Buddha's Retreat

An evening with Vikas Swarup

2010-03-21T20:32:00.000+04:00

Vikas Swarup, author of "Q&A", came across as a rather typical educated middle-class Indian, fond of reading books and soaking up the daily newspaper. Very earnest looking and leaning forward frequently to make a forceful point. Quite engaged & involved in his own line of thought. He was casually dressed in trousers and a shirt, with a jacket. No Tie. Grey hair. A lot of them. He strolled in with the interviewer for the evening, a fellow author & teacher of creative writing courses, called Kate Mosse. So there was the obligatory joke about the eager audience waiting to see her, made mercifully at the very outset and got out of the way with.

Today was Friday, the weekend, and I was expecting to see a much larger crowd, considering that it was the prime evening slot and that here was the author of what became "Slumdog Millionaire", that multicultural phenomenon winning a slew of Oscars and Grammies.

Well, I was quite surprised then to discover that the auditorium was not even a third as full as had been the previous day, for Alexander McCall Smith's session. The audience today comprised largely of Asians (let's just be honest and say, Indians!), and a rather sparse count of Europeans. There had been a much larger headcount earlier in the day at 2pm for the session of William Dalrymple, the famed author and Indophile. Personally, I think that though his books are really interesting and full of fascinating details, Dalrymple himself came across as a bit of a stuffed shirt. But since I wasn't able to attend his session and our interaction had been limited to him scrawling his name on a couple of hefty tomes I had been carrying, we will not discuss him further in this blog.

And so, onto Vikas Swarup.

As I did previously with McCall Smith, I will try to capture the main points he made during the hour-long conversation with Mosse.

"I wrote Q&A in 2 months flat. (Kate Mosse interrupts him here to say that she didn't like him all that much anymore, and that she herself took up to 2 years to write a book!) I am a diplomat with the Indian Foreign Service, and was posted at London at the time. I had got to know that a few colleagues of mine were writing a book, so I thought to myself that if *that* person can write a book, then so can I. My wife and son had already gone off to India for a vacation, and I had 2 months to myself. So without telling anyone, including my wife, I started writing the novel. I would come back from work at 5pm every day and then write. In a way, it was just fate that I had all that much time to write, because my next posting wad to Pakistan where normally a diplomat's work continues on after office till late into the night and there's hardly any time to think about writing a book."

Where he got the idea for the book
"This book came to me full blown and ready. It was not as if I thought of a part of the book first. I have always been very interested in quizzing, and hence the "Who wants to be a millionaire" game show was a favourite of mine. The Indian version of show was hosted by Amitabh Bachchan and it was so popular in India that entire families would gather around the TV set at 9pm every Sunday to watch. There would be hardly any shop open at that time, since all of India would be watching. The participants in the show would be ordinary people from all walks of life. At that time, the case of Major Ingram, the guy who was caught having cheated to win the UK version of the program, was making headlines. And I thought to myself, if a UK Army major can be suspected of having cheated on the program and is then imprisoned, then what about if a person from the lower classes, like a waiter or a domestic servant somehow wins on the program? They will definitely suspect him of having cheated. Now most of us are educated people from the middle and upper class, with university education. But we somehow always feel that the lower working class that has never studied or gone to school is somehow less clever than us. So how can we believe that such a person can be cleverer than us, and go all the way in this program? But then the question remains: How can such a person then give all correct answers? Can each question then link up to some episode in his life, where he then got to know the answer? After that, it was a matter of working out episodes which could then be linked to such questions as would be asked in the program. They could of course not be very easy, except a few at the start. Also, what I did was, each chapter started off with the episode from the past first, and then the contest question was revealed. So the reader could also feel part of the story, and then try to work out the answer while reading the past flashback. Had I started the chapter by asking the question and then told the past story, then midway through when the question's answer would have become apparent, the reader would have lost interest in the rest of the chapter."

"I am often asked what advice I would give to budding writers. Frankly, I don't know because I never studied writing formally, I never went to any classes. I was just a voracious reader, and used to read all kinds of books. I didn't know anyone in the book business. I even got my agent off the internet. While choosing an agent, I asked for some advice from someone who told me just that if the agent asked for money to represent you, I should look for another agent. However, recently when I was asked to address a group of students at the University of Tokyo which is where my current posting is, I thought to myself and came up with this list of points as advice and this is what I will tell them when I return.

1. Be Curious. Be curious about everything around you. Be an eclectic reader, and don't limit yourself to just one kind of reading matter. I often tell my son, “Don’t just read the Rolling Stone; read The Economist as well."
2. Be Creative. After the basic plot is there, you need to be creative with that idea.
3. Be Critical. Look at your story with a critical objective eye. Is it readable? Is it interesting to others? Many writers are told, “Write what you know." So they end up writing about their own experiences. But they should think about whether it would be interesting to others as well.
4. Write, Write, Write. Keep writing all the time. (Here the moderator, Kate Mosse, interrupts to say that she often has students coming to her saying that they want to be writers. So she asks them to show her a sample of their writing. And then they say something like, “Well, we haven't written anything yet, but we will! Once you tell us how." So she goes on to say that to be a writer, well you have to write! Vikas Swarup then adds to this by quoting Dorothy Parker,"I hate writing; I love having written.")
5. Keep your manuscript circulating all the time. Send it out constantly to agents and publishers. You never know when someone might take a fancy to it.

Plots
"Every day, an average newspaper in India contains enough news to give more plots than anything else I can think of. So read more newspapers."

On his 2nd novel
"Six Suspects took me almost 18 months to write. It was a much tougher book, because I was trying out something new for myself. A polyphonic novel, where I was speaking through several characters. My publishers had wanted me to do something on the lines of Q&A part 2, like what the waiter did from the age of 18 till 20, or what happened afterwards etc, but I didn't want to do anything with them. Once my books are done, I am done with the characters, and want to try out some new challenge. Out of the six characters in the book, the most difficult one was the Andaman tribal, because there was no way I could get into his head and think what he was thinking. I just didn't know what a person like him would think about. He is in a way the most innocent & pristine of all the characters, and yet the most easily corruptible as well. He comes to the big city and is seduced by its various attractions.

I wrote the entire book as it is published. I did not write out each character's entire story in one go, and then to split it up into separate chapters".

What is next
"I am already working on my next book. I am currently stuck at chapter seven. It is set outside India. It has no Indian characters. (When probed by the moderator further, he reluctantly says, "It could be set in Europe, maybe..")

On the movie adaptation
"The book was mine, but the movie was all Danny Boyle, so all credit to him. Some people in India raised an objection to the word slumdog, but it was coined by the writer Simon Beaufoy to depict the squalid condition of the people living in a slum. At least, the slumdog did have the perseverance to drag himself out of its surroundings. Why didn't the people focus on the second word, "Millionaire"? In fact, when the movie finally released, I believe that some protestors stood outside cinema halls with 2 dogs, one labelled Danny and the other labelled Simon!"

On whether he liked the movie
"There was a Bengali writer called Mani Shankar Mukherjee, commonly known as Shankar, one of whose famous novels was made into a movie by the great Satyajit Ray. When asked his opinion of the movie, Shankar would reply,"A book is like a daughter. Once made into a movie, it's as if the daughter has got married and gone to her husband's place. And in India, one never speaks ill of one's son-in-law!""

Audience Questions

"Why did it take 20 years of service for you to suddenly think about writing a book? You could have written one any time"

"That is true. My posting prior to London had been to Addis Ababa in Ethiopia, which was a very quiet time for me, as there was not a single Indian delegation visiting Addis Ababa in the entire 2 years that I was there. So I must say that it was a matter of complete chance that I managed to write a while novel in 2 months. And that too, I finished the novel on 11th Sept, and was on the place to India on the 12th, waiting for my next posting."

An evening with Alexander McCall Smith

2010-03-13T08:23:00.004+04:00

My first encounter with a "Literary Festival" yesterday was rather pleasant, surprisingly. I say surprisingly, because I mean it's just a book fair after all, isn't it? My relationship with books and authors is very deep & profound, but it's still personal and exists in my mind. All images of the characters & situations, as well as of the author behind those images, are in my own mind. I am not sure if I want to actually meet the author, and put a face to the name behind the words.

So it was with mixed feelings that I went off to the Emirates Literary Festival.

The hotel lobby was quite crowded, with people milling around. I could hardly make out who were the authors, the event organisers, the participants. Were there actually so many booklovers in Dubai? Or were they mostly here to meet the famous names? Finally I caught sight of a welcome desk, where a very polite person sorted me out with my invite to the session for which I was there; Alexander McCall Smith in conversation with Paul Blezard.

And here's the official communiqué about this session:

Alexander McCall Smith: In Conversation

Event 32 Thursday 11 March, 5.30pm
Al Ras 1
An evening with Alexander McCall Smith is never predictable but always hugely entertaining. Best known as the creator of the delightful No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency and the inimitable Precious Ramotswe, he has written more than 60 books and been translated into forty five languages. Before his success as a writer he was a distinguished professor of medical law at Edinburgh University; he is also a keen amateur bassoonist and co-founder of The Really Terrible Orchestra.

It is rare to come across a writer who is as charming and witty in public appearances as he is in his writing. Sandy is an utterly delightful speaker, a great raconteur and one of the warmest and funniest people on the festival circuit. He will be in conversation about his life and work. Not to be missed by his myriad fans or by anyone who delights in the lighter side of life.

Alexander will be in conversation with Paul Blezard.

So this program was to start from 5:30pm, and the ballroom had already started filling up nicely. By the time I showed my e-ticket to the ushers and entered, the 5-6 front rows had already been filled up, and I had to take up the aisle seat some 7 or 8 rows deep. But that was okay, since I still had an okay view of the dais where a small table covered with a white tablecloth and a couple of chairs had been set up. The problem was, all the chairs and the dais were on the same level. It would have been really great, had they raised the speaker table a bit high so as to allow the audience at the very back to have a convenient view. Alternatively, they could have had placed a camera strategically to capture the debate and then broadcast it on the huge screen right behind the speakers. As it was, the giant screen displayed nothing but the seminar title, and the names of the sponsors all through the show.

Right on time, the 2 panellists came out from behind the screen, to the sound of tremendous applause. The room was absolutely jam packed, mostly with European ladies of a certain age. There were a few pitiful specimens of the unfair sex, but mostly accompanying their spouses. I was the only male I could see who was a) Brown b) Asian c) Indian d) By myself.

Blezard started off by saying something like this,"Ladies and Gentlemen! Arrogant.... Rude.... impolite ..... loudmouthed .... are NOT some of the words that come to mind while describing Sandy McCall Smith!" Due laughter in the audience. He then went on to properly introduce Smith with mention of his literary experience. The interaction between the 2 was quite informal and full of banter. It was easy to see why Smith comes across in his books the way he does. That's because he really does seem to be a nice person in real life.

I don't think I can reproduce verbatim the entire conversation, but here are the main notable comments & repartees that McCall Smith addressed to the audience.

How the entire NOLDA series came about:
"In the 1980s, I was working with Swaziland University for a year. I was a bachelor at the time. Having some friends who ran a charity hospital in Botswana, I would often go over to visit them over the weekend. One day, they took me to meet a local friend of theirs, a traditionally built Botswana lady, for lunch at her place. When we reached there, we sat inside and watched as this really large lady went out to the yard to catch the chicken that was to be our lunch. The chicken had a premonition of its fate, and so was proving to be rather hard to catch. There was an almighty kerfuffle, with dust and feathers everywhere, but in the end the lady prevailed. It was then that I had the idea to write a story about this incident. A story, nothing more. This idea lay dormant in my mind for many years after that. Then finally, when I did get some time, I started to develop a story about such a traditionally built lady who would come into a bit of money after her father passed away. In fact, what was in my mind was this mental picture: The old man is on his deathbed, and is advising his daughter that she should sell the cattle they have, after he dies, and then she should open up a business for herself. Now, what he has in mind is something traditional and proper, like a grocery shop. But then the lady comes up with "I shall open a detective agency". On hearing this radical idea, the old man is literally shocked out of his life, and passes away. And this was where I intended to end the story."

On Diehard Fans
"I once received a letter from New Zealand from a lady who wrote that she and her husband pretended they were Mma Ramotswe and Rra Matekoni in their everyday life, addressing each other gravely as such, and sitting about, sipping red bush tea!"

"Once when I was in Santa Barbara, which is where all those rich Californians live... you know, when they get too rich, they are packed off to Santa Barbara... anyway as I was saying about those Santa Barbarians, there were 2 old ladies who came up to me during a book meet, and told me,"Ohhh, Mr. Smith, your books have changed our lives!" And how had their lives changed? Well, they bought a little white van similar to what Mma Ramotswe has, and now drive around town pretending to be Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi. And they even have a vanity license plate that read LWV1 (for Little White Van)."

On How Fans want to influence the story
"Once I was attending a luncheon talk in Texas, where they have these wonderfully tall and big-shouldered ladies... so I was at this golf club surrounded by these wonderful tall ladies, and there was this one solitary mousy man, who had wandered in by mistake after his rounds of golf, and was now trapped in the room... and I said to them that I was planning to have Mma Ramotswe's ex-husband come back into her life. And all these wonderful ladies said in unison, "No, no, Mr. Smith, you cannot DO that!" and they shook their heads very disapprovingly and wagged their finger at me. And then one lady said, "Weeelll, you MAY bring him baaaaack.... but only to punish him!""

On his latest venture, the Baboon opera
"Once my literary agent and I were taking a boat ride along a river in Botswana, when I spied a few huts along the bank. When I asked the guide about them, he said that they belonged to the "baboon people". Now I knew exactly what he was talking about, because just a few days earlier, I had been reading this book titled "Baboon Metaphysics" and I knew that there were these 2 scientists who were camping there and studying this colony of baboons. So as we neared the bank, and heard some activity in the huts, I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled, "I have read Baboon Metaphysics, and I know who you are!" A shout came back, "Well we know who *you* are too!" So it was like a "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" moment.

Baboons are a quite hierarchical society, so I thought of a she-baboon who has a rather lowly mate, but she has Lady Macbeth-like tendencies. So I wrote an opera about this situation, called "Okavango Macbeth", and it's been performed in Botswana's first opera hall, a converted garage that seats 70!"

On Isabel Dalhousie vs. Mma Ramotswe
"As you all know, Isabel is a trained philosopher, and she likes to think things through and analyse situations. That way, she is in complete contrast to Mma Ramotswe, who has an instinctive knowledge of what is right and what is wrong. Mma Ramotswe says to herself, "Whatever were the old fashioned ways and traditions of Botswana served the people in earlier times very well. And so they should be good enough for me as well." And as you see, most of the time Mma Ramotswe turns out to be right in her judgment, while Isabel frequently turns out to be wrong."

On Isabel Dalhousie and the fans
"As you know, Isabel is living with a younger...much younger man, Jamie, who is 14 years her junior. I had initially introduced Jamie as just her friend. But at a dinner with female journalists, they told me,"Mr Smith, you MUST let Isabel have an affair with this younger guy! It will be so empowering for females!"

On the 44 Scotland Street novels
"Now this series is about a young boy Bertie and his pushy mother. In Edinburgh, we have rather pushy mothers who take charge of their children's lives completely. So here's Bertie who is rather small... in fact, he has been 6 years old for the last 4 or 5 books. So in the next book, he finally turns a year older, and so the book is titled "The Importance of Being Seven." Bertie's mother makes his learn Italian, because she wants him to enjoy the opera in its original richness. She makes him learn to play the saxophone.

Now one day, his mother, Irene is at the spa enjoying herself, when she gets a call from Bertie's kindergarten principal. "Mrs. Pollock, there's been an incident. Please come at once." (here McCall Smith imitates a prissy principal with a rolling BBC accent). So Irene rushes to the KG school, where the Principal meets her and says,"Mrs. Pollock, some child has written some graffiti in the bathroom." So Irene bristles and asks her,"So what? Why are you looking at me like that? How do you know Bertie has had anything to do with it?"

The principal replies, "Because.... only Bertie knows how to write, in this school.... and because..... the graffiti is in Italian!""

McCall Smith then read out a rather funny extract from the latest 44 Scotland Street novel, which he said he had been writing that very day in the hotel room upstairs. The background involves Bertie's mother, who is a general do-gooder and likes to help out with charities, suddenly disappearing while helping out with the packing of lorries carrying clothes and food to poor people in Romania. Bertie of course is very disturbed and wants his mummy back. In the read-out extract, Bertie is waylaid in the school playground by a pushy girl (whose name I've forgotten, but who reminds one of Arabella in Dennis the Menace who's bent on marrying Dennis when they grow up) and her sidekick, a girl unfortunately named Tofu by her Vegan parents. The two girls manage to fill Bertie's anguished mind with all sorts of horrible scenarios and possibilities involving his mum, including kidnappings, murder etc. Any feeble attempts by Bertie to postulate a sort of normal everyday happenings is regally waved aside by the two tormentors.

On the film adaptation of NOLDA
"As soon as I got to know that Anthony Minghella had acquired the rights for the series, I knew it was in safe hands. I had particularly admired his deft handling of Patricia Highsmith's novel "The Talented Mr. Ripley"."

"After the rights were acquired, many years went by before shooting actually commenced. I would have an annual dinner with the makers, who would assure that everything had been arranged and that shooting would commence very soon. After the first few years, I would reply, “Okay guys, see you next year for lunch." "

"Anthony came to Botswana not as a European or a big shot film director, benevolently bestowing his largesse on the locals, but as a genuinely curious person, wanting to know more about the traditions and lives of the people. The hunt for the lead actress went on all over the world. The basic criteria were of course known to all. She should be of traditional built, of African origin. Once I was in Adelaide of all places, checking into the hotel when I saw a large African lady sitting in the lobby. Sure enough, when I checked in, I was told that there was a visitor for me. It was the same lady, asking me to recommend her for the part."

"As for myself, I was sure that the Minister of Health in Botswana was ideal for the part. I said as much to the makers, who thought I was being facetious. Later when they actually came to Botswana and met the lady in question, they realised I was right after all, and did give her a walk-on part in the movie."

The lady is named Sheila Tlou, by the way if you want to google her later.

"I was very kindly asked to direct a short segment of the movie. Anthony put his arm around me and told me to shout ACTION when he would dig me in the ribs and to shout CUT when he did that again. I didn't know that movie people actually did shout things like that. So anyway, I did as I was told. The scene I had to "direct" involved a donkey that had wandered into Mma Ramotswe's office just before she was moving in for the first time. Now I don't know if you know this, but apparently in Africa, there are what are called..... "Donkey Whisperers"... Yes, there are. So our donkey whisperer whispered something in the ear of the donkey, and made him walk along the room. The donkey eventually stopped in the middle and started chewing on some of the paper strewn on the floor. I said CUT, and that was the end of my directing career. The scene was finally cut out of the final version."

Audience Questions
One elderly lady who proclaimed herself to be one of the Edinburgh pushy mothers said that when she was a child living in Edinburgh, she would often visit a friend of hers on Scotland Street and play chequers with her in the afternoons. She vividly recalled them having a room under the stairs which was large enough to have a whole bed and where there used to be a woman living in. She wanted to know if people still stayed under the stairs in Scotland Street.

Smith thanked her for the vivid memory of playing chequers and promised her he would incorporate it somehow in a future story. He then suggested that what the lady was talking about was probably the maid living in the room under the stairs, and that it was still very much the practice.

Another lady then asked about some unresolved strands in "La's Orchestra saves the World". Smith replied that he does leave some unresolved strands of stories or incidents in many of his books, maybe hoping to come back to them some novels later. He cited a few examples of this, namely in one of the NOLDA novels, Mma Ramotswe comes out of her house to find a big pumpkin lying there. Till now, no one knows who put it there and why. Another example quoted was from one of Isabel Dalhousie novels, where apparently the dog has an "affair" with the neighbour's lady dog... a very short affair actually.... lasting just about 2 minutes, but resulting in 7 pups. The grumpy neighbour brings all 7 pups to Isabel and says, “These are YOUR responsibility" and walks away. Isabel is desperate to give the pups away, and so one day someone comes over to her, weighs the pups and then takes them all. Now no one knows what happened to the pups, after this. According to Smith, he started receiving a lot of anxious worried queries from all over the world inquiring as to what exactly happened to the pups. So he then had to resolve the mystery in a later book. Apparently they were sold to an Irish travelling circus, and are now a troupe of performing pups.

One guy asked about a certain scene in a book where Mma Ramotswe is looking at some old pictures of her father in Mrs. Moffat's house, and she lingers at one specific picture of Mrs. and Dr. Moffat asking her who this other person is behind Moffat’s mother. She replies that this is a writer who stays with them from time to time. So the question was: Is this the author himself, inserting himself into the book?

McCall Smith said, “Well done, you! Yes, indeed, this was my attempt to meet Mma Ramotswe for myself."

Incidentally, the book in question is The Kalahari Typing School for Men.

Someone asked about the utter lack of violence or even dead bodies in his novels. McCall Smith acknowledged that and said that he deliberately avoided all such stuff because his aim was not to focus on the crime per se, but more on the human aspects of the people concerned. In fact, he continued, the only character he had killed off in any novel was a Glagow "business man" (euphemism for a gangster) called Lard O'Connor, that too only because he wanted to write about the funeral of a gangster. Apparently, gangster funerals in Scotland are accompanied with huge floral wreaths, spelling out some characteristic of the deceased!

The last question, from a guy, was: Ian Rankin, a fellow Edinburgh author, has had a couple of cameo appearances in the 44 Scotland Street books. Will he be returning the favour by featuring McCall Smith in a future Rebus novel?

McCall Smith gave a big hearty guffaw at this question, and said that indeed he had done so. In fact, it was a running joke between him and Rankin. The last time Rankin appeared in his book was when he had been hit by an apple (?) thrown by Bertie, and then while being walked home, has the mortification of hearing Bertie tell him,"Look Mr. Rankin! There's your book in that bookshop window... and it's only 50p!"

So, Smith concluded, if he does appear in any Rebus novel, it will most likely be as a corpse!

This is all that I recall from the session itself.

Later after the session ended, there was a long (really long!) queue to get books signed by the author in the outside hall. All the time I was in the queue, I was wondering what to say to McCall Smith. Other than the usual banal inanities (Big fan of yours, wife loves your books etc etc), I couldn't think of anything.

Eventually when my turn came to get the 2 books autographed, I said that his easy flowing style reminded of an Indian author I used to read in my childhood, R K Narayan. And his eyes and entire face lit up. He said that he was himself a big fan of Narayan, and was in fact just finishing writing the foreword to a new American edition of Narayan's legendary Malgudi Days to "introduce him to an American audience". Then he said "Narayan should have won the Nobel Prize, you know."

I would have loved to talk more about that and how Narayan's good friend Graham Greene did get one, but then there were people breathing down my neck. So with the final comment from McCall Smith "It's great to meet a fellow R K Narayan fan" ringing in my ears, I thanked him and went home.

All Day Long

2009-08-21T12:19:00.001+04:00

I've been watching a couple of movies recently that each spanned the course of just one day. And what stories! So that got me thinking....

It's remarkable how such powerful stories can be told and so much action unfold (wow, that rhymes too!) within such a short time span.

So here's a (very) short selection of daylong movies.

Dog Day Afternoon: Is it a bank robbery gone crazy? Or is it a take about something else? And who exactly are these robbers? And what's their motivation? Real crazy stuff!

Training Day: A police procedural on high. Why didn't *both* the lead actors get an Oscar each?

"King Kong ain't got shit on me!"

Falling Down: Michael Douglas acts almost as good as Robert Duvall. Brilliant.

"I'm just going home".

Any other memorable ones you can think of? Any from Bollywood?

Just One Word

2009-08-21T08:25:00.000+04:00

How famous do you have to be to compel the world to notice and address you by one, just ONE word? You and only you are identified with that one single eponymous word. Not your father, nor any other relative, indeed none of your family. When that word is uttered, it's you they are talking about. You own that name!

Who does make it then?

How about Madonna? Hmm, that would be cheating, right? Coz she does have just one name anyways, right? Nope! She was born Madonna Ciccione, and despite having had the handicap of being named after a really famous personage, has made the name her very own in the modern world.

And hey, pseudonyms shouldn't count. I mean, which parent would have normally named their kids Sting (Gordon Sumner, Ladies & Gentlemen) or Bono (Paul Hewson, everyone!)?

Well, my own nominees for this honour would be Gandhi, Mandela, Garbo, Ali, Churchill. All real heavyweights!

Anyone else come to mind?

Glory Days

2009-05-23T09:48:00.005+04:00

"Glory Days....
...They'll pass you by..
..in the wink of a young girl's eye.."

The Boss might as well have written the song for Indian politicians. The song pops into my head just like that, when I see Laloo Prasad interviewed on tv by Barkha Dutt, the other day.

Laloo is half-seated half-sprawled over a sofa seat. He is wearing a singlet and a rather bemused and resigned expression. His hand is frequently to his head, supporting it or just holding it. All fight seems to have gone out of him. And no wonder. His party strength in Lok Sabha has been reduced to just 4 in 2009, down from 24. Twenty. Four.

Lalu Yadav has lesser seats than the evergreen थाली का बैंगन Ajit Singh of Baghpat.

Four months back, Lalu was on a trip to Japan (Japan!) leading a group of Railways officials, to lecture them about the success of Indian Railways, of which he was the minister in the previous government. A year back, he gave a talk to the students of IIM-Ahmedabad, *the* most prestigious management institute in the country. 2 years back, he was vociferously demanding renaming of Patna.

Yesterday, the RPF police team assigned for his security at his bungalow in Patna was removed completely.

Renuka Chowdhury is another example. Bold, brash, outspoken, prime example of foot-in-mouth syndrome. Lost her seat, lost her cabinet post, lost her tongue.

All these adjectives put into mind yet another opinionated gasbag, Mani Shankar Aiyer. Again, lost his seat, lost his cabonet post, and not a peep out of him. But in all fairness, having been relegated to Panchayati Raj minister in the previous govt had not done anything to improve his telepresence. The only time I recall seeing him on tv over the last 2 years has been when he recently launched his book on Rajiv Gandhi.

If movie heroes live and die every Friday, then politicians live, die or get resurrected every 5 years.

"Life is short, the Art is long, opportunity fleeting, experience delusive, judgment difficult." - Hippocrates.

Stuck with it

2009-05-15T10:42:00.001+04:00

What is it that belongs to you, but is normally used by everyone else except you?

It's your name.

The one thing that defines you, follows you and is an integral part of yourself, your identity and what you are perceived as your entire life, and the one thing that is not yours to choose or decide upon.

What inspires fond parents of a newborn defenceless slobbering baby to come up with creative yet risible names? Is it a latent sense of revenge, inspired by visions of potential sleepless nights catering to the whims & fancies of the tyke that's incessantly leaking from both ends? Or is the revenge directed towards the previous generation, the parents themselves having been saddled with unfortunate handles?

We are not talking celebrities here, who are anyway ensconced in their own crazy world, and who don't realise that fame doesn't get passed on with genes. Their progeny may not grow up to lead a rock lifestyle and may actually have to work for a living, in which case a name like Peaches may not be well suited for an accountant. What about an insurance broker named Moon Unit? They would much rather have "M. U. Zappa" on their visitng card, right? Hmm, in this case actually, the surname is weird enough to begin with. Iss ka kuchh nahin ho sakta. The only thing keeping this kid sane is probably the fact that her 3 siblings are named Dweezil, Ahmet Emuukha Rodan & Diva Thin Muffin Pigeen.

So okay, let's not worry about Chastity Bono, Apple Martin, Pilot Inspektor Lee, Sage Moonblood Stallone or any other unfortunate kids of fortune. We aren't likely to meet any of them normally in a social situation.

I am more concerned about people we do meet or have met in our very own lives, whose names elicit a stunned reaction or perhaps one of awe!

For instance, I had a lecturer in college who went by the name of K L Sharma. All very normal, you would presume. Maybe a Kishen Lal, or a Kanhaiya Lal or something mundane like that. But no. We discovered to our intense amusement that his parents had decided in their infinite wisdom to name him Kabaari (ragpicker) Lal!

Well, if you do have to think of a career for your child while naming them, you can't fault all those aspiring parents in Punjab who names their sons Jarnail (corrupted form of General) or Karnail (ditto of Colonel).

A college mate of mine married TripuraSundari, quite a mouthful, but hey, who's complaining if you get married to "The Most Beautiful One in 3 worlds"!

A post like this can never ignore the claims of Shrimati Laloo Yadav, our own sweet Rabri Devi, who is alleged to have a sister named Imarti. On the subject, Laloo tried his best Zappa impersonation (no, not musically!) by naming his daughter Misa, as a protest against the Maintenance of Internal Security Act.

More recently, I came across a salesgirl whose nametag announced her to the world as "Girly". Girly? Girly??? Don't tell me her brother is named Boysie!

No, he wasn't.

I asked her. :-)..

About a dog

2009-05-02T11:47:00.011+04:00

I was trying to watch this movie called Dus

My mind went numb & my heart said बस!

Desperately trying to be slick, smooth & grand

just like the real stuff from Hollywoodland.

Oh, Anubhav Anubhav Anubhav, why were you so rash

to follow up this stinker with yet another one called "Cash"?

In all honesty, it's not the only hindi movie

to make believe it's oh-so funky n groovy.

Think of काँटे, धूम, धूम २ & दोस्ताना

Swagger, pouts, Shades, & cleavage दिखाना

Mahesh, Karan & Co., here's some heartfelt advice

We want a good story, not rehashed Miami Vice!

Where's the challenge in ripping off Bad Boys 2?

If Johnny Gaddar could do it, so can you!

It could be somewhat funny if it wasn't so grating

Frankly My Dear, it's just nauseating.

All these cool auteurs remind me of a little girl

trying on, for the first time, her mama's pearls.

Her face all powdery, & red with rouge

stumbling & fumbling in grownup shoes.

Dar Lage Toh Gaana Gaa...

2009-04-24T11:23:00.009+04:00

They say an average person fears public speaking more than they fear death. At least that's what Seinfeld says. In my lexicon of useless information, there's even a word for this fear, Glossophobia! (from the Greek word Glossa meaning tongue).

My own source of terror is singing in public, probably only topped by the mortification of hearing my own singing voice. Any intentions that I could have possibly harboured of leading life as a wandering minstrel were nipped in the bud, thanks to my mother, who fondly recorded her pubescent son once, while encouraging him to give vent to his singing urge. Poor mom didn't realise that apart from Michael Jackson, no one has yet mastered the art of staying contralto post the age of 13!

That tape was played just once in my hearing and then I fled the room. My singing muse has never had the courage to show its face in my conscious mind yet. That tape probably still exists, and is being used to ward off evil spirits in a house far far away.

So why am I telling you all this? Well, with such a buildup to my historical aversion, it was a complete & utter surprise when last Saturday, I found myself singing! In a stranger's house. Hindi songs. On Karaoke. Will the ignominy never end?

Thankfully, there were just 2 witnesses to my crime against humanity, not counting the maid, who incidentally was singing an aria to herself while making Indian food in the kitchen! Figure that out!

Was I drunk? Could Bacchus be the one to conveniently blame for my lapse? Not really! Mine kind host had offered me his lavish hospitality, but I had limited myself to a wee dram of Glenfiddich.

I had been invited for dinner by an ex-colleague who had recently gotten married. A very interesting match it was too, the couple being from different countries, different religions, different marital statuses before this one... you name any tradition, this couple broke it! Any topic of conversation in this particular social setting was a potential minefield, especially when a clunky person like myself was concerned! Just ask my wife; she's been trying to housetrain me for years. But I think all women secretly love having such socially inept hubbies to shout at and moan about to their friends, than they would let on!

The couple was very nice and gracious, the food was pretty good and the conversation was freeflowing and interesting (and very measured, from my side!). Contrary to all my apprehensions, there was no awkwardness at all while we chatted about various things, primarily because the couple were very much in tune (and dare I use the sappy word, Love?) with each other.

Then while at the dining table, I happened to see some strange contraption on the sideboard and asked about it. "It" was the karaoke attachment, which was promptly plugged in for a demo for the guest of honour! You just can't beat North Indians, especially Punjabis, for warmth, impulsiveness & an innate urge to show off! :-)

That "demo" went on for an hour, with the husband and wife both promptly grabbing a wireless mike each and singing out the lyrics of old hindi songs from the giant screen on the living room wall. I obviously declined all offers to being involved in the singing, and had to make ridiculous excuses. But there's no punjabi like a persistent punjabi, and hence I had to make my own contributions to the city's noise pollution.

After a couple of halfheartedly sung songs, I think I began to hit my stride and even secretly enjoyed the music. The funny part: all songs were accompanied by a random sequence of stock photographs, preprogrammed in the karaoke machine. So, while "Rafi" was singing a classical tune, the background shot would be of the Eiffel Tower or a hill in Scotland! Quite amusing.

It was almost midnight when I rose to bid adieu to my hosts. So after a lifetime of Singlossophobia (clever coinage, eh?), I finally found I could in fact enjoy singing loud in public.

Just goes to show you that life is full of surprises. There's no end to enriching and discovering yourself.

Be that as it may, I am still looking to destroy that tape!

Courage

2009-04-21T23:52:00.006+04:00

"What is courage?"

The story goes that a prestigious college had this as a question in their application form. The students were expected to write long essays in response. According to legend, one student, when faced with this question simply wrote the sentence 'This is courage.' and sent in his application. He was selected.

You know what I think courage is?

Sending the T-shirt below to the धोबी for ironing!

I haven't been able to muster enough courage for it, even a week after I washed the shirt!

And the Oscar for Best Dad goes to...

2009-04-18T09:33:00.004+04:00

So who make the best screen dads? Who are our role models for how to be kind, stern, responsible, loving, strict, wise, playful...the qualifications list for daddy'ism goes on.

My own nominations would be:

In Hindi movies:

- Balraj Sahni: An example of this great man's portrayal of a father is "Paraya Dhan". But how does one forget "Garam Hawa" or "Waqt"? Or "Kabuliwala"?

- Nazir Hussain: "बेटी, आज अगर तेरी माँ ज़िंदा होती.." The quintessential maudlin & tormented father. :-)

In Hollywood:

- Danny Aiello: Apart from being a fine movie actor, he played Madonna's dad in the "Papa Don't Preach" video.

-John Goodman : Check out "Coyote Ugly".

Into The Light

2009-04-17T13:53:00.003+04:00

A couple of days back, a friend gave me a nefarious time-soaking device: Season 1 and the pilot DVDs of Battlestar Galactica. It's coming to an end right now in the US, and I have not been that fond of SF serials anyway. But when I started watching it, I just couldn't stop at one, as the potato chips ad goes!

What really gripped my attention was the title music for the pilot and the episodes. Both have operatic voices singing some strangely familiar chants. And it dawned on me that these are the same mantras that we have known for a long time.

The pilot uses the chant "Tamaso Ma Jyotir Gamayaa". Having heard and read this one so many times, I was finally curious to delve deeper into the exact meaning and significance of this phrase. A little bit of research told me that this is part of a complete chant, as below:

"असतो मा सदगमय; तमसो मा ज्योतिर्गमय; मृत्योर मा अमृतं गमय; ॐ शांति शांति शांति"

"Asato Ma SadGamaya; Tamaso Ma Jyotir Gamaya; Mrityor Ma Amritam Gamaya; Om Shanti Shanti Shanti"

Meaning:
"O Lord, Lead Us From Untruth To Truth, Lead Us From Darkness To Light, Lead Us From Death To Immortality, Om (signifying the sound of the Eternal) Let There Be Peace Peace Peace."

This chant is taken from the Third Brahmana of the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad (1.3.27).

The things we have to relearn from foreign shores! Even the link above is to the Max Muller translation of the Upanishad. Well, knowledge doesn't really belong to anyone, I guess!

Okay, this was just the pilot. The episodes use a different chant as their title music. More on that in a separate post.

Scotland trip in pix

2009-04-04T17:17:00.003+04:00

Balmoral Hotel: View from my hotel window

Queen Margaret's Chapel window

Fly, the terrier

The famous Glenkinchie copper stills

The whisky tasting chamber

Scotch & Sailboats : 5th day in Scotland

2009-04-04T16:49:00.005+04:00

Day 5

August 23rd

This was to be the day of the pilgrimage, the day we were all waiting for, the day we would go to visit the motherlode. A visit to the scotch whisky distillery. Every person's brain had just 2 words flashing in big neon lettering: FREE TASTING!

An hour's bus journey through grassy fields and small villages brought us to the Glenkinchie distillery at about 10am. The distillery itself seemed somewhat small to me. It was just a couple of buildings close to each other. Not much bigger than a couple of large barns stuck together. Not what you would expect of a multimillion, multinational business.

But then, midway through the factory tour, one realises that all that is needed for a whisky distillery is a couple of giant fermenting vats which can be housed in, you guessed it, a couple of big barns. That, and the right water, the right soil, the right climate etc.

How whisky is actually made is quite simple: Soak a lot of barley in water and let it germinate. Then dry it out with smoke. Mash the lot and dump it in huge vats (tuns) filled with warm water and let it all ferment & turn to warm smelly mush. Cool and then distil in copper vats. Keep distilling continuously till the whole liquid becomes highly concentrated. Fill in oak casks and then store it cool dry place for maturing. The maturing period determines the quality of the final whisky. Different aged whiskies are then mixed together to get blended scotch. Alternatively, a whisky from a single batch or a single distillery can be bottled straighaway & sold, as a Single Malt.

The fumes inside the tun chamber were so strong that one of the guys (the same person who was relieved at not having won the whsky bottle) was overcome by them, and had to retire outdoors to get some fresh air. As for the rest of us, we though we were in beer heaven! The smell was exactly like that.

After checking out the shiny copper stills, and me having asked a couple of intelligent (!) questions, we came out into the whisky tasting room! At long last! There was an entire wall of different whiskies which were there to be served and enjoyed. I tried out a couple of unusual ones, asking the master for advice. Don't really recall which ones I tasted. One of them was a rare Caol Ila, I remember.

Later, it was time to shop in Glenkinchie's dutyfree whisky shop. I picked up 4 bottles of various Single Malts, and only stopped at the thought of my overweight baggage which I would be having to carry to Leicester on a local flight before returning to Dubai.

Back to the hotel, we advised everyone for get a bit of rest after lunch so as to be fresh for the evening's gala dinner. It was to be the grand finale of the trip. And what a finale!

At 7pm sharp, a bus came to fetch our entire group and take us to the docks. As we got down from the bus, the group could see a red carpet laid out, leading towards the steps of the HMY Britannia. There was a huge mustachioed royal piper in full regalia playing by the side of the boat.

At the top of the steps, we were met by the blonde tour guide, Shelley Ryan. At the sight of her, suddenly every guy's tummy got sucked in and they got taller by at least 2 inches! Amazing scientific phenomenon, this.

A purser come across to greet us, since our group was being given a personalised tour of the boat. He led us to the Queen's drawing room which had a grand fireplace and an equally grand piano. We draped ourselves over various settees & sofas while drinks were served. As expected, every person had their cameras out and was busy clicking away.

After 15 minutes of posing every which way, we were led all along the boat to have a look at the living chambers of various royal personalities, including the Queen, the Duke, The Prince etc. Their quarters were sealed off and preserved in an everyday kind of scenario. The queen had a rather small single bed along one side of the room, and a desk at right angles to it. The quarters were rather small, but they would have had to be, on board a ship.

We slowly made out way through the captain's quarters, the officers' mess room and the huge dining room. There were pictures of the royal family on the corridor walls. It was funny to see all the princes as they were decades ago.

Four different Royal couples have had their honeymoons on board this yacht. Princess Margaret and Anthony Armstrong-Jones were the first to get the Britannia treatment when, in 1960, it took them on a 6,000 mile voyage to the Caribbean. Princess Anne and Captain Mark Phillips were next, cruising the West Indies in 1973. In 1981 Charles & Diana boarded in Gibraltar at the start of their 16-day honeymoon voyage in the Mediterranean. Finally, in 1986 Britannia hosted her final honeymoon for the Duke and Duchess of York who spent five days aboard the Yacht cruising around the Azores.

See the pattern? None of the marriages survived! :-)

Out on the deck, it was getting to be dark, and the lights of the city were coming on one by one. The guide expolained to us that the Queen used to sail to various countries on the yacht on official visits, and when they arrived at the destination, the yacht would drop anchor off the coast, the royal Rolls Royce that was also on the boat, would be carried to the shore, the Queen would then get onto a smaller motorboat to get ashore, and then with full pomp and show, the Rolls would carry her to the official ceremonies.

The Rolls is now permanently stationed in a glass-sided garage on the deck, and is still always kept in full working condition.

We continued our deck tour, and checked out the badminton court as well as a huge bell with the yacht name and "1953" the year of its commissioning engraved on it.

I made a quick detour here to go to the gift shop and pick up a couple of mementoes, including a commemorative Wedgewood. The shop was doing brisk business and the queues at the counter were really long. The place seems to be very popular with tourists.

We proceeded to the stateroom where a massive table had been laid out for us, with placeholders indicating our seating places. Each placeholder had an embossed royal insignia along with our names, making it an instant collectible. It was the same with the menus, which were individually designed, with the same embossed insignia, the individual's name inside and their specific diets taken into account in the individually customised menus. The Royal treatment!

After dinner was over and the plates had been cleared, I got up to thank the group for their performance, and then handed out the certificates to the winners, accompanied with a lot of applause and popping flashbulbs. Finally we made our way out of the boat, happy and sated.

This was the final event in the tour itinerary, and we would be making our way home from the next morning onwards. I would not accompany the group which would be taking a direct flight home, but would take a short local flight from Edinburgh to Leicester.

The next 2 days, including the weekend were spent happily in the company of the "golden haired" Maami'ma, the English cousins, boisterous kids running amok, toy trains laid out in the guest room (with their precise running schedules scrawled in spidery writing & pasted on various doors), visits to the local botanical garden (where I saw a Venus flytrap for the 1st time!), icecreams in the back garden in nice cool sunny weather. Oh, and not to forget, kitchen table discussions with a Shakespearean drama critic named Janet Jackson! (DISCLAIMER: No wardrobe malfunctions occurred during the course of such discussions). A good time was had by all.

Highland Games: 4th day in Scotland

2009-04-04T16:48:00.001+04:00

Day 4

August 22th

Today was the day for the team-building activity at Mavis Hall park. We had arranged for some highland games to be played between teams comprising our group members, though I had no idea what these games were. After a 45 minute drive, we arrived at the farm.

It was a grey morning, and it had been drizzling all through our journey. We squelched our way through muddy paths into a warm cozy barn where coffee was being served. I think a few of our guys wouldn't have minded a tot of something stronger, even that early in the morning! Fly, the terrier, was running around, darting between everyone's legs and then disappearing under the serving tables. On our way in, we have seen a few hens clucking about, and then everyone had stopped to click away. It was really funny to see the mother hen pecking away at the ground, and her brood of tiny chicks following her, stopping every now and then to peck away on their own. I joked that catching the hen was one of the highland games we would be playing.

We ambled through leafy woods to the vast clearing which was to be the scene of the intense competition between the 4 "clans". There were to be 4 separate competitions:

Tossing the Caber: You have to lift a caber (a large pole) so that it is perpendicular to your body with one end pointing to the sky. The pole is then tossed forward in the air to rotate (at least once!) and fall over to lie in the 12 o’clock position, or as near that as possible.

Weight over Bar: This involves (obviously!) swinging a wooden block over a bar which somewhat resembles the rugby goalposts. The bar is behind you and you swing the block with the help of strong ropes tied around it, over your head , letting it go at the critical moment.

Highland Dancing: Teams watch a short demo of highland dancing by pretty girls in flouncy long skirts to the tune of bagpipes before they have to dance the very same intricate steps themselves.

Welly Boot Hurling: Team members have to throw a large wellie boot towards big tyre hoping to land it plumb inside, but it’s not as easy as it sounds, especially if you are under intense pressure to score points for your team!

As one can imagine, the teams were really charged up for the competitions, and the resulting antics were rather funny to watch! Especially when pot-bellied not-so-young guys huffed and puffed while trying to lift the oh-so-heavy cabers and balance them precariously over their shoulders. Funnier still was the spectacle of leadfooted guys in wellingtons trying to match the nimble-footed steps of the young girls doing the highland jig! As for me, I stuck to the only few steps I know, the bhangra steps made famous in all his movies by Dharmendra!

After the fun and games were over and the team totals added up, there was one more little game to be played: Haggis Malt Challenge. A bottle of malt whisky was placed on the uneven grassy field, and every person had to try throwing Scotland’s national dish (or a wooden skittle as a representation) as close to Scotland’s favourite drink as they could. The person who would get closest to the bottle would win the Challenge and the bottle! Our guide, Stuart, talked us through this game, and then proceeded to give us a quick demo with the wooden skittle which to everyone's amazement (and probably his own too!) went on to bounce a coule of times on the uneven ground and hit that bottle smack on target!

Of course, none of us proved to be that accurate (or lucky?). There was a bit of a tension at the very end, when the very last person to throw the skittle inched ahead to the bootle, and was declared the winner. Later. much later, I got to know that the person who ended up losing in the end was the most relieved person. It seems that he was not too keen to handle a whisky bottle, owing to the compulsions of his sectarian beliefs. Well, it's not too often that a contest ends up making not one but two people equally happy!

A happily tired, slightly wet & bedraggled lot finally made their way to the bus, to be taken directly to the lunch venue, The Living Room, that I have written about earlier. Afterwards, it was a quiet stroll along the streets back to the hotel, for some rest & recuperation.

The Castle & the Fire: 3rd day in Scotland

2008-09-12T22:59:00.003+04:00

Day 3

August 21st

Picture this: You are in the middle of the jungle in a forest lodge, the South African veldt is all around you, it is the middle of the night, you can hear the quiet noise of the wild outside, the whisper of the wind, the distant growl of the lion, you are preparing to retire for the night in your comfy cottage, as the rest of your group tiredly trudges to their respective ones. And then a female voice says to you, "I can't sleep alone at night!"

Banish all prurient thoughts from your head right now. This was serious. This grown up woman of ... well whatever age, had lived all her life in a big joint family, and would always be surrounded by lots of people, boisterous kids running underfoot, and generally be surrounded by a lot of noise. When she found herself in silent surroundings in a cottage all to herself in the middle of the African jungle, she obviously got the jitters very badly. Hmmmm.

We had to come up with a serious solution to this seemingly frivolous probem, since this woman was very much part of our group and we were responsible for their welfare.

The 2 other women in our group immediately whispered urgently into my unoccupied ear that they would *not* share their cottages with anyone. Mind you, one of these women was our event organiser and the other was a colleague from my company! But compulsions of privacy ranked way beyond the call of duty, and I couldn't really blame them for that.

Finally, after a lot of options had been examined and discarded, a solution was proposed by our little tale's protagonist herself. It was bizarre and yet it worked for her.

She spent the night on the sofa in the reception of our jungle lodge. All through the night, people kept coming on to rearrange the furniture, sweep the floor or to check out of the lodge. All that noise was enough for her to drift off into a peaceful sleep.

OK, apart from the fact that I had referred to this episode casually in my last blog entry, what does this have to do with our current Scotland trip, ? Well, nothing as yet. But will any member of our current group come up with some request like this? Keep reading.

Edinburgh is not a very large spreadout city. We could see the ramparts of the Edinburgh Castle from our hotel. The bus journey took not more than 15 minutes, through narrow uphill streets. The bus parked on what I later discovered was the Esplanade. Unfortunately the Edinburgh Military Tattoo had finished just the previous day, so the entire area was rather desolate and forelorn. The sky was grey and overcast, which gave the castle a very Scottish look.

The Esplanade area is surrounded on all sides by stadium-style seatings. I don't know whether this is a permanent arrangement or was rigged especially for the Tattoo. A quick explanation of what the Tattoo is. It is a kind of annual military parade given by British Armed Forces, Commonwealth and International military bands and display teams in Edinburgh every August as part of the Edinburgh Festival. So why is it called a tattoo, if there is no tattooing to be done?

The word "tattoo" originally dates from the eighteenth century, when British Army units were stationed in Flanders. Drummers from the garrison were sent out into the towns each evening to Beat Retreat, summoning the soldiers to return to barracks for the night. The process was known as "tap toe" and encouraged the inn keepers to stop serving beer and send the soldiers back for the night. That devolved into the word tattoo. So now you know!

As we trooped over the drawbridge into the castle, we noticed a dry moat below us, and statues of Robert the Bruce and William "Braveheart" Wallace on either side of the main gate. By the time we had crossed inside, it had started to drizzle. Most of our own brave hearts had obviously come without any umbrella or cover. So we were scrambling over stoney cobbled paths to reach the nearest stone building. The castle itself is arranged more or less like the Tower of London; there is a large vacant square in the middle, surrounded by stone structures on all sides. These structures house various rooms or chambers, including the royalty's rooms, the throne room, the Crown Jewels collection etc. Then there are steps leading underground to dungeons, to chambers where World War 1 prisoners were kept etc.

The very first structure we entered had a tourist shop, which stocked blue colored ponchos. When I pointed this out to a few of my semi-soaked group members, there was a rush on them, and soon after I could see the entire group wearing them. As for me, I was prepared for the inclement weather with an all-purpose rainproof & windproof jacket. I always carry such a raiment whenever I travel abroad to colder climes. It has proven to be a great all-in-one jacket that has kept me warm and (mostly) dry in places like Jo'burg (in August), Switzerland (in December), St. Petersburg (in March) and numerous trips in Germany in the winters.

The tourist shop also gave me the opportunity to buy a few knick knacks for the family. That serious business conducted, I settled down to take in the rest of the tour. We ambled through the various structures that included these:

- The Royal Palace (apartments of the royalty dating from the 15th century, including Mary Queen of Scots. She gave birth here to King James VI of Scotland, later James I of England)

- The Crown Room: This houses the Scottish Crown Jewels and Regalia. They include the Crown of Scotland, sceptre and sword of state. The crown dates from 1540, is made of Scottish gold and is set with pearls, diamonds and other gemstones. The Sceptre is also made of gold, and topped with a large quartz crystal. The most treasured possession of Scotland is the Stone of Destiny, upon which the monarchs of Scotland are traditionally crowned.

- St. Margaret's Chapel: It's the oldest surviving building in Edinburgh Castle and the oldest building in Edinburgh. Legend had it that St. Margaret worshipped in this small chapel, but research indicates that it was built at the beginning of the 12th century by her fourth son who became King David. This is a small irregular stone building. The rectangular structure with an internal width of about 10 ft has an entrance door at one side near the back of the nave which is about 16 ft long, then there's a round arch on columns leading into a sanctuary. A very quaint peaceful place despite the hordes of tourists pouring in through the narrow entrance. Since there was room for one person to either enter or exit through the only entrance, and since everyone stood aside in deference to the other tourists in typically polite British style, there was a gaggle of people inside and a long queue of people outside just dying to rush in.

By the time I came out of the chapel onto the upper ramparts of the castle where the cannons were kept, the sun had come out and there were large crowds of families with children enjoying the view of Edinburgh city spread out far below us. It was almost time to return to the bus.

Our lunch venue was The Dome on St. George's Street. This restaurant used to be a bank earlier, which is pretty apparent once you stand in front of its imposing facade of huge Roman-style pillars. The main doors lead to a plush lobby which wouldn't be out of place in any grand clubs or colonial buildings frequenting Bombay or Calcutta. This lobby in turn opens into a huge dining area completely overwhelmed by a huge glass-covered dome (what else?). There are ceiling-length pillars and potted plants scattered throughout the Grill Room. Overall impression? Elegant and cool.

During lunch, we had the same old problems about individual persons' dietary requirements. Some people didn't want to have meat because of halal issues, some wanted seafood, some had requested for just vegetarian cuisine and one person wanted raw fruits and vegetables, in other words, a Jain meal. To each his own.

Once lunch was finished, our group had free time to itself. People were told to make their own way on foot back to the hotel, if they so pleased. Else they could just wander about and discover the city, so to say. St. George's Street is not too far from the hotel, and the weather was pleasant too. So our group of 4-5 persons decided to stroll back to the hotel, taking in the sights.

The Edinburgh Fringe Festival had taken over the city and High Street, right next to our hotel, was jammed with street performers as well as the crowds thronging around them. The pavements were packed tight, and it really was some effort to actually move through the crowd, since the street sloped gently uphill. In addition to the interesting performers, who apart from being skilled at their art were glib talkers as well, I was drawn to the couple of specialist whisky shops on the street. The more authentic looking one was Royal Mile Whiskeys, at the junction of High Street and St. Giles Street. I ventured in with my troop of curious onlookers. The entire shop was crammed with single malt whiskeys, not surprisingly. The bottles were neatly standing against wall cabinets, clearly labelled and marked with prices, ranging from 20 pounds to 300 pounds. On the shop floor were cane baskets filled with miniature whiskey bottles for a pound to 5 pounds each. There was a shelf in the middle of the shop that had confectionary made from malt whiskey. Something for everyone. More importantly, the sales persons were very knowledgeable and happy to help. I caught snatches of conversation between some of them and the customers who were animatedly discussed obscure varieties of whiskey. It was a lovely atmosphere to absorb in. I didn't buy anything right then, but returned later on another day and bought a bottle each of 16 yo Lagavulin, 10 yo Tamdhu and 12 yo Glendronach, and also an assortment of miniatures to gift friends. Oh, and I couldn't resist getting a small box of whiskey fudge for my family! It was back to the hotel after the long walk, and get some rest for the evening ahead.

In the evening, we all trooped back to High Street where we were met by a theatrical guy dressed all in black, either a clergyman or a judge. He led us through back alleys and pathways all the while talking about various dark episodes in the city's history that had happened there. I thought the entire walking tour could have been much better, but then maybe he didn't talk about the best bits. We ended up at an entrance to an underground tunnel, in a light drizzle. The tunnel smelt rather musty, and was the start of an entire mesh of interconnecting rooms and passages under the city, dated back to 1540, as we were told. These underground cellars had a bloodthirsty history which I won't go into details here, but all this can be read on their website.

Finally, we ended up in a large cavern where we were served dinner. It was a weird feeling, having dinner underground beneath a bridge.

When we came out of the cavern, it was in the foyer of a nice modern restaurant! The drizzle outside had turned into full fledged rain, and I was thankful I had on my trusted all-in-one wind- and rain-proof jacket. The hotel was within walking distance (of course!) and we proceeded towards it.

When we reached there and tried to get in, we were met by a couple of firemen who told us not to enter, and to stay out on the main street. A couple of hotel guests were being shepherded out as well. One elderly woman was clad in just a bathrobe and hotel slippers, having been hurriedly summoned out of her room, and was shivering at just the thought of going out in the rain. But the firemen were adamant, and had been joined by the hotel staff. The explanation for this was that there was a fire alarm and they were checking out the entire hotel.

So then our entire group members trudged out slowly on the street, where a fire brigade truck had arrived. Soon, two other trucks joined it and the entire hotel area was cordoned off. A long-legged blonde rushed out of the hotel and identifying herself as a hotel employee, asked us all to go off to the Carlton Hotel across the street rather than stand on the road. It took a lot of imploring the entire contingent to actually accomplish this, because by then the guests were feeling the effect of the late night and the tiredness of a full day. Shortly thereafter, the other hotel's lobby was completely taken over by tired sleepy guests sprawled all over every available seat in the vast lobby. The helpful staff of the Carlton even arranged for some refreshments for the hungry ones. It was past 1 am already with no further news from the firemen.

I kept going out into the street and standing across from the Scotsman to check out what was happening. It was almost fun to be out there in the rain. About 2am, we were finally told that there had been a fire alarm in one of the guest bathrooms due to some "malfunction", and now it was safe to again go in.

The bed was lovely, soft and deep, and I had just seconds to ponder before I slept.

Mirrors

2008-09-12T21:06:00.000+04:00

Suppose you are standing in front of your bathroom mirror, looking at your own face. What would be the size of your face on the mirror surface? And if you were to back away slowly, what would happen to that face size on the surface?

Check out the answers & the reasoning in this fascinating article by Natalie Angier:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/22/science/22angi.html?pagewanted=1&em

The Scottish farm: 2nd day in Scotland

2008-08-29T10:53:00.001+04:00

Day 2

Enid Blyton's descriptions of English farms came alive as I looked upon the barn with clucking hens pecking away merrily and a little cocker spaniel (named Buster maybe? No, Buster was a Scottish Terrier and anyway that would have been asking for too much!) panted and gazed expectantly with sad eyes at us, as if willing us to throw a wooden stick for him to catch.

We had just alighted from our car after a 45 minutes journey from Edinburgh, to check out Mavis Hall Park, the venue for the outdoors activity we had planned for our group. The drive was again very pleasant, passing through small villages with quaint names and with green hillocks on both sides. It was drizzling lightly when we started and got steadily stronger as the journey progressed. But then that's the charm of English (sorry, Scottish!) weather!

A charming and pleasantly smiling lady named Fiona met us on arrival and ushered the three of us into her room. This was a converted shed on the farm, and was very cosy inside though cluttered all over just like a regular office space. There was another connected chamber which was occupied by some mysterious female voice that materialised just once to hand us some tea and then was never seen again (I mean, by us during our visit!).

The aforementioned spaniel, Fly was busy running between our legs and trying to introduce himself. Our hostess meanwhile had asked for some hot tea from that disembodied voice and there were some pieces of Scottish shortbread on the table. While Kirstie, our local contact and Shady, our event coordinator were busy sorting out the program details with the hostess, I was looking around the room. It was somewhat disconcerting to find a PC in these surroundings with windows of emails and Word documents open on the monitor. There was a small fax somewhere too. There were stacks of neatly labelled files on the floor. Visiting cards were put up on corkboard. Various Scottish-themed knickknacks like clan badges were scattered all over.

Having gone through the program details, we then pulled on some Wellingtons and clomped our way into the barn behind the office. This would be where the guests would be welcomed with a hot cup of tea or coffee (nothing stronger!). We came out of the barn, crossed the road and walked along a muddy path winding through the woods. We were closely surrounded with trees and shrubs on both sides of the ath. I could also hear the gurgling sound of a brook up ahead. Soon enough, we saw the brook somewhat below us to our right. The scene was absolutely enchanting.

After a few minutes of walking, we came across a vast clearing of grass that had a charming little loch at the far end. This was where our group would be playing traditional Scottish highland games. I could also see a medium sized castle to my left which presumably belonged to the landlord. The entire area was surrounded by mountains on three sides which gave it a very charming air.

We came back to the hotel by noon, and I retired to my room for a bit of rest and also to catch up on my email. I ordered a club sandwich from room service, which was an adventure by itself, since this hotel is not one of those conventional touristy hotels but is a character by itself. Anyway, I rested a while and waited for the group to arrive by 2pm. Their flight got delayed and they finally arrived by around 5pm or so.

Most people in the group were already familiar to me from previous trips but there were a few new faces as well, including a female. Hmm, the last time we had had a female in our trip had been a couple of years back in South Africa and that had turned out to be a rather interesting experience! But more on that later.

We had kept a light schedule for the group for the day of their arrival; just a spot of dinner followed by bed or the more adventurous ones could go out to explore the nightlife.

Over the light dinner, I welcomed the group to the event and congratulated them for being the high achievers that they were. I outlined the coming 3 days' program and explained a few helpful facts, including the contents of haggis, the Scots national dish. They were gratifyingly revolted.

Stranger in a strange land: Memories of Scotland

2008-08-20T20:01:00.002+04:00

Day 1

"Ajfxrtr jrrr uwg fgnkrng?" The girl at the immigration asked me. I looked uncomprehendingly at her.

She tried again, "Fheryjf sf krhg gtekjgfa sdtjhyg?" I gaped at her like a country bumpkin.

Then she tried it slower and louder, at this mentally retarded person.

"Do you speak English?"

The indignation was dripping from my voice as I answered, "Of course I do!"

And that was my introduction to Glasgow English.

I had a taste of more of the same when our driver who was driving us to Edinburgh tried to explain some of the scenery to us, and we would just try to read his lips and nod away smiling, because for the life of us, we could not figure out what he was saying. He kept asking me about some collar and I kept trying to figure out where that fitted into our conversation, because we had been discussing neither shirts nor dogs. Then it dawned on me that he was asking me if we found Glasgow cooler!

It is a rather humbling experience when after a lifetime of speaking and writing English fluently, you run into the wall of regional dialects and are made to appear a fool or a retard.

The flight from Dubai had been very comfortable though a bit long. Thankfully I had been bumped up to business class, so it was okay. I spent the long flight watching movies ("I Could Never Be Your Woman", "Charlie Bartlett"). We actually landed a couple of minutes before schedule (12:30pm), and the pilot announced this fact as if expecting an applause!

So after we had cleared immigration & customs, and collected out baggage which didn't take very long since I had just 1 small case, we ventured out and were met by the aforementioned driver who ushered us into a large sleek Merc. Hmmm!

We stopped just outside the airport to check out a hotel called Glynhill for lunch arrangements for the large group that would be following us tomorrow in the same flight. Nice hotel, but a tad expensive. We didn't think the group would be sufficiently hungry for a full-fledged 3 course meal. So then we went on to check other places, like a roadside service station which had a nice convenience store serving big sandwiches, juices and coffee.

After that, we continued onwards to Edinburgh. On both sides of the road were undulating green valleys full of bales of hay and sheep. Not many cows though. The weather was pretty good, with overcast skies and quite a bit of sunshine.

We reached Edinburgh at around 3pm. The Scotsman where we were staying is a very different kind of a hotel. First of all, it was never built to be one. It was the headquarters of The Scotsman newspaper, and was later converted into a hotel. So the entire design of this place is bewildering. The rooms are very comfortable and impressive though they were obviously some poor editor's office once upon a time. The Editor's suite where I was put up is a grand old place with wooden panelling all over the rooms, and small knobs indicating where there is a cupboard built cleverly into the wooden panel. There is even a secret hatch through which one can slide out the room service plates once one is finished with the meals, or put out one's shoes to be polished in the evening. The bedroom window looks out over the railway station a couple of stories below us, and one can gaze upon the stately structure of The Balmoral, another hotel nearby.

All this was not discovered by me immediately, since we had to rush out by 4pm to examine a venue for the Grand Dinner to be held on the last night of the event. And what a venue it turned out to be!

The Royal Yacht Britannia is a decommissioned Royal Yacht previously belonging to the Queen. It was decommissioned in 1997, and as the story goes, the Queen shed a tear when it was finally docked at its berth in Edinburgh port.

We were met by a lovely blonde (no, it's not relevant to the story, but still!) girl who took us around the boat and showed us the arrangements for the Grand Dinner. I will not go into details now, but let this be said, the plans were really Grand!

While discussing all the details over a cup of tea served in a monogrammed tea set (but of course!), I espied some mementos in the wall shelves, and asked the tour guide if there was a tourist shop on the boat. Of course there was. But since it wouldn't be open during our dinner time on Friday, I asked to be taken to it afterward so as to do some "impromptu" shopping. Having done that, we left the boat.

In the evening, we went off to The Living Room, a restaurant which would be hosting our group later this week. A nice cozy place, with live music. I had a grilled salmon washed down with 1664 beer, and then had a shot of 10 year old Macallan. Lovely!

It takes a village

2008-08-16T21:20:00.000+04:00

A few minutes back, I see a little girl of 3 or 4 stepping off the curb at the traffic light, and there's no adult in sight. So instinctively I wag a finger at her, sternly telling her to stay on the pavement. She obeys immediately, with a guilty look on her face.

So then I am thinking to myself while walking the rest of the way home that these days you don't really see any children being admonished or told off by some unrelated grown up, when the kids are seen making some wrong move in public. We all want to be seen as politically correct. Even when parents are present and don't lift a finger to quieten a screaming child in a restaurant or to shake their head at a kid busily exploring the inside of her nose while being introduced to people in public, other adults will sit there, beaming beatifically at the "little angel". Their attitude seems to be either that this is none of their business or a quiet feeling of heartwarming schadenfreude.

In either case, kids get to feel that whatever they do is perfectly all right, and that they are generally free to create any ruckus anywhere anytime. If this was all there was to it, I could still console myself that the world will just have to adjust itself to several more ill-behaved grownups 20 years later. But serious implications can happen if such acquiescence continues to be extended towards antisocial or even reckless tendencies. Consider the example I started off my blog with. A kid that steps off the curb unattended and survives will be encouraged to do the same thing again and again. Oh, maybe that sort of behaviour does explain jaywalkers in Calcutta!

Previous generations would never have stood for this sort of mollycoddling. A firm whack on the side of the head was due to any kid that dared raise his voice in public, even if the administerer was someone not directly related. Horror of horrors, the parents would never take the side of the kid, as & when they got to know of it. It would be the principle that mattered, not the individuals involved or their relationship to the parents.

It does take an entire village to bring up a child.

Actions and consequences

2008-08-16T09:32:00.004+04:00

So this woman in my office comes over to me and starts making small talk. I am obviously a bit wary, frantically thinking ahead about what she wants out of me. You see, she belongs to a religious "cult" or movement where the followers are led to believe Sri Krishna is the One & Only God, their "Ain True Love". Well, imagine that! What is the use of being a Hindu if you have to believe in just one god, when there are so many millions more! I mean, the entire point is Choice, isn't it?

The last time this woman had approached me was to request me to print out a .jpg image as a big color poster, which she said she needed for some religious meeting. The best I could do for her was an A3 size poster, and she said that was fine. So she mailed me this file, which I duly printed out. So what was that image? Some happily smiling benign deity, colored indigo blue, playing among cows and frolicking with Gopikas? I wish it was as mundane as that!

The picture showed a man with his mouth wide open, screaming. Why? Well, you would be screaming too, if your innards were on display, and you were being eaten alive by a mound of termites. The picture was so garishly colored and revolting that I couldn't bear to look at it more than a second. It was more horrifying than Aaron Eckhardt's Two-face in The Gotham Knight.

Apparently this was what would happen to you if you were a nasty person that didn't believe in Sri Krishna being the only and only. I hoped that their religious meetings precluded any children attending, otherwise there is going to be this entire generation of Hindu children growing up with psychedelic nightmares of agonised screaming faces being eaten alive by crawling insects. Whatever happened to the concepts of love, truth and peace?

So this had been my previous encounter with this lovely lady. Now I was wondering what in the name of god she wanted from me now.

So after the inital inane pleasantries are over, she asks me if I can give her a few of those portable backup hard drives that are stacked in the storage room under my name. I ask why she needs more than one. She says she wants to distribute them to her religious congregation. I tell her that they are not mine to give away since they have been purchased as giveaways to customers, and are company property.

Later she send me a couple of emails, and I quote exactly from them below:

"I don’t mind taking all of the drives, I can distribute it to people within my satsang (religious gathering), I think its ok for them..."

"Could you kindly ask _____ on my behalf or shall I send him a message? I don’t know his proper name and email, send it to me please and also he doesn’t know me very well and may say no to me...so I request you to ask him if that’s ok. Otherwise I will ask him, no probs, then whatever he say, "Hari Iccha"."

"What I usually do is send to Vrindavan (...) temple where is a need for these things...See if you can manage otherwise forget the whole thing..."

"Pls. try, it’s a donation to the temple..Krsna will bless you yaar..."

My reply to her? "Krishna may bless me, the company auditors won't!"

I know that Lord Krishna said:
कर्मण्ये वाधिकारस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचनः
मा कर्मः फलः हेतुर भुर्मतेय संगोस्त्व अकर्मणि

You have a right to perform your prescribed action,but you are not entitled to the fruits of your action.
Never consider yourself the cause of the results your activities,and never be associated to not doing your duty.

But this question puzzles me: If you want to do some good, especially among your religious congregation, how can you in good faith give them things which you know were not acquired in the right way or were not yours to give away in the first place? And if so, you are not just committing a sin, but also compounding it by having others acquiesce in your act by accepting such gifts.

The Golden Whip

2007-11-23T11:37:00.000+04:00

Okay, so we've heard of the Palm d'Or at the Cannes, the Golden Bear at the Berlin Filmfest, and our own practical shawl & Rs. 1 lakh, but this one is deliciously ironic and wickedly funny!

http://allafrica.com/stories/200711210423.html

Bloggers Plan Parallel Film Festival on Police Torture
Reporters sans Frontières (Paris)

PRESS RELEASE
21 November 2007
Posted to the web 21 November 2007

Egyptian bloggers have announced that, while the Cairo film festival is taking place from 27 November to 7 December, they will hold a parallel festival in which a "Golden Whip" will be awarded to the best video showing "controversial acts of torture allegedly committed by the security authorities."

How I wish our own Indian blogging community, though so technologically savvy, had embraced video blogs in a similar way! After all, when it comes to torture and official brutality, our national motto is:

___ में अपनी दम नहीं
पर हम कीसीसे कम नहीं

Crashing the disk

2007-11-16T22:34:00.000+04:00

My external hard disk crashed last week. It had more than 200 downloaded movies, lots of music and a ton of scanned pix on it. Devastating, right? But I didn't lose my cool. I was sorely tempted to rave and rant about it. But all that I really wished I could have saved were the pictures.

It took me almost a year's worth of weekend scanning of endless old b&w negatives, many of them over 50 years old, and then carefully processing them to get visible images of the past. All that toil and trouble gone to waste!

Of course I still have the negatives, and if need be I will do the work all over again. But you know how it feels like.

I am trying to see if the hard disk can be salvaged, by taking it to professionals next week. Let's see what happens.

K.I.S.S.

2007-05-15T05:54:00.000+04:00

At a recent computer expo, Bill Gates reportedly compared the computer industry with the auto industry and stated: "If GM had kept up with technology like the computer industry has, we would all be driving twenty-five dollar cars that got 1000 mile to the gallon."
In response to Bill's comments, General Motors issued a press release stating, "If GM had developed technology like Microsoft, we would all be driving cars with the following characteristics:
• For no reason whatsoever your car would crash twice a day.
• Every time they repainted the lines on the road you would have to buy a new car.
• Occasionally your car would die on the freeway for no reason, and you would just accept this, restart and drive on.
• Occasionally, executing a maneuver such as a left turn would cause your car to shut down and refuse to restart. In which case you would have to reinstall the engine.
• Only one person at a time could use the car, unless you bought "CarXP" or "CarNT." But then you would have to buy more seats.
• Macintosh would make a car that was powered by the sun, reliable, five times as fast, and twice as easy to drive, but would only run on five percent of the roads.
• The oil, water temperature, and alternator warning lights would be replaced by a single "general car fault" warning light.
• New seats would force everyone to have the same size body.The airbag system would say "Are you sure?" before going off.
• Occasionally for no reason whatsoever, your car would lock you out and refuse to let you in until you simultaneously lifted the door handle, turned the key, and grabbed hold of the radio antenna.
• GM would require all car buyers to also purchase a deluxe set of Rand McNally road maps (now a GM subsidiary), even though they neither need them nor want them.
• Every time GM introduced a new model car, buyers would have to learn how to drive all over again because none of the controls would operate in the same manner as the old car.
• You'd press the "Start" button to shut off the engine.

But seriously, why should computers be so cumbersome to use? When you switch on the PC, it doesn't just come on. First you see some messages on screen about Windows booting up followed by a blank screen. Then the Windows logo shows up. After that, the "user-friendly" desktop come on, and icons start to show up one by one. There is a spate of programs starting up, while you watch all this impatiently. And finally, the wait is over, you can open up your email program, see that there's nothing but junk email in your inbox (the thought "Nobody loves me!" flashes through your mind), then you go through the same process in reverse order to shut down the PC.

We have gotten so used to the above steps that we now take it for granted. WHY? Why should PCs not be as easy to start up as a common TV? Just switch it on, it starts instantly, taking you to the channel you were watching last night. You want to switch to another channel, just press a button on the remote. You get bored, you click the red button and the TV is off.

Oh, so the PC companies are now launching "Media PCs" which will allow us to control multimedia content we watch at home, directly from our PCs? Wow. So now while the kid is wailing in the other room, we are going to be busy fiddling about with the mp3 streamed content on our wireless networked PC in the living room, so that the "Lullaby" playlist on our iPods can stream onto the surround speakers in the kid's room!

PCs should be even simpler to use than they are at present. This comes from the person who started his PC experience with DOS 3.3 which had a command-line interface with a blinking cursor! If you didn't remember the correct command, you couldn't do anything with the machine. It was akin to having to learn a child's baby language to communicate with it, instead of teaching it yours!

The OLPC (One Laptop Per Child) project should be something to watch out for. A $100 laptop for every child! Check out the prototype pictures here: http://olpc.com/pictures.html

I like the look of those green machines! Don't you?

It's not the bike!

2007-05-14T22:31:00.000+04:00

A few months back, I needed to have some formal pictures of myself taken for an official press release. Naturally, I was told this just a day before the pictures were actually needed. Now these pictures needed an official corporate setting as the background, so what I thought of was to have someone skilled enough to handle a camera to click a few pix in the office.

So I brought along my semi-professional camera to the office, and asked a colleague to click my pictures, with the official company banner providing a suitable background. Now this guy has been proclaiming himself to be a professional photographer, and in fact, has been handing his visiting card around which has his name in a fancy font and duly gives his designation as "Photographer". Apparently he has been getting commissions on clicking portraits, covering weddings etc.

So one might assume that I was in safe hands, as far as getting a nice clear pic was concerned.

I don't want to turn this into a suspense thriller, so let me say right now that the pix did come out okay.

No, what gave me some food for thought was when during this photoshoot, I asked him if he could take a few pix with me in the foreground in sharp relief against a slightly unfocused company logo in the background.

So what does this skilled photographer say? "Well, my own professional SLR camera does have a switch which creates this effect, but since your camera doesn't have that switch, I can't do it."

Say what?

I, with my admittedly elementary knowledge of photography, had made it a point to read up as much as I could on the basics of photography, once I bought my camera last year. I visited various sites on the net, studied all the technical terms, even though not everything made sense immediately, but I persevered. And one of the first few things I learnt was F-stops which is essentially the aperture (or the hole through which the image is captured). The larger this aperture value, the smaller the opening through which light passes into the camera, and the sharper the background.

So to get a slightly hazy background, all you need to do is use a smaller F-stop value on the camera.

I felt like quoting the title of Lance Armstrong's autobiography to this guy, "It's Not About The Bike!"

But more than that, this incident made me think about why we perceive someone as experts in their field. Just because they themselves said so?

I find myself constantly downplaying my own skills and/or knowledge, because I (and most Indians) have been brought up and socially indoctrinated to feel that humility and a self-effacing attitude are what makes a person. Being a show-off and blowing one's own trumpet were always frowned upon as being boorish and undesirable.

Social mores seem to have changed though, even in the home country. A me-first attitude seems to have taken over. Which is not necessarily a bad thing.

Nonetheless, I still believe in this adage,"A truly knowledgeable person knows that he doesn't know anything."

To add a twist to that, here's Mrs. Golda Meir to a diplomat,"Don't be so humble. You are not that great."

Monkeys and Superheroes

2007-05-14T06:49:00.000+04:00

Is it possible to believe simultaneously in Darwin's theory as well as in the existence of Hanumaan (the Monkey God, for the uninitiated)?

Can religious faith and scientific curiosity coexist in the same human mind?

Read on for my unique theory! :-)

I recently finished reading Richard Dawkins' "The God Delusion". It's a heavy read, not because of the size of the book, but more so because of the gravity of the ideas he keeps springing up. They take some time to assimilate. The book is mainly aimed at proponents of monotheistic religions, especially the religious right in US. I realised by reading this book and by discussing it some western friends that even in this day & age, the hardliners in the US deny the Darwin Theory and in fact are virulently against teaching the Evolution theory to their children in schools. There are regular protests and banning of Darwin's opus "On the Origin of Species". I think it's still banned in the US.

The main thing is that following one school of thought apparently precludes believing in the other. It's as if the other camp is the enemy, never to be understood.

Dawkins however doesn't specifically mention Hinduism or Buddhism as being against the evolution theory. And that got me thinking. I haven't heard of any Hindu religious sentiments being specifically focused against scientific thought etc. We are much more preoccupied with the depiction (or rather non-depiction!) of nudity in modern art, you see! Think M F Husain, think the young student, Chandra Mohan, in the prestigious Arts College who has been jailed for 5 days without trial in Baroda, Gujarat. But I digress.

So how are we Indians able to simultaneously believe in our ancient gods and goddesses, as well as believe in modern scientific thought?

The answer came to me when I was watching "The Jungle Book" last week. It is of course a thoroughly enjoyable tale, and children of all ages love it. Especially Baloo the bear, Bagheera the panther and of course King Louis, the monkey king!

However, if kids come across these animals in real life, they are not really likely to run over and hug them, are they? The line between fantasy (or rather, a willing suspension of disbelief) while watching movies and between the actual hard reality of the world is very clearly understood by even little children.

What sets us Indians apart from the rest of the world in this matter is Bollywood! Anyone brought up on a steady diet of fantastic movies about superheroes bashing up 20 baddies, heroines with the with the body of a sexbomb and still retaining a virginal aura (Mumtaz comes to mind here), villains with a heart of coal and a laugh to match, will know what I'm talking about.

But when we come out of the movie hall, we switch off the gullibility switch in our brain, and when we see a girl being accosted by 10 baddies in a dark lane, we do what any sensible right thinking person would do; we run the other way! :-)

So my theory is that the reason we Indians are more prepared than most to deal with ambiguities and paradoxes in real life is because we have been trained from the very childhood to believe in and rationalise a lot of conflicting and mutually contradicting thoughts and opinions.

More on that in a later post maybe.

Guys' day out

2007-05-13T22:39:00.000+04:00

Last week I happened to have lunch at the Iranian Club with a couple of friends and friends' friends. I was invited there by a colleague, and when I asked him who else would be there, he was rather vague about it, saying that he would bring along a couple of his friends.

Well, when I arrived at the club, I saw a huge buffet, with tables literally groaning (in Farsi, of course) with food. The starters table alone was enough to make up for the price of the entry. Unfortunately, since all the labels were in Farsi, I could make neither head nor tail of what the names of the dishes were. But not to worry, their food is somewhat like Indian food. Actually Indian, especially North Indian frontier cuisine, owes a lot to Irani and Turkish food, no doubt because all the marauders in ancient times who would have designs on India would be homesick and would make sure they got their supply of their home cooked food. Their recipes would then have percolated down to the locals, ie our ancestors.

Both our cuisines use a lot of yoghurt, mint raitas, mashed aubergines, different kinds of fragrant rices and kebabs.

But more than all the food, what I enjoyed was the wacky conversation at our table. My friend arrived with his brother and another friend in tow. This friend-of-my-friend, Max was a really funny guy. He kept us in splits throughout with weird imitations and crazy jokes. Some highlights:

- I learnt that every boyband has a member who's designated the "confirmer". He's the guy who is told, "Okay, you there! You do nothing, but repeat the last phrase of the previous guy... only in a lower tone!" So when the boy band is mouthing their inane lyrics, something like "Baby I would never lie to you!", the "confirmer" goes,"...lie to youuuuuuu...". You get the picture.

- The eccentric uncle who would always spell out the wrong word in front of kids. "Hey guys, let's go out to the C-A-R......and smoke some pot!"

Max was elaborating on how it is better to be a small fry in the world of movies than be a big star with all the trappings that come along with it. He asked us whether we remembered a rather tough-looking pockmarked huge Mexican guy with a drooping moustache who appeared in lots of movies but always in bit roles. We all nodded. Then he asked whether any of us knew his name. I think he meant it as a purely rhetorical question, and therefore didn't expect Mr. Know-it-all (aka me!) to blurt out, "Yes, I know! Danny Trejo!".

There was dead silence around the table, as you can guess. :-) As Max put it, there were probably 6 people in the world who could offhand name this guy based on a verbal description, not counting the guy's parents. Ah well. I felt slightly embarrassed at having topped Max's tale with a bit of the old show-off. Anyways.

We parted company 90 minutes later, with full stomachs and light hearts. Did I mention the dessert, which was traditional Irani Falooda? It's quite unlike the India version. This one is thin stiff vermicelli in lots of ice and with rosewater and lemon juice liberally sprinkled on top.

I realised later how much fun I had had, just shooting the bull with these strangers. I think guys too need such outings on a regular basis to unwind and relax, just talking about inane stuff. Oprah would concur.

DON"T ask for more

2007-05-09T07:09:00.000+04:00

"To have little is to possess. To have plenty is to be perplexed."
-Lao Tse

Okay, you are an exception, Oliver Twist!

In a short story "How Much Land Does a Man Need?", Tolstoy writes about Pahom, a greedy Russian who hears that the Bashkirs, a minority race in Russia, are giving away their land for almost nothing. He goes to them and they offer him as much land as he wants, provided he can walk its perimeter in one day. Pahom agrees and goes out on his walk, but when the sun starts going down, he finds he has walked a little too far. Running back, Pahom collapses at the point where he had started just as the sun disappears behind the horizon. The Bashkirs try to congratulate him, only to find him dead. In answer to the question posed in the story's title, the Bashkirs bury him in a hole six feet long by two feet wide.

I am thinking about the above since yesterday when I read about the Hindu "godmen" who have been caught in a sting operation, offering to convert black money to white through shady transactions involving their charitable trusts. And I ask myself, what do these old men with long white beards and ash-smeared foreheads want in life, or rather want from life? Especially at this age! I mean, what difference would it make to them individually how many more crores they would make through these rackets? Yes, the amounts being talked about were 10%-25% of upto Rs. 5 crore!

http://www.hindustantimes.com/storypage/storypage.aspx?id=81ec3d61-8f10-4887-b316-c13d3cfc9fdb&&Headline=Sting+exposes+Godmen%2c+VHP+calls+it+campaign

Isn't there a big difference between what you want and what you need? Has this been forgotten conveniently by everyone except maverick musicians and bemused bloggers?

"I do not want what I do not have" - Sinead O'Connor

After the Kiss

2007-05-06T06:38:00.000+04:00

My previous post had the story/pix of 3 kisses. But what happened afterwards?

Kiss no 1

Nilofer Bakhtiar has either quit her post of Tourism Minister or been told to resign, depending on whose version you want to believe.

http://www.hindu.com/2007/05/03/stories/2007050303701400.htm

Kiss no 2

An Indian local court in Jaipur has issued arrest warrants for both the kisser and the kissee in this well-publicised case.

Kiss no 3

अब तेरा क्या होगा, कालिया ?

Sorry, I meant Ahmadinejad! But hey, I forget the fact that he's a man, and the world we are living in! :-)

So the proper question to ask should be what happens to his 70 year old female 1st grade teacher, who must have "forcibly" given him a kiss and an embrace!
:-)

Let's wait and see.

Incidentally, I am very impressed by this article I read about the blogging community among the Iranian clerics. They seem to be much more progressive and willing to embrace change in this everchanging world.

http://archive.gulfnews.com/articles/07/05/03/10122643.html

XOXOXOXOXO

2007-05-03T06:37:00.000+04:00

This is the saga of 3 recent controversies, all involving alleged "indecent kissing/hugging" in public.

No. 1

A group of radical clerics issued a religious decree against Pakistan's tourism minister, Nilofer Bakhtiar, after some local newspapers printed photographs showing her holding onto a man after landing from a parachute jump in France.

http://www.paktribune.com/news/index.shtml?174834

No. 2

This one is too famous anyway, without me having to add anything.

No. 3

Now this is really something. During a meeting of Iranian teachers with Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Mrs. Najmeh Gholi Pour, Ahmadinejad's first grade teacher, appeared and a moved Ahmadinejad kissed her hand. This was enough to set off a controversy about indecency in the press. Indecently..... errrr, sorry...... Incidentally, the lady is over 70 years old.

http://www.thestatesman.net/page.news.php?clid=8&theme=&usrsess=1&id=155247

Fond Mothers & the "Others"

2007-05-02T06:34:00.000+04:00

Today's paper reports a Qatari man is to be executed for raping his daughter. Heinous crime, no doubt, and what's also disturbing is this statement from the judge:

"Cases of rape......are becoming more frequent. I believe this is due to the fact that the traditional society is suffering from a cultural shock, mainly due to the growing presence of immigrants. Values and habits are rapidly changing and violence in [sic] increasing."

So blame even this on them, eh? :-) The "furriners".

अपने गिरेबान में भी झाँक कर पहले देखो एक बार ....

Reminds me of that fond mother who while watching her soldier son on parade said," Look! The entire platoon is marching out of step! Only my son is marching correctly!"

http://www.gulfnews.com/region/Qatar/10122228.html

Sudden Death

2007-05-01T06:46:00.000+04:00

http://www.stuff.co.nz/stuff/sundaystartimes/auckland/4043617a6468.html
Jailed China judge dies of 'adult sudden death syndrome'
Reuters Tuesday, 1 May 2007

BEIJING: A Chinese judge charged with corruption died in his cell from "adult sudden death syndrome", Xinhua news agency said on Monday. Investigators said Li Chaoyang, 38, had been uncooperative while in detention .... "Cuts on his face and other injuries" had been caused by a fall during an escape attempt, they said.

I love the jargon these officials come up with! :-) Although to be fair, there is supposed to be a Sudden Adult Death Syndrome (SADS for the acronymically minded), as corresponding to SIDS (Figure that one out yourselves!). But an uncooperative judge showing signs of injury in jail dying of ASDS (per the Chinese news agency) is a bit much!

And how are you judged to be uncooperative? That too, in a Chinese jail?

In another (slightly related) news, Chinese authorities are asking public officials to pay less attention to their mistresses and more to their own parents.
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/asia/article1728755.ece

Apparently they have found a direct correlation between the quantity (and quality) of mistresses kept by public officials and their proclivity for corruption! Hmmm, that's rather surprising, no? ;-)

Paul Wolfowitz must be thanking his stars he's not Chinese!

Men who love & respect women

2007-02-03T18:15:00.000+04:00

Exhibit 1: Silvio Berlusconi, former Italian PM

He complimented Mara Carfagna, a former TV “showgirl” & a deputy for his Forza Italia party, saying: “Just look at her — if I was not married I would marry her at once.” When Aida Yespica, a voluptuous television presenter, leant across and told him she would “love to go to a desert island with you” he replied: “I would go with you anywhere.”

His fed-up wife Veronica then came up with a public demand for apology on the front page of a newspaper: “I .. ask my husband ... for a public apology since I have not received a private one, and ... I ... consider myself to be ‘half of nothing’”.
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,13509-2577544,00.html

Exhibit 2: Hakuo Yanagisawa, Japan's health minister

"Because the number of birth-giving machines and devices is fixed, all we can do is ask them to do their best per head .." (He's referring to women, the chivalrous chappie!)

http://www.guardian.co.uk/japan/story/0,,2001056,00.html

Exhibit 3: Prez/General Parvez Musharraf of Pakistan

He offers this pearl of wisdom to Washington Post.
Rape has become a "moneymaking concern" in Pakistan and that many Pakistanis felt it was an easy way to make money and get a Canadian visa.

Of course he immediately denies this the next day! But clever WP posts the audio interview on their site.

Interview:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/09/18/AR2005091800554.html

Audio Excerpt of Prez Musharraf's comment:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/audio/2005/09/23/AU2005092301278.html

Raindrops

2007-02-02T22:33:00.000+04:00

कालिदास is describing पार्वती who's meditating hard to win Lord Shiva, in this श्लोक:

"StithaaH xa.Nam paxmasu taaDita-adharaaH payodhara-utsedhanipaata-chur.Nitaavaleeshu tasyaaH skhalitaaH prapedire chire.N naabhim prathama-oda-bindavaH"

The above shloka rearranged as prose:
"Prathama-oda-bindavaH tasyaaH paxmasu xa.Nam stithaaH taaDita-adharaaHpayodhara-utsedhanipaata-chur.Nitaa valeeshu skhalitaaH chire.N naabhim prapedire"

Literal word-by-word meaning:
prathama-oda-bindavaH = first water drop
tasyaaH = her
paxmasu = on eyelids
xa.Nam = momentarily
stithaaH = stayed
taaDita-adharaaH = fell on the lips
payodhara-utsedhanipaata-chur.Nitaa = shattered on hard breasts
valeeshu = in the tri-valley (triple fold on the belly, a mark of beauty)
skhalitaaH = slid
chire.N = in a long time
naabhim = in the navel
prapedire = disappeared

Translation:
The first drop of rain stayed momentarily on her eyelids, slid down to her lips, shattered on her hard breasts and trickled across her triple fold, and after an eternity disappeared in her navel.

The use of time is lyrical and almost hypnosing!

Acknowledgement to Shashikant Joshi for the literal translation, at this site:
http://www.cs.colostate.edu/~malaiya/kalidas.html

The line

2007-02-02T22:29:00.000+04:00

The wise man took a piece of wood in his hand and drew a straight line on the ground. He then asked the gathering,"Can you make this line shorter without touching it?"

Best Will

2007-02-02T19:24:00.000+04:00

In an earlier post, I had made an effort to "bury George Best, not to praise him", to paraphrase old Will.

Speaking of which, George Best's will has been released, in which he leaves just one watch to his son Calum, everything else to his sister Barbara, and nothing at all for his 2 ex-wives or his other 3 siblings.

We are told that this is "a commemorative designer watch from the 1994 World Cup".

So why did this one particular sister get favoured over the others? Well, as her lawyer tell us, "Barbara McNarry was named as the key beneficiary in part because she oversees a memorial fund in Best's honor and was most involved in promoting his legacy."

To end with another of the Bard's quotes: "The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones."

Baby shortage in China

2007-02-02T19:04:00.000+04:00

China? Short of babies?

I read this article today by a lady called Beth Nonte Russell which amused me. Apparently China has put in force new strict foreigner adoption laws (probably fearing the Jolie invasion into China!) because they claim they lack "available" babies to meet the "spike" in demand.

So what are the new criteria for hopeful foreign parents who want a nice little chinky-eyed baby? Well, you have to be married for one (no single parents/divorcees please!), be married for at least 5 years in fact, neither of the prospective parents should be over the age of 50, should have a minimum net worth (read bank balance!) of US$ 80,000, AND should have a BMI (Body Mass Index) of not more than 40!

China is really selective, isn't it? They want nothing but the very best of healthy wealthy happily married foster parents for their orphaned babies! :-)

Today's fun stuff

2007-01-26T19:39:00.000+04:00

"You know you're getting old when you stoop to tie your shoelaces and wonder what else you could do while you're down there." - George Burns

"At 50, a person is really very young, but he will not find it until later." - Mark Twain (Mark Twain: The Complete Interviews)

The Oscar statue is made of gold-plated Britannium, an alloy which is 93% tin. No wonder it's called tinsel town!

What's it all about then?

2007-01-26T09:45:00.000+04:00

This morning, I'm rustling through last week's newspapers to cut out any interesting articles (does anyone else do that anymore?) and I come across a movie schedule featuring "Alfie". To refresh your memory, it's about a wastrel womaniser Alfie, played by Michael Caine.

Final words of "Alfie": You know what? When I look back on my little life and the birds I've known, and think of all the things they've done for me and the little I've done for them, you'd think I've had the best of it along the line. But what have I got out of it? I've got a bob or two, some decent clothes, a car, I've got me health back and I ain't attached. But I ain't got me peace of mind - and if you ain't got that, you ain't got nothing. I dunno. It seems to me if they ain't got you one way they've got you another. So what's the answer? That's what I keep asking myself - what's it all about? Know what I mean?

Profound words, right?

And then when I turn the newspaper page, there's this Garfield strip:

Coincidence? :-)

3 men; 3 stories

2005-12-16T09:23:00.000+04:00

STORY 1
http://www.rediff.com/news/2003/may/13ravi.htm
Hard to say no to free love: Ravi Shankar
May 13, 2003 18:52 IST

Sitar maestro Pandit Ravi Shankar has said that he found hard to say no to free love.
"Whatever happened, it was spontaneous. The spontaneity was always there; it gave me and others a lot of happiness for some time, but it brought sorrow also," Ravi Shankar said commenting on his love life in The Times daily on Tuesday.
Asked whether it caused him grief to look back on his love life, the 82-year-old said, "It is a mixed feeling, you know. I am grateful for everything that I got, but I had to pay for it with pain and torture."
Asked about his lady friends, he said, "Many are dead and gone. A couple of them I still meet and try and be friendly with. With some, of course, things are not good."
Shankar married Annapurna Devi, the daughter of his guru Ustad Allauddin Khan, when he was 21, but they were ill matched and broke up after a few years. Annapurna granted him divorce decades later. They had two children.
The ensuing years were wild. In his autobiography, Raga Mala, he said:"I felt I could be in love with different women in different places. It was like having a girl in every port - and sometimes there was more than one!"
From the late 1940s, however, his main companion was a dancer, Kamala Shastri, and from 1967 until 1981 they lived together 'as man and wife'.
In 1972, he met the 18-year-old Sukanya Rajan, who played the tanpura at his concerts.
In 1978, although she, too, was married, they became lovers. In 1981 Anoushka was born.
Meanwhile, in America, Ravi Shankar was having an affair with the NewYork concert producer Sue Jones, who gave birth to Norah (or Geetali,as she was originally known) in 1979.
For the first two years of her life, he divided his affections between them and Kamala until Kamala, after three decades, finally quit him.
The next year his divorce from his wife came through.
At first he chose to be with Sue. But in 1986 their relationship ended, although he remained close to Norah. In 1989, after much prevarication, he decided to marry Sukanya, at which point Sue banned him from seeing Norah.
On what really made someone who seems so calm and has brought so much serenity into other people's lives have such a turbulent private life, he said "I am amazed myself."

STORY 2a
Soccer's first superstar George Best dies

George Best, widely regarded as the only British footballer in the same league as Pele, Diego Maradona and Johan Cruyff, died on Friday.He was 59.

"My father has passed away," Best's tearful son Calum told reporters on the hospital steps. "Not only have I lost my dad but we've all lost a wonderful man."

Prime Minister Tony Blair, attending a summit in Malta, described Best as "probably the most naturally gifted footballer of his generation and one of the best footballers our country has produced."

Irish Prime Minister Bertie Ahern paid tribute, describing him as a football genius who was one of his great sporting heroes.

Soccer authorities said a minute's silence would be observed at many league matches this weekend as a mark of respect.

"I spent a lot of my money on booze, birds and fast cars," Best said in his most memorable comment on his roller-coasterlife. "The rest I just squandered."

Best always maintained he had achieved all he wanted.

STORY 2b

Glory before the final whistle
By Tom Clifford, Assistant Editor, International 11/25/2005 12:00 AM

Where did it all go wrong? He used to quip that's what room-service waiters would ask when they saw him with the latest Miss World. But something had gone wrong. A career cut short by wayward living, shattered relationships, violence against women and jail time.

In some ways, Best cheated death, delayed the inevitable. He was in such a sorry state twenty years ago, that people then were saying he only had a few years to live.

He was an icon of an age, the Sixties, that was full of them the dead Kennedys, Jagger, Twiggy, John, Paul, George and Ringo. The 'fifth Beatle' came to prominence at the dawn of the jet age and satellite TV. He was possibly the first real soccer superstar. Just as Northern Ireland was bubbling with political unrest there was an Irish genius dominating the playing fields of England. And all the time the sense of a fleeting moment.

This was an age not just of heroes but of dead heroes. He indulged a lifestyle that did not take tomorrow into account.

We loved him for it. Live life like the young and the reckless. To hell with Bobby or Jack Charlton telling you to calm down, to hell with players of little talent telling you to spare yourself so that you could burn longer but dimmer. Fast cars, fast women and night was for clubbing not sleeping. George Best doing something in moderation? A contradiction.

One humid London night in May 1968 Best produced not a performance but an extravaganza that helped Manchester United capture their holygrail, the European Cup. Best scored a superb goal and he later claimed that after rounding the Benfica goalkeeper and seeing the empty net, he decided to stop the ball on the goalline, lie down and head it in. But changed his mind when he realised that a trick like that would be just too outrageous. What other player would even consider such a ploy.

Yes, he was a genius, like Oscar Wilde another condemned Irishman from another era. They could both make the ordinary, prose or a ball, seem extraordinary. We knew it was a privilege to see him play, red shirt out, ball at his feet. He gave us so much pleasure but denied himself.

United and Best. As they said of another icon, let it not be forgot that for one brief, shining, moment there was Camelot.

STORY 2c

The worst side of Best
By Alexander Lindsay 12/09/2005 12:00 AM

No one likes to speak ill of the dead, but I am going to stick my neckout and take a clinical look at the recent mass mourning fest surrounding the death of a wife beater, serial adulterer, irresponsible drunk and inveterate gambler.

Oh yes, nearly forgot he was a genius footballer too.

If I may borrow from Mark Anthony's irony-laced eulogy to Julius Caesar: I come to bury George Best, not to praise him.

I bear no personal ill will against George Best for the way he conducted his life. But the sight of half a million tearful people lining the streets in a display of emotion worthy of Mother Teresa, cannot help but say something about the wayward values that have taken over Western society, led by the god of celebrity. Celebrity forgives everything, no matter how heinous.

Misty-eyed tributes came from public figures, including British PrimeMinister Tony Blair. Flags flew at half-mast on public buildings, as if some head of state had passed away. The rhetoric matched the occasion. He was described as a "perfect" human being. A man "without whom the world will be a sadder place".

Soccer might well be sadder. But the world? Debatable.

His faults were airbrushed out of existence, his life sanitised to the point of beatitude.

Let us take a brief look at George Best's scorecard off the field.

He drank to ridiculous excess and got violent with those around him.He drank to the extent that his liver packed in. He was given a transplant a precious gift from a donor who selflessly let his organ be used so that another might live.

And what does he do? He resumes his binge drinking and wrecks that liver too. A liver that might have saved another patient on a long waiting list.

According to one account, when tackled about it he cynically retorted that the new liver he was abusing had been donated "without strings attached" as to the behaviour of the recipient.

He once hacked off his second wife's hair and drew all over her body with a marker pen. On her 25th birthday he kicked and punched her after a drunken row.

There are those who argue that Best was a victim of his own celebrity. Not so.

For we already know that the god of celebrity is a forgiving god. Many achieve celebrity or have celebrity thrust upon them, yet manage to handle it.

It was Best's own self-indulgence and callous disregard for others that tainted his celebrity. He was whitewashed and the crowds turned out in their hundreds of thousands in a feeding frenzy of emotion.

And what kind of emotion? Were they grieving for George Best the man?Certainly not, for only his family and friends have a mandate to grieve for the man. The rest is artificial. Half a million people wearing their hearts on their sleeves in the name of celebrity.

George Best is acknowledged by most as the greatest footballer ever. And no one, least of all I, would want to tarnish that reputation. But in the end, as one observer cynically put it: George Best's final score: Celebrity 1, Responsibility 0.

STORY 3

John Lennon's first wife out to set the record straight

Tod Robberson The Dallas Morning News Dec. 1, 2005 6:00 PM

LONDON - She had a ticket to ride with one of the greatest rock bands of all time. But if Cynthia Lennon had known the emotional pain that would accompany her decade-long journey with John, Paul, George and Ringo, she says she would have walked away in a heartbeat.

In an interview nearly 25 years after the death of Beatles founder John Lennon, Cynthia Lennon recalled her former husband as both a genius and hugely flawed man whose insecurities drove him to commitacts of cowardice, cruelty and betrayal against the people closest to him.

He was mean, she suggested. He beat her and kept her apart from the things she loved - most notably, him.

She said he abandoned their son, Julian, for years, and his behavior became more irrational and withdrawn as he experimented with drugs such as LSD and heroin in the late 1960s. Much of her private experience differed sharply from the image Lennon enjoyed publicly as a campaigner for love and world peace.

"I always believed that idols have feet of clay," Cynthia Lennon, 66,said. "I thought it was important for the fans and the people who really believed in John ... (to remember that) he was human. He was no saint, and he was no sinner. But he had a special talent that touched everybody's hearts."

Cynthia Lennon published a best-selling book, "John," in October to commemorate his life but also, as she said, to "balance the scales"between the myth and reality.

The first half of the book focuses on the couple's romance in art school during the late 1950s, Lennon's early musical career and thes kyrocketing fame of the Beatles from the early 1960s onward. Thesecond half chronicles the Beatles' experimentation with drugs and transcendental meditation, Lennon's growing distance from his wife and colleagues and, subsequently, the couple's divorce that followed his extramarital affair with Ono in 1968.

"It wasn't a derogatory story. It was a true story. I think my intention in writing the book was to enlighten people who loved John and his memory about certain facts that I lived through - we lived through - and just to fill in a few spaces, really," she explained.

Although Lennon and Ono attracted enormous publicity with various stunts, such as their repeated "bed-ins" for peace, Cynthia Lennon said it is important to understand a fuller picture of his life.
"I knew John from the age of 18, and it was part and parcel of my life to live with this man and to see who he was, his talents and his weaknesses," she said.

She attributes his bitterness later in life to lingering feelings of loss after the death of his mother, Julia, in 1959; the domineering influence of his aunt and surrogate parent, Mimi Smith; and his upbringing without a father, who left the family after forcing John,at age 5, to choose between him and his mother.

Her book gives detailed accounts of Lennon's intense jealousy and fear in adulthood of being abandoned. He physically attacked Cynthia in 1959 after he learned that she had danced with his best friend, Stuart Sutcliffe, at a party. Conversely, she includes the text of various letters he wrote to her throughout their marriage vowing his eternal love and devotion.

Drugs and, subsequently, Ono's controlling influence turned Lennon into an unsmiling and seemingly unhappy man from the late 1960s onward, when he outwardly preached messages of inner tranquility and world togetherness, his first wife said.

Cynthia Lennon said she had received no warning in 1968 that her marriage to Lennon was over. She arrived home one day to find him sitting on the floor of the couple's bedroom next to Ono, who was wearing Cynthia's bathrobe.

Rather than talk to her directly, he announced his divorce plans to her through the British news media, she said.

Julian Lennon, their son, was subjected to repeated violent outbursts and mocking criticism by his father. John Lennon once so severely criticized the boy's manner of laughing that, to this day, Julian rarely laughs, Cynthia Lennon said.

"I think John lost an awful lot of his humor and his wit, which were part and parcel of his creativity," she said. "I felt he was fighting many, many battles. And I think he had a lot of guilt for what had happened. But John was never one to admit to anything. He would battle on and fight. I think a lot of aggression came out in his music,especially in the latter years."

In the foreword to her book, Julian Lennon, 40, described John Lennon as "the father I loved and who let me down in so many ways. ... (He) was a remarkable man who stood for peace and love in the world. But at the same time, he found it very hard to show any peace and love to his first family - my mother and me."

Ono has not responded to the numerous allegations and criticisms leveled at her in the book.
Asked whether she feared the possibility that Ono could use her wealth to bankrupt Cynthia Lennon in litigation, the author said, "I've never been afraid of Yoko. Never, ever. ... Everything I've written in thebook is absolutely true, so I don't feel particularly afraid of being sued or anything else. I've got the evidence. I have letters, I have all the things necessary."

She said she had no intention of engaging in a war of words with Ono,who is routinely described by music critics and Beatles biographers as a principal factor in the group's breakup. But she suggested that Ono's failure to make peace with her critics is something "she should think about."

Although Cynthia Lennon used words such as "cowardly," "cruel" and"brutal," to describe her former husband, her overall impression of him remains a positive one.

"He was hysterical, he was historical. He was fun. He was so multitalented. When he was good, he was really, really good," shesaid. "And when he was bad, he was horrid."

OCD for beginners

2005-12-10T01:27:00.000+04:00

Now that I mentioned in a previous post what put me to sleep, it's only fair to list down the unputdownables. So here goes.

1) Misery by Stephen King. This one had me awake all through the night, pacing the room holding the book in one hand, feverishly devouring each word.

2) Where Eagles Dare. Soon as I would finish the book, I would turn to page 1 and start all over again. I must have read it at least 30 times. Couldn't get enough of Captain "Johann Schmidt"!

3) Still Life With Woodpecker and Jitterbug Perfume by Tom Robbins. Wonderful crazy lyrical novels. What else can I say? If you have read them, you know what I mean.

4) The Big Lebowski. What a crazy brilliant movie. I could watch it again and again. And did. Jeff Bridges is great. Goodman is excellent. And I fell in love with Julianne Moore in this one. and with Tara Reid. Full of throwaway lines and obscure references, just the way I like them.

5) The Sunshine Boys. The eternal favourite. Walter Matthau is brilliantly crotchety and George Burns' timing rocks!

Zeigarnik Effect, anyone?

2005-12-02T22:28:00.000+04:00

Here's a list of movies I slept through:
-Silsila (To be honest, I was a kid when it came out)
-GWTW
-Mission Impossible 2 (it really was an impossible mission staying awake!)
-Seabiscuit (Dozed off while watching the DVD, so there's still hope I'll get around to watching it. Devoured the book, though!)
-Sin City (yeah yeah, severed limbs and gratuitous violence can only hold your interest so much!) :-)

And the unfinished books:
-Moby Dick
-GWTW (I mean, come ON! But at least I tried!)
-The God of small things (Couldn't get past the 1st page!)
-Little Dorrit
-A Modern Instance

Cricket, beatles and other insects

2005-08-18T22:05:00.000+04:00

This morning while shaving, I'm looking at myself in the mirror and pretending to be Annu Malik! No, I'm not imagining myself with a receding hairline and donning a Himachali cap! But I'm making up Hindi lyrics to go with Peter Sarstedt's "Where do you go to my lovely" !

I'm humming, "Tu kittheyyyy jaandi payi hai, oye Bubbly" and thinking about Peter who was born in New Delhi of all places! And that set me off on another chain of thought. I used to research famous people, especially Englishmen, who were born in India. It was quite an interesting & ragged collection of people actually. So I would read up about them.

Now one morning I'm driving to the office listening to the fm, and there's some phone-in contest. At stake is a home theatre system for anyone who can answer 3 random question correctly. Of all the people, I'm the one who gets through to the DJ who starts asking me questions. The first question is easy (Capital of West Germany before unification). The second one (What was the age of the Queen Mother when she died?) belongs to History 101. And then the third and final question.

"Where was Colin Cowdrey, once England's captain, born?"

My mind goes completely blank. All I can think of is that divine Home Theatre system waiting for me. After an eternity of numbed thoughts swirling away in my mind, I manage to stammer,"Wales?"

The DJ with great relish (I think!) tells me that he was born in Bangalore, India. And then it strikes me with great force that I knew the damn answer! Not only knew, I had actually done some reading on MCC (Michael Colin C)!

I am still kicking myself.

Talking of MCC, he was a real character. He was recalled from retirement in the mid-70s against the Aussies when the England team fell suddenly short of a batsman, due to the ferocious deadly pace attack of Lillee and Thommo. Now picture this! This dapper propah English gentleman walks to the crease to bat and introduces himself to Thomson: "I don't believe we've met. My name's Cowdrey".

What a moment!

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This evening, on telly there's a feature on the release of the complete James Dean film collection on DVD. Considering that he worked in just 3 films....

Anyways, the feature is talking about the release for the very first time of "East of Eden" on DVD. Now that's a classic book! Steinbeck is an awesome author. Really great stuff. Don't know about the film though.

Most people feel that books made into movies lose something in translation. I know myself that I was much disappointed recently by the movie treatment of "About a Boy", especially the kid that portrayed Marcus. Somehow I never thought of Marcus having such a dorky hairstyle and with vaguely satanish eyebrows! Read the book if you get hold of it. A delightful read! So is Nick Hornby's first book, "High Fidelity". Men be warned though. Never let your girlfriends/wives get hold of this book. It will tell them just too much of the truth about you!

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Why was I reminded of the Beatles this afternoon? Must have been something I caught last night about their first ever US tour....40 years ago today....

So their late manager turned out to have a crush on Paul?!

All this time, we had been led to believe that John was it, but in the end, "the walrus was Paul", eh? Hmmm.......

Anyways, ending here for the day.

Today's MindPOD refrain:
"...No more lonely nights, you're my guiding light
Day or night I'm always there..."

Who wants to live forever?

2005-08-18T21:52:00.000+04:00

I think now I understand why man was never meant to be immortal. There would be just too much weariness and depression and cynicism and acceptance in the world. I mean, once people experience most things in life while getting old, they cease to be amazed by little things and grow ever so cynical or worse still, start taking things for granted.

I think the world needs a huge slosh of innocence from time to time, and that's why we need old people and ideas to die out and fresh innocence to awaken ever so often.

I mean, think about why so many people who have everything going for them in life, end up doing stupid and evil things. It's because they are bored in life and are always seeking the next big high!

Makes sense?

Was Nietzsche right?

2005-08-18T00:03:00.000+04:00

....That thought takes my mind train onto a sidetrack.

Voltaire wrote about 250 years ago: "Si Dieu n'existait pas, il faudrait l'inventer."
Translation: "If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him."

That's just so subtly subversive! I love that! The way he says without putting in words that he is a non-believer....Delicious! If irony didn't exist in 1770, Voltaire invented it, I think.

Another sidetrack: A joke this time.

The problem with atheists is: who do they talk to during sex?
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Today's MindPOD refrain: "...they paved paradise, and put up a parking lot..."

The King and I

2005-08-16T21:38:00.000+04:00

Elvis is Alive and he's living on TCM! Yeahhhh baby! For the nth time they have the same rockumentary on....you know the one they dust and bring out every Jan 8th and Aug 16th. But you know something? I don't care. The guy had something.

This morning, I get to work, slide into my seat, singing loudly "Can't help falling in love" and proclaim to TheCoolGuy,"The King is dead, but at least he was on the throne!" TheCoolGuy looks blankly at me. Well, what did I expect? He's into Buddha Bar, Techno and Fiddy!

But he's still a nice guy.

Morning is as usual spent on emails. At 10:30, though, I get up, straighten my bright-yellow-flowers-on-blue-background tie and unobtrusively walk out of the office. The parking lot is so crowded, it's difficult to get to my car. I take the car, dreadling all the while that I'll come back and be circling the lot for a space like a starved vulture. Hmm.

The photographer is a middle-aged Aussie named John (Hiya Mite!) with the regulation dirty jeans, Converse on his feet and an earring in his ear. Oh and he's wielding a massive Canon digicam. He goes through his routine coolly and surely, making me lean on my elbow on a table and clicks away incessantly. Almost no words spoken. Except sometimes he asks me to smile (show some teeth, mite!). I duly oblige, inwardly thinking that I surely look like I'm shooting for Dunston Checks In!

We wrap up the whole thing in 15 minutes and I shake hands with John (G'day, mite!), and am back to office. The photoshoot is an accompaniment to a press blah I'd given recently.

The day goes by.

It's getting to be dark when I come out of the office. Jennifer Rush is on the radio, proclaiming the power of love. Ahhh, that song has mega memories attached. All good ones.

I stop on the highway and dine somewhere, right next to a showroom that has a shiny red Ferrari in the window. It's lust at first sight!

Now finally, I'm home. Will probably fall asleep watching a series of Elvis movies.
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Today's MindPOD refrain: "...I live my life in taxicabs...."

Bye.