Now, my dear readers, here is the fatal flaw in trying to speak the dubious French learnt at the 'Alliance Francaise' ten years back. They reply in French and I don't understand it at all! So, after the first failed attempt at asking for instructions, I tried a new strategy of speaking first in French, but subsequently verifying their response in English. This is a happy compromise between just thrusting English upon these delightful people but then managing to find out what I want to.

At the Musee d' Orsay, the person at the ticket counter told me that he was born in Chennai (although he did not seem particularly Indian nor did he try to speak to me in any Indian language) and was thrilled to meet me; so much so that he even gave me discount! It was a small amount but it felt good.

I went to a very educative guided tour on 'the impressionists' from which I learned so much that I had to make notes for future reference. If I had not enjoyed it so much, it would have been like going back to studies (although, as an aside, I actually enjoy studying).

I walked to and back from the museum; but even if it was a pleasurable walk, combined with the hours spent walking around the museum, it has left me feeling that my feet are no longer operational(I would not walk this much even in a month at home in Chennai). But, here I am, in a comfortable chair, with a borrowed laptop and the the most amazing invention of late: wireless internet-blogging away. I hope the feet will work tomorrow.

July 24 2007

2007-07-24T22:58:00.000-07:00

I decided to travel with my sister who is going to paris for work for two days and take the Eurostar train service to get there. This way, I will be able to stay in a decent hotel for a couple of days at least before having to move into some other place on my own, that will no doubt be seedy.

We decide to go for a walk and then dinner after we check in. The hotel is right in front of the Louvre; we walk past it, the Paris Opera, along the Seine, see the Eiffel tower and the Arc d' triomphe at a distance, and check out a number of designer stores. My sister thinks am done and that I should return home. However, I have warmed to the place instantaneously and somehow I feel very comfortable even at the thought of having to tackle the French aspect of the trip.

23 July 2007

2007-07-23T10:57:00.000-07:00

A one way ticket to Paris, not yet booked any accommodation, can't make up my mind how long I want to be there, don't speak much French. The thin line between adventure, spontaineity and just plain stupidity is being hovered upon.

I remember landing up in Melbourne utterly clueless. Since then, I have become much more clued in about travelling and related stuff. But, regardless of however far along I have come along in the clueing in process, being clueless in English is probably better than being clued in in French.

22 July 2007

2007-07-22T22:30:00.000-07:00

4 th day of the first npower test match, England Vs India: Test cricket is a sublime sport and the Lord's is a brilliant venue; the game was engrossing and the weather could not have been better. Bliss is lying down in the beautiful park in the stadium, eating a picnic lunch and watching the game on the big screen. Cheap thrills is seeing every single member of the Indian cricket team and some of the English players up, close and personal as they leave from net practice. Just perfect.

21 July 2007

2007-07-21T11:06:00.000-07:00

I have been in London now for three days; three typical English summer days of beastly cold and intermittent showers.

I have no plans as such but with some thousand pounds of borrowed money and four weeks of leave of absence from work, a Schengen visa alongwith my United Kingdom one, life has a lot of possibilities. However first, I would like to emphasise the word 'borrowed'. This means that having to return that not insubstantial amount will come and bite me sometime in the future. Second, I would like to point out that much of that absence from work is on loss of pay. So, people it is not nearly as good as it looks and you have just got to STOP cursing me.

But coming back to the possibilities, I left Chennai with a lonely planet guide to Paris, a French phrasebook and a Spanish phrasebook, practising to say 'est-ce que vous avez' (do you have in French) and 'entiendo' (I understand in Spanish) with some authenticity. Further, I see a lonely planet guide to 'Europe on a shoestring' on my sister's bookshelf-'40 countries, finite budget, infinite adventure' -and start reading it. It is hard not to be carried away by 'shake your tail-feather with the hip and happening in Hungary' or ' warm your bones in the Blue Lagoon, Iceland'.

I sober up however, on thinking about how I get myself into a lot of trouble while travelling. This is because of the following reasons.

1. My chronic inability to plan life in advance. My current capacity for advance planning stands at approximately twenty minutes. This does not compare well with the European average of around two years.

2. My sheer hatred for booking and queueing and similar activities. Early into any such activities, I just keep wishing I was someone famous, some celebrity, so that I can bypass all the fuss and just get what I want. This is not at all helpful, but I cannot help it.

3. My absolute refusal to be a part of anything packaged and guided and so on and my stout determination to do things my own way and at my own slow and languid pace even when I am in completely unknown places.

4. My desire to be disconnected- so no mobile phone and very little Internet.

5. A tight budget.

6. A penchant for travelling alone, which is mostly a good thing. But, there are times when I realise what they mean by 'two heads are better than one'.

So, when people ask me about my plans, I really have no answer. I know that I am going to have dinner in the next twenty minutes, but that is about it. Yet, I somehow get by and manage to do things. So watch this space.

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Jetlag is the only thing that gets me to sleep even a little bit and as of now I am absolutely indulging in it till it lasts. The only time I have ventured out is at half an hour to midnight last night with my sister to collect her pre booked copy of 'Harry Potter and the deathly hallows' at the Waterstone's around the corner. Some three hundred people had already queued up in anticipation of the 12:01 release. It is a relatively sedate crowd with only mild loopiness and some bad costumes, some singing and chanting and mostly elderly people trying to justify their presence because they were young when the series started and now they are hooked. Some guy in a passing cab yells 'Harry dies' in what I thought was a delightfully wi-icked prank except that it caused some young kids to burst in tears. I could sense the excitement amongst the fans but I just stand in the queue and wish I was J. K. Rowling instead. Then, I would get what I want. Without planning and booking and queues.

This model of life

2007-06-26T09:26:00.000-07:00

How on earth did the present model of life evolve? It appears flawed in not inconsiderable ways. This post will touch upon one of the more popular models; the one based on employment. Employment, job, work, career-call it what you will-is at the core of this model. By that I mean more than 50% of waking hours of those living this model is consumed by the employment factor.

Employment typically takes place in organizations. The goal of an organization is to maximize shareholder wealth. I am not going to examine that goal. Looking at things from an employee perspective, I find that organizations function on mind bogglingly flawed principles.

The goals of each individual employee-the basic unit that constitutes an organization-are widely varied. Most often one employee can attain his goal only at the expense of the other. In short, this is a zero-sum game. How can a zero-sum gum make everyone happy? Should we all not be a part of something that can make everyone satisfied, at least in theory? Not only are the individual employee goals not aligned with each other but there is no goal congruence between an organization and its employees as well. For example, organizations want to cut costs. One way of achieving this end would be to downsize or reduce employee compensation. But, this will make the employee unhappy and there is a direct conflict of interests.

Further, power and decision making, which are very critical to the organization tend to be distributed on an arbitrary basis. Less competent people get to make decisions for no better a reason than because they happened to join the organization before more competent people. Organizations just perpetuate a non meritrocratic hierarchy leading to a frustratingly non optimal use of it’s precious human resources. There are far many more fundamental flaws in this set up and I don’t see how can it can ever be satisfactory.

I am sure that there are plenty of happy and satisfied workers all around the world. However, the average worker is at so many points in his career reduced to a demotivated, complaining, whining malcontent. Nearly everyone I know looks forward to the weekend. If this model was any good, would people not be looking forward to the week?

Yet people continue to be employed because employment is the center of a greater model of life. A model that seems to revolve around the concept that stability is the most desirable thing in life. The underlying assumption that stability is the most desirable thing is highly questionable. But, this model pushes you into believing that safety, stability and security are the bedrock of human existence. Not only this, it thrusts the concept of what is desirable and undesirable upon us without giving us a moment to think about it.

At its worst, this model crushes the spirit, destroys the soul and sucks the joy out of existence and is nothing but a trap. I would go so far as to say that it is a trap that makes people forget the existence of a soul and a spirit and turns them into Microsoft office suite wielding automatons.

It leaves you pursuing things without truly comprehending what attaining these things will do for you. This is a model that fails to impress upon people the diminishing marginal utility of money and material things. I am a huge fan of money and material things. I am as pro MT as the next person. But, the concept of diminishing marginal utility applies. There is only so much of stuff that anyone needs. After a point, it is pointless to chase stuff. But, once you start it is hard to stop.

This model is so cleverly designed to sustain itself through the concept of security, that it has a thousand nay sayers questioning the wisdom of people who have the courage to break out. They will be relentlessly worked upon until they are browbeaten into submission; their spirits are crushed and they are firmly entrapped.

Should life not be about what you really like to do? I am alive to the fact that it is not always possible to do what I like. There is the question of a roof over my head and feeding myself. But, surely this is not the only way to answer these questions.

The basic principle of life should be about exploring one’s potential as a human being and maximizing it (obviously assuming that it is done in a moral and ethical way); about knowing what activities bring joy and pleasure and in working towards maximizing the time spent in these activities. I ask not even for a model where I can act upon my thoughts but merely the freedom to think, the opportunity to look inwards and to find my true self.

This model lets you live ‘a’ life. But, it so often comes in the way of leading ‘the’ life.

**This post is for one of the four loyal readers, the one in Spain; Until I actually write something more substantial, please make do with this.

Life right now....

2007-04-03T22:47:00.000-07:00

I feel nothing. I feel everything.
Nothing makes sense. Everything makes too much sense
I am a loser. I am completely satisfied
I don't sleep. I dream
I think. I think. I think. My brain is not working.
I like life. I hate my life.
I am pessimistic. I am a huge bubbling cauldron of positive energy.
I am depressed. I laugh too much.
I like every single person that I have met. I hate the whole world.
I am grateful. I am angry.
I feel passionate. I feel pain.
I can do anything. I cannot do the simplest thing.
I am afraid. I feel fearless.
I have too many thoughts. I have a blank mind.
I need a plan. I plan too much.
I want to find myself. I want to lose myself.
I have too much confidence. I am not sure of myself.
I want to remember. I want to forget.
I pay attention. I cannot concentrate.
I am funny. I am intensely serious minded.
I smile at irony. I think irony is tragic.
I like order. I love chaos.
I want to do many things. I want to be idle.
I have no time. I can feel the seconds ticking away.
I communicate well. No one understands me.
I care. I could not care less.
I want to own. I want to give.
I am an open book. I am very closed.
I am easy going. I am dogmatic.
I want to sleep. I want to wake up.
I am perceptive. I don’t notice things.
Life is good. I am stalked by hopelessness.
I want to travel. I want to go home.
I want to know everything.
I long to be creative.
I like the sunshine.
I want to wander.
I am drained.
I want to disconnect.
I can’t make up my mind.
I feel that life is magical.
I think. I think. I think….

New Year Resolutions

2007-01-06T11:14:00.000-08:00

I don’t have to wait for a new year; I get these moments when I think, ‘this is it’, this is the moment when the rest of my life begins. I don't care about the past; I don't care about any single thing that happened in the past. The rest of my life is going to be great starting this moment, this very second. I know what I want from life, at least for right now and I am going to just go for it. I can make every moment from here on count.

It is hard to make a clean break from the past though. It is not easy to let go of something even if it is no longer a part of your life. It is not easy to control the mind. It is not easy to forget. It is not easy to remember. It is not easy to get rid of stupid habits and silly addictions. It is not easy to change. It is not easy to make even the smallest of changes. It is not even easy to do the things that you like, the things that you really really want to do! And it is not easy at all to figure out why you are unable to the things that you actually WANT to do.

It is not easy to wake up at 7 am. It is not easy to do fifteen minutes of Yoga or twenty minutes of exercise. It is not easy to kick the caffeine and the junk food. It is so not easy to lose eight kilos. It is not easy to read a book a week (even though reading is as simple and as necessary as breathing). It is not easy to write a book. It is not easy to figure out what exactly is it that I want to do with my life. And it is definitely NOT easy to actually DO it. It is not easy to earn more money. It is not easy spend sensibly. It is not easy to visit three countries a year. It is not easy to learn something new nor is it easy to just not forget what I have already learnt. It is not easy to be a good friend, daughter, sister, neighbour, aunt, niece, employee etc. It is not easy to be good to myself. It is not easy to be good to the planet and to suffering humanity. It is not easy to delude myself into thinking that everything is all right. It is not easy to want the simple things so that I get them easily.

Resolutions, New Year or otherwise, have remained the same for far too many years. It is not easy, not easy at all.

.....Continued

2006-12-26T08:10:00.000-08:00

This post is a continuation from here.

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It had dodgy idea written all over it. Who would even contemplate going to an alfresco performance on a grey English afternoon? But, the current season of performances was coming to an end in two days. What is to say that the weather would improve later?

I was not going to be put off by a light but steady drizzle. But, it had turned into a heavy downpour by the time I reached ‘Blackfrairs’ tube station. I was looking out, standing at the edge of an exit, wondering how anyone, even a tourist, could have been so foolish as to have left home without an umbrella on day like that. It looked like I would have to abandon the plan after all when I heard a thickly accented voice screaming 'free umbrella’ with the 'Evening Standard'. That looked like a sign from God that I should carry on.

I bought the newspaper and got my free umbrella. Now, I did not expect anything that I got free with a purchase of 50P to last me years; fifteen minutes would have been good but it lasted me just till the end of the millennium bridge before folding in like a cheap umbrella, which of course is what it was.

I was soaked to the skin in the three further minutes that it took me to get to the Shakespeare’s globe. I was cold, wet and shivering slightly and the sensible thing would have been to go home. But, I had not come that far to be sensible. I only briefly hesitated before buying a ticket for five pounds that would allow me to stand through a staging of ‘Anthony & Cleopatra’.

The Shakespeare’s Globe is a meticulous reconstruction of the original Globe theatre- that Shakespeare helped found in 1599-which was burnt, rebuilt and subsequently closed down and destroyed.

'The building has been painstakingly reconstructed with 600 oak pegs (there’s not a nail or screw in the house), specially fired Tudor bricks and thatching reeds from Norfolk; even the plaster contains goat hair, lime and sand as it did in Shakespeare’s time',I read from my lonely planet guide. The present day re-creation is located just 200 metres from the original and is the first thatched roof building to be permitted in the city since the Great Fire of London in 1666.

In all its authenticity, there is a central arena with no roofing as in the original theater, where the ‘groundlings’ can stand and watch the show. If it is raining, the groundlings in the present day, can buy a plastic mac for 2 pounds to protect themselves and stand through the performance, in the rain.

When the show started, it was pouring so heavily that it was a little bit hard to hear the dialogues even. The rain eases up in 45 minutes but I was cold and wet the entire time. Further, they are extremely strict about the standing. The alert marshalls tap anyone who gets down on their haunches to give their poor aching feet a break (you can leave and return though).

But I did not mind, as standing through a play in the pouring rain is quite the experience. It is not easy to stay focussed through the discomfort though. I notice that Frances Barber as Cleopatra was a dead ringer for Elizabeth Taylor and she was probably the same age but is otherwise well cast. It is just as well that 'Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale / Her infinite variety'. But, I lose track of things off and on.

Authentic, the whole setting undoubtedly is, except for the occasional planes that are distinctly non-Shakespearean and the fashions of fellow groundlings was far too Denim and 21st century. Perhaps, they should make the audiences wear costumes as well. That would help.

Three hours later, I tried not to think of the incipient pneumonia and the imminent knee replacement surgery; I had experienced something that I would not forget. The season of performances runs from May to October at the Shakespeare’s Globe. It is well worth catching, rain or sun.

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Sometimes I would buy the newspaper and at others I would see it for the extravagance that it was. In any case, two free newspapers had been launched in early September this year and were competing fiercely for readership. It is not clear how that is going to play out because there is little to differentiate between the two of them. They are distributed everywhere from early afternoon with purple jacket clad people handing out the purple themed free ‘The London paper’ and there was the relatively unsemiotic free ‘London Lite’.

Their coverage revolves largely around celebrity gossip and sightings, style tips, sudoku and the occasional surprising detours to North Korea and Iraq. But, they were not too bad to the extent that they had comprehensive entertainment listings and reviews, both very useful, and then they can be used to line shelves and cupboards once you are done (probably a very Indian thing). They also had the important merit of being free.

Broadly speaking of local journalism, I liked the happily direct and robust way in which a tourist attraction was called 'Piss weak', the desire to dismiss Tracey Emin’s childhood recollections in 'Strangeland' as codswallop and a film review that exclaimed 'What a crock of mock doc rock'.

But, the tendency to latch on to some issue and debate on it ad nauseam was irksome. I read about Madonna’s baby adoption, the veil controversy and the debate on the ban of size zero models, with every Tom, Dick and Harry tossing in his two pence, till I felt like screaming if I ever looked at anything related to these stories. All these issues are still in circulation and I can feel the effect of that early overdose even now.

And then there is the excessive obsession with celebrities; I believe that all local media houses employ a full time Kate Moss correspondent whose job is to just follow her around, regardless of what she is doing and report it regardless how excruciatingly dull it may be. Jude Law, Sienna Miller and Madonna, Posh and Becks correspondents do a fair amount of work as well. You are also constantly assaulted by the useless celebrity of reality show rejects, Kimberly Stewart and Peaches Geldof, the latter always in the news for reasons that I am yet to figure out.

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My kind host (my sister), the global traveler, is home only on weekends, mainly to do the laundry, or when am there, supervise me doing it while she languidly sips her coffee, also prepared by me. Once we are done with the domesticity she goes for a run in nearby Holland Park or slightly further down Kensington Gardens. She runs while I studiously avoid all physical activity and read The Guardian.

We then go have an English breakfast, or as English as the vegetarian version can be, at the lovely ‘The lazy daisy café’-veg sausage, eggs, beans, toast, mushrooms, tomatoes and coffee, always swapping the tomatoes and eggs because I don’t eat eggs and she hates tomatoes. We then wander slowly and aimlessly on Portobello road, which claims to be the world’s largest antique market. It looks like a questionable claim; but as there is probably no reasonable way of measuring the size of an antique market, they can make it and get away with it.

It is a beautiful street market with wide ranging wares and I discover the pleasures of checking out the items without worrying about having to make any purchase decisions; nothing was retailing for the 1.50 Pounds that I could spare for something unnecessary like shopping. In many ways, shopping was just like visiting a museum or an art gallery. I look at the objets d'art and admire them. This developed into our weekend morning routine, and not surprisingly, because it was idyllic and perfect.

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I wake up one fine day and get this bright idea that I should visit literary addresses and by that I mean the made up ones made famous by books.

It all started with father telling me to visit '221B Baker Street' just as I was leaving home for the airport. He could have said many things but this what he says. I have no idea what he thought I would find at some fictitious address. Neither did I and there was only one thing to do. No, not google, but to go there and see for myself.

This was the only time that I misread the directions from the ‘Baker Street' underground station. But, I don't care that much, I am happy to just wander, I see 'Harley Street' and it as full of doctors' chambers as I have heard, the ones that may cure you of other ailments but will leave you an arm and a leg short. I walk past a house where Charles Dickens wrote six of his major works and it has a nice mural of the characters from these works. I eventually get to Baker Street, and there is this quaint little house that very conspicuously announces itself as ‘221B, Baker Street’. This is jarringly incongruous because it really is number 239, which is obvious from the numbering of properties on either side.

The 'Sherlock Holmes museum' was opened in 1990 at this location. This surprises me given how popular the uber detective has always been. How come no one thought of extracting six quid from the many misguided fans who must have been thronging Baker Street all these years?

The museum itself is a bit of a letdown. There were very few but excited visitors wandering around. The first floor is an attempt at a detailed re-creation of the living quarters of Sherlock Holmes based on the description from the books. This floor is designed to look as it would be from desuetude since August 5 th 1898 (a copy of ‘The Times’ of that date lies outside). Yet some items like the mirror have been cleaned and it stands out from the rest of the setup that is full of moldy and worn out stuff.

On the second and third floors there are displays of (presumably famous) scenes from the books using wax dummies. You have a depiction of 'The blackmailer Charles Augustus Milverton being shot dead by one of his victims' and 'Holmes and Watson with their grotesque discovery in the church vault at Shoscombe old place'. If it sounds a bit ghastly, I can assure you that it is. I heard that actors playing various parts roam around the museum in costume and I thank my good fortune that I did not run into any of them.

There is a souvenir store on the ground floor. Throughout the museum, and in the store in particular, the pipe and deerstalker hat motif are done to death, brought back to life and then done to death some more. Given the inventive brilliance of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s works, it looks like the museum has missed the opportunity to do something creative and interesting. I would say that it is only for the die-hard fans but that is already the case.

And to finish, I walk through the length of the street checking the numbers; there is no 221, B or any other alphabet. There is a huge property occupying several numbers that is currently a construction site where the number could lie.

My next stop is platform nine and three quarters. I get off at King’s Cross station. I walk around the station but find only six platforms. I was standing in the midst of nowhere after some time, wondering if I was missing something when I have this unbelievably Homer Simpsonish Doh moment. It hits me that mystical wizard lands cannot be reached from a mere underground station! There must a railway station, possibly just outside, as indeed it was. I could not believe how stupid I had been. I get out and go to the railway station.

I don’t know if Harry was excited by King’s Cross station but I know I was. There was the pleasant unhurriedness of a lazy Tuesday afternoon as was the vague promise of interesting journeys. I begin to get into the pleasure of looking for something fictitious; you don’t really know what you are looking for or what you are going to find.

I walk past platforms 6, 7 and 8 and I am crossing over to platform 9, 10 and 11 when I see a board against the wall that says ‘PLATFORM 9 ¾’ and below it is a trolley-Property of network rail King’s Cross. Do not remove it from this station- that is chained to the wall. I take some time to grasp the significance of this. I think the idea is that by pushing the trolley through the wall you can reach the magical platform. But, then I reason that it should be between platforms 9 and 10 and not 8 and 9 as it is now. But then I think some more and figure that the logic is that once you push past eight you can reach platforms 9 to 11 and any fractions thereof. Besides, there is no convenient way of placing that trolley and board between numbers 9 and 10. I suppose this is the best that they could have done.

In any case, there are few people who are interested in it; a group of very bizarrely dressed young men and women stand there, taking their pictures in front of the trolley. I am surprised that it is not a bigger tourist attraction given how popular the series is. Even as I stand there, hoping I did not look like a campy Harry Potter loving tourist (not that anyone cared) millions were thronging Madam Tussaud’s; but platform 9.75 was not attracting people. The modern young literature fan, it would appear, has no interest in chasing literary holy grails.

Helene Hanff’s '84 Charing cross Road' is a book based on the author’s actual correspondence with an employee of the real life bookshop 'Marks & Co' located at that address. So, this a genuine address. The store later became an 'All Bar One' and is now a construction site. But, there are many other lovely bookshops on Charing Cross road, so it is impossible to care. The Drones club, from P.G.Wodehouse, is supposed to be located on Dover Street, but I don’t recollect any precise address. Besides, I am tired and ready to go home.

****************************************

I am alone for a lot of time during my three week trip as my host is travelling. I may have friends in London but I have been able to contact just one; I have no mobile phone, Internet connection or a television. I am so happy to get away from the things that my life usually revolves around. I have never lived alone in a long time and it felt like my own Walden (of course with a seriously massive stretch of the imagination). Somehow, the best part of being away was not so much doing anything as doing nothing at home, where I would turn up the blinds on the window by two feet to let in just that perfect amount of sunshine into my beautiful little room.

A whole lot of things

2006-11-26T09:48:00.000-08:00

Regular readers of this blog, and I am happy to say that it as many as five people, have been pointing out that it has remained unupdated for over two months. A very devoted reader, horror of horrors, even threatened blogultery, if I did not come up with a post soon. I know how hard I have toiled to build readership to such impressive levels and I feel terrified at the prospect of losing it all.

I do have a good reason for not blogging. I was away on a holiday for three weeks and while I did contemplate writing about it, I decided against doing so. What, I felt, could I possibly say about London that hasn’t already been said? After all, the very wonderful city attracts an impressive 30 million tourists every year.

However, I have thought long and hard about it and I am going to write a post about it for the following reasons

1. A lot has been said, but it was not said by me.
2. This is all I did for three whole weeks; therefore, there is nothing else that I can blog about.
3. And really, seeing as that I immersed myself wholeheartedly in the experience, I feel that surely at least a tithe of the somewhat massive post(s) to follow (yes, you have been forewarned) could be well worth reading.

So, here goes-my 2 cents, or rather 2 pence, on the subject.

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Somehow I had this impression that the London underground was famous and somehow I must have assumed that it was famous for being efficient and spectacular. Somehow I know that they are not responsible for these assumptions of mine and my subsequent shock; but that does not make matters any better.

The first thing that I noticed was that there seemed to be no published list of train timings. They seemed to be generally winging it along the broad principle of “we will send you one as soon as we can”. Also, as I was exiting a station for the first time, I noticed a board that against each line said “good service”. Naturally, I wondered if this meant that service was not good sometimes. I thought it was a bit ominous and I was not far wrong. I was to encounter enough and more of bad service, delayed service, late service and indeed no service at all really soon.

I was returning home the very first day that I had ventured out; I stood up as my station was approaching when a very cool voice announced that we would not be stopping at the next station. More than anything else, it was the sheer lack of warning of any sort that hurt the most. For two consecutive days the ‘Notting Hill Gate’ tube station remained closed due to sewage leakage and subsequent flooding, of all the things. All this was extremely disconcerting to someone whose only way to get back (to the temporary) home was extremely carefully memorized instructions from said station.

Then there was the trauma of bad service. When I have to go somewhere, I study the underground map carefully and then work out the best way to get there. Even as I am congratulating myself on my brilliance in working out an effective journey route, I am told to avoid some line due to severe delays. The official shows little or no concern for the amount of hard work that I have put in, in deciding on my travel route and the fact that all that work has now gone down the drain unlike the sewage waters at ‘Notting Hill Gate’ station. With a sigh I get back to the already very dog-eared copy of the map.

Then there is this 'Mind the gap' business; which is another surprise and an irony. They can build wonderful architecture like at the 'King's cross St.Pancras' tube station and yet they cannot build lines without a huge gap between the platform and the train? ! It is such an unbelievable waste of resources to just keep asking people to 'mind the gap' day in and day out. It is all very well to say mind the gap, what about the people who do not speak English and what about the deaf? No wonder there were 57 gap related injuries last year in spite of the non-stop warnings. And this is just going to go on endlessly. If only they had spent a little less time on architecture and a little more time in measuring distances, much of this could have been averted. But, of course you would not have had those cool souvenir T-shirts that say, 'Mind the gap'.

Further, the persistent sense of paranoia over possible terrorist attacks acts as a killjoy. I sense this a little more strongly coming from a relatively threat free city. There are continuous warnings to keep your luggage with yourself all the time and to not leave bags unattended because that will cause delays. The warnings are a constant reminder that the system is always under risk from possible terrorist attacks and it is not a pleasant thought.

The tube using public is a phenomenon in itself. "Much is made about the silence on the tube, although we don't of any metro in the world where the passengers are high-fiving and breaking into song", says Martin Hughes of the Lonely Planet Guide to London. This may or may not be true. However, we are also not aware of any metro in the world where people appear to be going to lengths to deliberately avoid any possible eye contact with a fellow passenger by being either really or pretending to be deeply absorbed in a newspaper or a book, lost in the music from the ipod and other cool music playing devices or by simply staring blankly into space. What is up with that, Mr. Hughes?!

I was climbing down the stairs to enter the 'Oxford Street' tube station one day when the shutters came down followed by an announcement over the public address system that the station was closed due to over crowding. (Who would have even contemplated such a station closure possibility? If that was a reason for closing stations, I don’t think we can keep any station open for long in India.)

I was not too sure what to do, but the other people seemed to have decided to wait, and very patiently at that, and I decided to do the same. Their calm patience was a little astonishing especially since there was no information forthcoming on if and when the station would open. I was not very happy and I did not even have anything to do or anywhere to go. But these other people must have had homes and hearths to return to, yet, they did not seem to mind waiting there. I did not understand their calm patience that day but I understood it soon enough.

Having said all this, once you become aware of all that can go wrong and you travel with a boy scoutish “be prepared’ mentality, the London underground is an unbelievably effective of getting around. You may be delayed, but you never get lost and it gets you where you want to go. If it is actually famous, I am not surprised that it is.

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The 'West End' seduces every visitor from the moment they arrive in London. You cannot use public transportation without having shows, and musicals in particular, screaming for attention left, right, centre, front and behind. There is almost the illusion that the city is just one big musical production in itself.

There are a fair number of productions and all of them of them advertise the absolutely fantastic over the top notices that they have received. It would seem that there are no bad productions at all. In fact there are no average productions even, it is all in the superlative.

If you are not sort of person who prebooks tickets to ‘Lion king’ the musical before embarking on the trip, complaint that the prices are too high and limit yourself to exactly one show, the choices are vast and bewildering.

How can anyone decide between 'The greatest British musical I’ve ever seen' according to Charles Spencer of 'The Daily Telegraph' (Billy Elliot) when you also have the 'Winner of every major best musical award’ (The Producers). Some do not need good notices; they have longevity on their side. 'The world’s longest running musical', declares ‘Les Miserables’ and you cannot fight something as powerful as that. Of course it is hard to ignore 'The Most electrifying hit show in town-go now!' according to 'Sky News' (Footloose the musical) or 'Expect to be amazed', according to the 'Sunday telegraph' (Stomp). And seriously, who amongst is not looking for ‘A terrific night out’, according to the daily mail- (Mamma Mia).

Of course you start to fine tune the information and realize that “A truly nerve shedding experience”, according to the Daily Mail is perhaps something best avoided (The woman in black). And when Michael Billington of ‘The Guardian’ says,” I couldn’t love anyone who didn’t see ‘how they run’”, it must be subject to a wider interpretation that might be more telling about Mr. Billington than the play itself. As for ‘footloose the musical’, all I can say is,'you have got to be kidding me'! Further, it is possible that that these reviews are just partial extracts. When they have chosen to publicize ‘extremely funny comedy’, the whole review might have actually said ‘this is so not an extremely funny comedy ‘ or ‘if you are looking for extremely funny comedy, avoid this like the plague’.

There are the advertisements screaming for attention, there are the reviews and there are recommendations from all and sundry. So, I finally went to the following shows after carefully processing all the information and using the extremely scientific methodology that I will now outline for the benefit of future visitors.

The phantom of the Opera –Damn Andrew Lloyd Webber and his campy but catchy tunes which I have been unable get out my head ever since I first heard them. Also, many is the time I have sung in my bath
When in the opera house, I know he is there
I see him on the stairs, he is everywhere
And when my song begins I always find
The Phantom of the Opera is there
Inside my mind

And I was happy to catch the whole thing live.

Life of Galileo-May be I will get a true understanding of what Brechtian means. It cannot be denied that such an understanding will enhance the quality of my life.

Waiting for Godot-It felt so appropriate on the 100th anniversary of Samuel Beckett’s birth.

The Mousetrap-It is as fine a London tradition as minding gaps. The show is in its 54th year and I went to staging number 22,452. (It looks as though it’s current run is simply to keep a record going. The theater was less than half occupied.)

A moon for the misbegotten- Kevin Spacey and The Old Vic, reasons enough.

Anthony and Cleopatra- The authentic Shakespeare experience at the 'Shakespeare’s Globe'.

La Traviata-One of two operas in town and the other one looked scary.

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Of course, I have to go the tour of the 'Lord’s' stadium. A crowd of around 70 people had gathered in the Museum inside where the tour starts. Tour Guide Jim (I just made that up) asks everyone to gather around him and he starts enquiring where we are all from. “Who is from Australia?” he asks; two hands go up and a same number for England and South Africa and New Zealand. No hands go up for Pakistan, Bangladesh and Sri Lanka. (He was not very thorough in his enquiry, as I do not recollect Zimbabwe and the West Indies being called out). “How many from India?” he bellows. Of course, it was very nearly the entire lot of visitors and it does not surprise anyone.

I found the rest of the crowd as interesting as the tour itself. Quite a few of them seemed a little awe struck even as they walked through the 'Grace Gate' entrance and they approached the whole business with a quietly reverential air. Reverence was writ large on the countenance of the young man that with delight spotted the 'Prudential Cup' in the museum. Immediately, he stood next to it and had a photograph taken. I felt like pointing out to him that having that photo did not mean that he had anything whatsoever to with the cup. But, it was clear that he had in some ineffable way become a part of India’s famous win at the 1983 World Cup tournament with that photograph and who am I to spoil the vicarious fantasies of these earnest young men.

Of course, it would be great to actually see a match being played there but the tour takes you where you cannot go on a match day and these places are well worth going to. I got pretty reverential too once I got to the dressing rooms and we were looking out of the famous and familiar balconies.

Our tour guide Bob (I think I got that right) keeps it going with a whole lot of trivia and anecdotes while gamely answering the questions from the earnest young Indians. Some were reasonable like, "Why does the stadium still not have floodlights"? (The stadium is located in a residential area and the neighbours will not allow lights). Some related to the subject that is close to the heart of all Indians like, "When India won the World Cup in 1983, where was Kapil Dev presented with the trophy"? Then there were the really deep ones like, "When Lance Klusener won the player of the tournament award in the 1999 World Cup, where was it presented?" Bob was a bit flummoxed by that one but on the whole he was a knowledgeable and entertaining person.

The tour culminated in a very detailed telling of the story of the history behind 'The Ashes', which is a really delightful story. Although disappointingly enough the Ashes urn itself was not there in the museum. Only for the third time in its long history had it left its comfortable home in the Lord's museum and was traveling down under ahead of the year’s Ashes series (currently being played there). The urn was allegedly traveling first class whilst its minders traveled economy. The tour is a pleasant and informative experience and totally worth the eight quid price of admission.

The Wimbledon experience or to be more precise the ‘All England Lawn tennis and Croquet Club’ experience is more of the same. Once again the tour is designed to provide vicarious thrills and they have quite the winning formula here. The tour takes you through the stadium through the path that a player would take, starting from where they enter and sign in, through the dressing rooms and down the route through which they will finally come out to play on court. They even let you sit in the chairs where the players sit taking questions during the mandatory post match press conferences. Although I myself felt no such thing, I saw that the others actually felt like they had competed in the tournament.

There is a museum which is very well designed and ekes the most out of the limited possibilities that it has. After all it is not much fun seeing Goran Ivanisevic’s tennis apparel unless he is inside them. But, the museum is incredibly hitech, full of touch screen terminals with player information, other trivia, quizzes, games etc and it is reasonably engrossing.

(This is it for now but there is more to come in the next post.)

What do I read?

2006-09-09T08:10:00.000-07:00

I usually carry a book with me wherever I go-work, shopping, movie, anywhere. The idea is to read it during the commute, when I am waiting for someone or in any of those "interstices” as Umberto Eco puts it in this interview. However, I almost never get around to reading anything mainly because I have short commutes and I get so mad if am kept waiting that I can’t read.

I have carried seriously heavy books (Philip Roth’s ‘American Pastoral’, Thomas Mann’s ‘Buddenbrooks’) for substantial periods of time without reading a single word. But, I still do it anyway. Much like a boy scout I want to “be prepared”. I used to take a wide selection of reading material with me just to cater to the reading mood that I am likely to be in, even if I know I can read only a few pages. Now, I have at least stopped filling my bag with several books like I used to. I have reduced it to a book or two and perhaps a magazine.

So, people see me, book in hand, and question me about my reading preferences. I am asked these questions frequently and I find it very difficult to give a satisfactory answer. For one, I strongly suspect that these people are fans of Harry Potter or worse still Dan Brown and any conversation with those of that ilk, let alone on the subject of books, might be a little painful. For another, the answer to that question cannot really be given off hand.

There was a time when I read any book that was lying around the house. There were quite a lot of books at home, although, I am yet to figure out who they really belonged to. I do recollect though that many had the stamp of some library marked on them, which along with the name of the library, also included a helpful reminder “please return within seven days”. I should have felt some sympathy for the poor optimistic souls that actually thought that the reminder would be heeded. But, I just thought it was hilarious that not only did someone think that the book would be returned but also that it would be done within the strictish time frame of a week.

Anyway, it was good fun. I read absolute gems like, ‘Of human bondage’ and ‘The razor’s edge’ by Somerset Maugham, E.L.Doctrow’s ‘Ragtime’, ‘The castle’ by Franz Kafka, Jean Paul Sartre’s ‘The age of reason’, ‘A catcher in the rye’ by J.D. Salinger, books by Pearl S. Buck, John Steinbeck, Aldous Huxley, Truman Capote and hundreds more, not to mention the discovery of P.G.Wodehouse, which of course cannot be covered here.

I never quite read any duds, however, I had to wonder why I had read several books by A.J. Cronin and Daphne Du Maurier. The whole randomness of reading the first thing that I could lay my hands upon did not seem right given that there is only limited time and unlimited books. I wanted method and I have developed just that over a period of time.

I read the section on books in ‘The New York Times’, ‘Salon’ and the ‘The Guardian’ apart from reviews from other newspapers, magazines and sites. I don’t know whether these are the best sources. But, they are comprehensive. I am used to these sites and their writers and I find the information that I get to be adequate.The combined reviews are good enough to tell me whether or not I am interested in any book. As biased as reviews are, they can be quite useful especially because I read from varied sources.

Knowing exactly what I want to get out of my reading I can decide what books I would like to read and I build a list (which by the way is so huge that even if I stop right now, I will never be done). For example, I know that I want to read ‘Special topics in Calamity physics’ by Marisha Pessl, and ‘The Emperor’s children’ by Claire Messud from latest fiction.

I spend far more time reading about books than I do in actually reading them. But, even if I don’t get around to reading a book, reading multiple reviews is rewarding as, very often, the essence of a book can be found in the review, which is very useful when it comes to non-fiction. Also, literary criticism is in itself a very rewarding read some times.

I have come to love the methodical approach. Of course, it is much less spontaneous this way. Also, I know so much about a book before I start reading it that there are very few surprises left. However, I do get the most out of the precious little time that I am able to give to personal reading and I am happy.

And that is the answer to the questions about my reading preferences.

Decisions, decisions

2006-08-08T21:38:00.000-07:00

I have a simple and effective way of dealing with problems. I don’t. I just put away the nagging problems that I cannot face up to, issues that I cannot deal with, problems and issues- big and small- into boxes, close the lid gently but firmly and toss them into the attic of my brain. I then carry on with my life as usual. I, of course, have every intention of going back and opening the boxes when am nice and ready to deal with things.

There is a box in my hand right now. It is not a small one. It is not even a mid-sized one. In fact, it is a giant sized box filled with many crazy memories collected over a long period of time. I look at it and wonder what I should do. I try to think about the stuff inside it. I try to list out my options in dealing with them and the consequences of pursuing each of these options. Not very many of them end well. Some do. Therefore, the odds of a happy ending are low.

I draw out a mental ‘decision tree’. There are no easy decisions here even after all the hard work…. I look at the branch on the decision tree that says, “Do nothing”. It does look attractive and simple.

My hand reaches out for the lid on the box. It would be very simple to just close the box. Like I always have so far.

But, the attic is getting crowded with unopened boxes, all jostling for space. It looks like there is very little room in there. If I put in one more box, the whole space could explode, throwing the issues out into the wide-open…vast numbers of them, all suddenly demanding my attention at the same time. I could physically picture the explosion and a million boxes scattered all over the place. Issues creeping out of them …menacing little things, with lives of their own, roaming all over my head at their own free will causing pain, trouble and anguish.

It is time to open a box…

Or at least not close the one in my hand…

Wednesday

2006-06-22T08:00:00.000-07:00

I can’t remember the last time that I did something that really mattered.
I can’t remember the last time that I did something.
I can’t remember the last time.
I can’t remember.
I can’t.

8:48 a.m. is the threshold time. The alarm has been ringing, at 5-minute regular intervals, for quite some time now. All that does not matter any more. This is the absolute latest that I have to get out of bed. I would have the luxury of not having to do six tasks at the same time if I had responded to any one the prior alarm rings. Who needs such luxuries? Every moment of being able to actually avoid starting the day seems precious in itself.

9:34 a.m. I push the heavy frosted glass door open and get sucked into a maze of non-ergonomic furniture, demanding clients, crashing computers, harsh lighting, over sweetened weak tea, faux coffee, sixty three phone calls that offer me loans- insurance- free –credit- cards- broadband –Internet- connections-club-memberships and much more, moments of
boredom,
concentration,
thinking,
forgetting,
remembering,
working,
feigning,
stalling,
trying,
succeeding,
failing,
occasional bursts of intense frustration and
rare moments of satisfaction.

7:00 p.m. I am chilled to the bone from the excessive air-conditioning and bleary eyed from having stared at a computer monitor unblinkingly. For most of nine and a half hours. And some more of the vital life force that keeps me alive has been inexorably squeezed out. At the current rate of squeeze out, I wonder how long before it is all squeezed. It is too late in the day for advanced mathematics.

8: 53 p.m. Still, a little more than three hours of my “own” time left. I lie comfortably numb in front of the television-VH1 in very low volume- and revel in the freedom to any absolute thing. Except that I seem to have lost the power to move my limbs. Out the corner of my eye (I roll my eyeballs, it is too much work to turn my head) I can see a stack of books.
The corrections-Jonathan Franzen
Gilead –Marilynne Robinson
Argumentative Indian-Amartya Sen
Aunt Julia and the scriptwriter-Maria Vargas Llosa
The global Soul-Pico Iyer
They all look so inviting. I try to move my aching limbs to reach to one. I try really hard.

8:55 p.m. I don’t think I can reach the books.

8: 57 p.m. Three minutes to Grey’s anatomy. Story of a group of surgical interns-including an ex-underwear model as a current struggling intern and we get to see the back story visually-working gazillion hour shifts, yet, somehow looking like highly paid TV stars working on their acceptance speech for the Emmy award for best ensemble cast in a drama series. Who can watch something so cheesy?

8:59 p.m. The remote is practically in my hand. Switching from channel 72 to channel 14 seems within the realm of possibility for aching limbs.

9:04 p.m. The horrible betrayal of having traded Amartya Sen for Ellen Pompeo and Patrick Dempsey-not cute as is being widely claimed- is sending waves of guilt raging through my entire body.

9:12 p.m. It may be cheesy. But, this soundtrack is really good stuff. I must hunt this title track on the net tomorrow. Did Ellen Pompeo get an Emmy for this?

11:48 p.m. God, these Friends reruns are still so funny.

12:10 a.m. I can't remember the last time that I did something that really mattered.

We, the people

2006-06-05T07:03:00.000-07:00

It is a good thing that I have only a few readers because I think that I am going to be lynched for what I am about to say. However, I am confident about my line of thinking. So, I am going to do it anyway.

I have been receiving a lot of “forwarded” emails questioning the intellect of Human Resource Development Minister Arjun Singh and in general lampooning the concept of “reservations”. I have no reliable information on whether or not the good minister is a moron. Further, I do not know too much about the merits of reservations/ affirmative action either. I have not read any study on whether such actions have really benefitted the target group. So, I don’t know if it is a good or a bad idea. I don’t even know if “reservations” as they happen in India constitute affirmative action.

What I do know is that we can never solve any problems if we do not identify and define the problem correctly to start with. And I do think we are missing several points in this respect.

For starters, it does seem quite silly to think that Arjun Singh’s actions are driven by any deep affinity for backward communities or the concept of “reservations” in itself. I don’t think Mr. Singh cares two hoots for reservations and let us not think that he does. It is more reasonable to assume that his motive is in pleasing a large block of voters who will hopefully vote him to power.

I don’t think the actual agenda of any politician is reservations for backward communities, the distribution of large quantities of free colour televisions and computers or banning “The Da Vinci code”. They are hoping that these actions will help them win the support of a certain section of the electorate which will then vote them into power. To just mock the stupidity of these ideas is stupidity in itself. If we send the message that we think such ideas suck-by voting the proponents of these bad ideas out of power-then politicians will be compelled to make good choices.

I do believe that an irrational electorate that is subject too much “group think” and little common sense is the partial cause of bad political decisions.

Let us take the example of oil prices. The prices of oil are governed by the global forces of demand and supply. No politician in Delhi has any role in this (except beyond fixing import tariffs). Yet they routinely get blamed for price rises. The “economically sensible” thing would be a price hike from time to time. Keeping the prices artificially low through subsidies is just distorting the economy. Yet, not the most sensible politician can dare to raise prices even if he/she knows that it is the right thing to do so. Where do people think these subsidies come from anyway? Is not the protesting public at least a little bit culpable for bad decision making in this instance?

Back to the subject of reservations, I see much support for the concept of reservations based on economic need and not on caste. It is naïve and purblind to think that people in India are not discriminated on the basis of caste and that every citizen in this country has access to the same resources and has equal opportunities. Let’s get real. Does a bright young person from a backward caste in rural India have the same opportunities as an equally bright urban forward caste youngster in this country? I should think not.

I am not supporting “reservations” as it being currently implemented. This is just a blatant vote bank politics gimmick. But, some special action and spending targeted towards certain communities to create a more level playing field is important. We cannot let our objection to the concept of reservations lose sight of a good goal.

More importantly, we cannot let any group of self absorbed individuals from elitist institutions who have no grip on the real problems facing the country usurp our attention towards the cause of maintaining the pristine integrity of their institutions. As important as that cause is, it is relatively trivial.

We need new ideas. We need better ideas. But, where is it going to come from if people spend their time forwarding emails that call Arjun Singh a moron?

Do we need Lok Paritran?

2006-05-21T10:09:00.000-07:00

Lok Paritran- a party floated by IITans- did well in the May 8th assembly elections in Tamil Nadu. Now, I am one of those voters who takes the whole business of voting very seriously. I read manifestos and I evaluate the performance of parties. I am not the sort of superficial voter that can be satisfied by the mere promise of economic growth. I look to see if such growth has been fair as measured by the Gini index and such other rigorous parameters. In short, I have a lot of free time.

Obviously, the emergence of LP in Tamil Nadu politics caught my eye. Their single biggest selling point, as far as I could make out, was being a “party floated by IITans”. I can’t even remember a second one. There was some talk about providing a “clean administration”. But, I dismissed that. It was really the “IITans” part that seemed to have caught the imagination of the voting public. Although why this particular fact constituted any selling point in politics was beyond me. I ranted about this silly faith that we have in IITans to my colleague during one of the many freewheeling discussions that we have on world politics and other important subjects. He heard me out and then told me that I was demanding and hard to please. I deny that charge completely. I am just logical. That is all.

I do believe that the entrance exam to get into the IITs is the toughest and most intellectually taxing examination anywhere in the world. I congratulate every single person who managed to clear that hurdle to get into the IITs. Having said that, I see no reason why anyone who managed to clear a demanding examination to get a technical degree becomes a corruption free and able administrator. Logically speaking, if we are at all looking for specific educational qualifications in our politicians should we not be looking for individuals with degrees in economics or political science even?

The problem is that we Indians have fallen into the mindset of viewing all politicians as being under educated if not just plain uneducated. (Not to mention, corrupt individuals who have collectively done no good for this country since independence). But, if you think about it, they are not such a badly educated lot. I cannot think of any country that is headed by two intellectuals of the stature of Prime Minister Manmohan Singh and President APJ Abdul Kalam.

I happen to know that the Union health minister Anbumani Ramadoss is somewhat aptly a medical doctor and Union finance minister P. Chidambaram does not exactly seem illiterate. Minister of Science & Technology, Kapil Sibal has Harvard on his resume as does Communications & Information Technology Minister, Dayanidhi Maran. Mani Shankar, Minister of Youth Affairs & Sports, has Cambridge on his CV. Commerce & Industry minister, Kamal Nath has a degree in commerce from St. Xavier’s College, Kolkata. This is the same qualification as former Indian cricket captain Saurav Ganguly. I would imagine that what degree is good enough to lead the country in cricket should be good enough for the country itself.

I had a look at the bios of a good number of the Council of Ministers. There were way too many of them with a law degree- including Railways Minister, Lalu Prasad –for my liking. But, overall there was sufficient education. This nation is not being run by a bunch of illiterates.

In this context, I see no reason for voting public to be enamoured by a party simply because it was floated by IITans. This guarantees virtually nothing beyond the fact they are reasonably bright individuals. They need to prove themselves in far many more respects to be successful politicians.

After all the hype, comes the news that they have actually split over problems relating to caste, favoritism, lack of transparency and corruption. They managed all these impressive wrong doings in shortest span of time imaginable. Now, they seem more like politicians. But, we already have enough and more of this variety. We don’t need any more. We just might be better off showing a little support to those of the existing politicians that do seem to be capable, instead of seeking other alternatives.

The unbearable heaviness of being

2006-04-03T06:59:00.000-07:00

There was a time when life used to be easy. I liked reading. I read a lot of good books and I was happy. I wanted to read every book that was ever written. It was a nice goal and one that ensured that I would never be bored or hard pressed to find something to do. Then I started watching a lot of movies. The motion pictures were interesting too. I did not want to watch every movie ever made. But, I wanted to see the good ones. I love music. I have been to some good concerts and am always ready for more. I love sports. I am always ready and eager for any live sporting action. I am an enthusiastic quizzer. Really, I am interested in all sorts of things. I heard myself use the word passion often enough. I had one good friend. Life, was not half bad. At least it felt that way.

But, deep down something never felt quiet right ever. The leitmotif that runs through my thinking- “What am I doing with my life?”-started plaguing me in new and unimaginable ways…………… till I find it find it impossible to be content with my life as it is.

I feel completely dissatisfied with being nothing but a passive reader, observer or listener. This is all the easy life. I feel like I am doing nothing. Just nothing, as long as I am not doing with my intellect and creativity (of course acting under the assumption that I have some of those).

I never imagined that there would be a day when I would think that I could do something better than read a good book. But, I just can’t pick up a book these days without thinking that I should maybe try writing one instead. Then, I would be doing something with my life. ………………….And so it goes on, no matter what I do. (Except, when am eating. I have no desire to cook; I am happy just eating). The desire to do something is slowly reaching insane proportions.

It is not lost upon me that this sort of thinking can only make life harder. All around me I see happy people. They all don’t seem to be doing much. In fact they do much less than me and they are ALL happy. I wish I could be that way. But, that would not be me of course. It would never be me to take the easy route.

I don’t want to read books. I don’t want to watch movies. I don’t want to watch any sports ………..not if that is all I am going to do. I just want to DO something with my life, my intellect. I can report that the net result of such thinking ,so far, has been more towards the not doing part of it-I managed to nail that one- rather than the actual doing part of it. But, we will see how it goes…………….

To continue....

2006-02-25T06:31:00.000-08:00

I don’t know being what age does it for people, but being what I am right now has done it for me. Or maybe this is happening just to me and has never happened to anyone else. I don’t even quite realise how it happened. Was it building up over a period of time or was it just a moment of sudden realisation? I am not too sure. All I do know is that I feel like life is passing me by and am doing precious little with it.

If I don’t watch out I will never even come close to doing those million things-big and small- that I figured I would do (or in some cases try to do) at some point of time in my life……… write a book, visit Italy, be on a reality TV show, skydive, learn to drive, win the Nobel prize………even as I figured that I had all the time in the universe..... I was in no hurry. I could start tomorrow. So, I just put my feet up and watched a rerun of “Friends”, probably for the 73rd time.

But, now it all feels so wrong. I know that I can’t afford to behave like that any more. It, for some reason, feels very now or never when it comes to all of life’s ambitions. I have got to do something about my life…… I have got to make every moment count…. and I feel this very strongly.

Suddenly, I am questioning every single action of mine. Should I really be shopping? Should I be participating in quizzes that I have no reasonable chance of winning? Should I be writing a blog that is read by three people? Could I not be doing something better with my time? Something more “meaningful”? The only problem is that, often, I am not too sure what this “better” way of spending my time is.

Sometimes I just feel paralysed by all the thinking and so completely spent that I can hardly do anything. At the end of the day, I would have done absolutely nothing- not even watched reruns-and just just given myself furious headaches, raging insomnia and pushed myself into hopeless depression. But, somehow this misery feels like the first step to doing something meaningful in life. I just have to figure out what that means....

My life right now....

2006-01-16T08:19:00.000-08:00

The only time I got what I wanted was when I was once watching MTV and thought that it would be nice to hear "What's the frequency, Kenneth?" by REM and it was played almost the next second. It was a nice feeling. I was reminded of this when I heard the song three days back

I met someone recently and then proceeded to tell him very very personal stuff almost at once. For some inexplicable reason (of course it is inexplicable because I barely know the guy and therefore cannot explicate anything) he seems to be the sort of person that invites confidences. It was good fun. I wish I could do it some more. However, my natural reticence is threatening to return...

I think several thoughts at the same time. At least that is what I think. It is impossible to say when I am thinking this many things. At the same time.

I actually like my job. I am pleasantly surprised by this.

When I started, rather was forcibly pushed into, starting this Blog, I was determined to keep it alive for at least a year. I think I will succeed.

My mind wanders constantly. I should do something about this.

One day when cable was out, I kept the blank television screen on for several hours waiting for it to come back.

I was looking for an easy read and am currently reading “Freakanomics” by Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner. I hope I will soon be able to go back to non-easy reads. So much more me.

A few good reasons

2005-11-15T04:07:00.000-08:00

People keep asking me why my blog is not regularly updated. Well, these are some of the reasons why.

Too busy doing something else
Too lazy to do this
Forgot that I am a blogger
Is anyone even reading this? (Or are they simply reading the spam comments on "private road construction"?)
If yes, do they even care whether it is updated or not?
I refuse to take the easy way out of just posting links to interesting sites and articles.
I hate the facetious tone that this blog has taken so far and I want to change that. (Not that this post will help that cause.)
My life has been completely uneventful lately
Therefore, my energies are driven towards trying to making it more eventful
I am intellectually expended from working too hard. (I am such a good employee.)
I can't go home and sit in front of a computer again. I spend ten hours doing that at the office.
I am completely bereft of ideas some times.
And at others, I lose the ability to put a few words together and string a proper sentence

But, I do like this damned thing and I do intend to post very regularly. And more frequently. So please keep coming back.

what did you do over the weekend?

2005-10-10T17:37:00.000-07:00

I have the Monday morning blues. This not because I hate coming to work. I love work. I am not saying this just because my blog is read by a number of my colleagues. I am saying this because I really love my work and because it is possible that my boss might read this. And also because I have heard that people get fired for obiter dicta on their blogs concerning their workplace. However, that is not the point. The point is that I am an excellent hard working employee who deserves a very big raise.

I hate Mondays because it is time again for the "what did you do over the weekend?" question to float around the office. This happens every single Monday. However, I am yet to hear any response to this question that is actually worth hearing. It merely elicits a whole bunch of stock in trade responses like Ate, Slept the whole day man, Met a friend, Saw a movie. Whatever. It is the same thing over and over again every single Monday. Is any of this really interesting to anybody?

So many times I see two people pass each other and say the following
“Hey, how was the weekend?”
“Good”
Let us study this conversational gem for a second. What does it really tell us? Are the two people in this conv in any way better off for having had it? Did bloke A find out more about bloke B as a result of it? Vice versa? What has really happened here? If this is merely a prelude to an interesting and meaningful discussion, it is all very well. However, I am beginning to notice that a number of people are indulging more and more in just this little nugget. Of course, we cannot simply walk past our colleagues. But, surely, the usual “Hello” that we use from Tuesday to Friday will amply meet the case.

Let's face it, if anyone does something extraordinary during the weekend, or out of it, they will talk about it. They need not be questioned and probed. So, why can't we just stop this ridiculous line of discussion? The only good that can come of it is that it diverts airtime away from other potentially maddening conversational subjects. Like sun signs. But, that rant is a whole new post altogether.

In praise of TV

2005-09-27T03:40:00.000-07:00

I was reading about the book “Everything Bad Is Good for You: How Today's Popular Culture Is Actually Making Us Smarter" by "Steven Johnson". SJ contends that “the most debased forms of mass diversion”, that includes television, sharpens mental skills and makes people smarter. He makes a reasonably good case about something that I have come to realise over the last few years myself.

I used to be a pre-TV era-book-loving-high-brow sort of person who regarded watching television as an activity meant purely for lower forms of life. Over the years, somehow (and by that I mean cable TV) I started watching more and more television. I have now reached a stage where I wake up, switch on the TV and brush my teeth while watching something or the other. This is no exaggeration, I actually do this.

I have, from time to time, questioned the amount of time that I spend watching TV. However, what is to be really questioned is not how much time I spend watching TV but rather what I could do if I was not watching TV. I am gainfully employed. I write occasionally. I read 5-8 hours a day. I read several newspapers, magazines, books-fiction & non-fiction. This is as much a person can do before reaching a point of diminishing marginal returns, intellectually speaking. After all this, I just need some entertainment.

And television is an incomparable form of entertainment. It is there when you wake up and when you go to bed. It is right there when you get home. You don't need to get dressed to watch TV. Very often, it is quite the contrary. You don't need to call and collect a bunch of friends. You don't even need to get out of bed, if you have had the forethought to place your set strategically so that it is the first thing you see when you wake up. You can multitask like the dickens when watching TV Unlike if you are watching a movie or at a theatrical performance. I’d look dashed silly if I tried to brush my teeth while in a theatre.

I have now joyfully given into the pleasures that only a fellow TVholic, someone who has watched an episode of friends for the 57th time and still laughed out aloud, can really comprehend. Besides, TV is not all about entertainment based programmes. The choice is wide and all encompassing. I do spend at least some time watching excellent news, travel, technology, literature and history based programmes. So, I have been educated, informed, entertained and it is definitely time well spent. So, to all ye who feel guilty about watching too much TV, if you have done what you are supposed to, there is nothing better that you can do than settle down in front of the TV. You would have enjoyed yourself and will be smarter when you are done. Could it be any better?

I still pause to think a little bit about my TVholicism when I watch something like “king of queens”. But, if I did not switch channels thirty seconds after seeing a big guy delivering packages, it is really only my fault. It is this occasional thoughtless watching of programmes with no redeeming features whatsoever that is the sole downside. In conclusion, all I can say is that, in the name of St. Clare, let’s all watch more TV and God bless John Logie Baird.

What do you need to read?

2005-07-09T10:17:00.000-07:00

What do you need to read? A book is my answer. Of course I am taking things like some light, natural or otherwise, and the literacy of the reader for granted.

I have never needed anything more than the book. Not even a bookmark. This is probably because there was a time when I finished a book at one ago. Sadly, such times have long passed. Mostly, I just placed the book open and face down to mark the page that I was reading. After being constantly yelled at by my sister who likes her books (and indeed other possessions) well preserved, I started using anything -flyers, paper covers, question papers, boarding passes-that was lying around as a bookmark. This is how I have been reading for a long long time and I did not think I was missing anything. However, I recently chanced upon this website that offered “tools for serious readers”. I consider myself as serious a reader as they come and I had to find out more.

Every good business has a charming little story about its origin and Levenger has its own. A young couple moved into their first home and there was not enough lighting for both of them to read. A flashbulb popped (I could not resist that) and with it came the idea of peddling halogen lamps-a new type of lighting eighteen years back-for serious reading. The couple sold their first new car, combined their retirement funds and their surnames to form Levenger. They began small by selling “serious lighting for serious readers”. Since then they have moved on from lamps to selling items-briefcases and totes- that are not strictly aids in the process of reading.

But, it is the section offering “Reading tools”-bookstands & holders, bookmarks, clips & cutters, bookweights, bookcovers and magnifiers-that interested me. I had a good look at the collection and as a bibliophile I have to say that
a. A bookmark clock is a rotten idea.
b. Given $24, I would buy a book every single time rather than aforementioned item.
Also, I am at a loss to understand how a Crosscut Stainless Steel Shredder ($299) qualifies as a reading tool. The most eccentric “serious reader”, and as a category of people eccentricity is more probable in this group, is unlikely to shred a book after reading it.

But, there are many beautifully designed items here and I confess that the "Lichfield bookstand" ($328) is very tempting. Clearly, the items on sale here are tools for the “serious shopper” or the “serious collector” rather than the "serious reader".

Steve Leveen, Levenger's chief executive has written a book ''The Little Guide to Your Well-Read Life”. A reviewer of the book says of Leveen, “His customers have snapped up his tote bags and bookmarks, but when it came to what they really needed — more time to read — he was unable to help.” A very valid point. I was mistaken when I thought that all needed in order to read was a book. Time is a valuable and important reading tool and I will be glad to look into any catalog that sells it. I can get by quite well without book covers, book weights and magnifiers. I will have a look at the "Lichfield stand" though when I become a millionaire.

A break from Ulysses

2005-06-08T00:32:00.000-07:00

Recently, I won a coupon worth Rs.500 at “Landmark” for finishing third in a quiz. This sort of a thing happens to me only with the frequency of the appearance of the blue moon. So, I was delighted and spent it promptly and bought a couple of books. One of which was “The No.1 Ladies’ Detective Agency” by “Alexander McCall Smith”.

I know that I will not abandon my attempts to read Ulysses. But, I did not see anything wrong in taking a break and reading something else.

As soon as I read the first few words of the book-“Mma. Ramotswe had a detective agency in Africa, at the foot of Kgale Hill.”- I knew that this is a writer who is direct and to the point. He does not beat around the bushes, even though there are many around which such activities can be conducted in Africa. I could have cried and embraced Mr.Smith for reminding me what the English language really looks like and what pleasures can be had from reading it. I feel like a born again reader.

It is a delightful little book about a female detective, the only lady private detective in the whole of Botswana and the first few cases that she is called upon to solve after she has set up the eponymous detective agency. Precious Ramotswe is plump, comfortable and uses home spun wisdom to solve her cases efficiently. She is staunchly African and proudly Botswanan as is the book.

I would have preferred a little bit more than errant schoolgirls and straying husbands in the intrigue and mysteries department. “The New York Times” called Precious the Miss. Marple of Botswana. But really, you cannot get the latter to go near cases involving straying husbands and errant schoolgirls unless they ended up being murdered.

Nevertheless, this is a good read and I am not surprised that the author has been churning out more in the series faster than one can say Alexander McCall Smith.

Yesterday

2005-05-30T10:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I got a treat, some nice flash animated e-cards, some cash and some nifty gifts including a swell diamond bracelet from my mother. But, I kept thinking about the person that forgot. Even if that is what I did expect from said person. To be fair, I had been told not to expect any remembrance. So, I should not have. It was wrong and stupid. Still, I did think of the possibility……….people change their minds. But, it did not happen this time. And I had just wasted my time on a really nice birthday.

Strange are the workings of the human mind. Why would any sensible person think about something that she knows will not happen instead of enjoying what was. But, there I was doing just that and I know that I won’t even have learnt a lesson from it. This will happen again. And the only thing that I would have got out of it is a post for the day.

Still reading Ulysses

2005-05-24T02:51:00.000-07:00

I would like to warn regular readers (no less than an impressive three on the last count) that all future posts may be on the subject of “reading Ulysses”. Because that is what I am going to be doing for the rest of my life. A few days back, I contemplated just throwing in the towel and quitting. But the krishnaswamys do not quit. Besides, I had finished reading as much 300 pages……..that is a good 38 per cent of the book. I feel unable to give up at this advanced stage.

But, it is slower going than I had anticipated because I spend time doing some supplementary reading the web. It does help to get more out of the experience. It also ensures that the experience is going to last a longish time. And this experience also brings me to my pet peeve regarding unreadable books and indeed any work of art that is largely incomprehensible.

I strongly believe that every creator must have complete artistic freedom to express his/her ideas. But, there has to be some justification for the form that the end product has taken. (It is another thing altogether though that it would appear that I go out of my way to pick books that have a reputation for being unreadable. And if I choose to visit art galleries exhibiting “modern art”, I am just asking for it). It does look like some writers are deliberately obtuse and that seems unacceptable.

Sticking specifically to Ulysses, judge Hon. John M. Woolsey in his verdict that lifted the ban on the book in the US (for pornography) says that the content and form of the book is a result of “Joyce’s sincerity and his honest effort to show exactly how the minds of his characters operate”. An admirable reason that would justify writing of any sort. But, here lies my crib. In many ways, it does not appear to be an unrelentingly honest account of the interior landscape of the protagonists’ minds. I highly doubt if the following words are anything more than just a collection of syllables.

“ Seabloom, greasebloom viewed last words. Softly. When my country take her place among.
Prrprr.
Must be the bur.
Fff. Oo. Rrpr.
Nations of the earth. No-one behind. She’s passed. Then and not till then. Tram. Kran, kran, kran. Good oppor. Coming. Krandlkrankran. I’m sure it’s the burgundy. Yes. One, two. Let my epitaph be. Karaaaaaaa. Written. I have.
Pprrpffrrppfff.
Done.”

Anyway, if it is claimed to be inner workings of the mind of an individual, I cannot dispute it. But, surely the voice of the omniscient narrator can conform to the rules of normal writing. Surely it does not have to be so clever ass and surely it can be distinguishable when said voice takes over. Of course, it might just turn out that there is no such narrator and I have got it all wrong. Who can be sure in such territory?

Joyce himself once said of Ulysses "I've put so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant...". This, in my opinion is both ridiculous and unacceptable. Any creative person must, through some means, be held more accountable for what they inflict on an unsuspecting public.

Viva Google

2005-05-18T04:56:00.000-07:00

I have suspected this all along. And it is true. The answer to all of life’s questions and problems lies in a Google search.

I have had a recurring dream for several years. It takes many torturous forms but it basically boils down to not being able to prepare for an exam, missing an exam that I was not able to prepare for, failing to submit an assignment on time because I could not prepare for it. You get the idea. Over a time span of ten years myriad bizarre reasons have prevented me from preparing for this key exam. And it is so annoying every single time I have it. The strange part to me was that never have I been unprepared for any exam ever. Underprepared may be but never unprepared. I was also not even a student during all of the time that I have had this recurring dream.

I was curious to know more about this and I was sure there would any amount of sites with information on the subject of recurring dreams. But, I did not expect pronto to be lead to an explanation for the “unprepared for the exam” one. I also did not expect that I would like what I read, which was the following.“Interestingly, the person who has this dream is almost always someone who would never let themselves attend a test unprepared. That is why it can be so puzzling: you are the last person who would forget to do your homework. This dream recurs for people who have a tendency to take on too much and then judge themselves quite harshly for not measuring up to a pretty tough standard. It is most common to people with a strong track record of achievements who drive themselves somewhat hard.”

I was glad not to be told that I had a major problem that would require years of therapy. I found the reasoning behind the dream satisfying and comforting. May be I will be a lot less vexed when I next have this dream. The next time something is bothering me I know what I have to do. A google search!

Reading Ulysses

2005-05-10T01:25:00.000-07:00

A cousin of mine gifted me a copy of "Ulysses" recently. I have wanted to read it for a long time and it appeared to me to be a sign from God that now is the right time to do it. Why else would it have come into my life suddenly? Of course, as my sister said, “Dude, it is because you asked her to buy it for you". But, I don’t think she gets these things. I asked for it almost three year back. I definitely prefer to look at it as divine intervention asking me to read the book.

Anyway, here I was, the proud owner of a brand new copy of the book and it literally called out to me saying, “ Read me, read me”. And I did just that. First up, I would like to address the charge that it is an “unreadable” book. It is not unreadable. Not if you can read something that does not make any sense. I can read anything, whether it makes sense or not and so I have finished reading a third of the book. Once you learn to ignore what does not make sense and stick to what does, ok, I won’t go so far as to say that it becomes readable but it can be read. Working at current speed, I expect I can finish it in another 31.1 days. I would like to reserve any judgment before I actually finish reading it.

However, in the meanwhile, I do have a theory. A number of powerful literary critics came together on April 1st sometime in the 1920s. They decided to play a prank on lovers of literature. They had all received a copy of Ulysses to review, read 8 pages and promptly used it as a doorstopper. But, now they decide to promote it heavily. Fashionable readers worldwide bought the book eagerly, read 8 pages, used it as a doorstopper and spread the word that this was indeed a masterpiece as the critics has said.(Some hapless readers such as myself actually tried reading the book in its entirety and many, it is believed, swore off books for a lifetime and others turned into nihilists). However, the cult of Ulysses grew, as these cults are wont to. It gained a reputation as the finest work of literature of the 20th century. The original pranksters now all dead were nevertheless smug and satisfied (in hell) at the magnificent success of their prank.

And I am left counting down to 31.1 days.

Cloud atlas

2005-05-01T05:22:00.000-07:00

I have not posted for a couple of weeks . I would like to say that is because I had been reading, “cloud atlas”. Whilst that might a bit much, it contributed in some part to robbing me of time in which I could have done something else.

The Sunday Telegraph did not review ''Cloud Atlas'' because its critic found the novel ''unreadable.'' That critic is a very sensible person. Someone who cannot be swayed by public opinion that has by and large heralded “cloud atlas” as a minor literary miracle. Unfortunately, I am not that sensible. The kind of effusive praise that the book received was hard to ignore. I have to say this. Mr. Mitchell is a brilliant man, a creative man, a man who is not content unless his creations are grand and sweeping in scope. I can admire all this but I cannot admire his book.

Enough has been said about the six independent narratives of “cloud atlas”-stories of an American notary sailing somewhere down under in the mid 19th century, a young composer serving as an amanuensis to an acclaimed composer in Belgium the 1930s, a young female journalist investigating some nuclear conspiracy in 1970s USA, a book publisher in present day England who finds himself forced into a home for the elderly, a product of genetic engineering sometime in the future being interrogated for wanting to be human and finally somewhere in the distant future a goatherd in Hawaii witnessing the end of mankind-that span a 1000 years over the past present and future. Somehow, I started with the expectation that something incredibly fascinating will link these tales together to create an overall vision. That is far from being the case. The narrator in strand two reads a journal written in strand one. Letters written in the second narrative find themselves in the hands of the protagonist of narrator three. It as simple as that. There is also some reincarnation idea floating around that is so lame it is best ignored.

The language that every story is told in is suitably different as demanded by the nature of the tale. Stories set in the distant past as in the future are composed in language is so tedious and so unreadable that is it painful at times. That makes for more than half of the book. Even if there were any promising ideas therein, it can be missed, as one is busy just trying to get through the book.

In trying to describe too many human experiences, no great picture about the rise and fall of humankind emerges from this, as perhaps envisaged by the author. It looks like it might have worked best as six different works each exploring it own theme satisfyingly. But that would not satisfy the authors of genius like Mr. Mitchell who are too busy creating works of epic proportions to see whether it works or not.

Amateur talent

2005-04-17T00:02:00.000-07:00

I have been reading VinodG’s stirring account of his performance as an extra in the lowest budget production in the history of filmmaking. It made me rue the fact that the academy does not have any award for “outstanding achievement as an extra” in movies made for under $ 20. I do hope however that all the fame and adulation will be adequate compensation. Watch out for autograph seekers mate. While I was impressed by his account, I have to say that it pales in comparison to my own sensational debut in the “corporate culturals” play.

The “corporate culturals” was like every other night of entertainment by amateur talent and by that, I mean a bit of a disaster. On careful thought and analysis, I think this is because there is more amateur and less talent at these events. What is with these amateurs anyway? Why do Assistant Marketing Managers get excited by the words sing/ act/ dance? Does it not occur to them that if they had such talent they would not be toiling away as wage slaves? It would appear that people will do anything for a few minutes under the spotlight. Apparently, some of us need merely to hear the words extra in no budget production and we are present with our hair in a braid.

Coming back to my play, my little team of actors was the sort that takes its craft seriously and we were willing to go that extra length to do it right. We took off from work for two whole days to rehearse. But things got a bit messy because we kept altering the script every single time we rehearsed until finally no one had a clue as to what was going on. We decided we would just get up there and “manage”. Which is all very well, except that all the humour derives from wordplay and therefore if the words in the dialogue were even slightly mixed, the punchline would not make any sense. There was a few goof ups when actor A said some thing that was spirit of the dialogue but not the exact one and actor B whose punchline now made no sense stood there giving him a look that said “ dei, nee velila vaa da”.

Luckily, nothing went wrong with my scene. All my fears that I would forget my lines or trip over my sari and fall or that the sari would fall off were completely unfounded. It is another thing altogether that my scene was not at all funny to start with. In fact, it did not even make any sense to me. (But, to be fair to the playwright, the play was quite funny in parts, it is just that I did not get any of those parts). Anyway, I made the best of it and I was quite thrilled. I have to say a little bit here about the audience. And when I say audience I mean ugly mob of paper rocket throwing booers and jeerers prone to violence. These guys were unbelievable. It is one thing to jeer a bad performer; but they were booing even perfectly fine pieces of entertainment. We did extract a few laughs (and just one missile) from them and on the whole , I think that it was a job well done.

Second favourite

2005-04-12T06:19:00.000-07:00

I think most of us have enough time to read more than one film critic. So, while I am at it I might as well write about my second favourite who can be read here. No, It is not a real blog. He merely posts his published articles here. Real bloggers such as myself, who toil hard at the task, do not consider that sort of a thing blogging. However, the point is that his film reviews (and other writing) published in diverse publications can be read here.

He has much in common with Mr. Lane. He too has read “Gussie gives away the prizes” 256 times and can recite it by heart. He too is read enthusiastically be me. Actually, that is it. But, there is one significant difference. Mr. Lane has what appears to be an infinite word limit to do his pieces and can therefore bring that much more to his writing. Mr. Lane, if informed by his editor that his pieces from now on cannot be more than 583 words long, will in all likelihood not take the news any better than Bertie Wooster who has been informed by Honoria Glossop that she will marry him. Let me see him come up with “throwaway bon mots” and witticisms about “Gandalf and his special wand” in a review of “sin city” then.

Mr. Subramanian on the other hand does a great job with his shorter pieces. He brings out the most significant analysis possible where one’s scope for such analysis is limited. Knowing the reviewer helps a good deal. You know that you can trust the opinion of a chappie when you know how much of his time he spends watching the movies that should be watched and reading the writers that should be read on the subject. I also like the fact that he brings to the review the big broad perspective of someone whose ken ranges from Christian theology and Norse mythology to history and astronomy. When you read a “Lord of the rings” review, you want to read it from the person has been hobbit savvy since age 12 and knows what the “JRR” stands for. You also want to read the writing of a person who not only has a great vocabulary but also knows the three potential etymologies of most words and phrases used.

And since I do know how much he works sometimes to come up with that much desired Flaubertian mot juste as he does on the “segues and transitions”, I am not entirely surprised at the elegant style or the easy smooth flow of the prose that is so desirable in any good read. ( I particularly admire this as someone who would be hard pressed to write an elegant sentence if instructed to do so at gunpoint.)

Sure, I don’t see e to e with him on his tendency to like “eternal sunshine of the spotless mind”. I do not approve of remarks about his fantasies involving a certain porn star and an edible item that is sprayed from a metallic can and the review of “The passion…” was a bit tepid. I also disapprove in no small measure of the fact that I have not got any “free” tickets to any screening thus far, which I think I should have. But if that is all I have to complaint about in over three years of reading his reviews, I can confidently recommend his writing as jolly good stuff. More of Mr. Subramanian’s writing on film can be read here.

Anthony Lane

2005-04-04T01:03:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine (thanks mate) first drew my attention to Anthony Lane, a film critic for “The New Yorker”, when he sent me a link to his review, Lane’s and not my friend’s, of the Spiderman sequel. I have been reading him regularly ever since because the New Yorker is one of those magazines that makes its money through whatever means, but it is not by charging people to read their stuff online. None of this subscription and premium content nonsense here. Indeed, not even any pesky registrations and watch this advertisement kind of stuff.

I read the best of reviewers, usually from the NY times and Salon, but Lane brings a sense of freshness to reviewing that has made me approach his writing with the enthusiasm of rereading “Uncle Fred in springtime”. And after I read a lengthy tribute by him to Wodehouse, that revealed him to be right on top of the list of Plum fans, I have liked his writing even more. Wodehouse fans are right-minded people.

Lane combines an impeccable sense of film criticism with a great sense of humour in near perfect writing. I specially enjoy the humour. This is not just the sort of thing that critics bring to a review when they gleefully trash a lemon. It is weaved consistently and beautifully into the writing. Just sample the opening of his latest review of “ Sin city”.
“Here is something that we never thought to see. Something that exists beyond the bounds of logic: a scary Elijah Wood. Presumably, the actor looked around, seeking a film that would dispel the ripe aroma of Frodo Baggins, happened upon “Sin City,” and found the role of Kevin—a mute, bespectacled type who removes the heads of young women and dines upon the rest of them. Wood is ominously good at the stillness of this maniac, which only doubles the shock. It’s like discovering that Gandalf used to lure young hobbits into a shed and show them his special wand”.

It is hard to put things in a niftier way. If you can read only one critic, it should be Lane, who can be read in "The current cinema” (along with David Denby). Although, if you are reading this, clearly you are the sort of person who has the time to read all the reviews in the world.

His writings from the New Yorker are also available in a book called "Nobody's perfect"

Fourth umpire

2005-03-30T21:08:00.000-08:00

My good friend VinodG, actually not so much good friend as distant acquaintance and better quizzer, but good friend sounds much nicer, has been trashing "fair & lovely fourth umpire" on a regular basis in his blog (which btw totally rocks). I think he is not being fair to the show. I also think he spends way too much time watching the show and is clearly fascinated by it and who knows possibly even Roshni Chopra. He is merely attempting to hide all this with his energetic trashing of the show at every opportunity. But this is purely an aside.

Coming back to what I was saying, I have watched it from time to time and I was so jobless the last weekend that I watched it pre and post match, not to mention at lunch and tea break. It is so bad that it is quite compelling. Something like "Gigli". Seriously, it has provided some memorable moments for me. The start of the show when they show umpire-by-umpire, first, second, third and then fourth is hilarious, no matter how many times I see it.

It is not just all laughter though. I have been a life long fan of the thrills generated by the horror genre. But no book so far, no film, provided me with a moment of horror as did this fascinating piece of television. No, it has nothing to do with Roshni Chopra’s wardrobe. It happened when I was watching the match wrap up subsequent to the Kolkata test win. Jimmy Amarnath was asked for his views on the situation.

I watched as Jimmy slowly started to sing "sare jahan se accha...". That was bad enough. But, it was truly the finest moment of horror I experienced at the point that I had thought he had finished with "hindustan hamara". Jimmy, clearly, is not a man to that can be stopped easily. He went so far as "hum bul bul hain iski, yeh gulistan hamara". I watched with bated breath, will he go further? And more importantly, is there anything further? Mercifully, it stopped there. But, I look forward to more of fourth umpire fun during the coverage of the ODIs.

Company culturals

2005-03-17T22:49:00.000-08:00

We are having an annual event in my company, which for the want of anything better I call " company culturals". Actually that is precisely what it is. A number of people reacted with surprise when it came up in the conv. My sister did not quite say "What the fuck?", but that is because she does not use that sort of language. " Culturals!! what is this a school or college?!". That was my brother.

One friend could not control his mirth when I told him about it. Apparently he could not control it even afterwards. He sent me an SMS a minute later that went "hohoho....company culturals....hehehe..." followed by another that went "hoohoohoohoo..." two minutes later and another one that went "hehehehe..." a minute later. Is it really that unusual or strange for any corporate entity to do something like this? Probably yes, this is the first time I have heard of anything like this too.

Anyway, it is all quite fime by me. I think it is a great idea even. There is much "performing arts" talent in the company. The problem however is that they are trying to force me to be part of it. HR informed me that I would doing the part of a patient in a skit and asked me to report for rehearsals on a Saturday morning. The phone was disconnected before I could protest. I went because I was a little bit curious (and also because I had actually woken up as early as 10 a. m). Who would not be, when told that they could be a part of a play called "jigu jigu bootham" (in tamil obviously).

The talented young playwright, who has honed his playwrighting skills in one of the city's more disreputable colleges, has envisaged the whole the thing a series of PJs that lasts about half hour. I have some pretty unbelievable lines as the patient. Sample this, patient has cuts and gashes in her mouth.
Doc: What did you eat?
Pat: A bottle of jam.
Doc: Why would that cause any cuts?
Pat: I was so hungry after a two day fast, I ate the bottle too.
Pat: My son swallowed a whole bunch of coins how can I get it out?
Doc: Swipe an ATM card on his tongue and it should come out.
Believe me, it is not like the humour was lost in translation!! Clearly, this is not the sort of thing to spring on a neophyte actor.

It does not look too great as it is right now but I did find something quite funny. The "asst director" was trying hard to fix the sense of logic in a scene involving a "bootham" and a bottle eating woman with a coin eating son!! Now, that was hilarious!!

Good ol' sporting Melbourne

2005-03-07T00:48:00.000-08:00

The F1 GP in Australia over the weekend attracted a lot of attention here due to the presence of local lad Narain Karthikeyan in the competition. But, I was too busy brimming with nostalgia at the sights and sounds of good ol’ Melbourne. This is a great city when it comes to sporting action. It has played host to the biggest sporting spectacle on the planet, the Olympics, in 1956 and has an action packed calendar of events every year.

The year starts off with first Tennis Grand Slam, the Australian Open. The Grand Slam of the Asia/Pacific is played for a fortnight mainly at the Rod Laver Arena and Vodafone Arena. Australia has a fine tradition in the sport and tennis enjoys a good following here. There is nothing approaching Wimbledon style Henmania, but Melbourne boy, Mark Philippoussis enjoys a strong support from the crowds. The Australian exhortative cry of “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie” which is followed by the chant “oi, oi, oi” in the exact same beat as the first cry, rings through the stadium during his matches.

The next major event of the year is Formula one racing. The Grand Prix came to Melbourne in 1996 when it shifted from Adelaide. The inner city open spaces of Albert Park are converted to a scenic track every year to host the race since then. It is a four-day carnival of speed and glamour (three practice/warm up days followed by the race on the Sunday) in the first weekend of March. The race in Melbourne is season opener and sets the tone for results to come in that season.

But it is Australian Rules Football or “Footy” as it is called that gets Melbourne going. This game was conceived by MCC honorary secretary and cricketer T.W.Wills in 1858 as a suitable pastime to keep cricketers fit during winter. Due to the risk of injury because of the nature of the game, rugby was considered unsuitable. The objective was to devise a game of football in which the ball would be in the air more and a set of rules that gave birth to the game of footy were created.

Footy many not be an International sport but it is the firm favourite with Melburnians. Ten of the sixteen teams in the competition belong to the city. The season stretches for a good part of the year, starting in late March and ending with the Grand Finale in September. With games being on all weekends and holidays, every weekend is a sporting weekend for six months through the year. The Grand Finale is a must attend event for die-hard fans. An amazing 121,000 people watched the 1970 decider between Carlton and Collingwood at the Melbourne Cricket Ground (MCG) far exceeding the 87,000 strong crowd that were present in the stadium for the Cricket world cup finals in 1992.

Melbourne celebrates two sporting events, Cup Day and the Boxing Day test match, with a traditional fervour normally reserved for religious events in other parts of the world. Melbourne cup day is a special Tuesday for the city featuring the “race that stops a nation”. This race marks the high point of the spring horse racing carnival. At 3:10 pm AEST (Australian Eastern Standard Time) on the first Tuesday in November, an official holiday in Melbourne, for about four minutes the nation pauses all activity to catch the action live, at a pub on TV or on radio. The first Melbourne Cup was run in 1861 at Flemington racecourse and every year since then it has been a fine Melbourne sporting tradition.

During the racing season fashion, glamour and celebrity watching takes centre stage. The women brave the spring chill and the sharp unpredictable showers, which are a standard feature of the local weather, to display the latest fashion. Milliners make their fortune in those few days alone as outrageous headgear, ascot style, is de rigueur. The spirit of the season was captured by Mark Twain who commented during a visit "Nowhere in the world have I encountered a festival of people that has such a magnificent appeal to the whole nation. The Cup astonishes me."

The Boxing Day cricket test match commences on December 26th every year at the MCG. As a sporting tradition the Boxing Day test match is relatively young. The match date at the MCG was not set and some times even two matches were played in a summer series. It was a doozy of an encounter played between Australia and West Indies out in a match that started on that day in 1981, which made it find its place as a true Australian sporting tradition. (Obviously Australia was the winner of that match)

Boxing day is one of the earliest days of summer after a long winter. The crowd content after the previous days’ Christmas barbeques and happy in the knowledge that long holidays stretch ahead fills the stadium to bask in the glorious warmth of sunshine. It is a day that almost inevitably has a “God is in heaven and all’s right with the world” feel irrespective of what transpires in the stadium. But, this is usually the third match in the series being played that summer and is often an interesting encounter as its result matter a lot.

Apart from the regular events, Davis cup fixtures are routine, a number of rugby matches were played here during the last World Cup and the action continues as Melbourne prepares for the Commonwealth games in 2006.

The best part of it all is the sheer affordability of catching some of this action live. You won’t get creamed paying for strawberries and cream here. I managed well enough even as a reasonably impecunious student living on a strictly limited allowance. Given the most reasonable prices to be a part of world-class events, Melbourne is a sports lovers’ dream come true. And that is one of the many reasons why it is vastly superior to Sydney.

Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

2005-03-01T21:43:00.000-08:00

“Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind”, which I truly disliked, received an Oscar for writing, original screenplay, (screenplay by Charlie Kaufman; story by Charlie Kaufman & Michel Gondry & Pierre Bismuth). I had been discussing it a while back………

G: How in heaven's name did you not like Eternal Sunshine?!
M: Because it sucks
G: What utter rot.
M Charlie Kauffman is a pretentious son of a what not
G: I am no fan of his previous stuff. I thought Being John Malkovich etc. were exactly that - pretentious. But this isn't. Not by a long, long shot.
M: It is that, gimmicky, acting is weak
M and nobody is called Clementine
M that scene in the bus eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeow
G: That's a fairly silly objection to lob at the movie. That nobody is called Clementine.
G And what bus?!
M: that was just in passing
M I objected to the name Joel too when I realised I had a friend called that
M when they meet
G That is a train!
M I thought it was a bus?
M: whichever
G: Train, for sure.
M that is not the point
G: And it's a great film. Really, really good. Not at all Kaufmanesque.
G: Much less cynicism, much more feeling, much less clever-dick antics.
G: And proper interpersonal dynamics...I thought JC and KW were very good.
M: I did not care for them. I did not see why they were in love.
M: But, the theme was fantastic, it had infinite possibilities, I certainly loved the part about wanting to forget and yet quite not wanting to/being able to, should strike a chord in one and all
G: It's No. 32 in IMDB top 250
G Man, I so disagree with you, its a fantastic film.
M: If you like pretentious crap, yes
M: and that narcoleptic “Pope Alexander” from Kirsten Dunst
M: eeeeeeeeeeeeowwwwwwwwww
G: Well, she was actually supposed to be stoned at the time, in case you didn't get that.
M: she seems stoned all the time in all movies
M :I had too an important gripe about its failing on being observant about the human memory
G: What failing?
M: this is hilarious: but I can't seem to remember, I might have some notes somewhere
G: The more it sinks in, the more I'm convinced this film rocks.
M: You are stoned too; it is the medication that you have been on, see it on a good day again

I know that screaming eeeeeeeeeowwwww does not constitute proper film criticism. But, it was so gimmicky (how did I not see that coming with a title like that?!), I cannot help it.

Does anyone know any Clementines?

Who will win at the Oscars?

2005-02-24T21:26:00.000-08:00

I could go on for at least 36 more posts on “what do I blog?……………” But, enough of that for the nonce. Although I have a feeling I will be back to it soon. However, I do have variations on that theme. Like, why do I blog? A fairly important question meriting a few posts. Now, I have a real post for a change.

We have to discuss the Oscars. We are big fans of the films. Actually, I don’t quite watch movies as read the reviews. I am big fan of film criticism. Once I am done with NY times, salon and the Roger Eberts and Anthony Lanes, I know so much about a film that I don’t quite feel the need to actually go and see it. But, I do know my movies and we have to discuss the Oscars.

G: Stephen Holden thinks MDB will win!! He prefers Sideways though
M: I am inclined to think MDB, Jamie Foxx, Swank
M: And maybe Scorcese not Eastwood though.
G: God, not MDB.
M: you would prefer aviator?
G: It's better than MDB, for sure.
M: Not that I have seen any thing. I am just taking averages from globes , Sag, bafta and what not
G: At 72, CE has an eight year old daughter!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
M: what's surprising?
G: How weird would it be for you to be eight and your dad to be 72?!?!?
M: Enrique Iglesisas’ grandpa is to be a father at 89!!!!!!
G: Just as weird, just as weird.
M: So, what do you think?
M: about Oscars and not old age parenting
G Don’t know about Best Pic.
G: MS for director, JF for actor, IS for actress...although I'm less sure about the last.
M: I am inclined to think HS definitely. Just try elimination. The other performances just did not get as much attention. Although Imelda got best actress at Cannes.

I have to add that my friend has seen all the movies bandied about in the conversation. So, if you are going to place any bets, look at his picks. But, it does look like you can put your shirt on Jamie Foxx.

MDB-Million dollar baby
MS- Martin Scorcese
JF-Jamie Foxx
HS-Hillary Swank
IS-Imelda Staunton

What do I blog?............

2005-02-21T01:58:00.000-08:00

I have been contemplating this blog thing for quite a while and almost always I have been concerned about being able to post quality material on it. Of course, not that it is going read by any one other than me. I won’t seek to give it any publicity and what are the odds of someone typing http://Meerakrishnaswamy.blogspot.com by design or by accident in an attempt to reach something else. But, if there is material authored by me lying out there that can be read by any one, I want it to be ripe stuff. And being fully cognizant that I cannot do that, I have refrained.

Anyway, I mentioned the latest bright idea to my friend and you might wonder why I keep running my ideas by him and to be quite frank, so do I. I should figure that out one day but in the meanwhile he said…….
G: Rooted firmly in reality, I see
G: Yeah, I think we are going to shoot this down too, more's the pity.
M: c’mon mate. why?
G: ... the blog is supposed to be more about what you think and so on...so even if you do use our conversations as a starting point to get a topic, everything on it should really be about you and not about me at all.
M: It won't be about you at all
M: It is just a device really
G: Hmmm, true, yes. But all I'm saying is - don't make the device JUST our conversations. there's so much else out there to think about and write about that we don't discuss...so it seems silly to limit yourself at the outset to just this.
M: point is we do discuss a lot of things and bigger point is what you have really missed
G: Bigger point is what?
M: I am lazy!!
M: This I can do fast and it might be interesting.
G: Okay, in which case, forge right ahead.
I was somewhat surprised to get a yes with so little work. This was an unexpected development. When I first thought of the idea, it was merely a lighthearted repartee to his query about when I was going to start blogging. But, by now the idea is beginning to appeal to me…………….reality blogging….I could be on to some thing.

Now, I also had the approval to work on it although it came with the admonishment “I also want to know what you think about stuff we DON'T chat about, post about other stuff as well”. I agreed to spew my 2 cents on pop culture for what it is worth ……….and now I actually have to do something.

I do not know if I can post any “quality” material or not. But, one thing is quite clear to me. I do have a flair for writing endlessly about “nothing”!

What do I blog?.............

2005-02-18T04:14:00.000-08:00

I think that half the trouble in the world is created by people making offhanded casual remarks like “When are you going to start your own blog?” The other half happens when people listen to these OC remarks. A friend of mine asked me the above question. Of course, I could have said, “never mate” and forgotten the whole thing. But, I have been contemplating joining the blogwagon and this question is pushing me over the edge as it were.

Anyway, I don’t want to do one of those I-got-up-at -7:00 am-today -and-brushed –my- teeth blogs. (Of course with me it is closer to 9:30 am). I want something special, like a “theme”, something that will keep the readers (both of them) coming back for more of the same.

The obvious idea is to write about one’s profession. (I am an "Assistant Marketing Manager" in a “software company”). I put this suggestion to said friend and while he did not quite say that it was the most boring thing he had heard in his life, it was implied all too clearly in the pregnant pause that ensued. Besides, he had just been reading a profession related blog as it were, about a call girl and I can quite see why “life as an AMM’ was not interesting enough. I did toss a few other suggestions at him but they were received with a similar coldness.

As I write this I am thinking, may be I should just write a blog about my conversations with my friend. I do spend time talking to him anyway. Now, I have to tell you this. I am a biggish Seinfeld fan and this idea of making some thing out of “nothing” really appeals to me. I must also tell you that I am quite lazy. So, this idea works well for me.

Besides a conversation between two intelligent, well-read, cultured people with their pulse on all that is hip and happening, should throw up some thing interesting. Ok, I can’t say two such people, but I can vouch that he is all of the above. So, fifty per cent of the blog should be worth reading. Now, all I have to do is toss this idea at him…………………..I have a feeling he will shoot it down. The way he always does.