It's important to look forward, but also to look back to see how far you've come. The only problem is that you can't do both at the same time.So, as 2012 rolls around, which one is it going to be?
Friday, December 23, 2011
A quote for the end of one year, and the start of another
I find I'm so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.
- Ellis Boyd 'Red' Redding (last lines from Shawshank Redemption)
- Ellis Boyd 'Red' Redding (last lines from Shawshank Redemption)
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Two songs...
...which I'd forgotten how much i loved about ten years ago. and love just as much now.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free
-------------
The space between
The tears we cry is the laughter that keeps us coming back for more
The space between
The wicked lies we tell and hope to keep safe from the pain
Will I hold you again?
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free
-------------
The space between
The tears we cry is the laughter that keeps us coming back for more
The space between
The wicked lies we tell and hope to keep safe from the pain
Will I hold you again?
The Three Stages of Life
1) You believe in Santa Claus.
2) You don't believe in Santa Claus.
3) You are Santa Claus.
2) You don't believe in Santa Claus.
3) You are Santa Claus.
For my sister on her 21st birthday
Seems like just yesterday
you were reaching
for my ear lobe
or the wrinkled skin
around my elbow, (whichever was closer)
while sucking
your two middle fingers
and leaving tooth marks
that eventually developed
into what, I remember thinking
at the time, would be permanent scars.
Of course, they weren't really permanent,
were they? Because they've gone,
along with every other visible sign of your childhood.
You went:
from kicking at the air
in front of strangers
with tiny chubby feet
by way of greeting,
to donning
skinny jeans that
seem perpetually in danger
of being not quite long (or skinny) enough.
from dimpled chin
to pimpled skin in a heartbeat,
And yet, now your face
shines with a resplendent grace;
your kohl-lined eyes being just
about the only features I recognise
from old photographs.
It’s one of those things I can't explain,
You seem so different and yet the same.
I guess you just Grew Up without telling me.
you were reaching
for my ear lobe
or the wrinkled skin
around my elbow, (whichever was closer)
while sucking
your two middle fingers
and leaving tooth marks
that eventually developed
into what, I remember thinking
at the time, would be permanent scars.
Of course, they weren't really permanent,
were they? Because they've gone,
along with every other visible sign of your childhood.
You went:
from kicking at the air
in front of strangers
with tiny chubby feet
by way of greeting,
to donning
skinny jeans that
seem perpetually in danger
of being not quite long (or skinny) enough.
from dimpled chin
to pimpled skin in a heartbeat,
And yet, now your face
shines with a resplendent grace;
your kohl-lined eyes being just
about the only features I recognise
from old photographs.
It’s one of those things I can't explain,
You seem so different and yet the same.
I guess you just Grew Up without telling me.
One of these days
you should come round.
Try and make it for a Sunday,
We can go to the fairground.
We can hold hands,
buy some popcorn to share.
I'll knock down some tin cans
and try and win you a bear.
When we get really cold,
we'll drink some mulled wine.
And when we're really old
we can think back to the time
when all we needed
was a Sunday at a fairground
to make us happy.
you should come round.
Try and make it for a Sunday,
We can go to the fairground.
We can hold hands,
buy some popcorn to share.
I'll knock down some tin cans
and try and win you a bear.
When we get really cold,
we'll drink some mulled wine.
And when we're really old
we can think back to the time
when all we needed
was a Sunday at a fairground
to make us happy.
I don't know about you, but at some point over the course of my professional career, I would like to sit in on a meeting where one of the following phrases is not used:
pedal to the metal/ rubber meets the road
gaining traction
gathering momentum
the upshot is...(my personal favourite)
back to the drawing board
going forward
at the end of the day
This is by no means an exhaustive list, but i'm exhausted just typing these. The wait for a meeting without one of them continues. I'm not holding my breath.
Because, at the end of the day...
pedal to the metal/ rubber meets the road
gaining traction
gathering momentum
the upshot is...(my personal favourite)
back to the drawing board
going forward
at the end of the day
This is by no means an exhaustive list, but i'm exhausted just typing these. The wait for a meeting without one of them continues. I'm not holding my breath.
Because, at the end of the day...
Thursday, December 08, 2011
Wood, steel and skin
he said,
were the three things
that made
the sound seemingly
take on a life
of its own, and meaning
like so many words
unsaid;
that, and the strings
that he picked apart
like thread, each
one vibrating with a sense
of its own unique purpose.
Wood, steel and skin
and a boy, alone,
making a sound
come alive
as though it were
made of
blood, flesh and bone.
And I,
watching it take flight
until it disappears from sight.
Soumik Dutta played the Sarod at Clare Hall, Cambridge. Summer 2010.
he said,
were the three things
that made
the sound seemingly
take on a life
of its own, and meaning
like so many words
unsaid;
that, and the strings
that he picked apart
like thread, each
one vibrating with a sense
of its own unique purpose.
Wood, steel and skin
and a boy, alone,
making a sound
come alive
as though it were
made of
blood, flesh and bone.
And I,
watching it take flight
until it disappears from sight.
Soumik Dutta played the Sarod at Clare Hall, Cambridge. Summer 2010.
Mirage
Somewhere between the prison
and the sea,
she waits, my love.
Faced with choices she shouldn't
need to have to make,
my love.
In the distance,
a roving beam of light
casts shadows across the bay,
turning sand dunes into
the humps of a hundred
camels.
The lights of the old factories
blink,
on and then off,
in silent morse code;
while wisps of smoke rise
triumphantly from giant
cigarettes and disappear
into the moon.
All around her, life goes on;
but tonight
she stands alone under the stars
and waits,
faced with choices she shouldn't
need to have to make,
my love.
and the sea,
she waits, my love.
Faced with choices she shouldn't
need to have to make,
my love.
In the distance,
a roving beam of light
casts shadows across the bay,
turning sand dunes into
the humps of a hundred
camels.
The lights of the old factories
blink,
on and then off,
in silent morse code;
while wisps of smoke rise
triumphantly from giant
cigarettes and disappear
into the moon.
All around her, life goes on;
but tonight
she stands alone under the stars
and waits,
faced with choices she shouldn't
need to have to make,
my love.
Monday, December 05, 2011
Aisle 13
She was rummaging through the 'Reduced to Clear' section.
He was shaking squash bottles and placing them back on the shelves
(because he didn't like the look of sediment at the bottom.)
They ended up talking about how they put the blue in blue cheese,
and the general over-use of the word please.
At the checkout, he bagged her shopping and bragged about his taste in wine.
Her 14 items totaled £ 8.79.
"Every little helps", she said, and shook her head from side to side.
He smiled and they left together for the Park and Ride.
On the way, she opened a tub of yoghurt and licked the lid.
not quite happy ever after though; they split before the milk did.
He was shaking squash bottles and placing them back on the shelves
(because he didn't like the look of sediment at the bottom.)
They ended up talking about how they put the blue in blue cheese,
and the general over-use of the word please.
At the checkout, he bagged her shopping and bragged about his taste in wine.
Her 14 items totaled £ 8.79.
"Every little helps", she said, and shook her head from side to side.
He smiled and they left together for the Park and Ride.
On the way, she opened a tub of yoghurt and licked the lid.
not quite happy ever after though; they split before the milk did.
I'm odd; you're even.
Together, we're slightly uneven.
In hindsight, it was never quite right;
I suppose we were never going to fit.
I'm a ball, but you're no socket.
You're a small hand, and I'm a deep pocket.
Still, who knows?
You can swing, I can shuffle,
Who's to say we can't dance our way
out of circumstance?
I'll give it a go if you give it a chance.
Go on, one more go, if you give it a chance.
Together, we're slightly uneven.
In hindsight, it was never quite right;
I suppose we were never going to fit.
I'm a ball, but you're no socket.
You're a small hand, and I'm a deep pocket.
Still, who knows?
You can swing, I can shuffle,
Who's to say we can't dance our way
out of circumstance?
I'll give it a go if you give it a chance.
Go on, one more go, if you give it a chance.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
The Question I Wish I Asked Ms Roy
Two weeks ago when Arundhati Roy floated into a room in London to enthusiastic applause, I sat and gaped like a star-struck schoolboy. There she was, the woman who wrote the book that I've loved more than almost every other book I've read. The woman who achieved Big Things with the God of Small Things. There she was, a vision in lime green, glowing with the sort of grace and charisma that turns nearly-thirty-year-old men into, well, star-struck schoolboys.
Over the next hour, words seemed to come dancing out of her mouth in sentences so delicious you could almost eat them. Sentences that weren't anywhere near as clumsy (and creepy) as that last one. But anyway... my point is, if I hadn't felt like I suddenly needed to learn the English language again (starting with the alphabet), and if I had gathered enough courage to ask for the microphone, and if I had managed to close my mouth and re-open it long enough to actually speak in a coherent manner, and if I could have decided in my head exactly how I was going to address her; if all these things actually happened (and is it any surprise that they didn't?) then this is what I would have asked:
Dear Arundhati/Ms Roy/Mrs Roy/Ma'am,
If you don't mind, I'd like to read a line from a book you might recognise (and at that point I would have held up my copy of The God of Small Things which I had taken along specially for the occasion).
'Ammu,’ Chacko said, his voice steady and deliberately casual, ‘is it at all possible for you to prevent your washed-up cynicism from completely colouring everything?'
I'm not suggesting, of course, that anything you said here today contained any cynicism, whether washed-up or of any other variety. I am worried, though, that cynicism may turn out to be the only natural response to the events taking place in that incredible country we call home. To the point where it becomes a sort of defense mechanism. I worry that our fierce love for India will somehow morph into an equally fierce disenchantment. And that we will, like Ammu, fail to see all that is still truly magical about it. I worry that we will reach a stage where we believe our Humpty Dumpty Broken Republic will never be put together again. That what we've lost will never be recovered.
That we will never again know Love, Hope, Infinite Joy.
Because is it even possible for a country to unsell its soul?
PS- I love you.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
People never die, they're just playing hide-and-seek with the rest of us. And they've found the best hiding place ever. They give us little clues along the way, reminders that they haven't really gone anywhere and that we shouldn't stop looking. So they seem to jump out at us every once in a while- when that one song plays, when you hear their voice on an old voicemail message, catch a glimpse of their picture, or read a letter they wrote before the hide-and-seek began.
"I'm here", they seem to say, "you're getting warmer". And then one day we will finally find them and they'll come out of their hiding place and ask us how we never saw them even though they could see us the whole time. And we'll have to admit that some things you just can't explain. Like how you can feel someone's presence without actually seeing them. And how even after so much time has passed, they look exactly the same. And then it's our turn to hide.
One day I will find you, my friend. Until then, rest in peace.
"I'm here", they seem to say, "you're getting warmer". And then one day we will finally find them and they'll come out of their hiding place and ask us how we never saw them even though they could see us the whole time. And we'll have to admit that some things you just can't explain. Like how you can feel someone's presence without actually seeing them. And how even after so much time has passed, they look exactly the same. And then it's our turn to hide.
One day I will find you, my friend. Until then, rest in peace.
Sunday, May 01, 2011
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do. It's not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own lights shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
- Timo Cruz in Coach Carter (2005)
- Timo Cruz in Coach Carter (2005)
Friday, April 22, 2011
Tick tock, tick tock...
This year's already been significant for several reasons, despite the fact that we're only about four months in. My dad's turned 60, my sister's just turned 21. This blog is five and in a few months i will be, erm..., 25. India's won the World Cup. And I’m packing my things into boxes, in preparation for another move.
Meanwhile, the clock keeps ticking. It's only at times like this, when you momentarily stop to catch your breath, that you hear it. The passage of time is a grim inevitability and no amount of cheerful cuckoo clocks can alter the fact. I've often wondered why people say they're killing time, when in truth it's always the opposite. Time's the one killing you. You try everything you can to outrun it, but in the end it catches up. Sometimes it's a like a pick-pocket, stealing second after valuable second while you're busy looking the other way; at other times it jumps out at you from out of nowhere, turns your hair grey and leaves you for dead.
On the plus side, it's almost summer; the season that somehow makes things seem alright, the one season that somehow manages to suggest that dreams, however implausible they might seem, may just come true.
Everything (and everyone) looks better in the sun.
Meanwhile, the clock keeps ticking. It's only at times like this, when you momentarily stop to catch your breath, that you hear it. The passage of time is a grim inevitability and no amount of cheerful cuckoo clocks can alter the fact. I've often wondered why people say they're killing time, when in truth it's always the opposite. Time's the one killing you. You try everything you can to outrun it, but in the end it catches up. Sometimes it's a like a pick-pocket, stealing second after valuable second while you're busy looking the other way; at other times it jumps out at you from out of nowhere, turns your hair grey and leaves you for dead.
On the plus side, it's almost summer; the season that somehow makes things seem alright, the one season that somehow manages to suggest that dreams, however implausible they might seem, may just come true.
Everything (and everyone) looks better in the sun.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Video of the week #1
From a purely comedic standpoint, it has to be said that this would have been a LOT less funny if the kid had a t-shirt on.
Tuesday, April 05, 2011
A Final Note on the Cricket World Cup
This is for all those who thought the Australians were too clinical, the Pakistanis were too gifted, the Sri Lankans were too familiar with the conditions and the big occasion.
For those who thought the Indians did not have the stomach for a fight, that we would take the role of host nation to its natural conclusion and let one of our guests walk away with the trophy. Because that's the Indian way.
This is for all my jaded, battle-weary friends who thought bleeding blue and feeling blue amounted to the same thing.
This is for the cynics, the non-believers, the ones who assumed disappointment lurked just around the corner but now find it was actually glory all along. For those who are still somehow surprised that a group of talented, motivated, well-prepared individuals actually achieved something on a global stage. Yes, they won. And yes, it means you can, and should, win too. Deal with it.
This is for all those who would struggle to name half the Indian squad but now have Sachin's smiling face on all their Facebook profiles. This victory is yours too, of course it is, but remember to wave the flag even when the chips are down. Especially when the chips are down.
This is for Suresh Raina, who, when asked whether Ashwin's absence would hurt India's chances against Pakistan, answered in just three words - "I am there". For Dhoni, who said "Banish Pain" in a slick Nike ad campaign but then went out and banished it for real. For Yuvraj Singh, who, for once, echoed the thoughts of Indians everywhere when he said "Tonight is going to be a good night", after the win. For Sachin; special, special Sachin, whose smile alone was enough to light up the Mumbai sky. Who still, after 22 years, plays every game like it's his first. For Virat, Munaf, Zak, Bhajj, Viru, Ashwin, Nehra, Gautam, Yusuf, Chawla, even Sree. You did it.
But most of all, this is for India; that magical, maddening, jigsaw-puzzle of a country, that today celebrates as one.
Jai Hind.
For those who thought the Indians did not have the stomach for a fight, that we would take the role of host nation to its natural conclusion and let one of our guests walk away with the trophy. Because that's the Indian way.
This is for all my jaded, battle-weary friends who thought bleeding blue and feeling blue amounted to the same thing.
This is for the cynics, the non-believers, the ones who assumed disappointment lurked just around the corner but now find it was actually glory all along. For those who are still somehow surprised that a group of talented, motivated, well-prepared individuals actually achieved something on a global stage. Yes, they won. And yes, it means you can, and should, win too. Deal with it.
This is for all those who would struggle to name half the Indian squad but now have Sachin's smiling face on all their Facebook profiles. This victory is yours too, of course it is, but remember to wave the flag even when the chips are down. Especially when the chips are down.
This is for Suresh Raina, who, when asked whether Ashwin's absence would hurt India's chances against Pakistan, answered in just three words - "I am there". For Dhoni, who said "Banish Pain" in a slick Nike ad campaign but then went out and banished it for real. For Yuvraj Singh, who, for once, echoed the thoughts of Indians everywhere when he said "Tonight is going to be a good night", after the win. For Sachin; special, special Sachin, whose smile alone was enough to light up the Mumbai sky. Who still, after 22 years, plays every game like it's his first. For Virat, Munaf, Zak, Bhajj, Viru, Ashwin, Nehra, Gautam, Yusuf, Chawla, even Sree. You did it.
But most of all, this is for India; that magical, maddening, jigsaw-puzzle of a country, that today celebrates as one.
Jai Hind.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
My problem with Facebook...
...is two-fold.
Firstly, everyone is on there. Which probably doesn't sound like a problem at all. Surely it’s great to have everyone I've made even passing acquaintances with in the past two or so years, all one place, nicely stacked up alphabetically, with pretty pictures to remind me of what they look like? Well, yes. But then again, no. Because all that's happening now is that everyone goes into a pile- and the more people get added to the top, the more the rest at the bottom get lost under the near-constant stream of status updates, photo-uploads and daily horoscopes. On more than one occasion, I've logged in specifically to send a message to someone in particular, and then logged out 30 minutes later without having gone anywhere near either his wall or ceiling. This probably says more about my own attention spans than Facebook itself, but I have a niggling feeling that there is more information on a daily Newsfeed than an average human of normal intelligence can hope to fully process in one lifetime.
“But that's what filters are for”, I can hear you yelling, while angrily waving your optical mouse. To which all I can say is- “Calm down, let go of the mouse, and no-one is going to get hurt.” With the rodent- related crisis successfully averted, I will add that surely there comes a point in any social medium when even all the filters you can think of will not make one iota of difference. Allow me to present Exhibit 1: Log into You Tube. Type in ‘laughing baby’ in the search field. Change the Upload Date filter to - This Month. See you in ten years.
My second problem is that it's making me lazy. When you're pretty lazy to begin with, this is a big problem. So where earlier I would take an active interest in my friend's lives, now I just passively keep up with them by flicking through pictures of their new car or kitten. This is fine by itself, but- and I am sure there is an economic theory about this- the more information I am bombarded with, the more likely it is I will miss something. Again, I have the niggling feeling there are more important things going on with my friends than their preferred shade of nail polish. Maybe there isn't, and maybe it's just me, but the niggling feeling persists.
This is made even worse by one simple fact- nothing of real value ever falls into your lap. Or an inbox. The most treasured friendships are always (or at least very often) the ones you have to work at maintaining, ones you consciously make time for. The best stories or articles are usually the ones I seek out and discover myself, instead of linking to them from a forward or RSS feed. The most interesting events take place in the real world, in real life, not in Farmville. Surely we're missing out?
“But..!”, I can see you thinking again, “Surely it's way more efficient to do it this way, because if I was to send a personal message to one friend per day, it would take me six months to get through my list. And that's without even replying to the replies.” To which I would be tempted to say- “Ha! You only have 150 friends?! What are you, a loner?”- but I wouldn't say it, because I don't have that many more than you, and I would like to add you to my list. And then we can keep in regular touch, mainly by exchanging pokes.
And so for one closing thought: If I think it's bad for these two main reasons and possibly loads more, what is Facebook good for? Well, for one thing, I could now take this well-constructed piece of socio-cultural analysis and stick it on my profile, where it will instantly be in the virtual faces of about 500 people. Which is approximately 500 more than the number of people who will see it here. Question is, do I really want to add one more item to that wonderful Newsfeed and deprive all those people the immense pleasure they will undoubtedly feel if and when they find this on their own?
Decisions, decisions.
Firstly, everyone is on there. Which probably doesn't sound like a problem at all. Surely it’s great to have everyone I've made even passing acquaintances with in the past two or so years, all one place, nicely stacked up alphabetically, with pretty pictures to remind me of what they look like? Well, yes. But then again, no. Because all that's happening now is that everyone goes into a pile- and the more people get added to the top, the more the rest at the bottom get lost under the near-constant stream of status updates, photo-uploads and daily horoscopes. On more than one occasion, I've logged in specifically to send a message to someone in particular, and then logged out 30 minutes later without having gone anywhere near either his wall or ceiling. This probably says more about my own attention spans than Facebook itself, but I have a niggling feeling that there is more information on a daily Newsfeed than an average human of normal intelligence can hope to fully process in one lifetime.
“But that's what filters are for”, I can hear you yelling, while angrily waving your optical mouse. To which all I can say is- “Calm down, let go of the mouse, and no-one is going to get hurt.” With the rodent- related crisis successfully averted, I will add that surely there comes a point in any social medium when even all the filters you can think of will not make one iota of difference. Allow me to present Exhibit 1: Log into You Tube. Type in ‘laughing baby’ in the search field. Change the Upload Date filter to - This Month. See you in ten years.
My second problem is that it's making me lazy. When you're pretty lazy to begin with, this is a big problem. So where earlier I would take an active interest in my friend's lives, now I just passively keep up with them by flicking through pictures of their new car or kitten. This is fine by itself, but- and I am sure there is an economic theory about this- the more information I am bombarded with, the more likely it is I will miss something. Again, I have the niggling feeling there are more important things going on with my friends than their preferred shade of nail polish. Maybe there isn't, and maybe it's just me, but the niggling feeling persists.
This is made even worse by one simple fact- nothing of real value ever falls into your lap. Or an inbox. The most treasured friendships are always (or at least very often) the ones you have to work at maintaining, ones you consciously make time for. The best stories or articles are usually the ones I seek out and discover myself, instead of linking to them from a forward or RSS feed. The most interesting events take place in the real world, in real life, not in Farmville. Surely we're missing out?
“But..!”, I can see you thinking again, “Surely it's way more efficient to do it this way, because if I was to send a personal message to one friend per day, it would take me six months to get through my list. And that's without even replying to the replies.” To which I would be tempted to say- “Ha! You only have 150 friends?! What are you, a loner?”- but I wouldn't say it, because I don't have that many more than you, and I would like to add you to my list. And then we can keep in regular touch, mainly by exchanging pokes.
And so for one closing thought: If I think it's bad for these two main reasons and possibly loads more, what is Facebook good for? Well, for one thing, I could now take this well-constructed piece of socio-cultural analysis and stick it on my profile, where it will instantly be in the virtual faces of about 500 people. Which is approximately 500 more than the number of people who will see it here. Question is, do I really want to add one more item to that wonderful Newsfeed and deprive all those people the immense pleasure they will undoubtedly feel if and when they find this on their own?
Decisions, decisions.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
The Sound of Silence
"a roaring river of rubble; an entire town lies in ruins..."
"a cascade of cars, bobbing like rubber ducks in an endless bathtub..."
These were just a couple of the statements used by solemn-voiced television reporters last Friday as the world's eyes turned to Japan. I am all for a turn of phrase, but when juxtaposed against images of a terrible tragedy, the words just seemed absurd and contrived. It was clear what was happening, we get it, was there really a need to put on this kind of literary-style commentary as well, just in case we missed something?
As my uncle and I flicked through the channels, the lines between reality and fantasy appeared to blur. The visuals had taken on the look of a mid-budget Hollywood production. Ground shots, aerial shots, shots from the inside of a building, from under a desk. And the commentary seemed to get more and more ridiculous. "You've seen this view" they seemed to say, "but have you seen this one? How about this one?", and on it went.
Finally, we stopped at one particular channel. And we looked at each other in amazement. There was no commentary. In fact, there was no sound at all. All they had was footage, with a ticker at the bottom of the screen summarising the unfolding events. What else was there to say?
I remember a friend once telling me about an orthodox Jewish tradition where the only response to tragedy or intense grief is - silence. Similarly, the Bible tells the story of Job's friends coming to visit him in the midst of his suffering. When they realised the full extent of their friend's plight, they were so saddened that they sat with him for three days- and said absolutely nothing. They knew that there are some voids that words- however well-intentioned- can never hope to fill.
In the 24/7 world of 'info-tainment', however, there is simply no time for silence. One person's world unexpectedly shattering is another's breaking news.
"a cascade of cars, bobbing like rubber ducks in an endless bathtub..."
These were just a couple of the statements used by solemn-voiced television reporters last Friday as the world's eyes turned to Japan. I am all for a turn of phrase, but when juxtaposed against images of a terrible tragedy, the words just seemed absurd and contrived. It was clear what was happening, we get it, was there really a need to put on this kind of literary-style commentary as well, just in case we missed something?
As my uncle and I flicked through the channels, the lines between reality and fantasy appeared to blur. The visuals had taken on the look of a mid-budget Hollywood production. Ground shots, aerial shots, shots from the inside of a building, from under a desk. And the commentary seemed to get more and more ridiculous. "You've seen this view" they seemed to say, "but have you seen this one? How about this one?", and on it went.
Finally, we stopped at one particular channel. And we looked at each other in amazement. There was no commentary. In fact, there was no sound at all. All they had was footage, with a ticker at the bottom of the screen summarising the unfolding events. What else was there to say?
I remember a friend once telling me about an orthodox Jewish tradition where the only response to tragedy or intense grief is - silence. Similarly, the Bible tells the story of Job's friends coming to visit him in the midst of his suffering. When they realised the full extent of their friend's plight, they were so saddened that they sat with him for three days- and said absolutely nothing. They knew that there are some voids that words- however well-intentioned- can never hope to fill.
In the 24/7 world of 'info-tainment', however, there is simply no time for silence. One person's world unexpectedly shattering is another's breaking news.
Friday, March 04, 2011
Last week I learnt...
That saying hello to a bird (a real bird, with feathers and wings and things) and having it say hello back is ridiculously satisfying. Especially when you didn't know it was the sort of bird that did that.
Me to friend: I've always had a way with birds. They get me.
Friend to me: That's cos you're on the same wavelength, birdbrain.
Yup, walked into that one.
Me to friend: I've always had a way with birds. They get me.
Friend to me: That's cos you're on the same wavelength, birdbrain.
Yup, walked into that one.
And the Aaascar goes to...
Meanwhile, away from the cricket field, it was a close contest between Aishwarya Rai and Mallika Sherawat this week for the Outstanding American Accent Award.
In the end, though, it was Mallika all the way.
It's Baallywood, baby...!
In the end, though, it was Mallika all the way.
It's Baallywood, baby...!
http://movies.ndtv.com/playvideo.aspx?id=192183&type=oscars
(Please click the link; I insist.)
Saturday, February 26, 2011
The strange case of Shanthakumaran Sreesanth
As much as I don't want to seem like I’m defending him, it appears these days the guy just can't catch a break. You know things are messed up when your own teammates - including your captain - start slagging you off to the press. His reputation, while entirely of his own making, now well and truly precedes him.
While there is no doubt that he needs to tone the aggro down *several* notches, by trying to beat him into submission the team management risk throwing him off his entire game. Trouble is, that way, nobody wins. He will go the same way as Irfan Pathan (albeit for slightly different reasons) and Team India will end up losing their best swing bowling hope since, well, Irfan Pathan.
And let's be honest, how many fast bowlers have there been that aren't at least slightly nuts? Akhtar? Check. McGrath? (more cold-blooded assassin than all-out nutcase, but still- check.) Donald? Check. Almost every insanely quick West Indian? Check.
When he's not making psychiatrists reach for their notebooks, Sreesanth is (according to Wikipedia) a student of psychology himself. Maybe that will help sort himself out.
Didn't work for me, but you never know.
While there is no doubt that he needs to tone the aggro down *several* notches, by trying to beat him into submission the team management risk throwing him off his entire game. Trouble is, that way, nobody wins. He will go the same way as Irfan Pathan (albeit for slightly different reasons) and Team India will end up losing their best swing bowling hope since, well, Irfan Pathan.
And let's be honest, how many fast bowlers have there been that aren't at least slightly nuts? Akhtar? Check. McGrath? (more cold-blooded assassin than all-out nutcase, but still- check.) Donald? Check. Almost every insanely quick West Indian? Check.
When he's not making psychiatrists reach for their notebooks, Sreesanth is (according to Wikipedia) a student of psychology himself. Maybe that will help sort himself out.
Didn't work for me, but you never know.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
This time
This time, we hope the exploits of 1983 will finally be equaled.
This time, we hope the shame of 1996 may be cast aside.
This time, we hope the disappointment of 2003 will be forgotten.
This time, we hope the ghosts of 2007 will be exorcised.
This time, we hope the image of Sachin Tendulkar holding the World cup aloft under a floodlit Mumbai sky will be the defining image of our times; and that our kids will grow up with it rubber-stamped on their minds, like Kapil's image on ours.
This time. We hope. Again.
This time, we hope the shame of 1996 may be cast aside.
This time, we hope the disappointment of 2003 will be forgotten.
This time, we hope the ghosts of 2007 will be exorcised.
This time, we hope the image of Sachin Tendulkar holding the World cup aloft under a floodlit Mumbai sky will be the defining image of our times; and that our kids will grow up with it rubber-stamped on their minds, like Kapil's image on ours.
This time. We hope. Again.
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
The Good Stuff
My favourite family trip is one we didn't actually go on.
And I mean that literally, not as a mildly philosophical reflection. The year was 2004. We arrived at the train station to travel to a wedding the next day, with a few days of holiday added on. For a change, we were an hour early. For those who know us well, that would have come as a particularly surprising bit of detail. Yes, you read that right: we were an hour early. So we found a bench, watched mice run along the tracks, and chatted till our train arrived. It was 10 pm.
When the train pulled in, it was mostly dark, and the only people stirring were the ones about to get off. Everyone else was comfortably asleep, even the passengers in our berths. We checked the numbers again and, yes, they were definitely our berths (who were these people? not just sitting in our seats, sleeping in them!) So as my dad and I proceeded to gently prod them to life while also moaning about the state of the Indian Railways (which, we both agreed, suffered from the same problem as the rest of the country- i.e. a worrying lack of berth control), somebody checked the passenger list stuck beside the door. Our names weren't on there. Surely there was some mistake? Maybe this was the wrong carriage? Checked again, not on there. And so off we got, before waking up any more passengers - sleeping peacefully in their rightful seats- for no reason whatsoever.
And there we stood, huddled around a sheet of dot matrix printed paper stuck to a train that was about to pull away into the night, wondering how not even one of our five names were on there. Surely this new computerised system wasn’t that bad? We looked at the tickets again. And this time checked the date. And then the date on the screen above. Our tickets were for the previous day. We hadn't been one hour early. We were 23 hours late.
Still, looking back at it now, there was something about those sixty minutes spent at the train station and the approximately sixty seconds spent on the train. Sure, we were going to miss the wedding. And of course, we couldn't really tell people exactly why we were going to miss it (at least, not for another seven years, after which I was going to put it up on this blog, and even then it's not like anyone’s going to actually read it on here).
But the fact remained that we had just found ourselves in a ridiculous situation. Together. And despite the fact that family life is, for the most part, a series of ridiculous situations, this was a shared experience that we were unlikely to forget. Which is just as well, because the five of us have never been together on a railway platform since.
Point is, sometimes the stuff you think is getting in the way of good stuff is the good stuff. I suspect that even my mum, who had inadvertently booked our tickets for the previous day, will smile every time she thinks of this. And so will the rest of us.
Wedding or no wedding, that's the kind of thing you just can't put a price on.
And I mean that literally, not as a mildly philosophical reflection. The year was 2004. We arrived at the train station to travel to a wedding the next day, with a few days of holiday added on. For a change, we were an hour early. For those who know us well, that would have come as a particularly surprising bit of detail. Yes, you read that right: we were an hour early. So we found a bench, watched mice run along the tracks, and chatted till our train arrived. It was 10 pm.
When the train pulled in, it was mostly dark, and the only people stirring were the ones about to get off. Everyone else was comfortably asleep, even the passengers in our berths. We checked the numbers again and, yes, they were definitely our berths (who were these people? not just sitting in our seats, sleeping in them!) So as my dad and I proceeded to gently prod them to life while also moaning about the state of the Indian Railways (which, we both agreed, suffered from the same problem as the rest of the country- i.e. a worrying lack of berth control), somebody checked the passenger list stuck beside the door. Our names weren't on there. Surely there was some mistake? Maybe this was the wrong carriage? Checked again, not on there. And so off we got, before waking up any more passengers - sleeping peacefully in their rightful seats- for no reason whatsoever.
And there we stood, huddled around a sheet of dot matrix printed paper stuck to a train that was about to pull away into the night, wondering how not even one of our five names were on there. Surely this new computerised system wasn’t that bad? We looked at the tickets again. And this time checked the date. And then the date on the screen above. Our tickets were for the previous day. We hadn't been one hour early. We were 23 hours late.
Still, looking back at it now, there was something about those sixty minutes spent at the train station and the approximately sixty seconds spent on the train. Sure, we were going to miss the wedding. And of course, we couldn't really tell people exactly why we were going to miss it (at least, not for another seven years, after which I was going to put it up on this blog, and even then it's not like anyone’s going to actually read it on here).
But the fact remained that we had just found ourselves in a ridiculous situation. Together. And despite the fact that family life is, for the most part, a series of ridiculous situations, this was a shared experience that we were unlikely to forget. Which is just as well, because the five of us have never been together on a railway platform since.
Point is, sometimes the stuff you think is getting in the way of good stuff is the good stuff. I suspect that even my mum, who had inadvertently booked our tickets for the previous day, will smile every time she thinks of this. And so will the rest of us.
Wedding or no wedding, that's the kind of thing you just can't put a price on.
Saturday, February 05, 2011
Your moment is waiting, honest
This is the latest film by Kerala Tourism to promote God's Own Country which i came across at some point last year and I stumbled upon again a few days ago. I'm still not sure what i think about it though. It's clearly an ambitious attempt to depart from the cliched coconuts-ayurveda-backwaters formula, but I suspect God himself might struggle to recognise his country as depicted in this super-slick art-house production.
And if He is (for argument's sake) scratching his head over this one, what will the average western traveller, at whom this campaign is presumably aimed, make of some of the images? Or is there an exclusive group of theatre-going, gin and tonic-drinking travellers out there who will 'get' this kind of thing? I don't know. Have a look for yourself.
As for me, I can't get past the whiff of dull sophistication. Maybe i just miss the coconuts.
And if He is (for argument's sake) scratching his head over this one, what will the average western traveller, at whom this campaign is presumably aimed, make of some of the images? Or is there an exclusive group of theatre-going, gin and tonic-drinking travellers out there who will 'get' this kind of thing? I don't know. Have a look for yourself.
As for me, I can't get past the whiff of dull sophistication. Maybe i just miss the coconuts.
Time to start writing... (again)
This week's motivation to get off of my hindside and do something came from a blog post from Seth Godin. If you haven't heard of him, you should check him out at http://sethgodin.typepad.com/
--------------------------------
In and out
That's one of the most important decisions you'll make today.
How much time and effort should be spent on intake, on inbound messages, on absorbing data... and how much time and effort should be invested in output, in creating something new.
There used to be a significant limit on available intake. Once you read all the books in the college library on your topic, it was time to start writing.
Now that the availability of opinions, expertise and email is infinite, I think the last part of that sentence is the most important:
Time to start writing.
Or whatever it is you're not doing, merely planning on doing.
--------------------------------
There's a lot of things I'm merely planning on doing, but i think at this point writing is pretty high up on the list. So, thanks, Mr. Godin.
I'd better get on with it now.
--------------------------------
In and out
That's one of the most important decisions you'll make today.
How much time and effort should be spent on intake, on inbound messages, on absorbing data... and how much time and effort should be invested in output, in creating something new.
There used to be a significant limit on available intake. Once you read all the books in the college library on your topic, it was time to start writing.
Now that the availability of opinions, expertise and email is infinite, I think the last part of that sentence is the most important:
Time to start writing.
Or whatever it is you're not doing, merely planning on doing.
--------------------------------
There's a lot of things I'm merely planning on doing, but i think at this point writing is pretty high up on the list. So, thanks, Mr. Godin.
I'd better get on with it now.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Dear Sun
This morning I watched your desperate fight to emerge from between the clouds. It appears your months of being stifled and smothered into submission are almost at an end.
I applaud your efforts to rise up against those caped and hooded villains of winter. We missed you and hope that you continue to wage the battle that we all, in some way or another, wage every day.
Take comfort from the fact that history and poetry, to name but two things, are on your side. Just like evil is eventually vanquished by good, darkness is always overcome by light. Your victory is in sight.
So rise and shine already.
I applaud your efforts to rise up against those caped and hooded villains of winter. We missed you and hope that you continue to wage the battle that we all, in some way or another, wage every day.
Take comfort from the fact that history and poetry, to name but two things, are on your side. Just like evil is eventually vanquished by good, darkness is always overcome by light. Your victory is in sight.
So rise and shine already.
Saturday, January 08, 2011
** News Flash **
Due to a fortuitous and heady combination of intent and new internet, this blog is coming out of retirement for one last shot at greatness.
Please bear with me while I take calls from my agents, publicists and an expectant public. Normal serice will resume soon after.
In the meantime, bookmark, sign-up, subscribe. At the very least, let out a little whoop. All together now...
Happy New Year.
Please bear with me while I take calls from my agents, publicists and an expectant public. Normal serice will resume soon after.
In the meantime, bookmark, sign-up, subscribe. At the very least, let out a little whoop. All together now...
Happy New Year.
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