I'm a RAINBOW too; I'm a RAINBOW too

I’ve been humming that line all week. For five days a week, though I might appear to be a boring pinstripe banker- Yes, I do have my colours.

Sometime this week a colleague noticed my apparently receding hairline. While I had been contemplating therapeutic action, those comments just drove me to the nearest drugstore and procure a recent treatment for the same. A man of action!

I finally went for a mandatory medical test and came out with flying colours. Some findings-

• I still have a functional liver and a pair of lungs.
• Cholesterol- something I had been particularly worried about post my chat with Thumps is ok.
• My ECG, though it scared me at first sight, it seems is quite OK.
• I remain A-ve. No surprises there.
• Weight- I have gained 1 KG. Wow! 51 , and growing (bouncy baby of 29?)
  

I have decided to add certain other activities to my weekend routine. Current activities are restricted to going out, getting drunk like fucks, fighting, recovering and probably playing cricket or a movie. The latest development is that I have joined a six-Sunday course on film script writing. I was feeling quite tentative about it, and so I told the lady. “I am a banker and that’s what I have been for the last five years or so. I can write and I watch movies. I am not a critic, but can be critical. And of course, I don’t handle criticism too well.” She said, “No problem. Do you have a DVD player at home?” So that was that.

Feeling very Friday… and so I am off for the week.

What a waste…

…of taxpayers’ (read MY) money. Sonia Gandhi will resign from The Parliament, then resign from some super-powered advisory committee, and then contest elections again. Wow…

Of course, thankfully in a country such as ours, things will never come to such a pass. Some men wearing unhygenic, white hand-towels on their scalp will sit on Dharna (a Indian community squatting festival) outside her residence. Fasts will begin wherein some fat ladies will go on an unplanned and much needed crash diet. Those with higher levels of zeal and political aspirations with try to immolate themselves. Of course, one mustn’t take these creatures loosely, they are the future of Indian politics- that is, if Indian politics has a future. Finally, in the wake of this unprecented and very public display of adulation, The Lady will relent.

Of course, the biggest beneficiary of all this will be The Great Indian Media. Hopefully, NDTV will recycle its news and features every two hours instead of the usual 45 minutes. Or perhaps we can look forward to a few days of this and nothing else on TV.

Truly… It happens only in India.

The Sulk

My attempts at organising a weekend get-away to a nearby beach have failed miserably because my co-conspirator Nu, after getting me all excited, has invented some excuses. This was the last weekend that we could have done some beaching before the summer sets in. So now, I shall sulk the rest of the evening.

I am really good at organising holidays (takes me about half and hour on the Net and a few phone calls), but feel quite bad when things don't work out.

Some Findings of Note...

... over lunch with my boss this Saturday afternoon.

1. I might be off to London for a month on "work" sometime later this summer. I'd like that.
2. He knows I blog- but he doesn't quite know what a blog is. I told him its my equivalent of a parallel universe.
3. He thinks I blog on Saturday afternoons only. Now, may be I should change the time zone on the settings tab.

Might as well live

"Razors pain you
Rivers are damp
Acid stains you
Drugs cause cramps
Guns aren't lawful
Nooses give,
Gas smells awful!
Ya' might as well live!"
- Dorothy Parker

La Dolce Vita

Relatively quiet Holi this time around. As has been for the last 5 years or so. I distinctly remember the last time I played. It was five years back in school. And what a time we had! Beautiful memories.

Memories… That brings me to the subject of this post. Somewhere along the way, I have come to the conclusion that the way we remember things is the way we want to think of them as. (For instance, in case anyone noticed, my recollections of Ms. P always assume a positive and optimistic shades with scant regard to reality.) The reason I mention it now is because I spent Tuesday night reading A Pale View of Hills. This is the second book by Kazuo Ishiguro that I have read and it has had the very similar effect on me as Never Let Me Go. And of course Remains of the Day, but then I haven’t read the book. The story simmers along, and then hits you like a bucketful of boiling water at the end. It is a very short and stylish book, set in post-war Nagasaki. The description of the city is limited, probably to indicate how little those who survived, wish to remember of the years that followed.

Now, I won’t do a spoiler. It has taken me most of yesterday to interpret the meaning of the book and I have relished every minute of it. There are these absolutely minute details, which are only there at the back of your mind when you read the book, but then fall in place as you sit down to piece it all together. Of course, as was the case with the other book, this one also invokes certain questions, which scream for an answer. The beauty of the language, the surreal symbolism (I thought the crossing of the river sequence was devastatingly brilliant), and the use of the “unreliable narrator” technique … Oops! No more.

What else… I got humped again by Thumps again for not acting fast enough on the “M” thing. I got stared but spared as I stepped out of home in a white T-Shirt on Holi. I must say that kids these days are remarkably well-behaved in this respect. In my days I do not remember offering such mercy. Spoke to Blue Athena- she called after about a six- eight months. I guess it’s the festival spirit. We signed off with the usual promises to meet. Bee called, in the middle of her workday, which of course filled me with insane hopes for a while. Then I saw Ray (literally forced into watching it by TinMan. His exact words were- “I suggest you stop lusting after women for two hours and watch this movie”)- which was brilliant- but only because of the soundtrack. I am not a great fan of biographies- books or films. Other peoples’ lives hold very little interest for me. The only biographies I remember- Gandhi (with DD showing it at least thrice every year, I don’t think my generation had a choice), Iacocca (because I used to assemble cars then) and A Beautiful Mind- which I consider Russell Crowe’s best work till date. Sri has returned from Colombo with a mysterious tropical rash- which I have been curious to find out about, but she won’t tell. Oh, I was also audience to IK’s pecking order theory of women, but I don’t think any of it deserves a mention here.

I have been meaning to write about this spring for a while. The yellow-green treetops are absolutely alluring, but I can’t seem to find the words. Now, how many times have I said that before…

I have been afflicted with a particularly disabling ailment of the alimentary canal, with the result that my diet now is strictly mineral and fluid. This line I read somewhere applies equally to me- I love eating, but food doesn’t love me back.

Waltzing with the Willow

How many times have you been witness to history being made, and felt pleased about it?

In my 20-odd years of watching the game of cricket, nothing compares, or even comes close to the feast on offer yesterday. In a trail-blazing performance, definitely the best in the history of the game, South Africa romped home to a phenomenal win, with a wicket and a ball to spare, beating Australia’s world-record score of 434. It is an event like this which makes a lifetime of watching the game worthwhile. Those who missed it- you have no idea what you’ve missed. That’s the way- I like it!!!

I saw the Australian innings for a bit, then again revisited to see the Aussies close off in style with 434. At that point of time, I was in no doubt of the outcome of the match. I concluded either SA will vanish under 100 or make in the region of 350 and fail with dignity. Not the type who watches every telecast game of cricket, I flipped channels, sneaked in a short movie, and other regular Sunday chores. I also watched a bit of the SA innings at the start to conclude that the latter was likely. Finally, at the fall of Smith’s wicket I went out for the regulation Sunday walk on Carter Road. When I came back and switched on the TV, Gibbs was belting away mercilessly. Lewis was hapless. And it was match-on in the Bullring. What followed is history.

The day was dotted with records- most number of runs scored in a match, most number of extras in one innings, most number of 4s and 6s … and so on. Surprisingly, the only individual record was the inglorious maximum number of runs off a single bowler. It really shows the true team character of the game. The grounds men were as unforgiving as their countrymen on the pitch. The glow-board flashed Lewis’ achievement and the crowd erupted in glee.

I think the most notable performances were by Ponting, Smith, Gibbs and Boucher. Boucher was amazing- made it look like a piece of cake. His calm I guess saved the day for SA. Ntini’s all-important single off what was otherwise a very good delivery. I had thought that Lee was going to york the fuck out of him- which he did, but our man played late, and chose just the one spot on the field where a single was possible. Spare a thought for Lee- at the end of the Australian innings he left the field unbeaten, definitely feeling the pleasure a job well-done. And found himself in the death again, this time entrusted with the unenviable task of preventing a team on a roll from scoring 7 runs in 6 balls. And then again coming this close to taking the wicket of Ntini and doing the impossible… and giving it all up. And I wonder what would have gone on in the team meeting during the break in the SA dressing room. Probably, something like the speech at the bottom of this post (which incidentally I consider one of the best inspirational rhetorics).

In the end it was the story of a team which decided not to choke, and go the whole hog. A team which put in 200% with their backs against the wall. I can go on, but I think the look on Ponting’s face as he gave away the joint man of the match to Gibbs said it all- no excuses, none of the usual cribs about missed chances and unfortunate umpiring decisions- just the look of a finished man.


I can’t end this post without a mention of the most disgusting piece of news I’ve heard in months. A 52-year old woman is raped in Mumbai. I mean what’s the world coming to? There’s always room for perverts everywhere in the world, but somehow I always hoped that our city was out of all that. Of course, there’s no telling when, if at all justice will be served again. This really, really upset me.

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Any Given Sunday
screenplay by John Logan and Oliver Stone

Tony D'Amato: I don't know what to say really. Three minutes to the biggest battle of our professional lives, all comes down to today. Now either we heal as a team, or we're gonna crumble. Inch by inch, play by play -- till we're finished. We're in hell right now gentleman. Believe me. And we can stay here, get the shit kicked out of us, or we can fight our way back, into the light. We can climb out of hell, one inch at a time.Now I can't do it for you, I'm too old. I look around I see these young faces and I think, I mean, I made every wrong choice a middle aged man can make. I, uh, I pissed away all my money, believe it or not, I chased off anyone who's ever loved me, and lately I can't even stand the face I see in the mirror.

Y'know when you get old in life things get taken from you, I mean that's that's that's part of life. But you only learn that when you start losin' stuff. You find out life's this game of inches, and so is football. Because in either game, life or football, the margin for error is so small, I mean, one half a step too late or too early and you don't quite make it, one half second to slow or to fast, you don't quite catch it. The inches we need are everywhere around us. They're in every break in the game, every minute, every second. On this team we fight for that inch. On this team we tear ourselves and everyone else around us to pieces for that inch. We claw with our fingernails for that inch. Because we know when we add up all those inches that's going to make the fucking difference between winning and losing. Between livin' and dying. I'll tell you this in any fight it's the guy whose willing to die who's gonna win that inch , and I know that if I'm going to have any life anymore it's because I'm still willin to fight and die for that inch. Because that's what livin is. The six inches in front of your face. Now I can't make you do it. You gotta look at the guy next to you, look into his eyes. Now, I think you're gonna see a guy who will go that inch with you. You're gonna see a guy who will sacrifice himself for this team because he knows when it comes down to it, you're going to do the same for him.That's a team gentlemen and either we heal now as a team or we will die as individuals. That's football guys. That's all it is. Now, What are you going to do?

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The Company of Ms. P…

… is desirable and desired, but a rare and much awaited event. Of all the women I have known post-pubescence, she is the one who has intrigued me the most. It is in part due to the circumstances under which we met, but largely due to the way she is. In about the six-eight months I have known her, I might have spoken to her some ten times, met about five, and wondered about a few thousand times. Every time I am anywhere around her, I am sure she figures the obvious awe I am in of her- I almost feel like a school boy in shorts. I think only once have I managed to conduct myself respectably in her presence. On that occasion, I think I was not given a chance to open my mouth as others at the table clamored for her attention. Such is her effect on men… I think Shakespeare said it best:

Age cannot wither, nor
Custom stale. Her infinite variety
Other women cloy.
The appetites they whet
While she makes hungry, where
she satisfies the most

Life can only be good when such meetings with Ms. P occur- like last night. Of course, I think I messed it up again.

I am really happy to get back home early these days. Have burnt about 8 GB of music in the last few days. That’s about 2000 songs. But current favourite – well, TinMan gifted me Shamur. Quite like it. And then I have bought a lot of books too. So go back home, put in a disc, pick up a book and chill... La dolce vita. Till recently, every time I splurged on books I resolved not to buy any more till such time I had read everything that's there in my house. But now I have changed that stance- I tell myself that I shall buy now and read them once I retire. Anyway, with inflation and everything- I should be in the money by the time I get around to reading. The excuses that I think of to justify my weaknesses. Makes one wonder. Currently reading A Pale View of Hills.

Other news- I have been inflicted with a particularly severe attack of Ariboflavinosis. As the name suggests it is caused due to lack of vitamin B but is easily cured. Its most common ailment is an uncomfortable pain that one experiences at the corner of the lips when one yawns. Waiting for it to pass away.


Till then…

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We met, and passed, like shadows. - William Wordsworth(The Excursion)

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Crash- Why Detroit is so Important to America

I saw Crash yesterday. I had heard a lot about it, and then the Oscars were announced morning our time and I made up my mind to go and watch it that very evening. I even garnered the company of Sreefor the same. Everyone else had already seen it, and I in my laziness have missed the luxury of hugely familiar company. First, I had to put up with the customary resistance that women always put up the mono-minute they figure out that they’re your last resort. Otherwise it was quite cool.

The movie began well, but ended up looking so affected and contrived that I almost sniggered in contempt. The entire movie had Ocsar written on it. It looked like this director chose the most sensitive topic in the US of A, picked the city which had the largest number of voters in the Academy in the whole world, and went about it. Of course, there was this completely All-American automobile touch to it. "Why do people Crash into each other?" Ridiculous. Then he decided to make the weaklings in the audience soft with emotion, and went for the jugular.

The audience was even better- some of the really dark moments were heartily laughed at. For instance, when the cop’s dad can’t sleep or pee because of his infection, people around me were actually laughing. What nonsense. I read on Uma’s blog this post on Maxim. I can now understand what kind of an audience caters to that. People have such a misplaced sense of humour. Quite morbid. Then on the way out, everyone had been inflicted with the disease of being nice, and well looked all thoughtful and moved. You could see people shaking their heads in disbelief and nodding at the same time appreciation. Wow!

I am not against "feel-good, do-good" movies, but don't push it down my throat puhleeeseee...

Thankfully, Sree had exactly the same thoughts on the movie as me. It was quite easy afterwards…