schrodingers bekku

Everything you wanted to know about Kolaveri but didn’t know who to ask!

2011-11-24T14:57:00.000+05:30

First tell me what is this ‘Kolaveri’ means?

The word is derived from the Tamizh words ‘Kolai’ meaning killing/ murder and supposedly ‘Veri’ meaning ‘rage’. So Kolaveri literally means ‘killing rage’ or ‘murderous fury’. Keep in mind that is a soup song (see next question) sung by a soup boy (again, see next question) so he is asking the girl who has rejected him why she is treating him like this. Soup boys will get it. But it’s usage can go beyond it. Last heard Soniaji was asking Mamata Bannerjee “Why this Kolaveri Didi?”. Also overheard an hour into Rockstar ‘Why this Kolaveri?’. Will soon supplant and replace ‘Emosional Atyaachaar’.

What’s ‘Soup’ got to do with a girl? What is a Soup Song? Who is a Soup Boy?

If you ask me, soup is short for ‘Soup-er’ – as in soup-er figure mama – but unfortunately that’s just my theory-u. According to Dhanush, the lyric writist and singer of this song-u, a Soup Boy’ is a love failure boy and a ‘Soup Song’ is a love failure song. Anu Malik’s “Why did you break my heart? Why did I fall in love?” is a soup song. Devdas is a Soup Boy. Singing ‘One by two-u veg manchow soup da’ to the waiter in tune is NOT a soup song.

Is ‘bouv-u’ supposed to the sound of a dog barking spelt bad wrongly?

This misconception stems from the classic Sher: Tere pyaar me mujhe kutta bana diya, Tere pyaar me mujhe kutta bana diya….yakeen nahin aata? Bow Bow!’ This is also a classic example of a Soup Sher. The theory fits in as much as this is a Soup Sher and the guy is singing to a girl in desperation because in a twist she said ‘yes’ to him and truned him into a dog (bandh gaya patta, ban gaya kutta). But the truth is that ‘bouv’ supposedly is slang for ‘snubbed’ ‘stood up’ etc. etc. Also nicely rhymes with cow-u.

Can you translate the ‘song’ into English please?

No. Because the whole song-u is in yinglish wonly mama. Did you not hear Dhanush say ‘Only english huh’. The few Tamizh words in the song have been addressed in the questions above. Also because any attempt at translation would lose out on the feelings of the song mama.

Why do you insist on calling me uncle? I don’t have a nephew or niece yet and neither am I that old!

No offense mama, but mama here does not mean ‘uncle’ it is but an affectionate term for ‘friend’ as you can see in the video itself where Dhanush call Anirudh, the music director ‘mama’, this does not mean Anirudh is Dhanush’s uncle. Anirudh’s uncle is (I have heard) Rajini saar.

WTF is Shruti Hasan doing in the video with the headphones on and all that?

Holy cow-u. What kind of a question is that? It’s Shruti Hasan! She can be anywhere she wants to. She looks equal parts cute, equal parts hot in the video so don’t look a gift horse in the mouth-u.

Who is the other woman?

Depends on which man you are talking about. In HDK’s case, it is the actress Radhika. Oh wait, you mean who is the other lady in the video? That is Aishwarya, director of the film in which this song features, Dhanush’s wife and the daughter of Rajini saar.

Is there a political angle to this song?

Perhaps, but only if you insist on saying – in Kannada, in Chennai – ‘Kolaveri nimmadu, Kaveri nammadu’. (HT to Lady J who misread Kolaveri as Kaveri thus providing ample fodder for politics)

Can you deconstruct this song? Is there a neo-classical post-modern interpretation to this song?

Yes. Get me drunk first.

Is there a cure for this song? I cannot stop watching the video again and again and again? I cannot stop listening to the song-u? I have lost count-u? What iz the cure-u?

You are probably watching the video to drool at Shruti Hasan, that’s not an affliction, you’re lucky, so don’t worry there is nothing wrong with you. As to listening, yes, there is a cure. But the cure is worse than the disease it is called ‘Silila yeh silsila’ (x3 ) followed by a healthy dose of Rebecca Black’s Friday. So stick to humming Kolaveri, it is a lot more fun. May the force be with you.

Any answer to any question that I might have missed?

Yes, you forgot question. And the answer to that question is ‘Yes, Rajinikanth knows the answer to ‘Why this Kolavri di?’

Laal Khopdi strikes again!

2011-09-28T13:33:00.001+05:30

It all started with a conversation on the office balcony. 2 lasses, a laddy and me (yep, Mallika, Pooja and Khanna, I am referring to you - didn't think you guys would the spark behind such horror did ya?). Next thing you know we are talking about Shaitaani Tantrik, Khooni Dracula, Chudail No.1 and other such z-grade horror flicks, nay true blue Indian exploitation classics from such great luminaries as Kanti Shah, Purushottam, Harinam Singh et al (many thanks to the one and wonly Bhagat Productions for some awesome movies). A chai later I remembered that there have been some slasher movies that have been cut up (no pun intended) into music videos for firang metal songs. Are these Indian classics any less? Don’t they deserve a video of their own? Of course they do. And it has to be an Indian band, an Indian song. That will do do justice to Indian horror flicks being sliced and diced (pun intended).

Cut to Coffee House. Enter fellow metal fan and walking music encyclopedia Gautham Khandigey also known as GK also known as Soul Reefer. A quick brief later and my mission stated, Dying Embrace’s Grotesque entity was inboxed with due alacrity. 2 sleepless nights, many coffees and watching many old favourites later, emerged this:

Word

2011-09-13T11:57:00.000+05:30

Some authors fill a novel with futuristic scenery and jargon and then strenuously, even stertorously, deny that it's science fiction. No, no, they don't write that nasty stuff, never touch it. They write literature. Though curiously familiar with the tropes and conventions of the despised genre, they so blithely ignore the meaning of terms, they reinvent the wheel with such cries of self-admiration, that their endeavours seem a doomed effort to prove that one can write a novel without learning how.

– Ursula K Le Guin in her review of China Miéville's Embassytown

Cannibal Romance

2010-06-15T18:48:00.000+05:30

Overheard: the Romantic Lady Killer Man singing this

My Lady d'Arbanville, why do you sleep so still?
I'll wake you tomorrow
And you will be my fill, yes, you will be my fill.....

The Curious Case of the Missing Indian Jasoos

2010-06-02T19:18:00.000+05:30

Amidst yesterday’s hauls which included yet another Dr. Gideon Fell mystery by John Dickson Carr was this: The House of Fear – containing 2 stories of the Imran series of detective fiction by Ibn-e-Safi. Translated from the Urdu of course.

With a quote by Agatha Christie thrown in for good measure, just in case you needed more reason to buy this book – apart from the fact that it is finally available at all. Tip of the hat to Jubin George for spotting this in the section where it was inadvertently kept – the heavy duty literature section which he usually haunts. Instead of the Crime/Mystery section where it belongs. But I digress (so what’s new?). The point of this post is not debate the literary merit of mystery and detective fiction, so let’s move on.

From the time I read my first Hardy Boys book in higher secondary – While the Clock Ticked, which also happened to be my first ‘English novel’ – I have been in love with the genre of detective fiction. The crime – a corpse or a robbery or both and more. A detective (a pair or with a sidekick) seeking out evidence. The red herrings that the author throws in. The linking together of various clues. The dénouement! Of course from here on it was but a natural progression to Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie. The discovery of Poe and finding Auguste Dupin. Reading about Simon Iff. The Dorothy Sayers books. No, for the purpose of this post, Dirk Gently is NOT a detective. But Asimov’s Black Widowers series is detective fiction, even though there are no crimes to speak of, but still problems solved. Current favourites being Colin Dexter’s Inspector Morse, Andrea Cammileri’s Salvo Montalbano and the aforementioned Dr. Gideon Fell. So on and so forth.

From a larger perspective, you could separate out Crime/Hardboiled fiction – Chandler, Hammet, Spillane et al and police procedurals and lawyers – from pure detective fiction of the private investigator or problem solver/trouble shooter kind who follows clues not procedures or rules of his own making. And feature in more than a couple of stories. The Holmeses, the Poirots, the Miss Marples, the Peter Wimseys etc. But if you’ve noticed there are hardly any Indian detectives on this list (the title of the post was a dead giveaway right? Drat! I’ll never make it as a writer of detective fiction.) But wait. There are!

Flashback to Doordarshan in the late eighties and we had Rajat Kapoor playing Byomkesh Bakshi – not a detective but a satyanveshi, a truth seeker – and his Dr.Watson, Ajit entertain us with some amazing stories. Then Ray’s Feluda happened. Good fun. Yes, Gajarchand, I mean Detective Karamchand was also there, but since he was born on television not in a book, he doesn’t make the cut. So we have Saradindu Bandopadhyay’s Byomkesh Bakshi and Satyajit Ray’s Feluda. Homegrown Indian sleuths. Whose exploits are available in English. 2 volumes to each detective. And now hopefully House of Fear will see Ibn-e-Safi’s Imran being taken forward. That makes it three. Yes, there is Ibn-e-Safi’s other hero, Colonel Fareedi, but that’s more spy game than detective fun. So we’re still left with three. Ain’t there no more Indian detectives? Premendra Mitra’s Ghanada is again not so much detective fiction as it is tall stories and adventure stories. And all these were ages ago. Byomkesh in the early 20th. Feluda in the 60s & 70s. Imran in the 50s. Isn’t there any Indian sleuth in modern fiction???

Inspector Ghote!!! Yes. But wait. No. Sorry. The author is British. And Manjiri Prabhu’s Sonia Samarth series is basically chik-lit in the guise of detective fiction. With astrology thrown in for the cool factor and the exotic ingredient when selling to an unsuspecting western(ised) reader. Is the problem then one of unavailability in English? Which would give the detective a mainstream audience? Byomkesh and Feluda were both written in Bengali remember, and Imran in Urdu. I think not. Even if one were not able to read the stories one would still be in the know right? That so-and-so detective exists. Syed Mustafa Siraj’s Colonel Niladri Sarkar for instance. Originally in Bengali, and to the best of my knowledge unavailable in English. But while I may not have read any of these stories, I know they are there ready to be translated should a publisher see the commercial value in that and welcomed by eager readers in India and elsewhere. Perhaps there are some gems of a sleuth hidden away in Oriya? Marathi perhaps? I don’t know. If you do. Please let me know. Would like that. Yes, admittedly there is a rich tradition of pulp literature – but the protagonists there tends to crime and sensation. Or perhaps I need to change my strict. But that still does not explain the missing detective in modern Indian fiction? True, Amitav Ghosh's Calcutta Chromosome can be fitted under this, but it's a one-shot. Can Indians not write mystery/detective fiction? That probably brings us to the question – if we love detective fiction, why should there be an Indian detective? Is there a need really? Of course there’s no need. But it is still a different thing to read about familiar places, familiar phrases, to see familiar names in a genre that we so like. So where is the homegrown Indian jasoos? Exhuming Dame Christie, re-animating her and asking her – since she claims to have ‘knowledge of detective fiction in the subcontinent’ – is not an option. She’s be horribly out of date. Or perhaps not.

We like. You like?

2010-06-02T13:31:00.000+05:30

In case this has been slipping under thine radar, this here blog is another to which the Bekku makes a contribution to (or rather tries to) Here it is and its still there: Covers We Like

I am a lot of things! I am Everything! (almost)

2010-05-26T14:38:00.000+05:30

…sadness drips and dries

like paint on my mind’s wall

to a cacophony of chaotic cries

Life, uninstall.

There! That has makes me a Poet. Moving on…..

I have a camera. I take photos. That makes me a Photographer.

I have given my voice to 4 radio spots. So I am a Voice Artist.

I have used Windows Movie Maker to make a video. So what if it’s a slide show? That still makes me a Filmmaker.

I have plasticine at home. So I am a clay modeler, ooops, Sculptor.

I have attended a few quizzes, now that is a straight ticket to Quizzer-hood.

I am a Blogger. But obviously. So what if its dead for all practical matters?

So where are we now? Lets recap.

Poet. Photographer. Voice Artist. Filmmaker. Sculptor. Quizzer. Blogger. I am turning out to be quite the thing since bread came sliced. But moving on.

I have written short stories. One is up on this blog, called Status Quo. Look for it if you wish. And some more. So that makes me a Story Writer. Now if I can get this and the few other I’ve written laid out in Garamond, get a few copies laser printed, bind it with some random image on the cover, I will be Author too.

Yeah…oooh….lala aha yea….sadness drips and dries sssss

like paint on my mind’s wall……hey yeah

Cacophony! of chaotic cries

Life, uninstall. Uninstallllll yea yea yea yea

(sung to what? A 2-chord progression. A Minor and E major. Simplest)

Look ma! I am a Songwriter too! I am a Guitarist too since I can actually play these 2 chords. And if Justin Beiber is a singer so am I. Anyways Singer-Songwriter is way cooler and kvlt than plain jane ‘singer’.

I know a bit of ProTools and can splice things together in Audacity, does that make me a Sound Engineer?

I know enough Photoshop to apply random filters and bring it together in CorelDraw or Illustrator. I have Shutterstock access so I can download and alter cool vectors to pass them off as mine. So in one shot that makes me an Art Director and Graphic Designer.

In this calendar year I have read 39 books to date. Yep. This year I am keeping track. So I am an Avid Reader.

I have been atop Kudremukh peak. Proves that I am a Trekker. I have spent a few or more hours walking around the Valley of Flowers. So I am a Hiker. Just need to get my BSA SLR into shape and trawl around. Note to self: Become a Cyclist soon. 2nd Note to self: Attend freebie try-before-you-buy workshop on Cocktail Making, Salsa, Kalaripayatt. Wouldn't you like to be called a Dancer? A certified Bartender?

I have a Bajaj Pulsar. Not so often I take it out of the city which I guess makes me eligible for the Biker tag. What else? What else?

Poet. Photographer. Voice Artist. Filmmaker. Sculptor. Quizzer. Blogger. Author. Singer-Songwriter. Guitar player. Musician. Sound Engineer. Art Director. Graphic Designer. Avid Reader. Trekker. Hiker. Biker. I am Everything! Let me take a few minutes off now to download either a CK Prahlad book, and I will return as Management Consultant. Or perhaps I will look up Kotler on Wikipedia an become a Marketing Strategist and Brand Consultant. Ah, there’s so many things I can be. Be back soon.

Of vengeful virgins and corpses that wear pasties

2010-04-29T14:28:00.001+05:30

Once in a while along comes along a book you pick up just for its cover art alone. Doesn’t often happen to me. I go for what’s in between the covers. And sometimes I don’t need to rifle through the pages. As a friend once told me, I seem to have the ability to judge a book by its covers. Yep. I do. And modesty is not one of my virtues. But coming to the point, it’s rarer still when you have an entire imprint each worth picking up for the cover art alone. And yes, Hard Case Crime happened to me some time ago. As a fan of hard boiled crime and pulp fiction, it was but natural that I check them out – books by Lawrence Block, Donald Westlake, Ed McBain, Max Allan Collins, what’s not to like. And one by, beleiev or not, Arthur Conan Doyle (The Valley of Fear). I do suggest you give them a look-in too, if you’re into hard-boiled crime and pulp or just like double-crossing, dangerous, skimpily clad hot women on your covers. But to be honest, some of the best books I’ve read in the Hard Case Crime series are the ones I picked up for their covers alone, and not going by the author or the plot or even the really neat by-lines that they have.

Case in point:

What a cover! The title was a bonus. C’mon it mentions nipple coverings and a dead body. What could be more pulp than that? No clue about the author who is the self-appointed ‘Burlesque Mayor of New York’ Jonny Porkpie. I really had no expectation whatsoever from the book per se, but when a book starts with a short letter to the publisher from the author (reproduced below) you know it’s gonna be a good ride.

Dear Charles,

Well, here it is, as requested, in all its obscene glory; a complete and mostly accurate of the events that led to the closing of a certain bar on Eleventh Street. I’ve played it as close to the truth as I can, but you know me; I might have throw in some slight exaggerations, the odd embellishment or two, and several completely fabricated erotic scenes. I just couldn’t resist.

In other words, it’s all true except for the stuff I lied about.

Best regards,

Porkpie

Know what I mean? And a good ride it was. And to labour a point, take a look at this:

Cover art that’s got the virgin mentioned in the title and a stash of cash. Pulpy! Crimey! But it turned out to be darned good read. Classic pulp crime of the double-crossing kind with a not-so-typical, yet expected twist-in-the-tail ending. Not to give away the story or play spoiler, but by the end of the second chapter, let me assure, the girl is definitely not a virgin! Though to her credit, she stays vengeful till the very end of the book, in more ways than one. But a virgin, not a chance!

So coming back to the point. Judging these books by the covers alone, they were good. And what lies n between them, even better! Check out the entire Hard Case Crime series and their awesome covers HERE. See what I told you, I can judge a book by its cover. is The Bekku awesome or is The Bekku awesome?! And no, a few paragraphs is not enough time for The Bekku to learn the subtle art of modesty.

Take a look at the complete Hard Case Crime series and their awesome covers here.

Ghatotkacha & Me

2010-02-16T13:47:00.007+05:30

Somewhere in my family photo album is a photograph from the time when we were in Bidar. A faded picture of me at about 4-5 years sitting on my uncle’s lap on a reddish sofa and he’s reading out to me or rather taking me through a book. It was obviously a special occasion when my uncle came visiting, hence the photo I presume, and he was coming from large magical city called Bangalore. And my uncle always came bearing gifts. And this time was no different. It was my first ever comic book. A collected volume of 10 Amar Chitra Kathas which is what he is taking me thorough in that photo. It also happened to be the first ever English book I ever laid my eyes upon. The inexplicability of the strange words and strange language meant that I understood not a thing, but this was very well compensated for by the loads of pictures and characters that the volume contained, each panel a doorway to a new adventure.

Jumping and bouncing on a sofa is a lot more fun when you are in the middle of the battle of Kurukshetra riding a chariot. Pillow fights with your sister are more enjoyable when you are fighting Duryodhana with a mace. Broomsticks find their real calling when they are arrows. The neighbour’s pesky Pomeranian is a lot more tolerable and infinitely more fun to have around when you are Babruvahana trying to chase and capture the pesky horse from Yudhishtira’s Ashwamedha that has strayed into your territory. And of the whole volume of ACK, none was more enjoyed or leafed through or lived and relived than the Ghatotkacha comic. In fact that’s what I would say was the first English book I ever read, consumed, inhaled. And my first comic. The cover showed a colour illustration of Ghatotkacha taking to the skies with Shashirekha in his hands, her cot included. A thoroughly enjoyable story with lots of magic, asuras, shape-shifting legions and flying clothes. I remember shedding a tear or two when Ghatotkacha dies. Flashforward a couple of years. We have shifted to Gulbarga. I am in my second standard. All grown up. Grown up enough to make my own bows and arrows from branches, twigs and twine. Old enough to walk on my own all the way to school, and take my sister along with me too. But she is still Duryodhana and I am whoever catches my fancy. My class has enough dushasanas and ravanas for me to fight with. There’s also new games like kirket and football to play now, and trees to climb and fall out off. And there’s now a new box at home called TeeVee for dinner-time entertainment. Thus the hindi lessons begin by professor Doordarshan. One fine sunday, my father tells us we’re going to a film, Maya Bazaar. What’s it about? I ask. Not that it mattered. Well, it’s about Abhimanyu, and Krishna and Ghatotkacha my father says. Ghatotkacha??? Let’s go! And so we do. Film starts. It’s black and white!!! Not a new film. And it’s in some strange language that I cannot follow. Turned out it was the Telugu original. But none of that mattered once the film hit its stride and Ghatotkacha made his appearance. There was magic! And fights! And Ghatotkacha becoming big and then small. Yay! Opening his mouth and all the food jumps right into his mouth. And the song, ‘Hoho hoho ho ho…..’ brought much glee (vid below). Having been brought up on stories from the puranas and mythology, and the staple reading being Amar Chitra Kathas, this was like the best! I remember sitting transfixed and clapping my hands in glee. So what if it was Telugu? I knew the story inside out, and my father kept interjecting now and then with some additional info. Ah. The joy. Ghatotkacha spiriting away Shashirekha. Then changing to her form and taking everyone for a ride. Lovely.
The story is simple. The Pandavas are in exile. One of Arjuna’s wives Subhadra and her son Abhimanyu are staying at Dwaraka with her brothers Krishna and Balarama. Now Abhimanyu and Shashirekha, Balarama’s daughter are in love with each other having been betrothed in their childhood. But times have changed. The Pandavas are paupers and Revathi, Balarama’s wife is no longer kicked about marrying her daughter off a pauper’s son and instead pitches for Lakshmana, Duryodhana’s son and the prince of Hastinapura, exactly what Shakuni wants. As any husband with a naggy, greedy wife Balarama agrees and anyways Duryodhana was always his favourite disciple. Realising what’s afoot, the trickster Krishna makes sure the miffed Subhadra and Abhimanyu are taken through a particular route. Enter Ghatotkacha! All angry and miffed at seeing two intruders in his territory. A battle ensues – flying arrows and all – between Abhimanyu and Ghatotkacha till Subhadra intervenes after Abhimanyu is defeated and the men realize that they are cousins, brothers. Ghatotkacha being Ghatotkacha agrees to help and with his retinue proceeds with due alacrity to Dwaraka to sabotage Shashirekha’s marriage to Lakshmana Kumara. Much fun and joy ensues, including a hilarious scene where Shakuni gets a taste of his own medicine in dice and Lakshmana Kumara quite simple some bitter medicine. Lots of mirth and joy ensues for the viewer. And of course all ends well with the lovers united.

The thrill of watching Maya Bazaar continued for a while. For the next few days, I was Ghatotkacha. And try as I might, the anna sambar never jumped off the plate into my mouth like at the end of this awesome song here:

Flashfoward to Karwar a few years later. I’m pretty good at cricket, and marbles. Older now, in the 5th standard. Have beaten up enough boys for a concerned parent or two to drop by home to complain to my father about my violent ways. In my defense, they deserved it for having mocked at me because of my shaved head. Teachers’ pet at school. Holy enough to play Joseph in the school’s Christmas play. Weak enough to faint while trying my first header while playing football. And role playing game is now playing Fauji with guns. One fine sunday, my father tells us we’re going to a film, Maya Bazaar. Yay! I jump to go and get ready. Another pleasant surprise awaits at the theatre. It is in Kannada. The dubbed version. Now I can hear Ghatotkacha go ‘Hoho hoho ho ho…..’ in kannada! For the next days, I was ghatotkacha again, and the fauji guns became maces and some got turned into bows when I chose to be arjuna. And as hard as i tried, the darned food would still not float into my mouth!

Flashforward many many years. Maya Bazaar still remains a favourite watch. I’m all grown up. Approaching my 30s. Old enough buy my own VCD of Maya Bazaar, the Kannada version. Even managed to catch the play Maya Bazaar by Sri Venkateshwara Natya Mandali (Surabhi) from Hyderabad. Fabulous as it was, as much as I enjoyed the play and Ghatotkacha’s role was played amazingly well, I still missed SVR’s portrayal.

And here I sit here today, all set to go watch the original Maya Bazaar in the theatres again, this evening! In colour!! Even the new trailer is giving me goosebumps:

Looking forward with as much joy if not more. Is it the movie? Or is it a way of reliving me as I was, and used to be? Or as I wish I could be? All that I know is that I have given up even trying to get the food to float and jump into my mouth. I’m not Ghatotkacha.

Suryange torcha?

2010-02-15T17:59:00.002+05:30

Literally that would mean ‘don’t show torchu to the sun-nu’. It’s a series of aphorisms (?) in Kannada slang whose closest English equivalent – in terms of import – would be ‘Don’t teach your grandfather how to f**k’ or more politely, ‘don’t try to teach the teacher’ or in certain cases/context ‘don’t bring coals to newcastle’. Very handy when used well. Disregarding the force-fit ones (Artistgey sketcha?, Autogey stand-a? etc.) here are my favourites, in no particular order:

1. Suryange torcha?
2. Conductorgey ticketa?
3. Ravi Chandrangey remake-a?
4. Hajaamangey haircut?
5. Gomateshwarangey show na? ….and *drum roll*….
6. Deve Gowdagey sleeping tableta?

Take your pick. Use liberally. Prefixing ‘nimmajji loafer…!’ to any of the above, optional.
If you have more, feel free to add on the list, leave a comment. Variety is spicier and all that.

The long and winding road….

2010-02-11T17:11:00.003+05:30

Sunset on the road. Somewhere between Hubli and Yellapur. It was a nice evening on the extended road trip, and somehow, some quirk, and the film exposed maybe a tad too early and the processing just gave this a nice natural green/orange tinge. Ah. The joy of film. Circa: February 2005. Camera: Analog Canon EOS 300.

A random pic from the travel archives

2010-01-28T15:33:00.002+05:30

Looking out at snow capped mountains not far away from my room...
Location: Manasarovar, Tibet. Circa, Late 2008. Camera: Canon EOS 300 Analog.

It ws a dark and stormy night....

2010-01-22T17:35:00.003+05:30

I have never begun a novel with more misgiving. If you're going to read this, don’t bother. After a couple pages, you won't want to be here. So forget it. Go away. Get out while you're still in one piece. I write this sitting in the kitchen sink. All this happened, more or less.

I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day in January of 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of 1974. Call me Ishmael. In a sense, I am Jacob Horner. I am an invisible man. No, I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allan Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywood-movie ectoplasms. I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids. For a long time, I went to bed early. You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. I am a sick man. ... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased. In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. Mother died today.

It was a wrong number that started it, the telephone ringing three times in the dead of night, and the voice on the other end asking for someone he was not. It was the day my grandmother exploded. In the beginning, sometimes I left messages in the street. It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York. The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel. I was 50 years old and hadn't been to bed with a woman for four years. I had no women friends. I looked at them as I passed them on the streets or wherever I saw them, but I looked at them without yearning and with a sense of futility. I masturbated regularly, but the idea of having a relationship with a woman—even on non-sexual terms—was beyond my imagination. [But] It was love at first sight. Miss Brooke had that kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into relief by poor dress. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. What if this young woman, who writes such bad poems, in competition with her husband, whose poems are equally bad, should stretch her remarkably long and well-made legs out before you, so that her skirt slips up to the tops of her stockings? Having placed in my mouth sufficient bread for three minutes' chewing, I withdrew my powers of sensual perception and retired into the privacy of my mind, my eyes and face assuming a vacant and preoccupied expression.

A screaming comes across the sky. Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting. They shoot the white girl first. We started dying before the snow, and like the snow, we continued to fall. The cold passed reluctantly from the earth, and the retiring fogs revealed an army stretched out on the hills, resting. It was a pleasure to burn. I had the story, bit by bit, from various people, and, as generally happens in such cases, each time it was a different story.

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. Granted: I am an inmate of a mental hospital; my keeper is watching me, he never lets me out of his sight; there's a peephole in the door, and my keeper's eye is the shade of brown that can never see through a blue-eyed type like me. They're out there. Black boys in white suits up before me to commit sex acts in the hall and get it mopped up before I can catch them. It was like so, but wasn't. Where now? Who now? When now?

Already guessed what it’s all about? Reads quite nicely don’t it? It better! Because the above is a ‘story’ written by stitching together some of the most famous opening lines in literature. Opening lines only. Except in a couple of instances, only the first sentence or the first few words. Look them up. Ah yes. The title of the post too. The classic evergreen opening from Edward Bulwer-Lytton's Paul Clifford.

Next up? A story using famous ending line? Maybe. A song on the same line? Maybe. Maybe not. Once is enough. Next time, new experiment.

About Time

2010-01-21T17:31:00.001+05:30

He had reached by 1840. But his team was already late by a long time. They were supposed to join him a long time ago in this house, at 1845 in fact. He looked surreptitiously at the dial concealed under his carefully constructed jacket. The luminous numbers read 1850. But on second thoughts a slight delay like this was hardly a wave in the ever flowing tide of history. But what they were about to do now would definitely cause a few ripples. The mere thought brought a smile to his face. Time to right some wrongs. And anyways, the delay had given him enough time to put a lot of things into place.

After what looked like eons, he looked again at the dial. 1855. Time was definitely running out now. Alone he could at most get things started – but that would happen whether or not he was physically present at this point. It needed his team to give him the strategic numbers to win. 1856. He smelt something burning, like burnt optic transmitters. They were here! About time. But instead of his entire team, all he saw was his deputy staggering towards him. If that wasn’t enough cause for worry, he was wearing a uniform which wasn’t just horribly dated but was that of the imperialists! “Someone got it horribly wrong” His deputy told him. “We reached in 1755, looking for you. But they told us not to worry if we didn’t find you and changed the side we were to fight on. We won. Nothing’s changed. I’m here to take you back. Nothing’s going to change. We could try again. Live to plan again and come back.” The words barely registered. The implications. 25 years of his life, and all the careful planning to change history, wasted. His team sent back a 100 years further back than was planned to help the other side win. Why? Why? But who? And now that he was being taken back to his time, nothing was going to change. The other side would rule for another 2 centuries, leaving his land and his ancestors in shambles and as slaves forever. “Hey, let’s go” his deputy said, “About time.”

Part 2 of Past coupla weeks or more, give or take

2010-01-20T17:36:00.005+05:30

And those were some of the books and tv series.....

Part 1 of Past coupla weeks or more, give or take

2010-01-20T16:42:00.025+05:30

Well been too busy. As usual. And too lazy to update. As usual. Busy with life, work, short trips, appointment with mr. walker of blues fame, a farewell party or two, etc. etc. but why bore you with details. Actually the more interesting parts are best told in person. So instead The Bekku is taking the easy way out and talking movies, tv and books in the past 2-3 weeks which have contributed to keeping the devil’s workshop out of business for a while. especially, back to the regular average of 2-3/week, so that’s comforting. Well here goes….of what I can remember top of mind….If i don't remember the rest of them, am sure there are more, it's probably because it wasn't worth the bother in first place.

Idiocracy

The title says it all. In a distant future, the morons have taken over the world (but can't really blame you if you think that's the scene right now ). Sample question from IQ test in the future as shown in movie: “If you have a bucket with 5 gallons of water and another bucket with 2 gallons, how many buckets do you have?” You don’t need to be a genius to know this is a must see.

Girl Next Door

Sent my best friend and me scurrying for Elisha Cuthbert pics. Nice-of-age college flick. Smart but boring boy gets a new neighbor – super hot chick who is a porn star. Need I say more?

Knowing

Alex Proyas doesn’t disappoint. Ya, the same guy who gave you Dark City and I, Robot. Interesting twist to the old apocalyptic prophecies and such like yarn. Slow in bits but ultimately worthwhile. Watch maadi. Don’t miss that clever touch at the end and all that it implies, which makes that one scene larger than the story of the movie itself.

Push

Would’ve worked better as a 3 episode TV miniseries. Actually I think it was one – going by the production values and the feel of the film - till they decided to edit it down to movie length. Regular people but with powers hunted down by shady agency. Heroes anyone?

Black Dynamite

If you aren’t a fan of blaxploitation films, you might miss out on the little touches that make this such an awesome spoof-cum-homage such a nice enjoyable film. But you still can enjoy the jive talk, the neat look, the women and old 70s exploitation movies, this one’s for you. Once you get past that niggling feeling that you are watching namma Prabhakar in an afro. Don’t let the poster mislead you, it’s a new movie. See what I said about homage to movies past?

Bitch Slap

More exploitation fun. Could’ve been so much better considering it takes it cues from Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill! And blaxploitation films. Hot chicks, guns, cars guns and lot of skin – all the ingredients are there. But still, missable unless you know who Russ Meyer is and like his stuff (as in now! Not after you do a google search).

Fantastic Mr.Fox

Wes Anderson scores yet again with an amazing stop motion retelling of Roald Dahl’s classic tale. Go watch!

Iron Giant

Very nice animated movie about an Iron Giant (duh!) who crash lands on earth and befriends a small boy and their adventures thereof. For children aged 8-80.

Avataar

Sure you could do with more written on avatar ya? Though must say the sfx ‘n the 3D experience was good fun – both times! If you haven’t seen it already, go watch Pocahontas!!! Or maybe you are waiting for the Director's Cut with the extended alien sex scene. You perv, you.

And at this point The Bekku gets too lazy to type and just dumps the JPGs of TV series watched and Books read and loved. Too much trouble to type and arrange and format stuff. In part 2.

Status Quo — A very short story

2009-09-29T14:31:00.001+05:30

It was the squeal of a car stopping that woke him up. The sun was already high in the sky. Surprised that his grandmother had not come to wake him up as usual, he slowly got out of his bed and walked into the living room, unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

His grandmother was crying. His grandfather just stood there next to her, trying to console her as they looked out at the bright yellow taxi parked outside their door. The boot of the taxi was open and his father was putting his grandparents’ old trunk and their suitcases in it. Something was not right. His father and mother had a serious look on their faces. No one was speaking a word. His father opened the door for his grandparents to get into the taxi. They just stood there like they didn’t want to leave, his grandmother sobbing, his grandfather stoic.

He ran to his father, “Appa, where are ajja and ajji going?” he asked. His father just held the door open, said nothing. “Appa, appa, please ask then not to go?” His father still said nothing. The taxi stood idling. He ran to this mother as fast as his little feet could carry him, “Amma, where are they going? When will ajja and ajji come back?” She scooped him up in her arms. “Never, Rahul. They are going to a new home. Where they will be happy.” The little boy looked confused. “There is no room for them here. And now that they are really old, we cannot take care of them. Your appa and I don’t have the time. The place they are going to is called an Old Age Home. They will be happier there than here, with old people just like themselves.” his mother continued. The little boy was on the verge of tears. “But we can go visit them once in a way.” his mother said to soften the blow. Realisation dawned on the little one that he would probably never see his beloved grandparents again. He already missed his grandmother’s calloused hands on his cheeks as she woke him up everyday.

He pushed himself away from mother and ran to the taxi just as his grandparents silently got inside the taxi. “Appa, appa, please don’t send ajja and ajji away. Please. I will take care of them. Please appa, don’t send them away. I know they are happy here.” he pleaded. “Don’t create a scene Rahul!” his father said sternly. Hurt, the little boy went and stood next to the taxi’s rear window where his grandmother was waving him goodbye.

He stood there for a while and slowly walked to the driver’s window. “Driver uncle, driver uncle” he called out to the driver, “Please remember where you are taking my ajja and ajji ok? And come here again in thirty years please?”. His father walked up to him, “Thirty years? Why Rahul?”. The little boy sniffed and wiped his tears, “In thirty years, you will also be old. I will also not have time to care of you and amma. You too will be happier with old people than with me. Since driver uncle knows where the Old Age Home is, he can take you there straight.” A crow cawed somewhere in the distance.

The quivering lips slowly formed a smile as the little boy saw his father quietly take out a few notes from his wallet, pay the driver, and open the door of the taxi asking his grandparents to come out. They weren’t going anywhere after all.

Fly, You Fools!

2009-08-04T18:40:00.009+05:30

I know. Well...it's been a while since The Bekku was updated. Here. From blogging to micro-blogging, from writing to jotting and musing, blogger to twit....has been the scene. Click here for lotsa latest thoughts The Bekku has been thinking recently.

Lots of posts have died at the synaptic link due to sheer laziness, uber-procrastination and mostly the unwillingness to spend more time than is required online. Contrary to popular perception most of my reading is reading pages of dead-tree paper not pixels on the screen. They would anyways have been rants with no worth whatsoever. And a stray post or two about Megan Fox. And science fiction. And Indian politics. Megan Fox. Traditions. The Bekku on The Bekku. Cooking. Thought on Copenhagen the quantum-mechanics talkathon play not the Danish capital. About how you needn’t be funny yourself, but if you forward enough jokes everyday, you will be considered funny. You get the drift. But hopefully there’s a nice one coming soon about Jaron Lanier’s book and why it is a lost cause if at all.

Anyways, in other newses, stumbled on this today: an Indian webcomic!! See how les I know the online world. Saw it today wonly. Some good laughs here. For starters. The ephemeral quintessentially Indian ethos is nicely captured. Have a look at one on The Bekku, selected specially for your viewing pleasure:

For more great Fly, You Fools! comics, click on the Savita Bhabhi Obit pic below. Each click will be considered a silent prayer to bringing our favourite fictional Babhi back.
All pix courtesy Fly, you fools.

Shortest ‘Fairy’ Tale

2009-07-24T15:10:00.000+05:30

Once upon a time, there lived a man. Fell in love with a prince, got married. And they lived gayly ever after.

The global financial crisis in an analogy we can understand

2009-07-14T13:08:00.000+05:30

In which The Bekku unashamedly cuts-and-pastes something found on the net, but not without trying to find out its provenance or the original author so it can be attributed but nopes, and in no mood to be dogged. But still, You, yes You! – who thought it and wrote it first – The Bekku thanks you. Now on with the analogy….

Linda is the proprietor of a bar in Cork. In order to increase sales, she decides to allow her loyal customers - most of whom are unemployed alcoholics - to drink now but pay later. She keeps track of the drinks consumed on a ledger (thereby granting the customers loans).

Word gets around and as a result increasing numbers of customers flood into Linda's bar. Taking advantage of her customers' freedom from immediate payment constraints, Linda increases her prices for wine and beer, the most-consumed beverages. Her sales volume increases massively. A young and dynamic customer service consultant at the local bank recognizes these customer debts as valuable future assets and increases Linda's borrowing limit. He sees no reason for undue concern since he has the debts of the alcoholics as collateral.

At the bank's corporate headquarters, expert bankers transform these customer assets into DRINKBONDS, ALKBONDS and PUKEBONDS. These securities are then traded on markets worldwide. No one really understands what these abbreviations mean and how the securities are guaranteed. Nevertheless, as their prices continuously climb, the securities become top-selling items. One day, although the prices are still climbing, a risk manager (subsequently of course fired due to his negativity) of the bank decides that slowly the time has come to demand payment of the debts incurred by the drinkers at Linda's bar. However they cannot pay back the debts.

Linda can not fulfill her loan obligations and claims bankruptcy. DRINKBOND and ALKBOND drop in price by 95 %. PUKEBOND performs better, stabilizing in price after dropping by 80 %. The suppliers of Linda's bar, having granted her generous payment due dates and having invested in the securities are faced with a new situation. Her wine supplier claims bankruptcy, her beer supplier is taken over by a competitor. The bank is saved by the Government following dramatic round-the-clock consultations by leaders from the governing political parties (and vested interests). The funds required for this purpose are obtained by a tax levied on the non-drinkers.

The Bekku concedes that it does not pay to be a teetotaler. Drink up!

What the Bekku has been thinking of for the past few hours

2009-07-08T14:05:00.003+05:30

Wordle. Do with it what you will. Click below maadi to see this one and to create your own Wordle....

A sexy post

2009-07-03T14:22:00.003+05:30

Sextion 377. Finally most of what it applied to has been de-criminalised. Hoorah. Yay. While the faggots are publicly celebrating, you as a straight, heterosexual normal man or woman should also be standing relieved. Because while the shirtlifters might have made it their mission in life, it equally applies to you too, and for all you know you have been up to many criminal acts that went against the order of nature. Here’s how:

Section 377 of the IPC. Unnatural offences: Whoever voluntarily has carnal intercourse against the order of nature with any man, woman or animal, shall be punished with imprisonment for life, or with imprisonment of either description for term which may extend to ten years, and shall also be liable to fine.

But since the term ‘carnal intercourse’ is such an ambiguous term with regards to what it constitutes, there’s also an explanation in Note 1.

Explanation (to Section 377 of the IPC) – Penetration is sufficient to constitute the carnal intercourse necessary to the offence described in this Section.

The key phrase of course is ‘against the order of nature’ which we would usually apply to the homosexuals because it is, right? Think again. If you’ve ever been done the favour of a fellatio, well there you go! Thou haveth committed a criminal offense. Also a seriously supposedly facetious character like the Bekku could also on a technicality claim that using a condom is against the ‘order of nature’; when was the last time you saw a dog in a helmet? Speaking of doggys, there is the issue of ‘let’s add some variety’. So if you’ve ever been retrocopulating or in other words doin’ it doggy style, you’ve been committing an offense my frisky experimenting straight friend. So any form of intercourse other than a straightforward missionary position between a man and a woman would be considered ‘against the order of nature’, digital penetration included, and is punishable.

So that’s why even a heterosexual, normal person should support the (no one’s saying parade alongside the faggots) de-criminalization of Section 377, irrespective of whether you condone homosexuality or not, regardless of your personal prejudices against gays (and maybe even lesbians!).

The religious heads (no pun intended) are of course against it, because homosexuality is unacceptable to Christianity and Islam., and it being turned into law. They shouldn’t actually be worried these blinkered bishops and myopic mullahs. So what if its de-criminalised homosexuality, doesn’t mean you have to condone it or encourage it or not socially stigmatise the faggots and ostracise the shirtlifters. But let's not make them legal criminals. Plus, no one’s giving any legal rights to same-sex couples or making same-sex marriages legal, not just yet. They’re just not gonna be punished or harassed for having an alternate sexual preference and being deviant that’s all. And the government will wait and watch. Plus this judgment as of now only applies to Delhi. Rejoice all thee doggy stylin’ straight boys in Delhi. The rest of you make sure you don’t do it in public (and for the purposes of decency and conduct even in Delhi). So from here on, the momentum should take things forward so when it comes to debate into making it a law, make sure you support it. Because de-criminalising something is not the same as making it legal.

More Bale

2009-07-01T11:10:00.001+05:30

Christian Bale is amongst the last of humankind fighting against a stronger enemy who is hell bent on wiping all vestiges of humanity from the face of the planet. Having always lived and grown up under the shadow of this enemy, he knows a thing or two about the adversary that the other people in the resistance don’t. Christian Bale then meets another man of his own kind who he is suspicious at first and later comes to trust. Many action sequences and CGIs later, this person ends up helping Christian Bale win a decisive battle.

Well by now you would’ve guessed which movie I am talking about. The enjoyable dragon flick Reign of Fire. Imagine how much more fun the movie would’ve been if he had a meltdown or go ranting at the DP during the shooting of RoF.

Thank you (also) for the music

2009-06-26T15:35:00.003+05:30

Is it purely for the music or is it because of how intrinsically entwined it is with my childhood that I feel so a special connection with the man? I think it is because of the latter closely followed by the former.

Growing up, it was easy to dismiss ‘western music’ as this inexplicable noise and gibberish that as someone with absolutely no knowledge of English or exposure to the outside world I could afford to do. But somewhere between Mukesh and MS there was Michael, this one person who came to epitomize western music for us all – Michael Jackson – be it in gulbarga or karwar or udupi and other such places I spent my childhood in. Exposed to nothing more than Doordarshan and later The World This Week. It is a testimony then to MJ’s influence and worldwide accessibility. For the longest time, he was the only western music I ever knew, as I am sure he was for many of my generation. Those days if anyone said he listened a lot to western music, you could be rest assured he meant that he had one Michael Jackson tape. And that is why his death is that much more saddening. A part of our collective childhood died today, reminding us again of those days gone by when we would listen to Michael Jackson on thrice-recorded audio cassettes. In fact the first english music album I ever owned, a gift from my older cousin, was a copy of MJ’s Dangerous.

He was good. He made us love the unfamiliar. And how. But….Who was he? What was he? We knew nothing but his name. And all songs (the few rather that we knew) were known more by their description of what happened in that particular song than by its name. The attempts to hum the tune to tell the other guy what song you were referring to were as much as the songs themselves. Lyrics were irrelevant, as we didn’t know or speak english. Track names, what’s that? All that mattered was that we were listening to “foreign music”. And having a ball of a time crowded around an old tape recorder, each trying to outdo another in his “understanding” of this weird and unfamiliar yet strangely alluring music. With their fast pace, their dancy tunes, their strange instrumentation and above all, that great voice.

I remember those futile but insanely funny attempts when a few of us school boys tried moonwalking and dancing after seeing MJ do it like only he can. With lots of loose flailing limbs and crotch grabbing in a manner only awkward adolescents can. There was no cable then, no youtube, no DVDs, but a rental Video Cassette (at 10 rupees per day) that we all pooled in with a rupee or two in to see what it was all about. I remember that video cassette also had “that song where the Michael walks on the footpath and the tiles become bright bright as he walks over them”. I clearly remember that day after we watched the video mostly because of all the bruised knuckles and painful fingers we inflicted on ourselves during PT class in a bad, misguided and pale (no-knife) imitation of the Bad video. Total fun. Lots of Iodex was used in many a classmate’s household that night.

In effect that I think is what this is about – it wasn’t just Michael Jackson who died today, but a small, if very significant part of me as well. A part of a childhood lived in a bygone era, unrecognizable today. So selfishly I mourn today as much for that part of me as much as for Michael Jackson. All the artifacts, the little cultural reference points, the shared experiences slowly eroded by death, and fading with the march of time leaving behind the detritus of nostalgia and echoes of the past.

All I can say is I’m glad I lived when I did. And given a choice to redo things, I would still choose to have Michael Jackson as my first tentative step into the world of foreign, western music.

You, me and our friends brought up in that time – we are all those blocks that lit up when Michael Jackson stepped into the days of our lives. Back when.

Rest in peace Michael Jackson and do the moves again on the great dance floor in the sky.

Le roi est mort. Vive le roi.

Half a Manifesto. Full Satisfaction.

2009-06-24T16:31:00.006+05:30

Late to the party you may be, but it’s never too late to read Half A Manifesto by the one-and-only Jaron Lanier. He gets it.

And yes, make sure you read the Reality Club comments on the .5 Manifesto and Lanier’s responses to them (links to these are in the page linked above). From people like Bruce Sterling and Lee Smolin to the Dysons.

One of the people who responded to the .5 Manifesto as you will see is a guy called Daniel Dennet. If the name sounds familiar, it is because he is one the lapdogs of none other than Darwin’s Rottweiler, the delusional Dawkins himself. Bleh!

The adaptionists. Sigh. No one's denying it happens, adaption that is, but to call everything an adaption and to say that natural selection is the only agent (even if you call it a filter) of evolution isn't a good or tenable standpoint. And also because the adaptionist programme leads to the invention of not just theories but a whole new (pseudo) science called Sociobiology or Evolutionary Psychology if you prefer. Because Sociobiology is such a bad word. And so is the 'science'. A bunch of just-so stories that make for good cocktail conversation and nothing more. But you can push it and be counted as amongst the world's leading intellectuals you happen to dress well, have a scholarly clique of lapdogs and are good at PR & media management and know how to write literately. You got to give it to these guys. Take a bow Richard Dawkins!

Now would be a good time to re-read Gould and Lewontin's 1979 paper critiquing the adaptationists.

Idiots in a global village

2009-06-24T16:03:00.002+05:30

I remember an ad that came out slightly after the Columbine High School shootings. About the myopic measures that it led to with regard to gun control laws. It said something to the effect of “Kid in trench coat comes in to his school, uses semi-automatics and shotguns and kills children. What did we do? Ban trench coats.”

The Australian Government is up to something similar. Indians, students in particular, get beaten, mugged, attacked, victimised. Instead of doing something about the crime, and cracking down on the criminals and admitting that it’s as racist as anything goes, Oz is instead implementing laws that make it tougher for Indian students to get into Australia. By asking for higher IELTS scores and planning on making prospective students showing/having sufficient funds to see them through their study time without having to work. Instead of taking action and ensuring that Indians are protected, they’re preventing them from coming. And our government isn’t helping the cause either. By pussyfooting around the issue and just about grumbling enough to count as a ‘reaction’. What can one really expect from a government that has twits like our esteemed Minister of State for External Affairs Shashi Tharoor who publicly declares that the attacks on Indian students is purely a domestic issue and there’s nothing India can do about it. When I say twit here I mean it in the sense of someone thoroughly contemptible, not one who twitters (with his foot in his mouth, like the twit mentioned above). Idiots I tell you.

In other news, France wants to ban the burqa. On purely secular grounds. ‘secular’ as it is understood in France, not India. Else it might be taken that Sarkozy is anti-hindu. That’s the thing that should be with ‘secularism’. Not anti anybody or pro anything. Anyways, Sarkozy makes the claim and suddenly the world is up in arms against it. The way a woman dresses and what she chooses to wear should not be dictated by the state. Or anything personal for that matter. I spotted one of the useful idiots of the great Indian intellectual landscape, a lady on not one but two different channels. From being a ‘media person’ on one channel she morphed into a ‘social activist’ on the other. Now this lady is supposedly the face of modern “liberal” Islam. Bleh! Amidst all her railings I can only wonder why no one asks these people why they take such a vocal stand when France does it, but don’t say anything when the whole middle east is telling a woman (and a man) what she should war and not wear. Where the ‘human rights’ that they so trumpet around and uphold on television channels is missing entirely. Like in the case of Roxanne Hillier for example. And this is but the latest of many, and only those that became public. I’m not saying whether Sarkozy is right or not, but how come all this righteous indignation and protests and human rights goobledock and individual freedom of expression speeches are not targeted towards countries that run on Islamic law? Not that running a country by Islamic is wrong per se, but it’s just that everyone knows how liberal or uplifting or free these Islamic laws can be. Idiots I tell you.

Speaking of Islam, spotted hoardings around the city with Obama’s smiling mug on them for some organization handing out free copies of the Koran should you be interested. The ostensible reason is that you might be interested in knowing why Obama is quoting from the Koran. And Obama himself is playing to the field, putting the ‘Hussein’ back in Barack Hussein Obama. Wonder how many people still cling to the illusion that Obama becoming President of the US of A is a step forward for negro, I mean black, I mean African-american emancipation/equality, end of racism etc. Black skin white masks I tell you. Each day and article I read just reaffirms (to me at least) that the very fact that Obama got elected means that racism is well and alive and kicking. And kicking is what the racist Australians are doing to our people down under. Idiots I tell you.

And just for the sake of symmetry, let me end with a story I remember hearing an american theater actor whose name escapes me. On his first visit to Australia he was apparently stopped at the Immigration Counter and after a while an Oz officer came up to him, checked his papers, etc. and sternly asked him, “Any criminal records?” And the actor replied, “Oh! That’s still the essential requirement to be an Australian, is it?”

Treknobabble?

2009-06-15T12:59:00.001+05:30

All it’s lacking is Bones McCoy kneeling beside a Redshirt and saying, “He’s dead Jim.” And maybe Mudd's women. Ok. That’s asking for too much. But when you get a movie that manages to so deeply satisfy the Trekkie in you, isn’t it but natural to wish for more? We’re human after all, not Vulcans. I am of course referring to the new Star Trek movie ‘Star Trek’.

The whole movie was a flat-out rollercoaster ride from one ‘set-phasers-to-stun’ moment to the next. Hats, topis and turbans off to J. J. Abrams, and the writers, Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman for finally laying to rest the curse that afflicted all odd-numbered instalments of the franchise. And boy oh boy, how?!!

It’s got all the characters from the original 3-season run of Star Trek, the only true Star Trek if you ask me, coming together ‘for the first time’. And each (new) crew member of the USS Enterprise seems so familiar. Yet another round of applause to the makers of the movie is in order here. I almost fell off my chair when Bones went, “I’m a doctor, not a physicist!” and grinned with glee when Scotty screams that ‘he's giving it all she’s got’. Beeeutiful. The casting is just about perfect. Chris Pine’s Kirk again is familiar yet fresh. It was nice to see ye new Kirk do the olde shatner swagger of ye olde Kirk. The Romulans as the villains was a masterstroke. There was absolutely no way anyone, even the Klingons would’ve done a better job in this role.

And ah yessss.....that pointy-eared hobgoblin. Spock. Zachary Quinto looks like he was born for this role, but no more than Leonard Nimoy who was, is, and shall remain THE Spock. To see Nimoy reprise the role and to play it with such aplomb (again) was so deeply gratifying. Leonard Nimoy rulz! Spock worshippers who say that this movie was really about Spock and to a slightly smaller extent Kirk, with everyone and everything else – including NCC 1701 –being a sub-plot will not be too off the mark.
But let not mine Trekkie sensibilities not put thee off. Because the question you might be asking is....does this movie work by itself, for someone who has absolutely no idea of Star Trek? Absolutely. You can enjoy this film even if you don’t know who or what Pon Farr is. As this news report from ONN will attest to. Watch it to see why this movie is ‘a real slap in the face for Trek fans’.

If pushed into a corner and asked – with a gun to my head – to point out one thing that jarred, it would be that they replaced ‘no man’ with ‘no one’ in ‘where no man has gone before on the big screen, and with Nimoy narrating it, especially when everyhting was going so well. C’mon. Politically correct, gender-neutral language can go and suck on a dozen centaurian slug for all I care. But don’t bother. That’s just my anachronistic tendencies and belief in not tampering with canon coming to the fore.

And yes green Orion slave girls. That’s pure unadulterated fan service.
Hubba hubba.
That in effect is my summation of the movie after the first viewing.
Repeat viewings are in order. More when that happens.
Till then, as always, live long and prosper.

Swine flew then too

2009-04-29T11:16:00.003+05:30

The cover to the album Flying Pigs by Floyd the Pink. Look carefully. Swine flew then too. And if that wasn’t enough, this album – with track names mentioning swine and livestock – also inspired George Orwell to write the immortal allegorical novel called Animal Farm.

Yep. You read right. For more information, why not read ‘An Idiot’s Guide to Pink Floyd: theBekku exclusive’?

Nailing Modi or your own coffin Ms. Setalvad?

2009-04-28T13:15:00.008+05:30

The Teesta Setalvads and the Indra Jaisinghs of the world will never admit they have been defeated? And why should they? They have a clear agenda. And with the ‘secular’ (read selective) Indian electronic media as their personal bullhorns theirs is not a crusade that’s going to stop anytime soon, and more importantly, a crusade that will never be allowed to fade, operative word ‘allowed’. By the same people who fund this crusade (who else but the Communists!). The crusade is not anymore about justice, but a personal witch hunt. And this anti-Modi campaign will continue ad infinitum. Not even if the person in question, the esteemed ‘social activist’ Teesta Setalvad suffers ignominious setback after embarrassing setback. To put it mildly. And such shameful personalities who bring disrespect to any cause and disgrace to the NGO tag (but that’s not going to stop the communists, is it?) have honours like Padma Shri conferred on them (by their other paymasters, the Congress). What it also does is brings into doubt the real intentions of and the motives other ‘activists’, 'secular advocacy groups' ‘social workers’ and ‘NGOs’, and shame on civilian honours like the Padma awards (giving it to Ash and Aks is bad enough, why indignify it further?).

Last night the television screens were full of the Supreme Court’s directive to the SIT to probe Narendra Modi’s role in the Gujarat riots. What the news reports didn’t say was that that there is no clear role and Modi’s name is just one among 64 that have been asked to be probed. But going by the headlines, you would think that the crime has been established and all that needs doing is just some additional grunt by the SIT work to seal it all. That is farthest from the truth. These same news channels didn't make a brouhaha, and instead quietly scrolled the news as a formality, when our esteemed social activist and secular samurai Ms.Setalvad was hauled up for cooking up killings, fabricating riot instances and incidents and tutoring witnesses. Read all about it here. And this article here. Of course of course there was a swift rebuttal (the same defensive backfoot mentality and with the same modus operandi that did not acknowledge the findings of the Nanavati Commision which had given a clean chit to Modi by saying it was state-sponsored). But that too was demolished when one of the people who reported the news, Dhananjay Mahapatra, countered Setalvad’s claim that the report in question – that finally nailed the truth behind the fabricated tragedies and sham witnesses – was a state govt note and not one prepared by the SIT. He reiterated and rebutted the by saying that it was in fact taken from the SIT report. Read the rebuttal of Setalvad’s false claims here. So much for wishful thinking on the part of the pseudo-intellectual secularists. The Zaheera Sheik incident where Setalvad was almost put behind bars for pressurising her 'star witness' doesn’t seem to have taught this activist anything. Maybe she confused (the SC Committee’s) exoneration with permission. To do more of the same.

The question here is not whether there are guilty parties or not. Of course there are. You cannot just wish away the riots or what happened on the Sabarmati Express. The crusade is justified, but it has been turned into an anti-Modi campaign more than a fight for justice. And this undermines the cause of justice and takes the focus away from the real issue at stake. The real reasons for the riots and the perpetrators thereof. To try and make an example is one thing, but these people need to choose their examples and their targets well. Paradoxically enough, whenever the issue of Godhra comes back into national focus, it only seems to do good to Modi and somehow works to Modi’s advantage. Let’s see what happens this time around. Let’s see what the the SIT says this time around. Update in three months.

Oversimplifying a flaw

2009-04-27T18:14:00.000+05:30

Revisiting Plato’s criticisms of democracy just reaffirms my stand that more ‘educated’ people (and not just literate) should vote. Democracy is built around equality, and no where is it more apparent than at the elections. Extreme equality. That’s what it is. And that is precisely one of the many reasons that democracy as a system is flawed. Not to mention its severe susceptibility to be deeply corruptible. No matter what your level of education (or lack of it thereof), your experience (or lack of it thereof), your opinions (or lack of it thereof), you just get one vote. I’m not trying to be elitist, but in the light of the critique that Plato made against democracy , the more-informed, the more-educated person’s vote should carry more weight than one without them. But equality is equality, and when it comes to voting, ain’t no one more equal than the other. It is at this point that the numbers come into play. Imagine there are 100 voters and three candidates. Candidate 1 and Candidate 2 belong to national parties with a clear agenda and vision, or at least some direction. Candidate 3 belongs to some local party fraught with corruption, with no vision but lots of notes. 48 people turn out to vote. Fifteen people vote for candidate 1. Fifteen for Candidate 2, making Candidate 3 a winner with 18 votes. So Candidate 3 is now declared the winner, gets to represent 100 people for 5 years and all because of empty rhetoric and votes for notes. Assuming that the great ‘educated’ masses will not put a price on their votes, and so even if 10 more ‘educated’ people had come out to vote, the result would have been different, and hopefully for the better.
Unfortunately, it is these great educated (and apathetic masses) who don’t come out to vote. And they are the ones who claim the greatest share in the benefits that democracy offers and the loudest to scream and shout and rail at the system given a fraction of a chance. Sad. Where’s that punishment clause for not voting when you need one?

Vote karo, khush raho?

2009-04-27T10:43:00.000+05:30

Another weekend gone, but that of a week that saw this city go to the polls. Days later, we’re still looking at each other’s left index fingers to see if the person voted or not. For all the brouhaha about the ‘politically aware youth’, ‘educated and aware first-time voters’, the turn out was on the wrong side of the halfway mark. Pathetic. What this meant is that the people who voted automatically got the right to gloat. Who gave them this right? Democracy baby! I must thinks i should stop scoffing at and scorning those who didn’t vote when they could’ve.

It’s one’s right to vote, irrespective of whether you care about this country or what happens once the results are out. One cannot sit back and say ‘not voting is my form of protest’. It’s a duty that must needs be done like any other. There’s a limit how much you can flog the ‘freedom of expression’ horse. And that’s just the point. People sit around, going about their lives, enjoying all the various freedoms that being a citizen of this country bestow, but won’t lift a finger (no pun intended) when it comes to doing their duty. Voting is one of them. In a country of almost 70 crore voters, it’s mighty difficult, but there should be some form of penalty for those that don’t vote. But first let the machinery be put in place that ensures that no voter’s name gets dropped off the list. And while we cannot blame the dutiful voter for that, we cannot totally fault the system either. It’s still got its flaws, and till they’re ironed out we need to follow up and to ensure that one’s name is on that list. Most would think it not worth their time. But that didn’t stop me from trying to ensure that I did not fall prey to a flaw in the system.

Will one vote make a difference? Maybe not. But stranger things have happened. And anyways, each vote gets pooled into the majority, so you can’t have an ocean without a drop. Even if the party i voted for doesn’t come to power, at least i know i made i didn’t vote for the other party and countered one vote for that other party with a vote for mine. Nincompoops get elected to power because those that can prevent it didn’t vote. If you voted, no can at least accuse you of not doing your bit.

The system is corrupt and inefficient. True. And to vote is to be a part of that system. So i will not. What hogwash! I am the first to agree to the proposition that democracy is a flawed system, and the strain of democracy seen here in these parts by far the worst. It’s done more damage than could any other system (or so i would like to think). But that’s what we are saddled with and till we have it, might as well do our bit to ensure that at least the people we want in power get there. But unfortunately thousands of people didn’t. I would like to think that this does not mean they don’t have an opinion, and the great apathetic masses are perfectly fine living by the policies and under the rule of the government voted into power by the people who did vote. I VOTED! And i think it’s cool that the mark of democracy is the newest status symbol around. Sad but true. What should be the norm is now a lifestyle statement. Sad but true. I am loving it. I VOTED! And i’m not going to give some sad excuse for why i voted. I voted because i wanted to, i’m proud of it. Hmmm....me thinks i will still go around gloating for some more time.

Return to the Sun

2009-04-22T14:10:00.027+05:30

A split second after the awe and splendour hits you like a ton of red sandstone bricks, two blinks after your jaw hits the walkway at the splendour of it all, it is replaced by a sense of regret. That you were not there to see it in all its glory. Regret that slowly turns to anger at all the invaders and conquerors who’ve swept this land demolishing structures (read temples) in their wake and in their territory. The ‘eminent historians’ will tell you it was all political expediency. Nothing personal. But we all know what their motivations were. The anger and the regret never really goes away as you walk through whatever that remains – in awe, wondering about the artisans of a bygone era and marvel at the heights of their achievements, in architecture and engineering. Poetry in stone. The echoes of a lost art and culture.

One such is the Sun Temple at Konark. The mythical magnet of legends may no longer be there, but there is something about the place that makes you want to go back. So i did. And the regret i felt the first time around was still there, amplified even.

If you go by the massive structure that stands today, one can only imagine what the complete temple would’ve looked like. A colossal temple to Arka, the Sun God constructed like a massive chariot on twelve pairs of exquisitely carved wheels pulled by seven pairs of horses. Thankfully many of the wheels still remain with their details intact. But almost all the horses are gone. Just about two broken horses remain of the seven pairs. One pair of each for each side. So when you look at the temple in profile, you see the seven horses pulling a twelve-wheeled chariot. Here’s an image composited from two photos i took this time around that i hope will give a general idea.

Each of the wheels is study in itself. Each an exquisite clock byitself. Each of the spokes carved with intricate details and twelve stages in the wheel of time and life. Take a look at these wheels. Take a close look and you will see that the pictures were taken a shade after twelve noon. The first pic is a personal favourite, the most enduring image that it is of Konark. The main tower, the sanctum – or the Deul as it is known – is gone. Fallen because the archstone was taken away. Or destroyed most likely. Only the Jagamohana remains. And that is what one sees dominating the skyline as you enter. But that’s not all there is to the Sun Temple. Hundreds of carvings, big and small, worldly and spiritual. And of course the highly instructive erotic carvings that ring the Deul’s second level. One could on and on writing about the Sun Temple and the majesty of it all. The stories and legends. The myths and the harsh reality. But seeing is believing, so here are a few random pics that but, hint at what awaits the traveller who makes his way to Konark. As i did. I could go on, but i’d rather speak about in person.

Three visits to the temple in two days. Noon, night and dawn. On my second visit to Konark. I have a feeling my tryst with Konark has still a few chapters more to go. And then will the final word be written. Till then, here a few thousand words in low-res pictures. In the language of stone, spoken by the magnificent men and artisans who make me proud just being born in the land they once trod upon.

There's even a 'tourist toilet' there in case you were looking for more reason to go there.

One the statues of Surya, the Sun God. One of the few still in relatively good shape. Not the idol. Nobody knows for sure where it is or what happened to it. What's an idol without a sanctum. Anyways, to the left is the statue in granite of Arka in his chariot . Top left is a detail from the lower portion of the statue depicting Garuda's brother, Aruna, Surya's charioteer with three of the seven horses whose reins he holds (in the main statue exactly between Surya's feet). Bottom left is a detail from the waistband of Surya. To the right is a detail of one of the attendant dieties you can see at Surya's feet.

Above: The entrance to the jagamohana. Unfortunately, there is nothing to enter into. The inside has been filled up completely to prevent the structure from collapsing in on itself. Many many grateful thanks to The Hon’ble J.A. Bourdillon, C.S.I. Wondering who I’m thanking? Well. The granite plaque you see in the doorway reads, ‘To preserve this superb specimen of old Indian architecture the interior was filled in by order of The Hon’ble J.A. Bourdillon, C.S.I., Lieutenant Governor of Bengal A.D. 1903." Thank you sir.

Above: Another statue of Surya, facing westwards.

Above: The jagamohana, which is the only major structure left. With day trippers in front and at the entrance. Look at the scale and marvel. The deul, or the main tower which would've been behind this was a lot more bigger. But sadly. Below: The Jagamohana just after dawn. The photo above was at about 1pm.

Above: Jubin 'waiting for a class-less state-less world' George, partner in crime this time around in front of one of the wheels. Lest you think that the wheels are small and man-size, here is some scale for perspective. Below: A composite of three images, look closely and you will see Jubin closely studying some detail on the walls to the left of the steps. Can't see him? No matter. Take a look at the composite below this one. That should give you the scale of man to wheel.

Above: The stones seem to change colour depending on what time of the day you are there. Remember that photo above (the personal favourite one). The one on the left. The photo was taken noon-ish. The same wheel a little while later. Below: Another illustration of the same point, this time with two different wheels on the same side of the temple.

Oh. There are many more. Like the words i could write, the visages that the Sun Temple presents you with – multiplied by the number of times you visit it, and what time of day you visit it in – are many. The 'erotic' sculptures. The small details and dieties. The natya mantap. But why overdo it? Go there to really experience it. But before i bid adieu for now, one last view of the the Sun Temple. One last look through the massive lions, across the natyamantap to the jagamohana. Once as the sun just makes his presence felt, the other when he is elsewhere than at Konark.

Coffee House R.I.P.

2009-04-06T11:39:00.001+05:30

What do i fill this hole in my heart with?

Catchy but not quite

2009-04-03T13:34:00.000+05:30

Everyone seems to be saying One Billion Votes this and One Billion votes that. I get it. It’s catchier than saying 71.5 crore votes. But what’s most irritating is when that Anal Orifice of Indian Journalism, Rajdeep Sardesai, says it (he gets his channel though to insist that he is the Face). Just the way he says it riles me. I must confess, everything he says riles me. But that’s a topic for another day.

So coming to the 70-odd crore voters, in the end how many will really come out on the day and vote? The cool dudes, the hot babes, the party folk, the bleeding heart liberals, and the ‘educated’ youth will take election day as a well deserved holiday, sleep late, most likely hung over from last night’s party. They will take time out, go out of their way to protest petitioning for pubs to be kept open for longer, but won’t come and vote. I might be tarring everyone with the same brush, but sadly that’s the picture i see. I saw it during the assembly elections, and i don’t think things have changed much. I would love to be proved wrong. Or to expect much from these great cool and apathetic masses. There should be some sort of penalty for people who don’t vote.

Speaking of catchy and this time with meaning, here’s Thermal and a Quarter telling you to ‘Shut up and Vote!’ Which is what I think we all should do.

Captain Gopi. Not!

2009-04-03T12:33:00.000+05:30

I respect the man. Am sure he means well. Noble, honourable intentions and all. I’m not going to listen to the cynics and their theories, you know them as well as i do. And he is contesting from my constituency!!

We could do with people like him in the great Indian political morass. But really, what is he going to achieve? Will he win? No. Will be making a statement? Yes. But statements never changed anything. All he will end up doing is splitting the votes of certain demographics thus letting and enabling those that should not have won, to win. Knowingly or otherwise. Maybe there is some credence to those theories then.

Bhay ho!

2009-04-01T16:11:00.001+05:30

You did say you would vote for change didn’t you?

“Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?”

2009-03-30T11:46:00.002+05:30

“Who will watch the Watchmen?” Well now i can answer my friends and me were one amongst the thousands that did. Only to come out less than happy and more than disappointed. This after going in with no expectations or fanboy attitudes.
Oh ok, so your counter will be that this is a film and it should be judged on its own merit....well, in that case whatever merit it had would disappear – because for some one who hasn’t read Watchmen the graphic novel, this movie would makes less than sense. Technically it is sound, a brilliant title sequence, the CGs nice, (almost) everything thought of, but if it ever was true that the whole is less than the sum of its parts, it is with this movie And i’m not even complaining about a certain missing cephalopod!! Full points for trying, Zack ‘visionary director’ Snyder, close but no cigarette even. For a book that was written intentionally in a way as to be un-filmable, it still is. Ha!

No help at all

2009-03-26T17:21:00.000+05:30

There once lived a boy. The cat was red. And the river overflowed. The disco lights lit up the dawn while the dope peddlers went after stray dogs and unicorns. The water tasted sweet he said. Let there be lightness, and war. The green unripe apple stayed suspended in mid air just below the bowler hat. The arrows sped toward each other. Illumination comes so hard. Rock on. Emotionally dyslexic nurses not welcome. Making small talking about dwarves and midgets. Once upon a time was how it began. He stayed in school till the last terminal stage in the green room. And the bionic automata started bleeding. The drums sang their tune. Itinerant insects were splattered all over. The temperature kept rising. Fighting the urge to go out killing leopards. And road signs were abused.

Aches old enough to be our own...

2009-03-18T12:40:00.006+05:30

We've seen the past best times, and these
Will ne'er return ; we see the seas,
And moons to wane,
But they fill up their ebbs again;
But vanish'd man,
Like to a lily lost, ne'er can,
Ne'er can repullulate, or bring
His days to see a second spring.

But on we must,
and thither tend,
Where Anchus and rich Tullus
Their sacred seed:
Thus has infernal Jove decreed
We must be made,
Ere long a song, ere long a shade.
Why then, since life to us is short,
Let's make it full up by our sport......

In all its glory it is known as HIS AGE, DEDICATED TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND,M. JOHN WICKES, UNDER THE NAME OF POSTHUMUS by Robert Herrick So gather ye rosebuds while ye may.

speak to me

2009-03-02T18:33:00.000+05:30

At last count i can speak gibberish, hindi, roughly about two dialects of kannada, ditto for konkani, tulu, nonsense, a smattering of tamil and jargon, and one foreign language, english. Now pray tell me, how does this make you insecure and inferior and feed your combative impulses?

Unusual Suspect(s)

2009-03-02T17:23:00.002+05:30

All sorts of Holmes-ian deductions have been fruitless. Poirot-style moustache twirling even more so. Discrete calls and otherwise Sam Spade-style to possible suspects have been to no avail. It’s going to be almost a month now and i still have yet to figure out who sent me these:

Two great books.
Alan Moore’s Hypothetical Lizard limited edition hardcover
The Thakeray T. Lambshead Pocket Guide to Eccentric & Discredited Diseases.
Why in the world would anyone want to keep this great gift a secret????
Some day i will know, and on that day, Anonymous Books-Gifter, you will now too that i know, if you didn’t already know i knew or made it b known to me that you were the one....umm....who be you by the way?

what is Real?

2009-03-02T15:21:00.001+05:30

Who do we (really) mourn for? Why do we (really) mourn?

2009-03-02T15:17:00.001+05:30

He chose not to be God. He was just about adjusting to his new role as a god, but God? No! He was clear about that. Let others fight over it. It had taken a lot to convince him to join the pantheon and to be one of the beneficiaries of countless sacrifices, but to be God? That wasn’t as much beyond him as it was beneath. Leave me to myself, he told the bothersome deities. You’ve already set my name on the path of abuse and of obligations and prayers I cannot always meet. I will have nothing more to do. Whatever i have earned till now you can take and do whatever you want in my name, and to my name. And politely retreated into solitude next to the nearest pyre he could find. But pyres have a way of cooling down.

Spring Thunder

2009-03-02T13:36:00.004+05:30

This man makes me want to learn Malayalam just so i can read him in the original. Agreed, he himself has translated most of his work into English, but knowing as i do the ‘lost in translation’ business that has happened with some of the books in Kannada that i have read in English also, it would be fair to assume that the same has happened with OV Vijayan’s books. As OV (do i dare call them this?) himself said, “...translation is an act of shifting eggs from one nest to another. In the process the yolk and white are separated, and what you have left with is broken shells.” And this from a man who translated his own work into some fabulous English. Who better then?

The reason for this post? After The Hanging and Other Stories by OV Vijayan. Finished it over the course of a packed weekend. From the surreal to the heartbreaking, from allegories to little seeds of thoughts, it was more than just a good read. A good read ensures you enjoy the good while you are reading it. Not after the last page has been turned. A classic like this sticks with you, much after you have finished reading it. It happened with me with Khasakkinte Itihasam, then with Dharmapuranam, and now with After the Hanging...the search is on now for Gurusagaram. If any of you reading this blog regularly (five at the last count) happen to chance upon it, let me know ASAP!

OV Vijayan. This man now firmly occupies the #2 spot in my personal list of ‘Best Indian Writers in English’. If only by virtue of having translated his books himself, and even with that he is leagues ahead of those just out to prove that their vocabulary is as good, if not better than the whites themselves (or that they have a good dictionary/thesaurus). Most are just writing about things we all know and are part of us – making the banal and the commonplace – seem exotic for the white man’s consumption, and the confused rootless generation of today. Not so Vijayan. He wrote, yes, about things here and now and of what could be....but ever in a way so as to give us from here a new perspective, a new way of looking and of thought. Not just through his novels and stories. As an acerbic and unforgiving cartoonist, OV also occupies the #2 spot in my ‘Best Indian Cartoonists’ list.

PS: The #1 spot in the list of ‘Best Indian Writers in English’ was, is and will always be RK Narayan with his ‘Common Man’ brother the #1Indian cartoonist.

PPS: A quick flash back to this, a previous post concerning OV

We all need a Love Day

2009-02-13T15:07:00.001+05:30

Reproducing here a quick and hurried response written by yours truly to a mail about Love Day, briefly explaining the history of Love Day. Here you go.

The fin de siècle ideas of the 19th century were a harbinger of what was to come in the 20th. In the late 1890s, Hallmark decided that after ‘holidays’ like Second Cousin’s Day, Third Ex-Wife’s Day, the ever-popular Secretary’s Day, Celebrate Stepping on Dog Poo Day and other such, they decided they didn’t still have what developers would call ‘a killer app’. The International Consortium of Florists also were thinking along the same lines. And chocolate manufacturers, who wanted to expand beyond their kiddies & sweet tooth market. They decided to join forces and on the suggestion of a certain Mrs.Gaskell - who had read a lot of Geoffrey Chaucer – decided to have a Love Day.

Love Day was promoted hither and thither, helter and skelter. Love Day was everywhere. And soon Love Day was a runaway success, and an established holiday of sorts. It was to hit a slight road block in the second decade of the 20th century when this ‘tradition’ hit Indian shores and it was also during this time that enterprising Indians were spreading across the world, bangalore-ing people even before the term was invented.

It first came to light when Edward Frederick Lindley Wood – more popularly known as Lord Halifax, the then Viceroy Of India – announced to a large gathering of eminent people (the page 3 crowd of that time) from across the country – in a rare exception when Indians and dogs were allowed in.

In his broken hindi, Lord Halifax declared to the assemblage, “Kaal ham log saab milekar Love Day ka Ball karengey. Full India hamara Love Day ka Ball dekhega, sunega.” He of course meant a Ball Dance, as in dancing/gathering. But the remark, understandably created a furore when the Indians objected to such shameless exhibitionism. They had to be calmed down as they were under the (mis)understanding that there would be an orgy – especially since the Viceroy had said that everybody had to karo-fy the grand Love Day ka Ball. Incidents like this were reported from across the Raj. Once the language issues were sorted out and the truth about Love Day the term came to light, people started cogitating on a solution for Love Day (the nomenclature of the ‘tradition’, not the anatomical part).

At the same time on the other end(s) of the world, the diaspora indians also were perplexed by Love Day wondering why somebody would celebrate their privates. A pubic holiday if you will. They were more so horrified when the firangs around them asked them to do the Love Day. ??

So all across the world there was a major confusion. Hallmark realised that the suckers in the Third World would not easily take to it. Luckily for them Times of India had started publication (or should i say pubication?) by that time, and TOI was roped in to repair the damage. Many alternate names were rejected. Those that did not make it included St. Nimmajjiloafer Day and Loose Emotion Day.

At this point there occurred an incident that would change the face of Love Day forever. Al Capone (the world-famous tax evader) and his gang were involved in a shootout that came to be known across America as the St. Valentine’s Day massacre. The date was February 14th – Love Day. Since the name was getting famous already, Hallmark and company decided to rename Love Day as St. Valentines Day (and in ‘social interest’ to spread the message of love, not hate...copulation not killing....making out, not massacring).

And thus with the greeting card companies, florists, page 3 crowds, and other interested parties, love came o exist on that day. The other 364 days (365 on leap years) were not the days to show love, but only on Valentines Day (formerly known as Love Day). The rest of the year you would anyway e busy with Bullock Cart Day, Drink Beer Mixed With Sugar Day, Third Month Anniversary Day and other such. There you go.

Naaviruva taanave gandhada gudi

2009-02-12T17:45:00.000+05:30

Art. Architecture. Temples. Wildlife. Hills. Treks & Trails. Rafting. Beaches. Sand (if you count Talakadu). Forests. Rivers and Falls. History. You want it? You got it!Am glad I was born in this particular part of this great land.
Idu yaara tapasina phalavo? Ee kannugalu maadida punyavo?

2009-02-09T15:29:00.001+05:30

There is nothing more disappointing than when you make a Grade A pun or a joke, and no one around gets it. Well fine. Ok. There are a few more things more disappointing than when you make a Grade A pun or a joke, and no one around gets it.

That scream you just heard was Sir Arthur’s

2009-02-09T14:53:00.003+05:30

Meet Sherlock Holmes. A chaser, shooter and pummeler of criminals. A bare-knuckle boxer, a crack shot and an expert swordsman. Yeah. And a ‘man of action’ like James Bond in 1891. Bah!
“It wasn’t my idea of Sherlock Holmes”, the bugger says. Wasn’t his idea. Bah!
And i always thought Doyle worked alone in creating this immortal character.
Funny how hollywood mandarins think they own something just because they have the rights to make a movie.
So what now? Wigram’s Holmes? How about some underwear outside the pants and a cape? And a big ‘S’ on his exquisitely tailored shirt? Wait. One of the USP’s of this travesty is we see Holmes shirtless. Yippe!!! So how about a big ‘S’ tattoo on his chest? How’s that for ‘imagining’? eh? Wait! How about Madonna as Dr. Watson? That’ll get the people flocking in! Bah.

2009-02-06T17:19:00.001+05:30

It must’ve been the soup. They hadn’t progressed to the main course yet. It couldn’t have been the appetisers because she’d personally tasted the appetisers before serving the. Had to be the soup. A room full of dead people can’t be wrong. Damn. That too on a Friday. But looking on the brighter side, she’d watered the lawn in the evening. At least the earth would still be wet. Thank god for small mercies.

Cursing Christian

2009-02-06T14:35:00.001+05:30

Christian Bale. Who don’t like the guy?
And if you thought all he does is act awesomely, wait till you hear him curse. Berating some poor DP on the sets of Terminator Salvation. Finally we heard the famous Christian cursing born from the temper he has. But then, that’s old news. It’s been on the net for some time now. What is new though, is that the tirade has been mixed up and mashed up to the sounds of a nice beat. No pun intended. Watch it.

And. Um. Ah. Just in case you haven’t heard the original tirade as it was recorded, here’s the mp3.

The artistic Romantic Lady Killer Man finds the perfect solution

2009-02-06T12:49:00.002+05:30

From being just laid to being laid low. Things had changed for him for a while. Irene – The One That Got Away. Almost. Sigh. Such beauty. The kind of immortal beauty that will never fade. The epitome of art. She truly walked in beauty like the night. He had thought that he had found his one true love, only to have his heart broken. She’d accused him of being a philanderer. That cut deep. He’d truly loved her. Bought her gifts, wined, dined and serenaded her. Bought her stuffed toys and pink cards. Helped her baby sit her nephew. Cared for her cat when she was away. He’d put his life on hold for her. No. Not on hold. She had been his entire life when they were together. And he would not have it any other way. Yes, she was demanding. But she had been worth it. It was meant to be – him and her. Together. All was going smoothly till the day she found the keys to the closet where he’d kept all his skeletons, metaphorically speaking of course. The skeletons were all either dissolved in acid and poured down drains or buried in various graves across the city, and if they weren’t skeletons going out, they sure would be skeletons now. But he’d given it all up for Irene. But she wouldn’t understand. She had found his previous relationships too ‘freaked out’ to handle. She’d walked out on him. Like Frank Zappa, he believed that broken hearts are for assholes. He wasn’t one. He’d moved on. It was tough. Her pretty eyes stared at him from the faces of the many women around town. He’d thrown himself into whirlwind affairs just to get over her. But he just couldn’t. He’d gone to sleep only to be awakened by the scent of her perfume wafting in on the first rays of the dawning sun. Her voice kept him awake at night. He’d decided that the only truth was that they should be together. For as long as he was alive. He’d gone back to her. To have her for himself. Things have a way of working out. And now they were together. They would be together. Oh! How he loved her. She was a lot less demanding now. She even didn’t mind the little affairs he would have every so often when that crazy little thing called love got the better of him. She didn’t mind when he brought women over. His perfect woman. Irene. His perfect love. Hers now was truly the beauty that would never fade. The solution was in the solution. Who could now see the physical impossibility of love in the heart of someone obdurate. He could drop in on her whenever he wanted to. Well, I think I will he thought. He could visit her now whenever he wished. And as he started walking to go down and see Irene, he thought he heard the far-off strains of David Byrne’s ‘My fair lady’...

♪♪ But forever you'll remain
And you have time because you will live forever
Never age and never tire
In my sleep and in my dreams at night♪

Nice song he thought, as he flicked on the switch in the basement and gazed on as the light sparkled off the crystal on and around her and illuminated the radiant beauty of his immortal Irene.
♪Calls to me a strange attraction
With your beauty and your passion
You are art and art will never change.....♪♪

He went close to her and through the looking glass said, “You know Irene, Damien Hirst would be proud of me.”

Bharat ki aakhri Chai ki Dukaan

2009-02-03T17:38:00.002+05:30

Make your way to Badrinath. Walk three kilometres to the last inhabited Indian village, Mana. If there are no panchayat elections happening on the day, you might just be lucky enough to hop on a local bus or jeep. I wasn’t.

Beyond this village there is nothing but snow-capped mountains. No habitation, just no-man’s land and then the china border. Walk through the village, up towards Vyas Gufa (the cave where Vyasa is supposed to have dictated the Mahabharata to Ganesha). And there, at the edge of Mana you will see one of the most memorable places I visited – and one of the more interesting people I met – during my month-and-a-half sojourn.

Meet Chandra Singh Barhwal. Proud owner of India’s Last Tea Shop, and a brewer of one mean cup of chai.

2009-02-03T15:54:00.003+05:30

Cricket. Films. Serials. Opeth concert. Just a few things have been keeping me nicely occupied. Too lazy to type too much. Or tell too much. So here are a just a few thousand words worth in pictures me has been up to....why tell.

Nomad out of nowhere

2009-01-20T11:26:00.002+05:30

Not the best, but amongst the better photographs I have taken during my various travels.

Somewhere amidst the barren beauty of the Tibetan plateau, between Saga and Paryang. Date: Late September, 2008. Camera: Canon EOS300 Analog SLR.

Quote. Misqoute.

2009-01-20T09:48:00.002+05:30

No Van Vogt. No Adam Roberts or Robert J. Sawyer. And where's the Amar Chithra Katha?!!! Contractual obligation page filler it looks like this is.

Pattern Recognition

2009-01-19T12:32:00.002+05:30

Somehow, patterns have their own way of forming. Three weekends ago, it was classic Film Noir (Sunset Blvd, Maltese Falcon, The Big Sleep, etc.), two weekends ago courtroom dramas (Anatomy of a Murder, Judgment at Nuremberg, The Verdict….), last weekend was coming-of-age films (Breakfast Club, St. Elmo’s Fire), and this weekend too a pattern developed all on its own.

American Throwback
The pattern this weekend was ‘America as it used to be’. Lots of smoking. A peek into the social mores of ye olde Land of Dreams. In Revolutionary Road, that dream is still-born. In Changeling, dreams crash and burn amidst crime and corruption. And false dreams are created, in Mad Men season 1. As is advertising’s wont. And lots of smoking.

I recommend all three. Because beneath the veneer of Americana, all three have so much in common with us, and mutatis mutandis, something we all can relate to, in the here and now. Be it the couple in Revolutionary Road with its theme of settling for what is, in the ‘comfort of the familiar’. The truth that man always convinces that ‘there is always hope’ in everything, a Changeling would have us believe. Good stories, well told.

2009-01-16T16:27:00.002+05:30

'>Chirp chhirp.

The Bored of Evam

2009-01-15T12:29:00.003+05:30

I know, I know. Silly forced pun. But gets the point across.
Was in the audience yesterday for Evam’s ‘Always look on the bright side of life’. And through it all was wondering if these guys are paying any royalty to the Pythons, considering the whole act was a total repeat performance of classic Python sketches, slightly diluted versions minus the classy acting, and sometimes the timing. All points for effort and ripping off Python, all in the name of ‘tribute’. Evam is lucky that Monty Python isn’t really part of popular culture here, or easily accessible/available in these parts.
The only time the ‘play’ held any interest was when the three dancing girls were on stage groovin’ and gyrating. But the ‘actors’ kept interrupting them regularly!!! Guess that’s my main grouse….

a quick passing thought

2008-08-05T22:35:00.004+05:30

Rachel Dawes dead. Joker dead.* Harvey Dent/Two Face dead. Batman is now the hunted, with everyone after him. Wonder what awaits the Dark Knight in Nolanverse.....
*For all practical matters.

Signs of Life (or, a world of paradox and contradiction)

2008-02-20T00:03:00.003+05:30

It is the best of times, it is worst of times,
the age of wisdom, the age of foolishness,
it's the epoch of belief, it's the epoch of incredulity,
the season of light, the season of darkness....
the spirit of hope, the winter of despair.
we have everything before us, we have nothing before us,
we are all going direct to heaven, we are all going direct the other way.
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
“It is a far, far better thing that i do, than i have ever done; it is a far, far better dream that I sleep to, than i have ever known.”

with all due respect and humble apologies to mr.dickens

the sleep of reason produces monsters…..or, au contraire!

2008-01-14T18:04:00.001+05:30

To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.

Thus begins William Blake’s Auguries of Innocence. Wonderful. But from this beginning Blake goes on to 120-odd lines that speak of good and evil, innocence and experience, corruption and clarity. All at once and then some. Contrasting one with the other. Talking of things to the contrary. Ah! William Blake.

A friend of mine liked the first four lines so much she went and read out the rest of the poem (“…after the elation that the first four lines gave me…” in her words). From elation she went to saying, “[I] didn’t expect the poem to leave me feeling disturbed….made me shift in my seat…”. But that was the genius of Blake. To show experience in the light of innocence and look at innocence through the eyes of experience.

For Blake, Innocence and Experience were two states that had to be each given its own due and acknowledged. Putting things forth as they were however disturbing they were. Innocence is not a vacuum, it exists in the world of experience. In Experience there is the vestige and hope of innocence. But while others would tell us one part of the story, hold out only hope, Blake would tell it as it is hoping his readers would go through his larger body of work to get to what he wanted to get at.

So in Blake’s worlds, and in his words, for every Clod which sang….
“Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives it ease,
And builds a heaven in hell's despair.”

…there was a Pebble that sang back,
“Love seeketh only self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a hell in heaven's despite.”

In fact the sub-title to Blake’s most-beloved work is “Showing the Two Contrary States of The Human Soul”. But this relationship of Innocence and Experience, this inter-play of these contrary states, is not one of direct, static contrasts, but with ever-shifting perspectives and thoughts and tensions. But what about the Soul? If these be the Contrary States, what about the Soul itself?

The difficulty in trying to get the whole import (if one can ever get to it, or to the best of one’s ability) of Songs of Innocence and Experience is that the States are so intertwined that it is difficult to see the Hope in experience and the fear in Innocence. Later on in his illustrious career, Blake would be more clear….showing the separation of the States from the Individual. The Individual being real and eternal, with the illusory States being temporary conditions through which the Individual would pass. The Body and the States just a ‘clothing for the soul divine’ (see below). That’s what it says in the immortal Gita. With broad strokes, reminds one of the eternal philosophy of Advaita, from which we know that once you that ‘Thou art That’ and cast away the subjective reality of Maya, and uncloak yourself from avidya and agjana, will you realise that ‘Thou art Bhraman’. It’s a long way to go, seemingly impossible. But there’s still the hope. The knowledge. But coming back to Blake, why wait to read the later works, when this same message is there in ‘Auguries of Innocence.’

"Man was made for joy & woe,
And when this we rightly know
Thro' the world we safely go.
Joy & woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the Soul divine…"

But why not then make it apparent from the beginning? There’s a reason. It’s called progression. In Blake’s own words (selectively selected from The Marriage of Heaven and Hell)

“…As a new heaven is begun…the Eternal Hell revives……
…..
…..Without Contraries is no progression. Attraction and Repulsion, Reason and Energy, Love and Hate, are necessary to Human existence.”

Without Contraries, there is no progression. And another interesting point to note is that Blake refers to ‘a new heaven’ while hell is eternal. Hmmm….is it because Joy is rare and ephemeral, but misery and sorrow is ever present. Is it because Joy and Happiness come in small portions but Misery and Sorrow do not? Like Shakespeare wrote, “When sorrow comes, they come not single spies, but in battalions.”. Or is it because each Joy is Joy, but not every sorrow the same? Leo Tolstoy I think got it right when he started Anna Karenina with this of-quoted line, “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

Well. Too much thought. One can think and think and write and write. Sigh.
Well, one can but barely scratch the surface, knowing that the answer and the explanation may never be within reach. But one can try. And spew it out from his onto his blog, for no particular reason except that one cannot help but think. Keep thinking. Sharks need to keep moving. If they stop, they sink. Similarly I guess if I need to stay afloat, I must keep moving, thinking. Even if it be to no end, to serve no purpose, and for no one but myself. But thinking has its own evils.

But some thoughts get to you. Some thoughts are like monsters. Restless. Eating into you, till you show them the light of day. Let them escape, and set them free from the caverns of your mind. You need to get them out somewhere. You need to grapple with thine demons. And thinking helps it not. Like that other great man in my pantheon realised, ‘the sleep of reason produces monsters…”. At face value, works just fine for me. And thus i guess I am left with some reason to put an end to this post with this image from Goya, called The Sleep of Reason produces Monsters...

“La fantasia abandonada de la razon, produce monstruos imposibles: unida con ella, es madre de las artes y origen de sus marabillas.”

Bharat ka Ratan

2008-01-11T12:27:00.002+05:30

Thanks Mr. Ratan Tata. For making us proud again. For showing us that there are still more people left in this country we can look up to. For showing us how promises are meant to be kept, for kept they should. You did it again. Congratulations. And thanks.

Let's take a trip together

2008-01-11T12:27:00.001+05:30

Let's take a trip together
Headlong into the irresistible orbit
Breathing the cold black space
With the glistening edges
Let's take a trip, me and you…

Let's go the scenic route
Get to finally
Get to finally
Get to know each other
Just to be
to be alone with thee…

Somewhere there's no distracting breeze of information
Leaking through the windows, dripping from the trees
Somewhere there's no earthquakes
Of other people's anxious questions…….
...............Let's take a trip together
Mark Sandman

And thus she’s mine forever

2008-01-07T12:59:00.001+05:30

I felt her eyes on me. I looked sideways towards the fireplace. And true enough, I found her eyes turned in my direction. Those lovely eyes, limpid pools and all that. How they would dance with life! Sigh. Once upon a time this simple act and fact would’ve made me the most happiest man alive. To know she was looking at me. And I wanted that feeling to be mine forever. I tried. But it just wasn’t the same. Once upon a time I would have been the happiest man alive just knowing she was near me. No longer. It’s all over. It’s time to move on. It’s time to get back to life. And to find a place in the basement for the formaldehyde jar that contain her eyeballs. Closer to the rest of her. Can’t think I can take it no more….with their gaze on me all the time.

The overdog wins…

2007-12-26T16:15:00.000+05:30

It’s at times like this when one lets the thought cross the mind over that maybe democracy isn’t such a bad thing after all. The nation’s ‘secular’ media sits stunned despite their best efforts to the contrary. A conveniently-timed sting operation and supposedly earth-shattering revelations lie in tatters. The central government machinery’s best efforts didn’t amount to much. Neither did the full weight of the Power behind the power. Petty activists, publicity-hungry crusaders, international opinion, double standards. Bah humbug! The people of Gujarat have spoken. Speak up now and be spoken of as one who is a creature of conveniently contextual morals.

Here’s to Narendrabhai Modi.

2007-11-29T17:12:00.000+05:30

bhava Shankara desika me saranam...

questioning your questions.....

2007-11-27T22:56:00.000+05:30

In 1950, Leo Strauss coined a name for a fallacy that has since come to be known as Reductio ad Hitlerum. This fallacy basically manifests itself in statements which follow this pattern, 'if Hitler (or the Nazis) liked/supported something, it must be bad/evil'. The inherently fallacious nature of this argument can be countered in a few simple strokes (do read the linked wiki article to know how you can too).

But what often happens is that Ad Hitlerum is inextricably combined with the Ad Hominem approach, manifesting itself as 'Hey! Hitler held some similar views, so you must be wrong!' and thusly, 'Hitler was evil, so if you hold those views you must be evil too.'

From personal experince, trust me, it gets worse than that. If i am in anyway supportive of Hitler, then for sure my views and opinions are bad/not bothering with, etc. etc. it is assumed "Oh! But you like Hitler" and that is supposed to make anything the other person, or the opinion he holds, right. Irrespective of what i may have said on the issue being debated. Or just being dismissive, 'Hah! you Nazi!' Well. I have faced it, fought it, countered it over the years, but in person only. But being online and blogging seems to give the wrong notion, so this is a way of asking those people who think like what is stated above, if they are as holier-than-thou as they think themselves to be. Judge not! They preach and go forth and judge. Well. There are some who would pass judgement on me in totality by judging one part of my whole.

Ad Hitlerum+Ad Hominem....ad nauseum. I get that a lot. Even that i can counter. And have. If "do to others what you would have them do to you" does not seem to be working, and from which point we all should start, i can too resort to "do unto others as others have done unto you." But nopes. I will not say here how it has been countered, because Ad Hominem implies that i use the belief of a particular person against him. And these 'people' keep changing, and so do the counter-arguments. But just because the people keep changing does not mean their comments or responses do. Having been through this a million times, it's like there is some script that these people follow.

Now even if you have remotely known me, you will know that Adolf Hitler was, is and will remain one of the people that i greatly admire. Those who have seen me at work, will know that my wallpaper(s) over the last many many years have been pictures of Hitler. I wear a badge of the NSDAP Swatika on my jacket which i wear almost all the time. And if the washing machine hadn't messed up the colours and the threading, i would still be wearing that Red NSDAP Swastika armband. You can say what you will, i will not apologise for admiring Hitler and some of the things he stood for.

Pat comes the reply. It's been so many hundreds of times that i automatically lean forward for the person to ask, and there it comes. 'What are you? Some sort of white (or aryan) supremacist? My answer. No. I'm not white, so why should i support those white rascists. Am better off supporting non-white, supremacy not included. And no. Aryan is not a race. Just a linguistic group if at all and one word that riles me when used before the word race. There is no such thing as Aryans, it was just a word meaning 'noble, virtuous' in the vedas, but one that was convieniently and successfully used by the British as a tool to divide and rule my country for two centuries. Whatever else he did, that pawn Max Mueller will not be forgiven for this, his complicity in the whole Aryan Invasion Theory, and the false Aryan-Dravidian divide, one that this land is still suffering from. It is taught as the gospel truth in our text books, but no, Aryan is not a race. So there you go. This (in brief) was the same reply i gave to one of the stormfront-affiliated sites who invited me to be member many many years ago based on some comments i had made/left on some site. After getting my answer, their reply was 'you're not welcome here anymore'. Funnily enough, this thing works both ways from where i'm standing as you have just seen.

Thusly, so on and so forth they go. Sometimes i defend, sometimes i attack. Some just get sucked into the quicksand they're standing on. And all this because they would judge me by something i love. Go right ahead. It's a good indicator ain't it?

This post is not to defend Hitler. He needs no defending. Neither is this post to explain why i admire Hitler, or how i came to like him, or anything even remotely approaching anything in the vicinity of me having to explain myself.

No! This post is for the self-righteous people who would question me. Who feel it is their right to question and to judge. I question your right to question me. I question your right to judge me. Based on one part of my whole. I question the very basis of your questions. And here are some of my questions for you. For once. You answer.

And no, just because the majority believes it doesn't make it right. More people think 'this' rather than 'that' does not make 'this' right. So here we go.

You say that me having the Kitler icon could be discomforting to some. Displaying the Swastika could mean that i am demeaning a whole people. Ok then. My first question (in my usual rambly way).

One of the first things that Angela Merkel, the Chancellor of Germany tried to do when Germany took over the Presidency of the EU was to try and ban the Swastika. Because many atrocities have been committed under this symbol. Many peoplee have been killed in the name of all the things this symbol stood for. I ask you this? If that is the case, so be it. Ban it. But also do you realise that everytime you wear a cross in front of me, or i see a crescent on a mosque, how discomforting it would be to some. For if symbols have to be banned, why shouldn't it be The Christian Cross or The Muslim Crescent? So many people have been killed by the flagbearers of each of these symbols that the holocaust pales in comparison. We should ban these symbols too right?

More cultures have been laid to waste, more knowledge has been lost in the name of The Christ or based solely on Allah's words. The armies of Christendom and the battalions of Islamic invaders have destroyed more believing as they did in their brand of belief. Shall we then consider every Christian an evil man? And every Muslim too while we are at it? Hey. You remember that funny one-liner which goes, 'O lord! protect me from your followers!' But which lord? Both these lords just seem to have bred maniacs for followers, going by their actions throughout history. So. While we're at it. Can we also say Jesus The Messiah and Mohammed The Prophet are pure unadulterated evil, because genocide upon genocide was conducted? Honestly, (and this is off-topic) i think the last true Christian died on the cross (and then may be not, if Holger Kersten is to be believed, and if he is to be then The Christ was a Buddhist). So what's your answer?

And the Jews? I have nothing against them. The few that i have met have been very nice people. A couple actually told me once over at coffee house that they were tired of the sympathy that they got because they were Jews, and the 'glamour' like they were some kind of showpiece, tired of being 'eternal victims'. They are a hardy people, quite capable of taking care of themselves. A little too much sometimes. In a tenuous argument, would you agree that the Hitler effect hastened by far the formation of Israel? So the Jews should thank him right? You say Jews will take umbrage, let them. Did the Jews 'care' when they occupied Palestine? So why should anybody bother 'caring' for them?

I will stop at these couple of questions for now. Before i move on. Let us resolve this and what came before it in this post before we move on. So we won't have cross-issues and cross-debates. I intentionally do not have comment-moderation on (never have) because i do believe that you have a right to your opinion, even if i may not agree to it. And you should be able to say what you please, as long as you don't do it as an anony mouse. So use the comments section to have your say, and let's take the debate forward.

ye olde memorys

2007-08-23T18:12:00.000+05:30

2007-08-02T08:43:00.001+05:30

This is what happens when you let the character become you. More people are sorry for MunnaBhai than Sanjay Dutt. These are strange times we live in. Seen the Haneef Reality show yet? Well. What else can you expect from a country where national interest is held hostage by political exigencies? Where the Prime Minister is busy losing sleep over suspected terrorists and not soldiers and martyrs and things more worthy of losing sleep over. Where democracy has become a farce. People’s President, you said? Hah! All the millions and millions of you supported President Kalam, and signed petitions, and carried placard, did it matter a whit? But look at it this way. If President Kalam had a vision, our current President has ‘many visions’. Plural. Not to mention, an impeccable record (which means no hard evidence yet). That’s good, right?

Hitting the road...

2007-07-03T19:34:00.006+05:30

Almost 750 kilometres on the road. Across numerous towns and districts, spread over two states. Over five hours on a steam-engine powered mountain train. Loud enough to still ring in your ears a week later. A world heritage on wheels. The charcoal particles in your hair, and soot on your face for free. Sunflower fields, cloud-covered hills and forest-covered vales. One and a half hours on the last seat of a rickety bus. no bee-ing in bed, but in bed with a bee. No sleep but innumerable chais, great music, awesome ragi mudde in ‘state famous’ hotallu. Close calls and curious cows. Night, day, night. Rain. Going one way, and coming back the other. Up, down. Right. Back. Directions decided on a whim and a pointed finger. All in just under 26 hours. Now whoever said that the journey is as important as the destination should now know that when it’s a journey with no destination, when the journey is a goal in itself, the going is good. Especially if you’re road trippin’ with your two favourite allies, fully loaded we had snacks and supplies, it was time to leave this town, it was time to steal away and that we did….and this one goes out to you, for you asked for it…and I speak for all me and all of us.

and remember how i always say that the Shenoy must stop taking things too literally, here's he "hitting the road". sigh. should some people ever learn?

patriotism vs. Patriotism

2007-07-03T19:34:00.005+05:30

This is Lakshmi Panda, a 77-year maid servant who’s been washing dishes and sweeping floors for the past many, many years who has the temerity to say that she now feels all that she did for the country was a waste. Hah! The sheer audacity of this woman. After all, who is she that she can make this statement?

She fought in the INA, yes, Netaji Bose’s Indian National Army in the Rani Lakshmi Bai Regiment under Capt. Lakshmi Sehgal. So what?

Does she not know that Bose and the INA never got us freedom from the British? It was Gandhi people, Gandhi and Gandhi alone that got us freedom! The INA was just riff-raff cobbled together by a disgruntled congressman who disagreed with the great Mahatma’s opinions and ideas. While Bose said, “My enemy’s enemy is my friend.” Gandhi said, “My enemy’s enemy is my enemy too!” Anybody with a bone of common sense can see who was right. Bose wanted to drive the British out of our country. Gandhi requested them to…please leave… And Gandhi won in the end. Sacrifice is the greatest ideal. And millions of our countrymen were sacrificed at the altar of Gandhi’s views, dying for the British, fighting for the Englishman and his cause. If that doesn’t make Gandhi great, what does?

Now, coming back to this maid servant, who thought she was fighting for freedom of her land. She hasn’t received her pension for the longest time. Making a living by working in others houses in the great Republic of India. She thinks she deserves a pension. But the Centre doesn’t. Their criteria is different. She isn’t a freedom fighter because she didn’t spend any time in jail. Now, that’s one hell of a definition. Clear. Concise. And no, prisons and hell-holes like the Cellular Jail might not count. There you go. That is why she doesn’t get any pension. Anyway, why ‘spend money’ on living freedom fighters who can anyway take care themselves? Think dignity of labour people!, even washing dirty dishes is a job! We’re better off not squandering our money way on these people with delusions of being patriotic when we can spend millions trying to get hold of the Great Mahatma’s handwritten manuscripts. After all, we got our independence because of Gandhi and Gandhi only. Ok. Ok. Nehru too. Yeah and some other random people. So given a choice between invaluable and priceless pieces of paper written on by the Great Man and people who gave their all to this great nation, who would you choose? Of course the manuscripts. You can laminate them and put them up for display at museums that tell us how Gandhi single-handedly won us our freedom. People, like Lakshmi Panda, will soon be dead anyway, and there’s no way you can put her on display.

After all, with the sixtieth anniversary of our Independence from the British coming up, acquisition of handwritten manuscripts make for better new stories, glamorous discussions, and opportunities to show more footage of The Great Gandhi than some old unglamorous shrivelled hag who thought she was being patriotic. And isn’t that the difference between patriotism and Patriotism? Media coverage and good PR?

Jai Hind!

pfffthooo!

2007-07-03T19:34:00.002+05:30

Our Prime Minister says that a terrorist's religion is terrorism. A terrorist doesn't belong to any religion, caste or creed. Yeah right.

But the clowns that make up the Great Indian Media Circus are screaming from the rooftops and screaming out loud 'the Indian connection'. You $%^&*ing #$*@s, it's not a matter of pride or something that adds badge value to our nations name. If these dolts had their way, maybe terrorists (in the blind eyes of the world, and diplomatic prime ministers) may not have a religion, but a nationality they sure will. Even the campaign to get that overrated mausoleum into some stupid list with no real credentials is better than this news story, if you can call it that.

And they lived happily ever after…

2007-07-03T19:34:00.000+05:30

That’s supposed to the classic ending, right? Wrong! That is the point that which people lose interest and move on to other things. Take any story with this ending, and you have grief, separation, tears and fears….and just when things go right, the story ends. And that brings me to the point that humans revel in misery. That’s what we’re interested in. That’s why stories with their misery-filled plotlines are the only bits we’re interested in and make a story out of. The minute the protagonists get set to be happy after their wretched experiences, The End! Sorry, we don’t want to know that. We don’t want to know what happens when you’re happy. All in all, ‘Happy’ is good for endings. Not the stuff great stories are made of. And stories with tragic endings. Now! There’s potential for more. If only the author would just have some patience and the protagonists are left alive at the end of the story. hmmm.....

For sale

2007-06-18T15:20:00.000+05:30

Price: Approx. Rs.200
Value: Worthless

Description: The book that heralds the new Messiah of Atheism, Richard Dawkins.

Would’ve been better off as: A short essay of not more than 5 pages long (printed on one-sided sheets)

Darwin’s rottweiler Richard Dawkins his sights on God and religion, and foams at the mouth for over 200 pages without saying anything substantial. A Dawkinian Manifesto against Christianity and Islam, the author brings to light no new argument, and even more so, no new facts. This is not the same as loading the book with loads of factoids and interesting pieces of news. At the cost of being called crass, one is tempted to theorise whether this paperback is the result of some sort of childhood trauma, or abuse from some priestly pederast perhaps? Or even worse, may be the whole point of the book was to be condescendingly patronising towards NOMA and S.J. Gould. So often are his ‘friends’, Daniel Dennet and Steven Pinker quoted, cited and named, one is surprised that the names of these lapdogs no not appear credited as co-authors. All in all a waste of time. For those that are atheists already, this book offers nothing, and anyway you’re an atheist already, which is what Dawkins sets out to turn the world into. If you’re an agnostic, well…again nothing new, except some fancy terms and scales of measurement. If you’re a Christian or Muslim, and you believe enough, you’re going to hate this book anyway. Now coming to Hindus (for lack of a better word). If you’re a Hindu, well…there’s nothing in it. You can be a rationalist, theist, atheist, agnostic, spiritualist and yet be a Hindu, so this book offers nothing new. And also, neither does it mention anything about the eastern systems/religions/spirituality. Which also by the way makes the book looks like it was written by a dilettante. But then again, it could well be so. For it is not so much a manifesto against religion, as it is against religious fundamentalism. To get into a point by point refutation would be a waste of time, and I for one, do not think this books deserves that sort of attention. The only fear is that this worthless book will bias people against better books by the same author, which are at least thought-provoking. This one just provokes you into reaching out for Dawkins’ neck. If only…

Best recommended for:
- Those that want other people to think they’re intellectuals
- People who want to carry around a book that’s the flavour of the month (again, for reasons stated above)
- Those people that don’t like Dawkins and just need more reason to ridicule him, which he does so on a platter

bridge across the river suvarna

2007-05-17T18:57:00.000+05:30

Hanging Bridge
Location: Nidambally village, Tonse, Udupi dist. a.k.a. home

Revisiting the continuing adventures of Romantic Lady Killer Man

2007-04-24T18:35:00.002+05:30

He took her hand in his. Raised it to his lips. Like one would a glass of wine. Kissed it tenderly. Ah! He thought. Such a lovely hand. Too bad, he thought, that it should end this way. He gazed at her hand. Sparking green was the jade ring that he’d given to her. It looked better on her than anybody else he thought. And on this full moon night, out there amidst all the green, with the soft pale moonlight reflecting off her hand and the ring. What a lovely sight. Of all the women, this was the one he liked best. And what a lovely hand! What a waste! He steeled himself as he now had to do what he dreaded most. End it once and for all. This now, is the toughest part he knew. He held the ring between his fingers. With one swift motion, he yanked it off her hand. Sorry girl, he thought to himself, wish I could tell you how much I loved you. But he never did have the chance. He looked at the jade ring and put it in his pocket. Hope you don’t mind, my love, he said as he took one last look at her lovely red right hand and tossed it into the pit where it landed with a soft thud above the rest of her. Sigh! And only her love was on his mind as he started shovelling the wet sand over his latest love.

Anisuthide yaako indu ee haadu nanna haadendu

2007-04-20T15:49:00.002+05:30

All hail Jayant Kaikini for this

Anisuthide yaako indu, neeneney nannavalendu
Maayadaa lokadinda, nanagaage bandavalendu
Aahaa yentha madhura yaathane
Kollu hudugi omme nanna....haage summane….

Suriyuva soneyu sooside ninnade parimala
Innyara kanasulu neenu hodare talamala
Poorna chandira rajaa haakida
Ninnaya mogavanu kanda kshanaa…
Naa khaidi neeney seremane
Tappi nanna appiko omme…haage summane

Tutigala hoovali aadada maathina sihiyide
Manasina putadali kevala ninnade sahiyide

Haneyali bareyada ninna hesara
Hrudayadi naane korediruve
Ninagunte idara kalpane
Nanna hesara kooge omme…haage summane

All hail Mano Murthy (U.S.A.) for the music. Mucho gratitude to Triskaidekophiliac for making me ‘listen’ to the lyrics. The recitation helped.

And thanks to Yogaraj Bhat, Udaya TV, KannadaBond and youtube (in that order) for this:

2007-04-20T15:49:00.001+05:30

Alles Gute zum Geburtstag, mein Führer.
Happy birthday.

the first ‘feminist’

2007-04-20T15:49:00.000+05:30

According to apocrypha and legends, Lilith is considered the first wife of Adam. But the Lilith figure goes much before that. Innana they called her. A part of the Sumerian myths and then some. Some call her now ‘the first feminist’ based on OT apocrypha. For she was created equally with Adam, from the same material (?). But unfortunately for Adam, and more importantly for Adam’s God, she turned out to be a person (note: not woman!) quite capable of independent thought. Created together, she considered herself the equal of Adam and refused to ‘lie beneath him’. Apart from the sexual role, she recoiled too at the passive marital role handed down to her. Bugger you and bugger your Eden said Lilith to Adam and his God and walked off into the dim mists of legend and lore. And reappeared as a demoness in most of the ensuing stories and legends, as baby killer, man sacrifier and an underworld avenger. Poor Lilith. Meanwhile, Adam’s God had already taken care of things – creating another woman from Adam’s rib, helping then to ensure woman’s subservience. Do you blame Lilith?

Well, leave you now with the Hon. John Collier’s portrayal of Lilith. Lilith, the one who started it all. Through amazingly understandable demand for equal status. By refusing to ‘lie under a man’. Hmmm…men will be men. Pigs will fly. And fish will need bicycles.

2007-04-03T17:22:00.002+05:30

Amidst all this brouhaha about cricket and chappals, did anyone notice that Vishwanathan Anand became the world No.1 in chess?

Funny. You’d have thought that rather than concentrate on Sania Mirza rising up one spot to the grand height of No.45 in the WTA rankings or waste reams of paper on a worthless team whose only latest exploit is beating a team from a country with a population not large enough to fill even the eden gardens stadium, people and papers and the media would be patting Anand on the back. But no. All he gets is one half-column space article hidden between the man of the match SMS contest and a loser’s (read Indian cricketer) caricature.

Hasn’t somebody realised that finally another Indian is No.1 in a game when probably the last time we had a world champion was a few years after we invented it? Now that raises a lot more questions than answers. For we maybe Kabaddi champions today. But the day is not far away when Bermuda will beat us at that. But till then Congratulations Anand! We are all proud of you. There maybe those who would concentrate on our national team’s defeat, but there are those of us who’d rather look for people who bring glory to the nation in their chosen field. Not that you need our backslapping encouragement for you have always gone it alone, almost, but still.

But all said and done, this over-obsessive obsession with cricket must stop, if the rest of the games and sports are to go anywhere in this country.

But hey! It’s not like I hate cricket. I love cricket! Which is why I support the Australian cricket team. I love cricket. Which is why it think this humiliating ouster and its soap-operatic fallout is the best thing that’s happened to Indian cricket. Till then and even then, we have our Anands and Gopichands.

Buggering the Virgins….

2007-04-03T17:22:00.001+05:30

The Virgins are here. Finally.
But I wish they weren’t. Not here. Not anywhere.
It’s time we sacrificed these Virgins at the altar of Anger.
Citing very valid reasons of good taste and everything good about comics.
Sadhu. Devi. Snake woman. The first taste of these left a very bad taste in the mouth.
Too soon to tell?
Too soon to be titillating?
Too soon to tell that it’s a pathetic, puerile bastardisation of myths?
Too soon to tell this feels like it’s going to be a parade of clichés?
Too soon to tell that most of these clichés will be overlaid with bad art?
And printed on toilet paper….bad toilet paper, in a neighbourhood colour Xerox machine.
Too soon to tell?
Maybe…but…
Who needs second-hand Virgins anyway?

So should you buy these Virgins?
Yes. I say.
Go ahead. Buy them. Buy them!
But then, it’s just my sadistic streak talking.
Buy them.
Because misery seeks company.
Buy them. Read them.
So you too can see what they mean when they say “Indian”.
Buy them. So you can burn them.

So will I buy them?
Yes. I will.
Because a hundred rupees is too small a price to pay for a good laugh.
Even though it hurts.
I will buy them.
So I can see my theories affirmed.
And because venom needs a target.
Will I burn them? Or consign this trash to trash?
No.
Because one needs to keep a record of ‘things wrong with the world’.
And having proof helps.

Maybe it’s time to take Laal Khopdi seriously and bring him to life…

fishing in hyderabad

2007-04-03T17:22:00.000+05:30

Let’s say you’re in Hyderabad. And more particularly, in the Charminar area. And suddenly! you feel this burning desire to buy a fishing net. What do you do? What do you do? Maybe you’re fishing for the proverbial ‘other fish in the sea’ or maybe you’re a fisherman who really needs a net to catch some sea fish even though you’re miles and miles away from the nearest sea. Anyway, what do you do? What do you do?

Fear not! This is Hyderabad, where I saw a lot of strange and disturbing things over a rushed weekend. And met a great bunch of people from Dell. No that’s not a spelling mistake, notwithstanding certain circles I move around it. It’s Dell! Not Hell!! All courtesy The Eyyala. Who nowadays, goes around under the strange moniker of ‘Daddy!’ (exclamation mark included). Now this bunch is as crazy as it gets. At least two of them have the grand ambition of shoplifting prophylactics (ahem! euphemism?). Stranger than that is the person who they’re being smuggled out of stores for. Charming chappie, apparently always ‘working out’, and not! in the gym. Watch out women…here comes da man. Now this is the same gang that is known to relax in bean bags. Nothing strange about that you say? But relaxing on bean bags at 4 in the morning on a main road in Hyderabad…right bang in the middle of the road. Well….these are crazy times we live in and these people are crazier than that. Split my sides just being with them.

Now Daddy (previously known as The Eyyala) and me happened to pack in some hyderabadi mutton biriyani, the charminar and the golconda in a few hours. Of course a few land speed records were beaten. Not bad considering that traffic signals in Hyderabad don’t work the way they do everywhere else. Green means ‘Go’. Yellow means ‘Go’. Red stands for (you guessed it) ‘GO!’ Now each of these is a story in itself, not to mention the B&C + Tequila experience and the incursion into Mainland China. That was with Daddy’s Flock. Thank you gang for a great time!!!

Wait! What?? Ah the fishing net you ask. Ok. Ok. Let me not ramble on and give you the answer, which is this: If you want a fishing net in Hyderabad, do not go to the barber, tailor, the carpenter or god forbid! a fishing equipment store. Head straight (if you’re in the charminar area) to the Jeweller! Yes. The jeweller. Don’t believe me? Here’s evidence:

yet another hmmmm....

2007-03-22T17:28:00.000+05:30

"I hate quotations. Tell me what you know."
Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Talking much about oneself can also be a means to conceal oneself."
Friedrich Nietzsche

2007-03-07T18:32:00.000+05:30

how long, before god loses faith in you?

everybody's free

2007-03-02T14:47:00.000+05:30

why run around searching for supposedly new words, when someone has more or less already said the same things? recited is more like it. and set to music, to boot! listen to Baz Luhrmann's Everybody's Free 9to waer sunscreen). It's in theBox to your right. Lyrics here.

sharing is caring

2007-02-16T16:13:00.000+05:30

the words of wyclef jean ring in mine head as me introduces a new feature on theBekku. just cast your eyes to the right and see a nice orange box. yes....that's the one!

it's the Box. where me will do the share on some stuff that mine mind thinks is good and needs sharing. it's a neat widget. just click on the file that you need to listen to. actually listen to all of 'em. will be uploading stuff on stuff at regularly occasional intervals.

And if you want to download the songs, just click the link below the Box and you will be taken to a page where you can see the files and download them for your continued listening pleasures.

of boners and bibles

2007-01-25T14:54:00.000+05:30

After the amazingly hilariously juvenile fun we all derived from reading about Boners – or rather about Batman’s Greatest Boner in particular – it’s time to move on to more serious topics. Like this!And remember, don’t do drugs (oh yeah!?). Reality is much better. And rehab is for quitters.
Speaking of boners in the bibles, this bible storyteller is going down. Rot in hell you sacriligious dog!

when a cat goes away....

2007-01-20T13:29:00.000+05:30

births. deaths. relatives. work. car that gives way. work. a quiz. ah! weekends over the past couple or three months have been consistently thwarting all attempts at repopulating mine residence with cats. and to think that's its not hard at all, not when you have people like this on your side, but one of these days an expedition (yes, all things considered that is what it will be) must be mounted and cats procured.

And speaking of procuring cats brings one to this: the cat that's been the icon of theBekku turns out to be an official Kitler. Which means that for now, this Kitler will go away for a while and this one will be the official Bekku for a while:

and speaking of cats going away, those of you cat-people who've lost one will surely understand this

2007-01-13T17:52:00.006+05:30

garrrrhhhh!!! who the fyukh ever came up with that term post-modern/post-modernism?
garrrrhhhh!!! why the fyukh did he ever do that for it to be perverted so?
garrrrhhhh!!! what the fyukh does the term post-modern/post-modernism mean?
garrrrhhhh!!! why the fyukh do people use the word post-modern and all its various permutations and combinations to describe everything from books and music to comic strips and las vegas strippers?

i hate. Yes hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate the word "post-modern" even though I have no fyukhin’ clue what the hell it means. Or what it’s supposed to mean. Contexts notwithstanding. Because none of the times when it has been used in various conversations has it made sense to me. Because none of the people who used it in the abovementioned conversations have been able to tell me what it means and most not even what they want it to mean. There are a couple of guys who made an honest attempt (you know who you are!), but I still didn’t get it cos we kept going around in confused circles. I guess I’m just dumb. All apologies.

All one knows is that if you wanna look cool and hip and intelligent (or sound intelligent at least) and be considered ‘an intellect’ please pepper your conversations with words like ‘post-modern’ ‘post-modernism’ ‘post-modernist’, etc. etc. no matter what you’re talking about.

phew.

*spleen alert!* Almost running out of spleen to vent. And with the last reserves of venom I give you this : PoMo - the amazing Postmodernism Generator!!!! (do you know somebody who speaks like this? Sure you do.)

Reading which, kind of reminds one of a post on theBekku not so long ago.
So this post’s last quota of spleen goes into directing you to the Revenge of Natives.

now, why would you want to know this?

2007-01-13T17:52:00.005+05:30

this post is for the benefit of those who like Kiedis, but whose e-mail ids/names have not been given and/or for the benefit those whose friends haven't gone on a honeymoon in a long time.

Used without the kind knowledge and/or permission of Mr. Anthony Kiedis. PS: There are some nice stories to go with these pics. go read.

thanks magaa

2007-01-13T17:52:00.003+05:30

Mine friend, the Communal Cow, went on his “sponsored” honeymoon to Alleppey [the first of many, I’m sure!] and came back with these!!

Came back with these! For me!!!

currently tripping on Scar Tissue and crossed the part where two not-so greenhorn high school friends, a stoned Keidis and an equally stoned mike balzary (who would soon be known to the world as Flea), are jumping off buildings into random swimming pools. And the Red Hot Chili Peppers exist in the not-too-distant future. cool! Puppet Masters. Ah! What can one say about Heinlein what hasn’t already been said?

Sorry, no reviews. For either. Buy them, they’re worth it. Or just get your friend to go on his/her honeymoon. Hehehe….

Emerald Dog Poet - or - One thing leads to another

2007-01-13T17:52:00.002+05:30

It’s funny when you look back into your life. And when the past rears its head up and you smile. You ask yourself, “was I like that?”. And you smile. For you know the answer. For you are the sum total of your existence. And that includes all the things, all the people that you were before. And are now. No regrets. You are what you were then. All phases included.

And why this now? Because this reared its head up: A poem (?) from mine past, circa 21-ish. Kinda dorky in an immature sort of way. I likes. For there is a story there.

And why did this rear its head up? Because i like inconsequential challenges. And thusly gave a shot at poetry after many years with this : A walk along the country lane : a poem by Poetess Sam a.k.a Samyukta.

And speaking of poetry or prose which garbs itself as poetry (or vice versa) brings back memories of the carefree times spent on various occasions in the cemetery, with the Criminally English and the Communal Cow and The Pillai who I don’t think has a linkable blog. The cemetery, where each took turns at writing one line of a story/poem as the case may be (wonder where those scraps of paper went?), in the august company of E.Obulesu (Army) and the Naidu family. Yes, they were six feet under us, but so what? Ah! My favourite cemetery spot in the whole wide world!!! Not including the burning ghats which I still prefer to cemeteries. Mine favourites so far being the Manikarnika in Banaras, and the one in Kathmandu near Pashupatinath. Now that topic is for another day.

2007-01-13T17:52:00.001+05:30

subjectivity is the name of the game. objectivity, the cloak.

2007-01-13T17:52:00.000+05:30

This is the reason why some songs should not be turned into videos.

Listen n enjoy. It's a good song. But open your eyes at your own risk. The images jar. *shudder*
Much gratitude to Viju "Ghazalmaster" Janardhanan for bringing this to mine notice.

Nature calls

2007-01-08T19:07:00.001+05:30

The wild outdoors. Chilly nights by a campfire. Bloodsucking leeches. Great company. Great escapes. New friends. New scratches and bruises. Sweat and swearing. Memorable weekends. Stories of hunger, thirst and adventure. Anecdotes about the Forest Officers’ wives. Waking up to bird calls, and not ringtones. And of course, trekking, rock climbing & rappelling, mountaineering, rafting, parasailing and more. For less. You've always wanted it, yes? Well. Worry not! BaseCamp is here.

Yeh Pink Floyd saala hai kaun?

2007-01-08T19:07:00.000+05:30

Or An Idiot’s Guide to Pink Floyd : theBekku exclusive! With the usual peregrinations into other related titbits of intelligent-sounding information and conversation points

Clearing some misconceptions
Contrary to popular perception Pink Floyd did not die of a drug overdose. In fact, Pink Floyd’s not dead at all. It is to squash these rumours that Pink Floyd got his act together to perform last year at a circus organised to give aids to the people of Africa. Incidentally, the organiser of this carnival, Baba Geldof (not be confused with Baba Dylan, Baba Marley or Baba Ramdev), was for a while the ‘Pink’ in Pink Floyd. And then his shaved eyebrows grew back.

Also, contrary to another popular perception, Floyd is spelt F-L-O-Y-D not F-L-U-I-D, pink liquids, Roger’s Waters, and common nouns notwithstanding.

The various origins of Pink Floyd
Now let’s backtrack to when it all began. Inspired by various inspirations, Pink Floyd got his act together for the first time. It should be noted here that he was a student of architecture at this point of time. Which probably explains his later fascination with bricks, cement, walls and other things constructive. It should also be noted here that it has been suspected for a long time that The Wall (an animated cartoon movie, which also claims to be the world’s longest music video) is a tribute to Bangalore Boy Rahul Dravid. When contacted backstage during his concert in Bangalore regarding this fact, Pink Floyd just shrugged his shoulders and said, “It’s just not cricket.”

Pink Floyd: a “god of rock”
Interestingly, it was during the period preceding this aforementioned concert in Bangalore, that Pink Floyd was duly conferred with the title of “God of Rock”, a title which he (Pink Floyd) shares with such luminous luminaries – as Bryan Adams, Uriah Heep, Mick Jagger a.k.a. The Rolling Stones, Inner Circle, MC Hammer, That smoke-on-the-Waters band (no relation to Roger’s Waters), The Winds of Change Band, and many others – and guess what? Some of whom were actually rock musicians! Or musicians for that matter. This is in keeping with an old Bangalore tradition of calling people “God of Rock” when they decide to perform in Bangalore as part of their Pension Fund Tour or The Where-Can-I-Find-Suckers-Who-Still-Listen-To-Me –And-Will-Pay-To-Listen-To-Me Tour. It has been surmised that this custom probably began when Queen Shantala conferred on Amarashilpi Jakannacharya the title “God of Rock.” Go figure. In other newses, other “Gods of Rock” who are rumoured to be on their way to Bangalore include Skid Row, Tears for Fears, Milli Vanilli, and Kevin Federline.

The various origins of Pink Floyd (coda)
Oh! Coming back to Pink. Before officially printing his name on sleeves (of albums) as ‘Pink Floyd’, Pink Floyd when around pubs and clubs of London under various names which were as varied as Six Sigma (from where the measure of quality gets its name), Mega Death (in tribute to his favourite thrash band with an ‘a’ added to avoid copyright issues) and the word Abdabs with many prefixes and suffixes. Pink Floyd (for one final time before he became Pink Floyd) went by the name of The Tea Set (a fact commemorated in the song ‘a saucer full of cigarettes’).

Then finally, he settled upon a name by which we know him today. The ‘Pink’ part came from a Black guy who was into Blues and went by the name of Pink Anderson of Chicago. The second part ‘Floyd’ came either from his lawyer, Counsellor Floyd or from a member of the local administration called Floyd the Councillor – depending on whom you ask, Pink fans who pretend to smoke weed and Floyd fans who visit pubs that play music from all three of his albums or quizzing aficionados who don’t listen to Pink Floyd but who know everything there is to know about Pink Floyd, and then some.

The Hits just kept on coming
For a band with all of just four “official” releases (not including Rwandan bootlegs) Pink Floyd has delivered a surprisingly large number of profitable hits, some of which some people have actually claimed to know the lyrics of. First there was the breakthrough album called “The Other Side of the Moon or something like that” (in the words of an informed music store sales man) an album that gave the world such hits as ‘Time’ and ‘Money’. Another famous song is The Bell Song from some other album. Not the Man on Fire album though, which is supposedly a tribute to some dead guy who was in the jewellery business and went by the name of Crazy Diamond. There was also that monster hit called “The Bell Song”.

Pink Floyd: The Influences of Popular Culture (and Unpopular Culture as well)
Were it not for Pink Floyd, we would today not have a book called “Animal Farm” by Orson Welles, the same guy who wrote the screenplay for War of the Worlds starring the ‘Tom’ in TomKat. The inspiration for Animal Farm apparently came from a Pink Floyd album called Flying Pigs. Pink Floyd has sometimes been very controversial, for instance, that monster hit with a chorus that went “We don’t need no birth control!”

Pink Floyd is also credited with having invented the genre of rock called ‘Space Rock’ ‘Psychedelic Rock’ ‘Progressive Rock’, among others. Some people have also claimed that he invented ‘Dance Rock’ when he released A Collection of Great Dance Songs – a compilation album of great dance songs (duh!) that misled many critics into calling Pink Floyd as having laid the groundwork for the genre of Disco Metal.

Of course, no mention of Pink Floyd would be complete without a mention of his albums’ covers. Pink Floyd pioneered the method of art through hypnosis. Leading to some great albums covers. Great album covers eh?

The sociological impact of Pink Floyd is legendary. Research has shown that the mere mention of Pink Floyd in a conversation raises the Perceived IQ of the speaker by almost 48 points. This is rivalled only by a mention of Bob Dylan: 53.5 points. Of course if you’re a little older, desperate and are gunning for a fat ugly woman in a group of many such, you might want to try Grateful Dead. If the girl's just out of her teens and a manic depressive try Nirvana.

Be cool. Be hot. Become a Pink Floyd Fan today!
Now that you know more or less how much you need to know be known as a person who knows Pink Floyd, why not become a fan today? The last person who claimed to be a Pink Floyd fan hooked himself a hot date. Plus, Pink Floyd is supposedly a good man to listen to when you’re stoned (as evidenced by the previous boyfriend of the friend of my ex-girlfriend). Rock is good when stoned, or something to that effect.

So there you go, almost everything you wanted to know about Pink Floyd, but were too scared to ask. But remember! To come across as a True Fan, remember to say "Floyd" as in *shake of head* "Yeah, i listen to floyd." Saying "Pink is a good band" could lead to potentially disastorous results and the loss of a hot date.

(theBekku lays no claims to originality of any of the ideas and information presented above. This guide would not have been possible without the help of various people through the ages. Thank yer all for yer valuable nuggets. Of course, the mistakes and rambles are all mine.)

blather aborted....

2007-01-04T15:57:00.000+05:30

theBekku must needs learn the art of brevity. But once a random rambler, always a random rambler, one guesses. For theBekku had a nice, long, lengthy and carefully composed post – about travels and travails over a hectic few days – just headed from ‘draft’ status to ‘published’. Until the Eyyala, regular partner in crime & punishment, onion aficionado, butter-lover and general good fun, came along and killed the post in one stroke. For he wrote me something that I can never match. This is what he messaged me.

“2195 kms. 74 hours. 17 locations. 2 states. 2 great guys. People would call it madness…we call it Life.”

You can’t beat that, can you? i can’t. And yes, truth be told, i can claim only a portion of the above stats. i bailed. and for one, i never did keep count.

Damn these Hucksters!!!!

2006-12-29T14:31:00.000+05:30

Dorks. That big, fat and irritating coca-cola advertisement is still doing the rounds. Do people even stop to think? Oh. Stupid question. Just goes on to show the pervasiveness and the power of the media in general and advertising in particular. To influence “people” and societies in all the wrongs ways, most of the time. If there are two professions that need regulation, it is these. Especially that whore of capitalism, consumerism, whatever, called advertising. Scratch that, even the media in equal portions. Speaking of which, yours truly has just – after years of scouring shelves and streets – laid hands on Pohl and Kornbluth’s The Space Merchants. A harsh critique-cum-parody-cum-satire on advertising. About a world that is run (for all practical purposes) by ad agencies. Where your standing is defined by your ability to own. About a world divided into two: the haves and the have-nots. About a consumer-driven society gone horribly wrong, which anyway is the fate of any such society. Anyway reading has just begin, full review later.

The copy of The Space Merchants i just got happens to an old 1981 edition (the book was written in 1952, which makes its prescience even more so prophetic), prominently stamped “DISCARD” by The Harrisburg Union High School’s Instructional Media Center (hmmm… instructional media center).

And this is what precedes the book in the ‘raving reviews’ pages. The St. Louis Dispatch gets it down pat – “…a bitter satire on the conscienceless activities of the ad men…” Kingsley Amis, “The Space Merchants, clearly, is an admonitory satire on certain aspects of our own society, mainly economic…” “In The Space Merchants, we have some of the best satire of our times; it has The Hucksters beat us all hollow.” That was the Denver Post. This is what The New York Times had to say “…a civilisation built on the code of the huckster, where the account executive is king, and the captive audience is just that—a mass of helpless, hapless serfs, living by the law of the singing commercial.” See what advertising can reduce us to? And I stress, this book was written in ’52. A classic I’m sure it will turn out to be. Huck! I guess it already is one.

“Give me the airtime, and I will sell the Earth.”

my land, my peoples

2006-12-28T18:46:00.002+05:30

A picture's worth a thousand words. These are worth billions to me. They tell me the story of how almost ten lakh people can crowd into a 3-kilometre stretch, driven there by nothing more than faith.
The sweltering heat. The suffocating humidity. Fainting is common. Stampedes more so. All to see the Siblings on their journey once. To see the gods who take sick leave. To see a king turn into a sweeper. To get a hand on the ropes that pull the chariots. Just once is enough. It's the dream of a lifetime for many people. Driven by nothing more than faith.

Once a part of them, you lose your Self in the flow. Carried away by the fervour that each one emanates. It's a time to celebrate. A time to worship. A time to wish. A time to pray. A time that i hope never passes.

Ha!!

2006-12-28T18:46:00.001+05:30

Indians make up one of the major human ancestry groups, with relatively little genetic differentiation among people from different parts of the country, according to a new study conducted in the US. "We were struck both by the low lewel of diversity amongst people spanning such a large geographical region, and that by the fact that people from the Indian sub-continent constituted a distinct group when compared to populations from other parts of the world" says Pragna Patel, who led the study.

And this is from the synopsis of the report

"....The authors performed an extensive investigation of Indian genetic diversity and population relationships, sampling 15 groups of India-born immigrants to the United States and genotyping each individual at 1,200 genetic markers genome-wide. Populations from India, and groups from South Asia more generally, form a genetic cluster, so that individuals placed within this cluster are more genetically similar to each other than to individuals outside the cluster. However, the amount of genetic differentiation among Indian populations is relatively small. The authors conclude that genetic variation in India is distinctive with respect to the rest of the world, but that the level of genetic divergence is smaller in Indians than might be expected for such a geographically and linguistically diverse group.

Ha! More ammo. You can read the full PSoS Genetics report here