Ok I'm half asleep… but this post needs to be written. I'm going to dedicate it to three people…
Who also happen to be the three people who are most likely to read this… no that’s not the only reason I like them… being part of my readership merely enhances their natural appeal…
First, to P… Happy Birthday! I'm saying it now because I'll be fast asleep when the time actually comes. I hope you're having a blast. I'm guessing the revelry includes large quantities of alcohol and other intoxicants I haven't quite made friends with yet. That and loud music. To which I hope you're dancing… don't worry, you don't look funny when you dance.
Have fun old friend… and don't forget to brush J
Next, to PPP… Pooch, The Original. Tomorrow, I embark for Samirpur. Yes the "mendak" is returning to her "chhota sa kuaan". I plan to bury myself in my recently procured collection of childrens' books. To rehearse for when you do indeed surrender your body to so "noble" a cause. Ghanshyam is eagerly awaiting our arrival, about as eager as an incredibly sullen person can be. Oh and Sher 'Schumacher' Singh is coming to pick us up when we disembark! There is much mindless TV to be watched and countless naps to be taken. But it won't be the same without you. Awww (the way I say it).
Hope you're back to your social butterfly ways. I need to exist vicariously for a bit so please get a life post haste…
Also, I owe you a detailed account of my recent adventures. Shall pen them when I'm feeling particularly poetic. And I'll give you a heads up too.
And last… to Pooch, The Recent (and desperately in need of an alternative pseudonym). You vanquished the odious army of auditors without them so much as stepping on your doorstep! Hope the work gods treat you well, that all the necessary resources come flooding in without too much of a fight and that the loud lion hearted primate keeps his meddling paws to himself. Fret not the impending arrival of the long haired Neanderthal (he's got a haircut by the way). For what its worth, I think… no no correction… I know he is a fool and a gas bag and an ugly one too…
If things happen to teeter precariously on the edge of bearability, give BB a buzz. All ears at your service.
Tuesday, 20 May 2008
Family Portraits
My father is the cutest thing. He firmly believes that any man in an old movie is either
a) Al Pacino
b) Richard Burton
c) (and this one serves for all cases where a) and b) fail) Charles Bronson
In fact, I wonder if, you were to line up the above mentioned thespians, would he even be able to tell them apart? I bet he'd say that Al was Richard and that Richard was Chuck. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if he insisted that all three were Charles Bronson.
Of course, every blonde woman is always Goldie Hawn. Unfortunately, my dad can never remember her name either. So he just refers to her as "the woman from that movie.. er.. you know.. arre vo vaali.. that one.. the one about the... haan the one we saw in Vizag… Neeru (seeking desperate help from my mother who is by now struggling to control stubborn fits of laughter) das na".
We all just understand.
Any woman with hair colour other than golden is Elizabeth Taylor. And there are simply no arguments entertained. You could go blue in the face insisting otherwise. Really there is very little that good ol' illustrious Liz did not achieve in her acting career. According to my dad, Liz Taylor starred in, among her other breathtaking performances… Forrest Gump (as Tom Hanks's mum), Gone With the Wind (as the formidable Scarlett O) and even some musicals like An American in Paris and Singin' in the Rain. But not all musicals mind you. The ones with blonde women are invariably starring "the woman from sound of music" alternatively known in my house as the "doe a deer vaali movie" co-starring Al Pacino/ Richard Burton/Steve Mcqueen… you get my drift.
Any man who so much as skips or courtesies in a movie is Gene Kelly… any man who is even remotely funny is Steve Martin. Clearly my dad's knowledge of movie stars transcends all time periods… all genres… all logic.
These days he's starting to get adventurous. Limited information tends to be his Achilles heel. Any young looking person is met with an inquisitive "Is that Tom Cruise?". A recent phenomenon (observed on too few occasions to be documented with complete accuracy) concerns short, funny looking men who are most probably "Dustin Hoffman kya?". Strangely enough most short, funny looking men in old movies do turn out to be Dustin Hoffman (a.k.a. "the man from Tootsie with the funny nose"). But if the Hoffman connection is not made, chances are we fall back into the whole Al/Richard/Charles quagmire again.
But there is hope… if not for accuracy than at least for variety in the mis-identification. Clint Eastwood and Marlon Brando feature sometimes. It makes for hours of breaking-your-head-against-the-wall fun.
My mother on the other hand is really with it. She's up to date with the Russel Crowes, hugh Jackmans, Brad Pitts and George Clooneys of the world. Basically all hot men… name one and she's likely to at least remember… the name (come one she's not super human or anything). In fact she absolutely drools over Eric Bana and letches shamelessly at Mathew Fox. I didn't even know who this Fox fellow was till she introduced him to my world. Truth be told, I am richer for the knowledge… he is quite the delectable fox.
My sister of course takes the cake. In fact you might as well surrender the entire bakery and all associated establishments to her. If there is a man who had one dialogue in some vague indie movie which was seen by a sum total of 50 people she would know that the actor in question was the third cousin of the person who was a cameraman/ choreographer/ designated coffee fetcher on another equally obscure film. She has so much redundant movie rubbish in her head… it’s a miracle her skull hasn't started cracking at the schemes. She is a mutant I tell you…
Now I watch as much E! News as she does… perhaps more (I watch repeat telecastes sometimes… yes I disgust even myself). But is it my fault that I lose interest immediately after the daily round-up of Paris Hilton's capers has been dispensed with? Is it? Is it?
*
I seem to have hit a good spot with this one. When in doubt, write about family. That shall henceforth be my dictum.
As in most things, family tends to be a reliable bet. Even if it is exploits such as finding a muse worthy of merciless caricaturing.
Yes… Ridicule, begins at home
a) Al Pacino
b) Richard Burton
c) (and this one serves for all cases where a) and b) fail) Charles Bronson
In fact, I wonder if, you were to line up the above mentioned thespians, would he even be able to tell them apart? I bet he'd say that Al was Richard and that Richard was Chuck. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if he insisted that all three were Charles Bronson.
Of course, every blonde woman is always Goldie Hawn. Unfortunately, my dad can never remember her name either. So he just refers to her as "the woman from that movie.. er.. you know.. arre vo vaali.. that one.. the one about the... haan the one we saw in Vizag… Neeru (seeking desperate help from my mother who is by now struggling to control stubborn fits of laughter) das na".
We all just understand.
Any woman with hair colour other than golden is Elizabeth Taylor. And there are simply no arguments entertained. You could go blue in the face insisting otherwise. Really there is very little that good ol' illustrious Liz did not achieve in her acting career. According to my dad, Liz Taylor starred in, among her other breathtaking performances… Forrest Gump (as Tom Hanks's mum), Gone With the Wind (as the formidable Scarlett O) and even some musicals like An American in Paris and Singin' in the Rain. But not all musicals mind you. The ones with blonde women are invariably starring "the woman from sound of music" alternatively known in my house as the "doe a deer vaali movie" co-starring Al Pacino/ Richard Burton/Steve Mcqueen… you get my drift.
Any man who so much as skips or courtesies in a movie is Gene Kelly… any man who is even remotely funny is Steve Martin. Clearly my dad's knowledge of movie stars transcends all time periods… all genres… all logic.
These days he's starting to get adventurous. Limited information tends to be his Achilles heel. Any young looking person is met with an inquisitive "Is that Tom Cruise?". A recent phenomenon (observed on too few occasions to be documented with complete accuracy) concerns short, funny looking men who are most probably "Dustin Hoffman kya?". Strangely enough most short, funny looking men in old movies do turn out to be Dustin Hoffman (a.k.a. "the man from Tootsie with the funny nose"). But if the Hoffman connection is not made, chances are we fall back into the whole Al/Richard/Charles quagmire again.
But there is hope… if not for accuracy than at least for variety in the mis-identification. Clint Eastwood and Marlon Brando feature sometimes. It makes for hours of breaking-your-head-against-the-wall fun.
My mother on the other hand is really with it. She's up to date with the Russel Crowes, hugh Jackmans, Brad Pitts and George Clooneys of the world. Basically all hot men… name one and she's likely to at least remember… the name (come one she's not super human or anything). In fact she absolutely drools over Eric Bana and letches shamelessly at Mathew Fox. I didn't even know who this Fox fellow was till she introduced him to my world. Truth be told, I am richer for the knowledge… he is quite the delectable fox.
My sister of course takes the cake. In fact you might as well surrender the entire bakery and all associated establishments to her. If there is a man who had one dialogue in some vague indie movie which was seen by a sum total of 50 people she would know that the actor in question was the third cousin of the person who was a cameraman/ choreographer/ designated coffee fetcher on another equally obscure film. She has so much redundant movie rubbish in her head… it’s a miracle her skull hasn't started cracking at the schemes. She is a mutant I tell you…
Now I watch as much E! News as she does… perhaps more (I watch repeat telecastes sometimes… yes I disgust even myself). But is it my fault that I lose interest immediately after the daily round-up of Paris Hilton's capers has been dispensed with? Is it? Is it?
*
I seem to have hit a good spot with this one. When in doubt, write about family. That shall henceforth be my dictum.
As in most things, family tends to be a reliable bet. Even if it is exploits such as finding a muse worthy of merciless caricaturing.
Yes… Ridicule, begins at home
Comeback Queen
Ok I have to get back to this before time renders me incapable of ever contributing to my blog again. I'm not even going to bother coming up with a dramatic opening sentence or a grand subject… or anything for that matter. Just proceed in small baby steps. And much like a baby whose first few utterances are warbled and incoherent, I'm counting on my cuteness and pudginess to carry me through.
What the hell… lets be reckless and go crazy. No spell checks either..
*
Come to think of it my blog themes were never that grand to begin with. So lets recap… I've written posts about pimples, saris, and water shortages. Countless ones which indirectly address the question of men and one extremely acerbic one on pigeons. Yes I snuck a few in there that could qualify as "meaningful", but really who are we kidding?
And this extended hiatus? Its not like opportunities to write did not present themselves. I have in fact spent the better part of the last month doing next to nothing. In fact the quantum of the nothing that I indulge in seems to grow with every passing day. And its not like there were no worthy subjects for documentation. I mean I did take what could possibly be the last set of exams of my life… I am now (almost, one can never be too cautious) a post graduate. Life has in fact changed FOREVER!!! (caps and exclamation mark for dramatic effect… also picture me with eyes stretched to twice their size). So lack of time and fodder weren't to blame… perhaps it was just good old fashioned laziness.
But even when some things are a habit and even if they are no more unpleasant than anything that’s fairly pleasant (apologies for that sentence, I'm still warming up the engine) once they get suspended for a bit… its just really hard to pick them up again. Like my jog. It annoys me that I stopped going for one in the evenings regularly. And curiously I live next to a nice park and quite enjoy running. But I just can't get myself to adhere to the routine again. Bleh… (apologies again… but I couldn't find any other place for the mandatory minimum of one "Bleh…" per post)
A small caveat to the loyal fan base (two people at last count, both curiously referred to as "pooch" for various reasons… my lack of creativity being the main culprit… hee hee). Don't get all excited about the comeback. First, I am as prone to sink back into laziness as ever. And second, even if I do take to this regularly, there's no telling what I'll write… quality may be seriously compromised. I mean zits and irritating birds are one thing but if I'm seriously strapped for ideas I may resort to writing about… oh I don't know… IPL? Khali? Lizards? (no wait… I've done that… damn it).
*
While on the subject of Khali, lets get off it as soon as possible (parumpumpush… that was a post joke drumroll for the uninitiated). I saw the great man himself on CNN IBN tonight. And there I was thinking the channel had taste… bloody capitalist sellouts…(inside joke). Just the sight of him… or the fact that so many people actually give a shit… I don't know exactly what it is that made my stomach churn. I had the strongest possible urge to vomit. And that’s that.
*
The last time I wrote was the night Pooch (the original) and myself were leaving for Samirpur. That post, having been swallowed up by my blog into its deep, dark recesses, was read by all of one person. Of course it met with satisfactory reviews. But one can never be too sure when the readers are nice people who happen to be fond of you.
And funnily enough day after, I depart for Samirpur again. This alone puts a giant question mark on whether this post will be followed by another. The only computer with an internet connection is in my father's office, access to which fraught with obstacles… try the most exhausting flight of concrete steps followed by a long painful walk. But boredom has been known to make me do strange things. Trudging to the comp in question is likely to be the least of these.
*
I wish free time were a marketable commodity. Now don't all you economicsy types start off on explaining the whole leisure-labour tradeoff to me. I'm serious… if there were some way in which I could trade some of the free time I have right now for the time I won't in the future… now wouldn't that be spectacular? I'm talking a grand interetemporal exchange of 'velaness'. I have gallons and gallons of leisure at hand and absolutely nothing to do with it.
And that just kills me. Eats me up completely. Irritates and annoys me. Bothers me no end. Makes me think all sorts of deranged thoughts and go completely to pieces. Write terrible blog posts… and unapologetically to boot.
*
Ma left today, for Bangalore. She has left father and daughter in each other's company for a sum total of 15 days. I wonder if we'll survive. Something tells me we'll manage pretty well. My dad and I tend to get into each other's way a whole lot less. He's more resigned to the fact that I'm incapable of conversation. I think he just needs the physical presence of his children around to feel that there is 'raunaq' in the house.
Also I seem to have inherited the worst habits from him. At least all the ones that irritate my mother. The propensity to hoard mountains of unnecessary things, an aversion to all things related to domestication such as bed making, room clearing etc.
While my mum pesters, my father sort of lets me be. And sooner or later things get done… beds get made… rooms get cleared. Of course its usually later than sooner that such happy developments occur. And more often than not when things reach critical mass.
Yes, papa and I should do just fine…
*
Ok I should about wrap up now. I may exhaust my treasure trove of blog-worthy topics. I can't believe I've gone and written so much. And I can actually think of some more not entirely boring things to write about. I'm not entirely pleased with tonight's outcome but its early times yet. There's one thing that strikes me every time I don't post for too long- this is always easier and more fun than I remember it to be.
Blimblop may in fact be back in business
What the hell… lets be reckless and go crazy. No spell checks either..
*
Come to think of it my blog themes were never that grand to begin with. So lets recap… I've written posts about pimples, saris, and water shortages. Countless ones which indirectly address the question of men and one extremely acerbic one on pigeons. Yes I snuck a few in there that could qualify as "meaningful", but really who are we kidding?
And this extended hiatus? Its not like opportunities to write did not present themselves. I have in fact spent the better part of the last month doing next to nothing. In fact the quantum of the nothing that I indulge in seems to grow with every passing day. And its not like there were no worthy subjects for documentation. I mean I did take what could possibly be the last set of exams of my life… I am now (almost, one can never be too cautious) a post graduate. Life has in fact changed FOREVER!!! (caps and exclamation mark for dramatic effect… also picture me with eyes stretched to twice their size). So lack of time and fodder weren't to blame… perhaps it was just good old fashioned laziness.
But even when some things are a habit and even if they are no more unpleasant than anything that’s fairly pleasant (apologies for that sentence, I'm still warming up the engine) once they get suspended for a bit… its just really hard to pick them up again. Like my jog. It annoys me that I stopped going for one in the evenings regularly. And curiously I live next to a nice park and quite enjoy running. But I just can't get myself to adhere to the routine again. Bleh… (apologies again… but I couldn't find any other place for the mandatory minimum of one "Bleh…" per post)
A small caveat to the loyal fan base (two people at last count, both curiously referred to as "pooch" for various reasons… my lack of creativity being the main culprit… hee hee). Don't get all excited about the comeback. First, I am as prone to sink back into laziness as ever. And second, even if I do take to this regularly, there's no telling what I'll write… quality may be seriously compromised. I mean zits and irritating birds are one thing but if I'm seriously strapped for ideas I may resort to writing about… oh I don't know… IPL? Khali? Lizards? (no wait… I've done that… damn it).
*
While on the subject of Khali, lets get off it as soon as possible (parumpumpush… that was a post joke drumroll for the uninitiated). I saw the great man himself on CNN IBN tonight. And there I was thinking the channel had taste… bloody capitalist sellouts…(inside joke). Just the sight of him… or the fact that so many people actually give a shit… I don't know exactly what it is that made my stomach churn. I had the strongest possible urge to vomit. And that’s that.
*
The last time I wrote was the night Pooch (the original) and myself were leaving for Samirpur. That post, having been swallowed up by my blog into its deep, dark recesses, was read by all of one person. Of course it met with satisfactory reviews. But one can never be too sure when the readers are nice people who happen to be fond of you.
And funnily enough day after, I depart for Samirpur again. This alone puts a giant question mark on whether this post will be followed by another. The only computer with an internet connection is in my father's office, access to which fraught with obstacles… try the most exhausting flight of concrete steps followed by a long painful walk. But boredom has been known to make me do strange things. Trudging to the comp in question is likely to be the least of these.
*
I wish free time were a marketable commodity. Now don't all you economicsy types start off on explaining the whole leisure-labour tradeoff to me. I'm serious… if there were some way in which I could trade some of the free time I have right now for the time I won't in the future… now wouldn't that be spectacular? I'm talking a grand interetemporal exchange of 'velaness'. I have gallons and gallons of leisure at hand and absolutely nothing to do with it.
And that just kills me. Eats me up completely. Irritates and annoys me. Bothers me no end. Makes me think all sorts of deranged thoughts and go completely to pieces. Write terrible blog posts… and unapologetically to boot.
*
Ma left today, for Bangalore. She has left father and daughter in each other's company for a sum total of 15 days. I wonder if we'll survive. Something tells me we'll manage pretty well. My dad and I tend to get into each other's way a whole lot less. He's more resigned to the fact that I'm incapable of conversation. I think he just needs the physical presence of his children around to feel that there is 'raunaq' in the house.
Also I seem to have inherited the worst habits from him. At least all the ones that irritate my mother. The propensity to hoard mountains of unnecessary things, an aversion to all things related to domestication such as bed making, room clearing etc.
While my mum pesters, my father sort of lets me be. And sooner or later things get done… beds get made… rooms get cleared. Of course its usually later than sooner that such happy developments occur. And more often than not when things reach critical mass.
Yes, papa and I should do just fine…
*
Ok I should about wrap up now. I may exhaust my treasure trove of blog-worthy topics. I can't believe I've gone and written so much. And I can actually think of some more not entirely boring things to write about. I'm not entirely pleased with tonight's outcome but its early times yet. There's one thing that strikes me every time I don't post for too long- this is always easier and more fun than I remember it to be.
Blimblop may in fact be back in business
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