Songs of the not-so innocent

Dear reader, The festival of lights is upon us. If you still visit this blog, stay blessed and have a wonderful year.  Last year, I wrote Wir Werden Sehen blissfully unaware of how normal life would exit, stage left, a week later. More than a year has passed and we're limping towards a new kind of normalcy. My first Diwali without any parents is a strange one. On one hand, I am slightly nonplussed. It's akin to putting a 1000-piece puzzle together, only to find a piece missing. On the other hand, I am coming around to the idea of playing from the music sheet of life with insouciance if not aplomb.  I spent the days leading up to Diwali reminiscing about years past. Waking up frightfully early, the dreaded oil bath, the anticipation of sweets & savouries and of course, the camaraderie of lighting firecrackers with friends and family. That excitement, those pure emotions, is the past, like the afterglow of fancy rockets. Even if your Diwali veers diametrically away from the

It is 6.45 am as I type these words. At this time last year, my father was taking his last, ragged, ventilator-aided breaths in an ICU hospital bed. Outside, a few well-wishers held vigil, lost in their own thoughts, murmuring to each other, or stealing occasional, anxious glances at me as I paced the corridors, taking phone calls, making arrangements, my demeanour waxing and waning between stupefaction and frenzy. Life goes on. Maybe it’s the first, hardest fact to accept; that nothing dramatic actually happens to commemorate the moment. The sun rises, vendors slowly set out their early-morning stalls, vehicles crawl out of narrow by-lanes or wide society gates and everywhere, strangers go about their day. But my father’s days were done. Never again would he taste the bittersweet first filter coffee, crack a fresh fold of the newspaper, check his messages or plan for the day ahead. His passing left an astonishing number of plans incomplete. Truth be told, I should not have been surpri

I typed this with the frenzied drums of Ganesha’s goodbye thumping in the distance. They have become steadily louder, not only tonight but over several years. The chorus in a song by Bob Dylan goes: People are crazy and times are strange I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range I used to care, but things have changed The din is as good a harbinger of change as any.  My neighbourhood’s identity is altering quickly. Where once the housing complex I live in was something of a quiet, last outpost before the Bombay highway, it is now a residential society under siege, assaulted by dazzling lights and rapacious appetites, served up at and by a shopping mall that’s too close for comfort and so close it’s convenient. Our city’s vehicular attitude has metamorphosed and taken on an edge of ugly aggression. In part it is because of the skyline snaking its way upward, in part thanks to the metro tracks slithering steadily sideways. Where once we’d look up to trees and open sky, the canvas is now most

Dear reader, The past few months have been punctuated by sound and fury on account of the renovations around the house. The incessant noise, rubble and dust have often led to frayed tempers and the standard indignant inquiries about the point of this whole exercise. But there's a long way to go, so we must persevere... with gritted teeth. Speaking of dust, the Lenovo laptop running Manjaro OS has been quietly gathering sackfuls of the stuff. Unfortunately (but understandably), my Macbook has become the default instrument of distraction, with the Lenovo coming into play whenever I miss USB ports. All sarcasm aside, the Mac is convenient to use and the apps 'just' work. I've praised the Linux ecosystem for years on this blog, so there's no question of indicting them now. But hear me out. I use a VPN service. In this gilded age of freedom and tolerance, I think everyone should opt for a reliable, paid service. It does not have to matter that the things you do on the in

This weekend is a new low from my sporting perspective. The '115-rules-breached' team have been allowed to complete the English football treble and the Indian cricket team are poised to lose another World Test Championship final.  I use the word 'allowed' deliberately; last week, Man United did not stop Team 115 in the F.A Cup final. The result was easier to accept since T-115 were better on every metric - team on pitch, fewer mistakes and players on bench. But the Premier League and Champions League? If the authorities knew FFP rules may have been breached, why not take some/any action earlier? Why wait till the season is over and everything is won, when any decision will only create further controversy? Maybe ChatGPT will know.   Meanwhile, Man United have a long way to go, a journey made infinitely harder by the ball-n-chain that is the Glazers ownership and the long-drawn-out sale of the club. Who cares if these delays completely fuck up the planning for next season

Dear reader, Sometimes I manifest the "आ बैल मुझे मार" (goad a bull to attack me) wish-fulfillment thingummy rather too well. Case in point, this past weekend. For work-related reasons, I drove up to Saunapolis, formerly known as Mumbai. Having given up the rental accommodation there in December, I impose myself on relatives (willing or otherwise). If the folks are not keen on hosting me, they're staying schtum. Yet, there was a bit of a Torquemada theme running through the whole stay.  First off, these guys claim they're "used to" not having the fan on. It's mind boggling because in that city, the fan needs to be on ALL THE TIME. If there was a way to safely install and use one in the bathrooms, people would do it. But not these people, clearly. No, this lot are okay with going about their business in an atmosphere stifling enough to impress Agatha Christie. However, I'm not that accommodating a guest so I fully paisa-vasooled the equipment at hand.

Dear reader, Trying to sell anything on OLX is an educational experience. Not the actual selling of the item in question but the attempted scamming. Brazen does not even begin to cover it. If you have ever wondered who is gullible enough to fall for phone-based scams, let me try and explain why the victims, usually middle-to-old-aged and/or uncomfortable with technology are quite blameless. We put up a fridge for sale yesterday morning. Almost immediately, a lady allegedly called Priya called, haggled a bit and agreed to buy it, saying her male relative would make the payment. Said relative then called and agreed to use Google Pay to transfer the amount. He asked US to navigate, not to the Transaction History section, but the the Bank Transfer option. We said that was not going to happen. He raised his voice in irritation and tried to convince us again. When we refused him again, he cut the call. Caller number two was a smooth operator, I’ll give him that. Purportedly, Kartik Sharma ow

Dear reader, A new year calls for a new font. Sadly that's all the "it's time for change" hype I am willing to subscribe to. I have resolved to post here a little more in the hope that writing is like mining or panning for gold; there's a lot of shit to get through before hitting the good stuff. I was at the gym this morning. The trainer's shirt said something along the lines of 'the most important part of working out is showing up'. The sentiment is true enough to be universally applicable. Whether it's lifting weights or being in a relationship, giving it your all is the most important move. I dislike exercise a lot but cannot afford to continue buying trousers to keep up with an expanding waistline. It's been two months and I have to grudgingly admit that the overall effect of showing up regularly and putting my body through the grind is positive. The negative is all that crap Punjabi music. Anyway, there's still some way to go before I