The brave new gay world

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

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...

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

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

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

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...

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.