shrutified

Chronicle of a Death foretold

2010-11-21T01:34:00.000-08:00

Pic courtesy: Nathan G

I revisited the place of my birth after many years earlier this week, courtesy of an assignment to cover the abduction and murder of two schoolchildren, and the subsequent public outrage and encounter of the prime accused. Thanks to our awesomely incommodious Tuesday deadline, I had just about a day to gather up interviews, and a day to whip out 1700 words. Which were whittled down by half here.

There were parts they left out that I considered important to the story, though. For instance, the role the media played in further whetting the public appetite for summary justice, as was borne out by the feeding frenzy which occurred every time the accused made a public appearance, and faced a seething crowd clamouring to lynch them. So I'm posting a few lopped off bits here:

On Rangai Gounder Street, headlines spoke of residents distributing sweets, and bursting crackers, declaring: “This is our real Deepavali, as the demon Narakasuran has been slain.” As the 1000-walas sputtered out, none of the celebrants ventured near the victims’ family’s home, which remained bolted, and silent. Jayanthi, a young goldsmith who lives in a small house around the corner says, “The media people came here the day after the encounter. They asked us if we were happy. We said we were. They asked if this was our real Deepavali. We said it was. So they said, well why don’t you burst crackers then? They bought a 1000-wala, put a matchbox in my hand, and said, ‘There, now celebrate!’” So the crackers and cameras flared up together, and Jayanthi was immortalised celebrating the “demon’s death” in a Tamil daily the next day. “I heard they also stopped a bus that was passing by and distributed Mysorepa, but I wasn’t there then,” she adds, with a twinge of regret.

[Politicians, with an eye on the May elections, joining in the public breast-beating]

Today, Rangai Gounder's narrow lanes are wallpapered with posters adorned with portraits of the two dead children, flanked by the ubiquitous teardrops, and a roll-call of incongruously grinning politicians-- the UPA, the Shiv Sena, and Congress MLA Kovai Thangam, who lauded the police action in the State Legislature. There are also motley groups expressing their commiseration through dubious poetry. “My heart is aching when I think of you,” goes one by Dalit Panthers leader Thol. Thirumavalavan. “My teardrops turn into flowers, and I lay these on your grave.” A poster by the ‘45th Division’ of common people says: “You’ll go with anyone who calls you. But you knew it was Yama, calling you, so why did you go?”

[Ire over anyone unwilling to "celebrate" the encounter killing of the accused]

On the same day, outside the District Court Complex in Coimbatore, 20 advocates protested the killing, with posters which declared: ‘Stop encounter culture’ and ‘The court should punish the accused, not the police’. The next day, posters and handouts around the area provided 9 of their names and numbers, exhorting the public to “teach these black sheep in black coats a lesson”, and to “show these monsters what human rights really is, in our own language, if they gather in a public place again.”

R Nikkolaus, an advocate and activist with People’s Watch, is one of the “monsters” the pamphlet wants to see punished. He believes it’s authored by the Intelligence wing of the police, but blames the media for the public’s loss of faith in the legal system, its appetite for summary justice, and its blind, emotional fury towards those who question it. “They’ve got to be neutral, but they go along blindly with the police version,” he says. “The Dinamalar website has a public poll: ‘What should be done with Manoharan, the second accused? 1. Encounter 2. Hanging 3. Life imprisonment. Vote and decide.’ How can they decide the culprit? But I won’t be surprised if there’s a story which comes out, saying he was found hanging in his cell.”

“It’s dangerous to allow the police to take on the larger than life role of cleansers of public morality,” concurs V Suresh of People’s Union for Civil Liberties, Chennai, who calls the encounter “fake at its worst” and “a cock and bull story”, says the police is functioning like a ‘katta panchayat’-- a system of parallel justice, granted by a local goon. “It’s only in these extreme crime circumstances do they come up trumps, otherwise no citizen is safe when they even go to a local police station to register a complaint.”

Dastardly Delhi

2010-10-21T15:56:00.000-07:00

Snapshot flashback # 2

2009-10-13T00:30:00.000-07:00

March
charge of the highlight brigade

April

May

June

My dream job...

2009-04-06T03:18:00.000-07:00

Llama-measurer...as illustrated by this delightful picture I came across in an FAO report:

Why?
Because:
1 there'll be no grumpy foul-mouthed demented horn-blowing motorists on the pampas,
2 I will be honestly and justifiably underpaid,
3 and my gently whiffling co-workers will be soft and furry.

Cudgels to canvas

2008-12-22T07:24:00.000-08:00

If you're inured to the stream of gushy, gee-whiz type of wondrously eulogic writing that art-reportage in India usually involves, the Guardian's searing Mr Searle has a sobering corrective for you.

Take for example, his slapdown of Husain, with a delicate swipe of the wrist:

If Husain were a western artist, it would be unlikely that his work would excite the kind of protest it has. His is an insipid sort of figurative modernism that doesn't appear to have developed much since the 1950s. [...] The paintings abound with a cavalcade of indeterminate gods, humans and animals. Mother Teresa and Gandhi are in there somewhere, as well as a moustachioed officer of the Raj, posing with a cuddly blue elephant and a dead tiger. This is as pointed as things get, so far as I can tell.

Puss moth

2008-12-09T05:29:00.000-08:00

1995 - 2008

When I'm back home in Madras, like a feline myself, I spend a lot of time prowling my friend's backyard garden. Much of this time is spent communing with her many cats, each of whom has a distinctly unique personality. There's Kali, with her lustrous black coat and flashing malachite eyes, who's as pliant and affectionate as a dog, and makes a regal descent from her favourite tree when she hears her name being called. There's biscuit-coloured Muffin, with fur as soft as felt, and a kinky bent ear, who revvs up his welcoming purr as soon as you're in earshot.

And then, there's stately, gracious Puss moth, with his whitened ruff and exuberant bottlebrush tail, who exudes warmth and well-being as naturally as a toasty little fireplace. Jean Cocteau said his cats gradually became the "visible soul" of his home. Puss moth was the animating spirit of the backyard, presiding over it from his cushioned throne. But today, he had kidney failure, and was put to sleep. RIP, dear Puss moth. My backyard jaunts will never be the same without you.

Snapshot flashback

2008-11-09T00:22:00.001-08:00

September

October

November

The leopard who changed his spot

2008-10-28T00:36:00.000-07:00

And finally got himself a little flat.

Benares

2008-09-19T01:17:00.000-07:00

I'd been looking forward to going to Benares for the longest time, and all the while, I imagined it would be all sonorous, echoing chants wafting over the intense burning ghats, with devotees dipping and bobbing into its murky riverbanks while corpses flickered and sputtered behind them. Sure, it was all this, but what I didn't count on was its other, less holy avatar: a giant big seething tourist trap with the generic yoga-massage-falafel infectation of all Indian tourist traps, and shops hawking cheap, limitless stocks of the hippie-on-holiday tourist uniform: om t-shirts and tatty fishermen's pants.

As an Indian non-Ganges banks-bobber, camera-wielder, and worse, accompanied by two white women, I presented rather a bewildering spectacle to the local populace. Was I a sophisticated high-class tout? A tourist guide? A masseuse? Or all 3? They made their own bold assumptions, which they shared with me in many an insulting greeting. The top 3 merry accostations I was hailed with: "Are you Indian!" "I think your parents are Indian!" And, said with hearty self-congratulation at their miraculous perspicacity: "I think you are Indian!" By the 543rd time I heard this one, I yelped back: "And I think you are an ass!" Another obvious disadvantage: my companions were irresistible tout-magnets. I'm now an expert on touts...their arsenal of overfamiliar pick-up lines, and the charming ways in which they try to appear coy and innocuous right before persuading you into visiting yet another scurrilous astrologer/ daylightrobbing silk counterpane seller who just happens to be around the corner.

All the same, I did manage to stray out into some non-tout-magnetic spots. I painted a mirthful mini-Gabbar Singh, was butted by a churlish cow, and assaulted by a monkey, who riffled through my bag, and, displeased with its contents, indignantly bit my trousers. Such fun! Some photos:

Obligatory sadhu-related opening photo

Buffalo Baywatch at Shivala Ghat

Clearly, the snarling roughneck villain of this episode

Snip+snip+snip = Grrr!

2008-08-06T01:55:00.000-07:00

I wrote a book review for Outlook Traveller this month, that leaked over the word limit just a teensy bit. Which might've still worked out fine, except in came a hideous selection of coffee table books that sprawled smugly and pastelly over my spot, nudging my defenceless gags out into oblivion. So here it is, intacto.

White woman, Dark Continent
Red tape and white knuckles: one woman’s motorcycle adventure through Africa
By Lois Pryce

A redhead with a self-deprecating sense of humour, Lois Pryce is a sort of bike-borne Bridget Jones; nearly intrepid despite herself. Why, oh why, she asks herself, does she choose to traverse the perilous African continent, “where the only news is bad news and the bad news never ends”? Why is she undertaking this exhausting 10,000 mile ride through 11 countries – from Tunisia to Cape Town – when she could happily swoon in the arms of Austin, her “wonderful companion and favourite person in the world”? And isn’t she woefully unprepared for the African sun, being as she is, white as a “Romanian vampire”? While she leaves the first two questions unanswered, she bravely tackles the third by taking a trip to a sun-bed.

Armed with her sparkly crash helmet, 225 cc trail bike and newly basted complexion, Pryce begins her journey in Tunis. She slogs across the Sahara with a troop of rally racers and across Algeria, Niger and Nigeria with a Belgian couple and their “gap-year philosopher” cousin. With quite remarkable courage, she then takes on the rest by herself. As she feared, her conspicuous status as “La Blanche” leads to her being preyed on by Africans with big dreams and meagre means, and assaulted by an assortment of unsavoury men, including a drunk fisherman, an albino tramp with open sores, and a one-legged Congolese custom officer who, upon luring her into a darkened hangar, dispenses her a leery invitation to sit on his stump.

Pryce’s narrative reads like an interminable dinnertime anecdote, recounted with an eager sense of humour and peppered with entertaining pop culture references. Lit up sheep carcasses in Tunisia resemble a Damien Hirst installation, predatory Cameroonian girls sport skimpy outfits that’d embarrass Jodie Marsh (a pneumatic British tabloid fixture known to regard strategically-positioned belts as adequate clothing), and the fetid exhalations of “ma chérie” by her amorous hobo suitor make him “less Charles Aznavour, more Silas, the mad monk from the Da Vinci Code.”

Based on a meticulously maintained journal, the book pays close attention to the tiniest, most exhaustive details: elaborate descriptions of the upholstery and churlish staff of numerous embassies, encounters with helpful, intrusive and amusing locals, an extended description of the frightening fare of God TV that she subjected herself to in a lonely hotel room and – a consistent refrain – her “painful longing to be wrapped in Austin’s arms”.
Some passages – such as how she was forced to surrender her prized packet of chocolate biscuits to a stoned, Kalashnikov-waving Congolese soldier on a rickety train – fairly thrum with fear and adrenaline. But much of the rest, alas, echoes her appraisal of a Niger truck driver, who was “more than happy to have a good moan in the ear of a stranger”.

Assorted bottoms

2008-07-21T23:46:00.000-07:00

Ah, expat parties. Where everybody around you natters on in Italian/French/Spanish while you smile uncertainly and search the room for fellow countrymen (usually sporting silky shirts, with devastating smiles trained on the foreign laydees) or just someone to exchange grammar-book pleasantries with. At the last one I went to, though, I chose not to acquaint myself with their faces at all.

I know, I's a social retard.

Caturday night

2008-03-31T08:30:00.000-07:00

BSF camels in Jaisalmer

2008-02-27T03:14:00.000-08:00

"Look, Jack, I'm flying!"

"Mwaaaargh!"

Sandy bits on your right: India, sandy bits on your left, Pakistan

Nyarrrgh! Come back with those rations! This hump doesn't fill itself, ya know

The famed pedigree Nachna camel.

Squirrels and nuts

2008-02-27T01:50:00.000-08:00

Was idly browsing through a defunct mail account I used to use 5 years ago, when I came upon some mails from an old would-be suitor. Squirrel Man.

A cheery chap with a swarthy-baby aspect, he used to be my classmate in one of the many patently pointless courses I took during my then-frequent stints of unemployment -- a break-neck course on editing, which, within months, sought to acquaint me with corel draw, illustrator, photoshop, image ready, authorware, director, and a strange 3-d software that seemed to do nothing but emit teapots, despite my most determined twiddling. Squirrel Man sat beside me many a sleepy morning as attacks of drowsiness jerked me forward, or had me squiggling off the book and on to my desk. Having chanced upon my mail id in the register, he began to send me some quite coy overtures, of which I now present you some excerpts..

dear shru,
only after coming back to my room it occured to me that you may be having some unknown doubts about the contents of my previous mail.what type of doubt it is.what that "message" you really intended to know from my mail.what that was?.let me know. Know onething about me very well.Things around me is so complex so that i cannot afford to keep anything hidden.If i try to do so then i will become so top heavy so that my head will fall down ultimately. There is no any hidden message.O.K. nothing more to add. eat very well.take care. bye for now. Your's, SM

Dear Dear Shru Shru,
I taking leave from the institute for 45 days and will be back on 20 th of May.But i will be in touch with you every 10 days once via e-mail.Actually I was thinking of asking you to come to the institute in the green salwar or the red one some day .You came ,iam also happy but in a jean.well it's O.K.atleast i had seen you.that's enough.
I will be in touch with you thro e-mail.O.K. The examination is a really demanding one .Be with me while i need to concentrate on my exam preparation.Clearing this exam will do a lot good for both of us. Take care of yourself.eat very well.you look bad than everbefore.you look thin,weak and what not, frail,bony etc.etc.Eat well. Your's, SM

Blessed Hunk wants to be your friend!

2008-01-12T05:23:00.000-08:00

HI.
ABOUT ME-- WHERE TO START-- ANYWAY --TRUTH 100% NOTHING BUT TRUTH -- I AM A AUDIO VIDEO PROFFESSIONAL, WILDLIFE FILM MAKER / ADVERTISING FILM MAKER. VARMAM (ANCIENT INDIAN ACCU PRESSURE) THERAPIST. ADVERTISING FILM MAKER. SPECALIST IN FOOD, FASHION, WILDLIFE,AND INDUSTRIAL PHOTO & VIDEO. ASTROLOGER / NUMEROLOGIST / VASTHU THESE THREE THINGS TO A CERTAIN EXTENT ALSO.. LIVING A HAPPY COOL SEXY LIFE.JUST TO ADD SPICE TO THE LIFE.AND HAVE FRIENDS FROM ALL WALKS OF LIFE. LIKE TO LIVE THE LIFE TO THE FULLEST IS THE
AIM.BASICALLY FROM POLLACHI OF TAMILNAD IN INDIA BUT NOW IN ANAKKARA NEAR KUMILY(THEKKADY WILDLIFE SANCTUARY) KERALA.

LOOKING FOR AND INTERESTED IN -U- A NO NONSENSE RELATIONSHIP WITH A GIRL WHO WANTS TO ENJOY LIFE TO THE FULLEST.. I LIKE THE RELATIONSHIP WITH U MORE THAN SEX AND IF BOTH OF US BECOME CLOSE AND FEEL COMFORTABLE AND HAPPY IN THE RELATIONSHIP THEN IT CAN GO FOR LIFE LONG.AND ALSO IF U WISH WE CAN BECOME FAMILY FRIENDS AND VISIT EACH OTHERS HOME IF U R INTERESTED.I PROMISE U WONT BE DISAPPOINTED.

ALSO I LIKE TO INFORM U TO CHECK WITH TWO NEW COMMUNITY IN ORKUT.COM CREATED BY ME TO INFORM SOME GOOD AND USEFUL INFORMATION FOR LIFE. THEY ARE CALLED AS --- KOKOGAM / ART OF LOVE AND --- VARMMAM / ANCIENT INDIAN MEDICS. PLEASE CHECK FOR YOURSELF AND IF YOU FEEL ATLEAST A BIT USEFUL POST IT AND ASK UR FRIENDS TO GO THRU ALSO.

THANKS.

Passive aggressive? Moi?

2007-11-21T07:20:00.000-08:00

1. For all the semantics-savvy smart-alecks out there: The Magritte comparison does NOT imply that my glass is indeed an ashtray.

2. Here is a deeply profound, utterly delightful discussion of the subject - art, pipes, paintings - with a yowling cat.

Around Madras

2007-09-06T05:15:00.000-07:00

On my recent visit home, I can't say I did much gadding about, and certainly no carousing (alas!). What I did do was go to Mylapore, which, along with trips to the sea and the croc bank (two pleasures that can most conveniently be had in one afternoon) are some of the things I most miss about Madras. Other than, ofcourse, the abundance of fantastic coffee at unfantastical prices.

Kid lounging about with newly weds at a temple in North Mada street

Why give cats a bad rap? See this curious dog peering into a home for juicy scandals. (No juicy bones to be had around Mylapore, as far as I know)

Phee!

Saturday night surprise

2007-08-13T00:10:00.000-07:00

How many of us have seen misreadings of our behaviour warp us into unrecognisable characters? Since, in my case, the readings usually tend toward sub-zero, I’m most surprised when a stranger - through a fleeting, impersonal interaction - is convinced they see in me some numinous specialness they're sole witness to. What follows is a meeting arranged on false pretences, the tension awkwardly ratcheted up till it culminates in a "Can I tell you something!" and a cringe-worthy declaration, peppered with the dreaded F-word that users of social networking sites will be familiar with.

Here's what happened. But to protect the bumbler's identity (I don't want the chap getting dooced for his superlative social ineptness), I'm telling the tale mad-libs style, and you're free to fill in the blanks.

One fine evening in ------ market, I chanced upon a glorious pair of ------ from a shop window. It so turned out they didn’t have my size, but could arrange for it from the warehouse and have it delivered to my doorstep. So later that evening, it arrived, with the helpful ------- and the manager.

Late, the following evening, I had a phone call from the -------- at the shop, who sounded distraught and requested to --------- me, as he believed he might have mislaid something at my house. I checked, and told him this wasn’t the case. But he persisted, saying he was perturbed and needed to ------- me. And, he added that he wished to ----------- a --------- of -------- from my hand. This seemed strange to me, but I was in the middle of an incredible graphic novel, cosying up with a glass of -----, so I couldn’t be bothered mulling over the issue.

So when he showed up, and I gave him the ------ he’d left in the box, he asked if he could ----------- in, as he was in a ------------ state. Once in, he looked around, gulped down the glass of water, asked for a glass of tea. Immense awkwardness hung above us as I waited glumly for him to drink up and beat it. “Can I tell you something?” he asked ---------. Go ahead. “Shruti, I ------- you. I see so many -------- in your house. I love --------! You live -------, so -------! What I want to know is: Can I make ----- with you?” Um... what is -----? I asked. I really don’t understand that word. “Can I finish this?” he asked, gesturing towards his cup of tea. Go ahead. (Gulp!) “Shruti, I am so ------! I have never been alone in a room with a girl before! I have not ----- like this about someone before! Can I tell you something? You won’t get -----?” Go ahead. “Shruti, I want to ----- you right now!”

Ok. That’s it. Out. Get out! “No, no, no, I say what’s in my -----, but I won’t do it. Oh, now I am feeling so ------! Help me, what I can do to feel more -----?” Well, you can leave! “What if I tell you I was only -----?” I don’t care! I was reading a great book! I was happy! It’s past ---- pm, I think you should leave! “Shruti, can I have a glass of water?” There was a bottle of ---- water on the table. ---- yourself, I said. He did. “Shruti, I am living very ---- from here. Can I ----- here for the ------?” That’s ----! Go. Please. Now. “Ok, Ok, you cant take a ---- or what?” Good night.

Surprise gift for the first one to fill the blanks correctly. It will be hand-delivered to your house, if you give us a ------- of ------ from your hand.

Around Delhi

2007-08-11T02:48:00.000-07:00

Tragicomic

2007-06-05T04:51:00.000-07:00

The kind folks at City Limits have given me a little spot on their magazine to try my hand at comics, in which I initially dwelled on trivialties such as the view of pigs milling about the drain outside my apartment before devoting it to Delhi denizens. My maiden venture though, was rather tragic: A bit got lopped off the bottom, rendering the final panels incomprehensible. So here it is, undismembered.

Reason #3,547 why America is great

2007-05-28T02:40:00.000-07:00

Behold: a little beast posing smugly with his prize carcass.

At the tender age of 11, the not-so-ickle Jamison Stone from Alabama huffed after this 800-pound feral pig for 3 hours, riddling it with 16 bullets fired from his Smith-and-Wesson revolver. Quoth the Pickensville porker: "It's a good accomplishment. I probably won't ever kill anything else that big."

As for 'iz proud pappy what took 'im to a hog preserve to see whether e'd succeeded in 'iz attempt to "raise a Champion, not just another child", e's celebrated the feat (in excruciating detail) on this website. That's attracted a deluge of news coverage, an offer to act in Hogzilla: the movie , as well as some highly entertaining hate mail. To which pappy responds with "a prayer commanding the evil to leave the person and make way for God's Holy Spirit to come in and bring Joy and Peace to their life."

I has a problem

2007-05-05T00:31:00.000-07:00

I's addicted to lolcats.
And lolcats linguistics.
Though sms-ese always left me cold, and pretty contemptuous of those using it, the cutesy "kittie-pidgin" has totally swayed me over to the dark side of bad grammar and mis-spelling.
And here's just how it happened.
Oh. And here's my own handiwork, with "kittehs" of my friend kiran:

I know, I know, I are jobless.

Collective omphaloskepsis

2007-05-01T04:22:00.000-07:00

As I've been been tagged by this here boy, I shall have to answer this (slightly inane) questionnaire, and also get to inflict it on someone else. Hurrah!

1. Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it.
I've got a crescent-shaped scar on my hip-bone, thanks to a weird habit I had a few years ago: frenzied nocturnal jogging along IIT's roads, some of which are quite poorly lit. On one such occasion, I tripped on a stick and plonked on the road, landing on my right hand, thus brutalising my little finger and giving me a little keepsake of the tumultous moment that was.

2. What is on the walls in your room?
A sequence of four photos taken of a total hero I met in Kochi's Jew Town: An old man with a sculpted face, swept-back grey hair, glorious smile, and a little diamond stud glinting on his ear-lobe.

3. What does your phone look like?
Hideous. It's a primitive Motorola I bought in a fit of pique after my beautiful Samsung SGH E880 was robbed from me by a cretin I've wished toothlessness upon so many times, he oughta be a slobbering edentate if there's any justice in this world.

4. What music do you listen to?
Jazz, electronic, punk, rock, funk, soul, hip hop, R&B, bossa nova, and occasionally, that dubious, sweeping category known as world music. What I don't listen to would be an easier list.

5. What is your current desktop picture?
A painting of a lion sipping on a cup of tea, while elephants and zebra graze on a sunset-suffused savanna. (As y'all know, I'm a sucker for anthropomorphism)

6. What do you want more than anything right now?
More trees, less malls. Plus! Entertaining company for the evening..Near-impossible in this town, *snif!*

7. Do you believe in gay marriage?
Of course. Everybody oughta get to wear them institutionalised shackles.

8. What time were you born?
Eh, afternoon I think? 12 pm.

9. Are your parents still together?
Yep.

10. What are you listening to?
Gentle office murmurings. But I was listening to the Monster Mash earlier today, just fer giggles.

11. Do you get scared of the dark?
Suure. If I've just read or seen something creepy.

12. The last person to make you cry?
That lurking creature named self-pity.

13. What is your favourite perfume/cologne?
J'adore, not that I ever owned it. I get by on deo-spray and the occasional gift.

14. What kind of hair/eye colour do you like on the opposite sex?
Any!

15. Do you like pain-killers?
Not literally. Dark-chocolate, which releases more seratonin than "passionate kissing", now that, I like.

16. Are you too shy to ask someone out?
No way, I'm a shameless chaser-after.

17. Fave pizza topping?
Muncher-of-veggies as I am, it's gotta be mushrooms, courgettes, and such.

18. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?
Soup! Nice hot scrumptious soup.

19. Who was the last person you made mad?
My colleague. We have a recurring argument about a certain controversial figure.

20. Is anyone in love with you?
I should hope so!

I tag the petulant colleague! Will he pick up the gauntlet?!
Plus, the seemly seema, who's sequestered in sleeeeeepy romrontin mumblebay in france.

Overheard in New Delhi

2007-04-04T06:24:00.000-07:00

In the incredibly popular Big Chill restaurant in upscale Khan Market a loudly nattering bunch of heavily made-up Gorgs, seated around a preening gym-bod in a muscle shirt and Peter Andre's hair (circa '92) had a rousing discussion, from which the following lines have been excerpted:

G1: You're reading Abdul Kalam! The last time I saw you two weeks ago you didn't know who the man was!
G2: (protesting) It's a nice book!
G1: He's a nut!
G3: He's an alcoholic!
G4: He's a paedophile!
Peter Andre: He he.

Arundhati Roy

2007-03-29T01:37:00.000-07:00

Answer me this:
Do y'all hate on her or want to go fat-Capitalist-bashing with her?
---

Shall revive my poor ailing blog anon, I promise...

Going to the dogs

2006-12-11T08:35:00.000-08:00

After a spicy meal at a quaint little Bengali restaurant plastered with images of buxom starlets cut out with tender care from magazines, I went along with a few journalist friends to a Dog Show. Not to report, but to revel, ostensibly in the surfeit of delightful doggies on display. Not much revelling was to be had if the glowering owners/breeders had anything to do with it; when we so much as lifted a finger to touch their Rottweiler/ Terrier / Whippet / Boxer/ St Bernard/ Labrador/ Chihuahua/ Saluki/ brindled Great Dane or "Caravan Hound" - they nearly broke into growls.

Much to our glee, a shrill-voiced lady kept demanding that certain Bitches come forth, a good number of whom she declared Marked Absent. A Dog Relay was taking place, in full fur-flown fury, when one mutt joyously broke forth from the track and began to run madly around in circles, the ball in his mouth. There was also a Dog Dancing competition to take place the next day, which I am completely heartbroken to have missed.

Might I add, that just as fascinating as these furry denizens were, the owners were quite often even more so. There were large beast-like men who'd painted their meaty fingertips with lustrous maroon nailpolish; old men who looked doglier than the doggies in their tan-suits and bristly whiskers; men with exuberant Weaver Birds' nests for beards (and a penchant for large stripy upholstering); and oh all the kiddies....kiddies clutching fake and real puppies, kiddies stumbling about with their hair in lovingly oiled antennae, kiddies spilling hot tea on other kiddies, kiddies clamouring for choccies....

But getting back to a rather more interesting specie... Here are some pictures of the canine cornucopaeia we saw. Hold on, that's more a description of the fare at a Ko-rean restaurant, so let's just call it a Dog Day Afternoon.

Oops! I suppose I shouldve warned y'all that this one's NSFW.

Big menacing hulk of a dog.
Think your chances would be better with him, or the snow you're floundering in?

"Yip Yip." Grrrrrrrrr!

Me... hangin' with the coolest bitches at the show

Back to school!

2006-11-10T00:59:00.000-08:00

Having cast off the yoke of employment this friday, i immediately embarked on a timely trip to rishi valley, with vedanth aka Da, a happy-go-lucky crooner pal who composes music, & usually wanders about, guitar in hand and an expression of mingled bemusement and wonder on his face. on our highly uncomfortable (but cheap) bus journey we were surrounded by people emitting all the repulsive noises they could, and occasionally attempting to engage Da in earnest conversation. (“excuse me but what is yore native?”) what’s more the bus behaved quite oddly, stopping, for instance, in the middle of nowhere on the highway, facing another bus (as if the two were engaged in earnest conversation). Our window also had the knack of ending up hovering above panoramic views of urinals (richly perfumed sound and light shows).

We finally ended up at madanapalle bus station at 4 am and luckily enough, were accompanied by a young chap whose father worked in RV and had kindly dispatched him a van and driver. Once in the campus, though, we had nothing to do and two hours to kill before breakfast…So we ambled past Cave rock hill up to Tettu village, where we sipped on oversweetened tea and gazed in disbelief at the total lack of signal on our phones (us city denizens..)

After breakfast, vasu, peppy, da and i headed to the auditorium, where we sang the old bhajans and after, got to meet many old familiar faces – Deshpande sir (who taught us Geography and had a piquant way of pronouncing the names of mountain ranges and rivers) and Vishwanath Sir (Vishwanath from Kedarnath who, along with Joshi from Kashi, taught us Hindi), Seshu sir, as well as a sedate, elegant, virtually unrecognisable version of Geeta akka (Venki, our Physics teacher and often the guys' partner in crime on their escapades, in fact managed to gull a junior named Vivaswat into believing she was his mother - upon which the poor chap actually chit-chatted with her politely for a few minutes until she liberated herself from her disguise and gave him a good talking-to). There was also the incomparable Koo (as always accompanied with Torch - batteries included), now Principal, and the inimitably insane Marker, whose dubious method of expressing his affection is a battle-cry (a shrieky AYY!) followed by an act of pure violence. (In my case, grabbing my hand and slapping it senseless; in Ran’s, by grabbing her in a headlock and yanking at her hair).

After assembly, there was a series of talks and slide shows and films to attend, on the projects currently being undertaken (such as RIVER, the rural school etc.) however, these were optional and the shameless lot of us preferred to amble about, visit the old haunts and reminisce. we went to the banyan tree (sadly, now withered and depleted), the gate, the football field, alamanda house, boys hostel (where Fergie was yowling about her Humps and the residents were quite casually sucking on cigarettes). post-lunch who should materialize but nivi and Goat (a guy who "has a job somewhere, doing something" - Da), much to our delight. Neither of them have changed one bit during these past eight years! (Though nivi’s way of speaking has become an odd blend of german intonations and british lingo!) Da and the two of them leapt right into the ongoing game of volleyball, so I left for the more soothing confines of the dairy, where I communed with an assortment of cows, all of whom gamely submitted to my amateur attempts at wringing their udders: because their legs were tied together and they couldn’t kick the annoying varmint(me) in the face. Much fun!

After the grimy lot of us bathed, we went to a very special Moonlight dinner. The new DH manager, Mr Havindran, is a whiz and if it weren’t for the fact that getting from place to place in RV is something of a hike, I wouldn’t be surprised if the student body were rotund rather than lean (RV’s cuisine used to be, back in the day, one of the most effective weight-loss programs ever devised by man. Move over Atkins!) But coming back to it, this dinner was splendid, with fluffy white appams, scrumptious stews, paneer confections, gajar halwa, pulao rice, copious amounts of cool buttermilk, all nicely rounded off with paan! Some of the members of a 70s/80s batch thereupon began an impromptu performance which seemed to include a capella renditions of Bollywood numbers adapted to the RV experience, so we thought we’d split, and see if Folkie had begun.

It hadn’t. But we lurked about in the bushes behind the audi and waited until it did. Initially practically everyone except Swaroopa and JP sir had no idea what they were doing until the drunken sailor dance jerkily jogged our memories. Most fun, especially the delightful absurdity that’s Bum Shake.

Our night-time activities were on the surreal side, and for the purpose of discretion, I won’t go into them. Suffice it to say that they involved clambering on top of roofs, and sleeping on dew-laden mattresses laid out there, the drunken scaling of rocks (continually interrupted by me tumbling into thorn bushes - eight times, if Peppy’s to be believed - and cursing Goat.) All along the way, we were serenaded by Goat and Da tootling Jingle Bells (Goat: “Two versions: happy and sad”) on their leaf–harmonicas.

The way back turned out not to be the way back when Da and I missed the taxi and the bus to Madras whilst we tarried outside the DH watching Goat buy Poppins and (the quite disgusting) RolaCola. When we went by the car park, previously teeming with cars, instead we found one lone guy on a motorcycle, who informed us that his friend had an empty car and was heading to Bangalore. But that, as the saying goes, is another story…

The Roadtrippers:

More photos here

Best. Rap Song. Ever.

2006-10-24T02:59:00.001-07:00

"Look, Maw! I caught a Fwaggle!"

2006-10-21T06:41:00.000-07:00

Do you miss the sapient compost heap, doozers, and gorgs? Here's your chance to relive the nuttiness! If you especially like the escapades of weird furry creatures, Meet the Feebles is another must-watch...a muppet musical about smut and sleaze...written and directed by none other than Peter Jackson of King kong/ Lord of the rings. Here's a little taste.

incredible articulate animals pt 2

2006-10-17T09:58:00.000-07:00

Quel philosophe! His world view is nearly as bleak and nihilistic as Sartre's or Schopenhauer's..

ay cabrón!

2006-10-14T08:31:00.000-07:00

While it's oddly compelling to our narcissistic yet slavishly celeb-luvvin' psyches, the results that this website comes up with are rather a hoot. It runs your photo through a "face recognition" software which scans your ignoble mug and then declares the celebrity you most closely resemble. Funnily enough, as John Mayer discovered when he put his face through it, it claims that he resembles Jessica Lange more than he does John Mayer. Hm. Nevertheless, I'm sure you'd still be curious to know which ravishing sylph this sophisticated software deduced that I look like..

Apparently I share a "71%" likeness with ....Enrique Iglesias?!
I dont know whether to be frightened or flattered. Oh well. At least I've a shot at being a gay icon and dating Anna Kournikova in some alternate dimension of strange possibilities. Can't be all bad, huh...

More anthro-po-mania

2006-10-06T05:53:00.000-07:00

And, speaking of painting simians, here's a related comic which is utter and complete genius. More hilarity at my new favourite website.

Celebrating Anthropomorphism Day

2006-09-11T00:33:00.000-07:00

(Psst...Don't tell Hallmark...they're making enough money off of all the other bullsh*t days they invented...)

First, here's two 18 c. French painters who used this wonderful device (painting monkeys painting) to poke fun at the art world's pretensions...

The first (and my personal fave) is by Alexandre Gabriel Decamps:

And here's its worthy contender, sitting pretty in the Louvre, by Jean-Baptiste Simeon Chardin.

Also, on the subject of the famous Congo, artist monkey (whose works even Picasso purchased), and the greater topic of why we paint... Look up this fantastic article by an expert on the bonobo monkey, Franz der Waal.

And just because you're such a fantastic, deserving human being, here's two animal outfitters , one is a ferret coutourier, and the other, famed Cat Tailor Catprin.

“go f*** a sunset, hippie”

2006-08-17T03:53:00.000-07:00

Pure hilarity at The Onion.

Meanwhile, here's why you suck.

I suck because I think I'm funny, but the only reason I'm funny is because of how much I suck...
*sigh* They know me too well!

"the problem of every woman in our country.."

2006-08-14T21:35:00.000-07:00

Since it's Independence Day and all, perhaps it's time we stood back and reflected on issues such as that...take stock of where we are and what we have. Without further ado, I give you this highly illuminating discussion with Bollywood starlet Minissha Lamba.

Sometime back, you were having problems with your growing hips. Have you controlled them now?

Yes. Now I am very happy that my work out and dieting have helped me control my expanding hips. I was really very upset earlier. They were growing like anything. In fact, growing hips is the problem of every woman in our country. It was so problematic that all the time it was bothering me but now finally I am happy that it's fully under control.

Hm.
For flat-out hilarity, check out this wonderfully naughty monkey.

ta-da!

2006-06-23T22:35:00.000-07:00

Heeeere's Bewildered Asura!!

vindication is sweet

2006-06-09T20:59:00.000-07:00

For months together, I have been railing against the purulent "oeuvre" of the strangely popular Linkin Park, who seem to have rechristened themselves Fort Minor, or something equally asinine. The sound of their music is something most aptly likened to that of cats gettin' it on, and though initially my hatred might have been construed as big-sister-bashing-on-younger-brother's tastes, now I feel utterly vindicated with the support of music critic Sasha Frere-Jones:

The completely unlistenable Linkin Park is basically very loud Depeche Mode with bad rapping added on top. And I quite like Depeche Mode.

This calls for a little victory dance:

Get the rest of this very fine article here.

lo and ....

2006-06-02T04:25:00.000-07:00

behold!

I defy you to read that top-to-bottom, without experiencing five varieties of trauma...

one quiet morning in a suburb of darlington...

2006-05-18T22:54:00.000-07:00

The local butcher, for one, has banned Mr Thompson from his premises for turning up with his girlfriend attached to a leash.

kashipur, 2003.

2006-05-16T09:47:00.000-07:00

I took this picture on my beloved Minolta Dynax 5 (may the teeth of the person who stole it rot and fall out)

one sunny afternoon...

2006-05-13T09:05:00.000-07:00

Everytime summer hits, and better sense advises me to cower in the shade like all mortals who can afford to, something drives me out into the dazzling sunlight. I go out, camera in hand, and peer at all lifeforms through a nice wide-angle lens. Today I ambled around Mylapore in the afternoon, and met some quite interesting people.
There was an old man sitting by the temple tank, who said, after 33 years' hard work, when he retired, he was thrown out of his house by his wife and kids, and now ate a meal at the temple every day. "She put visham in my food," he said darkly. "But I didn't eat. She also beat me. See:" (showing me a tiny scar on his hand). "Don't weep for me," he says, "God will take care of me."
Then as I crouched before the wooden chariot, under whose shade an adivasi lady and her husband sat selling beads, an auto driver roared from behind me (ostensibly to his compadre): "I LOVE MY WIFE MORE THAN THE MOTHER WHO BORE ME!!!", and then came to sit beside me and inspect the beads I was buying. A sunlight-striped dhoti-clad man, lolling underneath the same shade took my lingering around as an opportunity to hit me up for some cash. "I'm a Brahmin," he declared. "I haven't eaten the whole day."
I wasn't convinced though; I gave the remnants of my money to the flower lady instead.

As I turned around a corner by the temple tank, I came before a tiny little man (who barely came up to my shoulders) with vigourously powdered cheeks, and a face like a bewildered asura. He walked along, cloth bag strung about his shoulders, looking back at me (and i suppose, my camera), and trying to walk ahead. By and by I ended up photographing him (will put his picture up when I can) and had a little chat:

Bewildered Asura: Are you from here or velliyooru?

Me: I'm from here.

BA: Well I'm from velliyooru.

Me: Oh really?

BA: Yes. I'm from Tirunelveli. I studied up till my ninth standard and then got bored. How 'bout you? How much did you study? Till the eleventh?

Me: Uh, a little more than that.

BA: I work in a coconut store.

Me: Ah, I see.

And then we parted ways.

Two good reads and one shameless ad

2006-05-13T08:53:00.000-07:00

Aw come on. Don't pretend you didn't love He-Man.

Henceforth you shall cringe when you think: "That's so me!"

And here are my Rishi Valley school-buddies Ananth and Vedanth at the launch of their first music album for the Telugu film Brahmastram, which kicks a**, so go on, buy it!

I love lucy mangan!!!

2006-05-05T03:36:00.000-07:00

She is the funniest columnist EVER!
Here's w- h-and y!

reason # 5,399 to turn down that hi5 invitation

2006-04-16T11:58:00.000-07:00

Subject message: haiii

dear shruti..hi how are you.?.I am kunal 29/male/chennai/single and I never made any gf till now and am lookig for one..k..n I really liked you..can I get you.I wd be very lucky..I will be only yours till you want me in life even life time forever wow..I will love it n I will love you..k..all depends on u..I get bugged in chennai no relative and no friend and I dont make any friend easily..I mix with very very few people.I belive in have descent life but enjoy life to the fullest.but one thing I miss is tht a swaeet n cute girl like you..I will be really lucky if you give me ur hand..k..waiting for ur reply desperately..yours kunal

Reason # 637 why I wanna go to Iceland

2006-04-11T08:25:00.000-07:00

....is Hallgerdur Hallgrímsdóttir, a 21 year-old Icelander who says she stopped getting it on with mere mortals two years ago. Here's why: "Boys are wonderful but elves are perfect!!!" After two years' layin' with them on the mossy banks of lakes, she declares: "I am an expert on how to have sex with elves"
And get this: apparently the Icelandic Tourist Board just awarded her approximately $3,000 to pay for publishing and distributing her book on the subject, Please YoursELF, because “they thought it would attract tourists to come” — as it were — "to Iceland." God bless Nerve!

sidewalking

2006-04-09T10:44:00.000-07:00

when imagery attacks...

2005-12-02T02:27:00.000-08:00

haha!!!!

and....

yoicks!!!!

everybody looks like somebody else

2005-12-01T01:38:00.000-08:00

in the space of two hours, i've mistaken two strangers for people i know. it's humbling how the world is filled with people who look somewhat alike. who needs photoshop when you're wandering around spencer plaza, that seething mass of humanity?! there's your collegue with a bad dye job, there's her again, circa 1990.

i was hanging around by the landmark with a friend when a girl went by. i smiled at her, she inclined her head coldly. i thought to myself *bitch!!* and then this girl said "hi!! how are you?" to the friend i was with. "wasn't that X?" i asked my friend. "Oh no! her name is Y! thank god you didn't call her that!" said my friend. but, strange, i think there are alot of girls who look like X/Y. they all come from WCC (women's christian college), have pleasant faces, trail benign boyfriends who go with every occasion-- like a good sturdy black purse-- and all seem to have jobs in advertising.

and then, there's tons, ofcourse, who look like this:

these you can find swarming around the Lifestyle store. they seem to like the shoes.

the turnaround

2005-11-17T01:08:00.000-08:00

i think i'm over that. (the broodiness) it was just that for three weekends i glowered at the walls of my room but two consecutive nights out drinking cured me. i just need to go see people once in a while.

last night i ate a sandwich and succumbed to the italian dude's tenth invitation. went to leather bar, and, well, got two italian dudes for the price of one. felt fantastic to be the centre of attention! ;-) besides i was drinking long island iced teas and the waiter gleefully told me that he got me a super strong one: "usually it's 50% alcohol ma'am, i got you 150!" wow. i was raaaather drunk, and have no memory of what i told the italian dudes when they dropped me home. hope i was polite! they seem to be oil prospector engineer guys, skipping from monaco to paris and naples...into skiing and sailing. totally new landscape for me! wow.

came home and had rather an inebriated conversation with rather an inebriated friend, then swooned down to bed, awoke this morning thinking i had the hangover from hell (chills, body ache) but it turns out it's just the flu! haha

prime of miss broody

2005-11-11T08:40:00.000-08:00

i am utterly and completely bored and lonely in this town. please can someone gimme some suggestions to get outta here? the social animal in me has the tail between his legs!!!!!

Hah!!

2005-10-28T02:36:00.000-07:00

thanks estelle, for this wondrously ridiculous list of weirdos. it always cracks me up, no matter how many times i've seen it already!! :)

eyes veering towards the accident.

2005-10-28T01:38:00.000-07:00

you know how, sometimes, you chance upon something quite peculiar in an unpleasant sort of way-- a particularly scungy pile of offal perhaps, a half-eviscerated bandicoot, or a set of mouldering teeth-- and you cannot help but be transfixed?

well, everyday i drive past-- twice-- a rather unsightly billboard and i cannot help but stare: a woman towers up above the traffic, posing before an ATM machine, her lumpy behind thrust out (sort of like she is discreetly trying to stretch her hamstrings) and her t-shirt rides up to reveal (Oh NO!) a gently swelling swathe of FURRY belly.

fine, you can give me all the grief you want to about me abjuring our wonderful feminist tradition and all the muck you want about hairiness denoting sexual power blah, (look up 'ways of seeing' if you dont get that) BUT a larger-than-life stretch of hairy belly is just WRONG and it doesn't exactly contribute to good digestion.

(beurk.)

chaton mort

2005-10-17T03:14:00.000-07:00

r.i.p. poor widdle kitty.
i was getting back home from some random errands this morning when i spied him huddled against a grimy wall on a sidewalk, his little limbs flailing out towards the road. this is usually a pose cats do settle into to sleep, but the blackened hollows where his eyes used to be and the limp gracelessness of his body proved otherwise.

traffic-light lothario

2005-10-15T05:55:00.000-07:00

as if to underscore the ill luck i have been having, men-wise, in this city, random unsavoury lotharios seem to spring at me from the most unexpected quarters. [ask me about the numerous other instances, or maybe you're familiar with them already from my periodic complaints]
there i was, waiting at the traffic signal, then rushing over to the other side on my way to work, when a tall, innocuous-looking man followed me on to the sidewalk. he looked like a normal working guy, with his hands-free clutched in one hand, and a shoulder bag-strap in the other. but suddenly, from the mouth of our working class hero came: "hi sweetie [indiscernable due to poor enunciation]!" he was peering over at me, but i--with hasty charity--assumed he was talking into his handsfree, and crossed over to the other side of the road in the event of this having been unduly charitable.
he crossed over too. "hi sweetie, i like you. i like your [pause] hair....i like your clothes.....i like your....walk!" and walk i did! i sped up till i was as fast as those guys who compete in walking races, and must jerk gracelessly towards the finish line really quick.
and there! i got to the gate.
however. if you chance upon this man:

do pelt him with your slippers.
and then RUN!

vikram seth

2005-10-13T21:44:00.000-07:00

Last nite, I went to Vikram Seth's reading for his latest book, 'Two Lives' (and bungled up my chances of getting a free copy by not being at the right place at the right time. bah!) but anyway i got 'golden gate' autographed. He is so amazingly elegant...everything, the way he talks, his handwriting, his prodigious articulacy...he just did not make a wrong step/stumble with the patter! Aw, and he's tiny!
It was funny, I told him, "I'd like to be a writer too," and he said, with a wry little smile, "The best way to do that, you know, is to write!" to which i said, "I do!" and then he replied, "Well, then, you are! By definition!"
And then I went off in my happy swoon to chug down some white wine, eat a couple of excessively experimental hors d'oeuvres (how about asparagus+orange+cream cheese+unidentified frond of plant+cracker?!) and came home.
I'd gone straight from work, with my poor-journo satchel and bottle of mineral water and modest cotton kurta and suddenly found myself facing a room of overdressed bejewelled glittery lay-dee socialites.
One I came across (and after 2 minutes in her presence was told, tersely, by a fellow-journo buddy: RUN!) was hilarious. This old lady with a face like the inverse side of a purse (with a few stray creases here and there): "He's suuch a nice writer. I always know when I sit with a Vikram Seth book [clutching the latest one proudly in front of her birdlike chest] that it's not going to be a waste of time. But this one will be heavy reading. It's about the [pointedly wiggling eyebrows and goggling her eyes] Reich and the war and all!"
:) Socialites huh! You gotta love them, they're so wondrously unselfconsciously ridiculous.

Sleepytime on Giriappa Road

2005-10-07T01:28:00.000-07:00

The Giriappa road slum lies on the way to the congested heart of T-Nagar's shopping destination (where real-estate prices soar higher than those in Mumbai's Nariman Point), which is filled with prosperous saree and jewellery shops and garish new luxury hotels.

The slum is home to more than 3000 inhabitants and, extending from G N Chetty Road to South Boag Road, this narrow lane has close to 500 huts lined up against one another like a stack of dominoes.
***
Regarding the photos....I've been meaning to do a photo-feature on how stray dogs and families slumber together on the sidewalks...

backyard jeremiad

2005-10-05T21:29:00.000-07:00

Our maid is totally tragicomic. She ambles around, groaning and rocking one leg with exaggerated discomfort.

Every morning, on her way to work, she will seize upon a case of blatant injustice inflicted upon her, to rail against with unmitigated bitterness throughout the day. This litany is delivered like an incantation, and effects a sort of self-hypnosis on her.

Yesterday's villainness was a sweeper lady who instigated a quarrel against her at 7.30 am. (and I know this happened, I woke up to the shrieks that she emitted during the fight)

Today's object of ill-will is a cow. This beastly creature came pouncing at her, horns-akimbo, out of nowhere when she was just minding her own business, walking home last evening. Her arms flailing, she fell backward and hit the dust. The cow plodded on, scornful of its victim's unceremonious defeat.

Or maybe it turned the corner and then reared up on its hind legs to do an evil dance of triumph with maracas!

retrospection...

2005-10-03T05:18:00.000-07:00

here's a post from my older blog on myspace (which is more personal and effusive in both misery and exhileration)....I came across a post dating back to Jan 5th this year, relating to the time I spent during the winter vacations, alone in tiny Earlsdon, and it made me smile:

"it was FREEZING this afternoon, and i had to go get groceries as i'm having max over for dinner.....tried to take pictures. there's this odd post-apocalyptic arrest-feel to earlsdon that i would like to...no, need to....capture. it's sort of frozen mid-yawn. there's always some decayed slats banging in the wind, deserted streets, construction sites that seem to have been given up on, a cold spectral washed-out watercolour feel to the landscape of indistinguishable-from-each-other houses....and those strange passages snaking in between the houses....so pointless! today my wandering found me near a very unsightly playground surrounded by a bombed-out looking landscape of gloomy debris. two children were shrieking with joy on the swings. their parents darted in and out between them. there's a weird-looking pub behind, called the Broomfield Tavern., where i saw a happy old lush swaying at the window, singing to himself. the light in these places is always so warm and amber and cosy, and happy lushes are good window-dressing!while i was walking past a car near the old clarence, i heard some banging, a baby--well, three or four year old--was knocking at the window of the car in which he was kept, and gave me a semi-toothless grin. :-) and the gelid wind was flinging all my hair in front of my face, which a tall bald man remarked as he passed by...miming something looming before him, he boomed: "BAD HAIR DAY! OK!" and gave me what i think was a grin..."

aw!!

2005-09-30T13:28:00.000-07:00

a photo of a tired dog that i came across whilst browsing magnum...it's by Richard Kalvar, and it's the sweetest thing!!

some photos from the goa trip

2005-09-11T05:08:00.000-07:00

in the train, on the way to margao station, from londa...wanted to photograph this woman but everytime her husband caught me attempting to do so, he snarled in a proprietory manner. except for this instant, when he too fell asleep!

we passed through bangalore on our way to goa... this is me and seb sitting outside a menswear store while kevin bought himself shorts

on the way back from goa. this little boy wanted to be sketched, so i made a picture of him, coloured it with my pencils, and gave it to him. seb told me, "tu as rendu un enfant heureux..." you made a child happy :)

our encounter with 'le fou', a totally batty station master at londa. he is holding forth before us, a crazy drunken monologue (at 7 am in the morning), pausing in mid-diatribe to take nips of whiskey from his room..a crowd of boys working at the station restaurant had a scornful refrain going behind him: "chup re! chup re!" they yelled, grinning.

my trip to goa

2005-09-10T23:35:00.000-07:00

The third week of july, i took a one-week trip to Goa with three French friends. A boy from Kerala (an aspiring Frenchman) was also supposed to come but he decided to stay home and buy a radio instead.
The deal was that the one-week stay at the hotel was free. And I just went along with the whole thing, without question, because I was very trusting, a function of being too indolent to examine the fine print in this case.
As it turned out, a hefty reservation fee was charged, and they also inflicted us with every tax they could imagine....including a laundry tax! Huh?! Also, i had a feeling of having walked into Pleasantville (i.e. a fabricated environment). It was repellent, this 'three-star' timeshare holiday complex, made for travellers who wanted to forget where they had travelled to. It had manicured lawns, a pool, gamesroom, restaurant serving continental food and hordes of local minions quietly toiling everywhere.
It was monsoon time, and we were far from the Calangute-Baga-Anjuna hippie hedonism (of which i have had a taste, which was more than adequate for this life: think Swedish hippies, a video camera, opium, a laughing sadhu...) , this beach that we were close to was more the happy family hangout kind. But we had our own fun... we roamed the surrounding towns on scooters, drank at roadside bars with the local populace, chatted with strangers, stopped under the trees beside the road every now and then when the deluge became blinding, chugged along the seashore with the motor choking on the sand with a friendly dog bounding at our (w)heels, even attended a wedding and took pictures of the bride --whose face was daubed with three inches of make up--in in a pleasant little church, next to which little boys played barefoot football in the sand. We also frequented a raucous karaoke bar whose mud walls were adorned with paintings done on bathroom tiles, pastorals filled with buxom Goan women ...delightfully kitsch... and sometimes were even content to eat instant food and drink feni in the room, and watch back to back episodes of 'Samurai Champloo'.
We spent days with the balcony door open, watching films and laughing at hindi soaps on cable tv, as the rain reduced the manicured pathways to a muddy blur outside. Every afternoon, as we nodded to sleep, an increasingly more belligerent man threatened to transport us to a "haathi mahal" The third time we refused, he warned that if we didn't go take a look, we would have to pay Rs. 60,000 (give or take a few 10k) for the room. That worked! So we went there the next day. it was wonderful, balmy weather, the fields were a lush, freshly washed green, and everything so beautiful you just immediately filed away the images for future nostalgia. Out of this, we were herded into the subzero climes of a 5-star hotel by a smarmy middleaged guy with an enormous leather briefcase, who proceeded to heckle and bully us into buying into this whole timeshare deal on-the-spot. "Dont you want to travel and stay at a place like this for cheap anywhere in the world?" he said, indicating, with an expansive wave of the hand, a view of a massive pool with foreigners gently braizing beside it on deckchairs. After one hour of forcing us to answer what should have been rhetorical questions (nice classroom indoctrination trick) like, "Is paying $40 for a room in London/Milan?Sydney/Paris for a week cheap?"
Well, in the end, it boiled down to another equally unctuous--but less longwinded man with excessively manicured hands to lay the cards on the table: "So is it a yes or a no?" Rs. 10,000 up front, he meant. Er...
And so we made our way out unceremoniously and grumpily accompanied by Smarmy, whose bonhomie had turned, like the climate inside Haathi Mahal, decidedly subzero.
Outside, we walked along the road, watching the sea. A distance away, a mongoose darted into the fields. An old lady holding scrabbling chicken feet walked away from a roadside vendor, and we breathed freely to be in Goa again.

some photos

2005-09-10T23:12:00.000-07:00

here's a toothy man with an empty white cloth bag who accosted me at a market. "hm-hm," he coughed.

i turned around.

"money, plizz?"
a rather courteous beggar. with quite enormous teeth.

this kid i met at my cousin's wedding, who i photographed relentlessly, much to his delight.

look!

2005-09-05T09:02:00.000-07:00

here's the fascinating world of ayelet waldman, also wife to michael chabon, with whose gift with language i am so enamoured that i state the fact in order to preempt the embarrasment of hopelessly out-of-control gushing. :-p

miscellaneous ranting

2005-09-05T08:22:00.000-07:00

it's my first day at work at a tabloid...where i subedit nation stories and so am saved the mingled ignominy and vacuous delight of frequenting the party beat.
today i have had nothing to do but take hours to marvel at the style sheet, read a gazillion blogs and news stories, and due to having arrived much too early, was given the honour of writing about (i kid you not) floral shirts for the teen page.
and now, i do nothing but edit a few news reports, serenaded by the gastric burblings of one individual on my right, (gastrics vs. gastronomics, haha! but seriously: urg) , and the periodic razor-edged thunderclaps of coughing on the left.
to this ligrophobic, these aural infectations have approximately this effect:

& so i gurn discreetly (or so i am convinced) before my monitor.

phat woman

2005-09-03T00:06:00.000-07:00

i painted this from an old, old black and white photo i found. i like how she's triumphantly squatting there like a superhero....and shes even got her own red cape!

but i hate guinness!!

2005-09-01T11:22:00.000-07:00

Your Inner European is Irish!

Sprited and boisterous!
You drink everyone under the table.

Who's" Your Inner European?

hah!

2005-08-17T22:00:00.000-07:00

more weird stuff here!

bee-zaar!

2005-08-17T21:31:00.000-07:00

This is just weird. A branch of "art" known as "grotesque taxidermy" involves stuffing animals and placing them in poses with strange props. Which explains the winter queen kitten pictured here, and the pigeon in a silk ballgown clasping a mouse skeleton to her waist, and these feline roses! apparently in the victorian times, stuffed animals were also popular as card receivers.

i heart you

2005-08-11T11:34:00.000-07:00

and by the way, here's what a heart actually looks like:

beurk!!! how did a piece of viscera, so gloopy and stringy, come to be mushified enough to its colourful innocuous avatar on wrapping paper and balloons. somewhere along the way, we totally missed the point.

a small promo

2005-08-09T13:40:00.000-07:00

...for the proboscis monkey! just for looking so delightfully weird. let's all go to sarawak and give him a companionable swat on his hilly belly. heh.

vinita's wedding

2005-06-28T07:20:00.000-07:00

despite the best of dear ramya's assiduous efforts at sari draping, by the end of the evening, a fair amount of it was par-terre. (on the floor)

me and nele

a start

2005-06-28T06:08:00.000-07:00

A cat leaped into the air, and bit and scratched me (simultaneouly!) today. the gravitationally-challenged beast in question is named, innocuously enough, patchouli, which evokes a light, cosy spirit...akin to that of a benign knitting grannie in a room smelling of, well, patchouli! but lemme tell you, this thin yowling animal, grey as cinders and about as sunny of countenance, is the very devil.

thank you devil-cat, for exposing my 23 yr old butt to the indignity of a tetanus shot.