Rohini Mohan

Tick

2011-05-03T14:34:00.001+05:30

Tock Tick Tock There must be a name for the fear of the clock.

The Quibbler

2011-04-25T18:58:00.003+05:30

The anger of the righteous, I thought, would spin the world on its head, shake up the unmoved and blow a storm of wonderful change. Today, I realised, it comes with a nitpickiness of such painful proportions that change be damned, how would the crusaders fight the big fights, if the little ones occupy all their waking hours? If wrong is wrong, and there is no little and big wrong, then I

To unfair suprises

2011-01-24T02:16:00.014+05:30

I’m always surprised when I find the salt jar on the kitchen rack empty. This doesn't happen often, but I never notice the bottom coming. I reach for it blindly. And when I swirl the spoon with scooping purpose in the airy emptiness of the jar, I feel let down. “Already?” I wonder like a fool. Yes, it can be replaced, but why must I, I ask unreasonably. Cheap drinks and unhinged days, heavy

What journalists and lobbyists won't tell their friends

2010-12-28T14:27:00.005+05:30

Journalists and lobbyists have no law to answer to. The Radia tapes episode exposes how the highly individualistic professions redefine ethics on a daily basis The Radia tapes have, for a month, been the source of much mortification. The first reaction from the media, however, tells us far more than the subsequent replaying of 104 leaked phone conversations, incessant reportage on the details of

Rabble and Throng

2010-10-25T10:46:00.003+05:30

Most people hate crowds. Crowds push, pull, stomp. They’re unpredictable, abrasive and let’s face it, often smelly. Dried jasmine lady’s elbow almost always finds its way into egg biriyani man’s hip, who will then twist around to yell at sweaty armpits boy nursing his toe squished by whoever left behind the sharp cloud of pan-bidi that still stains the air. Common purpose is said to unite, but

2010-03-21T23:02:00.001+05:30

A lone fisherman in Trincomalee, east Sri Lanka, after the Emergency and fishing restrictions were extended. Now, the Tamil minority needs a 24-hour pass to step on the coast.

Whimsical weather

2010-03-08T02:15:00.005+05:30

Changing seasons went unnoticed before. They were simply the overlapping moodswings of something I had no control over. Trees remained green, except sometimes they thoughtfully came with flowers. The wind blew hot and cold, you walked against it either way. Sunglasses seemed excessive, sunscreen pointless. Umbrella worked for all seasons, if you were an umbrellaic sort of person. Temperatures,

Formulaic lives

2010-03-04T02:31:00.007+05:30

Boring days yawn on. An unclear piece of information offers A Good Thing. The day brightens. Others are told. They do what others do. They talk of Better Than Good Things. I break time-tested Enthusiasm Control theory to allow for effervescence. Castles in the air grow a sixth floor. Day of the Real Thing dawns. Enthusiasm Control theory states that real things will be good things only if better

Page 51

2010-03-02T01:28:00.014+05:30

She walks into the library with coffee. How warm the cup against freezing fingers. Sunny spot picked, stretching ritual observed.Coffee sipped with resolve. Page opened.The whitespace around the words articulate a coherent viewpoint. The words, on the other hand, try too hard, forming silly queues of characters whose impatience makes them forget why they’re there in the first place. “Next!” booms

white noise

2010-02-05T01:35:00.006+05:30

Ah the background buzz of many jumbled voices.So audible, yet, wonderfully wordless.

Basking

2009-11-16T21:04:00.003+05:30

I have started to love sunlight.I cannot believe I ever took it for granted.

Srilanka: An arrack toast to many more!

2008-05-26T19:32:00.004+05:30

When amma and appa planned vacations, it was an annual permission to spend the scrupulously saved salary acorns. The date was first carved in stone, factoring in summer vacations and bank holidays. For months before that set date, everyone in the household was to scan newspapers and previously-ignored free mailers for bargain vacations. In those months, few whims of new shoes and Internet

Citizen Journalist

2007-12-24T20:01:00.000+05:30

People on the street always have the best lines. None of my deeply thought-out scripts, or pun-laden headlines ever match up. It’s probably the combined effect of their resignation and rage, the unchecked discharge of colloquial lingo, or maybe even the freedom of unaccountability. But they always say it best. Which is why some channels (like the one I work for) decided to hand the mike to the

travel notes

2007-12-01T03:52:00.000+05:30

Two months of rapidly passing clouds, trees, yellow dividers. Thoughts flew, new colours surprised, the blur was welcome. Introspection? In gallons, flowing into every landscape, and entering every relived conversation. Many faces and places merge now; I credit someone’s joke to someone else, too many anecdotes put away for the right audience have now

parfum. From this angle

2007-10-02T19:02:00.000+05:30

Sometimes, the lens view takes over real life.A casual conversation suddenly hushes all ambient sounds. A random passerby looks at his watch in slow motion, the tick from minute-15 to minute-16 audible a mile away. A child’s white-knuckled grip on her mother’s shoulder more desperate, the otherwise infuriating honking joyously cacophonous, even the cemented grey of flyovers meaningfully

media wart

2007-05-23T16:30:00.000+05:30

There are some men on the bus I would never sit next to. Some people in the office I would never ask help from. Some writers I’d never read after a really offensive book/article. Once the judgement shapes itself, it takes too much to remold it. I’ve always been quite at peace with my little prejudices. (Not to be equated with customs officials detaining a passenger because he has a Muslim name)

silly mind, silly stomach

2007-04-02T18:52:00.000+05:30

Monthly dreadLittle independent globules of fat floating in body, finding each other. Fusing. Bobbing happily towards top-left corner of body.Flashes of being rushed in horizontal position to George Cloony in green pajamas (or McDreamy in blue). Oh joy. But Red Cross nurse rams metallic shock things into chest (mine), barking panicky orders in mallu-accented Greek to note-taking minions.White

the demise of the 50 paisa

2007-03-15T17:56:00.000+05:30

Waking up to find that people reject you to your face. That’s got to be the worst ever morning. It’s relatively easy to hear people say you’re useless, especially if you know you’ve been sort of out of the scene for a while now. But to find that because of a few rejections, you become rejectable? Now that’s a tough life. Why even get off the assembly line then?Even the otherwise

first impressions

2007-03-07T19:43:00.000+05:30

So now, Delhi. Incredibly beautiful, sprawling and breezy. But the shade of brown-green in trees here irritates me. Makes me nostalgic for the wet, healthy green of south India. The roads are wide, but honk-ful nonetheless. The house comes with two balconies from which we can feel grateful about the brown-greeness of a well-maintained Welfare Association garden. There are security guards we have

Banana leaf musing

2006-11-14T15:42:00.000+05:30

So much rice and sambar and rasam and vegetables and curd and buttermilk and sweet and pappad and pickle. All for just under 30 rupees. What a good, happy, food-loving world.As my mom used to say, there's nothing more reassuring than watching someone enjoy their meal.

keep the change

2006-10-30T21:38:00.000+05:30

It’s a fine line between a gift and a bribe. And a lot of people think no one sees that line anymore. When this man slipped a Rs.100 note to the driver “for tea”, and shone a servile grin at me, I wondered if it didn’t matter to him that the entire street was watching. All eyes hoping that his possibly representative offering will bring a Corporation official to dry their waterlogged homes. Maybe

postal dilemma

2006-10-11T19:49:00.000+05:30

Who should I write to if I want to apologize for the world?

baby you can drive my car

2006-10-08T17:12:00.000+05:30

There is a remarkable amount of talk about women drivers. The usual accusations: too slow, can't park, too panicky. It is believed that every woman driver, without exception, sucks. There are still some countries where insurance companies refuse to cover women drivers. There are books dedicated to the subject. Example: "28 Days: What your cycle reveals". We understand, the book says, you have

the world needs cartoons

2006-09-22T15:43:00.000+05:30

"Everybody has a cartoon of themselves," suggests David Remnick, the editor of New Yorker, a magazine famous for cartoons, "Mine is: I write very fast, and I'm ruthlessly efficient with my time."This is fun! Let me see... Mine is: I eat a lot of rice, and come up with stunningly crackerjack last minute ideas."Tentative name: Last minute rani (with a ticking clock showing 11th hour in the

BlogCamp!

2006-09-10T17:47:00.000+05:30

I went, buzzed around, and because I was covering it, didn't get to listen to anything except for one little limerick by Aparna Ray. Were there really just 200 people at the BlogCamp? That was supposed to be the upper limit of the number of participants, because as Kiruba says, "After that, it's either too chaotic, or we'll have to induce structure to make things more orderly." And at this event,

Jussst missed the elephants

2006-08-24T13:05:00.000+05:30

I decide to have a Kodaikanal holiday that isn’t ditto my dad’s 25 years ago. Since then, I hear, too many honeymooners and rowdy boy gangs have taken over. But surely there must be more to Kodi than just a repetitive line of rocks giving different views of blinding white mist. Surely it isn’t already explored out. If you’re desperate enough for something new in this old, old place (since 1845)

Mount road

2006-08-07T17:47:00.000+05:30

20061905

2006-08-04T17:55:00.000+05:30

I wonder if the officeboy thinks his existence doesn't matter to all those whose empty coffee cups he clears.

Keep out because we've said so for ages

2006-07-18T19:58:00.000+05:30

Saamis will soon be all over town, throwing away their cigarettes and slippers, sleeping in the living room, and turning on their goodness for 41 days. "Swamiyeeeii! Sharanam Ayyapppa!" is a chant I've heard and enjoyed every year, as my father would wear his rudraksh necklace, and suddenly turn so pious that I felt respect and fear soar inside me. I liked that he suddenly sported a beard too;

How stupid can be thought funny

2006-07-13T20:12:00.000+05:30

If anyone asked me for advice about what 2-wheeler they should buy, I always said, "TVS. Mileage is great. The perfect middle-class company."Nevermore. Because they went ahead and okayed one of the worst ads ever: Chase skirts now. Soon you'll be washing them. Eeeyuck. This writer's justifiably annoyed in her post, and calls it the "wtf ad". But it's the comments that are shocking. Take a look.

Dei Ambi, ketayo?

2006-06-27T11:48:00.000+05:30

A rascal was recently heard plotting annihilation of the dreaded tam-bram cult and stop forever curd-rice warfare in social, economic and virtual circles. As he sat with his cronies (software engineers from Bristol, New Jersey, Toronto and Tidel Park) one night-shift, he revealed his plan."We are to hijack The Hindu paperboy in Mylapore tomorrow morning. The Hindu must not reach Iyer and

the incident called monsoon

2006-06-21T18:56:00.000+05:30

I've seen how easy it is to just copy-paste, so here is another Outlook Traveller piece I wrote. The place: Beautiful, beautiful, Gokarna. Next time, blog, I promise I will write exclusively for you.---------------------Rain is a big event only for those who don't see much of it. Those who see it in plenty scoff at any wide-eyedness about full rivers and rumbling clouds. People in Gokarna talk of

Aei auto!

2006-06-05T13:09:00.000+05:30

Automen are perhaps the most worldly-wise swindlers I've ever known. And in Chennai, all they have to do is narrate a few anecdotes and put forth a few cute theories that relate the water scarcity to Rajnikanth having been a conductor in Karnataka. And there you have the passenger just handing over his/her wallet to the sideways sitting man. All for a hilarious, frequently disagreeable lecture

whose hand

2006-06-03T15:54:00.000+05:30

Seen for 5 days in Bangalore (on RBANMS school ground wall... where the exhibitions usually take place):READ HOLY THIRUKURALSeen on 6th day:READ HOLY THIRUKURALTHEN READ DAVINCI CODE

Dammit they don't use flags anymore

2006-04-27T21:00:00.003+05:30

(Written for Outlook Traveller. I know, it's cheating to post it here. Especially when it's so long. But hey. New thought must accompany new look)It's the first thing I get wrong. Looking for one man. The board does say The Station Master, but that must've been nine platforms, 221 trains, and a century ago. These days, The Station Master at the bustling Chennai Central is actually a team of white

the old man and the prizes he gave me

2006-04-12T18:51:00.000+05:30

I first saw him as Purandaradasa, his earnest voice pleading with the Vittala shrine to give him one glimpse, asking if an untouchable's devotion was only worthy of rebuke. As B&W temple bells clanged and crashed into each other, I remember my dad imitating the nasal tone of Rajkumar's voice. Trying to flare up his nostrils like Rajkumar's would when he sang. Then I saw him as the detective

2006-04-12T15:53:00.000+05:30

Dr. Rajkumar1929 - 2006Listen

million times beating my heart

2006-04-10T13:19:00.000+05:30

It's silly to sing into the phone to someone, except if he is singing this.Rajkumar has acquired renewed fame, of late, in webspace because of this deadly video.(the quality is not as bad as it is in the above pic)I don't know how I had a merry childhood without chancing upon this.A must for instant nostalgia, giggles, inexplicable bellbottoms (that too white) and aching need to suddenly be

the tug

2006-04-01T22:34:00.000+05:30

He was asked what he loved about Bangalore.He said, "Well, it's home."I thought no one could put it better.Then he was asked the same question:And he said, "Well, which Bangalore are you talking about?"No wonder I keep wanting to go back. And not.

hair weave, superstar, things that amuse

2006-03-30T15:24:00.000+05:30

Sivaji stills. Thankyouuuu thank youuuu.What a style, i say! I still remember Chandramukhi's hilarious "Idhu yen sattai, yen dabbu, my kaas, my money! Naan kizhucchu poduven, thiruppi poduven!" Or something to that effect. Okok. It means "It's my shirt, my money. I'll tear it and wear it, or turn it inside-out and wear it!"Vivek follows Rajni. I must take long dupatta to wipe my tears of

whose festival?

2006-03-17T21:44:00.000+05:30

It's difficult to explain to why, suddenly, blue is so offensive, pink so loud-mouthed, yellow so coarse, and green... cool green, suddenly so shrill, so vulgar. When they come charging like that, without a second thought about whether I want a stranger to slap me with colour or not, how can colour be just that? It's simple. I have never played Holi. They all shopped for white, I went along.

2006-03-15T20:16:00.000+05:30

Some people take their job too seriously.

counting sheep

2006-03-09T12:54:00.000+05:30

So many thought-images just float by as my floppy pillow grows on either side of my head. It's like I'm burying my head in a cottony thought cloud. Sleep is far far away, because the horrible temple festival drum is beating nearer and nearer. (Do they really have to do it everyday? And isn't 2 a.m supposed to be the hour of demons?) My flatmate, also awake, messages me from her room. "What do we

an urge to spit fire

2006-02-21T19:20:00.000+05:30

Having a hate and love is not just difficult, it's supposed to be wrong. Look at the greys, they tell you, use your mind. Yes, the mind does tell me that I can't do anything about 99 people refusing to simply say the truth about what they saw. But it makes me nervous about justice, about what'll happen if my sister is shot in the head for refusing someone a drink. Ok, not "nervous". I'll say it.

By the horn

2006-01-25T12:28:00.000+05:30

It's surprising how easily my eyes get used to flying dust. How soon I forget the unsteadiness of the wobbly wooden gallery (goda) that is supposed to keep me 'safe' 30 odd feet up in the air. How stupidly I actually think I can leave half way through this.The first thing I'm told at Alanganallur is that once I'm there for the jallikattu, there's no leaving. I look in horror at a chap sharpening

Hello, hello, mike testing...

2006-01-07T17:43:00.000+05:30

It's fascinating the things a microphone can do, once held in front of a potential speaker.Voices rage, chests thrust out, and fists pump the air. Worries usually coughed into a coal-stove spill forth in a rush as soon as the husband leaves the room. "No, he won't know when the programme airs on TV. Listen, I'll tell before he comes back for lunch."Babies, of course, without exception, land their

typed and scratched

2005-12-28T17:23:00.000+05:30

One of my favourite writers, C.K. Meena in Bangalore wrote that in the paperless society of the future, every single word would have been gobbled up by cyberspace. She asks us to imagine not leaving behind a physical trace of our ability to write. This is what she writes in The Hindu.I HAD to respond. An adorable oldish woman I know has never understood how to move the mouse. The little arrow

rajni? yum...

2005-12-25T20:34:00.000+05:30

Yenna 'muthu' pol potato chips... (Won't translate because I don't know how)AVM Films makes another with Superstar: 'Sivaji, directed by S. Shankar. There have been reports that the film is about Rajni scouring the world for seven look-alikes. Incidentally, superstar used to be called Sivaji Rao before he turned into Rajnikanth. The movie's all hush-hush even after it's puja on Nov. 28. Of course

airwaves crackle

2005-12-21T21:55:00.000+05:30

CNN-IBN on air all over the country from December 16! On the web, so much fun too. Still lots of glitches and nervousness, tickers that leave you to fill in the blanks, anchors who call me Mohini (yuckyuckyuck). No other woman in an office of 20, no respite even on crampy PMS days until I just list out (in shocking decibel levels) the perils of venturing within 10 feet of me and leave the room in

spies came out of the water

2005-11-28T18:40:00.000+05:30

I wonder if we've become a police state. And the police isn't always just the guys in khakhi… it's the nosy lady on the ground floor apartment; the maybe too-powerful theatrical media; hungry Uriah Heep lawyers; political parties making up 'ideology' over biryani; patchily scripted film personalities; the man speeding the screaming dirty Qualis he thinks is his dick/manhood.Everyone wants to gun

new pal

2005-10-11T21:46:00.000+05:30

His only job is to open the gate, shut the gate, and in between retrieve the screamer kid's ball from the sunshade every five minutes. He told me his name thrice, all when I asked, but I nodded without paying attention. I try to squeeze every bit of English out of my Tamil just to get him to dismount the wall he climbs every time I so much as look at him. It's a class thing, a friend said, but I

tatabyebye

2005-08-04T18:01:00.000+05:30

... since not much is being thrown in anyway.

pink, thank you

2005-07-20T15:49:00.000+05:30

I, invincible economy shopper, will venture into a store only if it says SALE, or if it is fridge-sized. Or, as I found out yesterday, if the shop is run my an old muslim man (long white beard mandatory).He didn't need the pesky nephew stationed at the dupatta-camouflaged entrance to call out to passing people on the road: "Madam, skirts, bags, fashion tops. Naya style aaya hai madam." And as you

what to call him

2005-07-12T19:03:00.000+05:30

'Boyfriend' sounds like he'd drop me home in a car (because the city isn't nice to girls at night), kissing my cheek lightly while he said a tender "goodnight, sweetheart". It sounds like he'd take me for a well planned dancing and drinking date, and hold my hand when I'd go to the dentist.He'd be someone everyone assumes is my ride to the theatre (even if it was a group thing). He would know

a place taken

2005-07-08T16:13:00.000+05:30

A new home means large windows that can be swung open with every bit of strength that limp hands just woken from sleep can muster. Brighter, cleaner sunlight splashes itself over every inch of white space.Four little black marks on the floor tell me there was a sofa there that someone cushioned into every evening after work. They had a TV, and you had to lie on the sofa if you had to watch. The

2005-07-01T14:44:00.000+05:30

she rocks

brand new

2005-06-10T14:56:00.000+05:30

A little rain was all it took. Ok, not little, because the sky came crashing down, along with some trees and electric poles. Sharp pokey needles pierced my face and neck as I zipped blindly through road lakes. In between two great splashes arching out from either side of my bike, I suddenly realised how completely drenched I was. What’s the point now, of rushing home? So a circuitous route taken,

"thalaiva!" they cried, and brought their colours out

2005-04-25T14:27:00.000+05:30

Some posters on the roads:

legs to dance

2005-04-25T14:06:00.000+05:30

A week ago, on the release of three big tamil films (Chandramukhi- Rajnikant, Mumbai Express- Kamal Hassan, Sachien- Vijay) I wrote this:A towering cutout of Rajnikant in a salute-pose stands dripping wet with milk, as spring-footed people at the theatre jump about its legs catching the milk-splashes and patting it on their heads. With their eyes closed, like in a temple. There's absolute piety

road to eldorado

2005-03-31T20:27:00.000+05:30

Every time someone tries to tell me Madras is changing into "a hep and cool city", I bite my teeth tight, scrunch my hands into fists and pray for the proliferation of "uncool" people in the city.But after one random wandering into Mylapore, I’ve got a certain jasmineoilbath-turmeric-Cuticura-vibhooti smell bottled up in my head. And each time someone swears that the city’s becoming a

home, places we've grown

2005-03-24T19:19:00.000+05:30

Oh, all that I knowThere's nothing here to run from,'Cos yeah, everybody here's got somebody to lean on- Don't Panic (Cold Play)

drippy days

2005-03-22T12:44:00.000+05:30

A week ago, I looked with disgust at a dusty drum and orange plastic pot sitting in the corner of our miniscule kitchen. "I need to keep the potato basket here. Can't we chuck these useless things out?" I asked my flatmate. When I touched it, she slapped my hand away, looking like she'd like to pull my nails out of my fingers one, by one."Summer's coming. When you have soap in your eyes and the

scrub white

2005-03-11T18:50:00.000+05:30

Two women in burkhas stood by the creams & soaps rack looking thoroughly perplexed. They had their shopping cart full of wax strips, shaver, batteries, tissues, comb, a lonely looking packet of onions, face packs, and shampoo… A very bored-looking knee-height boy was prancing about their legs, panicking every two seconds when he’d trip over one of their pale white feet and almost smash his nose

knave knives

2005-02-24T10:44:00.000+05:30

why would anyone call a person blunt because they were making too many sharp remarks?

woah

2005-02-12T19:10:00.000+05:30

It amazes me, this sudden unanimity of opinion.Everyone is saying yuck to roses and candy. Everyone is suddenly talking about Bajrang Dal. Everyone is a sharp customer whom knows the stuffed toy companies are out to swindle. Everyone hates mush. Everyone wants to hate V day.So much unity in thought.Everyone is painstakingly making sure Monday is deathly drab. Petrified that if they went to watch

fritti!

2005-02-07T16:14:00.000+05:30

Gauging from the panic and palpitation, you'd think kids are more "prone to catching" homosexuality than a cold. If someone even barely mentioned an anti-gay remedy, many would grab their happily-eating-mud children, and line them up to be fixed.Movies, superheroes, presidents, art teachers, paints and brush, moms, tea, dance, and even food has been blamed for turning children gay-- logic be

tiffen ready

2005-02-04T19:50:00.000+05:30

I try not to be in awe. I struggle against becoming the stereotype ‘gazing-in-wonder’er of something that has been raved about in websites, newspapers, food guides, and has even been given a thumbs-up sign at the Mommy Quality Testing Department. But I’m suckered in.I tell my roomie I’ll buy dinner on my way home from work, and try to plan my route so I can stop over at a food-joint on the left

bam! punch! thwack!

2005-01-31T18:52:00.000+05:30

when I open a Word document full of my made-up words and Indianisms, a high-browed Spellcheck runs red and green lines everywhere. Do this, do that. Here take some synonyms. And some suggestions. Want to turn 'hamare' into 'hammered'? And 'jalebi' into 'jailbird', 'kathe' into 'Kathy' (wonder what one has to do to get one's name in Gates' english), 'kannada' into 'Canada', and 'Tamizh' into '

free to dismount

2005-01-24T20:11:00.000+05:30

I keep expecting someone to stick a worn hand in front of my face, wiggling an index finger. I keep expecting to hear "2 rupees madam". Each time I drag my bike out of the parking lot, I brace myself for the unavoidable, almost enjoyable fight with the token-man."Two rupees-a?!" I would say, and keep my eyebrow up and my mouth open in the "aa" shape — a tried and tested expression of incredulity.

making statements

2005-01-08T16:23:00.000+05:30

I read this on a photoblog... Looks like things aren't too different even in Canada... :) "There are too many signs, too many directions, too many internet tests to find out how smart we are or what sort of dog we resemble. There are too many books of self instruction and too many movies where the hero and heroine are of comic book proportion and the good guy always wins. There are too many

ka-ching!

2005-01-08T16:05:00.000+05:30

Automan (irritated): You want to go to bank first, and them home?!Me (Very carefully): Umm.. Yes.Automan: ATM? Or State bank? If it is public bank, you will be there long enough for me to go have bath, get married and have kids. And then I can give them bath also. ATM means go inside, chak, zzzhup, chadak, chinnnng! Over.Me: No, no… ATM only. Fast-fast I'll come back.Automan: Good. I like the

groundhog

2005-01-04T19:45:00.000+05:30

Subways are for wimps, I say. The brave cross the road, and the braver cross the road where there is no zebra crossing. Something there is that doesn’t love a subway (Not the sandwich place. Anyway, that Subway gives waaay too many choices. Give me a place that has says ‘Dosa, pav bhaji and meals only’ anyday). After a year of using subways, I’m still unsure. So many directions to follow, and if

town criers

2004-12-31T15:16:00.000+05:30

Slow to react, we all are. In all our worries about passing exams, getting home on time, not burning the milk, paying the phone bill on the last day, filling petrol before the bike breaks down, finding a home, finding peers, asking boss for leave, not getting fleeced by the automen, watching soaps to see if the vamp gets her way, and oh so many mini-paranoias, we are only taken aback by a

dear santa,

2004-12-23T14:55:00.000+05:30

I’d like a quill, some ink and crispy yellowish paper. I’d like a hat to wear with a tilt.I’d like to sit at an old old mahogany table by the wide window and draw the wispy cream curtains billowing in the breeze. I’d like to pretend that the sudden brightlight hit my eye and squint. Squint and go on to yawn. Squint, yawn, and go on to stretch. I’d moan too, as all good stretchers must.I’d like to

sunshine again

2004-12-17T17:10:00.000+05:30

"I've spoilt myself living in Bangalore," I thought, one zany day, "Let me treat myself to some Chennai."So here I am, in the city of wide roads, little smartypant kids who know every Rajnikant, Vivek and Vijay dialogue,shockingly gutter-mouthed motorists,wisecracking automen telling their passengers "petrol rate yeri pochu ma…" (petrol rates have risen) just when papers announce that there will

joy shmoy...

2004-12-06T21:14:00.000+05:30

It doesn’t help to call yourself a happy person, you know. It seems so out of tune with the rest of the world. Take reactions to sticky situations, for example. Initially, it ain’t sticky to me because I know things can’t be dreary and difficult all the time. And there’s always ice cream and comic strips even when things seem down. But someone else will think me mad. Cold even. “Who tries to be

habba time!

2004-12-06T13:48:00.000+05:30

It's the second year of Bangalore Habba (= festival), and people are already planning their lives around the Odissi at 7:00 p.m., the kannada plays at 6:00 p.m. and the classical Indian music all day. What about work? Come on, this is Bangalore...And the shows are all free of cost.Ah. This city spoils us all....Amit Heri, Ranjith Barot and Keith Peters at Bangalore Habba 2003Vani Ganapathi last

rhyme and season

2004-11-26T22:21:00.000+05:30

Incredible how every autorickshaw zipping in the rain had people stealing indulgent kisses through chattering teeth. Large trees stood over expensive cars, and hurriedly parked lunas, watching a frail woman straightening the urgently wrapped polythene bag on her husband’s balding head. A leaf broke off from its home twig to ride the wind and found unabashed snorty laughter from a little boy as it

must i quote gerald durrell?

2004-11-18T09:00:00.000+05:30

Family get-togethers are always chaotic. No, no, chaotic is way too timid a word. Rowdy is more like it. Proud grandparents (the hosts), loud aunts, eager mums, reticent dads, a nerdy nephew disgusted about being the only boy around, giggly nieces, newborns wailing in the background and sussuing like clockwork, teens reenacting scenes from F.RI.E.N.D.S and still watching the reruns, young adults

straight turrrn maadi

2004-11-10T23:45:00.000+05:30

Footpath, rocky terrain, and mud tracks… nothing stops the Bangalorean from taking the route that would make sure he gets to his destination at least a minute early. At a traffic signal, impatient pizza, courier and death delivery boys fidget with their keys, visibly debating if it’s worth it to switch off the engine. You can see all necks straining to see ahead, to find an inch of space where

dance the body music

2004-11-07T13:50:00.000+05:30

Lokua Kanza isn’t wearing a madly colourful Afro shirt. Neither is his hair long, braided and stacky. When you ask him about it, he throws his head back and laughs, his gummy smile surprisingly ugly. “I think so, Indian want Osibisa from all African people!” The smile gets uglier. “You listen my song, and say if I African or French. And please don’t say I sound American. You kill my soul.” And

blush pale blue

2004-11-05T10:53:00.000+05:30

The price seemed reasonable, location Indifferent. The landlady swore she lived Off premises. Nothing remained But self-confession. “Madam,” I warned, “I hate a wasted journey—I am African.” Silence. Silenced transmission of Pressurized good-breeding. Voice, when it came, Lipstick coated, long gold-rolled Cigarette-holder pipped. Caught I was foully. “HOW DARK?”… I had not misheard… “ARE YOU

lingui-stuck

2004-11-01T17:45:00.000+05:30

Gadaf Khan: "Jee haan, hamare mein guggu... goobe... Khabristan mein, hunse jhaad mein kuntkandi, murda henage tinkandu badko jaanvar." (Guggu= owl in kannada. Goobe= owl in Shivajinagar Urdu. Definition of an owl- In graveyard, sitting on Tamarind tree, eating dead body, and thus living creature) Shetty: "Idemi? Vipareetam aipoya..." (What this is? (in telugu) Bizaare (kannada) it became (

2004-10-31T14:54:00.000+05:30

As a kid, I burst into laughter everytime I fell . I think I much prefer comedy to drama.

glee, glide, no glum

2004-10-28T09:11:00.000+05:30

There should be a teashop at every parking lot in town. Not a bistro or café (said with overplayed contempt and head toss), but a chai shop.Peshal (special) tea, lemon tea, saada tea: Sighs in little plastic cups. You can’t hold it stylishly with an elite pinky stuck up in the air. You can’t caress it with both hands, like you can your daily coffee mug. You can’t place it on a table and sip from

to breathe again...

2004-10-25T18:53:00.000+05:30

The yelling crowd stomped about my brain enough. they dispersed. defeated by synergic effects of pots and pots of heavenly tea, rain slapping leaves against a window, a familiar face from a far away land, rediscovery of wonderfully intermingling lives, stories repeatedly told and each time, embellished and enjoyed tirelessly.thank goodness for aimless conversation.

floats

2004-10-25T13:00:00.000+05:30

Beginnings and middles, I wallow in. Not so much, ends.Flashes of clear skies, crooked eyebrows, and conversation fight for space with acquiescence. It's noisy. And I’ve never liked crowds. Especially ones where I’m jostled out of happy balance. Makes me unsure of which nearby walker I should grab onto to stay on my feet.Left to me, I'd embalm continuities. And sack (also sock) the ones who draw

chromium fest

2004-10-20T20:17:00.000+05:30

It's all about bananas it seems. Trucks careening with six to eight foot banana stem propped up on their sides; little boys riding bicycles with two foot banana leaves balanced on their handle bar; shop fronts adorned with ugly purple banana flowers.It's Ayudha puja. I wake up and walk out on to the road. Every year, it's the same scene. Exactly the same. Every vehicle in every house will be out

whet thought

2004-10-16T14:43:00.000+05:30

seen: a wannabe-river stream of light brown rainwater gurgling beside the footpath. burbling, swishing, swashing, gushing. and a severely empty aquafina bottle floating along.

reddy!

2004-10-15T19:18:00.000+05:30

A recent survey discovered that Bangalore’s ‘pothole density’ is less than 5 potholes per km. "That is lower than many other cities, so don’t you dare complain about roller-coaster rides and your irrational fear of mass spondilitis!"But I cruise through these inane little reports knowing my brand new (and shiny red) Pep will glide over any damn pothole. Of course, I’m not allowed to subject it to

rainman

2004-10-13T09:51:00.000+05:30

There’s much angst about icy cold raindroplets on a warm neck as people run under shops for cover. Strangers don’t really talk to one another. Words just fill spaces, and conversation begins over the din of the rain, like quick comments uttered over a standing ovation, to the person nearby."Five days of cricket, and not a single drop. It should’ve rained this madly then. We wouldn’t have had to

reeverse

2004-10-11T14:40:00.000+05:30

On Sunday ended the irony of a flying son of Krypton having to sit paralysed in a wheelchair.Christopher Reeves, 52, died yesterday. But no Deathtrap, this.There is a theory that Superman was timed with the immigrant worries in america... :) never underestimate the power of popular culture, aye?

2004-10-11T13:08:00.000+05:30

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

discordant refrain

2004-10-09T20:25:00.001+05:30

I wish she’d sing a song. Hum a tune, so the mind would flit mindlessly along. So follies could be sung about and forgotten. Flaws romanticized like for a rock star, or dead friend.I wish she wouldn’t watch the tick of the clock so. Instead, smile at the faces it seemed to make.I wish all the gibberish I garbled would make her giggle, till tears rolled down her eyes, as she repeated the babble in

thus is laid down

2004-10-08T15:39:00.000+05:30

Is there a world where doing anything only when you feel like it is considered heroic and free-spirited? How come "I’m not in a mood" is an invalid excuse? I'd like a word with the mandate maker. Unless he/she is not in a mood.

"love your suit.."

2004-10-07T20:01:00.000+05:30

how the movie manages to unsettle over and over is beyond me.

rings a bell..

2004-10-07T11:45:00.000+05:30

"Blase"... that's a common word, right? I have run an indifferent (pssst! Can I use blase over here?) eye over it millions of times. In a sentence, running along with other words. Hardly worth a second glance. It's as grey as any five-letter word. Too tiny to qualify a pause in reading, even to pick up a dictionary to find out what it exactly means as a lone word, without the supporting cast. Oh

world view

2004-10-07T10:48:00.000+05:30

To whom are you speaking? To Yassin? He wasn't deaf. He became deaf. He doesn't realise this. He's surprised that nothing makes a sound anymore... Just imagine. You are a child, Yassin... It would be idiotic to try and tell you it was deafness. You don't hear, you don't understand. You don't think it's you who can't hear. People have lost their voices; stones have lost their sound. The world is

lazy lucky

2004-10-01T19:54:00.001+05:30

ah yes, metaphoric it sure was. Poetic even, for the joy in the unsaid.Waking up to the reddish sun streaming in, squinting into half-shut eyes. Sigh to happily doze again, coz there ain’t nowhere to go.The dumb lambada from outside the door… it begins to flow in with sleepy breathing. I grin at having nothing to do. And grin wider at walking slow among rushing madness around. All they say is-

toot! toot!

2004-09-29T17:01:00.000+05:30

A train ride of closed minds. Of astonishingly self-congratulatory tones. Of loud unashamed hypocritical proclamations. Of being the only protesting female voice amongst many baritones that insisted that golden were the days when rajasthani women walked miles balancing 4 pots of precious water on their head. "Guardians of culture", they called them, and were disgusted that the working taps they