tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56749242012-01-10T20:43:42.564+05:30n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.comBlogger2431100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-13115842986264498442012-01-10T20:43:00.001+05:302012-01-10T20:43:42.573+05:30

people don't change, their priorities do.

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-56286901440003145052011-12-14T11:00:00.001+05:302011-12-14T11:01:11.605+05:30

i just saw a picture of a mother holding her new born baby and it said 'I will not let what happened to me happen to you.'

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-32351872162533974202011-09-14T21:45:00.005+05:302011-09-14T21:59:00.791+05:30

When does a want become a need?When do we reach that place in our lives when we are incomplete without 10000 rupee shoes that we don’t even walk comfortably in and 20000 rupee single malts that help us portray and pretend refined taste? When we don’t even know how much is there in the bank because ewww I can’t handle moneys it’s all greek and latin to me?When we just can’t do without our annual

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-57096177380413952992011-03-18T13:47:00.000+05:302011-03-18T13:48:28.790+05:30

disappointment is potent.

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-87676547615521331452011-03-11T16:55:00.004+05:302011-03-11T20:47:21.258+05:30

almost two years ago, a 6 week old kitten strolled into our home and our hearts. one morning, the garbage woman rang the doorbell and asked if i could spare some milk for some strays. i stepped out of the apartment and saw him running in the opposite direction. as soon as i stepped outside the gate and looked in his direction, almost instinctively, he turned around and ran up to me, meowing

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-65350260201720360062011-02-17T19:25:00.003+05:302011-02-17T19:56:18.918+05:30

everything around me reeks of a bitter satisfaction, a damned conformity, a hurried compromise that comes faster than the next insult, the next taunt, the next cuss word. i've changed so much over the past decade but i surprise myself at times when i react to the same situations in the same way, after having suffered already, and after having laughed at my own naivette and slapped myself silly

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-70097095410742710452010-10-09T17:48:00.005+05:302010-10-09T18:18:35.765+05:30

we often justify our wrongs by telling ourselves that we too were wronged in the same way.and that's a pathetic excuse to do what we do because we really have no right to avenge ourselves with someone else.it's happening all around me. and it's made me realise that i've done it too.you were (are?) a wonderful, wonderful person with a warm heart and beautiful stories and a slightly fucked up

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-86019991176073036382009-05-02T11:27:00.004+05:302009-05-02T12:06:16.536+05:30

b for backstab, c for conform, d for disregard, e for euthanasia be damned we're going to kill our kids. distort them, mindfuck them, make sure their mistakes come later and they're straddled with ours first. we pretend to care, pretend to worry, pretend to give a damn when all we're really care about is that our darling offspring have IQs more than Einstein x 2, that they score more than the

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-62077502927665350712009-03-06T20:30:00.000+05:302009-03-06T20:31:01.009+05:30

how long before you stop claiming credit for my rights and i stop paying the price for your wrongs?

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-33385592110162272942009-01-09T23:34:00.002+05:302009-01-09T23:36:07.795+05:30

when you're willing to render to the guilt you concedewhen truth is your reason then lay the blame on mewhen you unveil the conscience and to peace you agreewhen love is your constant then lay the blame on me

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-21029856771099399702008-11-28T08:21:00.002+05:302008-11-28T08:29:06.107+05:30

in 1993 i felt bad for all that had happened, and put it all behind me secure in the knowledge that my city was too strong to be broken by this.in 2005 i took great pride in the fact that my city come out resolute and unbroken from the worst floods ever.in 2006 i cried for hours when a friend went missing during the train blasts, and was only consoled when i heard her voice hours later on the

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-44463907853145139572008-11-20T22:40:00.006+05:302008-11-20T23:05:32.846+05:30

the carter road promenade at night is a virtual beehive of lovebirds snuggling, canoodling and a little bit more. it's an unwritten rule there - everyone minds their own business. i've seen cops driving around watchfully but never seen them shoo anyone away, in fact the only time i've seen cops in action was last year when i and t had just started going out, and were sitting there chatting till

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-33407817340763472102008-10-25T18:33:00.002+05:302008-10-25T18:45:46.533+05:30

fuzzy pictures say so much more than proper, crystal clear ones. where everyone is happy, climbing all over each other, or posing or smiling, and the cameraman has perfectly composed with immaculate adaptation to available light and focus and shutter control resulting in a picture that's just, perfect. it makes you smile with the subjects and think of all such pictures you've been featured in. i

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-48030915825695540962008-10-14T18:13:00.000+05:302008-10-14T18:14:20.994+05:30

There's a picture on my kitchen wallLooks like Jesus and his friends involvedThere's a party getting started in the yardThere's a couple getting steamy in the car parked in the driveWas I too young to see this with my eyes?By the pool last night, apparentlyThe chemicals weren't mixed properlyYou hit your head and then forgot your nameAnd then you woke up at the bottom by the drainAnd now your

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-3155337149473811972008-09-05T19:44:00.002+05:302008-09-05T19:51:58.733+05:30

When I started in my first job at age 17, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. All I knew was that I didn’t want to continue with my father’s business. I never did think of my career as steady natural progression. I never planned anything, didn’t once sit down to figure out future goals, money requirements, pay packages, retirement. Hell no. Never thought too much of making quantum

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-34174548684762051022008-07-17T21:13:00.005+05:302008-07-17T21:31:09.074+05:30

They live in Bilaspur. Near the railway station. They have a shop where they sell household paints and other solvents. They’ve been doing this for years. Everyone knows their shop and their home, so all you have to do when you get off the train and into a cycle-rickshaw is tell the puller ‘_________ ke yahan jaana hai’ and he will take you there without any further questions. A few minutes after

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-11492556228298754952008-07-15T16:41:00.006+05:302008-07-15T19:13:58.438+05:30

agar Shakespeare zinda hotasabun se apni aankhein dhotafaaltu kalmay padh kardimaag se apne sadh karapna sar pakad kar rota

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-2611704410627086592008-07-15T16:41:00.005+05:302008-07-15T19:12:14.158+05:30

kabhi shayar shayri likhte thheydilon mein jazbaat tikte thheynaghme gaye, reh gayi jhankaarsirf wohi thhey sachche fankaarkyunki woh gaandu nahi dikhte thhey

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-67475429642152040282008-07-15T16:37:00.000+05:302008-07-15T16:41:20.377+05:30

chutiye teri zindagi hai jhundchalta jaise gaand mein lunddo takke ki akalaadhe takke ki shakalfir bhi khud pe itna ghamand

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-39780441398237251392008-07-10T07:47:00.003+05:302008-07-10T08:09:37.898+05:30

i just read that an ex colleague from my advertising days has quit her job to seek greener pastures.there are two kinds of people. one, who can always only be the organisation they work for. take the organisation away and they're nothing, because their only identity is the name of the organisation that's printed on their visiting card, which humours the designation printed below. if you're

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-31677555901141282682008-07-02T13:58:00.004+05:302008-07-02T14:18:35.662+05:30

i may be wrong, but i think there's much more than meets the eye about the whole recent oil spike.there's enough oil in the world to support demand, so why is everyone trampling everyone else to go by stockpiles? OPEC members themselves are baffled by the prices. Experts are crying themselves hoarse saying they're unjustified and speculative. Some experts are even saying they're fundamentally

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-80572692615770892452008-06-27T08:55:00.001+05:302008-06-27T08:58:03.884+05:30

"the stock market is a device for transferring money from the impatient to the patient." - warren buffet

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-8152429818434246942008-06-09T18:31:00.003+05:302008-06-09T19:14:00.946+05:30

when i was in school, i loved ripping the old brown covering paper off my books and covering them nicely with new paper. new labels, et al. when it would be pouring and the authorities would allow parents to drive all the way inside the school gates to drop the kids, so we wouldn't get wet.when mrs bhargava would let us go five minutes before the lunch bell rang, so we could get a headstart on

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-2753540581981295912008-06-07T14:47:00.003+05:302008-06-07T15:09:15.304+05:30

i wonder what's more important. to learn from experience or to experience learning.

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-18965981820093651972008-06-05T20:03:00.003+05:302008-06-05T20:05:27.196+05:30

for all the promises that were madefor all the thorns that were laidfor all the wrongs that were servedfor all the accolades undeservedfor all the fake smiles cheek to cheekfor all the shifty eyes so meek for all the stabbing in the heartfor all the fears right from the startfor all the money and the carsfor all the ass licking of the stars for all the sly and scheming shit for all the letdowns

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1326568384782363022008-05-26T21:41:00.001+05:302008-05-26T21:42:26.723+05:30

time is just a number that rests on a wall

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-40723753800837736182008-05-12T23:50:00.003+05:302008-05-13T00:21:58.110+05:30

tonight i want to step on to a desolate railway station in the middle of both nowhere and night on my way to somewhere, to light a cigarette and have a cup of milky sweet tea in a kulhadtonight i want to wade into the water on a deserted beach in bintan to sit on a rock and feel little fishes squiggling on my hand tonight i want to lie down outside wisma atria at orchard road and stare at the

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-75179990086201997642008-04-05T18:26:00.001+05:302008-04-05T18:29:01.206+05:30

you down.

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-22452844083734556072008-01-24T14:30:00.000+05:302008-01-24T14:43:30.124+05:30

I've been watching performances from last year's Live Earth concert. Soon I'll get down on all fours and look for my jaw. There's wicked performances by Bon Jovi, Mellissa Etheridge, Metallica ... and it struck me how I was so much into old school rock when I was younger (and ironically, my hair was shorter) and now I havent touched my Deep Purple CDs in months. I didn't look beyond Def Leppard,

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-88202781789615556392008-01-22T02:45:00.000+05:302008-01-22T09:33:19.595+05:30

spinning and sinkingautomatic mindbrakeshold them from their sidescome up for airdon't let gospin into the black circleone day at nighti will escapefrom myselflaughing my tears awayhysterical and redundanthelpless and futile

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-70493748308514420432008-01-04T19:07:00.000+05:302008-01-04T19:23:50.802+05:30

I like the way you think, he says suddenly, you make yourself the character. But not entirely, I tell him. He smiles. No one knows themselves entirely, so that puts you on even keel with your character. I remember an old conversation, when someone else had said something similar. That can be both a good and bad thing, depending on the way you look at it, I had wanted to tell her. Sometimes one’s

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-48116217424914607692007-12-17T12:25:00.000+05:302007-12-17T20:59:31.535+05:30

There was a time when I would race down the road at a clip faster than my pulse. When the scent of burnt rubber fueled the fire in my chest. When every pothole was swallowed by my gleeful wheels and sent up to my spine. When Chris Cornell’s voice in my ears was a distant second to the voice inside my head. I would disregard drivers, cops, bikers, pedestrians, signals, everyone. I’d show them the

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-54234184303451680242007-11-28T18:51:00.000+05:302007-11-28T18:53:22.867+05:30

she looked at him and smiled with eyes gone wildi’m leaving soon into the moonwill you hold me for a whilehe gently touched her cheeks smiled his best in weeks it’d be swell you’re hot as hellbut not the one I love.

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-50460425438746746612007-11-23T16:47:00.000+05:302007-11-23T17:30:31.358+05:30

must the mind test resilience before it stops questioning answers and starts answering questions

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-48679406487319312122007-11-08T10:12:00.000+05:302007-11-08T10:18:16.719+05:30

what if i say im not like the otherswhat if i say im not just another one of your playsyou're the pretenderwhat if i say i will never surrender

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-88673720847438177752007-11-05T15:05:00.000+05:302007-11-05T15:17:40.515+05:30

and the barricade breaks to keep the fuckers awaywashing him clean of what made him the bait

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-15173599673775427522007-10-30T11:47:00.000+05:302007-10-30T11:57:23.532+05:30

we’re all so stupid and naïve. we convince ourselves that we’ve forgotten sights and sounds, events and places, landings and corridors, silences and screams, cries and whispers, nervous gestures and antiseptic words, heavy smiles and cold stares until we suddenly find ourselves in the midst of it all again and we realize how crystal-clear it all still is in our mindspace. we claim to be

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-92195447800513757772007-10-26T10:13:00.000+05:302007-10-26T10:40:36.329+05:30

Jagat runs a small paan shop right next to the ICICI Bank ATM on Juhu Tara Road, from where I usually draw money. I didn't know him till today since I've pretty much quit smoking and don't need his wares, but this morning I didn't have the small change to pay for Milan Supari. But he gave it to me anyway. 'Aap khao saab, baad mein de dena.'I offered to give him the 100 rupee note I had, and told

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-88042672354521747492007-10-25T17:55:00.000+05:302007-10-25T18:05:08.453+05:30

A couple of days ago, I had a long conversation with someone about how to identify good work. It started out as a discussion about what’s good work for me vis-à-vis what’s good for the viewer, and though this question used to puzzle me a bit earlier on, over time I’ve figured out why people think that a creative person’s definition of good would be any different from the audience’s. At least I

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-83998752797711808302007-10-17T12:55:00.000+05:302007-10-17T16:23:54.301+05:30

I’ve been thinking about death of late. Not dying, if you’re thinking of couriering a carton of Tik 20 over to my place ‘before he changes his mind’. Death. And not like I’m reading the morning papers and I tch tch over the plane crash that killed a hundred people before I nonchalantly turn to the pink pages to check the volumes that NTPC clocked yesterday. I’ve been wondering what my whole life

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-58629264368464535622007-10-11T14:33:00.000+05:302007-10-11T20:39:22.498+05:30

There's an old hindi saying that goes 'Logon ko ungli doge toh woh haath pakdenge'. The literal translation is 'Offer someone a finger and they'll grab your hand'. What it really means is 'The more you give, the more people will want from you'.Depending on their knowledge, understanding, and ability to brace themselves against the repercussions of these wise words, some people give easily and

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-73668355306682702552007-09-25T09:32:00.000+05:302007-09-25T10:19:04.262+05:30

carpet floors and hollow walls have swallowed yesterday's naked simplicitythese corridors between which i spent what seemed like a lifetimeare now brazen and beautiful and tempered with nothingness to meor maybe the nothingness is inside the palettes have changed their coloursbut they still play musical chairs with laughter and tearsmanna both of formality and necessityis still stuck to

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-87522799018077239612007-09-22T10:39:00.000+05:302007-09-22T10:46:03.252+05:30

its like i cant stop what i'm hearing withinits like the face inside is right beneath my skin

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-22711404248797006072007-09-10T00:32:00.001+05:302007-09-10T07:23:48.505+05:30

There's a very good reason why they sell samosas in cinema halls. The samosa has two parts. There's the soft center part that pretty much everyone loves to eat. And there's the hard crust on the side that has it's fair share of lovers and haters. People deal with this part in different ways. Some throw it away. Some eat it grudgingly. Some eat it with gusto. Some actually prefer it to the soft

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-9030809040201180152007-09-05T00:26:00.000+05:302007-09-05T00:59:37.942+05:30

I just watched Singaporean director Eric Khoo's third film, 'Be With Me'. The film observes three beautifully defined and heartbreakingly real characters as they go about their daily life. There's only one common thread between them, the desire and the impossibility of being with their beloved. One of the stories is the true life story of Theresa Chan, a spirited woman who has lost both her

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-92201760859604418652007-08-30T23:02:00.000+05:302007-08-31T12:22:08.254+05:30

Iss vaale mein size 7 dena. Hmm. Yeh chhota lag raha hai. Size 8 hai?Hmmm. Yeh bhi chhota rahega, shayad. Size 9?Dada, size 9 ka ladies nahi aata hai.*******************************************************************************Sir, you are looking for yourself or for wife?Wife? You walked in with that lady? Points at a random woman, blatantly.What? No! She’s not my wife! No? Oh. Then your wife?

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-58371632825365696112007-08-21T23:38:00.000+05:302007-08-21T23:46:41.826+05:30

the colour of night is gray compared to the darkness inside. he tries, in vain, to shake off the sub consciousness. he looks around to see dim shadows of whatever remains in his room and distinct silhouettes of whatever doesn’t. it feels like he’s in a guy ritchie film and everything is moving with a lazy nervous energy at a thousand frames per second. ash drops on his hand as the stub betrays

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-37854574632462815752007-08-08T16:33:00.001+05:302007-08-08T16:33:27.542+05:30

And since i've been reminded of the old bastard Doc (who couldn't spell the word 'stocks' even if you wrote it and gave it to him) on a couple of occasions this week, here's a song especially for him by a fellow and favourite madman.times have changed and times are strangehere I come, but I aint the samemama, i'm coming hometimes gone by seem to beyou could have been a better friend to memama,

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-18921630108997314882007-08-08T15:22:00.000+05:302007-08-08T16:33:03.156+05:30

In my professional life of 13 years, I have switched twice inter-industry and five times intra-industry. After freewheeling for 3 years, I’m now in my sixth intra-industry switch, picking up from where my last consultancy left off. And it is heartening to know that there is the possibility of a third inter-industry switch shaping up. Financial consultancy and investment banking. The thing is, I

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-63366864206352474542007-08-06T17:40:00.000+05:302007-08-06T19:19:38.734+05:30

Doc: You know what your problem is? Me: I didn’t know I had a problem.Doc: That’s one of your problems. Your other problem is, you don’t drop E.He passed me the joint. We were sitting on East Coast Beach, far away from the family affair side, drinking from our JD-Coke cans.Doc: See, our lives are like a Tarkovsky film. Everything seems unnecessary but ultimately you realize that it happened for a

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-77070932284984898542007-08-03T14:07:00.000+05:302007-08-03T14:55:22.210+05:30

There’s got to be something symbolic about windows. I remember once in Singapore, my lens had come off and I was frantically trying to place it back in, and Ganesan popped his head in and asked me why I was retina-wrestling. ‘Your eyes are windows to your soul, man. Don’t fuck with them’, he had said. I knew they were, but what he said still struck me as words of wisdom. But what if the soul is

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-23660060361983044342007-07-26T18:01:00.000+05:302007-07-26T18:03:22.132+05:30

I just watched this newspiece on Star News about some fat fucking moron in Ludhiana who paid 15 lakhs for a VIP number from Hutch. The reporter was asking King Kong questions like ‘Aapne 15 lakh ka VIP number liya, aapko kaisa lag raha hai’. And the nincompoop replied with a ‘Bhot achha lag raha hai’ like he was talking about giving his Godzilla wife a rim job. They went one up on themselves when

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-17510630322139487822007-07-23T16:29:00.000+05:302007-07-23T18:03:04.407+05:30

I love to drive. I learnt when I was 16, and I had my license when I was 17. That’s why for the longest time, I was 2 years older on my driving license than my real age. I learnt on my father’s Fiat, a gray colored sweet little ride with hand gears and all, which had to eventually be sold as scrap, largely because I drove her insane. The only thing I don’t like about driving is changing gears.

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-77869660758777881762007-07-18T20:55:00.000+05:302007-07-18T20:59:27.199+05:30

His name is Sachin, if I remember correctly. He’s a short, thin guy with a semi-nervous semi-confident warm easy smile and curly hair. He goes from table to table at ‘Diva Maharashtrachya’ at Mahim, taking song requests. And since he’s only been in Bombay for three months, he’s apologetic that he can’t sing Marathi songs to blend in with the flavor of the place, but assures that in no time he

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-39791488050946529182007-07-09T02:14:00.000+05:302007-07-09T10:27:21.259+05:30

A lot happened last week.Venus Williams and Roger Federer won Wimbledon.I watched the most wonderful film ever made in the history of Bollywood, called ‘Apne’.The Sensex touched 15000. My car got hit by a bus. Tisha, my neighbour’s toddler pointed to a monkey in her ‘Illustrated book of animals’ and said ‘Chachu’.Deepa bhabhi, her mum pointed to the monkey next to him and said 'Chachi'. When I

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-26227541978499384562007-07-06T12:50:00.000+05:302007-07-06T16:20:39.100+05:30

It was almost 3 am and I was wide awake as usual. I got out of bed and checked for cigarettes, but I was out. I had exhausted my cans of JD and coke too. The 7-11 downstairs looked inviting.I left the hotel room and smiled at the receptionist who I could’ve sworn was a mechanized mannequin, because even at that unearthly hour she had the exact same smile and posture that she always had. I walked

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-71786239499688553132007-06-28T12:31:00.000+05:302007-06-28T12:34:10.372+05:30

Belated Happy Birthday, Panchamda.

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-79455222292969426622007-06-26T22:42:00.000+05:302007-06-26T22:47:11.666+05:30

The friend bought a spanking new car.The mentor asked him. You've done the pooja and everything?No need, he said.I'll just ask my mother to sit in the car.

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-79042834650973184302007-06-15T22:50:00.000+05:302007-06-15T23:03:12.435+05:30

There's a little girl called Amisha Dedhia whose education I sponsor.Today, I received a copy of her 4th standard report card.She scored an aggregate of 92%.Who scores a 96 in MATH?I feel like a proud father.

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-31284867840024210902007-06-12T07:22:00.000+05:302007-06-12T07:39:55.769+05:30

Turn my mic up louder, I got to say somethin. Lightweights steppin' aside, When we comin. Feel it in your chest, the syllables get pumpin. People on the street, they panic and start running. Words on loose leaf, sheet complete coming. I jump on my mind, I summon the rhyme of dumping. Feeling the blind, I

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-75841962686351971252007-06-05T23:23:00.001+05:302007-06-05T23:38:08.630+05:30

We were having lunch today when I remembered an incident, and smiled. She asked me why I had my 'memory-recall' smile plastered on my face, and I made up some story which satisfied her and she shifted focus back to her bad paneer.The real story, exclusively for my readers.It was 11 years ago, a few months after I first met her. It was an awkward few months, moreso for her coz I was older than my

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-84254810289481367682007-05-20T00:05:00.000+05:302007-05-20T09:10:46.262+05:30

Hi M, Your best friend A, who was my best friend A before you came into her life, refuses to give me your new email ID (which isn’t new anymore) for some strange reason - maybe she thinks i'm one of those freakzoid jilted ex's who's gone putputt - and I have obviously forgotten your cell number after that day years ago when I deleted it from my phone and my memory in a fit of rage. Not that it

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-15312685844128070932007-05-13T22:22:00.000+05:302007-05-13T22:40:06.822+05:30

So i've been tagged by T.The rule is that i'm supposed to post the 5th paragraph on page 123 of the book i'm reading right now. If there is no page 123, then the 5th para of the last page. If there is no 5th para on page 123, then the last para.And I have to tag 5 people.Grafx.Sonia.H.T.Dobe.And the last paragraph on page 123 of the book I have been reading is ...He whose mind is untroubled in

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-81100348716047688462007-05-01T20:31:00.000+05:302007-05-01T20:40:25.261+05:30

Everytime I turn a sharp corner while driving, its at the back of my mind that I may collide with an oncoming vehicle, and my stomach lurches a little until I make the turn and nothing happens.Though the guy next to me turned purple with all the turbulence and strange whirring and clanging, I felt no fear. The only thought in my mind was that if the plane were to crash and I were to die, it would

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-91084845671538783892007-05-01T13:23:00.000+05:302007-05-01T14:07:15.118+05:30

‘The Kite Runner’ by Khaled Hosseini is an extraordinary book. In the past few days, I have found myself moved to tears while reading it. Also in the past few days, I have met people who are uncannily like Amir, the narrator of Hosseini’s story. They are introspecting, some of them have been doing so all their lives, they are battling their demons relentlessly, searching for an uncommon love,

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-33096389357395813702007-04-20T15:21:00.000+05:302007-04-20T15:51:53.019+05:30

As he sipped his warm water, Oshi narrated an incident. A client had once expressed relief that his brand was in good hands because Oshi knew exactly what he was doing. To which Oshi had snickered and said, Well I don’t really, but if it’s working toh theek hai na. I realised, much to my surprise, that I’ve been creative-directing my life exactly like that. (Moment of Enlightenment

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-46558795962648856952007-04-13T01:13:00.000+05:302007-04-13T01:38:45.296+05:30

People who go on and on about their better halves or halves-to-be. Please, I’m not interested in knowing on a daily basis what an awesome dal-khichdi he makes for you or how much your mother loves the mole on the right side of her upper lip. And anyone who is, deserves to die. People who refer to their partners as ‘hubby’ or ‘wifey’ or ‘baby’. Don’t they have names

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-71755045527995342562007-03-26T20:14:00.001+05:302007-03-26T20:22:30.243+05:30

Dressed in his fine robes, the crown prince walked through the desert. It was hot, the sand scorched his feet through his sandals, and he was thirsty. Unaccustomed to the desert, he had already finished all his water. His camel was tired too, but since the master walked, so did he. Just a day ago, he had left the palace of his own accord. He wanted to walk the earth, to see the world, to be

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-592009470354068252007-03-17T09:59:00.000+05:302007-03-17T10:14:45.623+05:30

We all come in from the cold.We come down from the wire.And everybody warms themselves to a different fire.When sometimes we get burned,You'd think sometime we'd learnThe one you love is the one that should take you higher.You ain't got no oneYou better go back out and find her.Just like children hidin' in a closetCan't tell what's goin' on outside,Sometimes we're so far off the beaten trackWe'll

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-74303283955060633662007-03-16T01:03:00.000+05:302007-03-16T01:18:12.397+05:30

I have watched ...1. Curse of the Golden Flower / Zhang Yimou / Hong Kong-China2. The Namesake / Mira Nair / India-USA3. Away from her / Sarah Polley / Canada4. Merry Christmas / Christian Carion / France5. The Ringfinger / Diane Bertrand / France-Germany6. Kebab Connection / Sinnan Akkus and Anno Saul / Germany7. Apocalypto / Mel Gibson / USA8. The Collector / Felkis Falk / Poland9. Cry, the

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-48653968551337537982007-03-04T14:02:00.000+05:302007-03-04T15:22:35.238+05:30

He was sitting in his usual place, the barstool at the quieter end of the bar. He was doing his usual thing, chatting with the bartender and smoking his luckies and drinking his cognac and occasionally smiling at the familiar faces that had seen him there day after day, week after week, month after month, night after night.He was looking at everyone on the floor, some of them dancing, some of

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-45874394388936103352007-02-24T19:38:00.000+05:302007-02-24T19:46:45.271+05:30

When one gets backstabbed, it means two things.1. That one was ahead.2. Since one was being followed, one was probably on the right track.Watch your back, you sorry ass insecure piece of shit. I won't do what you did, but there are several other fuckers out there who will.

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-77751178901988487172007-01-30T12:57:00.000+05:302007-01-30T15:04:19.177+05:30

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve heard from a friend that ‘When my parents got married, they didn’t have money. They weren’t well off. My father just about managed to make enough for my mother to make ends meet. But they stuck it out together, they had fun, they went for movies, they ate out, things only had to get better. I guess it was their love that made it happen for them.’ It

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1168456710783901072007-01-11T00:31:00.001+05:302007-01-11T10:39:18.166+05:30

Princess Leia?Yeah.You’re not serious. Trust me, NG. Every guy on the planet has a secret Princess Leia fantasy.If every guy has it then what kind of fat fucking secret is it?That I don’t know. All I know, is every guy has imagined or will imagine or IMAGINES his girl as Princess Leia. When?When matlab? When does every guy imagine his girl as Princess Leia?I don’t know. Whenever he wants to feel

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1168278247863863882007-01-08T23:06:00.000+05:302007-01-09T10:31:42.903+05:30

I work from home a lot. All my writing, thinking, pondering, pottering around, research, referencing, everything happens at home. And when I’m home, thanks to my ‘always-on’ connection, my IM’s are always on too. Even when I’m not home, my IMs are often on because I keep downloading a lot of stuff, and the IM’s just switch to idle after awhile. Which brings me to a seeming non-issue but

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1167856165256335352007-01-04T01:57:00.000+05:302007-01-04T02:08:48.540+05:30

The sister went back to Cal today. I just dropped her off at the airport. This trip of hers was different from what it usually is. Not in the menial aspects; she did the whole shopping in bandra thing, shopping at lokhandwala thing, shopping at colaba thing, shopping everywhere thing and I was designated driver as usual. But this time I think we connected like we used to, years ago when we were

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1167673266701169632007-01-01T23:09:00.000+05:302007-01-02T09:44:00.053+05:30

A lot of stuff went down in 2006. Jessica’s killer was finally convicted. Gold and Silver price charts put rollercoasters to shame.India officially became THE investment destination amongst global emerging markets. India won their first ever cricket test in South Africa. Mumbai survived another terrorist attack. Or two, was it? Mumbai nearly drowned again. And went back to work the next day.

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1167161455047440752006-12-27T00:58:00.000+05:302006-12-27T09:28:45.920+05:30

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!The world forgetting, by the world forgot.Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!Each pray'r accepted and each wish resign'd. - Alexander Pope."I just thought it would be appropriate, maybe."

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1166984024744384342006-12-24T23:43:00.000+05:302006-12-24T23:46:09.433+05:30

Do you suffer from long term memory loss?I don't remember.

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1166903444605179272006-12-24T01:20:00.000+05:302006-12-24T10:48:10.490+05:30

A few months ago, I had lent a book to my friend Gayatri. ‘According to the Evidence’ by Eric Von Daniken. He writes about how all our Gods were actually space travelers who were way powerful than earthlings were, so we chose to place them on pedestals and worship them long after they disappeared back to their respective planets. But that’s not the point of this post. A few hours after I had

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1166467865022931062006-12-19T00:16:00.000+05:302006-12-19T00:41:18.883+05:30

It’s getting nippy out, eh.Umhm.Only at nights, though. It’s … oh wow … its almost midnight, man. Didn’t realize it was so late.Heh.Do you usually work this late? Then she notices I’m in my shorts. She smiles sheepishly. Stepped out for a smoke?For a walk.What’s taking it so long? Who the hell is using the elevator at fucking midnight, I wonder. She reads my mind. What’s taking the bloody

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1166121547437608452006-12-15T00:07:00.000+05:302006-12-15T11:34:27.120+05:30

Me: So you finally did it eh? It’s official now I read it on a CNBC scroller.C: Yeah, had enough. The guy before was a choot and the guy now is a bigger choot. And after creating the fucking brand over 10 years I don’t want to answer hair brained chutiya questions like ‘Where is the brand going’ and shit. Me: So now?C: They asked me to head London, but it’s too close to my dad. Then the

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1164562319310830882006-11-26T23:01:00.000+05:302006-11-26T23:09:24.593+05:30

This is dedicated to the two tottering old women that beg at Juhu-Versova link road signal every night. To the millions of hero-heroine wannabes pottering around Lokhandwala. To the few amongst them who are doing it for the passion and not the money. To that kid who sometimes studies under the streetlight near D.N Road police station.To every bastard star kid and star father who abuses his

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1164139291268022392006-11-22T01:26:00.000+05:302006-11-22T01:33:47.776+05:30

You always do this! When you’ve run out of stuff to ask me, you ask me about this one damn film!She flashed an irritated smile at him before turning her attention back towards the road. It was dark, and the rain had just started coming down in buckets. Hahahahha … so tell me. I mean, you gotta remember that scene, the one in which Lester Bangs is giving gyaan to William Miller, about writing that

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1162757516215428232006-11-06T01:38:00.000+05:302006-11-06T01:41:56.226+05:30

its hard to wake upwhen the shades have been pulled shutthis house is hauntedits so patheticit makes no sense at alli'm ripe with things to saythe words rot and fall awayif my stupid poem could fix this homei'd read it everydayso here's your holidayhope you enjoy it this timeyou gave it all awayit was mineso when you're dead and gonewill you remember this night20 years now lostits not right

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1162071050861195542006-10-29T02:40:00.000+05:302006-10-29T10:59:41.050+05:30

There's a stack of souvenier/memoir t-shirts I have.There's the one that the great Anil Mehta wore on the dumbass 'Vaseline' shoot years ago.There's the one that Angela gave me when I left Singapore.There's the one that Jackie gave me when I left Singapore.There's Ajit Wadekar's team t-shirt from India's first cricket tour to South Africa after the ban on them was lifted. And then there's her

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1161350740532417082006-10-20T18:54:00.000+05:302006-10-20T19:39:19.376+05:30

I don’t particularly enjoy Diwali. In fact, I don’t like it at all. Ditto with Holi, and all of our festivals. It’s like one mono-progammed ritual that we’re supposed to follow year after year after year because our grandparents did it and their parents did it and so on and so forth. Blind. Go buy tons of sweets to gift to people who you know will not eat them, because there’s just too much sweet

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1161053590547857902006-10-17T08:07:00.000+05:302006-10-17T08:32:52.186+05:30

Five years ago when she would sit at her desk and furiously fire away at her sketch pad with her pencils, I had thought she was a kid fresh out of college, experimenting with her art. Last night, at the Fourth Floor Art Gallery at Kitab Mahal, I put a pink dot on a pointillisme of the great Miles Davis, created by Mihika Barthakur. Maneesh had already put one on Jack Nicholson. It wasn't tough

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1160162331105992622006-10-07T00:47:00.000+05:302006-10-07T09:12:36.256+05:30

A couple of days ago I was driving to Vandu’s house, and had just turned into her lane when a reckless driver almost slammed his Maruti 800 into my car. I did the usual, asked him if the bhenchod road belonged to his bastard father. But instead of apologizing, and it was clearly his fault because he was cornering at high speed without bothering to be careful in case someone was turning in from

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1158224509309909892006-09-14T14:09:00.000+05:302006-09-14T14:31:49.320+05:30

I am thinking about: a new assignment and a persistently troublesome issue.I said: 'I love this film' last night after the premiere of 'The Devil wears Prada'. I refuse: to give up whisky.I want to: watch Lage Raho Munnabhai once every week before its out of the theatres.I wish: I was a messenger and all the news was good. I hear: rock music and i thank God for the gift of life. I wonder: how

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1156244286802597382006-08-22T16:24:00.000+05:302006-08-22T16:28:06.813+05:30

Alright. Here’s a useful lesson for you. Give up. Just quit. Because in this life, you can’t win. Yeah you can try. But in the end you’re just gonna lose. Big time. Because the world is run by the Man. The Man. Oh, you don’t know the Man? Oh he’s everywhere. In the White House, down the hall, Ms. Mullins, she’s the Man. And the Man ruined the ozone, and he’s burning down the amazon, and he

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1155760896933943192006-08-17T02:01:00.000+05:302006-08-17T02:11:36.946+05:30

keep it locked up inside dont talk about it.talk about the weather. you cant put your arms around a memory.youve got to get yourself together, you got stuck in a moment.and you cant get out of it.i woke up inbetween a memory and a dream. you fell into our arms.you fell into our arms.we tried but there was nothing we could do.nothing we could do.hell i know i aint nobody's bargainbut hell a little

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1154326509625350642006-07-31T11:38:00.000+05:302006-07-31T11:55:10.110+05:30

Mohammed Rafi saab passed on this day 26 years ago, leaving behind the timeless legacy of his immortal voice and magnificent music for people like you and me who at the time weren't old enough to comprehend his greatness, but would over the years realise what we had lost.RIP Rafi saab, the original rockstar. Woh jab yaad aaye,Bahut yaad aaye.

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1153800011872193532006-07-25T09:10:00.000+05:302006-07-25T09:30:11.966+05:30

i had an omelette for dinner last night.with a side order of unlimited laughter.and conversation with a cup of coffee.that refused to leave me even after i had ridden the interstellar superhighway home.it kept me up till past 5.the world woke me up before 8. and i just cannot begin to explain what the sky looks like today.what the colour of the wind reminds me of. why i smile at the scent of the

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1153577887600136102006-07-22T19:47:00.000+05:302006-07-23T20:27:25.800+05:30

when you can find the courage to look inside your own eyes, and the sounds outside you get as loud as the deafening silence within, you can finally hear yourself over the noise.

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1152907538047183712006-07-15T01:30:00.000+05:302006-07-15T01:35:38.130+05:30

what else should i beall apologieswhat else should i sayeveryone is gaywhat else should i writei dont have the rightwhat esle should i beall apologiesin the sunin the sun i feel as onein the sunin the sunmarriedburiedi wish i was like youeasily amusedfind my nest of salteverything's my faulti take all the blameaqua seafoam shamesunburn with freezerburnchoking on the ashes of her enemyin the sunin

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1152566462302580862006-07-11T02:07:00.000+05:302006-07-11T03:52:31.686+05:30

aazmaley aazmaleyaaj khud ko aazmaleyphirta hai kab se yeh dil sambhaleybol yeh labb pe ruke haintere sajde mein jhuke hainpal pal bikhre hain kitne ujalekya karoon kya sochta haichain dil ka dhoondta haiapni kismat ko jagalebeech ka parda uthaleaazmaleyaazmaley aazmaleyaaj khud ko aazmaleyphirta hai kab se yeh dil sambhaleybol yeh labb pe ruke haintere sajde mein jhuke hainpal pal bikhre hain

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1151266498501460682006-06-26T01:40:00.000+05:302006-06-26T01:46:24.096+05:30

this'll make you laugh.i was told yesterday that one of the daughters of the president came to NY show 2.we were playing 'the tourist' at the end of the show. and yes we did wonder what the shuffling manhandling fighting was in the distance of the audience.turns out it was her 6 bodyguards clearing the way for the first daughter's exit. and some pour soul objected at being manhandled by the

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1150956741408443232006-06-22T11:40:00.000+05:302006-06-22T11:54:53.976+05:30

Khushi is my friend’s daughter. She’s 3 years old. This Sunday, at my friend’s birthday lunch, Khushi and I spent the most awesome few hours together.She told me she liked my beard, and followed up her emphatic statement by pulling at it diligently. She and I hid behind the curtain. She screamed out to her mum and dad to come look for her and mischief dripped from her eyes as she kept hugging me

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674924.post-1150312187609219672006-06-15T00:37:00.000+05:302006-06-15T00:42:40.993+05:30

You’re in the boxing ring. Your opponent is life. Life is the reigning champion. It has never lost. You’re the challenger. The odds are stacked up against you. Life has the more experienced coach. It has everyone in the crowd rooting for it. Your coach is inexperienced, and no one is rooting for you. No one wants you to win. They all want to see you pulverized. You cannot win. In the end, after

n.g.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14971931370046751220noreply@blogger.com2