'Friends'

They met over coffee that night - early, just-on-time, and apologetic.

Pleasantries were exchanged and formalities done with : health and wealth talked about, and matters of work and family dispensed with.

Few laughs were exchanged thereafter - some on each other, the rest on someone else.

Then came the rumours - some direct jibes, the rest, about someone else.

The sound of the trumpets followed, announcing them chest thumpers. One did it straight-out, while the other went round-about; one happened to be coy, while the other smiled in one-upmanship.

Books, Movies and Marriage, as topics of conversation; one liked it not, but then, even he had an opinion - at times politically correct, at times a frank critique; some times taking advice, at times giving one.

One remained silent, the second contributed sparely, the third talked the most, and the fourth continued to change topics.

A break to place the order, and another for a sip; a break for water, and another for a piss; a break for a call, and another for a message; and some breaks, that lingered on.

A fifth called and announced a delay - the thought of a possible drop-out spread around the table. Just then, a sixth called to say that he was on his way.

A broken thread of conversation is picked up by someone.

Attack - Defence, emotional - rationale, distracted - I-don't-give-a-shit, My point of view-Your point of view, Hitler-Hummer, Godse - Gandhi, Work-life balance - Money as a motivator, some show-off - some self-praise, some testosterone - some lack of it, ageing - the flight of time, some nostalgia - then for old time's sake, masks worn in self-amazement - masks shred to much fanfare, remarks that reinforce opinions - remarks that make interesting thought, cornered - leading the charge, Attack - Defence ; a little bit of change, but mostly the script remains the same.

Whodunit!!

Kariyila kattupole (Dir. Padmarajan ; Cast. Mohanlal, Mammootty)

Some things facinated me in this really good murder-mystery by Padmarajan. One, the audience is told the progression and ending of the story right at the start, but is still kept guessing till the end. Two, everyone speaks the truth in the movie; and that makes the story look as if it is waiting to be unraveled. Three, some nice characters and dialogues (Mammootty as the brash, and allegedly womanising film director, for example).

Thin Man

An ex-detective and his wife decide to figure out the mystery behind their missing ex-client. That what makes the movie outstanding is the excellent casting of the lead couple and the brilliant banter between the husband and wife. And to think the movie was shot in just 12 days!!

Quotes

Nora Charles: Take care of yourself

Nick Charles: Why, sure I will.

Nora Charles: Don't say it like that! Say it as if you meant it!

Nick Charles: Well, I do believe the little woman cares.

Nora Charles: I don't care! It's just that I'm used to you, that's all.
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Nora Charles: All right! Go ahead! Go on! See if I care! But I thinks it's a dirty trick to bring me all the way to New York just to make a widow of me.

Nick Charles: You wouldn't be a widow long.

Nora Charles: You bet I wouldn't!

Nick Charles: Not with all your money...

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Nick Charles: Now my friends, if I may propose a little toast. Let us eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die.

Nora Charles: You give such charming parties, Mr. Charles.

Nick Charles: Thank you, Mrs. Charles

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Nora Charles: Pretty girl.

Nick Charles: Yes. She's a very nice type.

Nora Charles: You got types?

Nick Charles: Only you, darling. Lanky brunettes with wicked jaws.

The Baggy Green !

There is something exciting about waking up at 5:00 in the morning (“rather crazy”, some of you may mumble); cautiously opening the creaky bedroom door (trying to anticipate, unsuccessfully, the next creak); tip-toeing down the stairs in dead darkness (a slip, a stumble and a few missed stairs to show as price paid for not waking up the other less excitable inmates of the house); and on reaching the living room - groping, locating, and cringing as the remote crashes on the floor; before finally switching on the telly and frantically pressing ‘Mute’ in quick succession, so that a scream may not escape the speakers into the pre-dawn darkness.

Such were the start of the days of my childhood, and to a certain extent even now, whenever the Indian cricket team toured down under, to Australia.

The dark screen of the telly would slowly light-up - wiping the darkness from my face and chasing the darkness from the room.

As my eyes adjust to the light, and I find myself a chair (a stubbed-toe and a sore knee to show for the attempt), I would be greeted with live feed from Australia – Boxing Day Test Match!

Shaking off drowsiness from my head, I would find myself being hypnotized by the likes of a Richie Benaud or a Mark Taylor, or that affable Carribean, Micheal Holding – refreshing!

As far as cricketing venues go, there is no better place than Australia to play the game. Unlike the dustbowls of India and Pakistan, the grey-chilly-damp-stiff-upper-lip English weather, or the faded and worn-out greens of muggy South Africa and West Indies, Australia provides a feast for the eye – a huge circle of green, with stripes of light and dark running across, restricted in the middle of those sprawling, handsome stadiums. The pitch, the colour of golden wheat, one that is assured to offer both bounce and pace; and the weather warm, sunny and crisp (Yes, that is the word that comes to my mind when I think of cricket in Australia – Crisp!); ideal for Test cricket. The cricketers wearing their fresh starched whites (the Aussies have always had a slight distinct yellow tinge to their clothes, as if unwashed, but likeable, nevertheless).

With some of the longest boundaries in the world, where batsmen run Fours (I have seen them run 5 once for an over-throw – good for the athletic Aussies; not so good for the Indians who relish hitting the boundaries than running the quick singles), the Aussie tour is a real endurance test; from the quality of stroke-play, to the aggressive opposition, cricket down-under is enough to make or break careers (So, would concur a V.V.S. Laxman, but not so, would say an Aakash Chopra).

The fascination does not end there. Even the telecast would be different each time, with ever changing fonts, new camera angles like stump vision, new forms of dynamic game analysis like ultra-slow motion, and even presentation styles – with players introducing themselves (on T.V.) as they stepped onto the field to bat.

As it is with other tours, one could also get to see veteran players who have now either turned commentators or coaches or have just dropped in for the match – the David Boons, Allan Borders and Mark Taylors of Australia.

And then the ‘quicks’ would start steaming in from the bottom of the TV screens towards the trepid batsman at the top, batsmen with tenuous grips on their bats trying to stop the cherry from crashing into their stumps. Sound of the ball nicking the outside edge, fielders grassing a catching, the ball scampering towards the fence fearing the sweet thump of the willow, Chin music – noise for the batsmen and a good beat for the spectators, the Hook, the Pull, the-one-that-bounced-a-bit, one on the chest another on the helmet, the chest-thumping on knocking down ‘Timber’, and huge Australian men and women waving Fours with a beer in one hand!

MCG, Sydney, Perth (!!), Adelaide, Gabba .. Bring it on!

Epilogue:

I woke-up late for the Boxing-day test of the 2007 series. But what greeted me were 3 of the most beautiful dismissals I had seen in recent times.

Phil Jacques, fooled by a Kumble Googly was dragged out of the crease, and Dhoni did the rest behind stumps (there are very few instances in cricket that can match the embarrassment of a spinner completely fooling the batsman, I feel).

Zaheer followed up with a beauty to dismiss Ponting - the left-armer bowling from around the stumps with a bowl that angles in and moves away just that little bit from the right handed batsman, clipped the bails on its way back. With Ponting, the ball disappeared from the screen as the batsman played on the front-foot, and the next frame was that of the batsman outside the crease, covering the stumps completely, with the bails flying off on either side.

Hussey, the person to have the biggest test average after Sir Don, was next. Cool, efficient, professional, and determined (he made it to the side when 30+), he was fooled by a Kumble Googly (again!) that caught him on his back-foot plumb in-front.

As I publish this post, India has lost the MCG test by over 300 runs, and are struggling in the New Year’s test at SCG. The injuries are hurting India - with Zaheer returning to India. With the bouncy track of Perth to come next, the Indians have some hard work up ahead.

Dedication

to his Uncle, by Ruskin Bond.

Dedicated to the memory of my uncle,
James Bond,
Who was a dentist by profession and not,
As some believe, a secret agent....
His epitaph reads:
Stranger! Approach this spot with gravity,
James Bond is filling his last cavity.

" The private life of a child starts with his first tooth-brush."

- Spectator, Higuita & Other Stories by N.S. Madhavan

A Good Man

The youngest Ashok Chakra winner.

Progress

something to be happy about.

Steve Prefontaine

"Without Limits" the movie talks about the life of Steve Prefontain, Pre, one of the distinguished American long distance runners, an Olympian, and his coach Bill Bowerman, coach and co-founder of Nike. Good movie and two inspiring people. Some personal quotes of Pre,

• "To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift."
• "A lot of people run a race to see who is fastest. I run to see who has the most guts, who can punish himself into exhausting pace, and then at the end, punish himself even more. Nobody is going to win a 5,000 meter race after running an easy 3 miles. Not with me. If I lose forcing the pace all the way, well, at least I can live with myself."
• "I don't just go out there and run. I like to give people watching something exciting."
• "I run best when I run free."
• "A race is a work of art that people can look at and be affected in as many ways as they're capable of understanding."
• "I'm going to work so that it's a pure guts race at the end, and if it is, I am the only one who can win it."
• "Someone may beat me, but they are going to have to bleed to do it."
• "The only good race pace is suicide pace, and today looks like a good day to die."
• "What I want is to be number one."
• "Something inside of me just said 'Hey, wait a minute, I want to beat him,' and I just took off."
• "Some people create with words or with music or with a brush and paints. I like to make something beautiful when I run. I like to make people stop and say, 'I've never seen anyone run like that before.' It's more than just a race, it's a style. It's doing something better than anyone else. It's being creative."
• "How does a kid from Coos Bay, with one leg longer than the other win races? All my life people have been telling me, 'You're too small Pre', 'You're not fast enough Pre.' 'Give up your foolish dream Steve.' But they forgot something. I HAVE to win"
• "You have to wonder at times what you're doing out there. Over the years, I've given myself a thousand reasons to keep running, but it always comes back to where it started. It comes down to self-satisfaction and a sense of achievement."
• "Having a true faith is the most difficult thing in the world. Many will try to take it from you."

Link to Nakul's post whose recco I took

The turn of phrase

Interesting article on the origins of phrases

A point of view

According to Indicus Analytics, an economics research firm, Thrissur features among the Top 10 places to reside in India.

The shameless..

Another case of disgusting mob cowardice and apathy..

Disturbia

To this day I cannot guess with any sort of confidence that which was going through his head that night - whoever he may have been.

The plane taxied slowly onto the runway.

Like a huge, bulky tight-rope walker it rolled over the smooth tarmac carefully balancing its huge wings with their blinking lights.

Once on the runway it waited, ready to charge, making great sounds from deep within, as if somewhere deepdown the oompa loompas were shoving all the gasoline into one garangutan of a boiler-like engine that was all set to blow up. The engines slowly revved up and soon the whole frame of the beast began to shudder as the sound reached deafening proportions. As the minions ran for cover deep inside, the strings that were attached to the back of the plane stretched themselves to breaking point – ready to catapult us into the dark sky above.

Whatever I maybe doing – reading a book, checking the in-flight magazines, banging the walls of my head with a stray thought, studying the flight path or trying to catch some shut-eye – I always snap out of it at this point. I would slowly shut the book, tuck it into the magazine slot in-front, gaze out onto the wings, wait, look around and press deeper into my seat – in anticipation. This I always do - without exception, and as if feeding on my thoughts, the tele-screens would go blank, lights would switch off, the flight-stewardesses would disappear and the silence inside would mix with the deafening noise from the outside creating a heady concoction.

Then the strings would let go and the plane would hurl itself forward like a loud animal - the powerful head-beams pushing aside the dark-silent night, making way for the strong bulk of the aircraft. The long stretch of lights on either side of the tarmac would hold their ground as the plane zipped past them and disappeared into the night sky.

On that day, there we were, waiting at the head of the runway, the engines revving up. I was seated just outside the business class, right in front of the partition and from where I sat I could see the in-flight attendants who had taken their positions for take off. They were all strapped onto their seats and were chatting happily with each other. The teenagers next to me were trying to catch some sleep – ipod ON, hand luggage secured neatly in front.

I waited, in anticipation.

It happened as the plane began to move forward.

From somewhere close behind me, 5-6 rows perhaps, there rose the most chilling laughter I have heard to this day. Male and youthful, it exploded inside the cabin silencing everyone instantly and continued to reverberate and establish its presence in the silence. It was a strong voice, strong and patronizing. It had the confidence, and madness, of someone who saw the future, of the dark fate that befell him and his fellow passengers, and had decided to go out in a blaze. There was no prelude, no sober conversation that tagged along, no second voice that provoked it further – alone, he laughed.

The stewardesses look wide eyed to some point behind me. The guy next to me, woke-up with a startle, and then twisted and turned in his seat, to which he was still tied down by his seat belts, to get a glimpse of the face that sent forth the sound. I sat still, wide-eyed for sure, too startled and confused to turn around and look at what was happening. It was then that I realized that a chill was running up my spine and that I was scared.

If I were to sketch it, I would have a cabin full of droop-faced, squiggly-mouthed, wide-eyed passengers. The sleeping ones jumping awake from their seat, their eye-brows popping, eye-shades flying-off, and the fainter of hearts shuddering and chewing on their mandibles, an exclamation mark popping out from the captain’s announcement speaker – and the source of the sound, a kind of omnipotent smudge.

By now the plane was rushing down the tarmac, engines roaring with all their might, seconds away from take off. However loud the engines screamed, the laughter seemed to prevail over it, giving it a sort of invincibility.

All this while no one made a sound, and that was a good 3-4 minutes of clean laughter.

I was impounded with scenes of people tearing away their seat belts and jumping on to the source of the sound – pounding him to near fatality. I was sure that any second now he would be pummeled by his fellow passengers. For a while I felt pity.

Then as the plane was taking off the runway, the wheels bumped on the airstrip, stretching the tension in the air to explosive levels. For a second, I was compelled to belive that there was something going on that was beyond my comprehension, something otherworldly, and that things were about to go terribly wrong and we were helpless. Throughout all this the laughter continued, unabated, wave after wave of renewed energy crashing fatally into the collective psyche in that airplane.

The laughter continued until the plane was well up in the sky and was turning to catch its course. Sometime then, as if snapped out of a trance, the seat-belt signs turned off, the flight stewardesses got off their seats to serve the meals, the guys next to me got busy in some animated and happy conversation, and people all around started to chatter and move about - and the laughter, unnoticed, faded away. I sat wondering about what had happened and soon, I too lost myself in the comforts of the in-flight hospitality

Sometime, pre-dawn, as the flight began it’s descend the captain’s voice seeped into my uneasy slumber. As I slowly started to crawl out of my sleep, I heard echos of that laughter, I’m sure - and once again it filled me up with fear.

Watch the end of Poverty

Stunning! Do not, I repeat, Do not miss the end of the presentation.

Simply Joking

The Russian military has successfully tested what it described as the world's most powerful non-nuclear air-delivered bomb, Russia's state television reported Tuesday.

Channel One television said the new weapon, nicknamed the "dad of all bombs" is four times more powerful than the U.S. "mother of all bombs.

"You will see it in action, the bomb which has no match in the world... Despite its destructive qualities, the vacuum bomb is environment-friendly," said Col.-Gen. Alexander Rukshin, a deputy chief of the Russian military's General Staff, said in televised remarks.

[ Applause.. mixed with few Jeers from the back and some Guffaws from the front.. the amused quicky subdued by Huge MIBs ]

More here

Inside Outside

It is weird when a simple combination of words can indirectly indicate the ability to look at oneself, from the outside,

"Let us rest here... These creaky old bones of mine"
- Alfredo to Salvatore, Cinema Paradiso

"In my mind I still have brown hair. Hence it is a shock whenever I look at the mirror"
- Anderson Cooper on Tonight Show

"Hundreds of people lost their lives due to effects of radiation "
- Atom Bomb, Discovery Documentary

Dave Barry and Others

Found this while browsing Rinchen's blog - Point.12 is my fav.

Some interesting snaps found while loitering around the www.

- From GWBE's blog - beautiful snaps of the London Eye

- Finally some emotion! (courtsey Rediff.com)












- American domination in Osaka World Athletic Meet (courtsey Rediff.com)








- From the bottom of the Atlantic (courtsey NatGeo)

For Madmen Only

"There is so much to be said for contentment and painlessness, for these bearable and submissive days, on which neither pain or pleasure is audible, but pass by whispering on tip-toe. But the worst of it is that it is just this contenment that I cannot endure. After a short time it fills me with irrepresible hatred and nausea. In desperation I have to escape and throw myself on the road to pleasure, or, if that cannot be, on the road to pain. When I have neither pleasure nor pain and have been breathing for a while the lukewarm insipid air of these so-called good and tolerable days, I feel so bad in my childish soul that I smash my moldering lyre of thanksgiving in the face of the slumbering god of contentment and would rather feel the very devil burn in me than this warmth of a well-heated room. A wild longing for strong emotions and sensations seethes in me, a rage against this toneless, flat, normal and sterile life. For what I hated and detested and cursed above all things was this contentment, this healthiness and comfort, this fat and prosperous brood of mediocrity."

Steppenwolf by Herman Hesse

Kenny

Stumbled on this really good Australian movie recently - some brilliant dialogues, a very documentary-like and biography-like camera-work and script, and some exceptional acting (Kenny's Dad!).

Kenny is a 'Plumber of toilets' in his own words and according to the rest of the world someone who delivers and looks after porta-loos.

Some of my favourite dialogues,

Kenny commenting about his job,
"I'd love to be able to say "I plumb toilets" and have someone say "Now that is something I've always wanted to do"

At the scene of disaster - so to speak
"There's another classic example of someone having a two inch arsehole and us having installed only one inch piping."

To a fellow in-flight passenger
"Just watch it in there mate. That machine, once you press that flusher, that thing will probably suck your guts out through your bum"

Kenny is trying to clean one of his porta-loos when he remarks to his distracted and chatty friend,
"There's a smell in here that will outlast religion"

Good movie!

The Membrane

It was a very Murakamisque experience, that one; like the idea of spending time at the bottom of a dry well – weird, commonplace, disturbing, mysterious and exciting – all in one.


Breathe

A quiet wind swept over the surface of the clear blue water sending thousands of tiny ripples marching in its wake. The ripples hurried to the water’s edge where they lapped on the white-stone edges, some inevitably stumbling through the grills into the drainage system. A big brown ball of a buoy nodded in approval from the center of the large round pool.

Behind me, the restaurant was doing brisk business as the hotel residents looked to enjoy a relaxed Saturday morning.

In front the pool-decks were slowly filling up. Young families with little impish-boys and angelic-girls, cuddling couples applying sun lotion on each other, sexagenarian soul mates engaged in serious conversation, attractive women with their large dark glasses, i-pods and unfinished pop-fiction novels – all took their place around the pool; sit, stand, bend, run, prone.

Two little girls, one wearing a pink flower-printed swimsuit and the other in an off-white two-piece, stood at the edge of the pool - their black-goggled faces like that of the Luftwaffe. Chattering, smiling, pushing and pulling, and being the way only girls can be.

In the pool, away from me, a bulky Australian looked around - at me looking at him though my goggles and at others putting their diligent laps. He had his arms spread out behind him, the way one normally rests after one’s rounds.

Behind me a crow cawed - it is strange how the pool was the only place in town where I had seen these birds.

Then I went down.


Hold

Along with the blue, a thrilling silence and alienness pervaded the scene below. If I listened close enough, I thought I heard the sound of water running down a large pipe. The blue-tiled floor was unbroken and more or less clean, except for a small lump of feathers away to my left. The surface curved in to the center of the large circle where the tiles changed colour to form a dark flower like pattern. From the middle of that arose a white rope. Far away from me, it stood stalk-like, smoke-like, fragile, swaying helplessly, very metaphorical.

Headless torsos moved all around me. Live throbbing headless bodies propelling themselves around silently - eerie, weird and exciting. Only I could see how the muscles stretched and strained, how the supple flesh trembled in motion, how the legs flayed all over the place and pointed feet moved fish-like at times giving glimpses of perfection. I had exclusive privileges to another world and was privy to some part of these people’s life that they themselves were unaware of and more strangely, may never be. It is strange how when we look in a mirror we don’t associate the head as having control over the rest of the body.

Across the pool, the torso of the Australian stood knees bent and feet pointed together. The two girls splashed into the water, disturbing the calming peace of the place and raising a million bubbles around them. Soon the two tiny lean frames were standing on tip-toe and trying to move around. Arms tugged at each other for a while and soon the feet lifted from the floor. As they swam their limbs moved wildly – arms hit the water as they appeared and disappeared, legs kicked frantically at something invisible behind them, and a thousand air bubbles ran to the surface for safety. Suddenly the goggled face of one of the girls came underwater only to disappear just as fast and to appear once again. In an imperfect but nevertheless stunning display of breast-strokes, the body propelled forward sinuously, fighting the resistance of the water. The chest continued to pump the water as the rest of her body followed suite as if tied to it by a rope.

I looked up.

The surface of the pool, uneven, chaotic and colourful, spread above me like live plasma. The underbelly of the ripples took stunning shades of blue as they scampered all over the place. The surface blinded me from the view above like a live, motley alien membrane.

I lifted my hands from behind me and brought them close to my face. They were larger than what I was used to seeing, fingers wrinkled due to time spent in the water. I slowly raised them towards the surface, watching every movement they made.

What I touched immediately sucked in my fingers and soon half my palm had disappeared through the separation. The surface seemed to dance around the stump of my hand that was attached to it. I pulled back my wrist and fingers and the surface connected above leaving no trace of the intrusion, except of course for the microscopic bubbles that soon swam to the surface and disappeared. I repeated my action stunned by the beauty of it.

Breathless I stayed, at the bottom of the pool.

Painting the Mona Lisa in MS-Paint

Here