"UOMINI and Donne. That’s all the signs on the door said- “Uomini” on one door, “Donne” on the other. A little context... I was traveling with my brother to the Sicilian town of Taormina. Chilled to the bone from a dip in the Ionian sea in October, I needed to use a bathroom. Prontissimo. The bathroom doors, however, didn’t have the universal pictorial label of the figure in the dress with narrow waist and broad hips to guide me. With just Uomini and Donne to work with, it was hard to tell. Don Corleone, many Dons gathering- Donne Corleone and Umbrizzi, I thought. And Uomini sounded female. With such irrefutable logic, and pressure on the bladder increasing, I was about to storm into Uomini, when I remembered Giuseppe Verdi’s La Donna e mobile”, the aria to women’s inconsistency. One fickle Donna, many capricious Donnes? I was stumped. ...."
To read it in all it's glory, go to http://epaper.timesofindia.com/
Select The Economic Times, Delhi edition.
Use your indiatimes login* and password to login in.
Click on ET Travel and read Isle beyond the TIP
If lazier, go to the html, picture-less version. but you'll regret it..
some reader reactions so far:
"ooh, look at it's an article by Ira Athale on travelling in eastern sicily! mm, i must get myself 3 of those babies"
and also
"hand me my lupari, guiseppe!"
*If you don't have an indiatimes login and password, create one at indiatimes.com. Then retrace the steps above, leaving out no detail, however unimportant.
March 22, 2007
March 18, 2007
March 13, 2007
Redemption song
Sometimes, you treat a loved one very badly. Then you regret it deeply and in a heartfelt manner. Most of the regret is selfish, "How will i get on without you?"
This is especially true when the maltreated object (MO) is your car.
The MO is carefully driven through the gates of the automotive repair shop. If it spluttering and grimy, you carefully avoid meeting the eyes of the any of the makaniks. The car is deposited, emptied of music, bills, funky yellow cushions with a 3-d dog in a skirt on them (they won't believe me till i post a picture of the f. y. pooch cushion) and a hosepipe.
A day later you traipse into the zentrum, free of that hangdog look you had earlier. You may even whistle, though this is foolhardy. They might just decide they don't like your attitude, and hand you one of those Heathrow clear plastic bags with the knob of the gear stick and part of the indicator light thingummy leverbob.
But oh the joy when the car rolls out! If it had teeth, it would smile cheekily and they would glint in the sunlight! (This blobber doesn't have much mechanical aptitude, knowledge or common sense, does she?)
You expansively sign the bill and tut tut in a friendly manner at a grimy spot on the door, but are willing to overlook it this time.
Right then, you could drive into the desert as the sun sets, as they tend to do in car adverts, and it would actually make sense.
This is especially true when the maltreated object (MO) is your car.
The MO is carefully driven through the gates of the automotive repair shop. If it spluttering and grimy, you carefully avoid meeting the eyes of the any of the makaniks. The car is deposited, emptied of music, bills, funky yellow cushions with a 3-d dog in a skirt on them (they won't believe me till i post a picture of the f. y. pooch cushion) and a hosepipe.
A day later you traipse into the zentrum, free of that hangdog look you had earlier. You may even whistle, though this is foolhardy. They might just decide they don't like your attitude, and hand you one of those Heathrow clear plastic bags with the knob of the gear stick and part of the indicator light thingummy leverbob.
But oh the joy when the car rolls out! If it had teeth, it would smile cheekily and they would glint in the sunlight! (This blobber doesn't have much mechanical aptitude, knowledge or common sense, does she?)
You expansively sign the bill and tut tut in a friendly manner at a grimy spot on the door, but are willing to overlook it this time.
Right then, you could drive into the desert as the sun sets, as they tend to do in car adverts, and it would actually make sense.
February 20, 2007
A Modest Proposal
For Reducing the Discomfort of Air Travel, as well as Making it Cheaply Available to those of Lower Income
It is a melancholy object to those who dizzily travel around the globe, to enter airports- those crowded structures far outside the city. Verily hath Douglas Adams pointed out that the expression "as beautiful as an airport" could not possibly exist.
And yet, most are agreed that the unsightliness of the airport and its Rs. 70 microwaved sandwiches are as nothing, when faced with the horror of a flight on a discount airline. The cramped space, the fixed smiles of rage on the faces of the staff, the interminable delays while seated on the plane with the A/C switched off.. And who has not faced the pain of the ears popping, or even worse, refusing to pop, as the plane descends?
Given this deplorable state of affairs, whoever can find an easy method of making air travel more comfortable would deserve a statue to be put up in public as the preserver of the nation.
But my intention is not only to add to the comfort of those already travelling, but to also increase the numbers of those who currently only aspire to travel, but cannot afford to do so, even on a budget airline.
I cannot claim to have spent years brooding on the topic. But if you, gentle reader, hear me out, you will agree that my suggestion is as worthy of approval as that from the weightiest scholar.
Every putative airline passenger is to be slipped a downer, mickey finn, barbiturate or tranquilizer; then led to a gurney and told to "lie back now ducky, good night sweet prince and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest". As the eyeballs roll backwards in the head, the contents of the gurney can be dumped onto a conveyor belt and sent towards the plane.
Strong men (the kind that wince and hide their valuables) could load the doped out dopes onto metal trays stacked one above the other. An adjusted tray-belt here, a crack to the outflung elbow there and the flight is ready for take off.
Assuming an airplane that currently carries 60 passengers, the craft would now be able to load more than twice that number. The only restriction would be the weight of the sleepy bodies. Given the reduced need for stewards, food, oxygen masks and seats with floatation devices below them, the increased numbers could be huge.
Opening up capacity in this manner would lead to a drop in fares, opening the doors (of perception too!) to the poorer populace with laced pop.
I would go further with the advantages but all this modest proposing (oh i'm nothing special really, but do be mine) has made me hungry.
Time for some "most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled ...”
It is a melancholy object to those who dizzily travel around the globe, to enter airports- those crowded structures far outside the city. Verily hath Douglas Adams pointed out that the expression "as beautiful as an airport" could not possibly exist.
And yet, most are agreed that the unsightliness of the airport and its Rs. 70 microwaved sandwiches are as nothing, when faced with the horror of a flight on a discount airline. The cramped space, the fixed smiles of rage on the faces of the staff, the interminable delays while seated on the plane with the A/C switched off.. And who has not faced the pain of the ears popping, or even worse, refusing to pop, as the plane descends?
Given this deplorable state of affairs, whoever can find an easy method of making air travel more comfortable would deserve a statue to be put up in public as the preserver of the nation.
But my intention is not only to add to the comfort of those already travelling, but to also increase the numbers of those who currently only aspire to travel, but cannot afford to do so, even on a budget airline.
I cannot claim to have spent years brooding on the topic. But if you, gentle reader, hear me out, you will agree that my suggestion is as worthy of approval as that from the weightiest scholar.
Every putative airline passenger is to be slipped a downer, mickey finn, barbiturate or tranquilizer; then led to a gurney and told to "lie back now ducky, good night sweet prince and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest". As the eyeballs roll backwards in the head, the contents of the gurney can be dumped onto a conveyor belt and sent towards the plane.
Strong men (the kind that wince and hide their valuables) could load the doped out dopes onto metal trays stacked one above the other. An adjusted tray-belt here, a crack to the outflung elbow there and the flight is ready for take off.
Assuming an airplane that currently carries 60 passengers, the craft would now be able to load more than twice that number. The only restriction would be the weight of the sleepy bodies. Given the reduced need for stewards, food, oxygen masks and seats with floatation devices below them, the increased numbers could be huge.
Opening up capacity in this manner would lead to a drop in fares, opening the doors (of perception too!) to the poorer populace with laced pop.
I would go further with the advantages but all this modest proposing (oh i'm nothing special really, but do be mine) has made me hungry.
Time for some "most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled ...”
December 08, 2006
More misheard lyrics
i try to say goodbye and i choke
try to walk away and i stumble
though i try to hide it, it's clear
i wore goggles when you are not there.
is apparently not what macy gray sang after all.
try to walk away and i stumble
though i try to hide it, it's clear
i wore goggles when you are not there.
is apparently not what macy gray sang after all.
November 07, 2006
shom shom shom shamosha sha
those of you who have seen Tehelka will of course remember amrish puri twirling his pigtail in delighted-maniac fashion while proclaiming, "dong kabhi wrong nahin hota"
which is one way of saying, i've been away, but i'm back now, loyal readers. yay!
so preliminaries aside, here are things to do in when alone in panjim on a rainy gandhi jayanti afternoon.
admire the pretty colours of the buildings.
admire the cathedral, parks and floating restaurants, while reading shantaram and searching for bebinc.
which is one way of saying, i've been away, but i'm back now, loyal readers. yay!
so preliminaries aside, here are things to do in when alone in panjim on a rainy gandhi jayanti afternoon.
admire the pretty colours of the buildings.
admire the cathedral, parks and floating restaurants, while reading shantaram and searching for bebinc.
September 21, 2006
time to learn kannada
you go to a beautiful theatre that is run by punctuality and anti cellphone nazis. which is as it should be. you watch chekhov's "seagull" in kannada.
you do this when you don't speak or understand kannada but fancy your interpretive skills.
you take your granma along. sitting in the front row, you ask her, "ki gal e?"
and then reply "seagulleh".
with aplomb, naturally. its the only way.
be that as it may.
a sinking feeling manifests itself, when the preplay announcement is completely unintelligible, apart from "cell phone switch off madi"
a hush falls. darkness, velvety. coughs and shifting in the seat.
the play begins.
it is a dialogue heavy play. everything is obscure. men and women stomp around, declaiming angrily. granma and i are stoic and silent when a witticism is made. we giggle helplessly when something looks funny. such as when stompers declaim angrily in kannada, ending with a "blah blah .. maadtini, YEVGENY ANDREVITCH!" or "hau da, petrushka?"
quite.
a girl wanders onto the stage carrying a stuffed toy that looks like a dead duck. that, presumably is the seagull. it flops about in her hands the way stuffed toy dead ducks are wont to do. she pats its head and sobs.
the eyes glaze over.
in the interval an usher speaks to us in kannada and is quite bemused that we don't understand.
drowning our incomprehension in bondas and sambar, we ignore the warning bells and the play resumes. we are not allowed inside. we flop about like the seagull.
without understanding what the play was about, i somehow managed to spend an appropriately chekhovian evening.
granma and i return to borsht, vassily ivanchuk and the wolves howling.
you do this when you don't speak or understand kannada but fancy your interpretive skills.
you take your granma along. sitting in the front row, you ask her, "ki gal e?"
and then reply "seagulleh".
with aplomb, naturally. its the only way.
be that as it may.
a sinking feeling manifests itself, when the preplay announcement is completely unintelligible, apart from "cell phone switch off madi"
a hush falls. darkness, velvety. coughs and shifting in the seat.
the play begins.
it is a dialogue heavy play. everything is obscure. men and women stomp around, declaiming angrily. granma and i are stoic and silent when a witticism is made. we giggle helplessly when something looks funny. such as when stompers declaim angrily in kannada, ending with a "blah blah .. maadtini, YEVGENY ANDREVITCH!" or "hau da, petrushka?"
quite.
a girl wanders onto the stage carrying a stuffed toy that looks like a dead duck. that, presumably is the seagull. it flops about in her hands the way stuffed toy dead ducks are wont to do. she pats its head and sobs.
the eyes glaze over.
in the interval an usher speaks to us in kannada and is quite bemused that we don't understand.
drowning our incomprehension in bondas and sambar, we ignore the warning bells and the play resumes. we are not allowed inside. we flop about like the seagull.
without understanding what the play was about, i somehow managed to spend an appropriately chekhovian evening.
granma and i return to borsht, vassily ivanchuk and the wolves howling.
September 06, 2006
Savanadurga!
I will follow him
Follow him wherever him may go,
And near him, I always will be
For nothing can keep me away,
him is my destiny.
this was going through my mind as i heard snatches of "jhalak dikhlaja" while headed towards savanadurga on a balmy ganesh chaturthi.
you can approach sav-d from mysore road, turning off at ramnagram or the more direct way on magadi road. having tried both, i reccomend magadi road- undisturbed and serene. a treat if you're on a bike. or gunrally wandering around in a hemlet.
("ossifer, ossifer, she's calling it a hemlet!")
be that as it may.
sav-d is one of those looming monolithic rocks that karnataka does so well.
there's two rocks, karigudda - black hill
and biligudda- white hill, harder to climb and less frequented.
nandi at the top.
the walk up is steep but easy. so as you walk or clamber, you feel rather mountain goatlike. but if you sit on the slope, you start to slide down gently.
since it's a bare rock face, there are helpful arrows painted onto the rock. at the top though, the arrow painter had a bit of an incident. a set of arrows gently perambulates round a hollowed rock-formation. it circuitously leads you to a spot where several beer bottles have been smashed. the arrows then lead on towards a picture of hanuman on a rock, surrounded by dense undergrowth and a path that leads nowhere. hanuman has been garlanded and someone has helpfully stuck a plastic bag onto his hand.
"colombo duty free?" asked AC quizzically.
yes, quite.
Follow him wherever him may go,
And near him, I always will be
For nothing can keep me away,
him is my destiny.
this was going through my mind as i heard snatches of "jhalak dikhlaja" while headed towards savanadurga on a balmy ganesh chaturthi.
you can approach sav-d from mysore road, turning off at ramnagram or the more direct way on magadi road. having tried both, i reccomend magadi road- undisturbed and serene. a treat if you're on a bike. or gunrally wandering around in a hemlet.
("ossifer, ossifer, she's calling it a hemlet!")
be that as it may.
sav-d is one of those looming monolithic rocks that karnataka does so well.
there's two rocks, karigudda - black hill
and biligudda- white hill, harder to climb and less frequented.
nandi at the top.
the walk up is steep but easy. so as you walk or clamber, you feel rather mountain goatlike. but if you sit on the slope, you start to slide down gently.
since it's a bare rock face, there are helpful arrows painted onto the rock. at the top though, the arrow painter had a bit of an incident. a set of arrows gently perambulates round a hollowed rock-formation. it circuitously leads you to a spot where several beer bottles have been smashed. the arrows then lead on towards a picture of hanuman on a rock, surrounded by dense undergrowth and a path that leads nowhere. hanuman has been garlanded and someone has helpfully stuck a plastic bag onto his hand.
"colombo duty free?" asked AC quizzically.
yes, quite.
August 21, 2006
oh sicilia!
you're breaking my heart..
is what one hopes to sing after a trip to europe.
meanwhile hectic preparations are on. i have already started-a talking like this: bella italIA! buon giORNO! cappuCINO! cannaVARO!
while the hands wave about expressively, hitting the unwary, or the long-nosed.
this was my conversation style throughout the world cup. and very annoying it was too.
so i find myself delving into:
the lonely planet guide to europe- well thumbed and stained with that doener kebob from near the muenchen bahnhof, and eaten outside the compartment because of the delicately wrinkling nose of the austrian sitting on the opposite seat.
LP tells one where to go, how to get there and how to say "you have a daring taste in leather pants" in the local language.
neither here nor there- bill bryson's record of a trip to europe. droll, but he has an unfortunate tendency to conjugate travel as an irregular verb.
i am a connoisseur of life's experiences
he, she, it are tourists
they are hordes of wildebeest crossing the serengeti in shorts and disposable cameras
ladri di biciclette (1948) - almost a fable, with marxist overtones, they tell me. beautifully made, without professional actors and with a poignancy that makes you weep. especially weepily poignant is the child bruno. there's something about a poor child in a coat and shorts that gives me the weepies. through my tears, i did wonder why they couldnt just sell some of the coats and hats they were wearing...
throw in a rollicking tale of three englishmen bicycling around the schwarzwald, the adventures of herr professor dr dr moritz-maria von igelfeld and the stuttering emperor of rome and you find me ready.
avanti!
is what one hopes to sing after a trip to europe.
meanwhile hectic preparations are on. i have already started-a talking like this: bella italIA! buon giORNO! cappuCINO! cannaVARO!
while the hands wave about expressively, hitting the unwary, or the long-nosed.
this was my conversation style throughout the world cup. and very annoying it was too.
so i find myself delving into:
the lonely planet guide to europe- well thumbed and stained with that doener kebob from near the muenchen bahnhof, and eaten outside the compartment because of the delicately wrinkling nose of the austrian sitting on the opposite seat.
LP tells one where to go, how to get there and how to say "you have a daring taste in leather pants" in the local language.
neither here nor there- bill bryson's record of a trip to europe. droll, but he has an unfortunate tendency to conjugate travel as an irregular verb.
i am a connoisseur of life's experiences
he, she, it are tourists
they are hordes of wildebeest crossing the serengeti in shorts and disposable cameras
ladri di biciclette (1948) - almost a fable, with marxist overtones, they tell me. beautifully made, without professional actors and with a poignancy that makes you weep. especially weepily poignant is the child bruno. there's something about a poor child in a coat and shorts that gives me the weepies. through my tears, i did wonder why they couldnt just sell some of the coats and hats they were wearing...
throw in a rollicking tale of three englishmen bicycling around the schwarzwald, the adventures of herr professor dr dr moritz-maria von igelfeld and the stuttering emperor of rome and you find me ready.
avanti!
July 06, 2006
Agumbe!
remember swami and friends? mr. sampath- the printer? the man eater of malgudi, the painter of signs?
the Malgudi days series by Shankar nag was shot in Agumbe. and now i come to the heart of the matter. ladies and gents, i present before you- Agumbe!
(bows)
the cherapunji of the south, they call it, and you can see why.
the Malgudi days series by Shankar nag was shot in Agumbe. and now i come to the heart of the matter. ladies and gents, i present before you- Agumbe!
(bows)
the cherapunji of the south, they call it, and you can see why.
there's two delightful places to stay- the one above, and one run by kasturi akka.
contact them at: jenny bai (08181) 233085
kasturi akka (08181) 233075
Apart from looking at Malgudi memorabilia and the king cobra research station, what else can one do in agumbe?
- One can sit in a slowly darkening room with large windows, listening to the dripping of the rain on the roof, and the shuffling footsteps of the lil ol lady in white downstairs. while one reads about toru climbing down into the well. and eats jackfruit chipce. it's all delightfully chilling. except the jackfr. ch. they're yum.
-one can visit the jogigundi and barkana falls nearby.
-or go on a 7km walk down to someshwara village
its quite rewarding for the views and mistiness. and for the neer dosai and banana stuffed pooris called buns. it's always plural (buns, never bun) probably because no one in their right mind would want to have only one anyway. when you need to start walking and its raining heavily outside, there's nothing that passes the time quite like a plate teeming with bunce.
the drive back to shimoga is charming. but charming, i protest! there's the interlaced bamboo
the mandagadde bird sanctuary along the way and the elephant spa at sakkarebailu.
round it off with some paddu -stumpy looking idlies with sambar-to-kill-for. and avlaki mosru -pohe + dahi at meenakshi bhavan in shimoga.
pics by: andrea and AC
June 21, 2006
June 13, 2006
June 05, 2006
hapoos 2: the return of the evil dead
mangoes!
who needs 'em?
yes i know what i said a few weeks ago. something about mangoes and heaven.
verily hath the poet asked:
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
i AM large. i DO contain multitudes. and in a startling turn of events/ delicious irony i am also allergic to mangoes!
unsightly boilce dot the landscape.
even if it's not an allergy, but some horrid bacterial thing. it's the end of childhood, innit?
ichabod, ichabod,
the glory is departed!
who needs 'em?
yes i know what i said a few weeks ago. something about mangoes and heaven.
verily hath the poet asked:
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
i AM large. i DO contain multitudes. and in a startling turn of events/ delicious irony i am also allergic to mangoes!
unsightly boilce dot the landscape.
even if it's not an allergy, but some horrid bacterial thing. it's the end of childhood, innit?
ichabod, ichabod,
the glory is departed!
May 16, 2006
hapoos! how to eat an alphonso
take one hot summer day
get yourself to pune
stroll over to deccan gymkhana, the market. not the gym.
waddle past chitale bandhu, till you reach ingale bandhu.
remind yourself how you thought bandhu was a surname, and how you wished you were a bandhu, cos then chitale and ingale would ply you with pedhas and mangoes all day.
giggle.
explain to passing chunnu that ingale doesn't rhyme with single. and pimpalgaon is a village of peepul trees. not zits.
gaze about the ingale shop
cluck at the sight of straw baskets
watch while a minion removes a precious yellow object from the straw and holds it aloft, glittering.
see the rosy blush atop the mango
sniff
go to heaven
return to earth
sniff
continue heaven n earth perambulations
stop peramb.
inspect each mango in a basket
then buy a tokri of devgarh che alphonso
and a dozen payri
transport them home and brood over them
repeat for a few days
make aamras out of payri
eat remaining mango pulp on skin and koy
watch koy slide out of hands, arc lazily through the air, slide down (white) clothes and onto floor
chase slippery koy around kitchen floor
retire abashed
emerge in clean close for lunch
aamras
warm fluffy phulkas and ghee
use remainder for milkshake
use remainder for icecream
let a few days pass
place warm ripened alphonsoes in fridge
place warm irritable chillun of the house in bibs
remove mangoes from fridge and place before chillun
watch them fall silent (the chillun, not the mangoes)
slice them correctly (mangoes, not chillun) to ensure that everyone gets large slice, side slice and koy
_______
(description of deep golden colour of flesh, firm yet tender, aroma, teeth sinking in, intense flavour, a little juice dribbling down chin and other food porn)
sigh.
other honourable mentionce- langda, banganapalli and dussehri; panha from kayris, amba burfi* (i can't believe i forgot this one) granma's mango pickle, amrakhand*, murabba, aam papri, mango mojitos.
step away from the totapuri and no one will get hurt.
*from chitale
get yourself to pune
stroll over to deccan gymkhana, the market. not the gym.
waddle past chitale bandhu, till you reach ingale bandhu.
remind yourself how you thought bandhu was a surname, and how you wished you were a bandhu, cos then chitale and ingale would ply you with pedhas and mangoes all day.
giggle.
explain to passing chunnu that ingale doesn't rhyme with single. and pimpalgaon is a village of peepul trees. not zits.
gaze about the ingale shop
cluck at the sight of straw baskets
watch while a minion removes a precious yellow object from the straw and holds it aloft, glittering.
see the rosy blush atop the mango
sniff
go to heaven
return to earth
sniff
continue heaven n earth perambulations
stop peramb.
inspect each mango in a basket
then buy a tokri of devgarh che alphonso
and a dozen payri
transport them home and brood over them
repeat for a few days
make aamras out of payri
eat remaining mango pulp on skin and koy
watch koy slide out of hands, arc lazily through the air, slide down (white) clothes and onto floor
chase slippery koy around kitchen floor
retire abashed
emerge in clean close for lunch
aamras
warm fluffy phulkas and ghee
use remainder for milkshake
use remainder for icecream
let a few days pass
place warm ripened alphonsoes in fridge
place warm irritable chillun of the house in bibs
remove mangoes from fridge and place before chillun
watch them fall silent (the chillun, not the mangoes)
slice them correctly (mangoes, not chillun) to ensure that everyone gets large slice, side slice and koy
_______
(description of deep golden colour of flesh, firm yet tender, aroma, teeth sinking in, intense flavour, a little juice dribbling down chin and other food porn)
sigh.
other honourable mentionce- langda, banganapalli and dussehri; panha from kayris, amba burfi* (i can't believe i forgot this one) granma's mango pickle, amrakhand*, murabba, aam papri, mango mojitos.
step away from the totapuri and no one will get hurt.
*from chitale
May 02, 2006
this works on many levels
wanted to go rappelling this weekend. but the crowd was unfamiliar. and i prefer to go alone.
y'know, i'm not a social climber.
y'know, i'm not a social climber.
April 28, 2006
splat! - the transcript
me: i was traumatised by bubble gum bubbles as a chile
the blob says: i wasn't. parents wouldn't let us touch bubblegum
i say: (does it want to hear my story or is it going patter on about its own life?)
the blob says: (you patter. your turn.)
: (jupatter)
: (jupiter)
: (said the German)
: (be that as it may...)
: (we are all ears.)
i say: (after having patrick pattersoned to your heart's content)
i: so tehre i was, in calcutta
: a wee tot
the blob says: (that was a strange man)
i say: 5-6 years old
:(why?)
the blob says: (oh, that was Gladstone Small. sorry.)
i say: had never eaten bubble gumb before
:(i love calling people gladstone small!)
:(i'm going to call you gladstone small now!)
: so there were these neighbourhood kids
the blob says: (now she's announcing her insults?)
i say: brother's age
:(shh, gladdie)
the blob says: that ineffable age
i say: when they found out i'd never blown a bubble
: they gave me some "chingum"
: and asked me to chew
: i chewed, shrewdly
: and shrewd, chewedly
:then there was that whole complicated technique of blowing the bubble which i couldnt master
:once, the whole wad went flying through teh air
the blob says: heh
i say: so then tehy said (in silken tones)
the blob says: as you goggled at it
i say: this is the easy way
: took chewed gum
:stretched it over my mouth and told me to blow
the blob says: you've indubitably spent time amidst the most interesting people
i say: so it was a stretchy membrane over my mouth
the blob says: (mit silken tones. i don't think i've spent any time with anyone with silken tones)
the blob says: ew
i say: but i couldnt even ohfrabjousdaycalloohcalay
: cos there was chingum over my mouth
: and chestnuts in my hand. so when they asked me why i had chingum on my face, i said they were chestnuts, not chingum. and in my hand, not on my face. but (sigh) they couldn't understand what i was saying, cos i had chingum on my face.
: and then, having tired of this game
: they ripped it off my face
:(luckily the moustache wasnt in evidence then)
: and made a chingum necklace
: which i then put on
: many were the bitter tears i shed
: while trying to remove my chewedup jewellery
:and i still cant blow a bubble
:(and i NEVER chew gum to this day)
the blob says: i wasn't. parents wouldn't let us touch bubblegum
i say: (does it want to hear my story or is it going patter on about its own life?)
the blob says: (you patter. your turn.)
: (jupatter)
: (jupiter)
: (said the German)
: (be that as it may...)
: (we are all ears.)
i say: (after having patrick pattersoned to your heart's content)
i: so tehre i was, in calcutta
: a wee tot
the blob says: (that was a strange man)
i say: 5-6 years old
:(why?)
the blob says: (oh, that was Gladstone Small. sorry.)
i say: had never eaten bubble gumb before
:(i love calling people gladstone small!)
:(i'm going to call you gladstone small now!)
: so there were these neighbourhood kids
the blob says: (now she's announcing her insults?)
i say: brother's age
:(shh, gladdie)
the blob says: that ineffable age
i say: when they found out i'd never blown a bubble
: they gave me some "chingum"
: and asked me to chew
: i chewed, shrewdly
: and shrewd, chewedly
:then there was that whole complicated technique of blowing the bubble which i couldnt master
:once, the whole wad went flying through teh air
the blob says: heh
i say: so then tehy said (in silken tones)
the blob says: as you goggled at it
i say: this is the easy way
: took chewed gum
:stretched it over my mouth and told me to blow
the blob says: you've indubitably spent time amidst the most interesting people
i say: so it was a stretchy membrane over my mouth
the blob says: (mit silken tones. i don't think i've spent any time with anyone with silken tones)
the blob says: ew
i say: but i couldnt even ohfrabjousdaycalloohcalay
: cos there was chingum over my mouth
: and chestnuts in my hand. so when they asked me why i had chingum on my face, i said they were chestnuts, not chingum. and in my hand, not on my face. but (sigh) they couldn't understand what i was saying, cos i had chingum on my face.
: and then, having tired of this game
: they ripped it off my face
:(luckily the moustache wasnt in evidence then)
: and made a chingum necklace
: which i then put on
: many were the bitter tears i shed
: while trying to remove my chewedup jewellery
:and i still cant blow a bubble
:(and i NEVER chew gum to this day)
April 24, 2006
hum bhi agar bacche hote..
hum bhi agar bachhe hote
Naam hamara hota bubloo gubloo
khane ko milte laddu
aur duniya kehtee
heppy budday to you
Naam hamara hota bubloo gubloo
khane ko milte laddu
aur duniya kehtee
heppy budday to you
April 18, 2006
the worst way to start a post
is with the words-
"you know what i REALLY hate about.."
it's whiney.
and boring.
and it's usually followed by "now don't get me wrong. i'm as tolerant as the next girl. but when it comes to.. "
be that as it may.
you know what i REALLY hate about going to a public bathroom? it's having people constantly turn the handle to try to get in. repeatedly. as if they expect that the inmate will have slipped through a warp in the space time continuum. and the bathroom will be theirs. forever. muahahaha.
now don't get me wrong. i'm as tolerant as the next intolerant girl. bathroom emergencies happen. they are a part of life. universal. verily hath the poet said:
breathes there a man with soul so dead
who never to himself hath said
..
the rest of the pome is not about bathroom emergencies. but you do see where i'm going with this?
so if it 'twere a b. emerg. say so! pound on the door! shout it out! we will evacuate the building.
but (and this is where it gets cunning) this happened to me in a gym bathroom. there's only one of them and it's primarily for clothes-changing. there are a myriad normal bathrooms right outside the gym. they're flushing themselves while waiting for your patronage.
so it's sheer impatience, innit? and the bathroom door handle jiggler, once done with the gym, no doubt gets behind the wheel and in traffic at a signal, with no traffic moving, unbuckles the seatbelt. gets up. and SITS on the horn. awaiting more sp. t. cont. warps.
what to do with such a person?
and what to do with the blogger who complains so much?
bastinadoes. and blueberry muffince respectively.
"you know what i REALLY hate about.."
it's whiney.
and boring.
and it's usually followed by "now don't get me wrong. i'm as tolerant as the next girl. but when it comes to.. "
be that as it may.
you know what i REALLY hate about going to a public bathroom? it's having people constantly turn the handle to try to get in. repeatedly. as if they expect that the inmate will have slipped through a warp in the space time continuum. and the bathroom will be theirs. forever. muahahaha.
now don't get me wrong. i'm as tolerant as the next intolerant girl. bathroom emergencies happen. they are a part of life. universal. verily hath the poet said:
breathes there a man with soul so dead
who never to himself hath said
..
the rest of the pome is not about bathroom emergencies. but you do see where i'm going with this?
so if it 'twere a b. emerg. say so! pound on the door! shout it out! we will evacuate the building.
but (and this is where it gets cunning) this happened to me in a gym bathroom. there's only one of them and it's primarily for clothes-changing. there are a myriad normal bathrooms right outside the gym. they're flushing themselves while waiting for your patronage.
so it's sheer impatience, innit? and the bathroom door handle jiggler, once done with the gym, no doubt gets behind the wheel and in traffic at a signal, with no traffic moving, unbuckles the seatbelt. gets up. and SITS on the horn. awaiting more sp. t. cont. warps.
what to do with such a person?
and what to do with the blogger who complains so much?
bastinadoes. and blueberry muffince respectively.
April 12, 2006
let he who is without sin stone the first cast
apparently, they're wailing, gnashing their teeth and throwing stones at vehicular traffic all over bangalore, because the "thespian", "dr"rajkumar is dead.
goondas!
lumpen elements!
i baked a cake yesterday that was a bit of a lumpen element.
goondas!
lumpen elements!
i baked a cake yesterday that was a bit of a lumpen element.
April 07, 2006
alfred hitchcock presents
alfie was really good at those hitchcockian moments.. in rear window, when jimmy stewart is sitting in the dark in his wheelchair and the baddie's* footsteps can be heard approaching.. and then jimmy can see the light under the door reduce..
(shiver)
marnie's got only one moment like that. when she's safe-robbing and doesnt see the cleaning lady. and then she does, and takes off her shoes and puts them into her coat pocket and tiptoes past. but (the horror, the horror!) a shoe is about to fall out of the pocket! you can see it edge out. she has no idea!
all the psycho babble in marnie apart, its so watchable because of its whole aura of a clean, well-dressed, slightly old-fashioned world. tippi hendren, sometimes credited as 'tippi' hendren, is always in suits with a gleaming bouffant and stuffing cash into her yellow leather handbag. and sean connery, who shurprishingly, he doeshnt shpeak like thish, is quite the hatted company big-pot. and there they are, watching horses race while a vaguely crafty sister in law watches tippi (or 'tippi') through the corner of her eyes.
that's the vag. cr. s-in-l's eyes. not tippi's. or 'tippi''s.
ohh, there's just something about hitchcock that takes you right back to the 60s, when men were real complex, strong jawed men, women were real tortured, spirited women and small furry creatures from Alpha Centuari were real small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri.
*i was 10 when i watched this. he was a baddie. humour me.
(shiver)
marnie's got only one moment like that. when she's safe-robbing and doesnt see the cleaning lady. and then she does, and takes off her shoes and puts them into her coat pocket and tiptoes past. but (the horror, the horror!) a shoe is about to fall out of the pocket! you can see it edge out. she has no idea!
all the psycho babble in marnie apart, its so watchable because of its whole aura of a clean, well-dressed, slightly old-fashioned world. tippi hendren, sometimes credited as 'tippi' hendren, is always in suits with a gleaming bouffant and stuffing cash into her yellow leather handbag. and sean connery, who shurprishingly, he doeshnt shpeak like thish, is quite the hatted company big-pot. and there they are, watching horses race while a vaguely crafty sister in law watches tippi (or 'tippi') through the corner of her eyes.
that's the vag. cr. s-in-l's eyes. not tippi's. or 'tippi''s.
ohh, there's just something about hitchcock that takes you right back to the 60s, when men were real complex, strong jawed men, women were real tortured, spirited women and small furry creatures from Alpha Centuari were real small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri.
*i was 10 when i watched this. he was a baddie. humour me.
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