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Showing posts from April, 2009

Mera wala PINK

Rani pink.. there is no english word in the Babu's dictionary for 'rani pink'. As I waited in line at the Venkateshwar temple , I saw an ld Maharashtrian ajji , get out of a car , in the quintessential puneri sari , in a deep pink ... almost majenta , not quite.. more like a ... forget it ..in a rani pink sari with a parrot green border. I thought to myself , "there is no english word to properly describe a decent shade of rani pink..
Now , the english language has baby pink, the salmon pink , then there is strawberry pink , but how would it described the colour which is so Indian in it's essence that it takes an Indian name..
The colour of gulaal , Rani pink. It's vibrant , but not vulgar. So terms like Hot pink , or shocking pink are just disgusting ..and down right demeening.
Rani pink is so authentically Indian that many a phoren pop star have tried to wear it to disastrous ends. I remember in 'bend it like Beckham' ,the main lead had worn a 'ran…

Bhay ho!!

Bhay ho!! Bhay - as in fear , in hindi . bhoy in bengali.
The fake ipl player blog , has done just that , infused fear in the mind of hitherto untouchable , unreachables. Basically ,it's a blog written by someone who claimes to be a part of the Kolkata knight riders team - it's irreverent, dripping sarcasm , and witty . So you say, what's different ? scores of bloggers are that and more.. but here is a revolution. here is perfect testimony to the power of the blogging world. A blog being discussed on national news channels, having it's own space in the sports section of the daily news paper!! I won't be surprised if it gets published as a collecters item , a coffee table book or something..
The real world lives in fear of the virtual world.. real life decisions now involve and revolve around the 'anonymous' .
Whatever be the fake ipl platers motives, but he has taken blogging to a new level.. and if used responsibly can truly be a weapon of change.JAI HO !! B…

my experiments with voting..

I travelled 12 hours , in a bus , to be part of a collective 'dance' , the dance of democracy , as the times of India journalists will inform you. Needless to say , I was pretty kicked about it..
.. but it wasn't ..well all that i expected..
For one.. there was soo much hype to vote, vote..."yesss finally my name is on the electorate ", super joy.. that the actual beep after the vote was cast was like a real jarring crash to reality. Here i kept thinking that I am an element of change , a force to reckon with..
I went to the booth at 9 am.. the booth was relatively empty, I didn't have a voter's card so had to search for my name in this booklet.. realised (a) my name had been spelt kutelli (b) my brother was a certain aklavy , his actual name being ekalavya.. (c) my parents were not on the list...
Nevertheless I was determined to cast my vote..
I knew who I was gonna vote.. we had discussed it on the journey to the booth.. a man with a mixed religion b…

confessions..

I will never be alone again..
silence speaks to me..
.. my conscience now has a voice..
when the darkness descends..
and the noise dies down..
my days activities done..
i am reminded ...
the voice, angry, beseeching, accusing...
of the wrong i did, the good i should have done..
my mind, my conscience will never forgive..
there is no retribution..
there is no way out..
i make my own hell , the fires of hell
the flames of guilt burn..
sting my eyes..
i blink back tears..my throat choking..
i realise ..
there is no retribution..
living in fear..
i will never be alone again.
my conscience will never leave me alone..