99 words a day

Fait accompli

2011-12-06T22:41:00.000-08:00

I close my eyes and wait.

The fait accompli of shame, neglect and fear washes over me.

Like a practiced ritual of acceptance.

The pain numbs. The numbing is welcome. Like plumbing for a leaky spirit.

Devoid of conscience and character.

Now, devoid of hope.

This hope, perhaps overdone in the context of gluttinous despair.

Feed the beast, eat the loved ones to bare bones.

Shriveled lives, shrinking from the light.

Dig deep. Not deep enough yet for a grave.

Dig deep for a man. Find belief. Find nothing?

It’s Christmas time there’s no need to be afraid…

Death of a hero

2011-12-04T23:45:00.000-08:00

The death of a hero gives the blog life again.
Socrates would have liked that.
The 1982 World Cup, me aged 9, live games on Doordarshan like water in the desert… the concoction was right for a boy to choose his hero.
From my father I inherited Ali and Elvis. But this one was mine.
I’m not sure if it was his hair, his beard, his languid style, his one-step penalties, or no-look back-heels.
I am sure that it was his ability to smoke 40 cigarettes a day and still be one of the best footballers of all time.

Bzzzzzzzp...

2011-10-31T23:41:00.000-07:00

As black holes go, the most crippling is the one where you realise you are now not worthy of any emotive indulgence.
Not worthy of happiness or joy, satisfaction or accomplishment, peace or anger.
Your emotional rights as an individual are sucked into oblivion by the black hole of self-recrimination.
Self-recrimination. That’s the toughest jury; Borne out of true self-inquest, devoid of distraction and sleight of heart, or mind.
Like black holes in space, we know they exist and what they do, but there is little fuss about the exact moment of contact with one.
Just a bzzzzzp.
Gone.

Yin, Yang, Yawn...

2011-10-19T01:27:00.000-07:00

The yin-yang of human experience bemuses me.
A soldier is sent to war, then accused of excessive violence.
A jockey is allowed to race a horse, then restricted from using a whip.
This constant see-sawing of human nature to try and soothe consciences and justify pursuits that fall clearly in that ‘grey’ moral zone provide stop and think moments for (wo)mankind.
I have bemoaned on this blog that not enough people are stopping, thinking and then talking about it.
Maybe they are talking, but the amount of bullshit in cyberspace just drowns out any intelligent thought, reason or discussion.

Never ever...

2011-10-18T00:14:00.000-07:00

I, have, for the most part forgotten how to write.
So, in a moment of self-acrimonious ball-busting I revisited some rules I made for myself, back in the day.
Some of them are gems:
1) Never ever start a copy with a quote, song or poem. Nobody needs to know how well-honed your cultural sensibilities are.
2) Never ever do a story on the phone; or worse, by email. The odd quote, the HQ statement, ok… but the story, get out and meet the people.
3) Never ever use clichés to dress up facts.
4) Never ever stop writing.

The Great Indian Sob Story

2011-10-15T02:53:00.000-07:00

The Indian version of ‘Who Wants To Be A Millionaire’ – Kaun Banega Crorepati (KBC) – has turned into a sob-story, against-all-odds, zero-to-hero cluster fuck.

Amitabh Bachchan, India’s answer to ‘God in Hollywood (Morgan Freeman)’ creates the perfect setting for farmers, rural teachers and lower middle-class workers to get their 30 minutes of fame – and Rs50 lakhs.

India is perfecting the art of doing a format to death.

I would love to see just one participant this season come from a rich family, well educated, with only one desire – to win to get richer, or just to blow the money up.

Bankruptcy lessons

2011-10-10T00:05:00.000-07:00

The hardest thing about being bankrupt, well, one of the hardest, is being able to share in the joy of the progress and prosperity of those around you.
While being able to afford a doughnut will be your major challenge for the immediate future (read, next few years), your best buddy’s shiny new Lamborghini does not exactly set your heart aflame.
What it does do, is make you want to set yourself aflame. And the Lamborghini. And all the Lamborghinis in the world. And the world itself.
So bankruptcy teaches you detachment.
A forced lesson, but a survival one.

Talking smack

2011-10-04T01:35:00.000-07:00

After sustained cocaine use – you get affected.

Mentally, your shit is just not the same.

I have experienced this. The wiring goes between thought process, articulation and rationale.

Apart from me, there is Specimen No 1: Charlie Sheen.

He did enough of drugs to kill two and a half men, goes the quip. But, hear him speak and you’ll see.

Then there is Specimen No 2. Maradona. He recently called Alex Ferguson a joke. See what I mean.

Then there is Kanye West.

Who would make Charlie, Diego and me sound sane. And he does not even do coke.

Heil, Germany!

2011-09-28T01:23:00.000-07:00

Over two world wars, Germany attempted to conquer Europe – and pretty much did by the second one.
Now, Europe is at Germany’s mercy, begging to be conquered.
Such delicious irony playing out in Europe deserves at least a moment’s ‘ponderosity’.
Hitler would be proud of Germany today.
Proud that it holds the future of the world in its hands.
Germany is a country that learns the lessons of history well.
It shakes off the scourge of Third Reich but still ends up ruling Europe.
Do not kill to conquer, rather conquer with killer innovation, technology, engineering, quality and hardwork.
(Image courtesy: FT.com)

How young is too young to fight?

2011-09-22T02:10:00.000-07:00

I am moved this morning by this video clip of boys under-10 cage fighting.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMESAwK9qRw
The outcry has been, generally, not in favour of the activity for such young men.
I’m not so sure.
Cage fighting needs discipline, fitness and courage – in doses that would set any man apart from the multitude.
Would you rather the boys watch TV or be training to fight?
The machoness in me without a doubt sees the training as better.
It’s the environment and cage that make it barbaric. To say the least.
At what age should a boy start to box, then?

With out, from with in

2011-09-20T01:02:00.000-07:00

When you are angry and seething at the state of the world around you, you must at least have the moral equivalent of a soap box to stand on before you let loose.

If realization has struck you in the deep, dark recesses of a forlorn and miserable patch, it is perhaps best to breathe deeply and try to follow the Buddhist meditation technique of – not thinking.

What else can one do? You cannot begin to change the world yet except from within.

Too many from outside are inside, and too many from the inside are outside – St Augustine

Wait, and the shit will come to you

2011-09-13T01:44:00.000-07:00

I normally do not indulge in schadenfreude.
Not even after Jon Stewart’s English stooge gave the word an orgasmic lift.
Not even with Suresh Kalmadi and Amar Singh in jail.
And sigh! Not even after I spent a fortune and travelled half way across the world to hear Metallica ‘live’ at the first Sonisphere festival.
Now, Metallica are coming to the UAE and India.
Which goes to show, if you wait long enough, shit will come to you.
So, I dug out an old post, post the concert back in ‘09.
http://ninety9words.blogspot.com/2009/08/devil-may-care-in-fact-he-most.html
Read it and if you can, go!

Bitches brew

2011-09-12T03:37:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lDTMRUxNLMg

A day trip on youtube led me to look, and find, Bob Marley’s Redemption Song – one searches for what one needs.
Which, of course, led me to find a whole heavenly host of greats performing cover versions.
Which uncovered Sinead O’Connor, and then, Annie Lennox.
This is not so much about who did the best version (though Pearl Jam’s Eddie Vedder is there with a crazy take), but a reminder of the time when female singers could rely simply on the power of their vocals and some crazy angst.
Creative force did not have room for cheap sex appeal.

Must, not, must, not...

2011-09-10T06:59:00.000-07:00

Must not buy into the media-driven overload of information that 9/11 was a life-changing event. Except the USA's.
Must buy into the belief that what counts is lives of people who died. On that day. And since.
Must not let the din from the 9/11 anniversary drown out the muted cry of thousands of Somali children dying of hunger and thirst.
Must keep in the mind that vested interests are our primary information sources. And the interests are not often mine.
Must not take the moral high ground.
Must not take refuge in the low ground of moral ambiguity.

Sexy like hard work

2011-09-03T21:05:00.000-07:00

Learning and scholarship and hard work and thrift and deferment of present enjoyment for future gain.

Lee Kuan Yew, creator of modern Singapore and former PM, explaining why Asians succeed.

None of those words are sexy, none make for exciting copy or eye-ball grabbing headlines.

Yet, as the Asians move to take over the world, parents will have to weigh carefully drawing a balance between the un-cool truths of the past and the hip calling of the future.

How to propagate the grind without killing the innovation.

Or else, the inexorable cycle of life will bring us to ruin.

Babes got game

2011-08-24T21:36:00.000-07:00

If a picture paints a thousand then a cartoon easily does 99.
This one from The Sun captures not only the idiosyncrasies that make Sir Alex Ferguson and Manchester United; but the simple facts that drive its fanatic legions.
I have often been accused of being a poser for supporting United. Of choosing the club because they were a media-driven creation.
I have been accused of much worse in my life – and guilty of quite a lot of it, but it’s the United taunt I always defend most ardently.
I should just let Smalling and Jones do the defending.

The Western bias

2011-08-23T21:37:00.000-07:00

The extent to which the news wires are Western-biased is sometimes appalling.
Consider this story filed today by one of the world’s top agencies: Joey Vento, owner of a landmark south Philadelphia cheesesteak stand, who once told customers to order in English, has died.
How big was Vento? Big in the States, maybe.
I come from Pune and am wondering if the wires will carry a story on the founder of Joshi Wadawale, or the Vaishali owner, passing away – a long life to both if they are still alive.
Note to all journos: don’t be hard-wired to the agencies

Systemic change morally endemic

2011-08-23T04:09:00.000-07:00

The simplicity of right and wrong.
That is at the heart of Anna Hazare’s movement.
And that is what makes the sophists – and by that I mean Nandan Nilekani and Arundhati ‘one-novel’ Roy - uncomfortable.
And that is also what endears the urban middle class to the movement.
Anna is the embodiement of our desire for moral salvation.
Mired in grey, the modern human’s insatiable appetite for materialism has been re-hued in plain black and white by Anna’s campaign.
And like life itself, we see that morality, unsexy as the word is, is what it all boils down to.

Hyperbole, Stupidity and Facebook

2011-08-19T02:55:00.000-07:00

Hyperbole - the use of exaggeration as a rhetorical device or figure of speech.
“Shammi Kapoor is not the Elvis Presley of India, Elvis was the Shammi of America.” – Aamir Khan

Stupidity - a quality, state, act or idea that exhibits properties of being stupid (slow of mind). A congenital lack of capacity for reasoning.
"Nobody is to be blamed (India’s cricket performance in England).” - Krishnamachari Srikkanth

Facebook – outlet for urban India’s impotent rage given its inability to effect change; so to feel like it’s making a difference.
“Anything, everything by, of and about Anna Hazare.” - Svengali

Sophistication runs riot

2011-08-14T01:21:00.000-07:00

Sophism was a movement in ancient Greece where an argument was obscured by big words and complicated concepts so as to hide the truth.
The movement gave us the word sophistication, which, over the years, has come to mean a good thing. A compliment.
Barack Obama is a sophisticated president.
The sophistication of modern life, however, was torched and looted by educated, middle-class and affluent rioters in London.
For just one moment, we were offered a window to the heart of modern humanity – the animal spirit laid bare.
Now, the argument is more earthy - parents teach your children well.

Cleverley done, United

2011-08-09T01:48:00.000-07:00

I eagerly awaited the papers today to see what sports desks had done with the juiciest name for a headline to hit the Premier League for some time.
‘Tom debuts Cleverley’.
Or, at least: ‘Fergie Cleverley destroys City’.
Alas, the papers were restrained.
Perhaps they did not want to be too clever so early in the season, given it was only the Community Shield.
But, mark my words, headlines will come.
On some Quark page in a newsroom somewhere in England, ‘Cleverley’s dumb move’, is already written and waiting.
What the headline will be is up to Tom now.

A PR coup

2011-08-08T00:01:00.000-07:00

When Time magazine b(r)ought in Fareed Zakaria – after a change in Newsweek ownership booted him out – Zak took his one-page commentary formula with him.
A measure of the influence he wields is that the very style responsible for Newsweek’s diminishing returns, was implemented, albeit in part, at Time.
Time now is also unabashedly pro-Obama.
The latest international edition drives the bargain for Obama in the debt deal debacle.
The real winner is Pimco and its CEO Mohamed El-Erian (pictured).
He is quoted twice within the space of three pages, in two separate articles.
Now that is a PR coup.

Reporting rape

2011-08-04T05:32:00.000-07:00

In India I can walk into a police station and file a complaint against you for rape.
The police will then write a first information report (FIR).
When the crime reporter calls the police station for a story, the duty officer will tell him that there is a rape FIR.
The reporter will write the story naming you as the accused in a rape FIR.
Your life forever will be tainted.
That is the shoddy, despicable state of journalism that has pervaded the Indian press for years now.
And it will continue as long as the story means money,

Duck-ing Ganguly

2011-08-03T01:13:00.000-07:00

What do you call an Indian playing a bouncer? A duck.
That is an original. Tell it, spread it, make it work.
So, it is with cricket that we are stuck for now.
Not players, but those who are entrusted with enhancing the television experience of watching a live cricket match.
Saurav Ganguly is the antithesis of three of the above – enhance, TV, experience.
As a former player he is supposed to give insight, anecdote, judgement and analysis. He offers none.
His is the classic commentary of platitudes.
He sounds as uptight as he looks on TV.
Lose him.

Off the pitch

2011-08-02T00:38:00.000-07:00

It is better not to delve into India’s on-going cricket debacle in England.
Enter the commentators.
Harsha Bhogle is to commentating what an epidural is to a pregnant woman.
For the minimum of pain, you will eventually get maximum relief - which given India’s history in commentating means proper grammar, acceptable syntax and no misplaced ‘the’s’.
In India, often, if you speak English well, it is enough.
Bhogle, at best, is the classic after-dinner speaker.
Gentle on the ears, easy on the stomach.
At worst he is a like a hotel lobby painting – pleasant, but hardly anything worth remembering.

D-uh!

2011-07-30T04:13:00.000-07:00

There are some things that are so painfully obvious that surely there is joy to be had from merely stating them. Let us indulge then:
1) This is the first time in 20 years that the Indian cricket team does not have a frontline, make-the-other-team quiver kind of spinner.
2) Freida Pinto is the cosmos’ perfect example of how being ‘at the right time, at the right place’ is all that matters…
3) … that and a good Hollywood agent.
4) Readers always get the press they deserve, not the one they want and never the one they need.

Uncle Sam's death (pronounced debt)

2011-07-27T00:45:00.000-07:00

The tragedy of the US debt crisis is the US.
Echoes of falling empires – Egyptians, Romans, the Brits – not quite, they just went off for a cuppa.
Linkedin as we all are now, due to some mad cross-border fertilisation of people and money over the last century there will be some negative fallout globally if the US defaults.
The real measure of the state of affairs is the lack of brouhaha over the possible default.
Sure, there is some hemming and hawing, but by pre-economic crisis standards it’s hardly apocalyptic.
Overall, the world is ready. Pull the plug USA.

Time to go to Rehab

2011-07-25T00:32:00.000-07:00

I don’t which was more depressing – watching India play football that was so below par against the UAE recently; or Amy Winehouse’s death, the news of which broke during the game.
There must be something fundamentally so wrong with Indian football to see the national team stuck in some kind of time warp – 1980s.
With explosion of football on a global scale, even an ordinary school kid will tell you how Barcelona play, or even Man Utd.
Apart from Sunil Chhetri the rest of the team looked worse than the country’s 147-odd world ranking.
Indian football needs rehab, Amy.

The Cross and the Switchblade

2011-07-23T03:58:00.000-07:00

Who is more dangerous than a Muslim fanatic?
A Christian fanatic.
As the dust rises to reveal the debris in Oslo – and perhaps a closer peek at the soul of one of the world’s most modern, sophisticated and pacifist societies, Christians the world over will be hoping that this fanatic is an aberration for the ‘forgive-at-all costs’, largest religion in the world.
We had the Nazis, the Klu Klux and the Irish Troubles. But it’s not since the Crusades that the Sword and the Cross have been considered palatable in the same sentence – leave alone the room.

Gag the bastards!

2011-07-21T01:05:00.000-07:00

“Nostalgia can drown a person into a well of sentimentality and exaggerate the significance of the past, well beyond its contextual import. Drawing sustenance from Gabriel Garcia Marques' lines that "life is not what one lived, but what one remembers and how one remembers it, in order to recount it..."

The intro to one of India’s top newspaper sports editor’s opening piece on the historic India-England Test series starting today.

I had many reasons to shoot myself this morning, but this pretentious, sophist, word-drivelling crap zoomed to the top.

Who the fuck cares if you read Marques or not!

It's time for a Cantona on the Murdoch scandal

2011-07-19T23:01:00.000-07:00

Finally, one must take a stand
When Eric Cantona (if you don’t know him, allow for hyperbole, you don’t know anything) said boycott the banks in the wake of financial crisis, people just laughed.
I did not. He took a stand.
What stand now must Rupert Murdoch take?
Is it enough for a corporate king to just be humbled?
Is being humbled the same as being sorry?
More importantly, what stand must investors take?
Do you invest in a company with no moral fibre?
It is time for a Cantona moment.
And… week four: my inspiration for not shaving.

Inspiration, just the beard

2011-07-18T01:02:00.000-07:00

I had a newspaper column stopped because it got too personal.
I was guilty as charged. But, what the hell do you expect a columnist to write?
As long as you write with wit, vigour and candour – make them laugh and think. At the same time.
So this one’s about me.
I have a huge beard now. And everytime I try to shave it someone inspires me to keep it.
Week one – Character from Delhi Belly
Week two – Character from Hangover 2
Week three – Ahmed Wali Karzai
Needless to say, the world watches with baited breadth for this week.

Like an exquisite cover drive

2011-07-17T02:36:00.000-07:00

Nobody can write about cricket more eloquently than the English.
The Sunday Times opened its coverage of the India-England series with, among other things, a piece by Martin Johnson.
I can’t give you the link because it’s a Murdoch title – which means they charge for it online. (They need the money to pay hackers and cops).
Anyway here are two gems:
“Tendulkar running a legbye can produce a crowd reaction not unlike a Beatles concert.”
“And Ganguly was a fine bastman, but never quite came to terms with a game in which you had to do your own running.”

Bheja fry

2011-07-16T06:37:00.000-07:00

Like a dystopian character from an Orwellian novel, Mumbai deals only in superlatives.
It’s a city that does not allow for subtlety or nuance, and prides its diseased, air-kissed, thick-as-hide skin.
Mumbai’s turning on itself in the wake of the recent bombings is only inevitable for a schizoid.
Please, no “we will survive”, “spirit of Mumbai” or “candle-light marches”, the cognoscenti screamed.
Like a wolf biting its own leg to free itself from the trap which offered meat, the city is now gnawing at its conscience to free itself from being shackled to its own cravings for everything Maximum.

India’s two-faced urban middle-class (some, not all)

2011-07-13T00:06:00.000-07:00

India’s two-faced urban middle-class are finding it hard to stomach ‘Delhi Belly’.

It’s a coming of age film not just for the Indian film industry, but also for the Indian urbane viewership.

After sniggering at the song’n’dance routines of Bollywood and oohing and aahing about Hollywood, many cool dudes and dudus are now not comfy with seeing a mirror held to their own lives.

I’m not talking about the protests in Kolhapur by the guntha-becha-scorpio-khareeda brigade, or PILs by the older generation.

I’m talking about contemporaries of mine, who talk exactly like the film’s script, being uncomfy with the movie.

Heavy, heavy fuel

2011-07-12T02:17:00.000-07:00

In an effort to kick-start my own book, I decided to read Jonathan Franzen for inspiration.
No, I had not read him before.
For the millions that have read Franzen outside the US, an equal number seem to have not.
Now, halfway through ‘Corrections’ I suspect this is because his themes are heavy - life and relationships. Mostly their decay.
However, I am mesmerized by his ability to turn a simple act like, say, eating a cookie, into a deep, evocative, word-busting event, without sounding poncy.
Like a skilled artisan, even the small weave in his huge tapestry is exquisite.

From the stands, Scholes still tackles for a booking

2011-07-10T23:06:00.000-07:00

For Manchester United fans Ryan Giggs and Paul Scholes were the last of the “clean” heroes.
No drugs, no affairs, no being a prick.
Then Giggs shamed us all.
Only Scholes remains.
On the pitch he played and off it he did not talk.
However, after being appointed Man Utd coach, he has spoken more than in his entire career.
His comments like his (in)famous tackles are likely to draw a booking.
But, in true Scholesy style, on the ball:
a) Arsenal are a joke
b) England does not win because players are more bothered about club than country

I told you so...

2011-07-09T02:25:00.000-07:00

I am tempted to revive the ‘I told you so’ section of this blog. It used to exist before my hiatus when my impeccable skills of forecasting called many an event before it happened.
Now it is happening again.
Scroll down to the post of Saturday July 2 or 1, about Lionel Messi.
Now read this from news wire reports:
“Messi has failed to have any impact as the hosts have drawn dismally with Bolivia and then Colombia.
Argentina fans have long pondered why Messi just cannot produce his Barcelona form for his country.”
Yup, I told you so.

If only NDTV would learn

2011-07-08T06:11:00.000-07:00

Bal Thackeray, on a recent TV interview to Times Now, slapped journalism in the face with a stinging criticism of how the “fourth pillar” existed no more.
The News of the World, a paper 168 years old, closes on Sunday, because of its involvement in a phone hacking scandal.
The British taught the Indians journalism. One lesson that did not get through seems to be accountability.
When your job is to hold others accountable, you must first hold yourself accountable. And one slip-up and you lose the moral high ground forever.
Ms Barkha Dutt and NDTV are you listening?

Fuck, yeah!

2011-07-07T01:22:00.000-07:00

Delhi Belly has drawn a huge sigh of rapturous belief by the urban Indian yuppie populace.
Finally, a movie that speaks our language.
Western media gave it a lukewarm nod – appreciating the coming of age, but not impressed with the Guy Ritchie-impressario effort.
For me, the greatest achievement of the film is its ability to get the actors to say the word “fuck” without sounding pseudo, contrite or forced.
Do not underestimate the power of the word ‘fuck’… in films. It has made stars. Most noticeably, Pacino, De Niro and Sharon Stone.
So fuck, yeah… here come the Indians.

The brave new gay world

2011-07-05T22:25:00.000-07:00

Back in the 1980s, yeah, a long time ago, to be gay was a big deal.
For man or woman, you were not yet socially compatible, for the most part.
Today, it is considered a rite of passage for females to have at least one lesbian sexual encounter.
Maybe it happened back then for guys and girls, but people just did not talk about it. Nowadays, passé.
For me the question has always been: What if one of my kids came to me and said, “Dad, I’m gay.”
To be honest, I hope they don’t.
But, I’ll be ready.

Smells like an Indian

2011-07-04T22:46:00.000-07:00

Indian men in the Gulf have a problem with body odour. I’ve faced it, my friends have faced it and my friends’ friends have faced it.
The spicy food we eat and the extreme temperature here means we sweat more and the sweat stinks.
However, what’s bothering me is the ‘in the Gulf’ qualifier .
Do Indian men have a problem with body odour? Period.
Is body odour simply acceptable and part of the olfactory culture of India?
Has the perfume industry, with relentless drive, altered the way humans believe they should smell?
In the Gulf though, spray big time.

If I was an American...

2011-07-03T21:10:00.001-07:00

If I was an American, I’d be a gun-toting, bible-thumping, Bourbon-swilling, pro-life, card-holding, Humvee-driving Republican.
I’d live in Texas and be best friends with Mel Gibson.
If I was an American I’d be white-collar on taxes and blue-collar on family.
I’d listen to Big and Rich and support the Green Bay Packers (so what if I live in Texas).
If I was an American, I’d be a dick-head that believed the rest of the world was just square, but mine was just perfectly round.
So, thank God I’m Indian, though I still like Big and Rich, and Mel Gibson.

Time for a good ramble

2011-07-02T22:37:00.000-07:00

The spirit is broken, the body is weak, flailing in the face of self-inflicted agony.
All knowing is unknowed, all belief a sham.
Faced with self, the biggest demon of them all, I cannot beat the odds.
To dig deep within, is to climb Everest… to win an Ironman.
The lust of sensous satisfaction is overpowering, like a drug it wills you into the lowest common denominator of existence.
Sleep offers the only chance of escape.
The chance to dream, again.
To awaken is to be compressed into the gas chamber of reality.
Fumes of integrity suffocating. Killing. Dying.

Not won without the other

2011-07-02T02:46:00.001-07:00

I have passed up the chance to see Lionel Messi play ‘live’ more than once, out of an over-zealous (at the time) sense of support for Manchester United.
I rue the missed opportunity now.
However, while my United support has matured, my suspicion that Barcelona makes Messi the kind of player he is, only deepens.
After the World Cup, and now watch in the Copa America (Argentina drew against Bolivia), one senses that without Xavi and Iniesta, he can be easily handled.
He is the manifestation of genius, but those two are the creators.
The Holy Trinity of Football.

GaGa over the folksy revival

2011-06-28T21:49:00.000-07:00

Lady GaGa is driving us back into the arms of simple, clean, pure, fun-loving, heart-breaking music.
Folksy acts have always existed on the fringe for the last 20 years, with the occasional act bursting through. Dylan’s omnipresence has refused to let the indie spirit die.
But, how can one explain the recent fame of The Secret Sisters, Mumford & Sons and The Fleet Foxes.
These are more than just a shuffle option on the pod of techno-weary music lover.
These guys are mainstream. I can only point to the over-sophistication of today’s pop music as the reason.

So...

2011-06-26T22:50:00.000-07:00

So, Charlie Sheen is no more news. And neither am I. Which means, he has probably cleaned up. As have I.
Which means, he can get back to acting. As can… no, I can get back to writing.
I’m just back from India – where the nation I once knew as a pimply 13-year old is now a blossoming 16-year old. Full of verve, vitality, passion, hormones and a conscience at crossroads.
I left it all behind. As I did my wife and kids. As I did my dreams and attachments. As I did my desires and weaknesses.
I’m back.

The difference between me and Charlie Sheen

2011-02-01T21:33:00.000-08:00

The difference between me and Charlie Sheen is about $1.8 million – per episode.
Otherwise – the love for coke; the wife who is fed up but always stands by him when the shit hits the fan; I can’t deny that having porn stars babysit my kids hasn’t crossed my mind; and the teeth, all going.
An episode in my life costs maybe, $10k. Though, lately, I did one which cost $280k.
Folks tell me, maybe, I should mirror someone else. Like Jesus.
I tell them: Christ! You do Jesus, that way, when I do Charlie you can just forgive me.

From my town, alas…

2011-01-23T20:53:00.000-08:00

If you grew up western-Indian-urban-Catholic it’s quite likely Indian classical only lapped at your musical shores.
Shakti and Zakir Hussain were as desi as it got for households where Cliff Richard and Elvis were the presiding soundtracks.
It was not till the age of 26, and not till my office moved to the Maharashtrian side of town in Pune that I was introduced to the likes of Pandit Bhimsen Joshi (died today) and Gangubai Hangal.
My bucket list, posted a year ago, had: “attend Sawai Gandharva to hear Pt Bhimsen”.
‘Alas’ - truly captures the regret.

Slow hand, blind genius

2011-01-19T23:57:00.000-08:00

In my dying posts of 2010, I listed the great music acts left for me to see perform ‘live’.
That list stayed with me over the next couple of days and I discovered that there were more than 10 great acts that were left for me to see.
Then, in what can only be a serendipitous stroke of good fortune, two of the stars on that list – Eric Clapton and Stevie Wonder – were announced to play in my neck of the woods.
In my dark and cloudy life that is one hell of a silver lining.
Oh, happy days.

Sania - and the power of what could be

2011-01-18T21:15:00.000-08:00

If my first post of the New Year is about Sania Mirza, it may well be that I have gotten over Barkha Dutt.
If the tennis world had a one-set tournament, Sania would win it.
She would be the World No 1 in the one-set category, because, that’s all she has in her – one set.
Against Justin Henin, no less, she reminded us of why news wires, no less, still find it worth dedicating an entire piece to her - a perennial first-round loser.
But, that one set was worth it. Just for the power of what could be.

Guilty, Three years, solitary...

2010-12-21T23:02:00.000-08:00

If you were sentenced to three years, but were given one week off before you went it, what would you do?
Running away is not an option. You do not want to run forever.
Do you spend the time weighing the cost of every minute detail that you will miss out on?
Do you spend every minute living it like it was your last?
Do you just hold your loved ones and say sorry, again and again?
Do you steel your mind and heart and begin the sentence even before it begins?
Do you die?
What do you do?

And then there were ten...

2010-12-19T21:55:00.000-08:00

I now need ten fingers to count the great musicians of my era left for me to see.
Bruce Springsteen, Madonna, Stevie Wonder, The Eagles, Dire Straits, Eric Clapton, Tina Turner, AC/DC, Billy Joel and Rod Stewart.
That reads like a heavy to-do list, but consider, the rest I have seen.
The latest being Axl Rose and his version of G’n’R.
Jaded and old, but with three spectacular guitarists and the best rock voice for 20 years still in fine screech, the rocker was a blast from a once-great past.
And a reminder, that we are all getting old.

NDTV: Barkha Dutt has to go

2010-12-13T21:21:00.000-08:00

I was reared as a young colt in the journalistic stable of one of the toughest, meanest and almost-fanatically puritanical master trainers.
Then, as a budding thoroughbred, I joined the Times of India and for three years – lost the plot. At least on the journalistic front.
I abused my power as a journalist and now when I look back cringe like Gollum in Lord of the Rings.
My former trainers would’ve hung and quartered me, not bothering to draw.
So, when I say NDTV is disgracing journalism by not sacking/removing Barkha Dutt, I know what I’m talking about. Disgraceful.

That's not the story, guys!

2010-12-10T23:24:00.000-08:00

I am amused this morning at the Indian press’ praise for Sachin Tendulkar refusing to endorse an alcohol brand, despite being offered billions.
In a true Barkhaesque tradition, the press missed the real story – an alcohol brand thought it made sense to have Tendulkar as its brand ambassador.
The truly smart story to do was: why is it ok for Sachin to advertise Pepsi? More harmful to more people by far.
Still, I can’t imagine his pip-squeak voice and less-than-macho image selling booze.
There was a time when PR ran behind the Indian media – now PR runs the press.

Pyrrhic victory

2010-12-06T21:09:00.000-08:00

Life destroys, decimates, dismembers, disavows.
I mortally fear time.
It scathes, scalps, scythes and seethes.
While you spent your life getting a life, I spent mine, pissing it away.
And now I stand (or sit, mostly), quarter of half the man I used to be.
And that vision comes back: of the knight on a battlefield;
Carnage all around, bodies littered, blood splattered.
The knight stands alone and as the mist lifts, he looks around.
Has he won? If he is standing, he must have.
Except, all the dead are his. His own. His people.
Pyrrhic, pyrrhic, pyrrhic.

Fried about Freida

2010-12-04T19:51:00.000-08:00

I’ve often said my wife is better looking than Freida Pinto.
Like about a 100 times better. And that is a purely social, anthropological observation.
So, imagine if any passion was involved.
Being at the right time, in the right place, with the all the stars and whatnot aligned in your favour is understandable.
I have not seen her act yet after Slumdog. I’m going to.
But, even for a person like me, who is naturally jealous of anyone from the Catholic-western-Indian-urban-landscape that makes it big, watching a recent TV interview of her’s was mind-boggling.
She is utter crap!

What now, Eminem? You ain't no Slim Shady no more

2010-12-04T00:52:00.000-08:00

I love Eminem. One of my close friends and I, both as fat as Friday, used go beserk on the dancefloor, everytime Slim Shady played.
But the question is, what do you do when you’ve grown up? When all the angst has been sucked dry by years of platinum-selling, Grammy award-winning, aggressive rap lyrics?
What does the Slim Shady rap about five years on… when the drugs are gone, the guns are slient, the ghosts of the past laid to rest.
As Eminem threatens to sweep the Grammys the real test is the evolution of Marshal Mathers from here.

Barkha and Vir have slapped us all awake

2010-12-01T00:55:00.000-08:00

I watch the Indian English media quite closely. Living abroad gives me a different, sometimes, more panoramic perspective.
However, anyone with half a brain could tell that Barkha Dutt lost the plot two years ago. In fact, as prophetic as this blog is, much before the Radia tapes, I have been keeping track of NDTV’s decline.
Watching Barkha Dutt’s defense on NDTV and reading Vir Sanghvi’s defense in the Hindustan Times I feel like I have been slapped out of my lethargy – the classic wake-up call.
Why did I become a journalist? What is the role of journalism today?

Apocalypse? Now where's Leslie Nielsen

2010-11-29T20:27:00.000-08:00

Despite the apocalyptic state of my life – it’s news when everything is normal – Leslie Nielsen could genuinely bring a smile to my face.
He was an actor stored away in my subconscious and on the rerun list of movie channels, to be brought up whenever an apocalyptic scenario beckoned.
Nielsen himself would have played out an apocalyptic scenario with that deadpan expression and sparkly blue eyes that made you believe, without a doubt, he saved the world without knowing it was coming to an end.
What makes us laugh? I’m not sure. But, who? Nielsen was one of ‘em.

A story of my life

2010-11-19T13:47:00.000-08:00

A friend who knows me (perhaps too well) only recently caught Californication, watched three seasons back to back, calls me and tells me “your life so far is on tape”.
Flattered I asked him to let me have season one. And you would say I’m being over-indulgent and myopically self-centered – but it is quite the story of my life. At least the last 10 years.
And I quote from it
Mother: “Your father has to realize that actions have consequences. That he cannot say and do whatever he wants.”
Daughter: “Mom, bail him out. He’s too pretty for jail.”

China's most dangerous weapon

2010-11-12T22:30:00.001-08:00

The Chinese have a new weapon. It’s not nuclear and it’s not their currency.
It’s their Opening Ceremony for international events.
If you are another country watching the opening of the Asian Games in Guangzhou, you got to be shitting bricks.
It made the word spectacular look ordinary.
And there is a certain bluster and in-your-face without trying too hard, about the way they go about organising this shit.
It will strike nothing but fear into other countries who dare hope to compete.
The Indian opening ceremony seems like some rich kid’s birthday party in comparison.
To China, then.

Me having Koffee with Karan

2010-11-08T23:29:00.000-08:00

I watched the opening episode of Koffee with Karan with as much comfort as a constipated kid facing a full day of school.
Aishwarya has always left me unmoved – even in her swimsuit round at the Miss World contest.
She is so beautiful that one cannot relate to her - not at a carnal level, or a creative, intellectual or even movie star level.
Abhishek has done well to survive being the Big B’s son, but would you marry a girl Salman Khan used to bang?
The whole show is incestuous. Like watching a family make out… verbally.

The Harley factor

2010-11-07T20:27:00.000-08:00

The Americans are pissed off that Harley is going to manufacture motorcycles in India. The website that employs me is buzzing with angst laden comments from people across the US about Harley’s foray into India.
All this in the middle of Obama’s visit to India, where Indians created jobs for Americans by signing billions of dollars in various deals.
That juxtaposition quite simply sums up why Obama will not be reelected. And why the Democrats do not really represent the heartland of America.
Also, it struck me that both senators of Indian descent are Republican.
The Democrats are done.

My daughter's influence is not bad

2010-11-06T00:12:00.000-07:00

I am a big fan of Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber.
That is akin to an Oprah Winfrey endorsement, albeit in a smaller microcosm. A much smaller one. Much, much smaller.
The people handling Miley Cyrus’ career may never let her go too close to that ‘real country’ sound, but what they should do is prevent the child star from becoming a Britney disaster during this cross over period.
Bieber on the other hand is wading through his adolescence with as much cool as a teenager can ever wish to hope for on this planet. And he sounds good.

Here comes the hot-stepper... cold

2010-11-01T23:02:00.000-07:00

I’m in a clear minority when I say I believe Barack Obama is not a good president. And I am in a super-miniscule minority when I say, I preferred George W to Obama.
Many a get-together has ended with people sniggering as police had to escort me out of the venue for my own safety.
Successful political leaders are often linguistically challenged (English), poorly dressed and not socially networked.
Especially in developing countries.
But urban India likes its leaders to be well-spoken (English), well- dressed and on twitter.
Which is why middle-class India loves Obama. And the Shashi Tharoor-kind. Pah!

I don’t mind me a Tea Party

2010-10-27T01:41:00.000-07:00

The American Tea Party amuses me. It is a tight slap on the face of all who forget that life on this planet is in the end cyclical. And to bring back a quote from an earlier post of mine – evolution without morality leads to self-destruction.
I may not agree with what specific Tea Party candidates say, but I love the overall movement, which is basically away from big money, big corporate, big party politics.
Voters are no more numbers in the Tea Party, they are people, and that’s what they feel and that’s why it is so popular.

No, please, no, not the karaoke

2010-10-25T00:07:00.001-07:00

What is with karaoke?
Like the internet, is it really empowering people –people who would not dare whisper to sing (or in the case of the internet, turn billions of average Joes into faux-know-it-alls)?
Or, is it creating a generation of irritating music zombies (no disrespect to Rob) who suck the blood out of every living song (and some dead ones).
Every party now, after two drinks (and sometimes even before), the karaoke comes on and I have to suffer the murder of everyone, from Metallica to Mariah Carey.
Karaoke is like Christmas – should be done once a year.

The cost of not letting go

2010-10-23T01:47:00.000-07:00

Now I know what my children felt when my wife and I did not divorce.
However, there's a price to pay when deals are struck: whether that be corporate, a cut-throat agents’ fee or the emotional roller-coaster of lovers.
Manchester United will pay Rooney (me, in the hubby-wife analogy) 250,000 pounds a week to stay.
Alex Ferguson (the analogus ‘wife’) ensures the family (players, fans, sponsors and his own sanity) stays United.
Does everyone win?
I’m not sure. Sometimes you need to let people go so that they realise – that they are wrong.
And that time dispenses with everyone.

The great divorce

2010-10-19T21:36:00.000-07:00

Now I know what my children would have felt if I had divorced my wife.
Me being Wayne Rooney, and my wife being Alex Ferguson.
They would have mourned the star going, but stayed with the coach.
I will not go with Wayne Rooney, but, boy, will I mourn his leaving.
I often joke that Fergie is unofficial godfather to all my children (this is with no disrespect to my kids’ official godfathers), but that he just does not know it yet.
He exudes trust, confidence, security and righteousness.
It’s what success – whether football or life – is built on.

Me anna, wokay?

2010-10-17T22:09:00.000-07:00

Through a quirk of circumstance I now find myself eating an idli-sambhar breakfast most days of the week and, after a month, I’m still not really fed up.
Which is what got me thinking, maybe I should let the anna out of the pseudo-western-urbane-Indian-Roman-Catholic in me. I am half South Indian.
My wife used to often refer to me as a Madrasi, with a certain amount of scorn. She is Goan.
Goans think they fell out of Vasco da Gama’s arse. And that it’s a good thing.
I trace my heritage back to a Pillay line from Tamil Nadu.

Do not fuck with the BCCI

2010-10-10T22:05:00.001-07:00

I’ve always been a bit sad that India did not have a true mafia-style operation.
Sure we had Haji Mastan, the Shakeels, D-Company, C-Rajan and bandits of the Chambal. But, nothing that oozed that ruthless, organised, mafioso efficiency.
Well, now we do.
It’s called the BCCI.
The manner in which it has destroyed Lalit Modi will shrivel the balls of even the toughest cookie out there.
Rather than hire someone to castrate him, they have deconstructed his empire brick by golden brick, million by tarnished million.
Do not fuck with the BCCI.
Oh yeah, oh yeah, we hear you.

GaGa over Florence and the Machine

2010-10-09T01:28:00.000-07:00

About six months ago an Ulsterman, no less, introduced me to Florence and the Machine.
So when her Dog Days performance at the VH1 Awards moved her into the larger public consciousness, I indulged in a bit of bourgeoisie, ‘me-the-classess you-the-music-massess’ strutting around.
As I often do on this site.
Nevertheless, Florence, with her Sinead O’Connor- meets-U2-via-the-Cranberries sound has begun to appeal me as the evolved man’s answer to Lady GaGa.
GaGa has plateaued, musically at least, and is channeling so much of Madonna right now she is in danger of losing that very unique, deviously simple, pop sound.

The dog days are not over

2010-10-05T23:53:00.000-07:00

Not with the first flush of beauty, Nor the rush of dark pain;
Not with the hollow of emptiness, Nor the seasoning of shame.
Not till the healer is released, To work upon the maimed.
Will my life bear meaning, will the chaos be tamed.

Not with the taunts of truth’s burdens, Nor fallow reasoning of blame;
Not with the blighting of the spirit, Nor the mind’s trivial games;
Not the failing of the sprit, Nor the body’s end game;
Not till the keeper of my conscience gets her chance at the wheel
Will love, joy and peace finally prevail.

Bring it on! (Oh dear)

2010-10-03T23:43:00.000-07:00

I never thought I’d live to see the day when Manchester City was higher up the table than Manchester United.
As a modern United fan, I hate City. I would rather see Arsenal, Chelsea and Liverpool above United than City.
However, I did predict at the beginning of the season that this one was going to be difficult. A true test of faith and loyalty in the face of relentless disappointment and pain.
Quite like my life actually.
Nevertheless, if United have a record against you, this is the year to break it. Fulham, Everton, Sunderland, who is next?

NDTV’s brain-dead cricket coverage

2010-10-02T02:29:00.001-07:00

Is it just me (it always is), or is there something in the water at the NDTV studios. Dean Jones and Ajay Jadeja spoke about the Indian cricket team looking like world beaters – this after a disastrous performance.
India dropped more catches than a paid-for Pakistan fielding side and basically handed the game to Australia.
The appalling insights were only aided by some pathetic anchoring by that mummy’s-boy-looking apology for a TV host.
Sample this question: Is this really the best feeling for an Indian – to be on top of Australia?
Yes, I kid you not.
Brain fucking dead.

A rare beauty

2010-09-27T00:24:00.000-07:00

The most beautiful actress in Bollywood right now is Soha Ali Khan.
She captures her mother’s grace and her father’s presence in an aura that envelops her with a sensual beauty that transcends mere sex-appeal.
What I mean to say is, she is hot.
It’s not often that someone with such an acute nose allows it to fall in perfect line with the rest of her feminine bearing.
There are those that have the je ne sais quoi and Soha Ali Khan is one of them.
In Bollywood, where even beauty is often crass and over-dramatised, she is rare.

The truly premier league

2010-09-25T23:16:00.000-07:00

The English Premier League has had its best start in years. And even though my beloved Manchester United is unlikely to win it, from a football perspective, the game is at an all-time high in the league.
Dimitar Berbatov, Florent Malouda and Joe Hart have all shown that form is a movement towards excellence – one that gathers pace with time and practice.
Sooner or later a gap will develop between the great teams and the rest – but for now, anyone can beat anyone.
Two games will decide the season – Man Utd vs Chelsea, home and away.
Glory, glory, United.

Thank Stephen Hawking for God

2010-09-14T23:27:00.000-07:00

I would love to say that Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time was a watershed moment in my cerebral evolution – it wasn’t. I labored and labored and labored and still could not make past page 10.
Now Mr Hawking is at it again, in a much more understandable avatar.
The Grand Design’s primary aim is to dispense with the notion of God. And yet, it has the opposite effect. It affirms by negation.
Mr Hawking has probably done more to establish God’s credentials than any other scientist.
Check it out and let me know what are your thoughts.

Stick, twist or shout?

2010-09-12T22:16:00.000-07:00

What can you do, when, crippled as you are at the knee,
Hobbling along the floor of your dreams,
Walls closing in, sinking sand sucking you within,
What can you do, but thrash and tremble,
Pray and beg and hope for redemption.
It won’t come you know it, at least not in a painless shot of morphine,
or a lucky number worth a million dollars.
It won’t come you know it. Not like a knight in shining armour,
Or a knife to the heart in surrender.
What can you do when the bottom falls out?
Stick, twist or shout?

The racist in me

2010-09-07T02:40:00.000-07:00

There’s a racist in all of us. You just have to put your ear to the ground and listen carefully and you will find it in you.
I discovered it playing Scrabble. Of which I play a lot online.
If the player is from Bangladesh, Pakistan, Africa or any East Asian country I expect to beat them. Easily.
I am fuming if I lose. Not because they are better, but because I expect I will know more English words than people from these countries.
If the player is American or Aussie or British losing is more palatable.
That’s racist.

Vincenti Dabitur

2010-09-04T21:52:00.001-07:00

My grandfather went to school there. He jumped the length of the long-jump sandpit.
My father went to school there. He was a corporal in the National Cadet Corps, and a distinguished sportsman.
Seven uncles went to school there. All mostly geniuses and national-level sportsmen.
Four cousins went to school there. One is a millionaire, a couple in Princeton and Harvard.
My brother went to school there. He was a once-in-a-generation footballer.
I went to school there. I was sergeant in the corps and half-decent at everything else.
Now, my son will go to St Vincent’s High School, Pune.

Money or me... so it's me

2010-08-29T01:44:00.000-07:00

I am in a dilemma. I have realised that when I have nothing, I have everything.
Don’t dismiss that as standard-issue, trying-to-be-wise psychobabble.
It’s a profoundly earth-shattering discovery for me.
When I am completely broke and stripped of all material proprietaries, then I find I am able to think clearly, act normally and do that stuff that really leaves me at peace.
One thing for sure, I cannot ever have money with me.
It is has never bought me happiness.
Sure, the problem is me. But, it’s easier to get rid of money than to get rid of me.

Here's a FB status update...

2010-08-24T23:26:00.000-07:00

First the disclaimer: I am an anti-facebook facebooker.

Think of me as someone who would own a hummer but plant a tree. Someone who would buy cocaine from a Nigerian but contribute to Aid for Africa.

So, when you’re facebook status for relationship says ‘complicated’ what it really means is 'fucked up'.

And when you describe yourself… don’t.
Because what your description really says about you is that you are pompous, self-indulgent, driveling, tunnel-visioned, head-so-far-up-the-ass-you-can-eat-and-shit-at-the-same-time, naïve and narcissistic.

So don’t bother describing yourself. If I find you and connect with you I will discover exactly who you are. Ok?

Me and Man-fucking-chester United, and why i cannot afford passion any more

2010-08-23T02:02:00.000-07:00

I have allowed myself to become so hung-up on Manchester United that I am physically sick when they play badly and emotionally disturbed when they lose.
It can’t be healthy. But, then, passion, in general, is unhealthy.
It is an essence of youth which if you carry over into your middle life, you are likely to suffer heartburn, financial ruin and a nervous breakdown.
All of which can be disguised by a half decent occupation, a little social savvy and plenty of bluster.
I am 37. That is fucking old. I cannot afford passion any more. Or vice versa.

For whom the keyboard is struck...

2010-08-21T02:47:00.000-07:00

A journalist writes for four people: His editor, his fellow journalists, his mother and the reader. In that order.
The modern news consumer is so far removed from the age of journalism where it was the conscience of society - that it needs stating that the order should be in the reverse.
The internet offers the chance for practitioners of the ancient art of this journalism to, well, practice the art.
What it does not offer is the imprimatur of a masthead and a pulpit that commands the attention of nation.
And no editorial checks and balances either. So?

Who will tell the Muslims?

2010-08-17T23:58:00.001-07:00

There is only so much that one can slag Jennifer Aniston. Then, it’s time to get with the programme. One of the major challenges of this the 21st century will be how the world is going to interact with Islam.
With extreme political correctness in play, the chance to tell Muslims that if they don’t allow their religion to evolve – if they don’t start now, 100 years after everyone else – they will increasingly find themselves polarised, has passed.
It is now up to the really radical Muslims inside Islam to bring about the renaissance. Or else, we’re all screwed.

Oh no, Jen!

2010-08-15T01:20:00.000-07:00

I’m having a Jen week. Like I did not have enough of my own problems.
I saw the Bounty Hunter yesterday – she and Gerard Butler, him of the 26-pack, 300 fame.
Out of sheer grit, the kind needed to make the last 500mts to Mount Everest when your oxygen tank is empty, I sat through the entire movie.
It is, by some distance, the worst movie I have ever seen. Good ol' Jen, she can’t act. Seven seasons of friends proved that.
But Mr Butler can (see Law Abiding Citizen). Maybe he just had his Jen phase as well.

Oh Jen, no!

2010-08-11T01:09:00.003-07:00

I always knew Jennifer Aniston was kooky in the head. Some people just set themselves up to be losers all their life. (Ask me). And Jen, poor thing, is the poster child for this genus of human being.
Living in her own little world, I am trying to recreate the conversation with her agent, or friend (oops) or enemy (posing as friend, oops) who suggested her recreating the classic Barbra Streisand pose. See here: http://www.emirates247.com/entertainment/celebrity-gossip/jennifer-nixes-ai-baby-rumours-2010-08-10-1.277305
Woman, I can’t even come up with a metaphor to make fun of your attempt at copying Streisand... get it. Get a life! Please.

Is this the end?

2010-08-10T01:51:00.000-07:00

I feel like time is up for this blog. It needs to evolve now and move on. When I was working for a print publication writing a blog seemed a novelty.
Now, I work for a website and working as I do, 24/7 online, writing online does not seem such a novelty.
Also, my life is going through its ‘shedding of skin’ phase. Like a snake, every five years my life sheds its skin and starts anew.
In the midst of all this, I just am struggling to write regularly.
Am I being lazy or is this the end?

The four corners of music

2010-08-03T02:59:00.000-07:00

Every puzzle – the ones where you put pieces together – has four key corner pieces. As a kid I went through my puzzle phase doing some pretty fancy 1,000-piece ones. I always remember looking for the corner ones first.
The other day while listening to a Simon and Garfunkel ‘live’ (they managed to get the Everly Brothers to perform as well) CD it got me thinking – what were the four corner pieces of the modern pop music puzzle?
Who were those four influences that held it all together for the rest to fit in?
Elvis, Jackson, Miles and one more…

Ad infinitum

2010-07-28T01:36:00.000-07:00

Going from print to online (only) is like a country boy going to the city to work. And while I will always be a country boy, at heart if not at work, the city is really intimidating. There’s too much going on all the time. There is no structure, no rules, nothing except this continuous explosion of words and images every single second.
Into that mix throw in your site and it’s like dropping a droplet into an ocean and expecting to see a tsunami.
I can also, for the first time, see why print is headed for extinction.

My kind of Hurricane

2010-07-25T22:11:00.000-07:00

You did not learn snooker to be World No 1, at least not in Pune. You devoted 15 hours a day to the table because of the aura of machismo that surrounded it.
The smoking, drinking, gambling… and the stories. The snooker table was always surrounded by the old pros with stories. Of them, Alex Higgins, who died this past week, was legend.
He gave snooker its ‘cool for bad boy to play’ status. As the old uncles told it, he drank, smoked, threatened players, made millions, lost it all, and all the time, played magnificent snooker. R.I.P., Alex.

Oh, get on with it

2010-07-23T23:27:00.000-07:00

At 37 I’m done, dusted and ready to be trusted. Or, should that be still can’t be trusted.
The skepticism that accompanies old age is beginning to fester into a frothing fountain of bitterness.
Alas, I’m Silas Marner trapped in Ozzy Osbourne’s body.
Only India can save me now, I feel. And only I can save India (but don’t tell anyone in India yet. They may not believe you).
A PC has replaced my Mac, I’ve been reluctantly forced back onto Facebook and my kids are going to Oz for a holiday.
The randomness of life, I tell you.

What Bhajji said about Murali

2010-07-23T00:49:00.000-07:00

I spoke to Harbhajan Singh here in Dubai some years ago about the veracity of Murali’s bowling action. Bhajji, as we know, not one to shy away from a tight slap or a frank comment, said he had no problem with Murali’s action. He felt the secret to Murali’s success was not his action, per se, but the angle at which he bent his wrist. This increased the number of revolutions on the ball and therefore, he got more spin than any other bowler. Add that to his variations and you begin to see the magic that made Murali.

Sex with kids

2010-07-19T22:06:00.000-07:00

The quote of the day comes from Maureen Dowd (who, believe it or not was once used as a comparative descriptive for Shobaaaa De. An insult Dowd has survived). She says: If Polanski was a priest he would still have a job.
The fight against child sex abuse has suffered two sickening blows. Roman Polanski is still a free man and the Catholic Church refuses to step outside its comfort zone and condemn its own guilty priests in an unequivocal manner.
I often look at my kids and wonder what world I am leaving them to inherit. Morally bankrupt.

So!

2010-07-18T03:40:00.000-07:00

I want to get Miley Cyrus in front of a camera going, ‘So?!’ to all of the following news stories. Miley Cyrus, because she has that perfect innocent ‘So’, which actually means ‘Who gives a F@#$%!’ without saying so. So, most of them concern the US… So, here we go:
The Iran spy who was sent home. So!
The Russian spy exchange. So!
Clinton in Pakistan. So!
Obama family heads home after weekend getaway at resort! So!
There was a time when these things mattered. Now, who gives a shit about spies. They are so dated. Like the US.

Online media whores and pimps

2010-07-13T22:12:00.001-07:00

As I ease into the medium I pretty much would rate last on my list of ‘ideal medium to work in’, I am alarmed at the lack of need for quality or propriety or any sense of originality even.
It reminds me of TV except the time scale is magnified a billion times. In TV you fight for eyeballs for a programme, online you fight for hits, trillions by the second.
It makes media sites online media whores and pimps. It’s scary for a newbie like me. Especially coming from print where being original still had some pride attached.

Like Holland and Mickey Rourke

2010-07-12T04:36:00.001-07:00

I have been away because of the World Cup.
That, coupled with writing a column, saving my job, relaunching my newspaper as a web-only product and relocating my family has left me bereft of any strength and sapped of all enthusiasm and emotion.
Like Holland, I am left with nothing. Which is quite something.
I love this blog too much to let it die without a fight. Like Mickey Rourke, in The Wrestler. So, come back if you’ve stopped.
And know, if you’ve ever seen a one-trick pony in the field so happy and free. Then you’ve seen me…

In print, no more

2010-06-28T03:59:00.000-07:00

I am a diehard print media person. But, life throws you these curve balls, despite me doing my best to complicate things on my own… so my print publication is going online.
For the first time in 12 years I will not be working for something that is not printed and distributed before being read.
When people who met for the first time used to ask me, “So, What do you do?”
May answer would be, “I decide what 100,000 people will read first thing in the morning. What do you do?”
Not anymore, at least not in print.