Shaving sessions

One of the great rites of passage for males is the first shave. It marks, more than wet dreams and the first cigarette, as the true public transition from boy to man. Groomed man, that is. Irrespective of the rock-a-billy, hippie or rasta look that may afflict one’s late teens, most boys can’t wait to have their first shave.
I discovered this when my son, after several sessions of gazing at me blade my face, mentioned he had spotted a few strands of hair on his upper lip and was wondering if it was time. Problem is, he’s three.

Until we meet again

Much water has flown under my bridge in these days. I have 99 stories worth 99 words each, but not the time to write. A newspaper relaunch, a brother’s 3-day bachelor bash, a pending holiday and then the said brother’s wedding. Lots of material for blogging, but not enough time to write.
Which is why I have to excuse myself until the new year. And hope that the blessed momentum this indulgence had gained does not suffer too much. And if it does, that there is enough blood and gore left in me to kick in a resurrection.

Mid-east mused out

I didn’t study political science or international relations and my armchair expertise has come from years of news analysis. I can’t sift through the complicated political layers that make for the background of this peace meet in Annapolis.
It does not even interest me if this is a masterstroke by Dubya to ensure the end of his reign is etched in history as the one that created a Palestinian nation and an Israeli one. What interests me is the people. What a different world it would if they lived in peace. People and peace, how difficult can it be?

Mid-east musings, penultimate

I have been not so removed from the years of Mid-east conflict. I went to college with Palestinians. They came to study in my hometown of Pune, which by the 90s had gained the sobriquet, Oxford of the East. I partied with Israelis in Goa. They ran the best raves, brought in the best DJs and if you wanted to trip, as it was in the day, these guys were wicked.
I had family living in Iraq during the war with Iran and some of my best friends are still Iranians, who, to escape the regime, fled to India.

More mid-east musing

In India, conflicts in the Middle East are far detached from the reality of daily life and other than its effect on the price of oil, pretty much impactless on the collective conscious.
Living in Dubai now, the Middle East situation hits home much hard. You are the region and the Palestinian you meet here has a sense of that as well. Even the odd Israeli businessman that may visit the country and might bump into you say, at a tennis tournament, is not so dismissive of borders and settlements. And the body count doesn’t seem statistical any more.

Mid-east musings

Bad news is generally good news in the news room. Bodies, death, blood, mayhem are generally the words that get the adrenaline flowing on the editorial floor. That it results in journalists viewing such incidents in a very dehumanized fashion has often become the clichéd banter that marks water-cooler chats.
However, as a journalist who does a body count before deciding if the story is worth spoiling readers’ early morning cuppa and still retaining enough pathos to cringe at the image of a severed limb or an orphaned child, the Mideast peace conference at Annapolis is for strangely important.