life in the slow lane

Big Bang Theory Theme song

2011-09-19T08:19:00.000-07:00

I love watching The Big Bang Theory and am a Sheldon fan. Love the show and all the quirky characters.This is a very funny, witty, original show with just the type of nerdy awkward characters to satisfy the geek in me. The premise is quite simple : two scientists live in an apartment and a blonde beauty moves into the apartment next door. Leonard, one of the scientists falls in love with her and then the blundering courtship begins.The dialogue between the geeky friends is full of smart ass comments, techo babble and witty one liners. The references to all our favorite SciFi series is spot on. Just the show for all geeks everywhere no matter which language they speak.
They could have made the show quite ridiculous by making the main characters into the kind of stereo typical geeks/nerds that you see in most sitcoms. But they didn't and let all the characters grow and mature, including the supporting cast and therein lies the strength of the show. For the geeks the science humor is irresistible.
If you haven't already watched this show, get online and start watching. you won't regret it.
Loved the episode where the geeks in China were controlling the lights in Sheldon's house and thinking this is so awesome and Penny could not understand what was so amazing about it.
Jim parson's portrayal of Sheldon Cooper is magnificent and deserved the Emmy. He really holds the show together with his portrayal of the Sheldon character who's equal parts quirky, obscure, genius and sarcastic.
While trawling the web I came across this video of Barenaked Ladies performing the show's theme song on the BBT set. So here it is for your viewing pleasure.

It's that time again!

2008-10-07T03:37:00.001-07:00

In a month's time, the Americans will be electing their new commander-in-chief. Let us hope the new US president is able to shoulder the responsibility and is able to clear the mess in US financial markets. Meanwhile enjoy this funny video from Jibjab. Love it when Obama is shown to be in la la land and McCain keeling over mid-sentence. And who can ignore Hillary with her promise to return in four years. A Must Watch!

Time for Some Campaignin' | Funny Jokes at JibJab

Sorrow

2007-11-10T20:32:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine is in a band and when he came to know about my poetry writing, he asked my opinion about some of the songs his band has written. As I was reading them, a poem came to me. I named it Sorrow. The first line is inspired by a poem by W.H. Auden.

Sorrow

As I walked home one evening
through streets torn by strife
I came across a man in evening clothes
He sat amid the rubble that was once his home.
He sat, still, with unseeing eyes,
Listening with a numbed heart
To his leader's barefaced lies.
The words spoke of compassion,
bravery, discipline and strength.
Overhead, jets created a commotion
Destroying homes with deadly precision.
Bodies and limbs carpeted the road
filling potholes with crimson blood.
I dipped my hand in one of the pools
trying to separate Hindu-Muslim blood.
The effort is futile, like I always thought
If only the terrorists gave it a thought
Fighting over God's own land,
divided now by mortal hand.

My Way

2007-09-22T10:08:00.001-07:00

Pratham Tuja Pahata

2007-04-20T07:22:00.001-07:00

This is my all time favorite song. I have loved this song from the first time I saw it on TV. Wasn't even old enough to understand the emotions in this song, but none the less it touched a chord in my heart. It is from the movie Mumbaicha Javai and it is filmed on a very fine actor Arun Sarnaik. Unfortunately, this sensitive, talented actor died at quite a young age. The song was sung by Ramdas Kamat

Sing Little Bird Sing

2007-04-04T10:53:00.000-07:00

Sing Little Bird Sing

Tell Me The Story Of Life

Sing Little Bird Sing

Show Me The Glory Of Life

Sing Little Bird Sing

Rain Soaked Bodies

The Agony Of First Kiss

The Exquisite Smell

Of Her Lavender-Scented Skin

Sing Little Bird Sing

Teach Me More About Life

Heartfelt, Heartless, Heartily Sexless,

The Mirage, The Oasis, Angrily Senseless,

Ageless, Passionate, Dreamy But Feckless

Sing Little Bird Sing

Guide Me To The Meaning Of Life

Curious, Inquisitive, Strong But Helpless,

Irrational, Sensitive, Kind But Clueless,

Poetic, Charismatic, Optimistic But Hopeless

Sing Little Bird Sing

Give Me The Secret Of Life

how to tighten a shaken binding

2007-03-31T23:05:00.001-07:00

There are many book enthusiasts like me who love collecting old books. But we don't always know how to take care of our old books. I recently found out about this video on http://bookplatejunkie.blogspot.com
This video shows us how to tighten a shaken binding. There are also videos about 'How to clean surface dirt' and 'How to tip in a loose page'. For those who want to know about these, visit http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=molly1216

A Cup Of Coffee

2007-03-25T05:33:00.000-07:00

She caught me! Looking over my book, I was watching her every move. Her body seemed to have a feline grace as she lifted the cup to her lips, inhaling the aroma before taking dainty sips. Our eyes met. Was there a hint of arrogance in her eyes or just the self-assurance that comes with the knowledge that you are always admired. I wondered whether I should smile. She looked away before I could decide.
I was in an uber chic coffee shop, enjoying a cup of coffee.....sorry, a 'Cafe Latte'. The shop was filled with the hum of espresso machines, the air thick with the exciting aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
"A big mistake", I thought,"To sit here reading a book. This is crazy."
It was my day off and I needed a little peace and quiet. Also I was badly in need of my caffeine fix. So here I was, at 11 in the morning on a weekday, reading a book in a cafe. Like I said, crazy!
The reason I noticed her was that she had a book on her table, Anne Fadiman's Ex Libris. Impressive!
Then again, I'm easily impressed.
I kept glancing in her direction and she kept pretending not to notice. But I am a persistent glancer (sic). She finally looked at me and I gave her the "I'm genuinely harmless" smile. An art form, this smile, achievable through years of practice.
She hesitated, then acknowledged with a smile of her own.
I pointed to the book I was reading and mouthed the words "WOW". ( I failed to mention that I was reading the same book. Isn't fate wonderful!)
A big smile!
"Think. Think. Think of something to say, you idiot."I kept urging my brain, but to no avail.Why is my mind always a blank when something like this happens?
"So which chapter are you reading now?," a jingling sound came from her direction.
"Oh! Umm, the first, Marrying Libraries. I've just started reading it. My name is Veetraag."
"Isn't it wonderful?",she exclaimed,"The way she has revealed the delights of her bibliomania, encasing her erudition in easy to understand essays for the common readers. "
"A literature student, right?" I interjected.
She laughed,"Is it that obvious?"
I paused, taking in her mischievous eyes, the high cheekbones, the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed; the strong, resolute chin and her short auburn hair.
There was a companionable silence between our tables. I was thinking about asking her name, when he came. A big, muscled jock if there ever was one. He stooped down, kissed her and she stood up to leave.
I went back to my coffee, now cold and bitter. May be it was just my mood that made it so. I was thinking about the unfairness of fate, when a shadow fell on my table.
" I guess I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Sanika. This is my email address. Why don't we chat sometime about our favorite books?" she slipped a piece of paper in my book and left.

Reading Ex Libris : Day 1

2007-03-20T21:54:00.000-07:00

When the Irish novelist John MacGahern was a child, his sisters unlaced and removed one of his shoes while he was reading. He did not stir. They placed a straw hat on his head. No response. Only when they took away the wooden chair on which he was sitting did he, as he puts it,"wake out of the book." "Wake" is just the right verb, because there is a certain kind of child who awakens from a book as from an abyssal sleep, swimming heavily up through layers of consciousness toward a reality that seems less real than the dream state that has been left behind. I was such a child.
Thus starts the journey of Anne Fadiman in Ex Libris. It isn't just a book about books. It's about the joy books bring to our lives; it's about the passion we feel about our book collections; the exhilaration of finding a book, long on our 'to buy' list; the sadness we feel when we look at a book long forgotten by time and thrown out by callous relatives after the death of it's master.
When I look at a second-hand book, I wonder about the previous owner, whether he/she ill-treated his/her books or whether it was once their pride and joy.
The common reader, Virginia Woolf said, differs from the critic and the scholar. He is worse educated and nature has not gifted him so generously. He reads for his own pleasure rather than to impart knowledge or correct the opinions of others. Above all, he is guided by an instinct to create for himself, out of whatever odds and ends he can come by, some kind of whole.
Ah! The words echo my sentiments exactly. For the last 20-odd years, I have been reading books to fill a void... an emptiness I have felt deep within my soul. A longing of finding a part of myself, that I had lost touch with or perhaps never discovered, opens up as I read books by the greats.
There never was anyone to guide my reading. I was introduced to the classics quite late, in my mid-20s. My journey of discovery has been continuing in fits and starts (the same can be said about my education). :)
Anyway, at the beginning I started by reading the popular fiction and then veered off towards spirituality. Now I am on an even keel re the spiritual books, the popular fiction, the classics and surprisingly ( to me at least) children's literature. There are those who won't be surprised by the latter choice of lit, as they consider me to be still quite wet behind the ears. Oh, well! Can't please everyone, I guess.
Books have played a very important part in my life. That's why I call them 'Amol' friends. They have acted as friends when none were available, filled gaps wherever they existed. Books have opened up new vistas... to look outside my sometimes dreary existence. They have cheered me, taught me to appreciate the beauty of words and have taught me to think, to see things not just as they are but as they can be; to appreciate different perspectives and to come up with ideas where none were forthcoming. They have led me into quite a few mirages on the way, but the journey continues.

SOMETHING WOMEN CAN'T DO IN PUBLIC

2007-03-19T07:12:00.001-07:00

A friend of mine posted this on his blog and I really wanted to post it on mine. It's a really cute, funny, inventive ad. The actors have done their jobs to perfection If you don't find this one funny, go to a orthopaedic surgeon and get your funny bone fixed.

Video For Scrubs Theme Song By Zach Braff

2007-03-19T06:55:00.001-07:00

Loved this theme song. I am a fan of Scrubs and became addicted to the show from the first episode. Love Zach and the whole team and their zany antics. Each of us finds something in common with one of the protagonists : in my case it has to be Zach (JD).
A brief intro of the characters - JD our geeky hero; Elliot the neurotic friend(she is always unsure of herself); Turk his confident surgeon friend; Carla Turk's GF and the bossy, sassy nurse; Dr. Cox JD's sarcastic mentor; Dr. Kelso Satan's mentor; Janitor who is always looking for a way to harass JD.
The series is original and funny; and if you haven't seen it yet then you really are have to watch at least an episode or two. Give it time, the series will grow on you.

Wanna Look Young!

2007-03-08T10:56:00.000-08:00

I was watching TV and an ad came on: A good-looking, middle-aged woman is standing in front of a mirror. As she looks, she keeps turning her head this way and that,and why not, we say. Here is a woman who knows she is good-looking and she is just admiring what everyone else admires. But suddenly she frowns! SHE HAS WRINKLES! On her forehead, her neck, around her perky little nose, also (what I love most) her laugh lines. All of these are shown in rich, graphic detail. Then comes the punch line....they are ugly, but you can get rid of them. Just use *****.

P***s Age Miracle, G*****r Wrinkle Cream and so on and so forth.

So many products, all guaranteeing to return your “youthful” looks; for a very reasonable price of course.

When did ‘old age’ become a six letter word?

There was a time when old age signified experience, wisdom. We revered old age. Old age brought with it a sense of self, of fulfillment. People were supposed to enter old age armed with decades of experience. They were supposed to guide the young so they don’t repeat the mistakes from the past. But now no one has the time for the old. They are relegated to corners in houses or sent to old age homes; where they watch the young repeat mistakes from the past and shake their heads in sadness.

There was a time when people said wrinkles ad character to a face. And now we try so hard to get rid of the wrinkles, lest we be judged as old. We put creams on the skin, inject it with Botox and some even go in for a face lift. Why this craze for looking young? A wise man said a long time ago, “Youth is wasted on the young.” When we are young, we long to grow up to be old and when we finally get there, we remember our youth and repent the loss. Our mind always wants what it cannot have.

Aside: People used to look forward to growing old. It was a time to retire from their worldly duties, to indulge in their favorite pastimes, to take it easy. “To smell the roses” to use a colloquial term. Now we dread the word ‘retirement’ more than the word ‘death’. To retire has become synonymous with becoming obsolete.

Have we become so empty inside that we have to keep the outside wrinkle-free to feel important, to feel alive?

They say beauty is skin deep. Gautam Buddha says the body was never beautiful, your perception only made it look beautiful. Buddha has counted 32 different ugly / unattractive things about the human body. The remembrance of these he calls ‘Kayagata-Smruti’. The body is just to house what he calls ‘Chetana”. It doesn’t matter if you wear cotton or silk, copper or gold; so long as you have ‘Vasana’ – the thirst , so long as you identify with your body, you will never be able to appreciate the real beauty within.

Ever wondered why we always try to look our best when we are going ‘out’, but never bother about how we look when we are alone? Who, exactly, are we dressing up for? Not for ourselves, that’s for sure!

A Place Under The Sun

2007-03-07T23:19:00.000-08:00

Each and every one of us is a unique individual and all of us are trying to find our place in this world.
For some of us, this place is defined by our education, for some their job and for some unfortunate ones by their birth. Society tries to force a place, an identity on us; based on our religion, caste or creed. Society only feels at ease when it has pegged each of us in our place, not always of our own free will.
In some cultures, the elders eg. parents make the choice for the individuals and they are forced to accept and follow the path chosen for them. Most of the time though, the path chosen is just a matter of parents trying to fulfill their dreams through their children.
Very few of us really get to choose their identity / their place in this world. Ideally that place should be without labels, be they educational, professional or religious.
But sadly, that is not the case. When someone asks you "who are you? ", what they are really asking for is your racial, religious or professional identity. Surely what group you belong to or what you do for a living should be part of your identity and not the whole identity.
We don't give any importance to the qualities of an individual but rather to his background and to his social status. We are more concerned about his contribution to a group/society/country than his contribution to his own self. How a person has evolved or what are his views about any particular subject is secondary to his social / monitory position in society.
We define ourselves by our position and by our net worth. Not by our spiritual or emotional wealth, but by the size of our portfolio and the number of houses and cars we have.
We rate others based on this logic. Bigger the number, higher the rating!
It is very easy to get lost in a society, which has become so consumerist and hedonist that it chooses to ignore or deny the suffering of those less fortunate ones. It accords them more time to indulge in pleasures and a chance to forget their conscience. It is getting easier day by day. When you have more money than you'll ever need or can spend and no anchor in your life, you just keep drifting from one pleasure to the next; with no satiation point in sight. Then one day you find yourself rudderless and without a clue as to the direction of your life.
How many of us stop and take stock of our lives and say, " Enough! ". Never! We just hurtle ourselves in this journey of life at high speed, leaving broken friendships and torn relationships by the roadside. And at the end of the road, we find empty shells of our former selves. Through the ages, we have seen countless hedonistic civilizations turn to dust and yet we continue to follow the same path.
I am still trying to find my place under the Sun. Whether I will find it or if it even exists, I don't know. But I'll continue looking for it.

Decade of the Girl Child (1991- 2000)

2007-03-02T06:27:00.000-08:00

Today’s Asian Age carries an item which, though very sad, isn’t shocking in India. The sex ratio, as per the 2001 Census in the country was 933 females for every 1000 males. The situation in states like Delhi, Rajasthan, Haryana and Punjab was even worse (875 females for every 1000 males). In Mumbai and Delhi, the sex ratio was far below the national average of 933 girls to 1,000 boys. In urban India, the girl population has dropped in 23 cities.

This is particularly ironic as Maharashtra was the first state to pass a state law against sex determination followed by Punjab.

Sex ratio is the ratio of females to males in a population. The natural sex ratio at conception is estimated close to 1.05 males/females. Due to the higher life expectancy of females, sex ratio evens out among adults and results in excess females among the elderly (the male to female ratio falls from 1.05 for the group aged 15 to 65 to 0.70 for the group over 65 in Germany, from 1.00 to 0.72 in the USA, from 1.06 to 0.91 in mainland China and from 1.07 to 1.02 in India).

The only state where the sex ratio shows some normalcy is in the state of Kerala. The sex ratio in Kerala is 1058 females for every 1000 males. Also the female literacy rate in Kerala is 87.86 % (according to 2001 census).

For a people who call their country Bharat ‘Mata’ and tell anyone who will listen, that women are revered in our culture, this is indeed a very sorry state of affairs. The reasons given for such a low sex ratio are manifold: the high son preference, low value of girl child, neglect of girl child, female infanticide, higher childhood mortality etc.

The reason may vary but they all show the lack of respect given to women and the girl child in our culture. We teach our children about Jeejamata, Rani Laxmibai and other equally heroic women. But in the real world, all they see is the declining status of women in this country. So what exactly is the message we are sending them? That we only pay lip service to women in this society, but don’t expect us to accord them equal status or respect? We continue to portray women as weak, needing protection, having lower intelligence than men, as sex objects, as vehicles to bring forth a male child, as domestic slaves ( I know the chic word these days is ‘Domestic Goddess’) . Ha … Goddess indeed. A goddess, who has no control over her body, whose opinion is never valued and who has no control over her life. Even if she makes any money, the purse strings are usually in the hands of her husband or in-laws. The strange thing is that even the well educated women, engineers/doctors/lawyers, are treated no differently; nor do they think they should be treated differently. So what exactly happens to all that education? I have seen too many women, who were smart, independent and had their own opinion on every issue, suddenly acting all submissive just because they are married. Is this the sign of a healthy culture, where one half rules over the other half and denies them voice or any human right?

But I digress. Because of the rising female infanticide, the government of India had to ban sex determination tests (Pre-conception and Pre-natal Diagnostic Techniques Act), but the problem persists; because these tests are still available illegally and the view that a male child is somehow better than a female one. Although the practice is illegal, laws against it are extremely difficult to impose because there is often no practical way of determining the parents’ true motives for seeking an abortion.

The situation has reached such a critical state that the Minister for women and child development Renuka Choudhury recently announced the Palna (cradle) scheme, under which the government will set up a centre in each district where parents can leave their child, if they do not want to bring them up. “What we are saying to the people is have your children, don’t kill them. And if you don’t want a girl child, leave her to us,” she said. The government may have taken the only step it could take in view of the anachronistic and deluded obsession of parents of this country.

I am an only child (male) and I don’t think men are in any way superior to women, especially when none of us hunt anymore. :) So the physical strength factor doesn’t matter anymore. As far as intelligence or bravery or any other qualities are concerned, women like Indira Gandhi, Kiran Bedi, P.T.Usha and a million others have already proved they have what it takes to reach the zenith, in whichever profession they choose. The female Indian-origin astronauts in US have literally shown us that, as far as women are concerned, the sky is the limit.

So I think it is about time we started to nurture and protect the women and the girl child in this country and who knows, may be one of them will take our country to the top of the global hierarchy; where we belong. Just talking about what a great culture we have and ignoring the ground realities won’t work anymore. The sooner we realize this and change ourselves, the better equipped our country will be, to face the challenges of the 21^scentury.

If anyone wants to read more about this subject, especially the statistical data, please visit this site. http://www.sabrang.com/cjp/prelease/10june05.htm

Khushnuma

2007-01-17T07:57:00.000-08:00

Deewanagee

2007-01-11T22:16:00.000-08:00

I haven't written a hindi poem in a really long time. This morning I just woke up with the first stanza and just started writing. It is a love poem about a man who is in love, but unable to express his feelings to his beloved. This is his story.

Nishani ( memento )

2007-01-03T11:43:00.000-08:00

Kaun hai woh jo chupke se kal raat sapanon mein aake gayi

Subaha subaha mere dil mein ek tamanna chhod gayi

Kaha tha tum se

Kaha tha tum se, mat kholo aankhe

Tutenge sab khwab tumhare

Bah jayegi sab ummeedein, ud jayenge mahal suhane

Rah jayegi raakh ban kar, woh uski yaadein purani,

Chhod jayegi dil par tere, ghaav ban kar ek nishani

Bebasi ( a hindi poem )

2007-01-03T11:32:00.000-08:00

Apne humdum se yun aankhe chhupata na kis tarah

Dil ke taron ka sangeet sunata na kis tarah

Jalason ke beech mein mai rahata tha is tarah

Laharon se bheega ek patthar ho jis tarah

Baharon ne muzhe kiya andekha jis tarah

Doston ne apna daman chhudaya jis tarah

Mandiron mein sijda karne na jata kis tarah

Takdeer ko apni yun na kosata kis tarah

P.S. Sijda karna : to pray

Insecure

2006-12-31T07:05:00.000-08:00

Live in a cocoon,

Live in a shell,

Don’t ever come out,

‘cause you never can tell.

My love has died,

My heart is cold,

I know not, what,

The future may hold.

Watching Apocalypse,

I eagerly await,

Ready as I am,

To sing the death’s duet.

Alone as I stand,

& tell a horrid tell,

Waiting as I am,

For the ultimate bell.

Such a chilling tale,

Am cold to the bone,

Trapped as I am,

In the twilight zone.

There’s no end in sight,

I’m preparing for a flight,

Wish you were with me,

So I could hold you tight.

So lovely you are,

An inspiration to a knight,

So he can rescue you,

Using all his might.

I followed my heart,

& gave it to you,

Do what you will,

I say unto you.

Everything is empty,

& everything is foul,

I drown in my own sorrow,

& carry a burden on my soul.

Kings worry about the future,

Fools worry about the future,

I will only be happy,

When it’s all over.

Who am I?

2006-10-22T22:14:00.000-07:00

I’m the twinkle in your eye

I’m the free bird in the sky

I’m the laughter on your lips

I’m the snow capped mountain tips.

I’m the answer to your prayer

I’m the wind playing with your hair

I’m the one to rush to your need

I’m the one you pay no heed.

I’m the guy standing by the road

I’m the guy who looks like a toad

I’m the guy you will never kiss

I’m the guy you will never miss.

I’m the mountain in the north

I’m the temple in the south

I’m the sunset in the west

I’m the ocean in the east.

I’m the sane in an insane world

I’m the wild one in the wild

I’m the wind under the eagle’s wing

I’m the aliens’ mystery ring.

I’m the footprint on the moon

I’m the north star in the sky

I’m the first word in the Book

I’m the first step on the road.

I’m the song you will never sing

I’m the voice you will never hear

I’m the rose you will never smell

I’m the guy you will never see.

Is this who I am?

Is this all I am?

My lips don't lie

2006-10-18T05:39:00.000-07:00

This poem is fresh off the press. Shakira is good for a lot of things :D

I may say I don't look for it,
I may announce I don't feel it.
But my lips don't lie,
I really do believe in it!
I may not always pine for it,
I may not always express it.
But my lips don't lie,
I really am trying to find it!
The world around may deride it,
The people around may devalue it.
But my lips don't lie,
I really do revel in it!
It hasn't happened to me yet,
It hasn't occured to me yet.
But my lips don't lie,
I really do long for it!

The Lonely Landscape.................when you left

2006-10-15T08:21:00.000-07:00

We sit together, in the twilight
Hands touching, fingers entwined
My lips move, no words come out
Molten, roving lava...boundless, smouldering
Passionate, helpless, seething inside.
I struggle so much, groping for perfect words,
Words that perhaps express, my undying love
My passion, my wit, my intelligence, my songs,
All have abandoned me, like dreams at dawn.
I writhe in agony, I cannot talk
Like a mute koel, at spring's first knock
Desperate, clinging, I waste myself.
My eyes water ( my force extinguished )
My breath comes undone.
I let things slide, I watched you leave,
Over the black seas, to places unseen.
I mourn my loss and I question my love
The everpractical ego, laughs in abandon.
I lost my nerve and stayed where I was;
and watched you leave.

Life is so much simpler now...
Without the sway of your hips,
The smell of your hair,
The red of your lips;
Causing agony and despair...
I am at peace now, like in a tomb.
But the images still haunt me;
In the place you used to stand.
My heart still misses a beat,
When I pass the street,
where you lived.
I still turn, to look through the window,
Knowing well, what I won't find.
Still...

I feel you might come back
And we will enjoy that silent joy
Of you and me; and the world around,
Watching, leering, silently nodding,
Watching the cat with an open cream pot.
Everytime I say your name
The fire scorches my throat
I feel the burn, but I can't feel the pain
My body is numb, a mass of open nerves,
Burnt - a - cinder.
Come back and water these ashes
Let the rosebuds bloom again
OR not, and let me stay
Atlast peaceful and dead.
I wish

Tears could flow down my cheek
And my head could explode
A scream might pierce through my throat
Slashing open my lungs
blood everywhere
In neat little droplets
Fingers carving your name on stone
Eyes blinded and mind a blank
Only the heart echoing your name
Alas...

It cannot be done
Sanity spreads her grubby paws
All over my grief,
Ego trots in, in princely fashion
Over my bloodied emotions.
I weep inside and sigh...

Waiting for another spring

An Ode To A Rose

2006-10-13T22:33:00.000-07:00

Oh my beautiful jungle rose;blossoming in my garden of love
everyday i look at thee,with a strange hope in my eyes;
tired as they are, searching you in cultured lies!
how I love the stars that shine,in eyes that make thy face shine;
and how am I to express my love, in ballad fit to describe thee!
my love, my passion, my lust;
my shyness, my anger,my disgust;
will an ode to your beauty suffice? whose eyes have fiery gimmics!
as I'm but a mere novice, how can I put my soul in these lyrics?
try as I might I can not help, can't escape these trappings of self.
but try I must as I can no longer hold, the love that boiles in my burdened soul.
and shortly thou shall hear thy praise from all sides in poems and prose.
for what I write,oh jungle rose,
shall become one day"An ode to a rose"
and if thy criticisms hurt my soul
with knives thrown veiled as prose,
there'll be no going back
the ode shall continue in poems and prose.

To War With Whitaker

2006-10-13T05:27:00.000-07:00

For the last two days, I have been reading “ To war with Whitaker “. It is a diary written during the six years of WW2, from 1940 to 1045, by Countess Of Ranfurly. I read a review of this book on Grumpyoldbookman's blog and had to read it. A friend also read it and bought the book and gave me the honour to be the first to read this book. These are some excerpts from the diary.

[1] She had gone to along with her husband to the place where he was training for war with the cavalry. As Whitaker, his valet had also joined along with his master, the countess decided to teach him to ride.

12 October 1939 East Chisenbury

The kind farmer who lives nearby has lent me his cob for the afterneens so that I can teach Whitaker to ride. It is a big, lazy animal with a roman nose, called Dulcie.Today when I was saddling her Whitaker announced he did not know which end of her frightened him the most. Then our troubles began:Whitaker’s legs are so short he could not reach the stirrup to mount, and I found him too heavy for me to give him a ‘leg-up’. We built a pile of logs quite high and from it Whitaker scrambled into the saddle, only to topple off on the other side. After several attempts we set off with Whitaker perched and petrified in the saddle and me holding the bridle. We walked slowly along the cart track which leads to Salisbury Plain and I had to struggle not to laugh; he looked so funny with his fat face stiff with fear, his hair tousled and his mouth screwed into a button. All went well until we turned to go home, when Dulcie made a tremendous fart, plunged forward and departed at a gallop with Whitaker clutching the saddle. I could not run for laughing. When I reached the farmyard I found Whitaker seated on the ground and Dulcie grazing. ‘I made the trip and then slid down its neck,’ he said cheerfully and added,’ I can assure your Ladyship I did not make that horrible rude noise.’

[2] Her husband had become a POW and was in a Italian prison, the countess was in Jerusalem. Rommel had started his second campaign in the Desert and was winning. A young officer, Pat Hore- Ruthven had taken her out to dinner before setting off for the Desert to join the war. He talked about his family, his wife and gave her messages to deliver to his wife and mother. That night, she made this entry in her diary.

30 June 1942 Jerusalem

It is always the same. These young men come over on leave or courses to Cairo or Palestine, or for a while they are on the staff. They take you out to dinner and talk of their families and what they are going to do after the war; they laugh and wisecrack and spend all their money in the short time they can be sure they are alive. Then they go down to the Desert leaving their letters, photographs and presents to be posted home. So often they never come back. When people write from England saying,’ You must be having a whale of a time in the Middle-East,’ I have not the heart to reply that so many parties are farewell parties in the truest sense of the word.

Ex Libris

2006-10-02T09:00:00.000-07:00

In the last few months I have become interested in the art of Ex Libris, also known as a Bookplate.A bookplate is a kind os stamp or a piece of paper, attached to the inside cover of a book. It indicates the ownership of the book. In latin it is known as Ex Libris meaning 'from the library of'. It was an individualized way for the book's owner to be identified.It began as the manuscript inscription owner's name or the owner's hand-painted armorial(with the coat of arms).
printed labelpasted on the book's back cover, bearing the owner's name and his coat of arms; usually made with wood cuts or wood engravings. Then metal printing came and someWith the invention of printing, the ex libris became a small beautiful copper engravings are also today available. The wood cut/engraving was called Xylography. the copper or steel plate engraving came into existance around 15th century, it was called incised or intaglio printing.Then it evolved into different formats like etching,burin, lithography, phto-print and now digitalcomputer designs.
The first printed bookplate is believed to have been made in Germany,dated 1450, it was a simple woodcut made on behalf of Johanes Hans Knabensperg- nicknamed Ingler, who was the chaplain to the Schonstett family, bearing the legend - 'Hans Ingler, das ein Igel kuss' It depicts a hedgehog.
I have attached a few of my favourite bookplates to this mail, do take a look. I became fascinated by them when I first read a book called ex libris. It is about a couple who loves books and have collected quite a few of them over the years. It is as much about books as it is about the people who collect them. It's written by Anne Fadiman.
She is the editor of The American Scolar, a literary magazine published since 1932 by the Phi Beta Kappa society. Her bestselling book " Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1998" is a collection of essays originally published in the Library of Congress's Civilization magazine, where she was on of the founding editors.
It's a book entirely about books - from purchasing them, to the reading of them, to the handling of them. It has already been traslated into 13 languages. I f you ever need to know why people spend so much time reading books that have nothing to do with their profession, go read this book.( This last sentense inserted because I have met people who asked me these kinds of Qs.)

Epithalamion (Wedding Song)

2006-09-27T01:35:00.000-07:00

I have been reading a lot lately, but really haven't found the time to put my thoughts into words. The words have been swirling in my brain without any outlet. There have been a lot of subjects I wanted to write about. A friend of mine sent me a letter about an epithalamion some time ago.

Latin epithalamium, from Greek epithalamion, from epi- upon + thalamos -room, bridal chamber.

Epithalamion, also spelled as epithalamium or epithalamy, is a song or poem to the bride and the bridegroom at their wedding. In ancient Greece, the singing of such songs was a traditional way of invoking good fortune on the marriage and often of indulging in ribaldry. By derivation, the epithalamium should be sung at the marriage chamber; but the word is also used for the song sung during the wedding procession.According to Theocritus, one form was employed at night, and another, to arouse the bride and bridegroom on the following morning.

Among the Romans, a similar custom was in vogue, but sung only by girls, after the wedding guest had gone. Much of what was said through would be considered as obscene by modern moral standards.

This epithalamion was written by Edmund Spenser for his own wedding in 1595. He was in his 50s marrying a 20-something merchants daughter, Elizabeth Boyle. They were married on 11th June 1594. He published his book of poetry "Amoreti and Epithalamion" the following year. This is an extract of his epithalamion:

Ye learned sisters which haue oftentimes
beene to me ayding, others to adorne:
Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull rymes,
That euen the greatest did not greatly scorne
To heare theyr names sung in your simple layes,
But ioyed in theyr prayse.
And when ye list your owne mishaps to mourne,
Which death, or loue, or fortunes wreck did rayse,
Your string could soone to sadder tenor turne,

And teach the woods and waters to lament
Your dolefull dreriment.
Now lay those sorrowfull complaints aside,
And hauing all your heads with girland[s] crownd,
Helpe me mine owne loues prayses to resound,
Ne let the fame of any be enuide,
So Orpheus did for his owne bride,
So I vnto my selfe alone will sing,
The woods shall to me answer and my Eccho ring.

EARLY before the worlds light giuing lampe,

His golden beame vpon the hils doth spred,
Hauing disperst the nights vnchearefull dampe,
Doe ye awake and with fresh lusty hed,
Go to the bowre of my beloued loue,
My truest turtle doue
Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake,
And long since ready forth his maske to moue,
With his bright Tead that flames with many a flake,
And many a bachelor to waite on him,
In theyr fresh garments trim.

Bid her awake therefore and soone her dight,
For lo the wished day is come at last,
That shall for al the paynes and sorrowes past,
Pay to her vsury of long delight,
And whylest she doth her dight,
Doe ye to her of ioy and solace sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

[At that time an epithalamion for a person of his social standing was unheard of: and his writing it himself, even so.The poen was extremely long and irregular: 23 stanzas of anywhere from 15 to 18 lines plus a 7 line envoi

Each stanza had two or three "short" lines --with fewer than the otherwise consistent five poetic feet.
In 1960, Columbia University English professor A. Kent Hieatt unearthedsomething stunning about the poem. He counted the iambic pentameter linesthat is, without the "short" lines): There were 365 of them --corresponding to the days of the year. There are 24 stanzas in all --corresponding to the hours of the day. The poem splits neatly into two inter-referential halves of twelve stanzas -- with stanzas 1 and 13 talking to each other, as do 2 and 14, 3 and 15, etc. -- the number 12 corresponding to the months of the year. If you leave off the seven-line envoi, which contains 6 "long" lines, you get 359 long lines in the main body of the poem -- which corresponds to the number of degrees the earth travels aroundthe sun in a calendar year -- one short of the circular 360. And just in
case you're not yet convinced all this was intentionally fashioned, here's the clincher: Spenser was married on June 25 -- Midsummer Night's Eve, the shortest night of the year (please recall he was in his 50s, marrying a gal
in her 20s) -- on which day in Ireland there were sixteen and a quarter hours of daylight. One quarter of the way through his 17th stanza we find the line "Now night is come."

Hieatt was great at unearthing all this, but didn't know what to do with it. It seems to me that Spenser was playing God, creating a small poetical world in which everything was structured according to incredibly strict rules that
no one could perceive -- in imitation of how we go through life not understanding the grand, intricate, and micro-managed "plan" of God. The word "poet" comes from the Greek "po-ein", meaning "to make" or "to create". The only way human beings can truly create -- that is, to bring into existence something that theretofore had never been -- is by naming. Our primary image for this comes from the Book of Genesis, where God creates
only by naming: "Let there be 'light', and there was light." (Poets in medieval Scotland were called "makars".)

So Spenser was playing God. And symbolically, all those "time" numbers had to do with humans being able to overcome time and mortality only by marrying and procreating. Only through the marriage bed can you escape from the prisonhouse of time's numbers.

And the most wonderful number (please hear now in the background the musical theme for the Twilight Zone): Spenser wrote his poem in 1595. Hieatt wrote his stunning little book in 1960. How many years from one to the other? 365.] Courtsey Mr. Ramchandran .

This led to my remembering my favourite Epithalamion. It was written by my favourite poet John Donne on the lady Elizabeth and Count Palatin being married on St.Valentine's Day.

But O, what ails the sun, that here he stays,
Longer to-day than other days ?
Stays he new light from these to get ?
And finding here such stars, is loth to set ?
And why do you two walk,
So slowly paced in this procession ?
Is all your care but to be look'd upon,
And be to others spectacle, and talk ?
The feast with gluttonous delays
Is eaten, and too long their meat they praise ;
The masquers come late, and I think, will stay,
Like fairies, till the cock crow them away.
Alas ! did not antiquity assign
A night as well as day, to thee, old Valentine ?

VI.

They did, and night is come ; and yet we see

Formalities retarding thee.
What mean these ladies, which—as though
They were to take a clock in pieces—go
So nicely about the bride ?
A bride, before a “ Good-night” could be said,

Should vanish from her clothes into her bed,

As souls from bodies steal, and are not spied.
But now she's laid ; what though she be ?
Yet there are more delays, for where is he ?
He comes and passeth through sphere after sphere ;
First her sheets, then her arms, then anywhere.
Let not this day, then, but this night be thine ;
Thy day was but the eve to this, O Valentine.

VII.

Here lies a she sun, and a he moon there ;
She gives the best light to his sphere ;
Or each is both, and all, and so
They unto one another nothing owe ;
And yet they do, but are
So just and rich in that coin which they pay,
That neither would, nor needs forbear, nor stay ;
Neither desires to be spared nor to spare.
They quickly pay their debt, and then
Take no acquittances, but pay again ;
They pay, they give, they lend, and so let fall
No such occasion to be liberal.
More truth, more courage in these two do shine,
Than all thy turtles have and sparrows, Valentine.

Ganeshotsav

2006-08-26T23:41:00.000-07:00

Once more the Ganeshotsav is upon us: the same old music, the same old song and dance , the same old gaudy lighting. I don't know whether to be scared of it or take comfort from it. It is nice to see people forgetting about their everyday troubles and taking part in the festivities. At the same time it pains me that the festival which was once started by Lokmanya Tilak, has now become so commercial. He wanted people to think for themselves and not rely on others to do their thinking for them. But, alas, that's not the case today. In the early days, the ganesh mandals in Poona used to ask the learned scolars of this country to come and give lectures. These series of lectures were called "Vyakkhanmala" and there was competetion among the mandals to see who gets the best scolars. But now the mandals have been reduced to competing for the attentions of various film stars and politicians. No one seems to care about the intellectual upliftment/upkeep of the masses. Nor do the masses seem to care; they are happy to just work and then spend their time wasting away in front of TV, watching spurious spin-offs of soaps with little in way of intellectual stimulation.
I just hope the time doesn't come, when books will be considered taboo or retro and only a handful will be seen reading them, a la Fahrenheit 451.

Crime Fiction

2006-07-20T23:29:00.000-07:00

I have always been fascinated by crime fiction especially one's featuring detectives made famous by their authors. Maigret by Simenon, Poirot and Miss Marple by Agatha Christie, Holmes by Conan Doyle, and one of my favorites Lort Peter Wimsey by Dorothy L. Sayers.
This blog came out as a result of my new aquisition Maigret takes a room and Sunday
This book was published for the members of Companion Book Club in 1962.
Georges Joseph Christian Simenon was a Belgian writer who wrote in French. He wrote over 150 novellas and nearly 200 novels. He is best known for his 75 novels and 28 short stories featuring Commissair Maigret. Maigret is usually soft spoken but a little taciturn. Has the tendancy to go into small cafes to have a drink usually wine. He conbines the usual detecting method with a bit of intuition. I like the way Simenon has't portrayed his side- kicks as mindless puppets or bumbling fools a la Doyle or Christie.
Iwill always have a special place in my heart for "Lord Peter", a character by Dorothy L. sayers.
Lord Peter has always been my favourite,may be because of his knowledge of literature and art. Or may be, I, like so many others, like to look up to people who are thought to belong to a better class. A hangover of the Raj, perhaps. Even in this day and age people continue to be fascinated by this idea of class; whether this class is centuries old like the Royals or Lords or Dukes or created by the industrial age: people with old money or the nouveau riche, we all would like to belong to their class. Enough! I have to stop this constant going into tangents.
Anyway, as I was saying the books on Lord Peter are interesting though for a die-hard crime fiction fan they may not have the same appeal. I have managed to collect some of his books like Gaudy night, Busman's Honeymoon, Have his Carcass, Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club and Murder must Advertise. As most of her books have quotes or poems from the classic literature, they have always had a special place in my heart.
One of the first books I read was Busman's Honeymoon. the plot goes something like this
Lord Peter Wimsey is to be married to Harriet Vane, who writes crime novels, at a big Society wedding. They both promise each other not to get involved with any more crimes as they are 'retired'. As a wedding present, Peter purchases the old Jacobean home, where Harriet grew up, called Tall-boys. After the marriage, they go to their new house to get the keys from the previous owner named Noakes. Upon arriving at the house, Lord and Lady Wimsey find no one at home and finally borrow a key to get in. They have supper and retire for their honeymoon. The next day, people are brought in to clean the house, the chimneys and the grounds and they find the body of Noakes in the cellar. Lord and Lady Wimsey try to stay out of this murder as they promised, but that may not be so easy after all.
A vey simple plot line with enough twista and one liners to keep you wanting more. I also shows a side os the Englishman as an eccentric which is unknown to the Indian reader.
Thre was also a film by the same name starring Robert Montgomery released in 1940 (US title Haunted Honeymoon). Montgomery has charm but he somehow doesn't come up to the idea I had of what Lord Peter should look or act like. The movie also takes some short cuts and some of the dialogs between Inspectos Kirk and Lord Peter is missing; which I had found quite chrming in the book. So the movie was a bit of a letdown. Montgomery's June Bride was a much better film and he certainly was more in his element as a journalist who hates working for Bette Davis' Home Life Magazine.
I guess the literary detective is a fascination for me, because I also like the detective,Adam Dalgliesh, created by P.D. James. He is shown to be a Commander of Scotland Yard and writes poetry.

zen

2006-07-07T11:56:00.000-07:00

IN MOTION BE LIKE WATER
AT REST LIKE A MIRROR
RESPOND LIKE THE ECHO
BE SUBTLE AS THOUGH NONEXISTANT

Dnyaneshwari

2006-07-04T08:46:00.000-07:00

taisI he jANa mAyA/

tU bhramata AhAsI vAyA/

shastree hANitaliyA chhAyA/

tai AngI na rupe/

This verse above, called ovi in Marathi, is taken from Dnyaneshwari[Bhawarth Deepika] written by Sant (Saint) Dnyaneshwar around 700 years ago[year 1212by Indian calender]. It is one of the most profound commentaries on Bhagwad Geeta written in Prakrut Marathi(old form of Marathi). He wrote it when he was 16 years old. He along with Sant Namdev started the Warkari movement which is still alive in Maharashtra after 700 years.

700 years ago, religious books were written in Sanskrit, which was read and understood only by a selected class of people. So Sant Dnyaneshwar decided to write his commentary in Marathi which was the common language of the people of Maharashtra at the time.

In his commentary he not just explains the concepts in The Geeta, but also comments on the social/ spiritual issues relevent to the reader.

The above verse comes from the 2nd chapter verse 140. Translated it means, just as things which seem real to you in a dream are not real, the same way most things which bother us in this life are unreal.When you take them seriously you are wandering from your path. Just as a weapon can't hurt your shadow, [your true self remains the same pure self no matter what happens outside of it.]

In our day-to-day life we all meet people who try to hurt us by their words or deeds;whether intentionally or not. How we respond to such people shows our true character. Some times we run after things that don't seem to matter as much as they seem to,whereas we don't fight for things that do matter. In today's money-mad world we have started to measure everything in terms of money, be it love or relationships. This is what the second line says; Not to run after things that are Maya(unreal).Money is important,I do understand that; but don't expect it to replace your mother's touch or a friend's helping hand or your loved one's laugh. When the time comes we all need people,as I have come to realise. We are a part of society and as such we have to accept certain things that are a part and parcel of it. You don't have to let go of your freedom but that also includes your fredom to choose. So choose wisely. Don't think about the immediate future but think what you are going to consider important 30-40 years from now. You will be surprised how your perception changes when you are not thinking about immediate gratification.

In case you are wondering what brought this sudden bout of philosophising, I just started reading a translation of Dnyaneshwari by Swami Swaroopananda of Pawas.A complete english translation of Dnyaneshwari is available on Hinduweb

Lord Byron

2006-06-29T06:21:00.000-07:00

She Walks in Beauty by Lord George Gordon Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

I have always had a soft spot for Lord Byron ever since I read this poem. I came across it when I was reading the book 'Gaudy Night' by Dorothy L. Sayers. That's what started me on to his poetry.

A Brief Bio: Lord George Gordon Byron was born on January22,1788 to Captain John Byron and John's second wife Lady Catherine Gordon.He was extremely sensitive about his club-foot.His mother raised him in Scotland in 1798 when he inherited Newstead Abbey, becoming the sixth Baron Byron.He studied at Harrow from from 1801 to 1805 after which he proceeded to Trinity College,Cambridge.

In 1807 appeared Byron's first collection of poetry, HOURS OF IDLENESS. It received bad reviews. The poet answered his critics with satire ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWS in 1808. Next year he took his seat in the House of Lords, and set out on his grand tour, visiting Spain, Albania, Greece, and the Aegean.

From 1809 to 1811, he travelled the Orient as there were Napoleonic wars in Europe.He travelled from overEngland,Spain to Albania and spent a lot of time there and in Athens. While in Athens he had a torrid love affair with Nicolo Giraud, a boy of fifteen or sixteen who taught him Italian. In gratitude for the boy's love Byron sent him to school at a monastery in Malta and bequeathed him seven thousand pounds sterling.
Childe Harold's pilgrimage which was published in 1812 received critical acclaim.He followed up his success with four equally celebrated Oriental Tales, The Giaour, The Bride of Abydos, The Corsair, and Lara which established the "Byronic hero."In his works he glorified proud heroes, who overcome hardships. THE CORSAIR (1814), sold 10,000 copies on the first day of publication. Byron married Anne Isabella Milbanke on January 2,1815, and their daughter Ada was born in the same year. The marriage was unhappy, and they obtained legal separation next yearon April 21,1816. Byron settled in Geneva with Mary Godwin, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Mary Shelley, and Claire Clairmont, who became his mistress.At the Villa Diodati, kept indoors by the "incessant rain" of that "wet, ungenial summer", over three days in June the five turned to reading fantastical stories, including 'Fantasmagoriana"" (in the French edition), and then devising their own tales. Mary Shelley produced what would become Frankenstein.There he wrote the two cantos of Childe Harold and THE PRISONER OF CHILLON.The first five Cantos of Don Juan, his satiric masterpiece, were written between 1818 and 1820. In 1821-22, he finished Cantos 6-12 of Don Juan at Pisa. On February 15 1824, he fell ill, and the usual remedy of bleeding weakened him further. He made a partial recovery, but in early April he caught a violent cold which the bleeding -- insisted on by his doctors -- aggravated. The cold became a violent fever, and he died on April 19, 1824. Byron had a great fondness for animals, most famously for a dog named Boatswain; when Boatswain died of Rabies and he lies buried at Newstead Abbey and has a monument larger than his master's. The inscription, Byron's "Epitaph to a dog", has become one of his best-known works:

Near this spot; Are deposited the Remains; of one; Who possessed Beauty; Without Vanity,; Strength without Insolence,; Courage without Ferocity,; And all the Virtues of Man; Without his Vices.; This Praise, which would be unmeaning flattery; If inscribed over Human Ashes,; Is but a just tribute to the Memory of; "Boatswain," a Dog; Who was born at Newfoundland,; May, 1803,; And died at Newstead Abbey; Nov. 18, 1808.
If you are interested, do visit the Representative Poetry Online website where you can read some of his works like Don Juan. You can also read his works at ReadPrint

Memories

2006-06-28T13:12:00.000-07:00

Memories
I was going through my papers and came across this poem I wrote a couple of years ago.People live and then they die;but most of the time even their closest friends or relatives don't know what they were really like.A person can live his entire life without introspection;but on our deathbed, each of us has to take stock of our lives.The lucky ones are those who come up with no regrets; the rest of us all have some. I tried to imagin what a person would feel like on his deathbed and came up with this poem:

Title: Memories

memories haunt
in the silence of the night
sending shivers
down the old bent spine
making hair stand
on leathery shrivelled skin
flashing pictures
blinding the now fading sight
the heart aches
from memories old
while removing
the encrusted mould..........(from old pics)
ears dream
of faint whispered words
with ruby lips
now dried to the bone
fingers move
through once luxurious hair
thinned down
with age, sorrow and dispair
mind wanders
on the walks by the beach
knees now wobble
with the stairs just within reach
air still lingers
with your full-throated laugh
of nights of passion
and of crimson dawns
voices raised
during pointless fights
of angry words
and silent nights
sending messages
with muted sighs
the silly nothings
and the make-up sex
writing letters
from faraway places
saying everything
between the spaces
walking together
in each others arms
reading thoughts
in the other's glance
a solitory hawk
circles the clear sky
reminding everyone
with a heart-wrenching cry
SHE IS GONE
the nest is now empty
everyone has left
after crock's tears and words of pity
children sleep
after a long day of grief
eyes dry
but only for a brief
without her
the road seems long
living now
somehow seems wrong
days pass
it's the nights I dread
years change
but the wounds won't heal
words won't be whispered now
resonating the empty rooms
filling my heart with your warmth
sweeping worries with your carefree broom

I lay awake now
in a hospital room
cheerless and drab
filled with antiseptic fumes
an iron bed
with chalk-white sheets
machines hum
spewing out various sheets
a rustle
from a nurse's skirt
sending shivers
a whisper
from a doctor's throat
THE END
is now in sight
the sky
is now no-more bright
HE is coming
The Reaper Grim
with horses black
and the shadows thin
Debts are settled, the dues paid well,
Here I lie, for the final bell.

Groucho Marx

2006-06-28T01:30:00.000-07:00

I have been on the look-out for a book on/about the Marx brothers for quite awhile now.Neither my local library nor the local booksellers had any books on them. i had almost given up on ever finding a book on the Marx brothers in Mumbai, I came across this book in a small used book shop near Mumbai University in Kalina."The Groucho Letters" by Groucho Marx.........it is a collection of letters written by Groucho to many of the famous writers and movie personalities of that era.He was a prolific writer and was the most witty of all the brothers.
Her is a sample of their wit :
When he asked Harpo the shape of the world,Harpo said candidly,that he didn't know.Whereupon Groucho gave him a hint. "What,"he asked, "is the shape of my cuff buttons?" "Square,"said Harpo. "I mean the cuff buttons I wear on Sunday - not every day.Now! What is the shape of the world?" "Round on Sunday, square on weekdays," replied Harpo who, shortly after, took his vow of professional silence.
As an example of Groucho's amusing insolence,the editor Arthur Sheekman,a long time friend of Groucho,gives this example.
At a formal dinner given for Groucho's TV sponsor, his employees as a tribute to their Boss's 25 years with the corporation , had bought him an expensive gift, which Groucho was asked to present.He did. Rising to his feet, he turned to his sponsor and, indicating the beautifully wrapped parcel, said: "Charlie, as a token of their devotion, the menworking for you have bought this gift. What it is, I'm not sure, but if I were you, I wouldn't open the package until it's been submerged in a tub of water."
Some of you may have heard Groucho's famous one liner"I don't care to belong to any club that will have me as a member."
Some of my favourite Marx brothers movies are A day at the races 1937,A night at the opera1935,Go west 1940.
If you need more info on the Marx brothers or want to read more of their one-liners, please visit this site[http://www.groucho-marx.com/]

Fahrenheit 451

2006-06-11T13:28:00.000-07:00

I have decided that in this blog I'll talk about the books I read/am currently reading and how I feel about them. I just reread Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451.For the uninitiated it's a book about a world where books are banned, firemen burn books and people have become mindless zombies, more or less.

As I was reading it I felt we are already on our way to create a similar world. We, as a society, have become more interested in the lives of TV personalities and the characters they portray than in the lives of real people. The society is literally going down the tube [no pun intended].We have become less empathic and less tolerant. All these communication devices that are supposed to bring us closer to each other have created only a façade of closeness. Behind those devices, we are as lonely as we have never been in the history of human civilization. Most of the time what we do manage to communicate is nothing but a mere cacophony of meaningless chatter, gossip and inanities. We don’t communicate our feelings with anybody lest they feel uncomfortable or horror of horrors, they take advantage of them. We have surrounded ourselves with screens be it TV or Plasma or any other.

There aren’t enough people who read just for the pleasure of reading. Sometime back I was asked a question by one such cretin………why don’t you only read books that refer to your studies instead of wasting your time reading the books that have nothing to do with your profession? I couldn’t then nor ever afterwards been able to explain to him the joy of reading a work of fiction be it Shakespeare or Whitman. I tried but I could see it was all in vain; he just didn’t get it. The real scary part is over the years I have met more and more people like him. Soon the people who read just for their pleasure will be in such a minority that I can almost see myself living in Bradbury’s world.

I know there are still a lot of people who love to read but this culture (?) of TV and celebrities and the gossip about them continues to grow at an alarming rate. People no longer form opinions but are spoon-fed them by so-called experts who give the gist of every problem in 5 minutes (if even that much) and then we are back to our daily fix of soap or movie or whatever. The news is filled with clichés and is less about truth and more about sensationalism.

Viewer comments invited.