Anger Vent

The absurdity continues... The omni-present, ever-ready to protest, infinitely wise and self-proclaimed sole representative of the Marathas - that Indian SS, continues to exhibit its abject insecurity. See here.

Perhaps at some stage, someone ought to explain to these half-wit bumpkins that when you pick a trade name - and it involves the name of a place - it needn't necessarily be the latest/correct name of the place.

And while we're at it - considering the fact that they exhibit little knowledge of company balance sheets - here's a link to explain what goodwill means and why I can't (and shouldn't) just randomly change the name of my establishment of Bombay _____ to Mumbai _______.

Me tube

In celebration of the fact that this post is my 100th, I have decided to follow illustrious footsteps and blog a YouTube video. The much improved connection speeds in Delhi have got me hooked to the latest internet phenomenon...

Unfortunately, I seem to be facing some recurring problem with linking my blog to YouTube and so, you shall just have to follow the link and watch...

I have also chosen a 'classic' bit of footage - but not exactly in the same sense as the one posted by the footstep maker...

http://youtube.com/watch?v=b8z5JON-fOc

I didn't know this - but the music in the 'Cat Concerto' Tom&Jerry is Listz's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2....enjoy!

The Grief Unveiled

Can you believe that a person can go from this and this:

to this:


in a matter of 90 minutes?

Arrrghhhh....
If you look closely at the 'after' picture - you can actually spot the tear in my eye...

"The north is to south what the clock is to time
There's east and there's west and there's everywhere life
I know I was born and I know that I'll die
The in between is mine
I am mine"

I am Mine by Pearl Jam

Of Grief

The locks are gone...

As I walked into the barber's, he takes a look at me, desperately hoping that I'm there for a shave and nervously asks, "Haircut?".

Me: Haan
Barber: Setting karna hai
Me: Nahin, chota chahiye

At this stage I can hear him cursing Fate under his breath, as also the other barbers at the place.

What ensues is unarguably the longest haircut I have ever had, both in terms of time and hair. It takes a little over 35 minutes. During the course of this 'process' ('event' seems too momentary a word to use), I learn a great deal about hair. For instance:

The position of your parting depends on how the hair is cut. It seems to explain why I was unable to get a middle parting going at the peak of my hair presence. It also seems to explain how NY managed that new hairstyle of hers sometime back. (my brag about me having more hair than her no longer stands...)

Even N, the friendly vaahan chaalak was most disappointed when I returned with my present ishstyle. He, alongwith one half of the grand-parents and the scores(?) of my ardent followers all endorsed how good the hair was looking.

And so I return to my grief...

The camera battery gave up as I was transferring the before and after pics and so the scores(?) of loyal readers of this blog will have to wait another day for them...

"If I cancel tomorrow the undead will thank me today
Fly in the space of your prophets I mock your morality plays.
The moon is red and bleeding, The sun is burned and black
The book of life is silent, No turning back.

Only the good die young
All the evil seems to live forever"

Only The Good Die Young by Iron Maiden

RIP shoulder length dreams...

This is one of those posts I would advise myself not to write - because it is evidence of great grief that surrounds the 350 odd cubic centimetres of space that I occupy.

This evening signals that last day that the flowing locks remain a part of my 'get-up'. Whilst the goatee is the product of a mere 2 weeks of sacrifice and care, the locks have been a 5-6 month project.

This must be what its like to spend months building a model of the White House only for the director of Independence Day to decide that it looks best when blown up and filmed with high-speed cameras. Apparently blowing the model from the inside is exactly what happens when a death ray from the aliens' spaceship comes down on it...

Before and after photos will assuredly be taken and posted...

RIP: May you find your reincarnation on the cold glistening scalp of a needy, rich, bald Indian...

"The killers breed or the demons seed,
The glamour, the fortune, the pain,
Go to war again, blood is freedoms stain,
But dont you pray for my soul anymore."

2 Minutes to Midnight by Iron Maiden

Rise and Talk, my Metallic Beauty

The English, particularly those who would ostensibly qualify to be in the higher echelons of their white-collars, love to pamper themselves and rest their over-worked grey cells for approximately 3-4 minutes every weekday.
Despite being, in the very least, of average intelligence, these select individuals (most disturbingly) seem unable or unwilling to read the floor number appearing on the display inside a lift. It seems to be some sort of annoying national obsession, although I suspect it may actually be to cater to guidelines for the visually challenged.
Today, for the first time, I was met by an Indian talking lift. I am now terribly frightened that India is going the UK way. I'm glad I have to bear neither for a while soon. Amongst various other trite information such as the floor, the weather, the news and what I suspect was a 60's jazz song, the lady (thankfully Indian) also gives you the exact time - to the second!
In other news I have watched Eragon, Spiderman 3, The Importance of Being Earnest, 8 episodes of Season 18 of the Simpsons and 1 episode of Two and a Half Men in the past 2.5 days. Of these - Eragon and the single episode were alright. The Simpsons is as good as ever and Oscar Wilde is, of course, wonderful regardless of whether you're sober or not (I was when I watched it).
Spiderman on the other hand is (and I'm putting it very mildly) absolute crap. May I be struck with a lightning bolt if I pay to watch the 4th installment.

Smoke near the Water

This evening, I was enjoying a walk on Marine Drive, happy in the knowledge that thanks to the breeze blowing, the only thing posing any sort of abnormal danger to my health was Pantera screaming out 'I'm Broken' into my already under-sensitive eardrums.

Somewhere in the middle of the third chorus, I get a waft of diesel smoke (as I have a hundred time before). I know what it is, but for some reason - it really bugs me today, which is why it features on this post.

It's a generator at the bus stop powering the lights in the hoarding above the bus stop. I suppose that when people pay good money to advertise on prime location bus stops like those on Marine Drive, they expect it to be of some use 24X7. But surely when we (a) already have a severe power situation and (b) really can't afford any more pollution; you would think the authorities might wake up and do something about it.

Pull a power line to the bus stop if we must have hoardings with lights or at least insist on solar power. But, all that's far too difficult to implement and so we continue giving walkers on Marine Drive what they really came to find - clean air.

In other news - I will get through No. 35 too. Just one more now...

"I wonder if we'll smile in our coffins while loved ones
Mourn the day, the absence of our faces, living, laughing,
Eyes awake. Is this too much for them to take?
Too young for ones conclusion, the lifestyle won.
Such values you taught your son. Thats how!
Look at me now. I'm broken.
Inherit my life. I'm broken"

I'm Broken by Pantera