September 09, 2006:
As Cambodia celebrates Pchumban for a week, Achan arrives tonight for a 2 week vacation in India. I still hold my memories of life in Phnom Penh- some loving, some that I'd want to forget. The following three posts are from my initial days in Kampuchea. Read on.
It’s a strange country inhabited by alien people following their alien customs, speaking a language that seems impossible to decipher and relishing food that to me seems anything but edible. I am in Phnom Penh, the capital of a once-communist and now unfortunate Cambodia. I am sitting on a recliner in a two-storied villa watching Kampuchea arise from the dead. The process to most of us symbolises a failed battle against human betrayal. But to them it’s a die hard way of life. If not peace there is definitely acceptance in the minds of the people amidst all this economic turmoil and moral chaos.
As I cosy myself up in my recliner wondering if I can make it in this country, I see my answer right in front of me. At first sight, she is a young mother with a little child in tow, poverty seething through her bones. A scavenger- if her clothes have seen better days, it was definitely not while she owned them. A frayed straw hat, not very different from a wad of wet napkins, sits in its place- a little awkwardly, but doing its job nevertheless. Perhaps the only protection she has ever known. As she rummages through the garbage cans I see more...she exemplifies hope and survival.
Half asleep in my recliner, housed comfortably in a double storied mammoth of a bungalow and a maid fixing my dinner for the night- my heart reaches out to thank the woman. But for what ? My conscious mind is still trying to figure that one out. A few possibilities surface but I can never be sure. Maybe it’s because she gave me the promise of survival that I so needed. If someone like her with absolutely nothing in the world to boot for save for a lifetime of misery can find something, even something as menial as rag picking, to do in this place, what could possibly be in store for someone like me. Someone with a university degree, an expensive roof over the head and a far reaching phone book.
Or is it because she reinforced the expansive existence of mindless poverty in the third world countries which gives some of the developed nations a sadistic pleasure at the very prospect of getting to play God and having the ‘poor and uncivilized’ live a parasitic life eating out of their scheming hands? Could it have been a case of possible guilt attack? Was I right on my part to live a next to extravagant life in Her own land while She scavenged away? Or it could have been my genuine interest towards improving the lives of the not so fortunate ones and help them find meaning and worth in their lives. Just what is it that made me tug at the cord that connected our hearts for that one minute I shall never know. Until then its back to my life in the cosy recliner.
Dated June 25, 2002
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Cambodia Diaries: Home Sick
Cambodia Diaries: Homesick
I am just half way between east meets west and I am already homesick, at least for those simple things home has to offer. Things that I never really bothered to sit back and ponder over how life would be if they were ever taken away. Things and people I had taken for granted. The India in and around me that I so casually took for granted- gol gappas, kadi patta, Shah Rukh Khan, Bangalore lingo, mallu jokes, yelling across the street to find out from the fat old anglo lady if the miniature fishing net my 5 year old retriever hid under the couch was actually her panty hose, dads garage that doubled as a free three star boarding and lodging for strays, getting caught in conversation with the wise old man next door, our phone that always parked itself on my cheeks as I regularly exercised my vocal chords. Now that I haven’t done or seen any of these things for over a year I almost feel alienated from what was once my life.
Reborn far away in Mandalay a year and half ago I find myself eating steamed vegetables with chopsticks for meals and training a bunch of people in spoken English to pay my bills when I am not job hopping. I don’t have neighbours to go around talking to. If my phone rings its only because my colleague at work wants to know where the weekly report files were kept. After a year of forced abstention from movie halls I finally showed fate my finger and sat through an entire Khmei movie. It was kinda fun but I wish I’d taken my ear plugs along. Sure there were days when I dint even see the sun but life here in Phnom Penh is not as dreary as you might think. There are lotta fun things you can do around here. All of them essentially need two things: Hoards of money and No parental supervision. Absolutely.
I have quite a bit of the former but not enough to beat the latter so Nat Geo and corn kernels it is. I am not a huge party bopper but I really don’t mind dipping into the social scene once in a while as long as the company and the conversations are equally compelling. Not many locals speak English so buddy hunt is a tall order. There is a huge expat population in Cambodia, mostly in the form of NGOs, missionaries and English teachers. About 80% of them are former backpackers who were smart enough to capitalise on their white skin and the intellectual superiority that it is double packaged with. Some of them haven’t even bothered considering bathing and chopping off their grimy matted locks. I know dozens of them who have been here for ages. Now I know what makes them stick around here- cheap beer, cheap sex, cheap coke and a next to God status. Chances of spotting a 60-something year old white with a local twinkie is as good as spotting a gecko in an Amazonian kitchen. The United States has managed to invade Cambodia without having to send a single soldier across the border. They are everywhere- as super hero social workers, as messiah missionaries with bread in one hand and the bible in the other, as English teachers – all proclaiming themselves to be the Chosen Ones of God born to liberate these unfortunate people from their obscure land and living and introduce them to civilization. Does Dubya Man think civilization was born in downtown Texas? While little Bush should probably sit at home and undergo some psychotherapy along with some History lessons, the jerks who created the whole mess in the first place are pretending to try and fix South East Asia- Again.
Of course, I don’t mean that anybody sporting genuine white skin is a glue smelling gold digger. A small portion of them are humane too. I have friends amongst these and we do have our share of fun, mostly hanging out at Java, our coffee shop talking politics and culture. If we were to do the same outside, we’d be attracting bullets. The café, run by a friend Dana, a young enterprising American has a loyal expat following. Loyal, because of its excellent service, awesome caffeine and homely ambiance. Expat, because of its charges. Nevertheless it truly is a home away from home for some of us.
Life is good if you believe it is. We all hold on to that belief and get on with our lives. The journey hasn’t been half bad. In fact, on the whole its been a thrilling adventure and an amazing learning experience if I were to take away the little irritants. I get to work with bears, tigers and gibbons. I get to live in an international community- swapping political and cultural views as much as recipes. I teach the children of some of the greatest internationally accomplished personas I’ll meet in a while. Living in Cambodia has taught me a lot. This Country will make me what I will choose to be. I will be grateful to this land and its people one day when I truly understand what life is really all about.
Sometime in late 2003
I am just half way between east meets west and I am already homesick, at least for those simple things home has to offer. Things that I never really bothered to sit back and ponder over how life would be if they were ever taken away. Things and people I had taken for granted. The India in and around me that I so casually took for granted- gol gappas, kadi patta, Shah Rukh Khan, Bangalore lingo, mallu jokes, yelling across the street to find out from the fat old anglo lady if the miniature fishing net my 5 year old retriever hid under the couch was actually her panty hose, dads garage that doubled as a free three star boarding and lodging for strays, getting caught in conversation with the wise old man next door, our phone that always parked itself on my cheeks as I regularly exercised my vocal chords. Now that I haven’t done or seen any of these things for over a year I almost feel alienated from what was once my life.
Reborn far away in Mandalay a year and half ago I find myself eating steamed vegetables with chopsticks for meals and training a bunch of people in spoken English to pay my bills when I am not job hopping. I don’t have neighbours to go around talking to. If my phone rings its only because my colleague at work wants to know where the weekly report files were kept. After a year of forced abstention from movie halls I finally showed fate my finger and sat through an entire Khmei movie. It was kinda fun but I wish I’d taken my ear plugs along. Sure there were days when I dint even see the sun but life here in Phnom Penh is not as dreary as you might think. There are lotta fun things you can do around here. All of them essentially need two things: Hoards of money and No parental supervision. Absolutely.
I have quite a bit of the former but not enough to beat the latter so Nat Geo and corn kernels it is. I am not a huge party bopper but I really don’t mind dipping into the social scene once in a while as long as the company and the conversations are equally compelling. Not many locals speak English so buddy hunt is a tall order. There is a huge expat population in Cambodia, mostly in the form of NGOs, missionaries and English teachers. About 80% of them are former backpackers who were smart enough to capitalise on their white skin and the intellectual superiority that it is double packaged with. Some of them haven’t even bothered considering bathing and chopping off their grimy matted locks. I know dozens of them who have been here for ages. Now I know what makes them stick around here- cheap beer, cheap sex, cheap coke and a next to God status. Chances of spotting a 60-something year old white with a local twinkie is as good as spotting a gecko in an Amazonian kitchen. The United States has managed to invade Cambodia without having to send a single soldier across the border. They are everywhere- as super hero social workers, as messiah missionaries with bread in one hand and the bible in the other, as English teachers – all proclaiming themselves to be the Chosen Ones of God born to liberate these unfortunate people from their obscure land and living and introduce them to civilization. Does Dubya Man think civilization was born in downtown Texas? While little Bush should probably sit at home and undergo some psychotherapy along with some History lessons, the jerks who created the whole mess in the first place are pretending to try and fix South East Asia- Again.
Of course, I don’t mean that anybody sporting genuine white skin is a glue smelling gold digger. A small portion of them are humane too. I have friends amongst these and we do have our share of fun, mostly hanging out at Java, our coffee shop talking politics and culture. If we were to do the same outside, we’d be attracting bullets. The café, run by a friend Dana, a young enterprising American has a loyal expat following. Loyal, because of its excellent service, awesome caffeine and homely ambiance. Expat, because of its charges. Nevertheless it truly is a home away from home for some of us.
Life is good if you believe it is. We all hold on to that belief and get on with our lives. The journey hasn’t been half bad. In fact, on the whole its been a thrilling adventure and an amazing learning experience if I were to take away the little irritants. I get to work with bears, tigers and gibbons. I get to live in an international community- swapping political and cultural views as much as recipes. I teach the children of some of the greatest internationally accomplished personas I’ll meet in a while. Living in Cambodia has taught me a lot. This Country will make me what I will choose to be. I will be grateful to this land and its people one day when I truly understand what life is really all about.
Sometime in late 2003
Cambodia Diaries: Stolen Lives
(From left: Sr. Marie Paul, yours truly with baby Kim and Sr. Bertina- my inspiration, my peace)
I never thought of them as special. Their sacrifices never mattered to me; after all it was the done thing. They created me and it was simply their duty to look after me and to provide for me. I had known my parents ever since I was born and they waited on me hand and foot as a child. So I presumed it was my duty in turn to take them for granted. But no more.
I spend about three hours every other day with a whole bunch of reasons that helped me see light. They are between a week and 10 years old. Little girls and boys. Eyes that have seen enough even before they opened. Some- reminders of a fleeting moment of passion between two people; others who managed to escape when tragedy struck, but spilled over into another world that isn’t worth the trouble, and the rest physically and mentally challenged- omens of evil- ostracised from their own families. But All- constant reminders of how society and economy have made it so convenient for people to snap the cord that ties a soul to its creater, that which brings one from history to walk through to eternity. A bond that gives you a name, a place, a home and promised love, one that looks after you until you are able to look after yourself and even after that. A bond that craves and seeks support in each other. Now also a bond so tangible that it allows parents to have the heart to lead the child into oblivion and leave him there.
Dated: sometime in August 2002
I spend about three hours every other day with a whole bunch of reasons that helped me see light. They are between a week and 10 years old. Little girls and boys. Eyes that have seen enough even before they opened. Some- reminders of a fleeting moment of passion between two people; others who managed to escape when tragedy struck, but spilled over into another world that isn’t worth the trouble, and the rest physically and mentally challenged- omens of evil- ostracised from their own families. But All- constant reminders of how society and economy have made it so convenient for people to snap the cord that ties a soul to its creater, that which brings one from history to walk through to eternity. A bond that gives you a name, a place, a home and promised love, one that looks after you until you are able to look after yourself and even after that. A bond that craves and seeks support in each other. Now also a bond so tangible that it allows parents to have the heart to lead the child into oblivion and leave him there.
Dated: sometime in August 2002
Sept 08, 06:Its all about making peace, good friends and some cheesy jokes!
Yet another friday passes me by with no beer. But a load of fun we did have. Aparna aka dory's sister is back from London and on our request has brought us boxes of liquor chocolates. Me dory shoy sush and joey decided to take a break once the pre meditated friday afternoon laziness set in. Loaded with our miniature bottles of spirit encased in bitter cocoa, we trudged towards the cafeteria. With 5 liquor hungry tongues wagging, a refined and discreet battle ensued for that prized Jack Daniels in the basket. Dory had more of them at home so she wasnt even considered a worthy contendor, Joey was the good one, and gave up even without being threatned, sush is easily bullied and not much of a whiskey addict. That left me and shoy- I was basically happy, so I let her have it. A quick shot of bitter expresso followed by my pick of the lot- exqusite vanilla flavoured vodka enshrined in chocolate was sensually appealing to say the least. We clinked chocolate bottoms, chewed off the bottle tops, slid our tongues in and made sweet love. And the way we ate and groaned, we'd always know when the other was satisfied in bed. We raised a toast to more of such merrinesss, sleazy humor, mirth and jolity.
Is it a bull? Is it a ram? No! its the female anatomy!
Dory must have been feeding on these chocolates the last two nights for she came up with what she calls a a gynecologically proven (ahem) theory of how a slight bump seen on a woman's tummy around where her uterus sits to be indicative of her sexual activity. Yeah right! bumps?! I've got tyres man, and I've still not given away my flower!! With all of us on our perverted best, rolling on the floor laughing, people eyeing us with curiosity, disdain and amusement, we hoped we wouldn't be chucked out of the cafeteria like me and Dory were last friday. Oh come all ye morbid corporate poker-faced, shit-assed souls, lighten up! So we made plans to go out for the evening. Shoy was working late and Joey was meeting old friends, so the original trio- Me Sush and Dory drove over to the Indranagar 12th Main coffee Day. Memories came flooding by, but it dint pain me this time. Thus, fun cheesy conversations, wild career ideas and ways to entice venture capitalists to buy them remained unaffected. I gifted Dory a silk stole my rebirth poem and two hours later we called it a day. Three friends, three cars, three routes, one soul. It was a good feeling. We plan to take off for the weekend soon.
Back home, I logged in to find **** online. I was glad. Its been a while since we did some quality talking. And it was important that I tell him what I really felt about things now. Like I have said before, Lucky told me a few things before he left, and I made a few promises. I have begun to act on them, and do feel the difference. Its not tremendous but its taking place nevertheless. I am proud of the way things are begining to take shape. I am not sure what the ultimate picture is going to look like, but I know it will be pleasing. Excerpts of our conversation:
****: :) something is there isnt it me: told u- i am at peace....
****: i meant between us :)
me: all barriers between us are broken
****: :)
me: thats what i meant maybe we are part of the same soul or something
****: (deep breath)
me: (throws another pebble into the lake)
****: (lying on the grass and watching the stars
me: n says...
''see that pebble slicing through the waters...thats like our relationship...we do things to eachother that create ripples n disturbances in our lives, but thats only for a while....once the effect wears off.....its burried deep and the the waters are back to their serene self'' :)
''see that pebble slicing through the waters...thats like our relationship...we do things to eachother that create ripples n disturbances in our lives, but thats only for a while....once the effect wears off.....its burried deep and the the waters are back to their serene self'' :)
**** :) perfect
I am not there just yet. I saw one of his friend's on O***t and wondered what she meant when she was saying what she was saying. I wondered if there was anything between the two of them. I know its none of my business. I know I must remain unaffected. Things will take time to get to the phase I would want them to be. It requires a lot of patience, strength, great love for myself and a lot of confidence in me and how I can charter the course of my future. I have all these in various proportions- I just need to acknowlege their existance and make them a part of my everyday life. So far, I am doing a good job of it. I'll just have to keep going.
September 06, 2006: Lucky Passes On.
'' I felt his breath on my cheeks, and then it stopped.''- Ninni
Lucky was laid to rest this morning. A lot of things were laid to rest this morning and amidst storms there is anticipation of peace. Deliverance has happened, acceptance too. Only memories remain. Last morning, getting ready for work, I had a bad feeling. Someone was calling me from a distance. I couldn’t see who- and I dint have to. I felt him under my skin. Afraid to face the inevitable, I made Amma call Nalini Chechi. She sounded tired and her voice was fading. Ninni was in a silent mess, interrupted occasionally by brief outbursts of repressed sobbing. He was going. I had to be there, with her, for him, for me and for all that we shared. Just like I was there when he came six years ago.
I remember the distant Sunday from not so long ago as Nalini chechi, Sashi mama, Arjun and I got out of the car with Ninni nestled in Sashimama’s arms. She had been suffering from a strange pain down her back that left her unable to walk. X-rays, tests and scans revealed no orthopaedic causes. We were all baffled. And then she said it. ‘I want someone to be with when I come home.’ Sashimama is a scientist/professor at the agricultural university. Nalini Chechi was always juggling being a lot of things- a mother, a stock broker, a wife, a counsellor, a florist, a daughter, a retailor… Arjun was a big boy and good friends were few. She was justified in feeling so. Ninni had always wanted a dog she would call ‘Lucky’. And as the five of us piled out of the elevator and waited for the breeder to answer the door, we knew we would find her Lucky on the other side. There were six of them, five yellow and one black. The black one, owing to his natural distinction, seemed to have an edge over the rest to be the potential ‘Lucky’, until His Royal Goofiness decided to make his presence felt. It was feeding time, the bowls were out and the pack of six clearly knew the drill.
It was an overwhelming sight- half a dozen heart warmers huddled around an equal number of porridge-filled bowls, their tails wagging in excitement, tiny pink tongues laying covetous claim on the neighbour’s victuals, big brown eyes darting for any unruly run away morsel. It didn’t take long for this curious, playful, very hungry, handsome, and evidently dippy ball of energy to roll right into our hearts. With his ears rhythmically flopping on either sides of his face, he trotted around the house sniffing everything he could lay his eyes on; sticking his nose into all available crevices and then making new ones. She stuck her outstretched arms out towards him and called out, ‘Lucky’. He cocked his ears to one side, looked up at her with the warmest eyes and bounded into her arms. A fairy tale begins.
(to be continued...)
Thursday September 7, 2006 - 10:02am
Lucky was laid to rest this morning. A lot of things were laid to rest this morning and amidst storms there is anticipation of peace. Deliverance has happened, acceptance too. Only memories remain. Last morning, getting ready for work, I had a bad feeling. Someone was calling me from a distance. I couldn’t see who- and I dint have to. I felt him under my skin. Afraid to face the inevitable, I made Amma call Nalini Chechi. She sounded tired and her voice was fading. Ninni was in a silent mess, interrupted occasionally by brief outbursts of repressed sobbing. He was going. I had to be there, with her, for him, for me and for all that we shared. Just like I was there when he came six years ago.
I remember the distant Sunday from not so long ago as Nalini chechi, Sashi mama, Arjun and I got out of the car with Ninni nestled in Sashimama’s arms. She had been suffering from a strange pain down her back that left her unable to walk. X-rays, tests and scans revealed no orthopaedic causes. We were all baffled. And then she said it. ‘I want someone to be with when I come home.’ Sashimama is a scientist/professor at the agricultural university. Nalini Chechi was always juggling being a lot of things- a mother, a stock broker, a wife, a counsellor, a florist, a daughter, a retailor… Arjun was a big boy and good friends were few. She was justified in feeling so. Ninni had always wanted a dog she would call ‘Lucky’. And as the five of us piled out of the elevator and waited for the breeder to answer the door, we knew we would find her Lucky on the other side. There were six of them, five yellow and one black. The black one, owing to his natural distinction, seemed to have an edge over the rest to be the potential ‘Lucky’, until His Royal Goofiness decided to make his presence felt. It was feeding time, the bowls were out and the pack of six clearly knew the drill.
It was an overwhelming sight- half a dozen heart warmers huddled around an equal number of porridge-filled bowls, their tails wagging in excitement, tiny pink tongues laying covetous claim on the neighbour’s victuals, big brown eyes darting for any unruly run away morsel. It didn’t take long for this curious, playful, very hungry, handsome, and evidently dippy ball of energy to roll right into our hearts. With his ears rhythmically flopping on either sides of his face, he trotted around the house sniffing everything he could lay his eyes on; sticking his nose into all available crevices and then making new ones. She stuck her outstretched arms out towards him and called out, ‘Lucky’. He cocked his ears to one side, looked up at her with the warmest eyes and bounded into her arms. A fairy tale begins.
(to be continued...)
Thursday September 7, 2006 - 10:02am
Ode to Peddling
This is to you Mr. Hiralal Yadav. You inspire.
Harleys, leatherjackets, tattoos ‘n’ pot-
You think its gonna get ya right on top?!
Illusions, delusions ‘n’ petrified dreams-
You gotta pump in more dope to stop those screams.
Pause for a moment, give it all a thought.
Your whole life you gave in and what have you got?
Deranged, in rehab with therapies galore.
I’ve been there, seen it and want no more.
Listen up friend, mark my words
Coz this ain’t a trickie like the bees ‘n’ birds.
Dealers ‘n’ peddlers have laid out their nets.
Once you’re in there’s only regrets.
Life’s what happens when you’re making other plans,
Life doesn’t give you a second chance.
So baby next time you peddle
Peddle it right.
Just make sure you’re
Peddling your Bike.
Harleys, leatherjackets, tattoos ‘n’ pot-
You think its gonna get ya right on top?!
Illusions, delusions ‘n’ petrified dreams-
You gotta pump in more dope to stop those screams.
Pause for a moment, give it all a thought.
Your whole life you gave in and what have you got?
Deranged, in rehab with therapies galore.
I’ve been there, seen it and want no more.
Listen up friend, mark my words
Coz this ain’t a trickie like the bees ‘n’ birds.
Dealers ‘n’ peddlers have laid out their nets.
Once you’re in there’s only regrets.
Life’s what happens when you’re making other plans,
Life doesn’t give you a second chance.
So baby next time you peddle
Peddle it right.
Just make sure you’re
Peddling your Bike.
Entry for September 04, 2006
I am glad for some people in my life. That way i've been very lucky you know. Life has given me very few but extremely genuine friends. I can count them and their brothers twice over on my fingers, but I know they'll linger around longer than a 10,000 million lightyears put together. When college was over and done with and all of us had to walk our own paths I never thought we'd stick it out. But four years, two break-ups, a marriage, a kid, rebound love, a broken engagement, committed fancy-free love, another marriage, a confused relationship, another confused relationship later, we're still together in it. Whats brilliant about old friends is that they let new ones in. Whats great about new ones is that they turn out to be worthy of being old ones. I am really glad I met sush and Appu at work and by God I know they will always be a part of my life, and I, a part of theirs.
T'was a rough day today post lunch with the bad news about Lucky. I still havent been able to accept it. It stings my heart- just like the ray fish stung Steve's heart this morning. I can almost feel the blood trickle out of my heart and puddle at my feet. And my head becomes a marshland for eerie thoughts - the more I try to get them out of there, the deeper they sink. But they dont sink and die- instead they breed in the deep dark slimy waters, multiply into a million eerie thoughts and when theres a slight gurgling within the depths of the marshes, they rise- piercing through the muck- like a dagger through the heart. Wet, slimy, stinging and fatal.
...what am I saying? ! what am I thinking? Its not making any sense to me. Its all so warped and twisted. Maybe I should wait this phase out. You know, not write about it...just live through it for the next few days and come back when I am feeling better... Maybe then it wont feel so bad.
Monday September 4, 2006
T'was a rough day today post lunch with the bad news about Lucky. I still havent been able to accept it. It stings my heart- just like the ray fish stung Steve's heart this morning. I can almost feel the blood trickle out of my heart and puddle at my feet. And my head becomes a marshland for eerie thoughts - the more I try to get them out of there, the deeper they sink. But they dont sink and die- instead they breed in the deep dark slimy waters, multiply into a million eerie thoughts and when theres a slight gurgling within the depths of the marshes, they rise- piercing through the muck- like a dagger through the heart. Wet, slimy, stinging and fatal.
...what am I saying? ! what am I thinking? Its not making any sense to me. Its all so warped and twisted. Maybe I should wait this phase out. You know, not write about it...just live through it for the next few days and come back when I am feeling better... Maybe then it wont feel so bad.
Monday September 4, 2006
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
My Hero Dies...
What do you call it when what you love the most is what kills you. Irony? Or plain lucky to have died doing what you loved best. Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin was killed instantly early this morning when a bull ray lashed out at him in shallow waters of the Great Barrier Reef. Irwin was swimming as his cameraman was filming bull rays at Batt Reef, when the tragedy occurred. Marine documentary maker Ben Cropp, who spoke to the members of the crew had this to say about the incident, “In this case he was swimming alongside a bull ray, a big black ray and the cameraman would have been in front, filming him. Steve got probably maybe a bit too close to the ray, and with the cameraman in front, the ray must have felt sort of cornered. It baulked but didn't spook and go racing away, which would have been fine. It went into a defensive mode, stopped, turned around and lashed out with its tail which has a considerable spike on it. Unfortunately Steve was directly in its path and he took a fatal wound.''
I cant stop thinking. I must have been 15 when I first saw this energetic and uninhibited young man hanging out from a speeding jeep, chasing wild mustangs, or camels was it? trying to lasso them in. He fell of the jeep, bruised his limbs, got up, hopped right back into the vehicle to do what he had to. Hours later, bleeding, severed, with his clothes in tatters, his lasso finally slipped in place and what was raw beastly power tearing across the woods was now a passive bundle of nerves on one end of a rope. And Steve Irwin was in charge of the other- and seemingly more powerful end. What struck me was the passion. He felt so much for the animal that he felt nothing else. Even his bleeding arm.
And I knew thats how passionate I wanted to be. I wasnt sure if it was the right amount of passion for one to have. But I could feel something strange, perhaps dormant within until now, surge through my veins and unleash itself inside of me. And I just stood there, motionless- my head swimming amongst a thousand thoughts. I dint want to clear them up for fear of seeing things straight- the way they were. I'd begun to like this feeling of chaos between my brows.
Ten years later, with the news of his death, I feel exactly the same. Chaotic and numb. Afraid of the moment when things will make itself clear before me. Would I like what I might see? I dont want to know. Theres spanish music playing in the background. The fact that I dont understand spanish just adds to all senselessness in and around me- it feels right. Was Cropp right when he said Steve probably got too close to the ray fish? Does that mean that had he not been as passionate as he was, he'd probably be alive right now? Can your love for something be greater than your reasoning? How can you measure passion? How much is the right amount? How do you know when you are crossing the line? I dont know. I dont know if I'd want to know. I am trying to find an answer, however ugly it may sound. But all I can see is a young man hanging out from a speeding jeep, chasing wild mustangs. He falls of the jeep, bruises his limbs, gets up, hops right back into the vehicle to do what he has to. And his moment of death was full of life.
Monday September 4, 2006 - 04:19pm
അത്തം പത്തിനു പൊന്നോണം
Late August or early September marks some high-spirited celebrations down south. People in the southern Indian coastal state of Kerala go crazy over the state festival of Onam, with ten days of feasting, boat races, song, dance and merriment.
Onam or Thiruvonam originated as a joyous annual reminiscence of the golden rule of King Mahabali, a mythical (?) king, who ruled Kerala a very long time ago. It recalls the sacrifice of the great king, his true devotion to God, his human pride and his ultimate redemption. Onam welcomes the spirit of a great king, and assures him that his people are happy and wish him well.
Personally, I think its another reason to believe that Gods are conniving. If not that then the Aryans definitely invaded us. But lets leave that for another day ... I got to catch up on the Parrupu Pradhaman and all that juicy Aviyal.
Onam or Thiruvonam originated as a joyous annual reminiscence of the golden rule of King Mahabali, a mythical (?) king, who ruled Kerala a very long time ago. It recalls the sacrifice of the great king, his true devotion to God, his human pride and his ultimate redemption. Onam welcomes the spirit of a great king, and assures him that his people are happy and wish him well.
Personally, I think its another reason to believe that Gods are conniving. If not that then the Aryans definitely invaded us. But lets leave that for another day ... I got to catch up on the Parrupu Pradhaman and all that juicy Aviyal.
Posted: Sunday September 3, 2006 - 01:08am
BodhiTree: ''Up yours!''
mmmmmmm..... soothing....the music takes you to distant serendipity and just as you feel yourself drift towards a feeling of nothingness and cherished numbness ...it hits you...like a pole up your behind. Literally. Thats GMD for you- Gaand Mein Dandaa!
And where did it come from? XLRI Jamshedpur of course. Apparently, courtesy the wide wide cyber world, bodhiTree was formed on the second day on campus, Jun 12 2004. The group just sort of gravitated towards each other, spending value-added nights jamming into the wee hours of the morning. They had a one piece each of a bassist, guitarist and vocalist, but the only one who showed up when called for drummers was this petite girl with plaits called Poornima. She'd never played rock live before, but she had the rhythm in her blood. They took her in and the rest as they say is history! or as in this case Historical, shall we say?!
Bodhitree is:
Poornima Dore - Drums
Jishnu Dasgupta - Bass/ Vocals
Bharat Rajagopalan - Guitar
Abhishek Narain - Guitar/ Vocals
Satadru Bagchi - Vocals
Shambhavi Kumar - Vocals
Dhananjay Mishra - Vocals
To listen to GMD and much more, click on
http://www.jammag.com/mp3s/bodhi/bodhitree_gaand_mein_danda.mp3
http://www.jammag.com/mp3s/bodhi/bodhitree_toomanypotatoes.mp3
http://www.jammag.com/mp3s/bodhi/bodhitree_sabkakatega.mp3
http://www.jammag.com/mp3s/bodhi/bodhitree_xl_ki_kudiyan.mp3
Posted: Saturday September 2, 2006
Amid hallucinations, smoke and Nirvana, theres ZEEST, THE BAND.
Zeest is a Karachi based Pakistani band, consisting rather solely of SKIP (Saqib Abdullah), who juggles being the composer, guitarist, lyricist, and vocalist for his band. Since Skip is the only permanent member of the band, he has a big circle of fellow musicians and loyal friends who help him in different projects and gigs.
Bhainchod sutta, sutta na mila… a hummable song with some unmentionable lyrics. It might not top any music charts, but it is definitely on the top of everyone’s mind. In SKIP's own words, ''Basically the philosophy of this song for us is not only the love of sutta (a smoke) but also a song dedicated to all the aims that haven’t been fulfilled and all the things in the world that have gone against our will.''
B***C*** M***C**** B***C*** M***C**** still rings loud in my head...
To get into my head and listen along, click below
To get into my head and listen along, click below
Disclaimer: I do not promote smoking. I just indulge in it once in a while. Hey Dad! Mom, I am just Kidding.
Saturday September 2, 2006 - 10:46am
Sept 02, 2006
''... you can't fight the tears that ain't coming Or the
moment of truth in your lies When everything feels like the movies Yeah you
bleed just to know your alive
And I don't want the world to see me Cause I
don't think that they'd understand When everything's made to be broken I just
want you to know who I am...''
Midnight of Sept 1, 2006: Hmmmmm...
Sharan called to coax me to accompany him and his sister to Coorg for the weekend. He wants to hit the road by seven in the morning tomorrow, and its already 12 am. Not that its too short a notice for me, but its Onam on Monday, and I couldnt leave Amma and Lassie behind. Not that theres much planned for the weekend either, but yeah, I'd wanna spend it around them. Plus, theres a truck load of books housing dust and eight generations of silver fish, just waiting to be picked up and read. I can almost feel the suicidal thoughts of those millions and trillions of words from those books, springing from leading an innately resourceful yet purposeless life devoid of meaning and worth. Now I know exactly what THAT feels like, and if I can help it, theres no way I am gonna let them keep feeling the same. Hmmmmm....so which one of them do I pick up and redeem tomorrow? Erma Bombeck? Shes too light. Funny but light. Kamala Das. She's twisted to a certain degree and so am I. Maybe thats why I shouldn't read her. Not now. Malcom Gladwell perhaps? His idea of a tipping point was so romantic. No wonder it still remains a fantasy. Thomas Hardy looks inviting from here. So does Machiovelli... ah! choices, to make or not to make, that is the question. Maybe I'll just go to bed for now.
Sept 1, 2006: On fridays, old friends and lost love...
Wow! whatta last few days! We're finally done with the out of date profiles at work. Yeah! like that makes a difference to me. Bryan, at Estimates shattered my 5 minutes of joy by mailing across a huge file of missing RBSS codes. Dint tell the team about it today. Its a Friday and they deserve a break. They've slogged their behinds off and have had their brains stream out of their skulls the last few months. They deserve much more than a break. They deserve a bonus, a paid vacation and a brand new chevrolet a piece :) Hope Pete Sluka is listening!!! Holler back if you are pete!! We got some talking to do.
Its been a long time since the original gang meet up for a few beers and a whole lotta laughs and bad dancing. Doesnt look like things would ever go back to what they were. Fridays just wont be the same anymore. Motherhood has definitely tamed Shillu. Divi is busy pruning her little nest in the foothills of the Himalayas. That leaves me and the boys. Fatherhood has seen Sathish going from a Crazy Devil on Wheels to R U Crazy to do 90 on ur Wheels!! That leaves me and Sharan...Now the last time fate put the two of us together with some alcohol by the side life got some cheap thrills out of it. Fortunately our friendship survived my honesty and his indiffernce. Dint someone once say ''Once bitten, Twice shy''??? Wasnt I listening and taking down notes??? I guess not, coz a year, a week and a day later I pulled one again :) and this one is taking longer to heal. Wounds are still very raw, and just when I think its getting better, it opens up again. Its a fearful cycle. This love.
Its been a long time since the original gang meet up for a few beers and a whole lotta laughs and bad dancing. Doesnt look like things would ever go back to what they were. Fridays just wont be the same anymore. Motherhood has definitely tamed Shillu. Divi is busy pruning her little nest in the foothills of the Himalayas. That leaves me and the boys. Fatherhood has seen Sathish going from a Crazy Devil on Wheels to R U Crazy to do 90 on ur Wheels!! That leaves me and Sharan...Now the last time fate put the two of us together with some alcohol by the side life got some cheap thrills out of it. Fortunately our friendship survived my honesty and his indiffernce. Dint someone once say ''Once bitten, Twice shy''??? Wasnt I listening and taking down notes??? I guess not, coz a year, a week and a day later I pulled one again :) and this one is taking longer to heal. Wounds are still very raw, and just when I think its getting better, it opens up again. Its a fearful cycle. This love.
Stranger
There is knock on my door.
I see a light shimmer in the dark.
Will the sparkle in his eyes
Heal my soul so sore?
Together will we on our journey
Through life embark?
I look into his eyes and see
The glimmer in them- like the
Flowing stream at day-
Glistening with life.
They make me want to swim in them,
Drenching my soul with his very essence.
Those luscious lips bloom like a red rose
Every time they part…
…Can I touch them with mine?
Those broad shoulders, those comforting arms-
Always there for me to lean on;
To take me away in a strong embrace-
Away – away into the world of twinkling stars;
Beyond the moon; into the land
Where Dreams are really born !
I see a light shimmer in the dark.
Will the sparkle in his eyes
Heal my soul so sore?
Together will we on our journey
Through life embark?
I look into his eyes and see
The glimmer in them- like the
Flowing stream at day-
Glistening with life.
They make me want to swim in them,
Drenching my soul with his very essence.
Those luscious lips bloom like a red rose
Every time they part…
…Can I touch them with mine?
Those broad shoulders, those comforting arms-
Always there for me to lean on;
To take me away in a strong embrace-
Away – away into the world of twinkling stars;
Beyond the moon; into the land
Where Dreams are really born !
GETTING THERE !
It was that time of the year
When it was cold outside
With pain and fear- your friends sincere
You sat there all alone and cried
Sat there in the bitter chill
Wishing your hurt would subside
Wondering if God knew of kinder ways to kill.
Death was life for your life had died,
Happiness, love and warmth- from you they shied.
The blurry mist, the foggy haze-
Your fortune for the rest of your days
Bleak black skies- so very dark
They blind you to your cold, empty hands.
With a destination, your journey
You thought you’d embark.
What was once firm rocky lands;
Standing on which you planned to make your mark
Is nothing but mere quick sand.
Are you at a crossroad?
Are you at a dead end?
You don’t seem to know!
In the middle of nowhere
With no place to go
But you know you’ll get there…somewhere
You know you’ll get there… somehow.
Somewhere is a place all of us strive to go.
For me, it could be Heaven,
For you it could be Xanadu.
Some know their ‘somewhere’
Few know the way
Fewer get there
But not all get to stay.
Miles above the moon shines through the obscure skies.
Bleached, blurred, opaqued- it still does rise.
Your body hurts, your soul is scarred.
But Hope, Faith and Trust- that will suffice.
You just need to believe, believe from your heart.
There is nothing here.
There is nothing around.
Its all up there
To Him you are bound.
Look up, Look therein…
Black skies but stars twinkling within
Sparkling and dancing- all shiny and bright.
They are all there…just like any summer night.
They have been there. Been there long.
Doing their part; spreading their light around.
Though at day-break you feel they don’t belong.
If your heart believes, they can be found…
…Perhaps shining just a little
Not enough for the whole world to see.
But shining long
Long enough to write the whole world’s history.
Learn from them
There is light in dark
Thought just a little dot
You’ve still made your mark.
These little dots scattered here and there
All join to make a line
That takes you . . . SOMEWHERE !
When it was cold outside
With pain and fear- your friends sincere
You sat there all alone and cried
Sat there in the bitter chill
Wishing your hurt would subside
Wondering if God knew of kinder ways to kill.
Death was life for your life had died,
Happiness, love and warmth- from you they shied.
The blurry mist, the foggy haze-
Your fortune for the rest of your days
Bleak black skies- so very dark
They blind you to your cold, empty hands.
With a destination, your journey
You thought you’d embark.
What was once firm rocky lands;
Standing on which you planned to make your mark
Is nothing but mere quick sand.
Are you at a crossroad?
Are you at a dead end?
You don’t seem to know!
In the middle of nowhere
With no place to go
But you know you’ll get there…somewhere
You know you’ll get there… somehow.
Somewhere is a place all of us strive to go.
For me, it could be Heaven,
For you it could be Xanadu.
Some know their ‘somewhere’
Few know the way
Fewer get there
But not all get to stay.
Miles above the moon shines through the obscure skies.
Bleached, blurred, opaqued- it still does rise.
Your body hurts, your soul is scarred.
But Hope, Faith and Trust- that will suffice.
You just need to believe, believe from your heart.
There is nothing here.
There is nothing around.
Its all up there
To Him you are bound.
Look up, Look therein…
Black skies but stars twinkling within
Sparkling and dancing- all shiny and bright.
They are all there…just like any summer night.
They have been there. Been there long.
Doing their part; spreading their light around.
Though at day-break you feel they don’t belong.
If your heart believes, they can be found…
…Perhaps shining just a little
Not enough for the whole world to see.
But shining long
Long enough to write the whole world’s history.
Learn from them
There is light in dark
Thought just a little dot
You’ve still made your mark.
These little dots scattered here and there
All join to make a line
That takes you . . . SOMEWHERE !
My Frog Prince
Been a lotta places
Seen a lotta faces
But none that stayed on
Deep within my heart.
Seen a lotta candies-
Those suited-booted dandies.
But none of ‘em could
I call my own.
Seen a lotta cool dudes-
Those D.J, V.J kinda dudes
But none of ‘em could
I take home to mom.
Been a lotta places
Seen a lotta faces but none that stayed on
Deep within my heart.
Then one sunny Sunday;
The brightest, finest funday,
I saw him yonder
Over down the road.
He had lovely blue eyes-
Those ‘ Frank Sinatra ’ kinda eyes;
My cute ‘n’ cuddly gorgeous lil’ Toad !!!
RIBACK !!! RIBACK !!!
Seen a lotta faces
But none that stayed on
Deep within my heart.
Seen a lotta candies-
Those suited-booted dandies.
But none of ‘em could
I call my own.
Seen a lotta cool dudes-
Those D.J, V.J kinda dudes
But none of ‘em could
I take home to mom.
Been a lotta places
Seen a lotta faces but none that stayed on
Deep within my heart.
Then one sunny Sunday;
The brightest, finest funday,
I saw him yonder
Over down the road.
He had lovely blue eyes-
Those ‘ Frank Sinatra ’ kinda eyes;
My cute ‘n’ cuddly gorgeous lil’ Toad !!!
RIBACK !!! RIBACK !!!
Of Fresh Crabs and Colonial Ruins...(This one made it to the papers, yipee!)
Fifth cent. Funan shrines in natural caves, rigorous treks up a mountain, caving, dirt biking, blue waters crashing against the sun kissed boulders strewn across the roasted to a perfect gold beach, blissful evening strolls by the riverside avenues and dinner under star spangled skies were just some of the things on my itinerary on a trip to the twin towns of Kampot and Kep in south west coastal Cambodia. For a long time Cambodia or Cambodge as the invaders liked to call it was a French colony, and Kampot, home to the misty Bokor Mountains was groomed into a colonial summer getaway for the European occupants and the Cambodian royals and affluent. Magnificent French villas dot the palm fringed, thinly populated town. The French have long gone and most colonial architectural beauties, save for a few restored buildings carry stains from the Khmer Rouge era and are just a ruined shell of what they used to be but the sleepy province with its laidback inhabitants still manages to retain most of its original picture perfect magic.
Getting to Kampot, which lies around 130 kms from Phnom Penh, where I was based requires around 3 hours of share taxi time from the capital. It was 6.30am when my friend Maria, a Dane and I headed into the southwest of the city to the share-taxi stand at Dumkor market, the starting point for travel along Route 3 to the south coast. On arriving, a swarm of taxi-drivers swooped down on us and we were left to negotiate a reasonable rate for our prized seats. 15 minutes and $10 later we hit the early morning city roads at break neck speed running over a feeding hen enroute. Surprisingly the road was in pretty good condition, compared to most Cambodian highways. We drove past several local markets selling their morning catch, little kids walking barefoot to makeshift schools nearby, long queues of young women filtering through gates of the many garment factories at the start of their working day.
Getting to Kampot, which lies around 130 kms from Phnom Penh, where I was based requires around 3 hours of share taxi time from the capital. It was 6.30am when my friend Maria, a Dane and I headed into the southwest of the city to the share-taxi stand at Dumkor market, the starting point for travel along Route 3 to the south coast. On arriving, a swarm of taxi-drivers swooped down on us and we were left to negotiate a reasonable rate for our prized seats. 15 minutes and $10 later we hit the early morning city roads at break neck speed running over a feeding hen enroute. Surprisingly the road was in pretty good condition, compared to most Cambodian highways. We drove past several local markets selling their morning catch, little kids walking barefoot to makeshift schools nearby, long queues of young women filtering through gates of the many garment factories at the start of their working day.
Three hours later, a little before 10 am as the cab came to a screeching halt at the kampot market we were mobbed again. This time by local tour guides and guesthouse owners and as evidenced everyone and their brother will offer you a trip around town. Some guesthouses offered cheap prices for their rooms if we booked ourselves up with their guides for the whole of our stay, the cheapest bargain being free! Though the town of Kampot does not offer much in terms of tourist attraction, visitors generally camp base here spending their day cross country biking, caving, trekking, soaking up the sun at the nearby seaside resort of Kep to come back to their hotels in Kampot by night since it is almost often agreed that civic amenities are much better within the city. After what seemed eternity Maria and I signed up with the tour guides of Monorom Guest house and got our rooms for a mere $3 per night. We were assigned our individual guides who drove us up to the guesthouse on their motos (a popular south east asian locomotive).
It was long decided our weekend trip would be a pure backpacker affair and nothing could change that, not even the sleazy ‘already up to their act’ Yankee suggadaddies, fellow guests at Monorom we chanced upon at the makeshift lobby as we picked up our keys and ordered breakfast. A quick shower and a quicker breakfast and at around 11.15 am we headed out towards the Bokor Mountains on the two 350 cc trail bikes our guides, Jack and Sok had re-appeared with. Bokor is probably the only reason we’re in Kampot, and it's a damn good reason to be there. Hanging to the edge of a cliff with a 1000-meter drop to sea level, the abandoned hill station is one of the outstanding sights in Cambodia. Visitors can access the mountains on foot, bicycles, dirt bikes or hire a four-wheel drive. It is a long, jarring ride up regardless of how you go; so consider splurging on hiring a 4x4. At $35-40, it becomes affordable if you get a group together and halfway up you'll be thanking Buddha you didn't mount a bike. Trail bikes and bicycles are definitely riskier and not an option for the less adventurous owing to the lack of any kind of paved paths up the mountain. So trail bikes it was for us.
The pleasant pre-noon drive to the foot of the mountains took us about half an hour. Expat tourists are charged $5 at the entry point and the money allegedly goes towards the maintenance of the Bokor National Park. The long ascend ahead was a ride of a lifetime for us. It had just rained the previous night and it was a densely foliaged rock strewn course up the mountain. The revelation that Sok, my guide had never biked up the Bokor was definitely not reassuring. Three hours later with one fall, a scraped knee, and a close miss falling into a ravine, raging battles against the scorching heat and the thorny bushes walloping us knee down to boot for, the four of us were cheered and welcomed by two bikers as we finally made it to the top. We bumped into a few others on bikes and the camaraderie among us for the rest of the day was laudable as we looked out for each other and helped fix bikes.
Atop Bokor is the ruin of what once was the royal summer retreat. The Khmer Rogue seems to have wrecked havoc in these buildings during their years in power. Built in the early 20th century and made to look like an extensive cabin in the woods, a lot of money evidently went into giving the place a ‘humble’ tone. The palatial hilltop cabin housed a magnificent ballroom, a reasonably enormous balcony that overlooked the coast and beyond, a huge dining area with a ‘once upon a time’ well-equipped kitchen and a servant’s quarter slyly tucked away within. A half hour ride further took us to the highest level of the Bokor waterfall. Several feet down a reasonably large crater in the rocks near the falls forms a little lake of sorts. With water gushing in on you from above as you frisk in frenzy among the boulders and the constant gurgle of the lassoed wild waters in the crater and water gushing in a few feet below you, this natural ‘lake’ on top of a mountain seemingly so close to the Gods is a heavenly place to be stuck in.
Time to get up, dry out and take a quick sneak peak at a few more places before we hit the road back to the foot of Bokor. Our next stop was at an extravagant three storied ruins of a 1915 casino erected by the French. Used as a prison camp during the Pol Pot regime the place still houses spooky details from its original times when it lived out its original cause as a luxury hotel. Ball rooms, fire places, the magnificent floor tiles and empty chandelier holdings creaking as they sway in the wind haunt me as I see ghosts of beautiful young women and strong handsome men, their bodies entwined as they dance to some distant music. With not much time to spare we raced through an old cathedral and the ranger’s station where we stopped for a quick exchange of notes and pleasantries with the other tourists we had met earlier. The descend back to the foothill was definitely excruciating and took us around three hours as we negotiated our way down the steep and slippery gravel paths. It was late evening by the time we got back to our rooms and we could think of nothing else but a refreshing shower and a walk down nearby riverfront street for an extensive and replenishing meal. Back at the hotel by 10 pm we emphatically turned down offers to smoke free marijuana with a few other guides and decided to sleep it out instead. After all we had a leisurely exploration of coastal kep and some serious caving to do the next morning.
Post a heavenly breakfast of banana pancakes and honey and gallons of caffeine to help us ignore the sores that had set in the previous night and armed with powerful flashlights we were on our way out of Kampot and racing past the salt-flats just outside the city limits towards Kep some 25 kms away. A few kilometres further on, we passed a small inlet with about a dozen fishing boats tied up. Sok, my guide pointed out the track to a small limestone outcrop on our left called Phnom Sia, a little hill with a temple on the top. At the foot of the hill is a small pagoda where monks offer homemade Chinese tea and light refreshments to visitors. It offered a nice opportunity to swap stories with fellow backpackers, an essential to keep track of the what’s and where’s and do’s and don’ts.
A series of steps takes you to the mouth of a large cave. The view across the green paddy fields was bright and colourful but the cave, apart from a few shafts of sunlight, was very dark, dingy and airless. A labyrinth of small walkways leads to the "cave of the white elephant" called understandably so because of its uncanny resemblance to an elephant. Very close to the elephant cave are several stupas, fifth century funan place of worship still in use by local monks who look after the place. Another cave on the other side of the hill was practically identical, with concrete steps leading down into a large cavern with unusual rock formations and small altars, while both caves had bats squeaking and swooping close to our heads. Torches flashed on high beam mode, sweat trickled down our backs and voices echoed as Sok and I slithered through wet, slimy rocks. It was so dark inside we pinched candles from the shrine to light them along our way just in case we got lost. A 30 feet drop downward and lack of caving equipment and expertise put an abrupt end to our rocky adventure. After a quick stop for fuel we resumed our journey to Kep.
The road was a good one and we reached Kep after about thirty minutes, the sea visible through the trees on our right, past many ruined villas. Kep has a one-way system in place and the road took us down to the sea, where the two of us parked our bikes and went for a paddle on the rocky shore. Its not a real swimming opportunity but the blue waters and the soft white sands set against the back drop of tall palm trees are undeniably alluring. The mood is one of absolute frolic. The coast road took us around a small headland where the King's royal residence watches over the main bay from the top of the hill. The sandy beach arcs round to a statue of a mermaid and this is the main bathing and swimming area for the many Cambodians who now frequent Kep at weekends. We rode back to the main beach area, heading up the hill and out of town, leaving behind Kep, with its ghost-like quality. We'd only stayed for a couple of hours but I've always loved the seaside and Kep is a place I'd undeniably go back to. With just a few more hours left of the weekend and reality waiting for us back home and at work it was time to leave it all behind- Kampot, Bokor, Kep, sok and Jack, the bikes we fell in love with, the cave full of bats, the lazy market place, the sodium lamp laced avenues across the riverfront, the divine pancakes and a dog named Molly. Just for a while though. For I’d give it all up for sore butts and happy times any day.
An old one from Vietnam: Swingin' Saigon
Every November at the time of the full moon Cambodia celebrates the changing of the flow of the Tonle Sap River and elaborately thanks the Mekong River for providing the country with fertile land and abundant fish. It is at this time when the river flow reverts to its normal down-stream direction. In a remarkable phenomenon, the Tonle Sap River reverses its course as the rainy season progresses, with the river flowing "upstream" to the Tonle Sap Lake, some 100 kilometres inland from Phnom Penh. Then as the rainy season tapers off, the river changes direction once again as the swollen Tonle Sap Lake begins to empty back into the Mekong River, leaving behind vast quantities of fish. The festival, called Bon Om Taek (Water Festival) has religious elements, but centres around three days of fireworks displays and traditional boat races on the river. The boat racing dates back to ancient times, marking the strength of the powerful Khmer marine forces during the Khmer empire. Up to a million people from all walks of life and from all over the country flock to the banks of the Tonle Sap and Mekong Rivers in Phnom Penh to watch traditional boats racing on a huge scale.
Since I was already witness to the previous year’s boat bash I decided to spend the entire five day holiday last November in Saigon a.k.a Ho Chi Minh City in neighbouring Vietnam with family and friends. In the 60's and 70's, Saigon was bustling with commerce and business. It was the cultural centre and the capital city of South Vietnam. Already heavily influenced by the French in terms of culture and style, the city had an air of a French provincial town with a Vietnamese twist. Saigon was dubbed the "Pearl of the Orient" by the foreign press. The city was alive with activities and cultural diversity that rivalled any Asian city at the time. After the fall of South Vietnam to communism in 1975, the city and many of its inhabitants were in a state of chaos and turmoil. In 1976, the new government renamed the city Ho Chi Minh City after socialist Vietnam's founding father, Ho Chi Minh and shut its door to the rest of the world. Although acknowledged world wide as Ho Chi Minh City, to the people of Vietnam, the city is still lovingly referred to as Saigon. However, officially, the term Saigon refers only to District One of Ho Chi Minh City.
A late evening 45-minute flight from Phnom Penh saw me in Saigon. Our guide, 26-year-old Nguyen Van Chin met us at the Tan Son Nhat airport with our itinerary for the next 3 days. As we made an hour-long journey in the late evening bustle of the city to the hotel in District Five the contrast between Saigon and Cambodia could not have been more striking. With a bulging population of over 7 million people, free spirited Saigon is one of the densest urban areas in the world. The streets were teeming with cyclos, Hondas, tuk-tuks, Mitsubishi land cruisers, bicycles, Toyotas and several indigenous motors creating an extraordinary blend of rustic oriental charm and fast-paced western progression.
In Cambodia nobody ever seems to be in any particular hurry while Saigon was swarming with people trying to scurry past today to get to tomorrow. Vietnamese are generally considered to be shrewd and hard working. How else can one explain the incredulous results of the Vietnam War, which incidentally is referred to as the American War in Vietnam. While Hanoi is the centre of government, Ho Chi Minh City is the nation’s economic heart, and money is on the minds of everyone here. Taxi drivers can recite the latest joint venture regulations, and even shirt makers stay in touch with their foreign customers by e-mail. Time is precious, and people are in a hurry, although conversation often takes a small town tone as bakers and bankers compare their ‘‘inside’’ information at sidewalk cafés.
Our first tourist attraction in Saigon was the unforgettable War Remnants Museum (formerly known as the Museum of French and American War Crimes) – not a very happy place. Captured American planes, tanks and artillery, graphic exhibits about the effects of Agent Orange and the My Lai Massacre, recreations of the Tiger Cages (brutal prisons used by the South Vietnamese), and lots of other poignant stuff. The supreme take was a photo exhibit about photojournalists (from all sides) who were killed during the war. Included were many photographs that had been taken just prior to the photographer’s death. Powerful photographs and compelling stories.
Still in the mood for documented life we headed off towards the Bao Tang Lich Su - Historical Museum. This unassuming, musty place, with its grimy glass cases, houses a formidable collection of artefacts from Vietnam’s two thousand years of recorded history. On display are many historical artefacts including granite tablets with intricate carvings, and uniforms of mandarins and kings of yesteryears. A statue of the Buddha with 1,000 eyes and 1,000 arms is also part of the museum's collections. According to the curator, many of the artefacts dated back to the 6th and 7th century. Even a very brief visit will help put many of the other things you will see as you tour Saigon in some kind of historical perspective. The museum also has a water puppet theatre and one of the best stocked and most reasonably priced gift shops in the city.
Next on our list was the Unification Palace, the former Presidential Palace. Tourists stop at the front gate to snap photos by the thousands, but few venture inside. Maps still hanging in the underground military operations rooms remind visitors how close the ‘‘enemy’’ was. On the top floor is a party room with a stage and below; lavish reception halls and office, a gambling room, and a private movie theatre are all muted reminders of why the Americans side lost.
An indo-viet acquaintance in Saigon was reason enough for a pre-meditated delve in to the possibilities of minority Indians in Vietnam. Investigations lead us to an early 20th century Mariamman temple in Saigon! Evidences indicate that in Saigon the Indian population, mainly from South India was of a significant number in the past. Almost all of South Vietnam's Indian population left in 1975 after reunification. The remaining community in Ho Chi Minh City worships at the Mariamman Hindu Temple and the Central Mosque. The Hindu temples in Saigon are over 100 years. In the late 19th century, the Tamils constructed the Mariammam Temple with a raja gopuram. Similarly, in mid 20th century Nagartars built two Hindu temples, namely Sri Thendayutthapani Temple and Subramaniar Temple, using Indian craftsmen, builders and sculptors. Similar to the ancient temples in India, these temples followed the principles of temple building.
During the Vietnam War, the unfavourable economic and political situations in South Vietnam caused the exodus of Nagartars forcing the ones who stayed behind to marry the locals. Their offspring have pure tamil names but the similitude ends with that. In April 1975, after the reunification, the socialist government of Vietnam shut the places of worship, including the Hindu temples. Some temples premises were used as factories. Around 1993, the temples re-opened for worship as the result of the negotiations between India and Vietnam at the diplomatic level. In one temple, the flags of India and Vietnam flutter at the entrance to reinforce the friendship between these two countries.
After our pleasantly shocking rendezvous with remnants of past Indian influences we decided to go Funan. A visit to Cho Lon, Ho Chi Minh City’s Chinatown, can take an afternoon, if not an entire day. Like the Chinese district in Cambodia, Cho Lon is one of the oldest and most mysterious parts of Saigon. Cho Lon means ‘‘big market,’’ and the best place to begin your visit is at the overwhelming Binh Tay Market. Although it is likely to be hot and crowded, take your time here. The variety of goods here is positively astounding and will give you uncanny glimpses into modern Vietnamese life.As corny as it sounds, Saigon is a paradise for shoppers. Beautiful handicrafts and deliciously tacky tourist junk are in endless supply. If you love to shop and have at least elementary bargaining skills and a good eye, your money will go a long way and you can enjoy virtually endless retail entertainment. Anything not marked with a price sticker can be had for about two-thirds the price first quoted. Lacquer ware made here is practically the best in the world and is still a real bargain. If your friends at home love tacky tourist crap, you are in luck! You will find an astounding array of toy helicopters made from Coca Cola cans, fake Zippos and cigarette lighters made from hollow M-16 ammunition, and Good Morning Vietnam T-shirts. Vietnamese coffees are among the best in the world, and very inexpensive. Because Saigonites drink so much of it, the beans on display in scores of shops are always quite fresh. Whole beans sealed in a plastic bag will last quite well providing a lingering souvenir of your visit to sizzling Saigon.
Saigon is not a place where you will easily go hungry, regardless of your budget. A glut of foreign business people with expense accounts has created plenty of elegant, albeit overpriced restaurants. But for those who want to enjoy real Vietnamese food and contemporary Saigon living, forget about all the tourist restaurants with their white linens and bloated prices, and instead dine where the Vietnamese do. Thanks to cheap food and local whisky everyone makes merry in Saigon every night. At most of these restaurants, seating is at folding tables on the sidewalk. If anyone spots the police, however, you will be unceremoniously packed up plate and all and moved indoors. All the restaurants are quite good and very cheap though you will probably find unusual fare on the menus, like sparrows, wild deer and steamed silk worms.
With just another three days of our holiday left it was time to pack up from Saigon and move on. One the places we had wanted to see was Da Lat, the old Hill Station in the central highlands. Da Lat was built as a cool retreat for the Europeans who couldn’t strand the tropical heat. Later, it was spared most of the war, as commanders from all sides used the area for R&R. It’s now the number one honeymoon destination for newlywed Vietnamese. We’d be back only for a flight back home to Cambodia but memories from saucy Saigon will remain etched deep in our stories.
Da Lat-itudinal Holiday!!
Early morning, we set off on a 300 km drive towards Da Lat, a lofty elevation of 1,500 meters in Lam Dong Province in the central highlands of Vietnam. The name Da Lat originates from the hill tribe inhabitants of this region. It literally means Stream of the Lat people. The journey to Da Lat took us through Bien Hoa Highway winding through rice fields, banana farms and rubber plantations, reinforcing the diligent nature of the Viets. The grubby vegetation in rural Cambodia seems to almost immediately turn to lush green cultivated fields in Viet Cong. I couldn’t help but feel that the sand-dusted and sun-charred landscape contributed reasonable in justifying nd sometimes strengthening the infamous innate Cambodian tardiness. Crossing into Vietnam, High power lines traced thin Khmer lines in the distance, implying an order of magnitude of development and consumption over war-ravaged Cambodia.
Almost 200 kms from Saigon enroute Da Lat we stopped over at Bao Loc, a delightfully scenic town with acres and acres of mulberry fields, tea plantations and coffee estates. An 18 km detour from the centre of the town took us to the Dam Ri water falls. Its not an exceptionally high fall but a glass enclosed elevator running a dozen or so feet away from the fall journeys the awe-stricken traveller through the course of the fall into heavenly oblivion away from the scruffiness of daily life. Completely drenched and eager to splurge on the forces of nature we resumed our expedition through rural Viet Cong. Nearing Da Lat we passed through several exotic French villas and wooden country houses much like the Swiss chalets found in the Alps. These structures in all their architectural splendour give a distinct Mediterranean look to the city. Known for decades as both "Le Petite Paris" and the "City of Eternal Spring", Da Lat is blessed year round with favourable weather amidst crisp, cool mountain air. Undeniably the most popular getaway among locals and foreigners alike, it is no wonder this place is dubbed the Mecca of romance.
Five kms from the centre of the town nestled among tranquil hills, cascading waterfalls and serene lakes enshrouded by pine trees is Thung Lung Tinh Yeu or ‘Valley of Love’. At the floor of this enchanting valley past a series of small dirt paths used mostly for horses is Da Thien Lake. Recently constructed steps make the short but otherwise steep trek highly accessible. As I saddled myself in my boat and grabbed my oars I felt this unknown energy from within sear through my skin and unite with the force of the universe around me in all fervour and suddenly I was endless and infinite. Nirvana. And how. A moment of bliss carried on forever. A trail back through cordial bamboo woods lead us to an old and exquisite pagoda watched over by an elderly monk. The sharp furrows across his aged face, his conversant smile and kind, knowledgeable eyes melted forth into my soul as he called upon Buddha to bless me with strength and wisdom. Exalted, we moved on.
A 10 minute drive away from the valley, tucked away beautifully somewhere between blooming green grasses and silver- blue skies is one of the most amazing golf courses one might ever see.Since the opening of Da Lat’s Pine Lake Golf Course in the 1920’s as the first ever golf club in the region, Da Lat emerged once again as the ideal golf retreat in Southeast Asia with its revival and expansion after the war in early 1994. Not far from the golf course lies the Xuan Huong Lake one of the many lakes for which the town is famed. Named after Ho Xuan Huong, a 17th century poet this man made lake measures around 5 square kms and is shaped like a crescent moon. The site, which holds the lake today, is said to have housed the ancient settlements of the indigenous people of the Lam Dong highlands. Unfortunately Da Lat today fights to sustain a dwindling population of its colourful, vibrant ethnic minorities. The people seemingly have lost their semi-nomadic lifestyle and now live in what seems to be enforced poverty. It wont be too long before they are integrated into ordinary Vietnamese life.
In the centre of the town, very close to the hotel is Da Lat’s handicrafts museum. A special wing solely dedicated to elegant Vietnamese embroidery holds hundreds of delicately laced wall hangings depicting scenes from ordinary Vietnamese life, some of them measuring 10x15 ft in size. With half a dozen artisans working on one piece these colossal works of art sell for anything between US$14,000 and US$25,000.
One of Da Lats charm, as we learnt on our long meanders around town, is the hard working but remotely laid-back way of living of the local people. On any given day, from early morning to late at night, Da Lat's Central market is bustling with activities. Unlike most markets in Vietnam, Da Lat's market has an open walkway where people can ramble along quite comfortably. The Da Latians are very genial and forthcoming people. We spent a long time at the local market answering curious queries from the locals ranging from cotton sarees and large black eyes to Hinduism. The family where we shopped for souvenirs adopted us. With a grandmother and half a dozen brothers and sisters, it was a neat bargain. Addresses swapped, hugs exchanged and still in touch. Vasudeiva Kutumbakam indeed. Two days in Da Lat, and it was time to leave already. A day and a half of Vietnam was all we had. The Cu Chi Tunnels, 80kms from Saigon is an extensive network of underground bunkers, living quarters, and storage facilities for the Vietcong during the war and that’s exactly where we were headed.
Almost 200 kms from Saigon enroute Da Lat we stopped over at Bao Loc, a delightfully scenic town with acres and acres of mulberry fields, tea plantations and coffee estates. An 18 km detour from the centre of the town took us to the Dam Ri water falls. Its not an exceptionally high fall but a glass enclosed elevator running a dozen or so feet away from the fall journeys the awe-stricken traveller through the course of the fall into heavenly oblivion away from the scruffiness of daily life. Completely drenched and eager to splurge on the forces of nature we resumed our expedition through rural Viet Cong. Nearing Da Lat we passed through several exotic French villas and wooden country houses much like the Swiss chalets found in the Alps. These structures in all their architectural splendour give a distinct Mediterranean look to the city. Known for decades as both "Le Petite Paris" and the "City of Eternal Spring", Da Lat is blessed year round with favourable weather amidst crisp, cool mountain air. Undeniably the most popular getaway among locals and foreigners alike, it is no wonder this place is dubbed the Mecca of romance.
Five kms from the centre of the town nestled among tranquil hills, cascading waterfalls and serene lakes enshrouded by pine trees is Thung Lung Tinh Yeu or ‘Valley of Love’. At the floor of this enchanting valley past a series of small dirt paths used mostly for horses is Da Thien Lake. Recently constructed steps make the short but otherwise steep trek highly accessible. As I saddled myself in my boat and grabbed my oars I felt this unknown energy from within sear through my skin and unite with the force of the universe around me in all fervour and suddenly I was endless and infinite. Nirvana. And how. A moment of bliss carried on forever. A trail back through cordial bamboo woods lead us to an old and exquisite pagoda watched over by an elderly monk. The sharp furrows across his aged face, his conversant smile and kind, knowledgeable eyes melted forth into my soul as he called upon Buddha to bless me with strength and wisdom. Exalted, we moved on.
A 10 minute drive away from the valley, tucked away beautifully somewhere between blooming green grasses and silver- blue skies is one of the most amazing golf courses one might ever see.Since the opening of Da Lat’s Pine Lake Golf Course in the 1920’s as the first ever golf club in the region, Da Lat emerged once again as the ideal golf retreat in Southeast Asia with its revival and expansion after the war in early 1994. Not far from the golf course lies the Xuan Huong Lake one of the many lakes for which the town is famed. Named after Ho Xuan Huong, a 17th century poet this man made lake measures around 5 square kms and is shaped like a crescent moon. The site, which holds the lake today, is said to have housed the ancient settlements of the indigenous people of the Lam Dong highlands. Unfortunately Da Lat today fights to sustain a dwindling population of its colourful, vibrant ethnic minorities. The people seemingly have lost their semi-nomadic lifestyle and now live in what seems to be enforced poverty. It wont be too long before they are integrated into ordinary Vietnamese life.
In the centre of the town, very close to the hotel is Da Lat’s handicrafts museum. A special wing solely dedicated to elegant Vietnamese embroidery holds hundreds of delicately laced wall hangings depicting scenes from ordinary Vietnamese life, some of them measuring 10x15 ft in size. With half a dozen artisans working on one piece these colossal works of art sell for anything between US$14,000 and US$25,000.
One of Da Lats charm, as we learnt on our long meanders around town, is the hard working but remotely laid-back way of living of the local people. On any given day, from early morning to late at night, Da Lat's Central market is bustling with activities. Unlike most markets in Vietnam, Da Lat's market has an open walkway where people can ramble along quite comfortably. The Da Latians are very genial and forthcoming people. We spent a long time at the local market answering curious queries from the locals ranging from cotton sarees and large black eyes to Hinduism. The family where we shopped for souvenirs adopted us. With a grandmother and half a dozen brothers and sisters, it was a neat bargain. Addresses swapped, hugs exchanged and still in touch. Vasudeiva Kutumbakam indeed. Two days in Da Lat, and it was time to leave already. A day and a half of Vietnam was all we had. The Cu Chi Tunnels, 80kms from Saigon is an extensive network of underground bunkers, living quarters, and storage facilities for the Vietcong during the war and that’s exactly where we were headed.
August 29, 2006
Entry for August 29, 2006
I dont think my manager knows I blog here and blogging at company time doesnt really amount to a criminal offense of any kind. I checked with the BAR. So its kinda safe to tell you guys that I am currently bored out of my thick skull, and am considering taking a month off from work, you know, an unpaid vacation...i am sure the Finance guys will be thrilled with one less pay check to sign in october. I've been thinking, and let me tell you thinking doesnt happen very often and on a reasonably logical scale to me these days. Yeah, I could think relentlessly for hours at a stretch, while pretending to work, but it doesnt have to make sense or follow any direction in particular because I dont intend my thoughts to lead me to an answer, or any form of truth, if you may. While I do like knowledge, the path of questioning, comprehending, frowning, inferencing, debating, erring, and establishing concepts with a degree of acceptance that one day you will have to deal with its negation comes across as more adventurous and more human. Anyway, like I have been trying to tell you for some time, I need a vacation. I am thinking October, the whole month, back home to Cambodia, and then take it from there. Last August saw me do pretty much the same thing, trotted home to Cambodia and did a few days of Thailand. It was a quick tour and definitely not worth 'all' the money I ended up investing. This time I hope to make ammends. Try Laos maybe. I could probably cruise along the Mekong, loiter around kratie for a while, go up to Mondolkiri and then fly out to Vientaine. I'd have to work out the logistics and the economics of it all, but yeah, it sure is something I've been wanting to do for a while, perhaps alone or with a partner along. If any of you have a better idea or wanna go with mine, just let know. I'll be waiting for inputs by the cyber port!!
Cheers folks!
I dont think my manager knows I blog here and blogging at company time doesnt really amount to a criminal offense of any kind. I checked with the BAR. So its kinda safe to tell you guys that I am currently bored out of my thick skull, and am considering taking a month off from work, you know, an unpaid vacation...i am sure the Finance guys will be thrilled with one less pay check to sign in october. I've been thinking, and let me tell you thinking doesnt happen very often and on a reasonably logical scale to me these days. Yeah, I could think relentlessly for hours at a stretch, while pretending to work, but it doesnt have to make sense or follow any direction in particular because I dont intend my thoughts to lead me to an answer, or any form of truth, if you may. While I do like knowledge, the path of questioning, comprehending, frowning, inferencing, debating, erring, and establishing concepts with a degree of acceptance that one day you will have to deal with its negation comes across as more adventurous and more human. Anyway, like I have been trying to tell you for some time, I need a vacation. I am thinking October, the whole month, back home to Cambodia, and then take it from there. Last August saw me do pretty much the same thing, trotted home to Cambodia and did a few days of Thailand. It was a quick tour and definitely not worth 'all' the money I ended up investing. This time I hope to make ammends. Try Laos maybe. I could probably cruise along the Mekong, loiter around kratie for a while, go up to Mondolkiri and then fly out to Vientaine. I'd have to work out the logistics and the economics of it all, but yeah, it sure is something I've been wanting to do for a while, perhaps alone or with a partner along. If any of you have a better idea or wanna go with mine, just let know. I'll be waiting for inputs by the cyber port!!
Cheers folks!
August 27, 2006: whoa!!!! Even I dont believe this!!
With a good score and 5 years after me, I've been asked to consider holy matrimony by a few concerned crew in the family boat. And i am thinking Holy shit!! Matrimony??!! you gotta be kidding me man! I couldnt even eat the same ice-cream more than 4 times in a year and these guys want me to stay put with one guy until (his, I hope) death do us apart!! With the initial retaliation behind me, I've begun to give this whole settling down some thought, not the actuall settling down, but whats it abt me that I think is important for him to know before he decides to either strike me off the list or underline my name...a bit of thought also went into what i thought i looked for in a mate...
Its quite amusing, having to sit and write about myself with an objective to successfully impress a member of the opposite sex and his mother in the least J . But I am sucker for challenges n I am gonna give this a go. If you’d ask my friends, they’d have lots to tell you. But since you cant ask them without first going through me, I’ll save us all some trouble and let you in on what they mite say. (While I am not an incessant talker, I talk a lot in my writing, if you know what I mean). Key words in no particular order:
Funny (hmmm… somebody tickle me)
Loving/Caring
Weird (oh and don’t miss the expressions on their faces when they say this one!!)
Pleasantly plump (even modified my weighing machine to say that for anything above 137lbs).
Great with kids (oh yeah! I am even a God Mother to a an angelic 7 month old)
Great with seniors (ask ammamma, I live with her)
One of my friends actually said, ‘Ah Div, shes got the soul of an alpha wolf’. (I cant quite deny this one coz theres a pack of dogs outside my place that Lassie (my 9 year old retriever) and I go hunting with everynight (on our luckiest ever day we managed to snap 2 frogs and an old shoe)
Precarious (okay, now do I put this one in on the list or not…??)
Protective (I watch over my people like an ostrich)
Not a very experienced cook (Due to space constraints, I shall leave this for another day)
A quick learner (This one HAD to follow the previous one just in case there are Moms patient enough to have reached this far into reading what I have to say, Thank you, Mam!)
A tad short-tempered (not anymore than the next soul is, Bangalore traffic does this to you)
Loves her books (Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, its too dark to read- Groucho Marx)
Absent minded (they’re sayin this just coz mom found my watch in the freezer a week after it went missing)
Androgynous (Guys at work call me ‘Brother’ at times- I am not known to demonstrate finer feminine characteristics)
Principled (If I think so, its coz I have my own reasons, and nothing changes that. Some people prefer to term that inexorable, I’ll stick to principled)
And with that I think its time I ask my friends to leave and let me speak for myself. I am just going to split most of me into ‘what I love’ and ‘What I don’t’.
What I love:
Mom
Family and friends (includes Lassie and her platoon)
Smell of wet earth just before the rains
Old books
History section in a library
Fur on animals
Primroses- spring is never far behind once you spot your first primrose
Rudyard Kipling’s IF
Tennis as it was until the late 1990’s
The colour Black
Treks in the woods
Sunset on a Friday
Long drives n my car
Sunrise on a Saturday
Walks and talks with lassie
Caffeine with friends
Crisp cotton clothes that smell of sunlight and surf J
Dancing the night away
Dad’s bedtime stories (yes!)
Wild Lillies and plush wet grass
Old Country music
Francis Healy of Travis’ fame
Long walks and Gol Gappas in the rain
Dew drops on my lashes
Conversations with God (Must add that I am more of a spiritual person rather than a religious one- A pagan at heart)
Thinking- I can do that for light years at a stretch and yet find newer things to think about.
Bear hugs
Vishu Kani and Paruppu Pradhaman
P.G. Woodhouse
My neighbour’s kids
Concept of Yin and Yang
My great grand dad’s revolving chair
Family and friends (includes Lassie and her platoon)
Smell of wet earth just before the rains
Old books
History section in a library
Fur on animals
Primroses- spring is never far behind once you spot your first primrose
Rudyard Kipling’s IF
Tennis as it was until the late 1990’s
The colour Black
Treks in the woods
Sunset on a Friday
Long drives n my car
Sunrise on a Saturday
Walks and talks with lassie
Caffeine with friends
Crisp cotton clothes that smell of sunlight and surf J
Dancing the night away
Dad’s bedtime stories (yes!)
Wild Lillies and plush wet grass
Old Country music
Francis Healy of Travis’ fame
Long walks and Gol Gappas in the rain
Dew drops on my lashes
Conversations with God (Must add that I am more of a spiritual person rather than a religious one- A pagan at heart)
Thinking- I can do that for light years at a stretch and yet find newer things to think about.
Bear hugs
Vishu Kani and Paruppu Pradhaman
P.G. Woodhouse
My neighbour’s kids
Concept of Yin and Yang
My great grand dad’s revolving chair
What I Don’t:
Lies and people who tell them
Non-punctuality
Kyon Ki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi
Hole in the ozone layer
Oil spills
What happened at Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Vietnam, Chernobyl, Bhopal…
Culling of Animals
Cartoons on Nickelodeon
High heels
Our foreign policies
Sunset on a Sunday
Sunrise on a Monday
Red lights at traffic signals
The equation: Modernisation=Westernisation
Hospitals
Deseeding watermelons
Nehru and the Congress
Roads in monsoon
Fine print
Pretentious folks
12.2% service tax on mobile services
Concrete and glass
V.S Naipaul
The term corporate social responsibility (I think it’s an oxymoron by itself. You either are corporate or you have some social responsibility)
A bit more you ask? Alright! Listen up I say…I also do love writing, although I must admit, I have been afflicted by the worst form of the Writer’s Block for the last year and a half. It’s been a gruelling and a long drawn battle to say the least. I also think a lot. While I couldn’t chew gum and walk straight at the same time, multitasking in terms of thoughts comes easy and at all times too! If you saw the number of brackets within sentences in my journal (I am just making a point here- no one gets to read my diary!), you’d know what I am talking about. Folks say I am being a scatterbrain, but personally I’d like to think of the phenomenon as synaptic short circuits that occur due to high-intensity, high-velocity transmission of neurons as a response to persistent stimuli and an incessant involuntary urge to comprehend and react. That’s most of what I am. Largely independent, I am quite happy on my own. At times I do feel a strong urge to share my life with another soul (especially when there are more than 2 bills to be paid on the same day). Not looking for much I’d like to think. Key words of my search would include (the way I go around using ‘key words’, Google might want to hire me as their official mascot!!) :
Integrity
Respect for life, individuality and personal space
Independence
Education (no I don’t mean triple letter degrees- I am referring to constant refinement of ideas and concepts)
Respect for life, individuality and personal space
Independence
Education (no I don’t mean triple letter degrees- I am referring to constant refinement of ideas and concepts)
Someone who would potter around with my dad with a spanner in hand on a lazy sunday afternoon
And Elvis Costello would definitely agree when I say Peace, Love and Understanding… and conversations over caffeine. When we are 80 and the car porch doubles up as our Sunday picnic spot, you’ll find this is what it takes. Wouldn’t you agree?
And Elvis Costello would definitely agree when I say Peace, Love and Understanding… and conversations over caffeine. When we are 80 and the car porch doubles up as our Sunday picnic spot, you’ll find this is what it takes. Wouldn’t you agree?
If you’ve reached this far with no thoughts of inflicting irreversible damages to your PC/laptop/notebook and (excuse me for being blatantly optimistic) actually find yourself wanting to know more about me (if you are a psychoanalyst please excuse)…Meet me half way across the skies…
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Its all about making peace, good friends and some cheesy jokes:)
Yet another friday passes me by with no beer. But a load of fun we did have. Aparna aka dory's sister is back from London and on our request has brought us boxes of liquor chocolates. Me dory shoy sush and joey decided to take a break once the pre meditated friday afternoon laziness set in. Loaded with our miniature bottles of spirit encased in bitter cocoa, we trudged towards the cafeteria. With 5 liquor hungry tongues wagging, a refined and discreet battle ensued for that prized Jack Daniels in the basket. Dory had more of them at home so she wasnt even considered a worthy contendor, Joey was the good one, and gave up even without being threatned, sush is easily bullied and not much of a whiskey addict. That left me and shoy- I was basically happy, so I let her have it. A quick shot of bitter expresso followed by my pick of the lot- exqusite vanilla flavoured vodka enshrined in chocolate was sensually appealing to say the least. We clinked chocolate bottoms, chewed off the bottle tops, slid our tongues in and made sweet love. And the way we ate and groaned, we'd always know when the other was satisfied in bed. We raised a toast to more of such merrinesss, sleazy humor, mirth and jolity.
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