The Upside of Wet Jeans

because the most you can expect from perfection is a moment.

pebbleriver.

light even on the cloudiest day.

windscreentrees.

rounding up with my signature shot, the feet. :)

The Opening Ceremony

Watching the Olympic Opening Ceremony filled me with much feeling, somewhere in my toes - a little bit of wonder, of melancholy even. Apart from shouting out the capitals as the delegates of the countries walked by, the whole thing made sense, it seemed right. These were real people; all those countries aren't just coloured jigsaw pieces in an atlas with a short para about their stats. Just seeeing so many different faces each more handsome than the other, a nose from Denmark, blonde hair from Slovakia, a wide smile from the Marshall Islands, a costume from Bahrain, a whole cheering party from Brazil. Face upon face, and in those snatches you can tell -he's gay and she has children, and he must be really popular with the ladies. You realise once more than there are so many, many more people in the world than just Americans, yet beause they control world media, all we see is Americans. A place like Las Vegas is mythologised because of Hollywood, but the rest of world has no big machine to make sketchy movie and bring them to a theatre near you.

The thing is that with an event such as the Olympics, an event so huge and involving so many people, even by virtue of simply witnessing it, you are complicit with its politics. With the fact that Taiwan was introduced as Chinese Taiwan. That Palestine sent their own delegates, so atleast they're recognised, but Tibet isn't. That Pakistan got a huge cheer, because an enemy of your enemy is your friend - or some archaic logic like that. As did Iraq, because we destroyed them and are now content to give them a good natured pat on the back.

Athletes, and sports reflect everything that's right in the world, about the purpose of our bodies, and they don't matter in the long run, they really don't. Watching them wave to the dignitaries from their country on the other side of the bulletproof enclosure mades me wonder, who decides whihc side you're on? Like if you were a princess say, a nominal head, you'd just go from one token event to the other on governement money and wave and smile but what have you REALLY done except be born? These people, they've practiced and worked and worked; they have real accomplishments. It's them I want to see, not faux celebrities. It's them folks doing the lap that are the stars and rightly so. They can wave and smile as much as they want, I'll cheer till I'm hoarse.

Suitcase of memories

I believe familiarity is a sign of wealth. Wealth when it comes to life, to living.

A fine lady, would have a regular tailor who knows the exact shape of her body, her trickiest measurements, and doesn’t need to take them over and over. Who notices she shrinks as she grows older, and makes the blouses smaller. To whom she brings her daughter for her first sari blouse.

And a jeweller, from where they make their big buys, once every year or so. Through the latest trends they keep pieces waiting for her but when her son wants to pick out an engagement ring for his girlfriend; she takes him there for the classic diamond knock out.

A man then, will have a banker, who does all the tedious paper work, efficiently, happily. A mechanic, who knocks a couple hundred off the bill after the regular servicing. When his daughter has her first bang-up learning how to drive, he gets angry with her, but they have a little chortle, the mechanic and him, there were many jokes on that one oh there were.

And the other family who's been with them for years and who knows when to get the hot water bottle and the right temperature of tea, who are well looked after and their children seen through school and onto bigger better things. Who’ll mow the garden and plant the flower seeds and take care of the dogs when they go out of town.

As they grow older, this fine lady and gentleman, they’ll need their old doctor of course. Who’ll listen with gentle patience to them, who’s delivered their kids and is now old himself. So he refers them to better, younger doctors but they go back to him for a last and final opinion.

They walk into Blue Diamond. He nods at the tabla player, a namastey; the next song is his favourite ghazal. Somewhere else in the city, at a nightclub, their son nods at the DJ and shakes hands with the bartender. A bartender who knows his drink and in the thickest crowd will get to him first.

A bookstore then for me, a perfect one which I’ll love with all my heart. Placed somewhere to bring in minimum of tourist traffic, a place where you can sit and read and not pay. I know there’s a store out there that’s just waiting for me to walk into it.

You can say familiarity is a step away from boredom, from the same old same old, but I’ll take it any day.

There are other things to experiment with, newer things to try out - like brand of cigarettes, and shampoos maybe but not hairstyles. Everything art related. Every place in the world. For that I have my muddy travelling boots under the armchair, but everything else I like in its own place.

Just because I'm losing...

Doesn't mean I'm lost.
Doesn't mean I'll stop.

What is it with the blogosphere these past couple of weeks? It seems like one person lost their nerve and so did everyone else simultaneously. It's a chain reaction with blog-blahness, and suddenly things are either too trivial or too huge to put in here. However abandoned readers fear not, for I am back with..err, vengeance?

So the easiest, let's talk about books. Have several to read at the same time, which is no fun but the most memorable one is Gabriel Garcia Marquez's - My Melancholy Whores. It's a nice, small compact book and fits in your hand nicely, besides it's hardcover which is a plus. I can bet you a huge load of cash that Marquez himself kept a diary where he counted the women he slept with. I mean first Florentino and then this guy. Or if he didn't, he thought about it alot.


Anyway, over the past couple of days I've had long long chats with old friends, and you know what they say, all birds come home to roost. Guess we leave bits of our selves scattered in the past that comes a full circle. They recount all their escpades, sexual and boy related, over the past couple of months, like getting sorta drunk and holding hands with Goan boys who jive. And then, after half an hour of them, it's like what about you? Man oh man am I glad I have no news.

Among friends then, there is that reassurance that yes, we have the same life for tomorrow and the day after and the year after that, and I'm really happy about that - someone has your back you know, who'll give your proxy attendence if you're not in class or pick up your fee form when they get theirs, or order two cups of chai without asking. It sure is nice to have a friend.