Anybody seen my spine?

I’m on character deathrow. I grew up with this sickening need to have every person on planet earth like me. Now, when I’m in a position, professionally and personally, where I have to take some stands and make some decisions that are going to make a whole lot of people not like me, I find my spine has gone off to Spain for a holiday. Time is ticking me into a corner and pretty soon push is going to come to kicking some serious butt, or as the cliché goes, shove. Do I have the balls to do it?

Doctor, no

In the UAE, do not visit a doctor. You go in with a cough and come out in a coffin. There are enough stories about malpractice here to make feeling sick the number one item on a prayer list of things not to happen.
Hospitals here are not places where trained individuals perform a service for a fee, but, medical malls, where you could get ripped off (die). As I write this I have a bad cold, fever and a broken finger. And you couldn’t drag me to the doctor here if my life depended on it.

Wimbledon, long odds tip

One thing about Dubai, you get to see some serious shit. Especially sports-wise. I’ve watched Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal play, each other, live. And Nadal won. Believe me, it’s a sporting match worth traveling a desert for. Especially if you dig tennis. For those millions reading this blog who don’t, Wimbledon is on, hence the post. Roger is unbeatable on any surface, except of course, on les miserables clay. If Roger meets Nadal on grass he is going to cream him. How about an ‘upset’ tip. Bet five bucks on Marat Safin beating Roger in the third round.

Shame, shame

The concept of shame is deeply rooted in one’s upbringing and socio-religious
milieu. As one grows older, however, shamefulness begins to evolve from
a stabbing sense of guilt to character-denting wounds that, like cancer
cells, begins to kill parts of one’s emotional makeup. Even older, and
shame clothes itself in the malignant coat of self-denial and one dare
not seek the resurrection of feelings and memories shamefully left in
its deadly wake; not even for healing and restoration. Not for
anything, except for shame itself. Needless to say, there is much in my
life I am ashamed of.

Broke, a ditty

When money’s all gone, the soul’s set free
To live, to breathe, to be;
When pockets are empty, all’s that pure emerges,
From the shadows of the dark, dank security of mammon;

When you can’t buy a thing, there’s now space to think,
To ponder and question, to dare to consider,
That ruin after all may be cataclysmic in nature,
Leaving you bereft of all sense of stature

I fancy myself as a poet. Normally, only in the throes of unbridled romance does the bard in me spring to life. However, sometimes, inspiration comes unexpectedly, from an empty wallet.

My must clicks

I have a few websites I visit and would have them linked here, if I only knew how (help! somebody). I wish I could say these were web discoveries that were Columbus-like in terms of online voyaging, but, they are not; they were found by random surfing, and they stuck. And they are worth a look.

nerve.com: coolest sex site ever
gorillamask.org: total time-pass
cracked.com: ultimate for ‘lists’
fakesteve.blogspot.com: Apple vs Microsoft, an inside-out perspective
stumbleupon.com: if you haven’t yet got this tool bar, you don’t know what you’re missing (duh, obviously)!

So, what sites do you visit?

Inducing creativity

The idea behind 99 was sown during a conversation with a friend in Pune years ago. He was following a column I wrote at the time for the Pune Times and suggested writing everyday at a fixed time, as a means of developing the skill and “being able to induce the creative state out of sheer practice”.
Now I have an idea of what he meant and it is difficult. Hence, if you do chance upon this blog and linger long enough to read, be patient when I miss out. I am working towards inducing the creative state. Everyday.

Black Hamilton, the legend

What does Lewis Hamilton have that Narain Karthikeyan did not? Arm-chair experts in my employ assure me it is the car and the team. McLaren is streets ahead of Jordan. It is also coming from a nation with a great history of motor racing – Britain. I’ve covered the kart circuit in India and can tell you the enthusiasm is there, the tradition and technology is not. It’s a miracle Narain got where he did. But, Hamilton has zoomed to the top of one the last bastions of ‘white man sports’ And for that, he is already a legend.

Get your own hero

Sunita Williams has created a record for the longest space walk and I’ll bet my editorial career that the Indian newspapers will have her on the front page, claiming her “Indian heritage” good enough a reason for one billion asli desis to be proud of. With no disrespect to Sunita, we in India have to let go off these ‘borrowed’ achievers and get some of our own. Sunita is about as Indian as a Sioux in Kolhapur. We clearly suffer from an aspirational disease and the media is cause of this cancer. Heal thyself India, get your own heroes.

Comfort fruit

Mango may be king and custard apple is a personal favourite; Chikoo and strawberry may make the best milkshakes and if exotic is your taste, there are the persimmons. The lychee has always held aphrodisiacal magic for me and I know people who salivate at the mention of an ice-apple. When it comes to ‘comfort’ fruit, however, there is nothing to beat the banana. No matter where it comes from, the banana rarely makes it to the exalted front-shelf of a fruit stall. But no fruit comes close to the earthy, at-home, soul-nourishing experience of a ripe banana.

You heard it here first

These are mine (except for ‘experience’. It’s an amalgamation). If you hear these anywhere, remember who said it first.

* Life sucks, and we’re all standing in line for a blowjob.
* I’m alive by the grace of God, the patience of my family and the generosity of my friends.
* To love, life and friendship, more booze and more money (my perennial toast till 24, after which I disowned ‘money’)
* Sometimes you choose love, sometimes, love chooses you.
* Experience is what you get when you don’t get what you want, but you get what you need.

Once a PC, now a Mac

After being PCed my entire career, I now find myself having to reorient my fingers to the Mac. Worse, I now use a laptop, the iBook. While it’s clearly a matter of choice whether to align with Microsoft, or Apple, the publishing industry in the Gulf has for some reason (obviously a good one) decided to go with being Mac daddies.
For me, it’s just an infuriating experience of having to relearn keys and commands that, on the PC, I could perform with my eyes closed in a pitch-dark bunker 200 feet underground. Damn, now where’s that apple key…

Yawn!

Sleep has many uses. Rest apart, I have always thought it the past-time of the Gods and, being of spiritual-bent of soul, have indulged in it with holy passion. To those go-getters who decide to sleep when they’re dead, I say six hours a day of shuteye is an abomination to the being. Nothing less than 10 will do for me. When in a benign state of mind, I can go 14 without batting an eyelid. Of late, however, I have also found sleep to be an avid avenue of escape. Close your eyes, dream and all problems disappear.

Phone-y endings

There are telephone conversations vividly alive in my memory. Melancholic now, at the time they were devastating. All involved losing a relationship. A soul-destroyer, especially when on the phone. Every vowel spoken has the sound of thunder, every consonant the clap of lightning. And the click, when it’s over; the last beat of a heart. Some phone-y endings are more subtle. The harbinger of a tsunami. No anger or frustration, but indifference. I heard it the other day. My son. I haven’t been a father to him for years. Got to do everything to avoid that ‘final’ call now.

Humble pie

Coming from an ethnic stew of backgrounds, as a Christian growing up in a middleclass Goan society in urban India, predisposition was to thinking the West as the Promised Land from which, through some sleight of fate, we were banished; and must do everything to get back, even a stopover in purgatory - the Gulf. I detest the idea and wear my Indianness on my sleeve, protecting it through drunken debates with fellow urban Christian Indians, with a passion any desi would’ve applauded. Life humbles me, putting me on the same path I scoffed at when others ventured forth.

The empire strikes… out

Working in a multicultural environment when some of the other cultures are openly hostile, offers a complete overhaul of perspective. Shaken out of a pseudo-Gandhian apathy that Indians often espouse as an excuse not to stand up for their rightful place in a global scenario, one becomes aware of subtle conditioning. Like this infuriating complex I have when dealing with whites. I’m always on the backfoot. How many Indians have whites reporting to them? I should be gloating, but I am strangely uncomfortable. They ruled us for years, so now why is the empire hesitant to strike back?

Boo, Russell!

Stand up comedians have balls. To stand up before people who expect you to make them laugh, and deliver, that’s scary. Which is why stand-ups with a script devoid of sex and typecasts have me laughing long after the show is over. Russell Peters used to be that kind of comedian. On his recent Asian tour though, he suddenly decided he was Indian and gave a stunningly unintelligent and clichéd routine. In India they have a language called Telugu, it sounds like a phone company?! A Maharashtrian surname that goes Dikshit! Russell, that’s not funny. And you’re not Indian.

The joke's on US

I’m a Sacha Baron Cohen fan. And was, therefore, disappointed at myself for taking so long to watch the Borat Kazakhstan movie. It was hilarious. Cohen moves effortlessly from underplayed to over-the-top. What about the reaction the movie received? People were upset at the way Kazakhstan was portrayed. Are they serious!? The joke is not on Kazakhstan, it’s on America! To miss the point so grossly , as media and the world did, is to be in complete denial of the state of the United States. A state that Borat uses Kazakhstan to expose, and with some sangfroid.

Macabre, rambling

The pain of separation can only be equated with the torment of death. There is no dearth of tranquilisers to numb such discomfort. But, alas, there’s always a new day. If for every cloud there is a silver lining, then for every silver lining there is a cloud. And such is life, a series of clouds and silver linings. I say don’t look at the sky, then. Look where, then? On the horizon? Only to find a series of sunrises and sunsets. Look nowhere then. Stop looking for metaphors or signs or meanings or reflections. Simply be. And bear.

Not a post

To read the latest post titled Fear Factor, if you can't see it here, go to my blog archive and read it. The damn thing would not load here.

Fear Factor

Seven jobs in ten years. I should be used to a ‘first day’ at work. I’m not. With the career miles I’ve racked up on my CV I should stride into the new office with the consummate ease of a CEO approaching the business class travel desk. I don’t. I’m edgy, nervous and insecure. That deep-rooted fear of failure raises its ugly head, a beast waiting to be uncaged for this very feast. On my first day of work I end up wishing the earth would swallow me. It won’t. It’s Fear Factor tomorrow – a first day at work.

Fear Factor

Seven jobs in ten years. I should be used to a ‘first day’ at work. I’m not. With the career miles I’ve racked up on my CV I should stride into the new office with the consummate ease of a CEO approaching the business class travel desk. I don’t. I’m edgy, nervous and insecure. That deep-rooted fear of failure raises its ugly head, a beast waiting to be uncaged for this very feast. On my first day of work I end up wishing the earth would swallow me. It won’t. It’s Fear Factor tomorrow – a first day at work.

Fear Factor

Seven jobs in ten years. I should be used to a ‘first day’ at work. I’m not. With the career miles I’ve racked up on my CV I should stride into the new office with the consummate ease of a CEO approaching the business class travel desk. I don’t. I’m edgy, nervous and insecure. That deep-rooted fear of failure raises its ugly head, a beast waiting to be uncaged for this very feast. On my first day of work I end up wishing the earth would swallow me. It won’t. It’s Fear Factor tomorrow – a first day at work.

Sodom and Gomorrah

I travel the Dubai-Sharjah hell-way and Sodom and Gomorrah come to mind. The story of the twin cities is open to interpretation, but the essence lies in seeking a material fulfilment that blots out all else, and then paying the (biblically-dramatic) price for it.
I look for an explanation to thousands, stuck bumper to bumper, for 1-3 hours, everyday; frustration frosting their faces like the humidity on the windscreens of their cars; surely, one must come from a worse place to endure this. Pune? Surely, not Pune. Why then trade my soul for this sodomy. That’s another 99 words…

Hangover's over

Eyelids droop, head weighs a ton,
Pockets empty, hangover’s begun;
Senses weary, sensation numb,
Life seems dreary, hangover’s begun;

Throat is parched, reach for the water,
Spirit’s dry, the day seems a scorcher;
Turn on the shower, too weak to lather,
Stumbling bum, hangover’s begun;

Dressed in regret, coffee’s the order,
Strong, black and sweet, a toast to disorder;
Nicotine next, drag to delight,
All parts of the sum, hangover’s begun

No taxi in sight, for the legs no respite,
Temptation sneaks in, what’s another sin?
Boss on the phone, get on over,
Conscience stirs to life, hangover’s over

Dudes look kinda lazy

Aerosmith is Joe Perry. Aerosmith is better heard on your iPod , at full volume.
Aerosmith played in Dubai and the show was only worth it for a tick on the been-there, done-that list.
Ass-kicking, mindblowing, heartnumbing performance by these high priests of rock’n’roll it was not. Instead, Steven Tyler led a dress rehearsal for the band’s tour. The sound was tinny and punchless. For one verse Tyler’s mike was off. If it wasn’t for Perry’s riffy, crunchy, bluesy, balladistic (all at once) leads, I may have thought it a bad dream. Don’t wanna miss a thing… not any more.