Wednesday 16 January 2008

Between the idea and the reality, falls the shadow

With sincere apologies to TS Eliot

You can be a writer,
but of what good is your ink to me,
if I am nothing more
than a voluptuous body of work,
a passionate figure of speech?

Neither can I be
a code you crack,
a server you hack,
so that when you come to bed,
I turn into another zesty programme,
an agile hyper text.

I'm not your crash test dummy,
or a designer clothes horse,
or the heel you reinvent,
or your latest Big Bang Theory.
And I cannot play the Dinner Bell
to your Pavlov's Dog.

Take your interpretations and notions
and misgivings and texts and theories.
Burn a nice big effigy
of your picture of me.
Then maybe we can discuss
what this is going to be.

Thursday 3 January 2008

Bombay Stories

I spent last week in my favourite city, mostly on account of Meera's wedding. The Potato and I made it for the mehendi, which involved mehendi, wine, custom-made bangles, Meera, Sufiya and, of course, plenty of food.

The reception was lovely, what with the immensely entertaining salad bar, where various vegetables and fruits went into the making of ducks, faces, rural scenery and, more mysteriously, a dinosaur created entirely out of karela. I am certain Mr. Pink took fabulous pictures of these creations, but I was too busy figuring out how to remove the lens on my camera. So till I bribe Mr. Pink to allow me to use his pictures, here are the few that I miraculously managed to take. Other noteworthy features include The Bride's Hair, The Constant Photographer and Mr. Pink's Range of Expressions.


A thousand splendid Kanjeevarams. At a North Indian wedding.


Beautiful bride


Suf and Potato checking someone out


This was the official photographer at the wedding, who clearly had a personal agenda against me. The Mirchi Wedding Album will have simply thousands of photos of me shovelling food into my mouth, thanks to this man.


Potato and Pink- my sister and its husbandicoot


Pink's intense look


Pink's mean look. Spot the difference.


The Mirchies


Every hairdresser has her day. Meera poses to show the intricate work of art that is her hair.


I think this is the exact moment when I discovered there was more food on the other side.


A monument of charm and sophistication.

Wednesday 2 January 2008

The blogger who won't

I know, I know.
Two months.
Wretched.

Will write in greater detail, maybe tomorrow, with photographs for proof wherever possible. Meanwhile, here are some key words to keep you in the loop with what's been going on in my head.

Dhoni x Ms. Padukone x Yuvraj= the triangle that never was (OR, PythagorARSE); aaanyhooo, where's the cricket boys?; ducks, ducks, ducks; Rahul!; Sehwag??; pitch bitch

Bombay; Biladi wedding; the reception with the karela dinosaur; is 'biladi' masculine or feminine?; The Saab and how much I love her; Bombay people, places, trains, old friends, why am I here???; A dog called Fucker in Andheri; hot buttered apple tea; Vinay Aravind and the Lost Scripts for Encyclopaedia Titanica; and also, Richard Clayderboy

Steve, out of his comfort zone; remarkable words by The Wall; grabbed greedily at Strand for Mr. Pink; the Strand book sale

Bhutto; schoolboys and guns; cyber dares-real deaths; who started the fire?

New Year's Eve; Farida Khanum; twenty-six candles; how to heal a man's broken heart; mental turmoil- where do we go from here (Mumbai, meri jaan); Kiran, who I love

That's all.
How're you? Tell me.