Songs of the not-so innocent

Dear Reader, History will boldly testify that your favourite blogger is usually slow on the uptake, a state of affairs that's blooming with each passing year like a reverse-Revital. "Why this self-harshness, G", you may ask? Well... I've been doing the Bom-Pune-Bom trips for 9 years and it's taken about that long to accept that MSRTC Shivneri, still the best bus service of them all, simply cannot (or, realistically, will not) cope with 3-day weekends. Since my job profile does not allow me to plan my travel in advance on said Fridays, I land up at Dadar, view the queue of potential passengers snaking a long way from the ticket window and mentally prepare to arrive home at the hour of morning reserved for sheepish teenagers and dacoits. The Expressway doesn't help anyone's cause thanks to truck drivers spreading themselves generously across 3 lanes and clogging the Lonavala pass to a point where the traffic jam is about 3 km long. A stretch that would

It takes a wedding to understand how different family ties were even a generation ago. People tried harder to stay in touch, undertook uncomfortable and often complicated trips, making it to minor ceremonial occasions and (this is a point of personal amazement) recalled the names of distant relatives with ease. Sure, I'm guilty of generalising the above solely based on my experiences. But, ask yourself, dear reader, if your family ties haven't eroded a bit? We do this more and more, no? Adding a neat twist of lime to our "live and let live" philosophy, well on the way to being indifferent to others' lives as long as we are allowed to go through the motions of ours, unmolested. And when we cannot avoid a familial occasion, we tolerate it, externally all smiles, internally dying to get back to the drudgery of our routines. Or am I wrong? The cousin's wedding was special because it was the first of my generation. Relatives had been forced to wait a lot longer

Weddings can be many things, no? A nerve-wracking exercise to those planning it. A draining couple of days, weeks or even months for the bride and groom. A legit occasion to run into old friends or hope elder relatives will forget you're no longer in school and slip you some cash anyway. A chance to compare X's catering arrangements with Y's, with the lunchtime payasam or masala bonda served as part of evening snacks by the latter invariably being hailed as the pinnacle of matrimonial gastronomy. And, heck, sometimes it can even be a valuable teaching tool. For instance, I learned that no one remotely associated with the jamboree will remember the vaadiyar missing a shloka here or a "swaaha" there. But, lord help you if the food is a tad late in getting to the hall. This minuscule transgression will receive a postmortem so detailed, it's a wonder more of these people haven't joined the medico-legal profession (graduating only from CMC Vellore, or if