this neighbour of mine passes by the little ganesha temple everyday on his bike on the way to work. unfailingly, he slows down his bajaj scooter, takes a quick peek inside the temple, takes aim & throws a red hibiscus with postman accuracy at the feet of the shrine. As his right hand comes back to the handlebar, his left does a quick salaam, and briefly touches his lips as he mumbles some half-word prayer. Both hands back on the handlebar, he vroooooooms off. All this in barely 5-6 seconds. If that shrine had sight, it couldn’t have seen anything more than a road-runnerish blur.
When I put on my best I’m-in-awe-of-you face and asked this neighbour about his deftness, he said, “You should try to think of god all the time. You’ll get moksha.”
Believe me, I tried. (Hey, I want a shot at moksha too) But the handlebar wobbles and the lip-brush ends up as a hard sock on my nose. Plus, I have to stop a few streets later to wear my helmet. The mini-prayer sounds like a word you can’t utter in church. (I’m assuming same rules apply for ganesha too) About the hibiscus, I don’t think stealing from the neighbour’s garden is the right way to go. Those little flower girls in front of the temple giggle at my antics. One cheeky one whispered that I was trying to get into the circus.
Oh maybe I’ll just burn in hell.
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Monday, June 21, 2004
shootout at high noon
Bigtime showdown by boss at lunch. A real-life Western.
Dressed in black, white-hat (boss) casually strolls into the small town cafe. The stranger's entry is greeted by malevolent stares from a seedy group of bar flies. His presence is challenged in a prolonged attempt at provocation. A classic confrontation. Black hatted badguy steps up (me)
Says Black-hat: Lets take this outside
(spits out the slowest burning cigarette stub in history)
They step out. Out= Old West's ghost town, abandoned by miners.
Goodguy slowly approaches badguy out in the dusty street. Their hands are held in exaggerated ready gunfighter poses as they bow-leggedly stomp towards each other from opposite ends of town.
A mouth organ goes buan-buuaaaann baun-baun in the background. Soft drum roll.
Badguy squints as Goodguy Sheriff's badge catches a ray of sunlight and shines into badguy's eyes.
Sheriff goodguy: This town aint big enough for the two of us, kid.
Badguy: Draw, Sheriff.
The two stop advancing, pause for a few seconds to allow the music to set a climactic mood.
Camera focuses on badguy from in between sheriff's legs. Sheriff clicks the spurs of his worn-out dusty cowboy shoes. Frame moves on to his hands. His palm is poised at his waist-belt that cradles the gun. Fingers wiggle in slow deliberation.
Now Badguy does the same wiggling, but his gun somehow looks like it was meant to play unfair.
A bullet suddenly cuts through the silence. Someone falls. We see only the bored faces of bystanders chewing reeds of straw. So who killed who? Did the goodguy win?
Next frame. Zoom to the armpit of badguy. There's a hole in his jacket. You gasp as you realize that he narrowly missed having his arms blown off. It's the code of the West. A man has to stand up for what's right, and a good cowboy knows when to be merciful. Zoom in on Goodguy sheriff's face. He grins unbearably, baring his tobacco soiled teeth.
Trackback to real life. It really plays like any old Western film. The good guys and the bad guys are clearly defined. There are themes of honor and courage at play. And the key scene is a man to man showdown.
And boy! did that happen... Me back from boss's cubicle, trying to hide my amused grin. Little does she know what a perfect John Wayne she makes.
Dressed in black, white-hat (boss) casually strolls into the small town cafe. The stranger's entry is greeted by malevolent stares from a seedy group of bar flies. His presence is challenged in a prolonged attempt at provocation. A classic confrontation. Black hatted badguy steps up (me)
Says Black-hat: Lets take this outside
(spits out the slowest burning cigarette stub in history)
They step out. Out= Old West's ghost town, abandoned by miners.
Goodguy slowly approaches badguy out in the dusty street. Their hands are held in exaggerated ready gunfighter poses as they bow-leggedly stomp towards each other from opposite ends of town.
A mouth organ goes buan-buuaaaann baun-baun in the background. Soft drum roll.
Badguy squints as Goodguy Sheriff's badge catches a ray of sunlight and shines into badguy's eyes.
Sheriff goodguy: This town aint big enough for the two of us, kid.
Badguy: Draw, Sheriff.
The two stop advancing, pause for a few seconds to allow the music to set a climactic mood.
Camera focuses on badguy from in between sheriff's legs. Sheriff clicks the spurs of his worn-out dusty cowboy shoes. Frame moves on to his hands. His palm is poised at his waist-belt that cradles the gun. Fingers wiggle in slow deliberation.
Now Badguy does the same wiggling, but his gun somehow looks like it was meant to play unfair.
A bullet suddenly cuts through the silence. Someone falls. We see only the bored faces of bystanders chewing reeds of straw. So who killed who? Did the goodguy win?
Next frame. Zoom to the armpit of badguy. There's a hole in his jacket. You gasp as you realize that he narrowly missed having his arms blown off. It's the code of the West. A man has to stand up for what's right, and a good cowboy knows when to be merciful. Zoom in on Goodguy sheriff's face. He grins unbearably, baring his tobacco soiled teeth.
Trackback to real life. It really plays like any old Western film. The good guys and the bad guys are clearly defined. There are themes of honor and courage at play. And the key scene is a man to man showdown.
And boy! did that happen... Me back from boss's cubicle, trying to hide my amused grin. Little does she know what a perfect John Wayne she makes.
Sunday, June 20, 2004
like shrugging it off helps...
just makes me more aware of how i never had to do that before.
slacking is the word. but how easily it can be justified as "taking it easy"
urgent! damage control ambulance required!
but the more the "i'll show THEM!", the more the no-show.
worry is the word. but i like the variant "on my toes"
i lie well to myself. (right hand shakes left)
just makes me more aware of how i never had to do that before.
slacking is the word. but how easily it can be justified as "taking it easy"
urgent! damage control ambulance required!
but the more the "i'll show THEM!", the more the no-show.
worry is the word. but i like the variant "on my toes"
i lie well to myself. (right hand shakes left)
Friday, June 18, 2004
shiva thaandavam
small, dingy room. bedsheets and forgotten coffee cups strewn around. unnamed tapes and Cds that you want to steal. among them is a bearded giant who owns rhythm. he talks of tunes and the impossibility of their death. listen, he says, and tunes his mridangam. dhong-dhong. thuk-thuk. dheem. TA! dheem.
i yawn. he doesn't care. he plays.
eyes tightly closed. little gleaming beads of sweat taking flight as the head moves violently. a mental world of dancing shiva, wild hair and ashen face. whether i believe in that form of divinity or not, the sound i hear is absorbing.
he smiles at the end of it all. anoor anantha krishna sharma.
shivu, the giant calls himself. close.
i yawn. he doesn't care. he plays.
eyes tightly closed. little gleaming beads of sweat taking flight as the head moves violently. a mental world of dancing shiva, wild hair and ashen face. whether i believe in that form of divinity or not, the sound i hear is absorbing.
he smiles at the end of it all. anoor anantha krishna sharma.
shivu, the giant calls himself. close.
daddy kewl
I have a deadline to meet. One of my parents is going to claim his due on Sunday. What do you give a man who thinks watching a telugu movie song without the volume on is fun?
“here pa, a book!” “books are for people who have time”
“pa, here, you’ve always wanted a white shirt” “clothes… does it really matter how I look? I’m dashing even in a lungi”
“how would you like a pair of sneakers?” “To sneak off to a hill station for a second honeymoon with your middle aged mom, I suppose?”
“ok, what if I buy you a tape of ghazals? (not CD. To avoid the “are you kidding me? I’m not a dj!” (?))” “Sounds good, but are you sure you want me hear a bunch of songs about women and wine?”
“pa, what about a free hair cut with your regular barber?” “hmmm… I’ll try colouring the first row of grey hair blue” Errr… No way!
Oh, maybe I’ll just not remember father’s day. Will postpone the sarcasm-invite for his birthday.
Hmmm...funny how dad-day is on son-day
“here pa, a book!” “books are for people who have time”
“pa, here, you’ve always wanted a white shirt” “clothes… does it really matter how I look? I’m dashing even in a lungi”
“how would you like a pair of sneakers?” “To sneak off to a hill station for a second honeymoon with your middle aged mom, I suppose?”
“ok, what if I buy you a tape of ghazals? (not CD. To avoid the “are you kidding me? I’m not a dj!” (?))” “Sounds good, but are you sure you want me hear a bunch of songs about women and wine?”
“pa, what about a free hair cut with your regular barber?” “hmmm… I’ll try colouring the first row of grey hair blue” Errr… No way!
Oh, maybe I’ll just not remember father’s day. Will postpone the sarcasm-invite for his birthday.
Hmmm...funny how dad-day is on son-day
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