Don Juan de Whacko

The man versus woman debate is as old as old can be, and, having spawned multibillion-dollar business turnovers, from movies to books to divorces to bar sales, sits as jaded and clichéd as a spinster grand-aunt at her niece’s hen’s night.
Which is why, I prefer to observe rather than compare, to collate rather than compete, to endure rather than entreat, but most of all, to sit back and simply be fascinated. So, when I woman-ise, it is not womanising in the worldly sense of the word. It is a very pure pursuit. Does that sound convincing? But it’s true.

And then there was Spicey

The prophetic taunting of the galli boys had stuck in Dicey’s mind and after hearing his father slur over suggestions like Usha and Indumati, during his nightly quart of whisky, he decided, in an almost defiant stance, to say: Saraswati Poornima Ines Espinado.
Dicey’s dad choked on his booze. “By the whiskers on my grandmother’s backside,” he exclaimed, “son that’s the first sign of intelligence you’ve shown since you were born.” And so Saraswati got her her name and before long was nicknamed Spice and before very long, Spicey.
Note to reader: Read previous post to get clued in.

More on Dicey

Remember Dicey? Refer to the post on July 13 and 18 if you don’t. In fact, read them before you read this, or else, you will be as lost as Little Red Riding Hood (and that’s the fairytale character, not the Russian condom).
As fate and his parents’ desire to procreate would have it, Dicey was soon staring at his baby sister in the cradle of the maternity wing of the New Life Hospital. Soon talk was bandying about as regards her name, and Dicey’s dad was going crazy about giving her an Indian name. Dicey made his suggestion…

Back... with death

I have to apologise for what is the longest break I’ve taken since I started 99. However, my father was seriously ill so I had to jet-set to his bedside. Glad I did because… he survived, the fighter that he is, and I’m glad ’cos I got to spend some time with him.
It’s strange how death puts life into perspective, but life never ever does the same. Have you ever heard anyone go, “Jeez, I have such a good life I now need to think about dying.”
I’m gonna try using life to give death some meaning.

Just like you and me

We all want our children like angels to be, but all they are is just like you and me.
Yessir, you can count on this Svengali to come up with some true original quotable quotes. Look up my June 14 post for a reminder of that.
Having indulged in some self-aggrandizement, I must humbly add that when I do puff myself up, it’s only in literary jest and very often meant to underline, in a weird way, the point I’m trying, or sometimes, even more bizarrely, not trying to make. So cut me some slack on that front, wokay?!

Fan-testy

The English Premier League has begun and I’m dizzy with delight. I’m a big Manchester United fan. Only, I’m not from England; my country, India, last qualified for the World Cup in 1950; and even the Indian beach football side struggled in the Beach Football World Cup qualifiers held last week in Dubai.
The question that haunts me every time I see Sir Alex Ferguson chomping away on gum at Old Trafford, returned - am I really a Man U fan, or, just a poser?
Neither, I’ve rationalised. I’m victim, or beneficiary, depending the point of view, of globalisation.

Two kings and a champ

My family will be in Memphis this week, and Tupelo, Mississippi. It’s Elvis’s death anniversary today. We grew up around three heroes… demigods… actually, one of them is God.
There was Jesus Christ, Elvis Presley and Muhammad Ali. Such was the influence of the three that I have been a Christian community leader, sang in a band and well, my brother plays the Ali role. He has been in 30 fights, with 28 knockouts, and two arrests.
Thank-you mum and dad for ensuring the King of Man, the King of Rock’n’Roll and the Champ were part of our lives.