And humpty dumpty had a bit of a fall.
Slipped in the temple this morning right on my ahem lower back, hurt it.
Well. It has been raining and the circular path that one takes around the God of wisdom and the arts, Shri Ganeshji, had a sort of a jute carpet that was wet as well.
To cut a long story short, the adipose cushioned the bones, that fall was a direct hit all right.The hospital that I went to is run by missionaries with Spanish aid. The X ray is fine, shd be back at work in a day or so. No spinal injury.

They’ve prescribed painkillers and taking things easy for a while.
We have a saying in my part of the world- the blow of a sword was bypassed with that of a needle.

Am good. Now off to rest.

My vehicles.

Quite cute, isn’t it? (can’t seem to load the image somehow, will try) Fixos. Thanks to ITC Sunfeast, given away with biscuits, pasta, suchlike. I thought I’d throw this away. But once I put them together, wasn’t able to. How the brain craves the novel, the unexpected. A little something to happy-up the gray matter, especially when one is expecting the mundane.

YES!
PORTIA gave me an AWARD.
A thinking blog ger award.
My first EVER. Am so proud.
Thankyousoverymuch.
Means tons.
drumroll
*insert oscar acceptance speech here, I thank…*

Will return with a list of people to give the award to.
So many have dropped off the web, stopped writing, such powerful writers too, Suma, Annie, Puneet.


Had complained a day ago to Mago the magician about no rain.
NOW its raining again, yaaaaaaaaaaaaay!

And Toshi’s rendition of Tamaly Malak in the Voice of India show yesterday is the best I’ve heard, great treatment of the Arabic words. Superlative. Will put up the link in a while.

http://www.dishant.com/lyrics/song-61413.html

Cash- title song. Superb beat. Lyrics work. Carribean, surf, hip-hop. Upbeat. It has that taut adrenalin pace, lucre passion that this city is all about.

Two years to the deluge of 26/7. The city cleaned up the ghastly mess, got up on its feet, walked on, so characteristic of this pearl by the sea. Infrastructure improvement? Not yet! Mantralaya ( the secretariat) should be shifted to the distant suburb of Virar and officials/ politis forced to commute then it would be sorted out in no time. One grins at memories of the walk home through waist high then chest high water singin; and skipping over a huge ditch with help from some stranger, “boss, lend me a hand please.” Salaam Moooooombai.

http://tinyurl.com/k492v

This is a MUST read. Absolute must.

http://starvoiceofindia.indya.com/videos.asp (official site, not great)
http://tinyurl.com/3yl8y4 (words)
http://tinyurl.com/2y5bg3 (show clip, unofficial)


It’s supposed to be a sad song, ok? Alvida from "Life in a Metro".
A really sad, weepy distraught song.
A goodbye song. Heart rending.Violins wailing to peppy beat and all that.
“Goodbye oh goodbye, what more do I have to say when goodbye is all you said”- that’s what the first line translated in hindi means.
It’s not supposed to have the few hundred strong audience on its feet and clapping wildly.
Voice of India show on Star Plus, July 21, 10 pm, the usual talent hunt show for the weekend slot.
IRRRRRRRFAAAAAAAAAAAN. Irfan.
This young lean kid sung it so well.
Stupendous. Great voice. Great pitch. Great control. Takes the difficult atrocious scale changes like he was saying hello. Could jumble your guts in knots of despair and wrench a tear out of a stone. With all the tune gyrations, jumbles and stretches, everything. Perfect.
Song end. The difficult as hell judges are clapping, on their feet. The audience is clapping hard, all smiles. I am clapping hard, cheering, and it’s only the television.
Thank you, Irfan.

A crazy kind of day at work.
The mind wanders under the pulls of just- in-time multiple tasking. Blogs I frequent are a pressure valve, a sanity check, a breath of life.

Read this review recently:
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/07/22/books/review/Postrel-t.html

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/07/22/books/chapters/0722-1st-gros.html?_r=1&ref=firstchapters&oref=slogin (free login reqd.)

Destruction, chaos and a resurrection. How far can you apply the underpinnings of a myth/history/ belief to business cycles? For one I don’t like this man’s style, too much confetti, and I find him too simplistic, but I cannot base my thinking on one chapter alone.

For the writing group last week, Kathy wrote about a neighbour who sings sometimes at a nightclub, and is a successful professional by day.

Shimmer, sequins and the blues. The words have them; adrenalin, a shuffle and a steady backbeat. You follow the link (www. suzioliver.com) , and close your eyes. Listen to her voice as it floats soars past the words and you’re quickly transported far far away.

A dimly lit nightclub. Smoky. Spotlight on the center stage. Tuxedos, black dresses, the clink of glass. The voice is throaty, rich but not unduly so. Part Norah Jones part Olivia Newton-John. There is a different feel to it.

I think Kathy has the beginnings of a masterpiece on this one, and its only a writing exercise.

Gibran, I think. Two sides of the same coin. What heals also cuts. What binds also disperses. The lifesaver that sweeps through the crisscrossing network in the blood stream, across miles of tiny arteriole and vein, flushing inch after inch of body tissue, cleaning healing, can, given a chance or a number amiss, turn around and corrode, destroy, leach and thin out. Buildup- destroy- buildup- destroy at the turn of a wheel, or just some fancy. Yes the cycle of life is ruled by the triumverate, Brahma- Vishnu- Mahesh, the creator- supporter- destroyer but on expects a modicum of sense in this judgement. But isn’t that is lazy thinking, applying man-made behavior rules to nature/ divine intervention/ a gamble?
After the monoclonals did their work cleaning up the faulty cells on a multiplication trip for my friend, after her body had shown all signs it was fighting fit, the medication side effects kicked in. In front of her one keeps a smiling face and talks of television stars. Even the span of the flyovers failed to thrill one on the trip back home.

added: Maybe it is another level of forbearance/patience that I am learning abt.

From that entirely serendipitous meeting enroute, interesting how that translation is taking shape. Well only chapter 1 so far, and a kid’s story cant use too many hard words, but it is absorbing and different and challenging and nice to think in a structured word after word fashion.

History has little to do with glances exchanged across grand chandeliered ballrooms. Did the future of J&K change because of a fleeting distraught look in hazel eyes? Did or didn’t the last Viceroy hint just so gently to Lady Mountbatten, a word or a sign of displeasure could help move things his way ? For more, see today’s expressindia.com. In the right hands, this would be a great story. Prince-like nationalist impassionate PM, the woman stately, peach and roses and dignified. What a setting.

The very early flight morning flight was already an hour late, grumpy faces in the crowded transit bus on a circuitous route leading to the plane parked at some far corner of the tarmac, but does the lill chile know this? The seventeen month old gabbles and laughs and prattles and smiles and laughs some more, the people around hide a smile and the day is brighter. Thank you, kid, have a good life.

So many yellow-greens in the just wet field by the whitewashed wall.

When a plane flies into clouds the rain streaks the windows sideways.

Too shocked abt N, but I can understand her choices. Or no choice. The fight has gone out of her.
Happens. Singlehood is tough to laugh away in closed gossip-rich Ahmedabad. But is that good reason to say ok to the first chap who comes along?

A blue umbrella, sudden rain and almost getting wet, all lush green and splashes.
Cut to the core, life is good.

My landlady’s apologetic about having to ask me to move, but there are major issues with the circa 1964 walls and flooring. They will also vacate their first floor home. She’s given me her dua (blessings) that I’ll find the right place, and as much time as I need.

Yesterday was the first anniv of the commuter train blasts.
Sat shocked. again.
Peace.
In security terms, nothing much has changed.
Our esteemed neighbour to the west is now learning firsthand the disadvantages of allowing fanatics and terrorists to fester.

Suddenly, deadlines of all sorts.

So your CT scan is clean, Papa. Worth the four round trips to-ing and fro-ing on Saturday. Still doesn’t explain why you lose weight and why I worry about you, hassle you and gain weight.

Cheeni Kam is very good. May the tribe of door to door DVD libraries increase. Tabu is superlative, great dialogues and etc almost par for the course (how she manages to keep such long silky hair without tangles is something I’d really like to know, I have to keep mine, non-silky and scraggly,all braided up). Crisp dialogue, fast paced. AB is charming, believable in an exacting role which could easily have turned ludicrous. But was I glad some of the dialogue was too fast paced for you to follow.

I will need to begin looking for a good, decent, honest, dependable real estate agent for a place to rent- scary- in the next few months. Is there such a thing?

Page one, main lead of the TOI, Mumbai edition, features a photo of a woman marching, a gift of a washing bat and bangles in hand, dressed in what we politely call inner wear. In super-conservative Rajkot.

Why is she doing this?
To draw attention and force police action to her complaint of dowry harassment.
She is just 22, with a year-old baby.
And no, the police just wouldn’t listen or take her complaint earlier.

Did it work?
Yes, so far. Her in-laws, presumably greedy and clawing as per stereotype, have been arrested.
The police, in all its infinite wisdom is now considering taking action for indecent exposure.

What action will it take for the commissioner’s dereliction of duty?
~

I spent most of day-before at airports, wondering at the weather God’s wisdom first in delaying a 7.20 am flight to 2 in the afternoon; and then a 2 pm international flight to 7.30 the next morning…how I wish NRI kids were a little more considerate about old, not-healthy parents traveling to the distant west coast US in atrocious weather compounded by terror threats in the UK. If they are so affectionate, why dont they pack their bags and come back?

Eight things
From mago at 63mago.blogspot.com.
I’m not tagging anyone.

I don’t drink. I get awfully gloomy when I do, so I don’t.

I hate liars and lies. And I don’t forgive. I shun. Have the &^^ to give me the truth no matter how horrible it is.

I can take a lot of nonsense, make allowances and give leeway, more than the norm perhaps. But I have a superb temper, when pushed beyond a point. You don’t want to try that.

Even if I trust you, one part of my brain is watchful; checking and comparing all the time.

I take refuge in food. Explains the extra kilos. And I’m not apologetic.

The one thing that really scares the hell out of me is my mind breaking apart.

I need to see the stock mkt numbers and my astrological forecast everyday. Pathological.

I vacillate between being very communicative and clamming up, wanting people around and wanting to be alone, sort of all’s right with the world, and blues.