Back! But only just...

I’ve been away on jury duty. I was called to judge my own conscience. Ever a tricky thing, hence the time off. Conscience was on trial for justifying my choice of getting wasted on my son’s birthday, after having taken a decision to stop drinking.
It was a hung jury. Not as hung over as I was, but the court adjourned and gave everyone the week off.
Yesterday, Conscience was given a suspended sentence pending my behaviour and choices on the next big occasion.
Which should be this weekend. Nickelback and Status Quo in concert is ideal testing ground.

Once we were British

Reverse colonialism or just a country that realizes, having ruled extensive parts of the world once, that nationalization is an old-world concept. The new global village recognizes only one currency – currency itself.
Most of Britain’s marquee/legacy brands are now owned in part or full, but other nations. Cadbury, a 186-year-old British pride is the latest to go. It follows the likes of Jaguar, Beefeater gin, Rolls Royce, Tetley Tea and the list really goes on and on.
Then there are all the foreign-owned football clubs.
Curry is the national dish. Let’s just take over the damn island.

So what really was great about Jyoti Basu?

India has not learnt the art of the obituary. I have now read pretty much every major English paper and watched tribute shows on three TV channels. And I have still to see anything other than overcooked, fawning, oh-what-a-great-man clichés that destroy reportage of every milestone or event.
Frankly, name one great thing that Bengal has done or achieved since independence. Yeah, not the strikes. To me, who did not personally know Basu, his name is synonymous with how stuck-in-limbo ideology can hamper progress. Somebody tell us about the real man. Especially if what he achieved is so sketchy.

A headline writer's dream

As a headline writer, among my many other journalistic avatars (and notice how all the spongy Indians have gone from saying av-taar to av-a-tar), I say this England cricket team is the best, possibly the best ever, sporting collection.
Consider the names: (in order of your ancestors-were-obviously-publicity-hounds-when-they-decided –on-this) Sidebottom, Cook, Bell, Swann, Broad, Trott and Prior.
When you have seven players in a team that can each hold a 45-point six-column headline on their own, it’s tempting fate.
Alas, not even one of them did anything worth mentioning as England lost the fourth Test to (p)lucky South Africa.

You got a what...?!

Is it me or are the Black Eyed Peas smoking some dumb shit!? I listen to their latest hit ‘I gotta feeling’ and I compare it to ‘Where is the love?” and I almost can’t believe it is the same band.
It’s like someone told them, ‘Guys, guys, no intelligent stuff. Keep it simple.” Duh!?
Now Lady Gaga, she has the pulse of the future of syntho-pop, electro-gooky, funky-house, trippy-trash, insane-reality sound. You gotta love her.
As you gotta love Rihanna, or Rascal Flatts for that matter.
Me, I am set to hear Nickelback live next week.

My take on the 3 Idiots' credits' controversy

The fact is Chetan Bhagat has written a book (maybe ten) and I haven’t. The fact is he has made millions and I haven’t (I have spent a million though, at least twice). The fact is he has a fan following and I don’t (I prefer ACs).
However, the fact is, he is possibly India’s worst writer in English. The ToI runs a Sunday competition for the worst Indian writers in English – Bhagat vs Shobaa De. A tough call.
At least De is still sexy at 80. And tops my list of cougars I want to be eaten by.

Here we go, then

If I don’t do it now… well, I’d probably die. And that’s not a joke. So, my project this year is to pull my body back from the brink of death… one miserable cell at a time.
For an addiction specialist like me, perhaps an entire blog chronicling the experience, (or atleast the attempt), might be deserving. But, not to get ahead of myself, I reckon one post a month here might do it.
No drink, no smoke, no drugs, no sweet, no meat. Only exercise. And water. And exercise. I must warn you I could get very pissy.

A moan about mobiles

You know the Axe ad, where the guy gets lucky in the elevator… well that can never happen nowadays. Basically because the moment someone steps into an elevator, they reach for their mobile phone. As if on cue, like when they have a moment to themselves, humankind has occupied that space as well with another modern-day gadget – the mobile phone.
The elevator used to be a place to say hello, gather ones thoughts, check out people, and who knows, maybe even get lucky. But now, lift door opens, every one gets in, and reaches for their mobile. Sad.

India wins

My office sits humbly in the shadow of what will tonight be the world’s tallest building. I should be marveling at the Arab race’s great achievement. I should be awestruck at the technological prowess and architectural genius that makes this possible. Yet, all I seem to do is yawn and go… what a bore!
Maybe it’s jetlag thanks to a seven-hour flight delay. Maybe it’s the India hangover. Yes, India, the land where pre-conceived notions and sanitized lives are crushed by the sheer size and weight of a billion lives, a billion realities. If size matters, then India wins.