Chiffonesque

I watched ‘Da Vinci Code’ and I really, really liked it. (One has now stopped taking mindless rickshaw rides to save money to visit the Louvre.) I think Tom Hanks was perfectly cast as the quiet and erudite professor and the girl was adorable. Lilting French accent, clear, innocent eyes, ability to run on high heels – is that perfect or what? My favorite character was the ‘Teacher’ though. Wicked, yes, but a wonderful sense of humor. I remember seeing him in some other very popular film, but I can’t remember which one. Maybe he played a role in ‘Gladiator’ or maybe in ‘A Beautiful Mind’ or..I could just keep naming all the Ron Howard films, but it is likely that he has acted for other directors. So, as things stand, I have really liked the film. As for it not being as good as the book (as ageless as that contention is), I didn’t think the book was a literary masterpiece either. It was a story waiting to be a screenplay. And that’s what happened. Nice, but not extraordinary and ‘one of

I suppose all kinds of education need people to take that leap of faith. Here's the link to an article Alka pointed me to: http://www.ibnlive.com/news/orissa-kids-nasa-dream-thwarted/11547-3.html In my opinion, surely NASA could provide some aid even if the Rourkela Government can't?

If a hundred amethysts melted, and a handful of pink sapphires were crushed and diluted in ambrosia and spilt over bisque velvet, that would be the sky now. And white brittle splinters that aren’t glass but water fall so regally from its tender expanse. Watch these splinters. See them against the lamp light, see them on trees, on the roads, on the smooth cheek of a child, on the dull pane of a window, on a hawker’s brown wooden stall. Rain. How easily it makes the longing worth it all.

I watched ‘Poseidon’ a few days back. I missed some part of the movie in the second half but I’ve seen enough to speak about it fairly. First of all, there is a ship called ‘Poseidon’. It is L-A-R-G-E, H-U-G-E, B-I-G, M-A-M-M-O-T-H (yes, I do realize this is getting irritating. So suffice to say that the ship ain’t little.) And it is also ‘Greek’ (la-di-da). It is named after the Greek God, Poseidon, who had probably foreseen the overwhelming nonsense of real-estate prices and built his kingdom in the sea. Now, anything big and Greek and named after a God has to attract a tragedy, doesn’t it? So, this ship sinks. Some people survive. That’s the plot in a pinched, lego nutshell. Because of this premise, expectedly, the movie has a lot of water. The deluge is caused by a ‘Rogue Wave’. And no, it is not a badly behaved rock band. (It would have been interesting had it been, though.) There’s a huge flap of water that..ahem..rocks the boat – the very, very big boat while all and sundry are

Centuries ago… Both mortal and immortal. Born of a swan and a God. Daughter of Nemesis. Men asked her to make them immortal with a kiss. They fought for her until death. You take a man - cool, calm, and swathed in equanimity. Ask him to give her up. Watch him become a zealot. You take a man – hot, hurried, and angry. Ask him to give her up. Watch him become glacial. Centuries later… Both aggravated and somnolent. Born of choice and craving. Compared to enduring, faithful love that never forsakes the lips. You take a man - cool, calm, and swathed in equanimity. Ask him to give it up. Watch him become a zealot. You take a man – hot, hurried, and angry. Ask him to give it up. Watch him become glacial. You don’t give it up. You let it go. Cigarette - the modern man’s Helen of Troy.

There are places and there are places. Some places you think you’ll never go to, some you think you’ll never leave, and some you think you’ll never stay in. Strangely, Pune fits in all these categories. Although I have been here since last September, I still think of it as a freshly frequented place. My body tells a different story though. My feet know the turns around Koregaon Park when I walk distractedly to buy sausage and bread. My eyes may be fixed on a proud crocus but I will deftly step over a pothole that has been adorning the road ever since I moved here. While my brain still wrestles with the new, odd, awkward, unbelongingness of Pune, my mind has already cozied in. The other day, I was out with a friend. We went towards NIBM, and were driving up a slope. To the left were huge white buildings with whooshing driveways and to the right were big land crevices with billboards of property builders. My friend pointed to the right and was telling me how he wanted to buy a place the

It is not as if I don't feel like working. I just wish that the deal was easier. The sun should be mellow until I get to office and there must be something very cucumbery to get me fresh during the afternoon slump. Maybe a spurt of chilled ice water, a slug of something sweet, tart, and cold served with a wedge of lime, a healthy nuts and fruit salad with pineapple and strawberry slivers, an ice lolly, a backrub, a yoghurt face pack, a quick snappy game of table-tennis. Something like that. I like the discussions I have at work. They are intelligent, if not very articulate. Several times, most of us just lose the will to make our point. But we get by. There is such a thing as common consciousness, I suppose. People don’t really think very differently from one another. Then there is the rigidity of a workplace. That is the straw that makes me feel like a camel. So many lines, such few toes. While I have never had a problem with discipline before, this one time I am finding it unplea

Today, C, J’s daughter, turns four. Last night, I stayed over at J’s place and wished C at midnight. Since C never really bothers with looking at the time, she was thrilled when Mommy and her seemingly homeless friend suddenly woke up from their lazy slumber and started singing enthusiastically. Then we lifted her and gave her birthday bumps. That too C didn’t know anything about, but the idea of being swayed and gently lowered to the floor was a hit. She didn’t want us to stop. I patiently explained the concept that she was four and that’s why she would only get four birthday bumps. She wisely informed me that she was actually six. It may have been a very well kept secret but I didn’t buy any of that. She then sat on my lap and we watched a few stupid moments of Baywatch. (I hasten to mention here that this infernal choice of program was J’s choice. I, like my more discerning counterparts around the world, watched Baywatch only for Pamela Anderson. I think David Hasselhoff is a radish

This morning, my yoga class was rather challenging. I had to bend something that hadn’t moved in ages, I had to touch something that wasn’t getting down, and I had to lift something that wasn’t getting off the floor. The ‘somethings’ I refer to are body parts, although they do not feel like them anymore. I would have managed this entire routine and more had it not been for one small fly in the ointment – I had bones – hard, clanking, dense bones. Any other softer ligaments, over the years, have solidified like old cheese into hard, clanking, dense bones. Then there is the small matter of self-respect. (I don’t carry too much of it in the summers; makes it tough to get by.) When my lithe instructor stood on my toes and gently pressed my back so that my nose touched my knees (it’s a hoot when you try to visualize it), I pointed out rather acidly that I wasn’t an invertebrate. I said that the good Lord gave me a spine and if it is unwilling to bend, so be it. I said what was the need to b

Birds chirp happily. Cows with bells amble along. Gulpacious mangoes on wooden carts sing to each other. Flowers bloom with determined gush of color. Dogs scamper. People smile and say hello. Smooth stones shine, eggs cook easily, and every sip of every beverage is perfect. Bees buzz, pebbles in the stream laugh with the water song. Lilies are wrapped in bright yellow paper. Beatific foreigners collect them in their wicker baskets attached to their shiny bicycles and ride off. Cane chairs get dusted under gnarled banyan trees. Every little, brittle thing is shiny and nice-old and fragrant. There is a quick, happy pulse in the air. There is also an ‘Om’ resonance in the breeze. Tomorrow is happy, urgent, insistent, now, here. Today is full of tomorrow. It is the most perfect day ever and it will come again. To step out in the bright, white cape of sunlight is to remember, and after remembering to celebrate, and after celebrating to forget…that scrumptious Friday feeling.

A glassy sun shattered through the sky and a tree held on to its splinters. Yet again, I try to get over a heartbreak. Anumita clicked this tree while we went for a ramble to the Osho garden. This photograph seems so prophetic somehow.

My brother is a Scorpio. One of my ex-boyfriend’s exes is a Scorpio. One of my erstwhile bosses is a Scorpio. My dhobi, who can be trusted with the only designer garment I have, is a Scorpio. While all are nice enough people, I think all Scorpios (people, not cars) belong on another planet. That way they can happily be moody and tempestuous and distant, without other people going mad with plummeting self-esteem at their inability to ‘understand’ them. This would greatly reduce the number of self-help books on communication, leaving more space for Asterix comics and copies of Anna Karenina that get relegated to inconvenient shelves. However, if such a thing were to happen, that the Scorpios of the world (including cusps who are such wonderful blends of bizarreness) had to vacate terra firma , I would insist on one Scorpio staying back. My good friend, Anumita. She invited me to her fancy party – with crystal, candles, and a glass table draped in an elegant chartreuse, lace tablecloth. U

There is a stall outside my office that makes and sells dabhelis . Not on the same day, though. I think the guy makes the dabhelis one day and sells them the next. So, the pavs are usually a little stale, and the sweet, red, potato stuffing looks like the remnants of the first deer killed by a cave man. All the same, the 5 p.m. hunger pang is not very particular about taste or form. Anything quick, hot, and greasy is good. The stall is usually run by a very friendly, young chap. He’s a little, happy blitzkrieg with a spatula. Watching him work, I have thought how I could easily script a sitcom noting down his conversations with customers. The very first day I ventured to that line of stalls, I was looking for vada pav . Because it was rather late in the evening, only a few isolated chunks of potatoes clung to the steel plates. So, the next best option involving a tava-heated pav was a dabheli . This guy with shining eyes smiled at me. Of course, I went there. ‘1 dabheli’ , I ordered