Ladies and gentleman, Mr Elton John!

Elton John is a cuddly, teddybear of a man. For all his diva-esque mannerisms on stage he still has the heart of rocker. In an intimate ‘live’ performance (only a thousand-odd people), Elton John lit up a weary evening with a mind-blowing piano performance. Yes, he can sing and he can write, but you have to watch him play piano to truly appreciate his genius. A ten-minute Rocket Man performance capped for me why he is truly one of the greats.
Rod Stewart next. Then? Who’s left? Clapton. The Eagles. Billy Joel. Stevie Wonder. Bruce Springsteen. Sigh!

A bunch of ass kissers

When I recently proposed a boycott of all things American to my friends I was laughed at.
I’m pretty sure these Indians are representative of the urban collection that were stoked when Oh!Bummer became President.
The US is shielding a man who has clearly perpetrated terror attacks on India and is responsible for killing Indians.
If that is not enough to make one despise American hypocrisy I don’t know what is.
I also once suggested on this blog that Iran has more balls than India because they don’t ass-kiss America. Coz that’s what we are – ass kissers.

Sirji... no thank you ji...

A classic example of the sycophancy that dominates Indian cricket is Sreesanth referring to Lalit Modi as Lalit Sir! Sir!
For God’s fawking sake, did he teach you how to bowl Sreesanth?!
For the same reason I have never joined the Bollywood fraternity. I would never be able to cut it with the Amitjis and Salmanbhais. It’s a creepy-crawly yucky they way they go on there. You can refer to someone respectfully without kissing his ass in a pseudo-ji manner. And don’t tell me it’s a cultural thing because I am Indian and I still don’t get it.

The greatest sense of all

A sense of style, however skewed, is a must to be cool. A sense of the theatrical to lift the dourness of routine will leave your life embellished. A sense of timing – whether with a compliment, joke or tricky dance step – will set you apart from the ordinary.
A sense of the spiritual, the fact that there are mysteries out there unanswered but within our realm of experience, will evolve you.
A sense of beauty, whether it be art, people, poetry or music, will humble you.
However, without common sense all of the above are pretty much useless.

Male Bond-ing

I have finally read my first James Bond novel (not Ian Fleming). It’s the latest one by Sebastian Faulks.
I am a diehard Bonds-man. Not so much for the contribution 007 made to humanity, filmdom or literature.
I love the ethos. Simplicity of plot, directness of attack, predictability of outcome, but above all, the indulgence.
The incessant smoking and drinking, the attention to food and clothes. And the joy of women.
Our lives are too politically correct today. Which is why we increasingly lack soul. A modern Bond would be a non-smoking, bisexual, vegan. Watch out Daniel Craig.

Shobhaaaaaahh!

I missed the Emirates Literary Festival in favour of the Dubai Football Sevens (a quickie version of the game), but the sexy beast Shobhaaa was there, spewing the same pseudo literature she churns out in print, with the same aplomb. She has to be the sexiest 60-year-old on the planet. Even Dame Helen Mirren can’t match her oozing appeal. I have said this on the blog about 30 times so far. Just so you know, I’m aware.
Also saw Sting ‘live’. He is really old, but his voice and his guitar, are like they were stuck in 1984. Rocking!

Hmmm....

When life consumes you, be consumed.
When the burden gets too much, lie down and let it crush you.
Be a reed, not an oak.
If it seems pointless, it probably is.
Don’t fight, don’t struggle, don’t dig in (unless it’s food and it’s free).
In all things be a child. Breathe like a child,
deep down to your stomach, not your chest.
Have neither faith, nor hope, nor love. Of the three, fear love the most.
Be like the ocean. Be constantly moved by things that don’t matter.
Above all, always, always, give in, give in, give in…

Ouch, yawn, what!?

Some classic crap I’ve come across recently. I love to share the crap. Goodies, I keep to myself.
Get your barf bag.

Author Chetan Bhagat in his ToI column:
“Forget budget, we (Indians) love analysing everything. If we had a global shoe brand, its logo would be Just analyse it”. (If you found that funny don’t come back here.)

The bass player of the Brand New Heavies, a great funk band, at the jazz fest in Dubai:
“Anybody who used to be called Patrick here tonight? No? I hear there are a lot of ex-Pats here.”

Just not funny.

...and then flatters to deceive

If hockey wants to go from being an old flame to a forever-love India needs to start winning. Watching them crumble against Spain was a nightmarish déjà vu. We were back in the early 1990s, where basics like trapping and passing had to be dealt with. As for tactics, ours were non existent. Spain took Arjun Halappa out of the game and waited. And then scored.
Everyone came out to back Indian hockey before the start of these world championships – especially the cricket fraternity. However, nothing works for the popularity of the sport like victory. Ask cricket.

The flame is catching nicely

Hockey again.
C’mon, an old flame needs more bearing than just one post.
Vikram Pillay, scorer for India against Australia yesterday, comes from a Pune suburb called Khadki, a nursery for hockey (Dhanraj Pillay comes from here).
I was thrilled to see him score. A couple of us hacks at the old Pune rag I used to work for made a concerted effort to give hockey a new lease of life years ago. We regularly put hockey on the front page, especially Vikram. So, good to see him in action still. And this world cup is really cooking now.

An old flame returns

After ages I’m watching hockey, and the world championships at that. It’s like seeing an old flame, who you thought you had forgotten, at the supermarket one day. It all comes rushing back. I played a lot of hockey and we were crazy about the sport. It meant as much as cricket to us growing up. And then India winning the cricket world cup and India losing 7-1 to Pakistan at the Asian games finals in hockey, changed it all. It was all cricket after that. But, it is still a fantastic game to watch and play. C’mon India!

Baba, you should have said no to Qatar

M F Husain is an artist who belongs to the world. I am not surprised at the Hindu Taliban hounding him out.
I AM surprised that the artistic elite have chosen NOT to speak about the other side of the painting, to force the allegory.
Why has Husain not painted the Prophet? Because it is simply not done and he knows it, being a Muslim. Because, forget Qatar, he would not be alive had he done so. By that measure, there is an argument for lack of sensitivity.
Had he done so though, India would have been his refuge.