Eat Your Own Dog Food

The Tribute

2011-11-14T09:23:00.000-08:00

"Even If she said something like - let's go to the Temple, it would sound erotic"
~ Balu Mahendra on "Silk-oo" Smitha

The Travelling Salesman's Problem a.k.a Sour Grapes

2011-11-12T07:59:00.000-08:00

The ground for the walkways, I traded
some elaborately carpeted, others, naked
he a backpack, a goatee and a baseball cap
she a boycut, frisbee earrings and a map

I caught sight of them, ahead, about to board
A camera on her shoulder, a vaction on the road
through the large windows as they saw the red sunset
to take a picture they stopped, and our eyes met

I stopped as well, to take in the sight for a while
could use the time to rest, having walked a mile
fished out my phone and looked through its camera lens
beautiful in my head, why dwell in this posterity nonsense ?

The United Colors of Germany

2010-07-10T05:17:00.000-07:00

Way back in the 1920s, 30s and 40s, a man standing 5'8"tall and armed with a toothbrush moustache started a political party that apart from many stupid things also believed in the racial purity of his countrymen. So committed was he to this ideology that, legend has it, he was a little miffed with the podium finishes in the 1936 Berlin Olympics and refused to acknowledge the winners of that second-class race.

Recently, I took out my planchette kit and summoned his soul to talk about his country's performance in the FIFA World cup of 2010. The following is a Q & A with the Fuehrer himself, the only published interview with a dead man's soul ever. In this regard I seem to have surpassed the TIME magazine's interview with Paul, the soothsayer. The following are excerpts of our conversation:

Me: Fuehrer, Thanks for dropping by, it was quite an effort to get you here. How are ... [cutoff]
Fuehrer: Are you Aryan ?
Me: Errr, I'm Indian , and I think I'm Dravidian. Apparently, we have two races in India, Aryan and ... [cutoff]
Fuehrer: Good, you're Aryan. So what do you want from me ?
Me: Just a few questions on the performance of your team in the FIFA World Cup 2010
Fuehrer: What performance ? We won it.
Me: But that was 1990 in Italy. This is 2010 and you lost the semis to Spain. Spain meets Holland in the finals now.
Fuehrer: Same difference. Be quick. I need to attend a mass killing now ... [as an afterthought] What we lost to those Moors ?
Me: More Catalans than Moors. Well to start with one of the lead scorers for the team this time was Miroslav Klose. Klose is Polish by birth. Klose himself once stated that the decision to play for the team instead of Poland was not an easy one, and if Polish officials had been faster, he would be playing for Poland now.
Fuehrer: But we invaded Poland in September 1939 ...
Me: The same with Lukas Podolski. He is Polish born and chose to represent the team only when he did not get the chance to represent Poland. Also, Piotr Trochowski is Polish-born as well. Trochowski's mother sent several letters to the Polish Football Association informing it about her talented son and about his willingness to cap for Poland. The Poles were not interested, which disappointed both Trochowski and his mother, and he chose to play for Germany.
Fuehrer: [Rolling eyes] Not the Poles again ...
Me: What about Mesut Oezil. He's a third-generation member of the Turkish community in Germany
Fuehrer: Third generation ... These people multiply rather fast ...
Me: And the team has people of African descent as well. Jerome Boateng is the product of a German mother and a Ghanaian father. Sami Khedira is of partial Tunisian descent as his father is from Tunisia
Fuehrer: [Beaming] but we have Oliver Kahn ...
Me: Ahem .. that was way back in 2002. He didn't play much after that ...
Fuehrer: [Rather pertubed] [on his announcer] Get me Goebbles ... even better, get me Riefenstahl ... I want the final to show our team winning 106-0 against Holland. It should be like Triumph of the will, an epic match
Me: Which brings me to Bastin Schweingsteiger. He has a Dutch great-grandfather
Fuehrer: [almost losing it] Where are my countrymen ?
Me: All of them are Fuehrer. It's a changed world. Look at Cacau. He is Brazilian-born and became a citizen in 2009 having lived and played in Germany for over 8 years
Fuehrer: [fuming] What is this ? A Benetton ad ?
Me:Even better. A sign of everything you stood for being undone
Fuehrer: You @#$%& ... [disappears]

Hyderabad Blues

2009-12-23T22:44:00.000-08:00

A play here and a concert there
Time away,a real nightmare
Breakfast with chutney in the morning fog
Compromised work and a forgotten blog

Watching the sun go down from the lake
Sharing a ride, binge eating, carrot cake
Planning for tomorrow, for the week ahead
A laundry list of things, it's lost in my head

Code words that just don't stick
A dialect that could make me sick
Raising a puppy, not ready yet, I guess
Shopping to reduce my ramshackleness

The time since my last writing was long
since then life has been one happy song
Hear,oh men, far and near, my tale
The last 2 months, that passed like a gale

Jugalbandhi: Ramulu and Julu-yettu

2009-10-12T11:53:00.000-07:00

She wanted no traces of their meeting,
And, she was an expert at that,
Like the many times they were together,
He stared into the open; helpless, smitten

It wasn't him, but it was him, afterall,
And it was his head on the chopping block,
He knew he had no way out; She was mean,
And had her gadgets drawn out for the kill, gingerly

She had him by his white starched shirt,
Between the first and second button, precisely,
With one swish had him fade to history,
Had him slump to the ground, lifeless

She picked him up nonchalantly, and trashed him,
And examined what was left; pleased, satisfied,
A beautiful silver framed photo of her sitting,
Her head against the end of a white starched curtain

The times they are a-changin'

2009-10-09T03:46:00.000-07:00

When the local chronicle replaces the one since 1878,
so much that you wonder where it was all this while,
but still go back for them crosswords,
When irani cafes are in and posh eateries are passe,
so much that you stop asking for what you need,
but have it served by raising a hand, a nod of the head,
When your mother-tongue pips the world's Lingua franca,
so much that you switch to frustrate those non-speakers,
but still inject a few words to rile them purists,
When old habits fall to the ground like winnowed rice paddy,
When new habits emerge like sprouts left overnight,
When old friends hug you like you've just won the derby,
When new friends feel like you've known them for ages,
And in the process you find yourself, again, and yet again,
and see that you are very much at peace, piece by piece,
When you love where you are going,
Just as much as where you came from,
You have to wonder,
You have to think aloud,
You have to ask yourself ,
If this ain't life ... what is ?

Auf Wiedersehn !!!

2009-09-03T06:01:00.000-07:00

The CM is dead. Long live the CM !
Le CM est mort, vive le CM !

The Test

2009-08-23T16:52:00.000-07:00

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
If Freddie don't get ya, Broad must

Night-In-Gale

2009-08-19T14:58:00.000-07:00

It started with James Gregory's memoirs
Of Robben Island's most famous prisoner
Followed by a Liam Neeson double bill
Biopics about a biologist turned sexologist
And Sinn Fein's most famous Irishman
It didn't stop there as we found them inspired
By Lynard Skynard, no, not the "define irony" one
But the other one with the title itself
And finally prison walls that were adorned by
Rita Hayworth, Marilyn Monroe and Raquel Welch

It was morning by then and the Best Cafe it was
Did they ever freeze over in hell and rename it from the Sad
The morning news was nowhere to be seen
So with Passion and a Ten-ner he roamed the concrete
Met one barely 20 metres from where he revved up
No exact change with either got him one free
And Ogilvy smiled from wherever he was
Customers are wife material indeed
The coffee took longer obviously
See, the benefits, of being an insomniac !!!

Oona baby ...

2009-08-02T11:10:00.000-07:00

"Eat me", she seemed to cry as she lay there rather stiff
She wriggled to a corner, like she were shy, like her first
He knew she'd never been "done" before
She wouldn't have been in front of him in that case
Understandably, she was fairly hot
It had taken her quite a while to get there

His mouth watered at the sight in front of him
He was starving, he wanted her badly,
He took her gently, and squeezed her midriff
Taken aback at the way things flowed he quickly bit into her
She tasted just like he knew she would, magical, virginal
He seemed to have heard the rest of her cry out again,

"Eat me", a little more desperate, hoarser, more guttural
It seemed to come from the bottom of her stomach
He couldn't wait anylonger, he needed the whole of her inside him
With a scoop he took in the whole of what was left
It was the best fish and caviare he had in a long time
Amma makes it beautifully, Sigh what an anti-climax

P.S: Shouldn't the title have been Tuna Baby !!!

drove a chevy to the levee ..

2009-07-20T07:48:00.000-07:00

And I stood arrow straight
Unencumbered by the weight
Of all these hustlers and their schemes
I stood proud, I stood tall
High above it all
I still believed in my dreams

Twenty years now
Where'd they go?
Twenty years I don't know
Sit and I wonder sometimes
Where they've gone

And sometimes late at night
When I'm bathed in the firelight
The moon comes callin' a ghostly white
And I recall
I Recall

Like a rock.
standin' arrow straight
Like a rock,
chargin' from the gate
Like a rock,
carryin' the weight
Like a rock

Like a rock,
the sun upon my skin
Like a rock,
hard against the wind
Like a rock,
I see myself again
Like a rock

~ Bob Seger, Like a Rock

Der Sohn Spricht

2009-07-07T20:00:00.000-07:00

In the years that have passed since
I've thought of you every single day
The pain has numbed
But hope hasn’t yet betrayed
I thought there’d be anger
But that’s never been my forte
I respect the choice to be far away, but
Love her much to stop the search halfway

If you do choose to return, maybe, we’ll have a smoke man to man
Exchange tales that only grown men would understand
Dread the moment when you shall not be missed
Can’t see it in the horizon even if the sun were kissed
In the years that have passed since
I've thought of you every single day
The pain has numbed
But hope just hasn’t betrayed

The Crazy Diamonds ...

2009-07-06T05:51:00.000-07:00

Him: Okay, first things first. He is now the Greatest. Now, even greater than that stupid, tongue-drooping-out like a greyhound, drooling-in-spittle like a baby, Pistol Pee (for his name I shall not utter), that you so adored. With 15 slams and a French Open, the only thing that could have helped the Pistol remain the greatest was to have shot "The Greatest" with that rusted Pistol of his before this year's Roland Garros, or even better at Roland Garros. Alas, all Pistol could manage was to come dapperly dressed to Center court and wear dark shades to camouflage his weepy blood-shot eyes.
Her: Can you imagine my dilemma? I badly wanted Fed-ex to win, but if he does, Pistol's record would be broken and then I felt even worse when A-Rod broke down into tears. Do you even realise how difficult it was rooting for Fed-ex, feeling bad for Pistol and then feeling guilty about rooting for Fed-Ex when A-Rod cried. Gosh how could you not empathise and understand the pain.

She was never able to watch a Pistol-Pee match without having her face buried in her palms. Even when the Pistol was 40-0 up and serving for the match at 6-0, 6-0, 5-0. When he was younger he didn’t even try watching the greatest Germans ever to grace a Tennis court, Fraulein-Forehand and Boom-Boom-Bee, play. He loved them too much to want to watch them lose. In 1989, when he saw them on the cover of The Sportstar, posing at the Winners’ ball in SW19 he predicted marriage. He was even willing to play cupid. Nobody ever asked him to. The Fraulein went on to marry another of his favourites, The-Rebel-turned-comeback-kid-turned-elder-statesman. Incidentally, it was the 1999 Winners’ ball at Roland Garros that kicked off their romance, and of course, the Boom-Boom went on to screw a waitress in a broom cupboard at Cafe Nobu, Soho, London.

He didn’t like Pistol-Pee. He found him too drab. Uninteresting. She was the indulging elder sister. She cheered for all the ones he wanted to win. In the end she was the only one cheering as he wasn’t watching. And his "not watching bouts" extended to the Fed-Ex who would eventually become the greatest. The Spaniards’ turn will come too.

This is not about those hallowed gladiators who fight within the confines of the 78 feet X 27 feet battlefield. This is about us. Who could be the crazier of the two?

P.S: Will somebody put an end to his “him-her”/ “he-she” nonsense? He’s been on it for the last 3 posts now

but how ...?

2009-07-01T13:52:00.000-07:00

00:54 A.M, Bangalore, 2nd July 2009
Exactly a score and nine years ago to the date, she was born to a militant Tam-bram family in a Chennai hospital. But, of course, it was Madras then. Her parents named her after a famous symmetric raaga in Carnatic music. For all practical purposes, she was called Ammu at home. After toying with various names he had settled on Ammu as well. He was too lazy to think of something that sounded cool, imaginative and Tam-bram. Now, thinking back he knew it wasn’t the laziness. Cool, imaginative and Tam-bram was actually impossible. She had settled down in London. Like most years when he wasn’t around, he called to wish her. Like most of the time when her phone wasn’t around, he hit her voice mail. He decided to send her a text message. Inspired by friends who had brainwashed him on the virtues of predictive texting he decided to try it. He had just started to get the hang of it after an intensive one-on-one session with the guru of predictive texting. In his eyes there was no bigger guru. No better guru. He typed “Ammu” frantically. It came on as something else in English. He wanted to spell the word to add it to the predictive texting list. He hit the send button.
20:24 P.M, London, 1st July 2009 (Daylight Savings Time)
She had just done her groceries at a nearby Tesco’s. She was at home sorting the stuff when she heard a beep on her phone. He was an old friend. As old as the hills. She opened the text message. It was a very short message. In fact, it had just one single word. “Boot”.

Us and Them ...

2009-06-24T12:39:00.000-07:00

24th June 2009 16:02 P.M
Me: hey girl! are you on Facebook?
Her: uhum … yes why?
Me: wanted to add you. I talk to you pretty much every day so it doesn't really matter ... but...
Her: added you
Me: how you doing?
Her: well … my brains being fried since the weekend
Me: but why?
Her: Have you ever had Brain Fry before? Like fried goat’s brain?
Me: I think I did ... found it rather rich and complex
Her: It’s like... mushy cheesy globules. I'm trying to get things organised and set up for incorporating soon
...
24th June 16:19 P.M
Me: hey R
Him: hey! Where are you now? Are you in Bangalore?
Me: Hyderabad
Him: okay. I got your card
Me: have you ever had brain fry?
Him: bheja fry?
Me: yes?
Him: what is this?
Me: Bheja fry? Have u ever eaten bheja fry?
Him: ille pa (No dude). Why? What happened? May be I have had it when I was really small, but I can hardly recollect. Not sure. What is this about?
Me: How do you think it tastes? Or how do you think it should taste?
Him: Maybe like molten meat. Slimy. But should taste pretty much the same.
Me: Same as what?
Him: Meat ... Mutton …
...
June 24th 2009 16:28 P.M
Me: Saala. kahaan hai tu aaj kal ? (dude … where’ve you been of late ?)
Him: Same ol' place bhaai
Me: London ya Delhi?
Him: Delhi. How is it going with u boss? Making loads of money I assume?
Me: not loads ... but profitable...
Him: Where these days?
Me: Hyderabad. Was in your Office in Bangalore the day before
Him: Political consulting or more services?
Me: I had come to Bangalore on some work. Political consulting and Govt. consulting only
Me: Ever had bheja fry ?
Him: Why don't you sell some services of the old company as well? Yes I have ... a few times
Me: How does it taste?
Him: Pretty awesome!!!
Me: Can be sold, but aap log ka cost bahut hai (you guys cost too much). Abbe saale, bolo ki kaise taste karta hai, describe it.
Him: value derived is worth the cost
Me: Hello! Not in this field. Here, value derived is not value till it is derived at 1/10th the cost
Him: Quite like Keema but with a very specific aroma and flavour
…
June 24th 16:45 PM
Me: Boy. I was in Bangalore but couldn't meet you. Maybe the next time, which is, on Friday
Him: Bad dosth. Alright come home. You know my place anyways. How are things otherwise?
Me: Going good... You ever had brain fry?
Him: illa (No) … Where did you have that?
Me: Why not?
Him: Never got a chance
Me: 'coz u a sissy who wants to have Chicken Biryani wherever you go...
Him: Where did you stay when you came to Bangalore?
Me: How do you think brain fry tastes? Or how do you think it should taste?
Him: Why are you behind the brain fry...depends on whose brain it is…
Me: I mean the ones in restaurants. How do you think it will taste?
Him: Hopefully good
Me: Arrey dosth!
Him: never tasted dude
Me: Thoda imagination lagaaa ... (use your imagination...). How do you think it will taste?
Him: You are not leaving this topic is it? It will taste yuck (disgusting)
Me: Okie. Married life is good?
…
25th June 2009 00:19 A.M
Me: Hi ra...
Him: Hi don
Me: Have you ever eaten brain fry?
Him: ya
Me: Yeppudu? (When?)
Him: Nuthan's brain is tasty. Suri doesn’t have a brain at all
Me: Serious ga cheppu …(Tell me seriously)
Him: Nope. Nenu NV neee tinanu (I don't eat meat)
Me: I know you are a veggie ra. How do you think brain fry should taste?
Him: How do I know?
Me: that's why I am asking how you think it should taste
Him: Nee yenkamma (No translation exists)
Me: Cheppu ra (Come on tell me dude)
Him: hmmm… Something like Vankay Koora (Brinjal Curry) … Kammaga koddiga kaaram ga (Buttery …. A little spicy)

Afterword: This is for her. We've known each other for 12 years after meeting in a sleepy, dusty, university desert town. We've "known" each other ever since we met at one of my Best Friend's wedding

The Wonder Years

2009-06-21T14:45:00.000-07:00

It was the summer of 1999. He was returning to university to start his third year. As he got onto the train and said goodbye to his folks he realized the enormity of the task that lay ahead. The 3rd year was a make-or-break year. One delved into course work that one would end up majoring in. His mind, however, was occupied with something of far greater import. He was running to become the University President. He had to win. Having alternated between being a complete a$$h0!e and a total recluse for the better part of the first 2 years, he had his task cut out. But, he was a fighter and he fancied his chances. It didn’t matter that most people thought he was a headstrong moron. He trusted his team. He had a great team of friends and they were a great team of strategists. His head was racing. Manifesto. Votes. Campaign debates. Speeches. Waking up in the wee hours of the morning as he reached Hazrat Nizamuddin Station, he realized that the luggage which had his best clothes was stolen. Things could have been worse. His other bag with his semester pocket money, his footwear and innerwear was still there. It wasn’t chained to the lower seat like the stolen piece had been. There must be a silver lining to this he reasoned. Maybe it was divine intervention. The Gods had decided he needed a new wardrobe. He had to look Presidential. An FIR later, he was shopping at Karol Bagh and he bought his first branded Khaki trousers. It was Olive Green. Spiritus from Louise Philippe read the label just above the right butt pocket.

It was 2009. It was not yet summer. It felt like summer though. He was returning home from Visakhapatnam. His state was going to the assembly polls in a few months time. His country was going into a General Election simultaneously. He wasn’t a candidate and it wasn’t University. It was better this time. He knew he was a great strategist and his client was going to win. His client had been building a solid foundation for the past 2 years. Medical Camps. Drinking water projects. Cricket Tournaments for the youth. His client was in this even before he chose to become a strategist. How unlike him in University, he thought. He got off at Annavaram, to get a pulse from the locals. It was one of his client’s weakest spots. He needed to eat first and still needed to figure out a way to get back home. Amma must be waiting he thought. He ate at the dhaba where the bus had stopped and tossed a coin in his head. He turned right at the main road. His search for an auto-rickshaw had begun. He loved auto-drivers in smaller towns. The driver’s name was Sreenu. Sreenu advised him against going to the Bus Station. There should be a train to home in 30 minutes. The Train station is farther but you’ll reach home faster, Sreenu reasoned. He instinctively trusted Sreenu. He also trusted his instincts. They discussed about the Assembly elections. It wasn’t good for his candidate he thought. They need to limit the damage here. Sreenu dropped him at the station. He took a photo of Sreenu and his auto and promised to give him a copy should he return. They hugged. They shook hands. They parted. He went to buy a ticket at the counter. The counter wasn’t even open. The train was to arrive in another 45 minutes. There was another auto-rickshaw at the entrance and he decided to sit in it for a while. As he sat in the back-seat he heard something ripping apart. He didn’t bother. These seats he thought. He hung around till the counter opened. He bought his ticket. Unreserved. It was just a 30 minute journey and he could easily manage. The train’s arrival had been announced in the Public Announcement System. They said it in 3 languages. Telugu, English, Hindi. Even in Annavaram? Maybe yes, he reasoned. It was a temple town and a famous one. He looked down to pick up his luggage. His luggage was intact. Nothing had been stolen. Something caught his eye on his trousers. Just below his zipper, on the right side of his trousers there was a long tear. It was more than 6 inches long. Maybe more. That was the ripping sound he had heard earlier he thought. He didn’t care to change. He had enough time but he didn’t want to change. He got onto the train. It was overcrowded. There was no place to sit. Hardly any place to stand. He perched himself near the wash basin and strained himself to look at the label just above his right butt pocket. Spiritus from Louise Philippe read the label on the Olive Green Khaki Trousers.

The London Underground Blues ...

2008-11-20T06:31:00.001-08:00

Heard on the Public Announcement System at London Bridge Tube Station: May the lady with the child not rush down the escalator please.

My conversation with the London Underground Security Staff, while trying to get from Bank to Monument Tube Station via the platform: My dear Good fella, as of Friday the 14th of November, you can not transit from Monument to Bank, due to escalator works. You need to continue your journey overground, but if you do wish to try this route then you must come back in 2 years.

And ofcourse today's random poem from the TFL web site
Western wind when wilt thou blow
the small rain down can rain
Christ if my love were in my arms
and I in my bed again

Being hit by a Thunderbolt ...

2008-11-17T02:05:00.000-08:00

Dissolve To: Sicilian countryside. Young village girls pick flowers and sing. Unaware of Michael, Fabrizio and Calo watching them. One of the girls, Apollonia, is startled when she sees Michael. After an exchange of looks, Apollonia turns and walks away, saying something in Italian.

Fabrizio [In Italian]: Mama mia what a beauty
Apollonia [Something in Sicilian]
Fabrizio (to Michael, who can't keep his eyes off Apollonia): Oh -- I think you got hit by the thunderbolt
Calo (poking Michael's shoulder)[In Italian]: Michele -- In Sicily, women are more dangerous than shotguns (Apollonia turns to look at Michael)

Dissolve To: A small village cafe. We hear "Sicilian Pastorale." The owner, Vitelli, after yelling something into the kitchen, welcomes the guests, who are seating themselves at a table.

Vitelli [In Italian]: Did you have a good hunt?
Fabrizio [In Italian]: You know all the girls around here? We saw some real beauties ... (then, after Vitelli smiles) ... One of them struck our friend like a thunderbolt
Fabrizio [In Italian]: She would tempt the devil himself
Calo [In Italian]: ... tempt the devil ...
Vitelli (gesturing "put together" with his fingers) [Something like, in Italian]: Ah, I understand -- really put together...
Fabrizio [In Italian]: Really put together, eh Calo?
Calo [In Italian]: ...together
Vitelli (gesturing an ideal female form with his hands)
Fabrizio [In Italian]: Such hair -- such mouth!
Calo: A bocca...
Vitelli [In Italian]: Ah, the girls around here are beautiful -- but virtuous, ah?
Fabrizio [In Italian]: This one had a purple dress -- and a purple ribbon in her hair
Calo [In Italian]: ... a purple ribbon ...
Fabrizio [In Italian]: ... a type more Greek than Italian
Calo: Piu Greca d'Italiana
Fabrizio [In Italian]: Do you know her?
Vitelli (curtly)[In Italian]: No! -- There's no girl like that in this town! (Vitelli turns and enters the cafe, yelling)
Fabrizio (gets up to look into cafe) [In Italian]: My God, I understand!
Michael (to Calo) [In Italian]: What's wrong?
Fabrizio (returns, after Calo shrugs, to collect his things) [In Italian]: Let's go -- it's his daughter

Have any of you been hit by a thunderbolt ? Tell me your story ...

I failed the Tebbit Test ...

2008-06-29T16:35:00.000-07:00

"A large proportion of Britain's Asian population fail to pass the cricket test. Which side do they cheer for? It's an interesting test. Are you still harking back to where you came from or where you are?"

A worried Norman Tebbit, a Conservative British MP, in an interview with the Los Angeles Times in April 1990 made this comment as he felt immigrants and their children from Asia (Pakistan, India, Srilanka and Bangladesh) could not show loyalty to Britain and hence would fail to assimilate with the mainstream until they supported the England team at Cricket.

In 2008, in the Euro Football final a bunch of Indians in Dusseldorf faced a similar dilemma. All of us wanted Spain to win because of the wonderful brand of football that they played and their total domination on the event by remaining unbeaten throughout the tournament.

The problem was that Spain was playing against Germany, a country that we were living in at that point of time. My heart wanted Spain to win and my mind was rooting for Germany. More than the loyalty that arose from the comfortable home and the great job that I had over the past two years, I wanted Germany to win because I wanted to revel in the all night celebrations that would have seized Dusseldorf after a German victory.The best Team did win and I failed the easiest form of the Tebbit Test, considering that India wasn't even in the equation.

The borough of Eden

2008-04-05T11:28:00.000-07:00

Readers are warned that this is my own spin on the etymology of Edinburgh and for the original etymology, one must refer to Edinburgh . Anyway here goes:

Edin: Eden; from the Garden of Eden where Adam and Eve were created. Eden is hebrew for delight.
burgh: borough; area, fortress, walled area

And hence the title of the blog. Understated and a city very much at peace with itself, it's complex too, like blended whisky, a place where the distant sound of those haunting bag pipes can so easily fade into the screeching sound of police sirens. Most people talk about Edinburgh during Hogamanay, the last day of the Year and the Scottish tradition of celebrating this day - a time of the year when Edinburgh becomes a wild party place. Obviously, the city has more to offer than that and it is with this conviction that I decided to write about the charms of this city.

Defining Moment # 1: The McCondom

"Scotland ... No English ... Ireland .. No English ... England ... English"
I overheard this at Jenny Ha's Tavern, on the Royal mile, at the table next to mine. I was drinking a glass of single malt (think it was Ardbeg) and couldn't help but smile when this young, cute au pair from Turin was trying to give the man who was trying to chat her up her take on who in the United Kingdom spoke the real English.
Jenny Ha's was also the place where I came across the McCondom. Condoms in vending machines of toilets is commonplace across Europe, but the McCondom was special. It was the first whisky flavoured condom that I came across and as I tried to understand the enigma of those blessed Scots, I couldn't help but raise my arms in exasperation at their cheek.

Defining Moment #2: Holyrood Park

Holyrood is not a badly spelt scottish version of wannabe mainstream cinema but an anglicisation of the Scottish Gaelic words Haly Ruid (Holy Cross). The Holyrood Park is bang in the centre of town and gives you the best views of the city.

The Hyde Park in the centre of London may be bigger and the English Gardens in Munich may be more aesthetic but to find such an amazing piece of highland landscape, unspoilt, right in the middle of the city makes me wonder at the amazing odds. The highest peak in Holyrood Park is Arthur's Seat, named after the legend of King Arthur, though, I think it is one of those urban legends that the Scots invented to keep this place untouched. As I climbed and watched the sun set on the city I couldn't help but wonder if there was a better seat to be perched on while watching the day dissolve into night.

Defining Moment #3: Graffiti and Shortbread

When you have 3 defining moments to choose in such a wonderful city, you end up cheating by clubbing moments. Edinburgh by far has the most charming Pubs and the graffiti in the pubs are equally charming. Picture this at the Blind Poet which quotes Churchill's I've taken more from alcohol than alcohol has taken from me or the Irish Love Ballad The greatest love above all other loves is the tender, passionate love of one drunken slob to another. As I hopped from one pub to another I couldn't help but writing more and more of such one liners and wondered how I had never seen one repeated even across pubs. Fascinating indeed !!!

I always thought Amma made the best home made biscuits in the world. Every summer holidays as she baked biscuits I'd come running into the kitchen waiting for her to get them out of the oven so that I could lay my hands on them. I wouldn't stop and Amma never tried to stop me. I would end up having far more than I could eat and would invariably end up skipping dinner. That day when I ate Scottish shortbreads for the first time, I was very much convinced that Amma came from an old Scottish clan that had settled in coastal Andhra Pradesh. The shortbreads came very close to Amma's biscuits ...

My Roman Holiday

2008-01-28T16:56:00.000-08:00

Rome at the surface is just like any other capital city in the world - The best directions for getting around the city are provided by policemen (maps by the way come a distinct 17th ... ), People on two wheelers think their grandparents built the roads they ride on and the best bet for fast food options is Italian Pizza.

Strike the surface and you have a city that is charming in its own way - a city with a great deal of character waiting to burst out of its seams. When the coins stop finding the floor of Fonata Di Trevi and the Colosseum closes at Sun set, when St Peter's closes it's doors and the Spanish Steps (and the boat fountain at it's foot) bear a deserted look, all we have left is impressions of the people we ran into. I can say, rather emphatically, that Rome gave me some rather vivid memories of the people I bumped into. I've decided to call some of these the defining moments of my Roman Holiday.

Defining Moment #1: The Sisters of Trastevere

As I walked aimlessly around Rome I entered Trastevere a hip, bohemian section of Rome that is never written about in any of the guide books but something most visitors must make as a part of their itineraries. Hungry and wanting to get something to eat at about 10:30 in the night I entered McDonald's (why ?). Out of the handful of times I've entered McDonald's all my life (Delhi, Bangalore, Atlanta, Milan, Paris, Dusseldorf and Zurich prior to this one in Rome) I've always tried being faithful to the Mac Salad.

As I concentrated on my Salad I noticed a table-ful of nuns (for a lack of a better collective noun for nuns) sitting and enjoying burgers and fries. I was tempted to ask if it was a daily ritual after a hard day's work or was it one of those special Friday night treats. Too embarrassed to ask for permission and too greedy to miss out on a possible Pulitzer (yeah . . I aim big), I acted as if I was taking a picture of this rather nondescript canvas on the wall as I shot them. As they talked animatedly, laughed and enjoyed the meal, I realised that I needed a visit to Rome, to help bring back a perspective on the Christian Clergy. At the end of it - all of us are humans first and then everything else we're made out to be ...

Defining Moments #2: The Indian Immigration Story

I was spending 3 nights in Rome and I decided I'd do the 3 nights in 3 different places: Night #1 would be in this posh place where I'd have to wince when I swished my card out to pay; Night #2 would be in a dump which would be less expensive than a meal at a reasonable restaurant and Night #3 would be in between - a place I would be most comfortable spending a night. After spending a night at a 110 Euros a night place, I decided to look for home (read dump). As I walked past Castello Saint Angelo I saw a Punjabi (Sardar) selling souvenirs on a road side stall. I hesitated, turned back and as our eyes met we greeted each other silently from a distance with "Mera bharat mahaan". Using my heavily accented Hindi I asked if he knew of a place I could stay at. To make it absolutely clear I drilled the word cheap in as a many 4 different languages. 2 Phone calls later I was talking to Deepu, who was into arranging cheap places to stay for cheap people like me.

We had an appointment at 7:00 PM - "The 4th stop when u board # 714 from Termini" was his idea of a rendezvous and we had fixed it at 25 Euros. By 7:30 we were ringing the bell of a Punjabi family from Ludhiana - "Singh" was the name on the calling bell. The place was no dump, it was basic, but clean and most importantly this was so much better than the best scenario that I had conjured up in my head for Night #2.

They had been in Italy for 10 years; He worked as a baker, she did odd jobs. They had children. This was their way of earning the extra bit. They had people from all over - England, Germany, India. People from embassies and people on business and most of them had come to know of them through word of mouth - like me. The Singhs were doing pretty well for themselves in the hospitality business.

The next day not sure if the No. 64 was going to the Vatican, I asked this Indian looking guy in my heavily accented Hindi (nobody expects accents to change after spending one night with a Punjabi family). He replied in English. As we sat on the last seat of the bus (which surprisingly was the place most of the immigrants always sat on the bus and bizarrely reminded me of Rosa Parks and her Alabama protest) we started to talk. Laiju was mallu and an illegal immigrant who had come to France 4 years earlier on a Schengen visa that expired within 3 months of entry. He moved to Italy as it was easier to survive as an illegal imigrant and was working in a workshop to support his mother back home in Thrissur. Laiju had just applied for a Residence Permit and was hoping that it would come through so that he could meet his folks back at home.

Defining Moment #3: A small step for entrepreneurship ... a giant leap for Globalisation

300 Meters from St. Peter's Basilica, a Chinese lady had set-up a stall on the side. She was charging 1 Euro for people who wanted their names written in Chinese. Audacity.Chutzpah.Guts. 300 metres from the Vatican. A German pontiff at the pulpit. An Italian city where the largest Asian tourist population is Japanese. This women is selling people a piece of paper with their names written in Chinese.

It reminded me of the old lady in Friedman's book, The world is Flat, who'd be sitting in a park in Shanghai every morning with a weighing machine charging people who wished to weigh themselves. Friedman endearingly decided to indulge the lady. That was his ode to globalisation and his way to bring her into the web of globalisation. I decided against indulging the lady at the Vatican. The unwritten yet simplest rule of capitalism and hence globalization is that people buy services/goods that are useful. I want her to win, but I want her to win by the rules.

Don ...

2008-01-18T01:23:00.000-08:00

He has always been a phenomenon. His following - legendary, and the aura around him - invincible. He's been a maverick, a rebel without a cause and the superstar we never had but have always craved for. He's as suave and merciless as the younger Corleone and as infallible as Mr Clark Kent's alter ego.

A few weeks back I had the chance to watch the Iowa Republican Primary results and saw Mike Huckabee's ad that was endorsed by Chuck Norris. Looking at Chuck Norris's facts doing the rounds on the Internet I realised a lot of them apply to our very own Don.

As he loses his single status a little later this year, this is my tribute to a friend, soul mate and my personal hero. Ladies and Gentleman ... from the United States of Apparala, weighing 70 kilograms and 165 cms ... The Don of all Dons ... The jack and master of all trades ... Nuthan Reddy Godhumalla ...

1. If you have five hundred rupees and Don Nuthan has five hundred rupees then Don Nuthan has more money than you.
2. There is no 'ctrl' button on Don Nuthan's computer. Don Nuthan is always in control.
3. There is no theory of evolution. Just a list of creatures Don Nuthan has allowed to live.
4. Don Nuthan counted to infinity - twice.
5. Don Nuthan can divide by zero.
6. It takes Don Nuthan 20 minutes to watch 60 Minutes of Television.
7. Don Nuthan once rode a bull, and nine months later it had a calf.

[Blogger's Note: The picture was taken when he came home to Vetlapalem ... Needless to say everybody at home absolutely adored him. ]

From the X-Files (Part 2) .. Those Crazy Years

2007-12-19T06:37:00.000-08:00

[Blogger's Note: An e-mail exchange between Aroon and me that talks about those four crazy years. The e-mail itself was sent some time around Feb 17th 2005 (a good 3 years after those 4 crazy years) ... the intent in his own words .. "and yet I have done little all these years since those times to even set eyes upon your countenance, or to speak with you of your trials & sorrows, or to know of your joyous crushes". Aroon's e-mail was titled "Is this Love ?" and my response was titled "This is Love"]

Is this Love ?

Where do i begin?

The invention of the phrase (phrase isn't it?) "bitch bastard" that even today brings warmth to my heart, or

The stolen gift of IPv6: The next Internet Protocol from the refli that I'll hold dear till my last breath leaves me, or

The many blissful nights (and mostly days) of sleeping on your floor which you begrudgingly permit in spite of your inability to self-gratify, or

The pool of urine that was found between my sleeping place on your floor and your cot, that until today hasn't had its source resolved, or

Your tolerance (and hidden love) of Julie, the bitch that found solace on your bed, and your feigned fits of anger at her, or

The daring breach of the locked-tower of sundial in Jaipur, or

The comps, god forbid I forget them!, or

The drunken spells of violence, targeted at khus and Das, or

You just being the friend you can be, or .........

Where do I begin? Is this love?

This is love

If our hearts are the doors of a temple then what is the key that opens it ? Love !!! Love !! Love !! Love !!

~ Translated from a song in Pelli Sandadi ( a Telugu movie by Raghavendra Rao, B.A. The song: Hridayam ane kovila thallupu theriche thaalam ? ... Prema !! Prema!!Prema !!!)

I could just carry on from where u signed off ....

The ticketless train travel from Bikaner to Loharu 'coz we thought it was more important to keep our stomachs happy ... or

Our midnight visits to ANC where the only word that counted was "karara" while the cook tried to figure out whether you were Sai-baba or Jesus Christ (incarnate of course) or

Chaco trying to decode what comps meant while Saiku was trying to figure out why the Time Cigarettes we gave him were always more kick-ass than the ones he bought or

Our nocturnal (and afternoon) visits to Golden Dragon where Hemantji would oblige us with old food, adulterated CDs and a credit that if evaded could put off his plans to buy a car by a couple of years or

The names like "random duckling", "Naamka", "boo...babu" that have stuck to people even today while (luckily) "granny" never got too popular!!

If this isn't love then what is ?

From the X-Files (Part 1)

2007-12-13T17:35:00.000-08:00

[Blogger's Note: I wrote this on 29th Oct 2003 a long time before blogging was cool. I sent it to my wing - a group of people I had stayed with for 4 years in Pilani and had an absolute blast. Since then, nothing has changed much, the sun is the same in a relative way but I'm older, shorter of breath and four years closer to death. However, I still identify very much with what I wrote]

I'm back cooking a different Story

"My job requires mostly masking my contempt for the assholes in charge, and, at least once a day, retiring to the men's room so I can jerk off while I fantasize about a life that less closely resembles Hell."
~ Lester Burnham to his boss in American Beauty ...

I know none of us are doing this badly ... but I'm sure we can do better. We were a wing. Common belief is that we still are a wing. Fatefully, if all of us were to get run down by a big red bus today, history would remember us as folks who came, screwed around and passed out .... I don't have an idea or a super wave that's gonna get us to where we ought to be. At the same time I can't define where we ought to be 'coz that's just restricting the limit to the amount we can do in a lifetime. All I know is that there's definitely more we can do ...

I don't use the word 'hate' too many times but I can tell u that I hate working for someone else ... it's not in my blood ... I probably would hate working for myself too (and claim that it's not in my genes) but I still dunno that and I'm willing to take the risk and find out ... I dunno how many feel the same way as I do ...but it would be great if I have U folks on board with me ... I don't even know what I'm planning to do ... but we have brains and we can sit and discuss ... we don't have to start tomorrow ... we can sort our lives out for a couple of months and then decide what we should be doing ... and all of us don't need to join at one shot ... it's a crazy world ... and people have made money ... so no reason why we shouldn't be making money ... and we get to be our bosses ... and we get to decide who we wanna work with ... (of course if we wanna be successful honestly ... we might not have much of a choice on who we wanna work with :p)

Just look at the wing ... we do have folks who can do wonders ... and what are we doing instead ... a couple of us cross a country to watch a movie in which an aging fart cleans up the so called 'mess' around him ... at times I wonder if he can clean his own mess after he's done ... one guy's obsession with cars made him do a Masters in Information Systems in BITS and just to make sure he could get even closer to cars he's doing an MBA now ... defines Irony .. one's married and planning to build a house ... the other isn't married and is planning to buy a house ... I can't say much to u folks ... except that real estate is business too ... in fact real estate is good business ... ask Donald Trump ... ask K.P Singh. A couple of us are in college talking about SIP, Thakurs and the universe ... u guys are working with ideas of tomorrow ... let's sell a few of these ... I hear clinks on the other side of the cardboard .... do U hear them too? Girls recently turned 'majors' are not even a 'minor' hiccup ... it's just a way of life ...Colombian girl friends and salsa classes can still be in ...everybody needs respite ... so can working with the Shankaracharya ... Motorola and Cisco are build to last companies ... maybe we can make a build to last company too ...what say 'Huzur' ? Wear your shirt. In the room

I've wanted to send this mail for quite sometime ... was a little scared to be honest... thought U guys would think I was crazy .. and that I had lost it ...I'm sending it now ... 'coz ... what the fuck ... who the fuck really cares ... I lost it a long long long time ago ..

Those weird eaters

2007-12-10T07:59:00.000-08:00

After living on and off a suitcase for close to 6 years, I decided I'd write about some food habits that have stood me in good stead when the going got tough. As you'd realise the going never really gets tough ...

1. Corn Flakes goes better with yogurt than milk. Ranjith introduced this to me when he came over to London for a weekend and I didn't have milk in my fridge. As a Telugu I usually tend to have yogurt for my regular cravings of Perugu-Annam with Aavakayi Pacchadi (curd rice with mango pickle). I haven't moved back to milk ever since ... except in rare occasions when I've had milk but no yogurt in my fridge.

2. Poha tastes amazing when prepared with a little white wine in it. I was making breakfast/brunch for Ranj and Chandra and I decided it would be Poha day. Mid way through this Ghati preparation I found something amiss. I added a dash of white wine and everything fell into place. Both of them were unable to place where the additional zing to the Poha had come from and when I did tell them they found it pretty interesting. (Even if they didn't show it they must have found it freaky to find a place other than church where they could have something made of wine at 10:00 A.M on a Sunday morning).

3.In general, if I thought my guests would find the food too spicy, I'd add a dash of lime. If I thought that's not going to work I'd add tomatoes and I'd continue with yogurt and wine and end by removing the green chillies from the food (I call it the placebo effect). If this still don't work, just order from a take away. (Don't forget to ask for spicy food else I'd bet you a silk pajama that your guest is going to find the food bland)

4. I have decided to call my sandwich invention as yogurt and pickle spread sandwiches after realising how simple it was to make them and how much better they tasted compared to those vegetable and cheese sandwiches that I had grown tired of. This tastes best with Priya's garlic pickle (though taking this to work means you need to carry some mouth wash along as well). The preparation is simple:
a. Toast the bread (Optional). For best results try brown bread
b. Spread pickle on a slice of bread
c. Glaze it with some yogurt.

5. At any point of time if you started cooking and realised you've run out of spices Don't Panic (Yes, I know, even the Hitchhikers Guide tells you the same). Just pick up a pickle and add two tablespoons of pickle into your curry. It works like a charm. I tired this in Potato Korma, Brinjal Curry and even with Chicken.

Flash Fiction

2007-12-10T06:30:00.000-08:00

This morning I was 'kindly' introduced to Flash Fiction. Inspired by Hemmingway's six-word flash:
For sale: baby shoes, never worn

I thought I'd publish my first six-word flash as well:
Flash Fiction: Never written ... Never read ...

First Amendment and Article 19 (Part 3)

2007-10-03T12:01:00.001-07:00

[Blogger's Note: This is the last in a series of 3 articles]

"Who is this Ram? Is he a Civil Engineer ? Which Engineering College did he graduate from ?" When I first saw Karunanidhi's translated tirade as subtitles on NDTV it took me a couple of minutes to realise that the kalaignar was actually taking potshots at the adarshapurush (Perfect Man) of the Ramayana, Lord Rama (a.k.a Shri Ram, Ramar, Ramudu ...). The debate was on the Archeological Survey of India's petition to the Supreme Court. The petition had urged the Court to not treat the lime shoals between India and Srilanka (Adam's Bridge/ Ram Setu) as evidence of a bridge that was built by Lord Rama and his Vaanar Sena (Monkey army) to cross over to Lanka and fight Raavana.

It wasn't surprising to hear this from the DMK. The DMK has always felt that the Ramayana was an allegory to the victory of the Aryan Race over the Dravidians and the eventual sanskritisation of then India. While the rest of India looks at Lord Rama as the ideal man (husband, brother, son and father) who went to war against a tyrant in Lanka, the DMK views Rama as a son who was too meek to stand up to what was right, as a brother who let a pair of slippers rule from Ayodhya, a husband who doubted his wife's integrity and a dad who fought his own children out of arrogance. To the contarary, Ravana is treated as a tragic hero, a learned and spiritual man with a keen ear for music, a man who respected women (though he abducted somebody else's wife) as he never forced himself on Sita during her days in Lanka. Things were more militant with DMK in the days yore - Periyar, the founder of the Dravidian movement would make it a point to garland Rama statues with slippers every Ram Navami.

Well, the Dravidian point of view is not what I'm trying to convey through this article. What struck me was how Karunanidhi, an elected head of the state said what he said. As a Freedom of speech proponent I don't find anything wrong with someone expressing their beliefs. As an elected head of state in a pluralistic society, he may well have crossed the line and should have acted with more restraint. It would be interesting to see the reaction if he said something about Jesus Christ (Who is this Jesus ? Is he a Marine Biologist ? How did he know exactly where and when to cast the net to catch a bounty?) or the Prophet Mohammed [PBUH] (Who is this Prophet [PBUH] ? Is he a Sound Engineer ? Did he have any patents on quality hearing aid techniques? How else could he have heard the message of the Lord broadcast from so many millions of miles away without any glitches ...[except for those Satanic Verses]?). Personally, I think the Central Government in a bid to portray itself as the protector of the minorities would have asked him to step down as the Chief Minister of Tamizh Naad.

Well, the double standards of the current central government is not what I'm trying to hint at through this article. When Columbia Uni invited Ahmadinejad as a guest, he went onto his pet topic - questioning the occurrence of the holocaust. It’s difficult to refute something that occurred so systematically, but if a person has a particular belief then we must either let it be or prove him wrong. What we should not be doing is to try convicting him for an alleged crime. I still do not understand why denying the holocaust should be treated as a crime or even be treated as Anti-Semitism. In those lines Mr Karunanidhi must be convicted as well and so should Mr Rushide. In Columbia, Mr Ahmadinejad was more conciliatory - he felt there should be an open debate on the holocaust. Maybe a handful of undergard researchers is all it takes to open Mr Evil's eyes.

It is impossible to draw the line for freedom of speech, just as one man's Freedom fighter is another man's terrorist. In such a case not having a line is the only line that must exist. Say what you feel like and pay the price for it - burnt State buses and a daughter's house damaged as in the case of the Kalaignar or a fatwa in the case of Mr Rushdie that has kept him in constant fear and hiding or a probable conviction for the Iranian President in some land when his diplomatic immunity ceases.

First Amendment and Article 19 (Part 2)

2007-09-25T17:03:00.001-07:00

[Blogger's Note: This is the second in a series of 3 articles]

Columbia University invited Global Terrorist No.1 (or 2, depending on the mood), Enemy No. 1 (or 2 depending on the mood), State sponsor of Terrorism (it’s not George Bush Stupid …) and Holocaust denier - the democratically elected President of Iran, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad as a part of the World Leader’s Forum initiative. The bosses in Columbia will pass the buck if there’s too much heat about giving a platform to an extremist (it wasn’t the President but a Professor of some nondescript course who actually made the invitation) and others will pat their backs and say how Columbia upheld Freedom of Speech by listening to a tyrant ramble on stage. Lee Bollinger, the President of Columbia in his opening remarks said, "Mr. President, you exhibit all the signs of a petty and cruel dictator" and then added "You are either brazenly provocative or astonishingly uneducated". In between he exposed Iran's "hideous designs" on various issues, and wrapped it up with a parting salvo "I doubt that you will have the intellectual courage to answer these questions". Mr. Bollinger’s remarks reminded me of a hymn from the Vedas:
"Mathru devo bhava
Pithru devo bhava
Aacharya devo bhava
Athithi devo bhava"
(Respect one’s mother, father, teacher and guest just as you respect God).
Sure, Mr. Bollinger would not have read the Vedas but I think he did go overboard in inviting someone and then being so extremely judgmental, that the very values that Columbia stood up for in making the invitation i.e. Freedom of speech looked like mere lip service. What Mr. Bollinger did was to exemplify the perception of American Foreign Policy in the Middle East – ignorant, belligerent, bullying and ugly.

Sometime in March 2006 Mr. George W. Bush, who in some parts of the globe is perceived to be Global Terrorist No.1, Enemy No. 1 and State sponsor of Terrorism, visited India. The Indian government tried very hard to have him address the Indian Parliamentarians in the Parliament house. When a significant number of Parliament Members threatened to heckle him, the Government decided to have Bush address the masses from Purana Qila, the Old Fort. When Bush did address the group of Parliamentarians, he was given a standing ovation from time to time. He wasn’t heckled and he wasn’t reminded of his numerous gaffes that he had made. Athithi devo bhava indeed!!!

First Amendment and Article 19 (Part 1)

2007-09-25T12:20:00.000-07:00

[Blogger's Note: This is the first in a series of 3 articles]

I seem to be going on a blogging spree whenever India wins in cricket. Beating Pakistan is no mean feat and winning the tournament in a format where we've just played one international T-20 match prior to this World Cup surely needed tons of self belief. To do that without the trinity of Indian cricket is like America winning the war on Terror in land-locked Afghanistan with just the Navy. The Indian media have covered this so much that the only risk I’d carry if I continued talking about the Men in Blue is that I’d sound like a broken gramophone record.

What I would like to dwell on is an interesting comment that Shoaib Malik made in the Post Match Award Ceremony. His exact words were “First of all I want to say something over here. I want to thank you back home Pakistan and where the Muslim lives all over the world."(Many thanks to Cricinfo’s Mukul Kesavan’s blog at: http://blogs.cricinfo.com/meninwhite/archives/2007/09/scenes_from_a_final.php for the comment). If I were to take Shoaib’s comments at face value, what he meant was one or more of the following:
1. Shoaib’s team was not only playing cricket for Pakistan but also for the entire Muslim world.
2. The Indian Muslims do not count as Muslims in his eyes or they were rooting for Pakistan en-bloc and were sorry that India won. I think the latter is extremely improbable as we had Irfan Pathan picking up 3 wickets for a measly 16 in 4 overs (which included the prize scalp of the other Pathan, albeit the Stupid one – Shahid Afridi)
3. Muslims in Chechnya and Bosnia, the Abu Sayyaff in Philippines and the Palestinian brethren, who probably don’t follow the game anyway, want Muslims to win across those dirty non-believers. As if they haven’t had other things to worry about.

For a moment let us assume that Shoaib as a non-native speaker got done in by the occasion (Young captain, losing a nail-biting final to arch-rivals India, not sure of the reception back at home). In such a scenario we could construe what he meant as one or more of the following:
1. Shoaib meant “Pakistanis back home and Pakistanis all over the world” which would make it a pretty innocuous comment. I still do not agree with his apologetic tone though, he made it sound like it was a disgrace losing to India when to the contrary Pakistan should have been proud of their fight back. Shoaib should have acknowledged the fact, that at the end of the day, the game of cricket won (pardon me for that famous cliché being re-used)
2. Pakistanis and Muslims are interchangeable. In such a case, (as Mukul points out in his blog) spare a thought for poor Danish Kaneria. The Hindu in the Muslim team, who was just made Muslim.

Either way, there is no point castigating (or castrating ... sorry couldn’t help that one either) Shoaib Malik. In a free world he has the freedom to speak what he wishes to (ofcourse with a certain amount of discretion) and I don’t think Shoaib crossed the line irrespective of what he meant. At worst, he sounded foolish, stupid and parochial. At best he sounded like somebody out of sorts with a foreign language and maybe he should start using more Urdu in his post match speeches.

Haleem, Ladoos, Lab rats and the 'M' word

2007-09-17T14:10:00.000-07:00

In Nagesh Kukunoor's Dor, Zeenat (played beautifully by my senior in school, Gul Panag) asks Meera to sign a letter to forgive her husband who accidentally kills Meera's husband. Meera, sick of her life as a Hindu widow, doesn't agree and in the ensuing discussion asks "Tumhara Quran bhi yeh kahta hai naa …badle ke liye badla ... mujhe badla chahihye" (Even the Quran justifies revenge and asks an eye for an eye ... I want revenge). Zeenat replies by saying that the Hindu scriptures encourage forgiveness and pleads Meera to sign.

For a religion that started in the 7th century when the world already had enough religions to contend with, the adoption of Islam has been phenomenal. If a religion in the new age had to succeed, it had to be militant, aggressive and forceful. Islam gives you all of them in equal doses. It had to grow at the expense of all other religions and the only way it could do so was to preach Zero Tolerance, be unforgiving to people who blaspheme and elevate itself as the purest and most supreme form of worship. Thomas Friedman in his article in the New York Times talks about the Islamist view "Muslims are raised with the view that Islam is God 3.0, Christianity is God 2.0, Judaism is God 1.0, and Hinduism is God 0.0." If this is indeed true then we are in deep trouble.

Exactly 108 years to the day when a bunch of stupid men flew planes into buildings, a man clad in saffron addressed The World Parliament of Religions in Chicago. It was September 11th 1893. Somewhere in a speech that talked about universal acceptance and tolerance he had time to translate an old Sanskrit hymn "As the different streams having their sources in different paths which men take through different tendencies, various though they appear, crooked or straight, all lead to Thee." Vivekananda captured the hearts and minds of Americans with his speech (obviously Mr Bush wants to do it differently with the Iraqis), but all he was stating was what is so obvious in the Hindu religion.

India today is trying to reconcile with the fact whether Hindus and Muslims will ever be able to live again peacefully. One religion talks about acceptance and tolerance while the other considers all other forms of worship blasphemous. Amartya Sen in his book "Identity and Violence" talks about how having a single identity that eclipses all other identities can cause friction. He argues that every person is not only a Hindu, or a Muslim, but also a male or a female, a doctor, engineer or an actor, a communist, socialist or a capitalist, a rock music fan or a carnatic music fan. In a nutshell the more identities a person has the less likely is there a chance of friction in the name of religion.

The Indian Muslim who has multiple identities is never the problem. A Shahrukh Khan, a Mohammed Kaif, a Shabana Azmi or an Azim Premji will never fund a terrorist outfit or become a suicide bomber. However, the Indian Muslim below the poverty line is being slowly moulded to have only one identity (which is the identity of religion). He is taught to belong to a different league and is continuously reminded of his superiority. His frustration only mounts when he is unable to come to terms with his standing in real life. It would be a difficult task to get the poorer Muslim to be more pluralistic, but that doesn't mean it can not be done. To start with, a part of the fault lies with the Hindu Majority. From a religion which was based on acceptance and pluralism we have seen a more uncharacteristically militant form which reeks of all things which were never the basis of Hindu teachings. The problem with today's Hindu is that we don't give the Muslims a second identity, albeit a more important one, that they are Indians just like any body else. That would solve half the problem to begin with.

In "Chak De …", when Kabir Khan walks out of the Indian Hockey Federation meeting after asking if he could coach the Women's Team, his friend (a character inspired by Negi's real life friend Jyotikumaran) consoles him of his missed penalty stroke by saying "Lekin … Hum Sab ki Ek Galti to maaf hota hai" (Everyone is forgiven for one mistake) and Kabir retorts "Sab ki naheen" and repeats it again "Sabki naheen" (Not everyone's first or only mistakes are forgiven). That pretty much sums up the feelings of the ordinary Indian Muslim. Making Lab rats out of them and asking them to wear their loyalty on their sleeves is something that has already begun to isolate them.

Every Ramzan I make it a point to be in Hyderabad (partly because it is the safest time in the year to be in Hyderabad and partly because I love the Hyderabadi Haleem). On Vinayak Chaturthi, my cousin, a friend and I went to the Al Saba Cafe and packed a Haleem for dinner. I can't speak for the other two, but consider me sacrilegious, a voracious meat eater or a plain stupid dunce, I still managed to add 3 new identities to the ones I already have. On a more serious note ... How many Muslim's would eat Tirupati Prasad after they see the moon come out during Ramzaan? … Clearly it takes two hands to clap …!!!

Surfing couches across Europe

2007-09-12T07:36:00.000-07:00

Europe, like India, is a cultural melting pot with a million cultures. Ask a European to travel 250 kilometres from where he is and he'll probably feel like a stranger in a strange land. People, opinions, outlook, culture, leanings are all very different as you travel across Europe. I was lucky enough to interact personally with a great number of these different souls and all that happened thanks to the Couchsurfing Project (http://www.couchsurfing.com/). Couchsurfing is based on a very simple premise. Travellers all over the world are a kindred spirit and a traveller will be more than glad to host you for a couple of days if you happen to be travelling to his city. The name of the project comes from the fact that hosts will at least be able to give up their couches for you to sleep in, if they have nothing else to offer. I used the Couchsurfing network to make friends in Hamburg, Milan, Venice, Paris and Berlin and each experience was extremely fulfilling.

My first Couchsurfing experience was with Leif in Hamburg. Leif is a Scandic name and apparently it is common for Northern Germans to have such a name. Leif was the perfect host. He drove us down to Lubeck and Scharbeutz apart from showing us around Hamburg. Leif introduced us to popular local selections from Astra beer to the Reeperbahn (Hamburg's Red Light district, where the Beatles played in the 60s much before they got so famous that John Lennon in his characteristic style said "We're more famous than Jesus Christ"). We did the typical touristy guy stuff in the Dollhouse and also did the Sunday morning at the fish Auction hall. His parting gift to me was an East German flag that made it to the display back at home.

I love the Italians. My mother tongue, Telugu, is often called the "Italian of the east" because all words (or almost all) end in vowels. This gives an impression of symmetry and structure to the language and makes it sound very pleasant. Italy reminded me of home to the extent that I felt homesick. I was hosted by Ray Tarantino in Milan. Ray has a band of his own and inspite of his busy schedule showed me around Milan's nightspots. Being one of those Da Vinci Code trivia fans I couldn't resist visiting Vinci's Last Supper Painting. Milan has so many Japanese tourists that they found it common sense to install squat-pans in toilets in most places. With the amount of money the Japanese tourist pumps in, anyone would bend backwards to indulge them.

If people were to be given the choice to visit one European city then they must choose Venice. Venice is charming, mesmerising and frustratingly beautiful. What made it even more memorable was to be hosted by somebody like Sara. We discovered some wonderful Osteries and Cafes in Venice and had a great time. She had some wonderful stories about her experiences in Galway and Granada and her passion for the Lynx. By the end of the trip she surpassed Gondolas, Marco Polo and Cassanova as far as recall value with respect to Venice was concerned. Venice also introduced me to other travellers and Couchsurfers. Sebastien a French-Canadian who had just finished a trek in the Julian Alps in Slovenia, Anna and Fanny an Italian and Belgian pair who had just come for a break.

You can't do justice to Paris if you stayed less than 3 days. I was there for almost 5 days and I still felt like I wanted to be there longer. I stayed with Won the first few days. Won, an American of South Korean ethnicity had a passion for mime and that brought him to Paris. I attended a few of his rehearsals as their official photographer and it was amazing how passionate Parisians are about art. Mime is an old South East Asian art that looks so fabulous when done the right way and Won's team was so good that at times forgot about my role of clicking pictures. (I remember a mime artist performing in School and being booed away from Stage and our Headmaster making the whole school stand in the chilling December cold in the middle of the night). I then moved to Vincente's place in Le Gobelins. Vincente worked for a foundation that helped young kids discover their scientific leanings. I met him at a time when France had just voted Sarkozy in and through his friends who were a great bunch of people we drank wine late into the morning and talked about Paris, India, French Politics and France's 264 patented varieties of cheese.

In all these people I found a common theme: A genuine love for travel, an interest in meeting people of different cultures and sharing experiences, and helping fellow travellers so that they get the best travel experience. People don’t expect a community purely based on good will to do well ... but Couchsurfing has all the ingredients to become a much larger and widely used community. Good bye seedy hotel rooms !!

Of Flashes in the Pan, Coorgis and first crushes

2007-09-06T09:31:00.000-07:00

Watching India beat England after chasing down 317 with 2 balls to spare reminded me of the Natwest One Day Final in 2002 where we chased down 326 and Ganguly performed a "Half Monty" from the Lord's Pavilion. It also reminded me of the famous India Pakistan match in the Independence Cup final in 1998 where we chased down 314. These 3 matches (forget about the order) are my favourite One day victories. The heroes in these matches, Robin Uthappa hitting 2 consecutive boundaries off Broad in the last over, Mohammed Kaif coming in at 146-5 and batting with great cricketing sense and Hrishikesh Kanitkar hitting Saqlain for 4 off the second last ball, were all unestablished when they played these gems. Looking back, both Kanitkar and Kaif lost it somewhere down the line. Some go to the extent of calling them flashes in the pan (though it would extremely unfair to call Kaif that). Only time will tell how Robin Uthappa will be judged but as always a billion people will expect him to do what he did last night everytime he comes to the crease. I do hope this Coorgi dude becomes one of India's next generation of cricketers.

There is something cool about the Coorgis though. We had a bunch of them in school and each of them had this cool streak running through them that by the end of my first year in school I wanted to be a coorgi as well (The only thing I guess which stopped me was that Venkat would have had to become Venkatappa, Venkayya, Venkanna or something similarly uncool). I was lucky enough to sit next to one such Coorgi in Grade 6. Kaveri was this one helluva beautfiul girl and I think by the time we finished our first term I was very much smitten by her. I was this budding philatelist then and during study hour one day I was sorting out my stamp collection. She seemed to be interested as well and I couldn't say "No" when she asked for a few stamps to start a collection of her own. Caught between possessiveness towards my collection and this request from the girl, I by now was very much in love with, I did the obvious - I gave her a couple of fake stamps from my collection (I think it was those funny moon landing collections from one of those Gulf emirates). Kaveri left after the 6th grade and I never got to meet here again. In all those years in between I would rather discreetly ask other Old school mates about her whereabouts and I'd always get a blank.

In 2005, I got this forwarded mail about the dangers of using a microwave to heat water (Moral of the e-mail: Don't heat water in a microwave unless the cup has something like a tea-bag or wooden stir to diffuse the energy built up). It was forwarded from a colleague and as I scrolled down to read it my eyes lit up. The originator happened to be the very same kaveri I knew in school. I shot off a mail asking if she ever went to the same school and if she remembered my fake stamp collection or me. Yes (she went to the same school) and no (she could neither remember me nor my fake stamp collection) was the reply.

As far as I can remember Kaveri was my first serious crush (till then all I had in my crush list were Class Teachers). I did learn from friends that Kaveri is now married to a fellow Coorgi who was a Senior at school but when I think of first crushes I still think of those balmy evenings of 1990 when I had to make the diffcult choice between parting with my stamp collection and indulging the girl I adored and I know I couldn't have done better.

Saala Madraasi ...

2007-09-04T01:32:00.000-07:00

A lot of us often think of the Tamilians as a race with militant ideas and a misplacced sense of Dravidian/Tamil nationalism. To a large extent, this is because of the language struggle, where they genuinely believed Tamil to be a 'logical' alternative to Hindi and the fight for an independent Dravidian homeland, that consisted of Tamil Nadu and northern Srilanka. Now, consider this:

1. MG Ramachandran was a mallu Nair from Palakkad
2. Rajinikanth (Shivaji Rao Gaekwad) is a Marathi from Bangalore
3. Jayalalitha is a kannadiga from Mysore
4. Khushboo and Simran are Hindi speaking. Incidentally both of them have temples constructed for them in Tamil Nadu.
5. Thyagaraja who wrote the Pancharatna kritis was a Telugu based out of Tanjore

Sure for every MGR we have a Kaurnanidhi, and for every khushboo and a Simran we have a Radha and Radhika, but the dichotomy for me seems too sharp to understand for them to fit the cliche. How can a race that is believed to be so gung-ho about it's identity continuously elevate people from outside to the pedestal. So are they miltant, confused souls with a bit of an identity crisis or more liberal than we make them out to be ?

The birth ...

2007-09-03T14:58:00.000-07:00

I must thank Abhilash for getting me out of my self induced slumber of 5 years and pushing me to write ... It happened at Rajahmundry airport ... Nuthan had just finished nourishing some vegetation on the compound wall when this dude calls to see how Suri's wedding went. We talked about the days of yore, his research into something sinister and the fact that we weren't talking enough ... The blog name (Eat your own ....) is a tribute to a German colleague (?) at work ... his way of saying that you can give something to a customer only if you are sure you can use it yourself. Think it's some wise German saying translated badly using Babelfish. Blue Buffalo is a great oxymoron. Of all, it is a pet food company that specializes in dog food.

Racist South Indians

2007-09-03T13:51:00.000-07:00

I've always called myself a Racist South Indian. I've often been asked what that means and my definition has always changed every single time I've tried to respond (based on my mood, state of mind and a host of other things that included the price of onions) ... This is my attempt to be consistent ...

Racist South Indian
- Noun (Usage: I was eating Mutton Madras and bloody hell ... I realised I was a Racist South Indian)
1. A bunch of like minded people who dig thunder thighed actresses, prefer moustaches on their heroes (and heroines given a choice). They can gorge on dosas, vadas, MLA pesarattus and bisibela baths 3 times a day, think that Amitabh Bacchan (who is he?) comes a close 29th after Rajini, Chiru, Upendra (not necessarily in the same order) and a bunch of other pot-bellied and not so pot-bellied actors. They believe that Article 343 (Hindi as a national language) should be scrapped or ammended and filter coffee goes best while reading The Hindu