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Ain't Right

To the world, yesterday may have been one of the best sporting days ever. Personally, it was one of the saddest.

Willing Roger Federer on during matches is no longer about me being a fan of his tennis skills or amiable personality, both of which he seems to still possess in spades. No, the experience of Fed has become a selfish, bizarre quest for validation. Meandering aimlessly rather than marching purposefully through my mid-30s, it's 'oh-so-sweet' to see a man in my age bracket - Fed turns 38 soon - continue to kick ass across various surfaces, ruthlessly dispatching a stream of younger, fitter but clearly not better players, to the locker room, chastised.

Fed winning is a victory twice over. Firstly, served with a healthy dollop of Schadenfreude on the side as he rules the roost over young whippersnappers. And secondly, an "I'll have what s/he's having" a la When Harry met Sally while Fed quietens the mob that's constantly going on about getting …
Recent posts

Shadows of Ourselves

I've never believed in that nonsense about the universe conspiring to make good things happen to/for me. Say that it's probably cooking up ghastly stuff against me and I'll wholeheartedly subscribe to that idea.

Maybe I was wrong.

I was inveigled into an early morning work meeting today. Trouble was that I was out of town over the weekend. However, I manfully attempted to make it for this jolly coven by taking a 6 am bus back into the city. Around 8:30 am, the bus shudders to a halt on the highway. Some convoluted mechanical issue meant that we'd have to be shipped off in other buses, depending on how many seats were available. In these situations, I can't help but admire the combative nature of old biddies and geezers. One minute, they'll be ensconced in their seats with the fixed resignation of old vegetables in the back of the fridge. The next, they'll be hotfooting it for spare buses like Spartans at the Battle of Thermopylae.

I waited by the side of t…

Get Busy Living

As I type this, Irony is calmly slitting its wrists. Because it already knows what I'm about to say. So, let's help Irony along and carry on.

I am a big fan of privacy on the internet. Yes, this is being hosted on Blogger. Send some nice flowers to the funeral. Magnolias perhaps. Anyway, I work in an advertising firm so I know about some of the shenanigans tech firms, ad firms and media behemoths are pulling when it comes to recording things people do online. In a way, they might as well, since humanity seems to be doing precious little offline. In a whole different way, I don't get it. And, I shall attempt to explain with an example.

Earlier this evening, I realised something had to be whipped up for tomorrow's lunch. I like cooking but making food on Sunday evening has a different appeal. It gives me an excuse to mix myself a drink or two, fire up the Bluetooth speaker and trawl through my music collection to provide a background score to my vegetable massacre. The …

When we were young

Once upon a time there existed a peaceful neighbourhood in Pune called Aundh. Perhaps the almost magical somnolence was related to being far from the maddening crowd. Kids cycled to schools, adults sauntered along the kadappa-paved footpaths to shops and, true story, cows could spend afternoons patiently browsing at one corner of Parihar Chowk. The police workshop was a buzzing hive of activity during the day but the massive tree and creeper cover provided plenty of shade for sparrows, owls, squirrels, mongooses and cuckoos.

The city fathers, operating on the principle that all good things must come to an end, eventually turned their beady eyes towards this slumbering haven and dealt the coup de grace in a jolly roundabout maneuver popularly known as Hinjewadi Infotech Park. Cut to more recent times, where the same neighbourhood is now a chaotic hellhole choc-a-bloc with traffic, all of which seems to be headed to a plague spot called the Westend Mall. While assholes parade up and d…

Truck Turner

This is a journal-ish post, cobbling together various floating topics under one hat.

On cooking

I've been pottering around kitchens on a regular basis since 2006. In all that time, pasta has never once been on the menu. The reason is trauma. You see, over 17 years ago when a Masterchef was someone you'd only meet in high-end hotels and the only famous Oliver I knew was the Twist fellow... let me get to the point; videos of cooking instructions did not feature in my life and recipe books were my mother's domain. Yet, I seem to have found some reason to crave Mac-n-Cheese. It must have been damned compelling because I can't for the life of me remember. In any case, macaroni was procured from the local grocers, cheese was shredded or cubed (I forget) and, watched by a highly amused & bemused mater, I tossed the macaroni into boiling water. Half an hour later, the two of us peered into the pot, at each other and quietly agreed that we had two years' supply of glue. O…

Live in the moment

There's a theory that ideas are just tiny particles in space zooming towards Earth and striking the surface any old how. The secret to figuring out cold fusion, for example, may have already arrived. Only, it may have struck a bedbug which, as you read this, may be waving out desperately for some pen and ink.

I was in Bangalore last week and have spent a considerable amount of time trying to find words to describe it. The particle just hit me.


Cool nights. Hot days.
Drizzles. Dryness.
Dosa breakfasts. Burger dinners. 
Neighbourhoods of calm. City of chaos.
Quiet bookshops. Traffic snarls.
Good beer. Bars without je ne sais quoi.
A wedding. An ending.

I always find something to love about Bangalore. And, a lot to hate.

Song for the moment: Never tear us apart - INXS

A kind of magic

Overheard in the wind...

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was curious about everything. Her parents were smart and often knew the answers to her questions. When they didn't, the internet did. So, between the husband, wife and WiFi, the girl's inquiries were ruthlessly dispatched. Until one day...

It was the summer holidays and the girl had spent many blazing hot afternoons reading books. Now, books are actually trees in disguise (why do you think they have leaves?) and try to plant ideas in our heads, so you shouldn't be surprised to know what happened next. As the family sat down to dinner one evening, she asked what magic was and whether it was real. The parents did not quite know what to say. On one hand, they could dismiss the idea of magic as irrational nonsense and introduce her to the 'magic' of science and math. The father was itching to tell her all about the Golden Ratio and the Fibonacci Series, as a matter of fact. A look from the mother qu…