twofers!

two for the price of one...

coral island; lord of the flies
who can forget j m ballantyne's coral island, where ralph, peterkin and splendid leonine jack are marooned on a deserted island in the south pacific?
a twisted version of this got william golding his nobel. (lord of the flies- beelzebub) lots of little kids are marooned on an island, and even as they plan to organize things, they begin to go over to the dark side..

candide; decline and fall
my favourite twofer.
i read decline and fall first and was isntantly charmed by waugh. instantly! what can you say about a book that has the school porter saying "I expect you'll be becoming a schoolmaster, sir. That's what most of the gentlemen does, sir, that gets sent down for indecent behaviour."
paul pennyfeather mirrors the troubles that voltaire's candide goes through. memorable for its scathing indictment (or so i thought anyway) of pangloss's "It is proved that things cannot be other than they are, for since everything is made for a purpose, it follows that everything is made for the best purpose."

more tenously linked:

dirk gently's holistic detective agency; the rime of the ancient mariner
make sure you read coleridge's rime and kubla khan, then read doug adams' masterpiece, then read coleridge again. and so on. until you too understand the fundamental interconnectedness of all things. and then please explain the end of dirk g to me, i still don't get it.

bridget jones's diary; pride and prejudice
bridget jones is prejudiced, mr darcy is proud, as are elizabeth and mr darcy. most importantly, colin firth plays both darcys, in the televised/filmed versions of both books. he's a natural darcy. stern, saucy and smouldering.

tchach! returning to the booklist, anyone have any ideas?

the coorgi moorgi returns!

alt title- leechy keen

went on one of those treks that are great to talk about, after you've actually completed 30 hour bus rides, leech attacks and biting cold rain.

yes, it was biting cold in the evening on the windswept slopes near the bramhagiri range. did a quick sweep of the irupu falls. nice, but after a mintute of gazing at gushing water and oohing, i'm usually ready to move on.

coorg was very green and monsoony. the sun rarely peeped out. it felt very familiar, as gaurav put it "almost entirely but not quite unlike mahabaleshwar". but without all the tourists. and with lots of coffee, pepper and arecanut plantations. there was even a sports club in a village we drove through, and i could almost swear it had a squash court. the famed kodava women were absent, and with the way it was raining, who could blame them?

unfortunately, larger forms of wildlife were absent too- we were really close to waynad and saw lots of elephant dung (scat/potty/ poo?) but the animals that were out in full strength were the leeches.

leeches to the left of us
leeches to the right of us
into the valley of death walked the brave six hundred

i shall now launch into a leech-filled post. the slippery lil guys would sneak up ones shoes and stick onto the shin, unbeknown to the shinnee. we werent carrying salt, but a form of perfumed tobacco to get them to loosen their grip and be flicked off. unfortunately, some of the leeches mustve been habitual smokers and were unmoved, even when i made them snort the baccy and rub-a-dubbed it into their skin. a whole lot of the trek was spent examining feet and ankles. my theory that leeches prefer certain blood types could not stand up to the smallest statistical sample and was discarded. my theory (and boast) that i was miraculously leech free came up short when i ended the trek and found huge rusty patches (blood) on my jeans.

(weak stomachs, exeunt stage from left. there's more gore)

some of the fellow trekkers took the whole thing very personally. would mutter "bastards!" in american accents as they threw the lil chaps off and tried to pound them to death. alarmed by their anger, i pointed out that leeches formed a part of the ecosystem and.. shut up because i got the same look the leech had.

it was strange to watch these slim creatures clamber up the shoe, attach itself, commence bloodsucking.. and then swell up mightily and roll off. the fullbellied leeches just lay on their backs, chillin'..

further leech tips from those who know:
wear leech guards
slice off leeches as they suck on you.. the blood apparently gushes out in a pretty fountain.
maharashtrian leech recipe- with sazuk tup (ghee) and all!

read up a bit on leeches in medicine- they were used for bloodletting as a remedy to most ailments from Hippocrates time to the 19th century, but the practise was discontinued when it was found to have small to negative effect on patients. but its now being used post surgery, as leeches thin the blood even after they drop off.

there's maggot therapy as well- to liquefy dead tissue and kill bacteria.

have you hugged a leech today?

(if yes, its probably still attached to your neck. go to a corner and bleed quietly)

crime and punishment

this has been the week of unprovoked attacks

was called a camel
speculation was rife as to whether i was a genetic mutation or not
and there's a rumour that i drove my car into an office vehicle

mee lard, yeh sarasar jhooth hai!
pandemonium in court.
old man in scratchy wig: aarder aarder!
chashmadeed gavahon ke bayaan ko sunkar yeh adaalat faisla kartee hai ki mulzim f.y. cannibal ko baizzat bali bheja jai.

as sting almost sang- you'll remember me, when the west wind moves, upon the fields of bali

since i'm in the dock, i confess that i am guilty of assuming that madonna sang
"last night i dreamt of some beggar", in la isla bonita.
got quite hot and bothered about that.
not objecting to her singing about the beggar, but at least dignify him by caling him "the" beggar, or "my" beggar.
careful relistening proved that apparently she was dreaming of san pedro.

off to push the arab outta his tent.

if the world all spoke esperanto..

would we have
philippine's cardinal jaime sin?
or
thailand's former miss universe porntip "bui" nakhirunkanok simon?
bui is not where i would put the inverted commas

cowed down

dok c spricht mit pizzash
dharmendra quotes ogden nash
but arty of bee ilk
knows not enough about milk
........................and how
to get it from the end of a cow

(see comments on previous posts to make some, but not much sense of this)

while on the bovine theme, i've noticed the streetcows in bangalore are of a different breed from the ones in pune. they look rather jersey. plump. not emaciated and unable to star in the opening shots of a foreign news channels reporting on india. i'd herd they were importing and crossbreeding, but to what extent? i've hardly seen the desi zebu at all. and they're known for their hardiness. what happens to in situ conservation of local genetic resources?

just read up a bit to clarify the difference between zebu, brahman and chicago bulls. my (possibly innacurate internet based) sources tell me that the zebu was crossbred in the u.s. to get the brahman variety. thereafter it was crossbred vigorously to get us
brahman + angus = brangus
brahman + shorthorn + hereford= beefmaster
brahman + shorthorn = Santa Gertrudis

beefmaster meets santa gertrudis in madison square garden tonight
but i'd rather watch some udder stuff.

slime on, you crazy diamonds

why are gay men called gay while the women are called lesbians? is that we see and expect to see witty, funny, smiley, gay, gaymen? while your average lesbian is always portrayed as a grim prison warden type?

i allus expect hippys to be happy. hippos too. and hoopoes.

the first in a series of random comments is below. no context or editorial comment, just verbatim what i genuinely hear on the street or sometimes think of myself and wouldnt it have been brilliant if someone had actually said it.

"an investor is like a hungry baby"

the butler did it!

on rainy afternoons, i am seized by the urge to sit in bed with a soft blanket, a bowl of chips (preferably budhani's cheese flavoured) and read a murder mystery.

i enjoy detective fiction, without pretending that its anything other than comfort-reading. one cannot always mortify the flesh with kafka, can one?
agatha christie frinstance, has so many prejudices, cliches and stereotypes thrown in, that i absorb without a murmur of protest.
but when i see that kind of schtuff ("ineffable twaddle!", as watson once remarked) on stage, i feel angry and cheated.

i just saw a play that i thought was terrible- i'd rather be poked in the eye while listening to britney spears terrible. the acting was poor. and the enunciation vos werry baad. and the chappie's attempt to seem mysterious and evil was for some reason expressed as an irritating snivel. if i was closer to the stage, i'd have thrown a hanky at him- blow your nose man, and continue! and (one last whine) they adapted the upper westside type lines and set the play in jayanagar. but forgot to tell the chap that noone wears suspenders in bangalore! again, if i was closer, i might just have snapped em.

but meelard, as they said in those 70s courtroom dramas, i've watched well acted and produced thriller type plays too (including the mousetrap), and not really enjoyed them.

does one need a movie or a book to suspend disbelief long enough to develop what is essentially an anachronistic, highly stylised genre?

ooh, beeg beeg words.
but i stand by my thesis.

playing with food

one should not, of course. but no harm getting a lil innocent pleasure while cooking, is there?

i have discovered that making egg curry is an auditory delight. you boil the eggs, make the masala, drink some marsala and pop the eggs into the onion and masala paste. as you flip the egg halves about, the squeaky noises begin. press the egg a bit firmly with wooden spatula and it squeaks even louder, kinda like a pet being tickled. (i dont own a pet, hence the innacuracy)
i would describe the sound as a "squinch", which'd never steal christmas.

today, mushrooms made the same sound. so either its the consistency of these spongy food items (though tofu was never so undignified and squeaky) or its my new pink booties.

let's just carry on then, shall we?

thimphu very much

whats the similarity between me and bhutan?
we've both lifted our tv bans.

no, it's not very witty, but it wasnt supposed to be. i was just pointing out that the dragon kingdom lifted its ban on tv in 1999. and i lifted mine yesterday. they started with local channels, and then included cable tv, as did i.

our reasons for the ban were different. king jigme wanchuk thought tv was a corrupting influence.
i think it converts the brain to pulp.

both of us let in the telly because of outside pressure, but had our reservations. (except he probably got a better table)

i'd love to visit bhutan and watch it as it changes- even now, everyone must wear the national dress, smoking is banned and instead of gdp, they measure gross national happiness. kingy decides the criteria for happiness.
besides, the capital is called thimphu! i'm just going to thimphu for a stroll. dyou know what they're saying on the streets of thimphu?

but if i go to madagascar, i probably wont keep mentioning the name of its capital- antanananrivo. or its president ravalomanana.

when working in DC, the envt minister of madagascar was to speak at a seminar and an "old africa hand" asked me how to pronounce his name. he was quite put out when i didnt know. i'm brown, arent i? then why didnt i know?

Summer holidays II: Son of a beach!

The second part of the holidays were spent on the konkan coast at a place called murud. not murud-janjira, but the murud further south, near harnai bandar.
i shall draw a veil over the initial family-run bednbreakfasty place we were supposed to stay at. lets just say searing heat and bathroom horrors and leave it at that.

so we moved to a more salubrious environ, separated from the sea by beach, dunes with some vegetation and casurinas acting as windbreaks. sitting on the oh-so-soft sand and casurina needles, in the afternoon with a book and a lil munchie from budhanis.. ah, that's the life.

another good time to be on the beach was at night- we had the full moon out in all its glory. forget bhaji on the beach, we had pinot grigio on the beach! it may perhaps have been a little better if we couldve cooled it, but even as it was, yumm!
what am i saying?? yumm? nobody says that about a fine italian wine! ok, let me go again. an inquisitive wine. unpretentious. shy, but with a hint of sterness. the kind of wine that would like listening to beatles and beethoven. would read georgette heyers and spinoza..
oh wait, that's not the wine, that's me!

the koli fishermen took tourists out on their boats to see some dolphins. the boat ride in itself was great- we rode the waves like a rollercoaster. knowing that there was no lifejacket or inner tube on board just made it more exciting. once we headed out onto the open sea, the engine was shut off and the only sounds to be heard were the put-putting of fishing boats at a distance and.. the breathing of dolphins! they bounced about at a distance, then came closer, flipped.. and breathed quite audibly. dont' wanna anthromorpho-disneyize them, but what happy animals they seemed to be!
i'll redeem myself with some d adams:

“It is an important and popular fact that things are not always what they seem. For instance, on the planet Earth, man had always assumed that he was more intelligent than dolphins because he had achieved so much -- the wheel, New York, wars and so on -- whilst all the dolphins had ever done was muck about in the water having a good time. But conversely, the dolphins had always believed that they were far more intelligent than man -- for precisely the same reasons. ”

won't blather on about bodysurfing, fish and crustaceans eating, sol kadhi and kokum juice drinking, ukdiche modak avoiding, miles jogging and sand in all my clothes and shoes -ing.. you get the general idea: beach, family, sun, food, good.

Summer holiday 1: Training day

cliff richards sang we are going on a summer holiday in the background as i took the train to pune.

hadn't been in a train for 5 years, so sat at the edge of my familiar blue rexine berth, waiting for the magic to happen.

and it did. age cannot wither it, nor custom stale its infinite variety.
there were people selling dal wadas and chai-chai ing as soon as i got in. even kela bhaji (unless i heard wrong). i went through meera syal's anita and me, and rushdie's fury..

and the naps i took! there's nothing quite as relaxing as napping on the upper berth of an ac compartment, when you know you're going to be away from work for a whole week.. you sleep, you read a little. then the gentle swaying of the train lulls you back to sleep.. perhaps a stroll at the next station and a pre-nap snack?

unfortunately, the return journey had teufelkinder in my compartment. they spilt water, played with the light and fan switches, stepped on everyone's feet, shouted at the tops of their voices, played with their mum's cellphone till midnight and in the morning it turned out that they were both bedwetters.
note to self: do not use railway sheets or blankies in future.

totally blame the parent though- her idea of disciplining the brats was to feed them chips, cuff them on the head or ignore their antics. the train trip was totally wasted on those kids. they didnt once try to walk from one end of the train to the other! or crisscross from one upper berth to another. or even play the railway station name game..

best of the best

cheekiest tshirt of the bangalore marathon:
my grandma runs faster than you

sunniest part of the race:
the treeless part near raj bhavan

least helpful comment from an organizer:
you're 1 km away from the end. almost.

most irritating war cry of the race:
go aditi go. go aditi go. this is half an hour before the start. where, pray, does aditi want to go?

moment of pune pride:
the full marathon was won by k.c. ramu from the army sports institute, pune

personal resolution at the end:
pune half marathon at the end of this year. goodbye sweaty masses, hello real running

and a good time was had by all.

olive oyl

why is olive oil always drizzled over food?
never smeared or sprayed. decanted or daubed. poured- forgeddaboutitt
drizzled makes it sound so light and healthy, like summer rain

the postman always rings twice

a parcel was sent to my old address. went to the hatchet-faced landlady to recover it. she stoutly denied i'd received any mail since leaving. stoutly.
then i cunningly asked "and the parcel?"
she broke down and confessed. there had been a parcel. from amreeka. but the name was wrong. (i stepped on her toes till she admitted that the wrong name was mine) so the postman took it back.

so then i discovered the post office in the area. no place to park, and its located practically under the dairy circle flyover, so stopping there was not an option. i tried not to feel very guilty about parking in the kidwai cancer hospital next door. but i paid and there was plenty of room and there seemed to be a large number of people taking siestas under the raintrees. so i felt better about the parking and worse about the cancer patients.

the postmaster directed me to a postperson who cross questioned me about the parcel. i stuck to my story about a parcel from amreeka. began to get ready to step on his toes, but he scurried away to look in three cupboards for my parcel. like mother hubbard, his cupboards too were bare.
then he explained that the parcel had been returned to sender. just like the elvis song.
so my pore parcel will have travelled quite a bit.

am wondering though, who pays for this? the indian post? but it's not their fault. u.s. post? why should they?
or the sender- sounds most likely. pay for it, or the parcel gets it!!

poor jenn, thats the last time she sends me an easter present.

ghosts of marathons past- part deux

the last race i ran was the pune international marathon.. run against aids. describing it makes mme want to start with the love story song "where do i begin, to tell the story?" and at this point the lyrics change dramatically..
the marathon was on in winter- a pleasant time to run in pune, apart from all that lowlying smog. the start was on the garware bridge, leading on towards lakshmi road. i wont quibble about the giant tshirts airtel provided us with. i wasnt planning to run in it anyway, but it would be nice to have it for future runs.
(sometimes it seems like people do things just to get the free tshirts)
so 7 am on garware bridge. we're running the "celebrity run". so we had mahesh bhupathi, anju bobby george and bobby anju george. kader khan appeared but did not run. having seen him, i can tell how michael j will look if he puts on weight and reaches a ripe old age.
a band begins to play. rather pleasing. then a loudspeaker is turned on, with recorded music. the band tries to compete. the loudspeaker wins and the band sulks.
a moment of grotesque horror is introduced by the larger than life size mascots who appear. they are in animal suits- one looks like a tall, emaciated garfield, the other are unrecognizable to me. grotesque because they are lanky instead of being cuddly. they wave an arm occasionally, in an attempt to dance and get the crowd moving. all the animal suits are grubby! makes you wonder what these mascots get up to in their off hours..
i'll skip the bit about shaan singing the aids song.. the wheelchair race is flagged off. meanwhile a few serious marathoners are warming up. a little later, all 20 of them are off too.
then 10,000 school children run (hence the publishitty that 10,020 puneites are running against aids).
all this time we're not allowed to move from our seating area. suddenly we're herded out and suresh kalmadi in a trademark blue suit and white sneakers sends us off, while rati agnihotri smiles and waves. i promptly get separated from my mother who was also running. so i cling to mahesh bhupathi, assuming that if there's a stampede, he's the first one they'll save. a tall white guy who looks like a bouncer gets me out of 'hesh's way. later i learn that he's not a firang bouncer, he's aditya pancholi (panscholi?). that does it, i'm never watching any more of his films.
it's still a lil chilly, but the crowd thins out as the first mad sprinters are already slowing to a hobble. we run up lakshmi road, while children wave and brass bands play. this is the best moment - i dont usually get this reaction when i run.
there's a right turn on the road to go towards nehru stadium, where our 3k odyssey ends. a blue suited chappie with sneakers, cap and whistle (marathon official uniform) tells me to keep going straight. i point, mutter but shrug and keep going.
a jeep passes us with 'hesh, bouncer and 'resh. they wave and smile. apparently the jeep picked them up 100 m from the start.
the legs begin to tire. 3k have never seemed so long before. we run over a slippery area where the 10,000 kids from before have burst water packets.
i see a sign saying kilometre 5.
then i see people turning back.
i too turn back and start walking/ jogging from 7 loves chowk towards nehru stadium. since this isnt part of the marathon route, traffic is all over the place.
everywhere i see the same baffled expression on people's faces: why oh why did we leave our car keys/cellphones/money behind?
it is less amusing to see people running the veteran's marathon- one i met was over 70 and running barefoot. no organizer is around to transport him or some 8 year old kids to the stadium, as the heat rises.
i finally stumble onto nehru stadium, from behind the finish line, an hour after the last of the people who managed to take the correct route.
dad and i then wait for my mum. knowing her, we expect her to finish the 26 miles.. she arrives half an hour later in a rickshaw. she'd run down CDA, main street, ambedkar statue, and to nehru memorial where theyd told her a nehru bus would ferry em back to nehru stadium. the bus was there but without instructions, his hands were tied. as a special treat, boiled eggs had been laid out for tired runners. after running 8k, in the sun, boiled eggs would exactly hit the spot, no?
anyway, we shrug off the whole thing, go off for breakfast. on our way home, we pass the real marathoners nearing the end. loudspeakers blast "karu nahitar maru" ("we will do or die") at them.
ahhh, so was there cunning plan to rid pune of its pesky celebritites?

Billions of blistering barnacles!

got my official blister for the Bangalore marathon today. high fives all around! dont wanna drive away my straggling readership, so shant ad nauseumate about the blister.
Am compiling bad running songs, the entries so far:

-Gloria Gaynor's I will survive
Ludwig says so. ludwig doesn't get the chick empowerment thing.

- Aaj jane ki zidd na karo from the monsoon wedding soundtrack
can you imagine trying to keep running, when all you wanna do is lie back under the stars surrounded by thumris, jhumkas and sleekh kebobs

-O'bladdy o'bladda
i love the beatles, but this song is not conducive to pacing yourself for the long haul. would make one want to gambol about like a puppy. and anything that reminds one of one's bladder is a definite no-no.

-Fat bottomed girls -Queen
no explanation necessary

violince!

this blog wasn't started with any definite purpose.. to stop it from being completely useless, here's a request for information:

does anyone knows of a place in bangalore where western classical instruction on the violin is provided? those suggesting the bangalore school of music and the place near the koramangala club, pliss excuse.

ghosts of marathons past -I

the bangalore international marathon is on may 15, so get out your running socks!

i'm running the 7k fun run. i refuse to be defensive about running a wimpy distance. 26 miles is not an option.

i was never a huge marathon fan. if you wanna run, just do it, why jostle and pay for the privilege? but having run a few major races i now get that whole group energy, sense of accomplishment thing.

the first time i ran as an adult was the cherry blossom 10 miler in washington DC. no, i didnt run 10 miles, i ran 5k. but it was early in the morning and first the wind picked up off the potomac. then the rain started to fall. i had some winter gear on, but i saw some poor saps in shorts and wicking-off-the-sweat tshirts who got simultaneously dehydrated and hypothermised.

highlight of the race- finished the 5k in about the same time as the first kenyan woman finished the 10 miles.

the legs were a bit wobbly afterwards, but i finished in the top 100 (size of entire group unknown) and stuffed myself with the bananas and muffins laid out in large quantities.

south of da borda

have been celebrating international tamil nadu week, ira-style. saturday was spent at hoggenekkal- a picnic spot in tn, 5 hours from bangalore where the kaveri goes through rocks and caves and films are shot on the waterfalls. the coracal (inverted dome shaped boats made of wicker lined with plastic and sealed with tar) boatrides on the river allow you to lie back and relax. or take a dip..
why though, must people (men) put shampoo and soap all over themselves while taking a dip in the river? i absolve localites of blame-if its their bathing spot, bathe away- but the day trippers who unwrap their lifebuoys and scrub away... leaving a foamy trail... why?

while in a line to get our boat under a waterfall, a nearby boatload of girls recognised me as their senior from good ole sms (st. mary's pune, smell my socks, school of a million snobs). we wouldve burst into the school song, but whatever i couldve remembered was pushed out of my mind by the pounding water.

behind the river there are hilly forested slopes that looked like they'd make a nice day's expedition, but we were too soaked from joy riding to explore.

i also made my first trip to chennai this week. word of advice- if you're taking a volvo- rethink. if you cant change plans- carry blankets with you. they provide the ill-equipped with thin lil shawls, and then they blast you with the a/c.
the journey was at night, rather dull, apart from the momentary excitement provided by an angry man who yelled at all the sleeping passengers "this man is drunk! do you people want a drunken lout in your bus"
silence from the disoriented passengers.
"oh, so you're happy to have a drunk on board"
all of us look a bit confused- are we really happy to have a drunk on board? do we care? what is our poilcy towards drunked roistering on the bangalore-chennai bus?
angry man, "oh by the way, he's the driver"
everyone sits bolts upright, angry man departs.

someone should do a comparative study of rickshaws. in chennai, they're very friendly, the rickshawallahs. will cheerfully charge you large amounts for short distances, while the meter serves as an art deco piece. i call them smiling assasins.
bangalore though, specialises in the surlier type of rickdriver. its probably the traffic that gets to them. and maybe they inhale a lot of lpg, since a lot of ricks run on it, and i can always smell it on the road. they whine, sulk and crib.
of course, since its been a while since i've been in a rick in pune, i picture them in starched cottons, driving along smartly, bathed in a halo of light, with a muted altaf raja number playing in the background.

i'm not fat..

..i'm big boned
..there's more of me to love
..the trees around me are too thin

and the boston creme doughnut goes to-- i'm not fat, i'm ruebenesque!

if anyone has better chubby put-downers, send em in!