Begining of the end

Tomorrow the calender page turns over to May marking one whole year since I started blogging. 

Yes, thescarletrealm is now a year old. One wouldn't say it is alive and kicking, certainly not flourishing, but it has stuck by my side. By my side in a year, that in many ways, has been my worst yet.

A year that has seen tears and shame and anguish and loss. And in its own inadequate way, it has stood in as a mute confidante. Been my companion when I wasn't lonely but definitely alone.

Yes, May marks a year of endings and of doors shut softly and firmly on the past.

Ode to Mr. B

I am not someone who is given to easy admiration. Even way back in school, when one had to write essays on "My Heroes" , I was at a loss.



It is not that I am a perpetual critic. I appreciate good work, I compliment people a lot. But it takes a lot for me to admit I admire someone.


And Mr B. is one person who has my unrestrained regard.


Mr B. is not a corny name I came up with for anonymity. It is what everyone at work calls him - behind his back. Yeah, people say a lot of things behind his back.


He is the doyen at work with a razor mind that can zero in on the tiniest details that everyone else misses out. When Mr B. asks you for information, then you check twice, thrice, have a cup of coffee and clear your mind and then check the fourth time and only then - only then do you venture giving him the answer.


And if you are a newbie and you think you can get away with a glib response, "Ha ha". Thats the first and the last time you'd do it.


Because by the time Mr B is done with you, you'd tuck your tail between your legs and go dig a hole to hide in for the rest of your professional life. No, Mr B is not one of the nasty managers who are sarcastic or offensive. He just quietly and persistently makes you trace your line of reasoning , exposing the follies and finally leaving you agape at his astuteness.


And that is why he is not everybody's favourite guy. Its not hard to imagine, is it.


To be honest, he does have his share of foibles. On the rare chances that you have an idea better than his, it is extremely difficult to get him see your point of view.


But a manager's mettle is tested only during the bleakest outage and that is when his leadership shone through.


And today, Mr B. was let go. Made redundant. And that is not a euphemism. That is the word that best explains how the best, brilliant and hardworking lose jobs just because of a currency multiplication factor.



_

WRB

I went to a girls' school and did not have to pay any fees thanks to Maharashtra government's scheme of free secondary education for girls.

After my XII, I was lucky to get admission in IT in a Women's college. Boys with the same rank as mine certainly did not qualify for the same branch in an equally good college.

I am a good example of how reservations bring unfair advantages to sections of the society that don't need the benefits.

I could have afforted to pay the fees and was privileged enough to be able to secure a college admission solely on merit.

So yes, I agree with some of the arguments made by the staunch opposition to the Womens' reservation bill. Whether the bill in itself is going to directly empower women is a different discussion. But my attempt today is to justify the idea that such measures gradually break gender sterotypes.

Brinda Karat says, "women today are still caught in a culture prison. In the name of tradition, stereotypes are imposed and we have to fight these every day." And we do not even have to look as far as a woman leading a village panchayat for examples of the change reservations can bring.

Quite a few of my batchmates in college were allowed to study away from home staying in a hostel only because it was a Women's university. The alternative for them was to live with family, study in the town college and probably compromise on opportunity and exposure.

Many people still have an iron clad perception of what an 'Indian' woman should look like or how she should behave or in whose company she can be or how she should live her life.

Seeing more women in positions of influence will broaden the frame of reference and dissolve orthodox notions that women are held to.

_

_


Sometimes being there for someone is not being there at all.


_

Deja-Vu

He loosened his tie as the cab rolled on slowly in the traffic. He threw his head back and shut his eyes. What a week. He had not expected the trip to be this busy and taxing. Every day had drawn on till late, leaving him listless and heavy headed with barely enough energy to crawl back to the hotel.



He had not taken the guys out for drink. He could not head out his favourite pub and play pool. He had not called his old buddies yet. But today, today he had taken the afternoon off. Work was almost over and he was leaving tomorrow. Besides, how could he not? It had been 4 years since ...




He jumped out of the cab at the park and quickly strolled in. It was late in the afternoon and a hot day but the skaters whizzed past him relentlessly. A quick scan around and he slowly smiled as he realized she was late. He bought a sandwich from the vendor and sat down on the bench.




As he slowly looked around again, he could see the signs of change. The fancy outdoor theatre, the new jazz bar, the imposing modern sculpture. It was all too alien and all strangely familiar. The place reminiscent of a time when they dreamed and believed in soulmates. Sometimes, it is astonishing how much of our past lives we can fold and seal away until a fragrance, a picture , a song brings all those memories back in full flood.




This was a first. He would be waiting by now. She paused on her way to look at the glass windows of the ticket booth. The face staring back at her was anxious. She smoothed her hair down and dabbed on some gloss as she entered the park. "I should calm down", she thought for the tenth time. But she had been nervous since the sms earlier that day.


And then just as she spotted him, he turned and looked right at her. She could see the streak of grey had increased but he still looked young. "Ah! Men are so lucky. They always look like boys", she thought. And as their eyes met, the years of exile melted away and she broke into a big smile.




"Her hair is still the same" a voice spoke in his head the instant he saw her. He stood up and walked towards her slowly. And when he saw her smile, it was as if nothing had changed. A small knot deep in his chest
dissolved and he smiled back at her radiantly.




"Hey"


"Hey, how are you?", she said.


There was brief pause as they held each other's gaze.


"You look the same", he said.


"Yeah, same but older".


"Older is wiser", he countered.


And pat came the reply with a sly smile ,"yeah if I had a clump of grey hair I'd like to believe I am wiser too".

And then she saw the sandwich on the bench "Have you eaten?"

It was his turn. "Is that the first thing you can think of to say after four years? "


They laughed and walked towards the row of street food stalls and tables.


"How is everyone at home?"


"Fine"


"Hmmm.. everyone says I'm fine.."


She nodded.





And then they started to talk. About everything. Everything they had held back all this while, everything they were desperate to share but resolved never to. About anger and frustration and hope and hurt and happiness and shame and victories and downfalls. Thoughts they both knew only the other could understand.


And as it grew darker, the voices died.


They got up and walked to the edge of the water. And , maybe for the last time, sat on the hard ground, holding hands, the water lapping at their heels.



_

Everybody Hurts

Mark Twain says, "The worst loneliness is to not be comfortable with yourself."

I think it is the worst punishment.

How bitter it is to look at the mirror and see a person you have lost respect for.

And even on the brightest and sunniest days in future, the image will be a haunting reminder of how you were at the lowest point in your life.


_

Electric boots and a mohair suit

Benny and the Jets on 27 dresses again.

Why do I love this song so much ?


Is it the slow pulsating rythym  or Elton John's voice as it floats effortlessly over the high note at "magaziiine".


The song is great for all moods - brassy and brazen , or sad and soulful , or sultry and sensuous.


_

At last ..

I found it.

It has been many, many months now since I started looking for a really good Indian news site - a site with comprehensive, cerebral, well-organized and well-formatted content.


Frustrated with BBC's laconic approach towards Asian news and ndtv's penchant for luridness I sat wondering how the hallmarks of journalistic brilliance had disappeared


Idly I seeked out the Hindu online and came across a page that looked like an enhanced digital scan of the paper in print. It wasn’t very encouraging but then, I chanced to click on a link to their beta site.


And my friends, I am happy to proclaim, there will be no looking back.


http://beta.thehindu.com/


This is the link. Read it. Tag it. Bookmark it.

If you are tired of front pages reporting bolly wood stories ,

if you abhor the sight of ten lines of a story squashed between 'pictures of hot celebrities' and an ad for money to India,

if you are one of those people who still believe what your teacher told you in school (Read the newspaper editorial , it will improve your English ),

if you still value analytical features over a flash news ticker ... then dear friend, your search is over.


I was mesmerized by the well-spaced layout and font, the subdued colours, the beauty of language, and the erudite columns.



Also featured is a lecture by Guardian editor "Does journalism exist?"


Quoting from that lecture on the subject of what constitutes good journalism is the following -


"they seemed to represent the best of journalistic virtues – courage, campaigning, toughness, compassion, humour, irreverence; a serious engagement with serious things; a sense of fairness; an eye for injustice; a passion for explaining; knowing how to achieve impact; a connection with readers. "


I hope and wish The Hindu online is well on its way to embody these virtues.




_

Cupid's Day

 

 

My three little lights keep me company as this thought looms large on my mind today

It must have been really love, isn't it, when memories are enough to soothe the agony and fill the void.

_

One for All

बचपन में पढ़ा था  कि हिंदी हमारी राष्ट्र भाषा है |    जबसे पढ़ा , तबसे लगता था कि कहीं भारतीय संविधान के किसी पन्ने पर , छोटे से अक्षरों में यही लिखा होगा - जैसे राष्ट्रीय पक्षी मोर, राष्ट्रीय खेल Hockey वैसे राष्ट्रीय भाषा हिंदी |

इसलिए मुझे भी बहुत गुस्सा आता था जब मेरे कुछ दोस्त हिंदी बोलना या सीखना टाल देते थे | मन में ऐसा लगता कि ये भी कैसे पढ़े-लिखे धीठ हैं जो अपनी राष्ट्र भाषा को ही नहीं स्वीकारते |

कहते शर्म आती है , लेकिन कुछ दिनों पहले तक मुझे पता नहीं था कि हिंदी केवल हमारी अफ्फ्सरी भाषा है |  न तो भारतीय संविधान मे , न तो कानूनी नियमों मे कोई राष्ट्रीय भाषा परिभाषित है |

अब थोडा समझ में आता है , कि क्यों कुछ राज्यों मे इतना विरोध है हिंदी से | अब कोई उड़ीसा मे हो तो उसका Official काम तो ओडिया मे हो जाएगा | और व्यवसायिक काम के लिए तो आज कल सिर्फ english कि ज़रुरत है |
तो फिर उसे क्या पड़ी है कहीं और कि भाषा पढने की |

ज़रुरत तो नहीं , लेकिन महत्वपूर्ण है |
मेरे साथ कुछ Chinese , French और Korean काम करतें हैं | साथ मे एक देसी भी है | बाकि सभी को बहुत आश्चर्य  होता है कि हम भारतीय english  मे बात करतें हैं | वैसे तो हम २ - ३ भाषा जानते हैं लेकिन समन्वय के लिए English का हाथ पकड़ना पड़ता है | क्या ये अजीब नहीं कि जिस देश मे ८०० प्रकार की बोली हो उसके नागरिक आपस मे सिर्फ English बात कर सकते हैं |

और इस परिस्थिति को अगर बदलना है तो हिंदी को ही अपनाना पड़ेगा क्योंकि ४०% जनता हिंदी बोल सकती है |
बाकी भाषाओँ के अंक १०% से भी कम हैं | हिंदी सबसे सरल न हो, सबसे प्राचीन और सांस्कृतिक न हो, सबसे वैज्ञानिक न हो लेकिन सबसे प्रचिलित ज़रूर है |

लेकिन जैसे मेरे एक दोस्त ने कहा , ज़बरदस्ती करने से कोई नहीं सीखता - उस भाषा के प्रति दिलचस्पी पैदा करनी पड़ेगी | tv  और Bollywood ने बहुत बढ़ावा दिया है, इसी रूचि को दुसरे माध्यम से बढ़ाना है |

और हिंदी को भी बदलना होगा | नए शब्दों को शामिल करना होगा | अगर "Jai Ho " को english मे अपना सकतें हैं तो हिंदी को भी थोडा आधुनिक होना होगा | आखिर उस भाषा का क्या भविष्य जिसमे "cool " के लिए शब्द न हो | :-)



It took me two and a half hours to write this in Hindi and I know reading it cannot be much easier. So here is the translation.

As a kid I remember learning that Hindi is our national language. Since then I believed that it was scribbled down somewhere on a page in the constitution. There were enough of "national” symbols around. National bird, peacock, National sport- hockey. This was just an addition to the list.


So, I always got angry when some friends of mine had this resistance towards speaking and learning Hindi. I always thought of them as educated and stubborn idiots to disregard their own national language.


To my great shame, I discovered not so long ago, that nowhere in the Indian Constitution or Law is a "national language" defined. Hindi is just an Official Language.


I now understand why some states have this opposition to Hindi. After all someone in Orissa can get by with Odiya for his official work and English for his professional circle. What urge would he then have to go learn a language that belongs to another state?

It may not be necessary, but it is of importance.
I work with few Chinese, French, Korean and one other India guy. The others are always astonished when the two Indians talk only in English. Individually we can speak 2 or 3 languages but alas only English can link us. Isn't it ironic that for a country with 800 dialects, its people rely on English to talk to each other?

 And if this has to change, like it or not, we have to adopt Hindi. 40% of the population is fluent in it. Other languages barely mark up to 10%. Hindi may not be the easiest or the most culturally rich or the most scientific, but it is the most widely spoken.


 But as one of my friends says, you cannot shove it down people's throats. TV and Bollywood have kindled interest. This has to be encouraged and kept alive. And finally Hindi has to adapt to the modern times and broaden its vocabulary. After all, if Jai Ho can be imbibed into English, what future can a language have if it does not even have a word for "cool".


_

A room with a view

Imagine a bed with a blue spread in a room with lace blue curtains.That is in a grey tall house with blue shutters and white railing.
Which is perched alone on the brink of a deep blue sea and framed by a dense blue sky.

If this is the picture you painted..



Then you are in the quaintly quixotic Rodaanthe.



When I saw the movie the first time , I was too caught up in the story of love and loss and couldn't stop from dissolving into tears at the end.



But yesterday, a relaxing Sunday evening at home, I watched the movie again. And this time it dawned on me - just how vivid and breathtakingly beautiful this movie is.



And I don't mean scenic beauty. The imagery the movie inspires is so powerful.



You want to be there. You can see yourself right there.


Together, alone for miles around. Walking arms around the waist on the sand.



Standing on the deck with the wind whipping through the hair and lashing at the face. The odd splash from a huge wave breaking below as you gaze on absently.



Sitting at the cosy restaurant dimly lit by the one light at your table. From the window, you see the dark dark sea and the frothy white waves rushing in.



The images are heady and intoxicating. And you want to half-close your eyes and keep dreaming on.



_

True Blue Desi

I am resolutely restraining myself from commenting on the SRK-Shiv Sena face off. Any polemic with bollywood involved is such a crowd puller. And I am not rushing to join the volley of easy support for SRK. Indo-Pak relations are embroiled in such conflict and I don't agree it is as easy as "These players were coming here to hit balls ... why the ruckus" as Salman Khan voices.

(Shudder! I never would have thought I'd quote Salman Khan on my blog! )

But when I read about Shiv Sena top brass' reference to Rahul Gandhi as the Italian prince and their remark that 'Mumbai' does not belong to his 'Italian mummy', it disgusts me.

It is the feeling I have everytime time someone harps on Sonia Gandhi's foreign origin.

She came to India as a bride and made this country her home for the following 42 years. Who would have faulted her had she gone back to Italy after her husband's death.

But she stayed on and made a reluctant entry into politics a decade later to save the flagging Congress Party.

She went on to be Party President, Leader of the Opposition and finally in 2004 , the priminister's post was hers for taking, but she renounced it. Under her leadership the Party forged on to another win in General Elections 2009.

She speaks hindi, only wears saris and has seeped in the essence of Indian culture and customs.

She has personally lost much to Indian politics but upholds its premier political dynasty with dignity.

As a politicain and an activist against poverty, who can deny she is alive and aware of the country's pulse.

She is, at the least, more Indian than I am.

_

If I were a man..

If I were a man, I would certainly go to hell.

Imagine a rugged cynic. A modern day mix of Rhett Butler and Casanova. A man who could be devilishly charming now and ruthlessly acrimonious the next minute.

A shameless gambler, an unrepentant hustler and a disreputable Romeo.

Drown my days in drink and stifle my senses with smoke.

Smug, sarcastic and salacious, a man inspiring grudging envy and scathing hate.

A man of ample means, no morals and even lesser friends.

And after my evil and decadent life and after having exulted in every minute, I would willingly descend into the Stygian abyss.

I wish I could be that rogue for a day. Just for a day, cast off my foolish feminine sentimentality and propriety.

Grab life by its horns and go for a rocking ride!

_

Wise Men Say

My eyes continue to burn and one eye has intensified the protest with a dull ache to boost. I am feverish on and off but I feel so much better. I have a pretty vase of flowers on the table and a bit of dark chocolate next to me. Sometimes it takes so little to make one euphoric.
And in keeping with the mood, today's blog is a collection of my favourite lines from movies and television.
So here goes in no specific order -

Notting Hill

Martin: Did you know, and this is pretty amazing, but I once saw Ringo Starr.

William: Where was that?

Martin: Kensington High Street. At least I think it was Ringo, um, it could have been that guy from Fiddler on the Roof. You know, Toppy.

William: Topol.

Martin: Yes... yes that's right, Topol.

William: Mmmhmmm. Actually, Ringo Starr doesn't- doesn't at all look like, uh, Topol.

Martin: Yes, but, he was- he was quite a long way away from me.

William: So it actually could've been neither of them.

Martin: Yes, I suppose, so.

William: It's not really a classic, anecdote, is it?

Martin: Not a classic, no.



[who will get the last brownie?]
Anna Scott: Wait, what about me?

Max: Sorry, you think *you* deserve the brownie?

Anna Scott: Well a shot at it at least huh?

William: Well, you'll have to fight me for it, this is a very good brownie.

Anna Scott: I've been on a diet every day since I was nineteen, which basically means I've been hungry for a decade. I've had a series of not nice boyfriends, one of whom hit me. Ah, and every time I get my heart broken, the newspapers splash it about as though it's entertainment. And it's taken two rather painful operations to get me looking like this.

Honey: Really?

Anna Scott: Really. And, one day not long from now, my looks will go, they will discover I can't act and I will become some sad middle-aged woman who looks a bit like someone who was famous for a while.

Max: [long pause] Nah, nice try gorgeous, but you don't fool anyone.

William: Pathetic effort to hog the brownie.


Gone With The Wind
Scarlett: Rhett... if you go, where shall I go, what shall I do?
Rhett Butler: Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.

You've got mail

Joe Fox: The whole purpose of places like Starbucks is for people with no decision-making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, caf, decaf, low-fat, non-fat, etc. So people who don't know what the hell they're doing or who on earth they are can, for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self: Tall. Decaf. Cappuccino.

Boston Legal Denny Crane: I don't know whether you know this but not many men take the time, every day, to have a cigar, glass of scotch, to talk to their best friend. That's not something most men have.

Alan Shore: No it isn't.

Denny Crane: What I give to you, what I share, I do with no one else. I like to think that what you give to me you do with nobody else. Now that may sound silly to you. But here's what I think is silly, the idea that jealousy or fidelity is reserved for romance. I always suspected that there was a connection between you and that man. That you got something you didn't get from me.

Alan Shore: I probably do. But gosh, what I get from you Denny. People walk around today calling everyone their best friend. The term doesn't have any real meaning anymore. Mere acquaintances are lavished with hugs and kisses upon a second or at most third meeting, birthday cards get passed around offices so everybody can scribble a snippet of sentimentality for a colleague they barely met, and everyone just loves everyone. As a result when you tell somebody you love them today, it isn't much heard. I love you Denny, you are my best friend. I can't imagine going through life without you as my best friend. I'm not going to kiss you however.

"Friends"

Ross: I figured after work, I'd pick up a bottle of wine, go over there, and try to... woo her.
Chandler: Hey, you know what you should do? Take her back to the 1800's when that phrase was last used.


Ross: Wow, you guys sure have a lot of books about being a lesbian.
Susan: Well, you know, you have to take a course. Otherwise they don't let you do it.

Yes Prime Minister




Humphrey (about Hacker): He's got no. 10, a salary, a pension for life. What more can he want?
Bernard: I think he wants to govern Britain.
Humphrey: Well stop him, Bernard!

Jim: Humphrey, to what do we owe this pleasure?
Sir Humphrey: Prime Minister I must strongly protest in the strongest possible terms, my profound opposition to a newly instituted practise which imposes severe and intolerable restrictions upon the ingress and egress of senior members of the hierarchy and which will in all probability, should the current deplorable innovation be perpetuated, precipitate a constriction of the channels of communication and culminate in a condition of organisational atrophy and administrative paralysis which will render effectively impossible the coherent and coordinated discharge of the function of government within her Majesties United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.
Jim: You mean you've lost your key?



Sir Humphrey: Bernard, what is the purpose of out defence policy?
Bernard: To defend Britain.Sir
Humphrey: No Bernard, it is to make the people think that Britain is defended.
Bernard: The Russians?
Sir Humphrey: Not the Russians, the British, the Russians know it's not.


As Good As It Gets

Melvin Udall: I might be the only person on the face of the earth that knows you're the greatest woman on earth. I might be the only one who appreciates how amazing you are in every single thing that you do, and how you are with Spencer, "Spence," and in every single thought that you have, and how you say what you mean, and how you almost always mean something that's all about being straight and good. I think most people miss that about you, and I watch them, wondering how they can watch you bring their food, and clear their tables and never get that they just met the greatest woman alive. And the fact that I get it makes me feel good, about me.

Pride and Predjudice

Mrs. Bennet: Have you no consideration for my poor nerves?
Mr. Bennet: You mistake me, my dear. I have the utmost respect for your nerves. They've been my constant companion these twenty years.



Elizabeth Bennet: You're mistaken, Mr. Darcy. The mode of your declaration merely spared me any concern I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner. You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it. From the very beginning your manners impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others. I had not known you a month before I felt you were the last man in the world whom I could ever marry!
Emma
Emma: I may have lost my heart, but not my self-control.
Emma Woodhouse: How fascinating that any discordancy between us must always arise from *my* being wrong.
Mr. Knightley: Not fascinating, but true.
_

Checkpoint

26th January.

A significant day for me and for a billion Indians.

Today marks 60 years as a Republic and 6 years of marriage.

And the first writer's block I have had since I started blogging.

My eyes burn and head aches as I offer this inept post as an ode to the day.

_

Star-crossed

They sat on the hard ground, shoulders touching , arms hugging the knees and calves bumping shyly ..slyly.Facing the waters growing darker as the city lights fell in place one by one joining the neon dance. Each a bright speck on the dark canvass lapping at their heels.

The breeze carried the distant sounds of the music from the band playing in the park behind. Around them zoomed kids on skates and dogs on a brisk walk trailed by their owners . But the sights were unseen and the sounds unheard as they sat enveloped in intimate silence. Silence broken occasionally to share a dream never told before, a regret never confessed before. Minutes and hours slipped by unknown and unheeded. The moments binding them irrevocably. Strings that would strangle the heart for ever after.

They held hands, fingers intertwined and tracing imaginary patters on the soft skin.

A couple of hours pass. Was it really that long?

They get up - mind and heart growing heavy with a familiar tightness. He looks on as she leaves with slow steps and shining eyes. She looks back a second too late. He has turned back in a deliberate retreat into the darkness.

_

Dinner tonight!

So I am not a food blogger. And not really a whizz in the kitchen . On my best day I can maybe rustle up a couple of things that can make people hum appreciatively.

But an over dosage of Jamie Oliver and Nigella has me experimenting much more than I should.

And trial and error made me hit on this deliciously simple plate of grilled veggies.

Roughly chop pumpkins brinjals sweet potatoes , apricots and rub a mix of pepper , olive oil , salt and any other spices you care for. Toss on a pan, cover with silver foil and come back to it after an episode of sex and the city.

Slip off the foil and tumble the grilled fare onto a plate.

Now , there is likely to be some grilled burnt bits stuck to the pan. Splash in water , few caps full of wine, a stock cube , some butter and mustard. I had some left-over chicken pieces in the fridge (thats the ghostly white stuff in the picture) .

Add that to the sauce and heat some more.

Pour all over the vegetables and that is what's for dinner tonight.

_

Growing yellow and mellow

When I was a little girl my parents used to drop me off for guitar classes twice a week. The class used to go on for a couple of hours by the end of which my father would be waiting outside for me.

The room had glass doors so towards the end of the session I used to start watching out for Dadu. Once in a while he used to be late and each time that happened tears used to well up in my eyes and stream silently down even as I continued practicing the scales.

And on some days, I’d keep crying silently even after he had arrived and was standing outside the door chatting with my teacher. I was such a silly five year old !

Today , as I waited on and on for a phone call fighting back the tears, it felt much the same way. And finally when the call never came and I dashed into the restroom to shield my shame I realized I was behaving like that child again. The child that kept crying until someone comforted her. And here is the lesson that I keep forgetting. Back then, not once did Dadu fail to show up. But once you are grown-up, you have only yourself to count on.
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Tall Claims

I am no longer going to be able to say that I have seen the world's tallest building. Or ridden in the fastest lift. Few years back I was swept up the 300 odd meters of Taipei 101 to sweeping views of the cityscape. (Not that I do) But I could have bragged about it until yesterday.

Yesterday, when the magnificent 828 m Burj Dubai was inaugurated. And with this new tower (renamed Burj Khalifa today) comes a whole new set of records.

Tallest, most floors, highest swimming pool and so on... I am not going to spend more time glorifying it. Enough is being said and written and googled. The official website is seeing so many hits; the page is not even accessible any more.

Well, so what if they built a taller building. I'll still have these under my belt.
World largest fountain (Suntec Singapore. Yes that huge ring with holes is the fountain)
Southernmost tip of Asia (Sentosa. Errm.. Atlas anyone? )
Worlds largest man-made waterfall ( ha-ha you guessed it, Sgp again!)

Aww..that's so cute.

Have you seen today's Google banner? It is a graceful branch drooping over the "Google" laden heavy with cherries. And after the page loads, a cherry drops off and falls to the bottom of the screen.

When I saw it I could not resist a smile. Don't you love the itty-bitty scraps of sunshine that’s hit you out of nowhere and brighten your day.

Like the amul butter ads on huge billboards that you spot driving by. They always have something naughty and relevant to say, don't they? So when Sreesanth gets slapped, you can be sure the butter people will have a joke up their sleeve - and wickedly you watch out for it.

Just like you watch out for the couch gag on Simpsons' opening sequence. Now I personally don’t quite like the MTV brand clips, but I am sure even they have a following.

So thanks to a creative imaginative mind huddled somewhere over a computer screen pixel counting, my day becomes just a bit better.

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Outting the Das

Last week I went to see a stand-up act by Vir Das , imaginatively titled - Who let the Das out.

Upsides - I really like his diction. And his accent. It’s a good polished Indian-accented English. No fake r's rolling there.

Downsides- Well some of the jokes just seemed endless. There was this bit where he says the sari is just piece of garment to make things difficult for the groom. It was a good laugh. But he just droned on and droned on about it.

And some of the naughty jokes were falling short of humour. There was this really promising piece about cat and dogs. It starts with how a cat acts haughty and squints at you when you walk in late into the house. And how a dog jumps all over , tail wagging, going "Dude, where the hell have you been? I was waiting all day for you!"

Now , Vir Das doing the dog impersonation was adorable. I was almost going to fondle his ears! But right then, he goes for the dog-at-the-crotch jig. Ugh! So un-original. I just wish he had stuck with the dog and the cat theme. That was clean good fun! And I am no prude.

But, overall it was a thumbs-up. I hope more desi stand-up artists make it to Singapore and I can take a break from Russell peters on you tube.

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