In media we trust, or in government?

This critique of reel vs. real media was thought provoking.

I have been on the other side of media, so I do know the argument that is used to sideline 'real' news.

Media patrons cover and publish what sells, not what is right or should be reported.

News reports have given way to 'features'. With 18 news channels competing for eye-balls, the most popular story sells.

In a sense it reflects the attitude and preference of society. More people care about Sanjay Dutt than about an unknown soldier dying for his country.

BBC can afford to cover it, they are a serious channel, funded by the UK tax payers money. Their primary goal is not eyeballs (TRP's) but a mission to deliver the truth.

Tehelka in recent times has tried to do that with limited success.

I can understand if news channels make a conscious discussion to go with the popular story, what I do not comprehend, is how our government pretends to care more about our cricket team. National security and welfare of those providing us with that security should be a primary concern of our government. What business does our government have to debate over cricket, when they should be consoling the family of the deceased and in no small measure at least issue an award of valor.

Alas, media reflects the trend and demand of society and the government of the people does in some way reflect the mandate of the populace.

It's a sad sad day indeed. But there is hope, that a few avenues of media (Internet) has set a course of natural justice by emphasizing on what is right. A trickle at a time.

Shame on media?

I received a forward which was a social critique on reel vs. real media. The article in question is marked below, I will share my analysis via the next post.

On Tuesday, this news swept across all the news channels 'Sanjay Dutt relieved by court'. 'Sirf Munna not a bhai' '13 saal ka vanvaas khatam' 'although found guilty for possession of armory, Sanjay can breath sigh of relief as all the TADA charges against him are withdrawn' Then many personalities like Salman Khan said 'He is a good person. We knew he will come out clean'. Mr Big B said "Dutt's family and our family have relations for years he's a good kid. He is like elder brother to Abhishek".. His sister Priya Dutt said "we can sleep well tonight. It's a great relief"

In other news, Parliament was mad at Indian team for performing bad; Greg Chappell said something; Shah Rukh Khan replaces Amitabh in KBC and other such stuff. But most of the emphasis was given on Sanjay Dutt's "phoenix like" comeback from the ashes of terrorist charges. Surfing through th channels, one news on BBC startled me. It read "Hisbul Mujahidin's most wanted terrorist 'Sohel Faisal' killed in Anantnag , India . Indian Major leading the operation lost his life in the process. Four others are injured.

It was past midnight , I started visiting the stupid Indian channels, but Sanjay Dutt was still ruling. They were telling how Sanjay pleaded to the court saying 'I'm the sole bread earner for my family', 'I have daughter who is studying in US' and so on. Then they showed how Sanjay was not wearing his lucky blue shirt while he was hearing the verdict and also how he went to every temple and prayed for the last few months. A suspect in Mumbai bomb blasts, convicted under armory act...was being transformed into a hero.

Sure Sanjay Dutt has a daughter; Sure he did not do any terrorist activity. Possessing an AK47 is considered too elementary in terrorist community and also one who possesses an AK47 has a right to possess a pistol so that again is not such a big crime; Sure Sanjay Dutt went to all the temples;
Sure he did a lot of Gandhigiri but then......... ....


Major Manish H Pitambare got the information from his sources about the terrorists' whereabouts. Wasting no time he attacked the camp, killed Hisbul Mujahidin's supremo and in the process lost his life to the bullets fired from an AK47.
Just like Sunjay Dutt he is survived by a wife and daughter who's only 18 months old.

Major Manish never said 'I have a daughter' before he took the decision to attack the terrorists in the darkest of nights. He never thought about having a family and he being the bread earner. No news channel covered this since they were too busy hyping a former drug addict, a suspect who's linked to bomb blasts which killed hundreds. Their aim was to show how he defied the TADA charges and they were so successful that his conviction in possession of armory had no meaning. They also concluded that his parents in heaven must be happy and proud of him.

Parents of Major Manish are still living and they have to live rest of their lives without their beloved son. His daughter won't ever see her daddy again.

Lost in translation: Chennai travel

This weekend I had breakfast in a land, far far away. Around 1200 km's, precisely 1 hour 45 minutes of travel with a large metallic bird with several powerful motors.

My first sense of this mega polis down south was a waft of lukewarm breeze, followed by a waft of even more warm breeze, the same temperature as piping hot coffee, minus the pipe. This was followed by a smattering of alien guttural sounds that were harsh from male origins and sing-song melodious from female lips.

This is Chennai, home of the proud Tamil people, south of the mighty Dravidan mountains which pierce India's soul. This is also the place affectionately called 'Madras' until politics played its poli-trick. I am not sure what may be thrown at me if I were to refer to these people as 'madrasi's', affectionately coined by north Indian's for all beings south Indian. I dared not find out, I made enough social gaffes to be made into an idli, or maybe a dosa.

Chennai is warm, and I cannot emphasize that enough through beads of crystal clear, porcelain, shiny sweat. These folks are brave, wearing the thickest silk sarees in equatorial soleil. For a white skinned delicacy, pink is the new white.

If the sun posed one challenge mightier than Mao's war cry, communication with a people who speak an alien language, was akin to Musharraf sharing mutter paneer with Shareef.

Unlike north Indian languages of yore, which are linguistically similar, where you can get a meal and a half, without any fries, in Chennai, you get hard boiled eggs when you inquire about a delayed order of egg biryani. The poor sod, all of 13 and a half, who got the eggs was extremely crestfallen, displaying abject deject, followed by a trance-like state, transitioned to a sizzling hot red, and uttered something which sounded like 'anda punda inge pinge singe dinge, cuckoo clock, mother, father, sister, cuckoo clock, inge pinge pinge.' I could imagine the amount of saliva that would drip when the hard boiled egg was replaced with the egg biryani. I felt for the boy, who could not understand English or Hindi. We were strangers in his domain, guests in Chennai who mistakenly inquired about an egg biryani which was 10 minutes late.

We did get our egg biryani, with a pregnant chicken, minus the young hot-blooded waiters saliva. We checked the egg, to inspect for signs of origin. Its a bird, its a plane, a bird flew over another plane. If you think it's absurd, you haven't heard what the waiter suggested we order instead of egg biryani: bird biryani. 'Vaary tiny bird, saar. Vee make baard saar.'

NO BIRD!

The art of the invisible

Humans are a blip in the history of our universe. The same way we think of a bacteria in our breakfast cereal. What bacteria? Exactly, invisible.

However, we continue to flex our muscles and battle nature, instead of living in harmony, like other creatures. What other inhabitants? Precisely, its an overdose of vitamin I.

Nature has her own art form, a kind of magic realism. Can you spot the flounder fish? Interesting, you take notice, big deal. However if you were told, this invisible fish was made in a laboratory, somewhere west of the Atlantic, you would be amazed. You may even think, what will they think of inventing next. Hmm, why do we underplay nature and her wonders? I don't know, but I will make it a point to be conscious and be more aware, will you?


In the battle of stealth, where have human's reached, a few million years after nature's invention, here goes:



9 of 10 people are more amazed watching a fellow man invent an invisibility cloak than the wonders of the natural world. Wonder why? Could it be the selfish gene? What's in it for me?

I say Democacy, you say Shamocracy

If there ever was a 'Politics 101' class in civil service school, it would most certainly involve watching and imbibing every show of 'Yes Minister'.

Yes, you heard it right, 'Yes Minister', the venerable British comedy about the tennis match between her majesty's civil service and the wily ministers.

James Hacker: This is a democracy, and the people don't like it.
Sir Humphrey Appleby: The people are ignorant and misguided.
James Hacker: Humphrey, it was the people who elected me!
[Humphrey nods]

This conversation between James Hacker (Minister of Administrative Services) and Sir Humphrey Appleby (his civil service counterpart) sums up the essence of modern Demo'n'ocracy.

And if you wonder that 'integrity' is but a word in our government's dictionary on a page that's gathering dust since 1963, the day the dictionary was printed, here is an affirmation:

James Hacker: Elbows: the most important weapon in a politician's army.
Annie Hacker: Other than integrity!
James Hacker: Integrity?
[bursts out laughing]

Apparently in the same dictionary, the example for 'humor' and 'joke' inadvertently refer to integrity, followed by muffled loud guffaws.

Is all lost? Is there a brotherhood of thugs who can hold these custodians of public accountable? Yes yes yes, in theory:

Sir Humphrey Appleby: Bernard, Ministers should never know more than they need to know. Then they can't tell anyone. Like secret agents, they could be captured and tortured.
Bernard Woolley: You mean by terrorists?
Sir Humphrey Appleby: By the BBC, Bernard.

Unfortunately, we do not have a BBC, however we did try to create a Prasar Bharati (custodians of Door Darshan, a dinosaur waiting to be privatised if the commies let it).

If some of you think private news channels are the watchdogs of democracy, think again. They are after TRP's, and TRP's reside in sensational 'breaking news' broadcasts (as per their definition).

This just in: The state of MP is considering banning a new condom claiming it is a 'sex toy'. This is one of India's most backward states, where women are slaves to men, and lesser men are slaves to upper caste men. From the forgotten land of the kama sutra, another cloudy day in India's democracy.

Google AdSense - Lost in Translation

At times, the best of technology falters to the humble word.

The word here is 'Devil' the topic of my previous post.

Google Adsense matches ad themes to content and blam, it's a cookie-clutter marriage where advertisers pay for a click.

However, at times, this marriage is acrimonious and unbelievable.

Guess which ad showed up for the 'Devil' post?

Monster.com

Devil without a Star

A single choice can mean a world of difference. Of the 11 questions, if I change the result in 1, I can get a personality transplant.

A star or a dreamer if I pick moon as my favorite 'heavenly' body, however I will stick to saturn and live with the consequences. My tarot describes me as a half-goat half-greek god. All for picking saturn, my ruling planet, since I don't really have a preference in 'heavenly bodies'?

I think I'll stick to material hedonism for the image, it's a little bit of gothic meets grunge in a shady motel in hell.

You are The Devil

Materiality. Material Force. Material temptation; sometimes obsession

The Devil is often a great card for business success; hard work and ambition.

Perhaps the most misunderstood of all the major arcana, the Devil is not really "Satan" at all, but Pan the half-goat nature god and/or Dionysius. These are gods of pleasure and abandon, of wild behavior and unbridled desires. This is a card about ambitions; it is also synonymous with temptation and addiction. On the flip side, however, the card can be a warning to someone who is too restrained, someone who never allows themselves to get passionate or messy or wild - or ambitious. This, too, is a form of enslavement. As a person, the Devil can stand for a man of money or erotic power, aggressive, controlling, or just persuasive. This is not to say a bad man, but certainly a powerful man who is hard to resist. The important thing is to remember that any chain is freely worn. In most cases, you are enslaved only because you allow it.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Poli'tricks' - Talibanizing India

Two unrelated headlines caught my attention:

Headline 1: Maharashtra to ban CBSE textbooks on sex education

Headline 2: Govt. bans FTV for showing 'indecent' programmes

Let's look at Story 1:

The Maharashtra Government is going to ban in the state textbooks published by Central Board of Secondary Education (CBSE) containing material teaching sex to school students. (Talibanization evidence 1: Teaching sex to school students - interpretation of our fine 'small town' politicians. And it wasn't me who called them small town mentality politicos, it was our very own stiff mumbai mirror lip TOI.)

The Minister of State for School Education, Hasan Mushrif, announced the ban in the Assembly on Friday when the House debated the Opposition Shiv Sena-BJP's calling attention motion on the Government's move to make sex education compulsory from the standard six onwards from the next academic year. (Talibanization evidence 2: Kids of 6th grade onwards do not need sex education? Does our honorable minister prefer them getting it from 'blue films' and Internet chat rooms?)

The opposition members said amidst noisy scenes that the CBSE books contained obscene photographs and could harm the students who are as young as 12 years. (Talibanization evidence 3: Noisy Scenes? Obscene Photographs of reproductive organs which turned on our honorable venerable (or venereal diseased) ministers? Is this the land of the Kama Sutra? Oh wait, that's Hindu'ism territory, cannot mess with that, but yes, sex education, we don't need any. How else would our politicians parents produced 15 seemingly 'literate' kids if they had been exposed to sex education. Aah it's all clear, our fine politicos want to save the county from bad politicking and continue their race continues without the menace of sex education.)

Mr. Mushrif said that the Maharashtra Government had no plan to introduce sex education in the State. (Talibanization evidence 4: Let the kids learn from experience - our minister calls it 'experiential learning'. Ironically, politicians have been involved in many sex scandals from Kashmir to UP in recent times. Who needs sex education - we have Bollywood.)

Replying to a question, he said that the CBSE books would be banned "on the lines of the action taken by the government against the books by controversial American author, James Laine." (Talibanization evidence 5: I happen to like Shivaji and his level-headedness as a leader. How did a fine shivalingam worshipping people like us connect James Laine's controversial Shivaji book with sex education? I have a feeling Shivaji would be losing his appetite in heaven. He would've liked to be known for his valor, not for banning books and crafting statues around our fine state. Ohh, and the airports, train stations, towns that were renamed - maybe the Shiv Sena should thrash our coalition government for associating shoddy infrastructure with our patron saint. Oh wait, the SS did the renaming.)

The State Government had banned James Laine's books, `Shivaji — Hindu King in Islamic India' and `Epic of Shivaji' for carrying objectionable references and hurting people's sentiments. (Talibanization evidence 6: Oh yes, absolutely, this is just cause to ban an OFFICIAL education board's book on sex education in the country with the second largest population in the world, and the second largest AIDS population. India is truly shining!)

No offence meant to anyone, but who elects these jokers? Why isn't Soniaji (of Italian origin and Rahulji of cambridge-oxford mettle) coming into stop her party's people from committing absolute travesty? Can we ever expect good governance?

Story 2: Apparently, the rumor goes, our honorable ministers wives were worried that the ministers were spending too much time watching Midnight Hot on FTv every night. Unable to compete for attention with the fine european lasses in various states of undress, for the sake of national security, and development, the ministers wives blackmailed their husbands into banning FTV for 2 months. Some say, it was a sordid attempt by a rival failing fashion channel to steal audiences. P.S: The rival channel group's other channel still airs a show post midnight - Bikini Destinations.

Who needs sex education? We can learn from bimbos in bikinis across exotic destinations who drink copious amounts of alcohol.

Another proud moment in liberal India's destiny.

P.S: In a late breaking development, our fine goverment will allow adult programming from 11 pm to 5 am. The amendment to the law would be in the broadcasting bill of the winter session of parliament - lean season for our honorable ministers.

So why did we ban a fashion channel again - for a show that aired at midnight - only to cable tv subscribing audiences - not the aam aadmi?

Who needs sex education. Long live taliban for training our politicians sensibilities.

Ironically, it is not mandatory for a politician to be educated to be elected, and such fine folks define what the literate should be educated in. This is a time for our fine folks in the High court to intervene. Luckily, the judiciary has been keeping the political excesses in check.

Passive aggressive women - genus terribilus

N: yeah, just some minor jobs
S: secretarial duties?
N: u creep
S: Ill come there n strangle u, n then dissect ur body into unimagiginably small portions n then boil it n have it for my supper
How dare u call me an HW!
S: are you hungry?
N: ur such a rude freak, wats with u?

And men are supposed to understand women? Can anyone decipher how a seemingly nice catholic girl turns into a blasphemous cannibal craving human fresh - boiled not fried.

And then the person who is the subject of a mildly spiced dinner of unimabinably small portions (wouldn't that be soup, nevermind) get's called rude?

Animals are my friends and I don't eat my friends - George Bernard Shaw - where does that leave us humans? Am I still high up in the pecking order? Or, is the female of the species hungrier (deadlier in the original) than the male?

#355 in '365 Good Reasons to be a Vegetarian': "Nothing can be more shocking and horrid than one of our kitchens sprinkled with blood and abounding with the cries of expiring victims or with the limbs of dead animals scattered or hung up here and there." - Alexander Pope

#349 in '365 Good Reasons to be a Vegetarian': Animals are adorable - "eating bits of them makes no sense." Your cute, playful cat, dog, rabbit, bird, or any other pet is adorable. Would you really enjoy cooking up your pet? "We stopped eating meat the day we happened to look out our window during Sunday lunch and saw our young lambs playing happily, as kittens do, in the fields," recalls Linda McCartney. "Eating bits of them suddenly made no sense. In fact, it was revolting."

Well flesh-eating ladies and germs, go easy on the meat, it takes 16 times the 'energy resources' to produce a pound of meat. 1.3 billion people could be fed vegetarian foodgrains, if we 'reduce' not 'eliminate' - 'reduce' our intake of livestock - which in turn have eaten a lot of vegetarian supplies.

Interesting, how un-related threads in life connect: a colleague wanted to boil and eat me, my grandfather gave me a book: 365 GOOD Reasons to be a Vegetarian' and an eco-friendly blog.

On a poetic parting note, #335: You can become the "voice of the voiceless" animals. American poet Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850-1919) believed human beings had an obligation to speak for the "speechless." She expressed her conviction in this verse:

I am the voice of the voiceless;
Through me the dumb shall speak,
Till the deaf world's ear be made to hear
The wrongs of the worldless weak...
And I am my brother's keeper,
And I will fight his fight;
And speak the word for beast and bird
Till the world shall set things right.

The Year Of The Rooster

1921, 1933, 1945, 1957, 1969, 1981, 1993, 2005

People born in the Year of the Rooster are deep thinkers, capable, and talented. They like to be busy and are devoted beyond their capabilities and are deeply disappointed if they fail. People born in the Rooster Year are often a bit eccentric, and often have rather difficult relationship with others. They always think they are right and usually are! They frequently are loners and though they give the outward impression of being adventurous, they are timid. Rooster people¡¦s emotions like their fortunes, swing very high to very low. They can be selfish and too outspoken, but are always interesting and can be extremely brave. They are most compatible with Ox, Snake, and Dragon.

Courtesy: http://www.c-c-c.org/chineseculture/zodiac/Rooster.htm

The Encounter of the Moth and the Lamp as the clock struck 4

Come to me, said the lamp to the moth,
Come to me, said the lamp to the moth,
Light and warmth, I shall give you all,
a mother's caress, a nest for fall.

The moth was tempted but fear made him stall,
he had heard of lamps, burning moths and all.

Come to me, said the lamp to the moth,
Come to me, said the lamp to the moth,
Light and warmth, I shall give you all,
a mother's caress, a nest for fall.

The moth saw light and love enthrall,
he summed up his courage to approach his fall.
What if, what if, he peered into his soul,
as he drew closer, his heart grew bold.

Come to me, said the lamp to the moth,
Come to me, said the lamp to the moth,
Light and warmth, I shall give you all,
a mother's caress, a nest for fall.

The moth was hungry, for life and more,
he had not much experience, but...

To be continued...

Question: Should the moth live or die? Does he seek love or knowledge and why?

Bald Eagle Family Planning

Aren't forwards the most delightful pests? When you are lonely, bored, sitting on a pile of unused bandwidth, sick of checking Orkut or Gmail, a blessed piece of useless trivia pops into your mailbox.

This one was slightly sane, and didn't curse me, cast me to hell or breach candy, warn me of dire consequences of never getting laid, if I didn't forward to 200 other hapless god-fearing souls who are afraid of impotence.

So, is a condom a better representative of American hegemony than the bald eagle? For the moment, disregard that and take a look at the text copy. How can a single 'condom' without an ‘s’, 'protect a bunch of dicks'? Which makes me wonder if this is either written in India or Pakistan by an enterprising businessman hoping to start a new trend in multi-use condoms that enable sharing?

Also, how does a condom destroy the next generation? There is definitely a hole in the entire scheme of progenization (if a term so exists), without a pun being intended. I wonder if this guy has heard of abortion? Or this really thought provoking and perhaps disturbing movie: Three Extremes. One of the 3 episodes, directed by a leading HK cinematographer, called 'Dumpling' explores human obsession with beauty and the lengths we are willing to sink to keep us bathing in the fountain of youth. The protagonist, a leading actress who is graying, visits a miracle healer who can make her younger, and the recipe, is dumplings. But these are no ordinary dumplings, they are made of fetuses. When the healer is arrested, our actress in a final twist, of desperation and human selfishness, aborts her own unborn baby in a bathtub and eats his tender but rich flesh for extending her youth.

That my dear reader, is human nature. Dog eat dog? Many of us have used cosmetics that contain the guilt of death of several animals. And if I may dare ask the fine folks at their ‘labaratoires’, pray tell me why? Why are we so drawn to superficiality? Are we that desperate for a unique identity? I know a dear friend who turns to kids for support and has had facial reconstruction studies. Sir Michael of Neverland.

On this note, my pooch Mr. Oxford wants me to take him for a walk, his daily workout, so he may preen in front of the mirror in admiration. Woof!

Quack Quack, Death Cab For Cutie PMS

What is with women and PMS?

If I were a warrior, I'm sure I'd prefer handling a Uzi sub-machine gun with a 'I love my mommy' sticker, a scud missle launcher with a built in mobile phone charger and cozy heater or perhaps a nuclear bomb with a 'do not touch' switch that has a picture of michael jackson's fake nose.

To be fairer to the fairer sex, men also go through a PMS-like stage. Esp, one that involves bitching, lusting after every gadget, being seduced by expensive cars and the slight hint of leg on any decently dressed chicalita.

Okay, so if both the sexes get moody and irrational for no reason, is there hope for mankind and britney spears and kevin whatever his name is?

I vote for Nostradamus, apparently he predicted a great war, between good and evil, black and white, colgate and pepsodent, maggi and top ramen. We will all die, two sun's will shine and a few cockroaches and pakistanis will survive, written in no order of prejudice or importance.

Which takes me to generals who preach democrasy after coming into power on a coup without grace. To repeat an opt repeated cliche, democrasy is a subtle blend of demoncrasy. Sometimes I toy with the idea of a communist society, where everyone is equal and drinks the same shitty coffee as the president of erstwhile China.

Imagine, getting coupons to buy such necessities as nutella, lindt 80% cocoa, extra-soft tampons, flavored condoms and playboy-like magazines? That would be a society of people who are not embaressed by anything, where kids know which birds did which bees, before their parents can lament a silent please!

Coming back to our topic, of PMS, and how mankind and womankind has suffered at the hand of hormones, I have one solution. Iced tea!

Relationships, a shipwreck waiting to happen

Picture this, you are riding a lovely wave, on a speed boat, crusing at 150 MPH, salt water in your hair. You look back, and your lady smiles. Her hair is open, she looks gorgeous, offcourse any woman would, in a bikini, but thats not the point. Let's not ruin my illusion.

The air is warm, but when it picks up a breeze, it makes you shiver. Suddenly, the bitch smiles and asks me in a monotonous voice: 'Do you know the price of gas?

Why do men and women ruin a perfectly fine happy moment? Why do we have the gift of gab turning sour into the gift of gap? Why do so many people feel the need to express their ordinary thoughts at extraordinary moments?

Is it selfishness? Well, sell fish, it stinks if you stock up, but why why why? Anguish, 2 bourbon bottles and kicking some sand, which ends up seeping into your moccasin.

Why are girls so dumb? Why are boys so dumb? Why am i talking like a 13 year old?

Anger, they say, can make you lose 15 years. Too bad, it doesn't come packaged as botox or viagra.

Would you like to buy some Anger? A little bit of anger for your soul. Shut up!

Potato Head Vs. Miss Timeless Tasteless

Ms. Timelessly Tasteless: well i didnt like it (………she’s talking about my blog, let’s get mature and throw English scrambled eggs at her?)

that much (…….look at how she writes, fragmented sentences, I bet her momma never told her why, they dropped her on the way from Dubai. I also bet, she cried and passed English 101 coz ‘her dog ate her Cliff Notes.’

me: okay, so its not your style (….I’m trying not to lose my cool, notice, how I can act mature.)

Ms. Timelessly Tasteless: lol i dunno to be honest (…….what? she doesn’t know how to be honest? Well, that’s quite contradictory, it’s an honest admission, no?)

me: why?

Ms. Timelessly Tasteless: i feel its not ur style (…..what? style? Coming from someone who refuses to punctuate and talks part sms’ease?)

it seems stifled in some weird way (…..yea, it does seem in some weird way, how did you pass your English 101?)

me: wow, Ms. Psychoanalyst (….there you go Missy, notice I was mature, and didn’t resort to blatant name-calling?)

stifled (….i think she’s having this ‘weird’ effect on me, I’m like losing my punctuation?)

Ms. Timelessly Tasteless: you know you are MAD (….you know, its easy to blame the white guy for all your issues? And this lady claims to be Ms. Prim & Proper. Name caller!)

me: your adorable darling? (….Mouthwash, cliché police, come get me.)

there is a fine line between genius and madness (….Source: Strong Imagination, Dr. Nettle)

Ms. Timelessly Tasteless: lol (…*&*#*(@&*@#&)

you've crossed that line mad man (….there’s a line? I guess you didn’t realize, I was standing in a queue, behind you madam?)

me: every artist was called a mad woman (….geezus, I’m a cross dresser. Slip of thong?)

since when did society ever appreciate the occult, junk food, britney spears, sex and the city and udipi for dinner? (…yea, rebuttal Ms. Eagerly Blonde)

….Okay, enough of this brouhaha. I’m pissed, the brush is dripping, Simi Garewal is faking a smile with Vidya Ballan. She’s kinda cute. Bah, Oxford my dog is puking. I think he thinks this Simi is a fake, he prefer Cyrus anyways. Pooches! Until the next exciting episode of…..yawn.

Free, Freak Falling...Tom is so Petty men

I'm alarmed, surprised, smiling like a mouse in a crack hole with a pound of swiss cheese wrapped in an Amul wrapper. Why? The minute I mention my blog to any man, woman or cockroach, I'm besieged by requests for the URL, esp. when I mention its secret, humanity 'needs', wait, as Kavya's friends would say, 'like absolutely', needs to know it.

Cold Pillai blares on VH1, something about his clocks, or is it cocks, farm boys I tell you. If you wonder why am I perverting my english with a reverse twang, its the 'goan' style, when you get drunk, passed out by a shack, and your wife asks you to come home, you utter some misarranged English words that sound like the snore of the Beluga whale. Incidentally the beluga is the most expensive Caviar any russian hooker, mafia boss or Indian politician can buy. Not many know, its just the eggs of fish, a very delicious fish, but eggs nontheless.

Which reminds me of this post, which so far has been about absolutely nothing. It started off with Tom getting Petty on VH1, and some farm boys singing about cock-a-doodle clocks.

Which reminds me also of reservations, and why our politicians want to reserve everything but their own seats. Hey, what happened to women's reservations? I guess giving up your seat to a woman is unfair you say? I agree, so unfair, how dare we give it to the fairer sex right. We prefer them as hookers in our hotel rooms, for every star noose or aaj talk to catch us in the act.

I wonder if there is a school for politicking? Those dark clocks again, seems like Cold Pillai knows everything about how the world ticks, damnit, can the clocks mind their own time, and let their cuckoos stay in their pants on the hour? Thank you. And Mr. Oxford, you too, 1.50 am is not the time to demand a scooby snack. Who the hell lets you watch cartoon network anyways? In Hindi even? Zaapppp, there you go cartoon network, spoiling my dog with your branded dog food crap. Pay Degree my foot, Mr. Oxford, I've grown up on peanuts, I'll offer you some absolutely hideous English cuisine if you don't stop with the Woofling!

I'm sorry folks, my pooch seems to get excited every time he sees Goo Goo Dolls, he thinks it's the Goo Goo Dogs, I guess he must be Skandinavian, confusing his ll's with g. Adios for now, please click my google ad if you find anything interesting, I'll donate half of the proceeds to my dog's dental treatment. Yes, fine, you may leave a comment!

Sugar Free Diabetes

She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not...okay so I came.

This blog is about nothing, I've decided to not let the pressure of writing good blogs come in the way of expressing mundane abstractions and screaming bitches of the zoloft galaxy.

VH1 blares, a beautiful song after another beautifully packaged song. What do we like about this music? The flashy graphics and the color-coded outfits, or the music, would be like the music if it were bereft of half naked models and black guys screaming murder, or calling out to their ho's or referring to their bling, which gets some action for their thing, or thang. Bloody Murder, screams Oxford my pet poodle. He thinks these brothaz from the hood are perverting every sylabble of his canine english dream. He barks, Woof, thats a proper queen's woof, 'Why does every rapper delve into the doggy dog world, all dem bitches are mine dawg.'

Hmm, I'm thinking of calling Mr. Oxford, Mr. Bling G Dogg. Is that bestiality? When rappers call each other dawg's and think of doing each others bitches, with some ice factory being responsible for a lot of the glitter, that blinds these otherwise intelligent females into submission to these dawgs. Why would any woman want to be degraded? Who takes this shit? Except on TV? I bet back home, these dawg's moan doggy style, and comply to their 'bitches' orders, serves em right? (I apologize for the inordinate amount of profanity and bad grammer that accompanies some of my vh1-induced posts.)

Now readers, I'm sure you'd expect me to refer something about Diabetes, Sugar Or freedom from castor. Okay maybe next post, I won't lie about sexual relations with Monica Blewinsky. Adios for now, alter-trash-talking-ego appears in another exciting mindless post, much sooner than you can say O-shoo-be-doo.

A wrong turn takes you to Fleshville

i took a wrong turn
thinking i might discover a shortcut
the road got pottier
and the lights grew dimmer
i kept walking

the road got pottier
and the lights grew dimmer
i kept walking
like johny walker would
finally, when the road was cobbled stones, and i was about to fall for the seventh time
i decided to take a cab
and then he tells me
saar, why are u walkin thru this dangerous area
he also said, underworld here

dont u know theres 'dhandha' ahead
i saw prostitues as the cab moved along
just one wrong turn in worli
and i see 'em soliciting
women of all hues, ages, states of dress and undress

he was scared
he said this stretch is bad
i was walkin from phoenix, glitzy and safe there?
but you took the turn at the signal for peninsula chambers no?
yes? so?
then the road that snakes thru peninsula to its rear
soo many prostitutes
nearly 30
makeup shakeup
must be a taxi/truck driver paradise

he said lots of pimps too
some were barely legal, looked so young and lost
who am i to judge, to each his own, worlds oldest profession
helps pay the bills in their hometown i suppose
maybe someday they'll have enough to let their daughters have a respectable life and education

*munches on my papaya*

Introduction 101

Welcome to the SS Samson, you're about to aboard a shipwreck, which still continues to linger somewhere in the Pacific.

All rules of grammar, common sense, sanity and normality will be thrown down the porthole of verbosity.

I'm still unsure what SS stands for, but the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced, it has to be 'Sinking Ship'. I'm glad ship namers have been so considerate, to decide the fate of their vessel at it's christening or jewishing or hinduishing or muslimming.

Please feel free to comment, rip, snip, plagiarize & report to incompetent or competent authorities any parts of this blog. Any ensuing debates will be done till someones death. Unless you bribe me with a dessert I haven't tried yet.

Also, any requests for critiques, comments & / or sarcastic vitriol on any person or event, living, dying or extinct, is welcome and will be honored. In American, British or a kitsche of different english variants.

I hope you enjoy your stint on board this sinking cruise liner, or you can claim your free brunch at the restaurant at the end of universe, or bandra, whichever is nearer.

S a m