Nothing remarkable happened yesterday. Words, Casablanca and a food experiment with palak paratha and mint coriander chutney.
Yes, the movie was from a flimsy street-bought CD someone had given me a long time back. I had not expected it to work at all, so it was a surprise. How the brain craves these “oh really!” upticks.

The sea glitters as you soar past the flyover that just touches marine lines when it ends.
A solitary boat bobs in the shimmering peach and blue waters off Haji Ali. A bird, perchance a seagull flies off the oriental pergola of sagar mahal, which stands sharply etched against the colored waves and the far horizon. Ah life!

For long, you’ve been uneasy, watching the weight whittle even as you ply him with simple, nutritious home cooked food and soups. For every drop in the levels, you’ve added on kilos, fretting. Should know one way or another by the weekend. Is knowing better? I don’t know. The doc is the absolute best in this area, about 60 people from distant towns were waiting in the consulting room. So many people, so many problems, one life!

The mail is addressed to Austere. Seeker.
(Another austere)
It has three tickets from Delta. Return tickets to the US.
Mumbai- NY- SF- NY-Mumbai.
Someone is all set for a three-month vacation.
I spend all evening trying to find out a person with my name in Bellaire, Tx.
End up finding 2 more Austere. Seekers. But not the right one, not yet.Suddenly makes you wonder about parallel universes and lifelines.

Thank you, Portia!

* thinking up Oscar style speech*

*drumrollll*

This Writer's blog is where it all began.

Wow.

Independence day

Beyond the jargon. Beyond the paper supplement. Beyond the expressway that is blissfully empty. Beyond the PM’s broadcast from the Red Fort. The colors saffron, white and green. What is it? Can’t answer.

Is a celebration. surprise at the flags and sweets distributed at work

Is hearing about Noakhali, about sacrifices, intrigue and betrayals so vivid they sound like they happened yesterday and not 60 years ago, hearing about how trains with the migrants were shunted off from the Pak,Punjab to Sindh, masterminded by the province CM, Sir Noon himself, avoiding future refugee issues.

Is suddenly standing to attention dinner time, mid morsel, as the Nightingale sisters render the national anthem. Airtel.in/jayahe

Is singing along with S Balasubramaniam, and a sudden tear- no, not because you cannot hit the high notes

Is oohing and aahing at the property but stunned, putting your calculator away because there is just no way you can afford it, not on your salary, and anyway it is too big and too far away. Will keep looking, next please.

Is a day when you sit and think of the nation’s issues and problems, your issues and somewhat problems, the widening divide between the haves and the have-nots. The next day you get up and walk. We thrive in chaos, like this only we are.

Highly recommended: Dr Eric Maisel’s creativitynewsletter on yahoogroups.com.
Read the archives.
I did. Spent an hour translating this morning, drawing an amazing sense of purpose from his words, even if they are a bit of a scold.

Every week start, I wonder why I load Sunday with so many things to do, way too many things.
A mental things to do list, to cross out.
And knowing this, I still do it, everytime.
Maybe I should pencil in some time to watch the world go by.

The kid we met this morning is totally enthusiastic, all charged about making a mark in this city, taking on this qualifying exam and that one, making a name in his line of work. Does me good to see such drive.
Envy that.

The last few weeks I have often idly thought about the need for structure and routine, its place in a day. Somewhat like a grid to hang the rest of your day on. A security blanket? A filler? Also to avoid having to do something else, which needs to be done. Or to avoid thinking. Which makes me wonder how people sit through ten days sitting still, of just watching their minds when they opt for vipassana meditation?

No, this post hasn't quite got written the way I wanted it to sound.

those red and blue lines, the markets...
And where will you go today m’love?
Last few months, I’ve watched you zip and zoom the blue line marching on, when, matter of fact, you ought to be dipping a tiny bit. Catching your breath a bit on every stratospheric increase. But on and on you went, adrenalin charged. A different beat.
A rumble in far away China, something to do with stamp paper? But no.
A trade built on a house of cards,energy whatchacallits, reminds me of playing with make-believe paper money as a kid, you print more as you go along. but no.
but subprime lending? Who in their right minds would lend on the back of nothing? Not the stodgy neighhourhood bank, not the flashy private one, the government wouldn’t allow it. Why didn’t they step in earlier? RBI would have, quick and early on, threatening blue murder and brimstone, so why didn’t the Fed? they were being nice because next year is election year? And for crying out aloud slicing debt into pieces like it was a salad you were making and marketing this to hedgies? Las Vegas, anyone? I scold myself- real men, good brains, real money. What the…
And a tanking $ that punishes performance. It was 46 to the dollar not so long ago, now it is 40. You do well internationally and it shows up as pathetic, just because you are now multiplying by a different number. Life’s not fair. Scott Peck said that first.
So where will you go today, m’love?

A recent Peopletech column in the Business Standard (last week, not so recent) speaks about the columnist’s utter confusion/ frustration/ irritation at having to wade through old-fashioned reading material, Proust, for a writing class. When he tries to read this later, at his own pace, he quite enjoys the work.
Now, Proust I haven’t read. Don’t think I shall, either. But couldn’t help free-thinking some of the likely reasons for this sudden change of heart:
-that the brain looks for patterns, and tries to fit new information within a preexisting grid, or linking however obtusely to existing nodes, if that takes longer than expected, impatience sets in.
-it was too late in the day to process new information even if you wanted to- fatigue
-a stage of life issue- you are not used to not learning things quickly and therefore have no patience with slowly unraveling something that’s different
What other reasons?

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?