Right, Richard Gere is almost in jail, and Shilpa Shetty got into the news again – all for a kiss that some Advocate Pratibha whatshername protested about. Apparently, she was disgusted at the kiss that was being shown on television over and over again.
Hullo – she could shut the TV, change the channel, or read a book…many things to shut of that offending sight. A dishy Hollywood actor and a beyond Bollywood kiss – so what? Enough, for a district court in Jaipur to get tizzy. Huh!
Put that against – young Mr. Pereira walking out of court, sharp and tall, after mowing down 7 people in his car. It’s all right, a kiss is a bigger thing after all!
Then there are inter-religious marriages that create a furor, while the local rapist is happily absconding never to be found. The slivers of justice gets so much more mundane!
As criminals in Mumbai watch and play, the policemen in the city, spend time in the Lakme Fashion Week, ensuring that there are no costume malfunctions! Lucky cops those! I bet they were waiting for an eyeful of some malfunction, before being thrown back on the sweltering, stinky alley again.
Methinks what the Indian social system is telling us quite clearly, mutual consent kissing is out, murder and rape is in. Inter religious marriage is out, but child marriage is fine, and most of all, do get drunk and mow down people in your large car. Just keep the lawyer and the police handy….life can be such a smooth sailing after that.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
The Man with the Long Black Hair
On the way to Scarborough's fair
I met a man with long silky hair.
A hippie, Oh man he was groovy!
Just like the cool ones in a movie!
So I walked with him for a while,
watched him light his chillum too,
From them we looked at life anew.
Talk of love, peace, and woodstock
Che Guevara and the revolution rock.
He blew up a lot of philosophy in smoke.
Some I liked, some of it I did choke!
Behind the faint strains of Doors played,
CSN&Y, Who, Tull, many orchestrated.
Suddenly he lost his way, became a software guy.
Nnow our hippie, well he is rich and hi fi.
No longer smokes his chillum, nor the guitar plays
He’s on the internet surfing and working always
I wonder if he misses his wild happy days.
I met a man with long silky hair.
A hippie, Oh man he was groovy!
Just like the cool ones in a movie!
So I walked with him for a while,
watched him light his chillum too,
From them we looked at life anew.
Talk of love, peace, and woodstock
Che Guevara and the revolution rock.
He blew up a lot of philosophy in smoke.
Some I liked, some of it I did choke!
Behind the faint strains of Doors played,
CSN&Y, Who, Tull, many orchestrated.
Suddenly he lost his way, became a software guy.
Nnow our hippie, well he is rich and hi fi.
No longer smokes his chillum, nor the guitar plays
He’s on the internet surfing and working always
I wonder if he misses his wild happy days.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
A young girl with proportions unparalleled
A young girl with proportions unparalleled,
had suitors wherever she happily traveled.
Men with, flowers, chocolates and dashing smiles,
would await for her in rank and file.
She batted her eyes and never said no,
and between them they had a merry show.
But one day, crawling out from a limousine,
came an old, bent man so desperately lean.
A young girl with proportions unparalleled,
Had his good his intentions completely unraveled.
Soon they got married with much fanfare,
The young girl lived with vagabondage care!
Of course things got a trifle boring,
old men are given to loud snoring.
The girl with proportions unparalleled,
Now had her eye, which I must say traveled.
The chauffeur of the limousine was rather handsome,
he was by no means shy and winsome!
Of course, the tale should follow the usual way.
But it turned out the chauffeur was incredibly gay.
Now all the men who would flock around the young girl,
Around the chauffeur would merrily twirl!
Our young girl, the poor girl no more her eyes did bat,
She felt like an old worn out hat.
Oh dear how can I tell you so smitten was she,
He made her go so weak in her knees.
Then the with the incredible proportions,
Had the most weird sex change operation,
So now man, is with a man who was once a woman,
and who is also married to a very old, old man. (Sigh)
had suitors wherever she happily traveled.
Men with, flowers, chocolates and dashing smiles,
would await for her in rank and file.
She batted her eyes and never said no,
and between them they had a merry show.
But one day, crawling out from a limousine,
came an old, bent man so desperately lean.
A young girl with proportions unparalleled,
Had his good his intentions completely unraveled.
Soon they got married with much fanfare,
The young girl lived with vagabondage care!
Of course things got a trifle boring,
old men are given to loud snoring.
The girl with proportions unparalleled,
Now had her eye, which I must say traveled.
The chauffeur of the limousine was rather handsome,
he was by no means shy and winsome!
Of course, the tale should follow the usual way.
But it turned out the chauffeur was incredibly gay.
Now all the men who would flock around the young girl,
Around the chauffeur would merrily twirl!
Our young girl, the poor girl no more her eyes did bat,
She felt like an old worn out hat.
Oh dear how can I tell you so smitten was she,
He made her go so weak in her knees.
Then the with the incredible proportions,
Had the most weird sex change operation,
So now man, is with a man who was once a woman,
and who is also married to a very old, old man. (Sigh)
Thursday, April 12, 2007
The Fine Line between Work and Money
Perhaps it’s the heat, perhaps the sheer feeling of not finding myself for the last few days, but somehow there is a strong urge to leave everything and run away to the mountains. Lose myself in the forests there, feel, touch and even smell the cool green. Yet, there is no escape….for all that I do is work. Wonder what happened to me?
Today, I took out my child and her friend to a smallish science fair, a nice enjoyable place…And soon as I came back, I was hacking on the computer. I work on my own, unplanned, unthought, not particularly creative anymore, nor truly productive in the sense of leaving a mark in the world. Sometimes I wonder if what I do matters, it gets me some money, but these are completely lost in the space of the large world. These are but words created, objectives met at the end of the day.....and it has little to do with me.
And then I always trawl for work-even if I have more than I need. My friend has a wonderful phrase for it, a condition that afflicts freelance writers, the “starving writer syndrome”. It is a peculiar place, you are never sure of the work you get. Even if you have a job, you are not sure whether the words you write match up to the needs. Then again, because you have a creative edge, even if you don’t expect it much anymore, the idea of doing something “dead end” bores you. Strange, you want the work, yet you do not want it.
But this is becoming too dark and remorseful; just imagine us writers sitting in our smug corners, with words as our arsenal, throwing in a punch at the most unexpected places. In the commonality of newsletters, corporate shing ding writing, an ad perhaps or even content that matters to no one….we laugh at the world in our silent way, because we can.
I wonder whether all who use the peculiar skills given to us, and treat it like a trade-able commodity, actually walk the narrow line happily. Van Gogh, with paintings that could make you stand still for a lifetime, never even sold a scrap, while me a hack, who merits not even one hundredth the talent actually manages to garner some money...
Well so much for musings, and now I begin to wonder if I can make this blog payback….sometimes even a hack has to be wise!
Today, I took out my child and her friend to a smallish science fair, a nice enjoyable place…And soon as I came back, I was hacking on the computer. I work on my own, unplanned, unthought, not particularly creative anymore, nor truly productive in the sense of leaving a mark in the world. Sometimes I wonder if what I do matters, it gets me some money, but these are completely lost in the space of the large world. These are but words created, objectives met at the end of the day.....and it has little to do with me.
And then I always trawl for work-even if I have more than I need. My friend has a wonderful phrase for it, a condition that afflicts freelance writers, the “starving writer syndrome”. It is a peculiar place, you are never sure of the work you get. Even if you have a job, you are not sure whether the words you write match up to the needs. Then again, because you have a creative edge, even if you don’t expect it much anymore, the idea of doing something “dead end” bores you. Strange, you want the work, yet you do not want it.
But this is becoming too dark and remorseful; just imagine us writers sitting in our smug corners, with words as our arsenal, throwing in a punch at the most unexpected places. In the commonality of newsletters, corporate shing ding writing, an ad perhaps or even content that matters to no one….we laugh at the world in our silent way, because we can.
I wonder whether all who use the peculiar skills given to us, and treat it like a trade-able commodity, actually walk the narrow line happily. Van Gogh, with paintings that could make you stand still for a lifetime, never even sold a scrap, while me a hack, who merits not even one hundredth the talent actually manages to garner some money...
Well so much for musings, and now I begin to wonder if I can make this blog payback….sometimes even a hack has to be wise!
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