Never get into long distance arguments with your teenage son on phone. You can never win.
The Missus is always worried. Whether you live with her or you live away. So quit worrying about that too.
Eat frugally.
You can piss in the wash basin- No one is watching
Drink only with friends with whom you enjoy having a conversation. Office parties are a strict no-no. You are better off not knowing that the boss is having a roaring affair with the sexy steno who has worked with you all these years…
Watching Porn after the age of 45 is not Kosher
Don’t look at the mirror- you look horrid. You don’t need frequent confirmation.
Your bones start creaking and body starts aching: you can dream having a massage- preferably by a bikini clad babe as in James Bond/ Amrish Puri movies. But you can’t let anyone see your horrible body.
There is no cure for baldness in the near future and you can’t afford a hair transplant. So quit worrying and just get rid of that mop on your head.
Give up Pizzas. Eat Idlis.
It is good to pretend you are a cordon bleau cook. Young Women these days are sick of hormonally endowed studs who can’t cook.
For all you know you must be doing Yoga the wrong way.Don’t offer to teach it to anyone.
Keep snacks at home. Don’t eat them. You will look silly when someone drops in and there is nothing to offer.
Don’t accept offers for dinners with friends. Sympathetic Bhabhijis can stuff you with enough calories to last you for a month.
Go walking in the park. Don’t look at young lovers. You are a major distraction.
Spend little. Learn to like being called a Kanjoos.
Invest in experiences- not on a 42” Plasma TV
Friday 30 July 2010
Friday 23 July 2010
Scandinavian Crime
If the number of successful writers of crime fiction is any indicator, one could be deceived into believing that Scandinavian countries top the crimes chart. The last week I finished reading all but one novel in the series of books written by Per Wahloo and Maj Sjowal- a husband & wife team that wrote a ten book crime fiction series. When they went to receive a prize in the US, someone quipped-‘ I can’t collaborate with my wife in making an Omelette. I don’t know how you guys collaborate:” True for many of us, I am sure.
What is interesting about the Martin Beck series is that they signified the early genre that is often categorized as “police Procedurals”. The plots are tightly weaved, they unfold realistically and the characters have many failings, which makes it altogether believable. The marriage of the protagonist, Inspector Martin Beck, crumbles through the series, a slow process which has a sense of inevitability to it. He often suffers from stomach ailments and the occasional killer cold. Mankell Henning’s Kurt Wallander series appears profoundly influenced by the series. If you count Jo Nesbo, Mankell and Steig Larsson, then it is a no-brainer that the Scandinavian countries have churned out the best quality of crime fiction per capita. The names and places are tongue-twisters. It is not easy to for the reader to build a sense of occasion in his mind when he reads “ Martin Beck walked along Kungsgatan and turned at Nortandsgatan.” The plot often gets submerged in the melee of unpronounceable names.
A nation of One billion ought to do better than that, don’t you think so? But police procedurals are not exactly something we are known for. Every day we watch crime scenes on TV where the actual scene is not cordoned off, leading to destruction of valuable evidence. Maybe a few years from now, our police would be better equipped to deal with evidence, DNA etc. from crime scenes. Here is an attempt at Indian crime fiction. A warning: this could be traumatic to the readers…
*******************
Constable Ramlal navigated through the garbage dump and the little kids shitting by the wayside. The overnight rains had considerably worsened the overpowering stench that greeted him and all thoughts of having breakfast vanished. He walked towards the crowd assembled at one of the jhopdis. A huge gathering of curious onlookers had swelled close to the crime scene. The police wireless was dead and he got on the mobile phone to brief his DCP. After a long wait while the caller tune “ Om Jai Jagdish Hare” played, he picked up and grunted. It sounded like he was getting a massage at home from one of the prisoners in judicial custody for pick-pocketing and an important nerve just got seriously tweaked. Or was he labouring under the weight of the big bossomed, wide hipped mistress No 2 who lives in Janak Puri? Ramlal wondered as he explained the situation at the crime scene. “Has any politician turned up?” asked the DCP. “No” said Ramlal. “Dekh Lena. I will come in the afternoon”, the DCP lazily intoned and went back to whatever pastime he was indulged in. Ramlal couldn’t help but imagine bald, paunchy, hairy DCP Ratan Singh groaning under the undressed heaviness of mistress no.2 at her Janakpuri DDA flat.
The body of the 17 year old girl was lying in the bedroom. Rigor mortis has set in. The unemployed brother is missing. Another honour killing, thought Ramlal as he persuaded the onlookers to help move the body to the floor into a more comfortable position. This way the public could take a better peek, thought Ramlal. There ought to be another body somewhere; that of the victim’s lover from the same gotra, thought the dormant Sherlock Holmes lurking within Ramlal. And surely the Khap Panchayat must have ordered a hit on the unsuspecting babe and her impudent lover.
The missing brother was seen in the hooch shop drinking himself silly till early hours yesterday, said an onlooker, with five rings in each hand and pan stained teeth. He went on to helpfully add that the perpetrator might be a thousand miles away by now. Ramlal asked around if there was anyone from the family. The parents were away for a week and Ramlal was disappointed at the lost opportunity to threaten a couple of old fogies with dire consequences in full public view. He also missed the breakfast which is readily commandeered under similar circumstances for visiting cops from the nearby teashops. No point in calling the fingerprint experts since by now a hundred hands have touched the body, behenchod he swore, … almost with a touch of fatality.
(to be continued)
**************
My close friends and family know me as a gadget freak. I don’t spend much money on gadgets but I do have a layman’s superficial understanding of emerging technologies. I heard a movie-star-hunk in a TV interview some months ago. He was asked what kind of gadgets he would hope for the future. He said the appropriate favourite music ought to stream in from his personal media player depending on his moods and thoughts. I found the answer silly and self centred. Is that all he can dream of? A music player which intuitively recognizes the moods of the listener? It could be a very dangerous thing. Sex is constantly on the minds of many in our blessed nation. We could have “Shake your Body” kind of songs blaring out of a million ipods.
What do I seek from the future? Well many things. How about solar umbrellas and helmets that create a cool, comfortable field around the wearer under the scorching sun? Construction workers slaving away in the Delhi heat might be better off. Or have them create a similar warm field in cold countries. It could greatly relieve the burden of cops on winter-night-patrol in Moscow. Or have it installed on car tops so that the insides of parked cars remain cool/ warm? In Delhi I see many cars run by their drivers in idle mode with the engine running and the AC on, so that the fat posteriors of the VIPs remain cool when they get in.
How about magic pipes which spew clean drinking water in any remote location by mixing the necessary gases from the atmosphere. It could solve drinking water and irrigation problems. How about silent vehicles and refrigerated transporters for agricultural produce which run on cheap non polluting energy sources?
The thought of genetic solutions to failing body parts like hearts and kidneys sounds great but is not so great if you think deeper. One could save little kids from serious conditions. But soon we might end up with a lot of geriatrics walking around with replaced body parts, living eternally. And what if the more money one has, the more critical body parts one can afford? Like Warrant Buffet can afford a spare heart or two while Sharmaji next door can afford only a prosthetic palm. Weird, isn’t it? I gues it is better if one lives just as long as willed by nature.
What is interesting about the Martin Beck series is that they signified the early genre that is often categorized as “police Procedurals”. The plots are tightly weaved, they unfold realistically and the characters have many failings, which makes it altogether believable. The marriage of the protagonist, Inspector Martin Beck, crumbles through the series, a slow process which has a sense of inevitability to it. He often suffers from stomach ailments and the occasional killer cold. Mankell Henning’s Kurt Wallander series appears profoundly influenced by the series. If you count Jo Nesbo, Mankell and Steig Larsson, then it is a no-brainer that the Scandinavian countries have churned out the best quality of crime fiction per capita. The names and places are tongue-twisters. It is not easy to for the reader to build a sense of occasion in his mind when he reads “ Martin Beck walked along Kungsgatan and turned at Nortandsgatan.” The plot often gets submerged in the melee of unpronounceable names.
A nation of One billion ought to do better than that, don’t you think so? But police procedurals are not exactly something we are known for. Every day we watch crime scenes on TV where the actual scene is not cordoned off, leading to destruction of valuable evidence. Maybe a few years from now, our police would be better equipped to deal with evidence, DNA etc. from crime scenes. Here is an attempt at Indian crime fiction. A warning: this could be traumatic to the readers…
*******************
Constable Ramlal navigated through the garbage dump and the little kids shitting by the wayside. The overnight rains had considerably worsened the overpowering stench that greeted him and all thoughts of having breakfast vanished. He walked towards the crowd assembled at one of the jhopdis. A huge gathering of curious onlookers had swelled close to the crime scene. The police wireless was dead and he got on the mobile phone to brief his DCP. After a long wait while the caller tune “ Om Jai Jagdish Hare” played, he picked up and grunted. It sounded like he was getting a massage at home from one of the prisoners in judicial custody for pick-pocketing and an important nerve just got seriously tweaked. Or was he labouring under the weight of the big bossomed, wide hipped mistress No 2 who lives in Janak Puri? Ramlal wondered as he explained the situation at the crime scene. “Has any politician turned up?” asked the DCP. “No” said Ramlal. “Dekh Lena. I will come in the afternoon”, the DCP lazily intoned and went back to whatever pastime he was indulged in. Ramlal couldn’t help but imagine bald, paunchy, hairy DCP Ratan Singh groaning under the undressed heaviness of mistress no.2 at her Janakpuri DDA flat.
The body of the 17 year old girl was lying in the bedroom. Rigor mortis has set in. The unemployed brother is missing. Another honour killing, thought Ramlal as he persuaded the onlookers to help move the body to the floor into a more comfortable position. This way the public could take a better peek, thought Ramlal. There ought to be another body somewhere; that of the victim’s lover from the same gotra, thought the dormant Sherlock Holmes lurking within Ramlal. And surely the Khap Panchayat must have ordered a hit on the unsuspecting babe and her impudent lover.
The missing brother was seen in the hooch shop drinking himself silly till early hours yesterday, said an onlooker, with five rings in each hand and pan stained teeth. He went on to helpfully add that the perpetrator might be a thousand miles away by now. Ramlal asked around if there was anyone from the family. The parents were away for a week and Ramlal was disappointed at the lost opportunity to threaten a couple of old fogies with dire consequences in full public view. He also missed the breakfast which is readily commandeered under similar circumstances for visiting cops from the nearby teashops. No point in calling the fingerprint experts since by now a hundred hands have touched the body, behenchod he swore, … almost with a touch of fatality.
(to be continued)
**************
My close friends and family know me as a gadget freak. I don’t spend much money on gadgets but I do have a layman’s superficial understanding of emerging technologies. I heard a movie-star-hunk in a TV interview some months ago. He was asked what kind of gadgets he would hope for the future. He said the appropriate favourite music ought to stream in from his personal media player depending on his moods and thoughts. I found the answer silly and self centred. Is that all he can dream of? A music player which intuitively recognizes the moods of the listener? It could be a very dangerous thing. Sex is constantly on the minds of many in our blessed nation. We could have “Shake your Body” kind of songs blaring out of a million ipods.
What do I seek from the future? Well many things. How about solar umbrellas and helmets that create a cool, comfortable field around the wearer under the scorching sun? Construction workers slaving away in the Delhi heat might be better off. Or have them create a similar warm field in cold countries. It could greatly relieve the burden of cops on winter-night-patrol in Moscow. Or have it installed on car tops so that the insides of parked cars remain cool/ warm? In Delhi I see many cars run by their drivers in idle mode with the engine running and the AC on, so that the fat posteriors of the VIPs remain cool when they get in.
How about magic pipes which spew clean drinking water in any remote location by mixing the necessary gases from the atmosphere. It could solve drinking water and irrigation problems. How about silent vehicles and refrigerated transporters for agricultural produce which run on cheap non polluting energy sources?
The thought of genetic solutions to failing body parts like hearts and kidneys sounds great but is not so great if you think deeper. One could save little kids from serious conditions. But soon we might end up with a lot of geriatrics walking around with replaced body parts, living eternally. And what if the more money one has, the more critical body parts one can afford? Like Warrant Buffet can afford a spare heart or two while Sharmaji next door can afford only a prosthetic palm. Weird, isn’t it? I gues it is better if one lives just as long as willed by nature.
Monday 5 July 2010
Solitude
I have been posted out of Delhi- on my own request since the Missus is in Chennai. The Indian Government has detailed guidelines on the subject of posting husband and wife to the same station, even if they belong to different departments. In a perverse move, I have been asked to move to Jabalpur, in Central India. Chathu is in 10th Standard and I think it is time that I need to be around him.(Although I seriously doubt if he thinks so) Somehow in life such pointers pop up which makes one rethink whether it is worth hanging around in Government. Well, fight I must, says my heart. Quit, says my inner voice. After twenty years in government, I am not too sure that I will find something to do in the private sector. I have started wondering if I can ever make a difference to things in Government, as I originally set out to do. My conscience confronts the ugly reality at workplace and my sheer helplessness in doing something to alter it. Quitting is not really an affordable option since I will need to pay the amount spent by the Government for the Australian education back.
I am living alone in Delhi. Looks like I will be doing that for a long time to come. It is not too bad, living alone, I mean. Firstly, you are in full control of your time. I think nothing of sitting up and finishing books late into the night. I am not able to read serious stuff with my present disturbed mind. So Lee Child’s Jack Reacher series is in my list of reading. Sort of Amitabh Bachan and Rajnikanth rolled into a white man 6’5” tall, ex military, spreading vigilante justice across USA. I have also learnt to cook a bit. I have rigid tastes and am likely to go on a diet of Idlis and Chinese for the rest of solitary life. I am trying to stop watching TV since I realized that watching news in various channels doesn’t add any value or depth to your understanding of contemporary India. I have reignited my musical tastes. But I haven’t discovered any new singers so far, as I promised myself early on this year. Got to keep myself going amidst this adversity. I have quit the occasional sip of vodka since I am scared that it might grow into a habit. Have been able to stick to the one cigarette a day routine but holidays are tough. With nothing to do, I end up smoking a couple extra. I am still prone to backaches and sprains and it is on such days that I feel helpless and lonely.
The thought of Jabalpur also makes me sad because I don’t know whether I will get access to good libraries. I have been living in metros for the last 13 years and it will be a bit difficult to readjust. Life in our defence factories in B town India is good. But I am not sure that I want to spend my life playing Tambola in Officers’ gatherings. I am not sure that I want to take a break for lunch, have a nap and get back to Office. I am not sure that I want to play billiards, badminton,swim and tone my muscles in the Gym. I am also not sure that I want to fight with trade union leaders, bosses and sundry local Dadas. I will keep myself busy and keep hoping that I will be reunited with Missus and Chathu.
********
I read Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall. If you are interested in British History, especially the reign of Henry VIII, during which far reaching changes took place, then you will love this book. Thomas Cromwell is the central character and his role in the rapidly unfolding events of the most spectacular time of English History is written with passion and verve. I could barely keep my interest sustained, primarily due to the complex web of characters. The underlying theme is interesting. The faceoff between the king and the church was triggered off by that one factor that caused many earthshaking changes in history- women.It was the king’s determination to take a new wife while the church forbade it. Learned man, King Henry…but he couldn’t control his hormones, I suppose.
I am living alone in Delhi. Looks like I will be doing that for a long time to come. It is not too bad, living alone, I mean. Firstly, you are in full control of your time. I think nothing of sitting up and finishing books late into the night. I am not able to read serious stuff with my present disturbed mind. So Lee Child’s Jack Reacher series is in my list of reading. Sort of Amitabh Bachan and Rajnikanth rolled into a white man 6’5” tall, ex military, spreading vigilante justice across USA. I have also learnt to cook a bit. I have rigid tastes and am likely to go on a diet of Idlis and Chinese for the rest of solitary life. I am trying to stop watching TV since I realized that watching news in various channels doesn’t add any value or depth to your understanding of contemporary India. I have reignited my musical tastes. But I haven’t discovered any new singers so far, as I promised myself early on this year. Got to keep myself going amidst this adversity. I have quit the occasional sip of vodka since I am scared that it might grow into a habit. Have been able to stick to the one cigarette a day routine but holidays are tough. With nothing to do, I end up smoking a couple extra. I am still prone to backaches and sprains and it is on such days that I feel helpless and lonely.
The thought of Jabalpur also makes me sad because I don’t know whether I will get access to good libraries. I have been living in metros for the last 13 years and it will be a bit difficult to readjust. Life in our defence factories in B town India is good. But I am not sure that I want to spend my life playing Tambola in Officers’ gatherings. I am not sure that I want to take a break for lunch, have a nap and get back to Office. I am not sure that I want to play billiards, badminton,swim and tone my muscles in the Gym. I am also not sure that I want to fight with trade union leaders, bosses and sundry local Dadas. I will keep myself busy and keep hoping that I will be reunited with Missus and Chathu.
********
I read Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall. If you are interested in British History, especially the reign of Henry VIII, during which far reaching changes took place, then you will love this book. Thomas Cromwell is the central character and his role in the rapidly unfolding events of the most spectacular time of English History is written with passion and verve. I could barely keep my interest sustained, primarily due to the complex web of characters. The underlying theme is interesting. The faceoff between the king and the church was triggered off by that one factor that caused many earthshaking changes in history- women.It was the king’s determination to take a new wife while the church forbade it. Learned man, King Henry…but he couldn’t control his hormones, I suppose.
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