Impressive and Inspirational were two words that kept springing to mind after I watched this week's episode of Harsha Unplugged (which has moved to 8:00 p.m. on Wednesdays, allaying these fears). Featuring ace shooter and Rajiv Gandhi Khel Ratna awardee Anjali Vedpathak Bhagwat, the episode highlighted once again the fact that there is more to Indian sport that we know.

The highly forthright, articulate and Marathi accented lady spoke on a lot of issues: how she started off in the sport, how the lack of infrastructure in India hurts sportspeople, what avenues exist to qualify for the Olympics (she has already qualified for next year's Games), what a rifle actually feels like, how heavy it is, how intensely technical the sport is (apparently, shooters try to eat very little before a match, otherwise the increased pulse rate affects how steady the shooter is), how close the competition is (differences are measured on the right hand side of the decimal point) internationally and so on. I knew she had been World No. 1 (right now she's Number 5), but didn't know that she's won a competition called Champion of Champions, which brings together both top men and women shooters for a mixed contest: quite an honour for the petite-looking but rather spirited achiever who began her career in the NCC.

I found her candour, her obvious desire to do well at the highest level, her attitude (she seemed very comfortable with her talent and pleased with her performances) very refreshing: she has done a lot to bring positive attention to this rather anonymous sport in India (along with Jaspal Rana). She obviously has a lot to offer and this highly talented lady is one of our best hopes at the Athens Games next year.

I've joined the ranks of her admirers and will follow her career more closely from now: wishing her a lot of luck and success.

More Mohanlal: Lots more on the 25 year old film career of one of India's best performers.

And now Jugraj

It's not a good time to be a successful Indian sportsman: Jugraj Singh was hurt badly in a car crash near Ludhiana, and was in a serious condition a while back. After Leander Paes and Baichung Bhutia, this is the third such event in recent days. India's penalty corner expert (in more ways than one: he not only takes the strike at the short corner but is also a vital defender when opponents have their penalty corner at the Indian goal) was highly praised at the recent Champions Trophy. Though still showing signs of immaturity (he scored off the penalty stroke in the bronze playoff vs. Pakistan, but rather stupidly gave away a corner that allowed Sohail Abbas to get Pakistan back in the game), he is a genuine star for India, and one can only hope he will back in time for some important matches next year on which depend our form and opportunities for the Olympics.

Having seen and enjoyed Snatch and having heard that writer-director Guy Ritchie's earlier film Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Barrels was very similar to it, I was very keen to watch Lock.... I wasn't disappointed, though the two films are extremely close in plot ideas, storytelling, dialogues, settings, soundtrack and actors.

If you've seen either movie, then the other is easy to follow. Lock... has muskets, ganja and money instead of diamonds. There are enough guns and shooting raids to keep the American NRA happy for a long time. The dialogue is freewheeling, every kind of underworld rat appears in the movies, the course of events go the way of the protagonists (though Lock... is less kind than Snatch in this regard). You get a crash course in British accents, but none like the hilarious Brad Pitt version in Snatch. One will recognise some actors common to both casts, though Lock... boasts of an appearance by Sting. The story has the same kind of recipe: four guys (a little naive compared to the other "bounders") lose a game of cards due to a scam by a sleazy figure, and have to pay an obscene amount of money in a few days. Add to this, two other gangs pulling off different schemes, the usual crop of moronic thieves, one gangster and his young son (who is in training and who will be taking over the family profession). At one point their lives collide and, well, the fun begins. The soundtrack is engaging as usual.

The ending is a little more tantalising, but I still prefer Snatch. But Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels is great too, so if you like Ritchie's no holds barred filmmaking, you'll like both movies.

If this news item is true, then I'll be happy and disappointed at the same time. Happy, because after years of threatening to do so, Mani Ratnam will be bold enough not to use songs (the music score in most of his films have been a big factor in his success, now Ram Gopal Varma will rightly be considered the pioneer in this regard in terms of contemporary commercial Indian cinema). Disappointed if they're going to call the Hindi version Yuva, which seems rather unimaginative, trite and pheeka, especially in contrast to the crisp sounding Ayudha Ezhuthu.

Top Ten Reasons for Tintin's Popularity around the World: wouldn't I like to be a Tintinologist too?

Since YACCS continues to be down for a few days now, no commenting appears on these pages. If anyone had anything to say, well, why not wait till the javascript is back in action?

This happened a few months ago, and though there's nothing earth-shattering about it, it wasn't very trivial too, and is something I will always remember for a long while.

Having had a late night at work on Friday, I came back home ready to hit the sack at the earliest opportunity. Before I nodded off, there was just enough time for my father to remind me that an agent would be coming over for some paperwork to do with some investments, and that she would in all likelihood be coming at about 4 pm on that Saturday evening. Immediately after which, I had one of the moments which Enid Blyton would've described as "he dozed off the moment his head hit the pillow".
And then came the dream.

I remember being woken up, probably by my mother. I look around, but nothing registers fully; there's a mass of fuzziness around the sides. Somehow I manage to look at the clock: I think it says 1:00. The next thing I remember is I'm walking, I think the agent has come and is sitting in the living room. I know I'm groggy, as if drugged, but I somehow walk to the living room, footsteps following an instinct for a familiar route rather than being guided by any vision (which seems to be malfunctioning). I nod at the person with the papers: she points to two that I need to put my signature on. I scrawl the signature on the first, it has just about come out decently. I know I have to sign again, and in a moment of clarity, I wonder if I would be able to scrawl it exactly the same way. It took all the miniscule amounts of concentration at my disposal to put the strokes and dots that constitute my signature. The fuzziness is now complete, having drained all my conscious energy.

I wake up, I have overslept and the time is 11:00. While brushing, the dream that I had slowly filters in. I can remember three basic aspects: the walking, the signing and the time. Obviously, the 1:00 had to be p.m. rather than a.m., further strengthening the fact that it was really a dream, and how I managed to make two signatures consistent with each other was the highlight of the dream for me. Other stuff happens and drives the dream out of my immediate thoughts.

It's 4:30 pm and the agent hasn't arrived. I'm impatient because I have to go out. I complain to my parents and ask how long it will be. They take one look at me and say: "Well, don't you remember? She's already come and gone in the morning at 9.00 am". Phooey! So it wasn't all a dream, it really did happen.

Thus for the first time in my life that I can remember, I wasn't able to differentiate between a dream and real life. The time on the clock that I thought I had read was what put me off: I must've misread it when I got up in that snookered state. The scary thing was: I could've sworn it was a dream. There was only a little element of doubt, so if you'd put me on the witness dock and ask to swear on it, I might've dithered. That too involving a question of signing something. That's probably how those guys who get drunk do bizarre stuff (like getting hitched in Las Vegas ;-) ) Rather wierd, for it will always pose a question: if I can't distinguish between a dream and reality, how can I be absolutely sure what's happening right now?

Probably, my very own Matrix-like moment.

Hope RKL gets better soon... not the best news to hear.

Red A-Dare

They told me I should look out of the window for Mars
Now was it North-East or South-West, and near which of the stars?
I shivered, and I shuddered, into the late hours
Might this go the way of the Leonid showers?

Beckoned by the wafting aromas of the soup bowl
I decided to call off the nightly prowl.
Dodging Red-gazers, their 'scopes cheek-by-jowl
I happily left Astronomy to the owl.

Though she hasn't been receiving any special coverage, Asian Games medallist Anju Bobby George (who's training with World Record holder Mike Powell) has been doing well in the women's long jump circuit, and is considered to be among the top 10 athletes in this sport today. She has her attempts at the World Championship later tonight, I think, and here's to hoping that her performance is more than just noteworthy.

A newly installed carrom board at work sees some of us taking time off to strike a few coins now and then. I've played a few games when I was a kid, and can associate lots of angry moments with it: all the people I played with then were much better than me (blame it on them having the advantage of age) and the frustrations of not being able to pocket the easy coin is a memory that continues to simmer.

However, those tough lessons have made their mark, because my co-participants then were always kind to me and taught me the rebound, the shots-at-crazy-angles, and didn't have the easy routes of thumbing etc. I didn't become a great player, but I found that I can play a decent supporting role. My record so far in the two full games on the new board has been honourable. The first game we played, we lost 28-29 but not before we came back from something like 11-28 down. The second full game saw my team win 31-24. Not too bad.

The usual arguments over the rules led to a search for them on the Web, but the different sites (hosted by international federations) are hopelessly contradictory. But the people I'm play carrom with are not really obsessed about the technicalities, and their skills don't dwarf mine, so I can get away with my honour and temper intact.

UP, UP and A Way

One of the recurring (and unfailingly funny) joke concepts in The Simpsons comedy series involves the blessed-only-with-short-term-memory Homer doing something that causes him physical pain, and then doing it again, and again, and again and so on, while muttering Oowwwww all the time. The politicians in Uttar Pradesh remind me of this a lot.

Whether it's the BJP coming back again with Mayawati after she famously plunged her Bahujana Hitaya dagger into their backs in Parliament, or their notorious but innovative power-by-rotation agreement or Mulayam and his tango with the Congress at the Centre and State, UP politics is as spirited as ever, with almost every possible aspirant to the kursi having got a chance to warm it with his/her gluteus maximus over the last few years. The photos of the last decade look like the shifting colour combinations of a kaleidoscope: all perms. and combs. are possible. Of late, there has been an argument over statements like "Mumbai always bounces back" with some saying that "Mumbaikars have no choice: their stomachs demand they go back to work, bomb or no bomb". I feel the real phoenixes are the members of the UP Vidhan Sabha, not even one of those crazy toy balls rebound and richochet as much as these chaps.

But I must confess to be a little surprised at Mayawati (here's one lady who should've been born (or is it behen born?) to a Gujju sorority) giving up the chair so soon. I don't see the master plan kicking in yet. Why would she renounce so easily, especially with the BJP not really forcing her hand (as far as I can see)? Did she think the BJP-appointed Governor would not let the SP in? If this is a gaffe, then she is in good company with her old friend Mulayam's move during the break in the UP Lok Sabha elections. Anyway, it has given rise to another unlikely and apparently indigestible recipe featuring Kalyan Singh, Tiwari-Pal and an alphabet soup of parties that takes the whole concept of the abbreviated names so far that I saw a Hon. Member from the ABCD party.

And if this had been a sketch from Monty Python, someone would have walked in saying: "Stop it now, this is getting too silly even for us".

Anyone (and these days, anything) whose name deviates from normally observed spellings is automatically suspected of having met the numerologist: take Jayalalithaa, Suniel Shetty and Kkusum as members of the exampli gratia set. We can give Preity Zinta the benefit of the doubt as she seemed to be a deviant even before she came into the spotlight. But I've always wondered what the "righteous" Shobha (now augmented with the "Extra-a Innings") Dé had to say in her defence. A few days ago (don't remember where I read this, must be The Times of India, for the TOI has been quite into these things: Pune TOI features one of their town-favourites Anupam Kapil each week who gives us the requisite gyan on these things) I read that "she found Shobhaa more visually appealing". She didn't really acknowledge any other reasons for the nomenclatural change. Yeah right, Ms. Dé. Wish you (or the adviser in the background) had found Shhhoba or Day more aesthetic, would have made it fun to Ssshush you each Day.

Wild card horse

I haven't seen a single film with Abhishek Bachchan, but I cannot stop thinking that he will eventually make it big. I don't know if he has the talent, or something extra special to make this happen, but I always feel favourably for him and hope that one day he will enjoy an amount of success that some of his peers already have. There's no explaining my sympathy towards the (on second thoughts, it just struck me that I have watched him in Om Jai Jagdish: nothing special) ChhoTa B, for I'm not a huge fan of the Big B (like this fellow). But to borrow a phrase from one of Daddy's films, I think he may be a lambi race ka ghoDa. For starters, I wish they'll stop giving him dance steps that make him look gauche, especially in comparison to his co-stars.

He made his debut when his father wasn't having the greatest time of his life, but was slowly inching his way back, so Abhishek hasn't had the full force of the Bachchan heritage behind him. Also, he really hasn't been bankrolled by the Family unlike the Roshans. I saw an interesting short from an MTV interview with the Junior B who responds to a numerologist who apparently says that he should drop his last name by saying: "That's all I got now! I've been hanging on just because of my last name!" and then more seriously that his last name was given by his grandfather and his father had worked hard to add worth to this name, and no, there's no way he would lose it.

Coming soon:

* Malayala cinema-um nyaanum

* Thoughts on Iruvar

* Where the lines between reality and dreams blur

On the other hand, another Leeds test match and England v South Africa is very keenly poised once again.

And for once, there is something grabbing the tennis news more than the fact that Mahesh Bhupathi and Leander Paes almost played together: hopefully Paes will get better soon. Very few sportsmen in India are as universally loved and admired.

Where there is complaint, there must be praise. India came back to thrash Pakistan in the Champion's Trophy, and they pumped 5 goals back in 20 mins. Highly surprising, but this is one sport where we have consistently dominated our neighbours, and I think the team believes it can always win. Shades of the 1982 showing at the Trophy where present coach Rajinder Singh was involved in another memorable defeat of the rivals, en route to the 3rd spot. We have a chance to match that, for an Aussie gift means that India play Pakistan for the 3rd place tomorrow.

If they don't win, then India would've had another typical tournament, the template for which reads:

* India achieves excellent pre-tournament showing, raising hopes of the Great Hockey Resurgence that the country has been awaiting for 25 years now.

* India then contrives to lose its first match.

* It has to play catch-up, scraping through some of its matches.

* If we have to play Pakistan, we win the encounter.

* We have to await the results of other matches on the last day, huddled with calculator in hand, for a playoff for a decent place: mostly the results do go in our favour.

* We don't win the playoffs, the final blow, leading to recriminations to re-surface that were temporarily suppressed after the Pakistan victory.

* There is a lot of bad blood, usually conducted through the media, spilling over to the airport. Eventually, the coach loses his job. Some senior players may be temporarily sacked too.

Let's see if the old script is called into action this time also.

This time's BCL finds
A long pending visit to the local British Library yielded:

* Freedom Song by Amit Chaudhuri, which I've always wanted to try

* An illustrated biography of John Cleese. I have heard of John Cleese's huge reputation, but haven't really seen much of his output, except for a few episodes of Fawlty Towers. Of his film roles, I haven't seen any of the famous ones like A Fish Called Wanda, only a few appearances that seemed rooted in Basil Fawlty. Of course, like many British comics of his generation, he made his reputation with Monty Python, something on my longterm TODO list. I have read a few sketches, but I'm sure they're even better on screen. Interesting tidbit: his father was actually named Cheese, then changed it to escape from being at the receiving end of many a joke. The book will hopefully shed some light on another aspect to Cleese's life: his interest in psychology (I've seen him appear on a few psychology related productions of the BBC shown on the Discovery channel).

Chanda sooraj laakho.n taare.n
Hai jab tere hii yeh saare.n
kis baatpe hotii hai phir takraare.n

Khii.nchi hai lakeere.n is zamee.n pe par na khiincho dekho
beech mei.n logo.n ke deewarein

Duniya mei.n kahi.n bhi dard se koi bhi
taDpe to humko yahaa.n pe
ehsaas uske Zakhmo.n ka hoke
apnaa bhi dil bhar bhar aayei.n roye A.nkhe.n

- Gurus of Peace featuring Ustad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and A.R.Rahman, from the album Vandé Mataram

I personally don't think that India-Pak collaborations like the above in music, films, sports etc will help make any difference to resolving the political issues (it takes one simple emotive spark to push things back to the brink), I wouldn't discourage these either. What I wouldn't do, though, is to hype these things and take Laloo-Noor diplomacies to unrealistic conclusions.

A punch at the pint

Ireland passes stiff (no pun intended) laws against drinking, Irish President Mary McAleese calling her fellow countrymen's attitude to drink "unhealthy" and "sinister" ( which means 8 out 10 Irish are sinister :-) ).

This is very interesting: it's like cutting down half their social life. When I was a wee lad in Dublin a few months ago, the eerie silences and loneliness on the streets on normal weekdays after 7.00 pm was very unsettling at first. It struck me that if I ever was in a crowd in Dublin in the evening, I had to be in a bar (which is not a very rare commodity there). Not even attempting to drink Guinness rightfully brought a scorn to the faces of my hosts. I didn't make the pilgrimage to the local Guinness factory (so no free samples to taste), but I couldn't go all the way and back without stepping into one of the holy places. I walked near Temple Bar but I went in to the nearest pub (on the last day of my visit) accompanied by European colleagues celebrating the beginning of the St. Patrick's Day weekend. I had a red lemonade there (apparently another local curiosity) which made sharp contrast to the mugs of golden and black liquid swilling around. What is it like inside? : it is noisy, musical, smoke-filled and ok, ok, spirited.

It's not (just) cricket

Prem Panicker, opinionated cricket columnist for Rediff, now has a blog of his own: here, and he talks about life, movies and a lot more apart from cricket.

Finally something I've been looking for: a Transliteration for Tamil into English. My ignorance of the fact that something like ITrans exists was removed by reading George's latest post where he pillories old punching bags: post 90s Lata Mangeshkar and Sonu Nigam.

BTW, to complete this post, here's the Tamil to English transliteration table. To take an example, I would have to say aayutha eJuthu or Ayutha ezuthu. (Actually Aayutha ezhuthu itself refers to a letter in the Tamil alphabet, which ITrans shows as q.)

All very confusing, for I also don't know how to represent the half-consonant or half-vowel that appears frequently in Tamil (for e.g, the last "u" in ezhuthu is not a full-fledged "oo" as people might think, just a polite begin-as-if-saying-oo-and-halt "u".

Ringing the bejewelled bell

Another set of thoughts revolving around dear old Mani Ratnam saar: those that can seem strictly worthwhile to triviamongers. It hasn't gone unnoticed that MR doesn't repeat actors very frequently. Where Balachander had his Kamal & Rajni, Raj Kapoor had his family, Prakash-Manmohan-Hrishikesh had the Big B, Mani Ratnam hardly repeated any main actor more than 3-4 times in his 17-odd films.

I took this conjecture a little further ahead by attempting to list down the total appearances of notable actors and actresses who had appeared to the accompaniments of mumbled dialogues, great soundtracks, slow-motion dance sequences and brilliantly shot scenes (to the best of my knowledge):

Four: Revathi (Pagal Nilavu, Mouna Raagam, Anjali, Iruvar), Arvind Swamy (Dalapathi, Roja,Bombay,Alaipayuthey)

Three: Nasser (Nayakan, Bombay, Iruvar), Janakaraj (Nayakan, Agni Nakshatram, Roja),, V.K.Ramaswamy (Mouna Raagam, Agni Nakshatram, Anjali)

Two: Prabhu (Agni Nakshatram, Anjali),Madhubala (Roja, Iruvar), Manisha Koirala (Bombay, Dil Se), Prakash Raj (Iruvar, Kannathil Muthamittal), Madhavan (Alaipayuthey, Kannathil Mutthamittal), Mohanlal (Unuru, Iruvar), Mohan (Idaya Kovil, Mouna Raagam), Karthik (Mouna Raagam, Agni Nakshatram), Tinnu Anand (Nayakan, Bombay), Delhi Ganesh (Nayakan, Iruvar)

Notable Singles: Anil Kapoor (Pallavi Anu Pallavi), Kamalhassan (Nayakan), Nagarjuna & Girija (Geetanjali), Raghuvaran (Geetanjali) Anjali (always meant this: thanks Harish for pointing out), Rajnikanth (Dalapathi), Mamootty (Dalapathi), Pankaj Kapur (Roja), Prashant, Anu Agarwal (Thiruda Thiruda), Gautami, Aishwarya Rai, Tabu (Iruvar), Shah Rukh Khan,Raghuvir Yadav & Preity Zinta(Dil Se), Shalini, Khushboo, Vivek, Sukumari (Alaipayuthey), Chakravarthi, Nandita Das & Simran (Kannathil Muthamittal), Amrish Puri, Shobhana & Bhanupriya (Dalapathi), Satyaraj (Pagal Nilavu)

So Revathy and Arvind Swamy top the list. If one were to consider Arvind Swamy's offscreen contributions to Iruvar, he might go up the list. For that matter, Revathi might've done the same too (she has voiced a few characters on screen).

I learnt a few things and remembered a few forgotten cameos along the way, ultimately using the IMDB entry to fill in a few holes. If I've left out someone or some appearance, let me know.

Aayudha Ezhuthu (untitled as yet in Hindi) will add a few more first-timers (Ajay Devgan, Vivek Oberoi in addition to the others in Hindi & Tamil) to the list, while Simran makes her second Ratnam film in a row. More significantly, Madhavan will have completed a hat-trick, no other person has done this AFAIK. I haven't mentioned some of the other character artistes, or the Mani Ratnam pioneered guest song appearances.

What about the most notable absentees from this list? Sivaji Ganesan for sure (will never happen now, sadly). Amitabh? Aamir? And how about Suhasini! And one wished Kamalhassan and he could get down to making a movie again, something that almost happened last year.

Enough trivia timepass for now.

Chhod do yeh kadhai!

All around the world, there are people clamouring to be left alone, in various shapes, sizes, in various degrees of politeness, people want you to leave them alone. People like:

* the child in first standard who is asked by idiotic guest-pests who she likes better: her mother or her father

* the bigger kid in twelfth standard who has no damn clue which stream to opt for, especially because he has the yen for one and the marks for another

* the modern-day worker who doesn't have future plans to mention in a self-appraisal sheet

* the newbie politician who didn't know what he was signing that day in North Block

* the talented teenage midfielder who's pestered to take up computer classes instead because it will improve his career prospects

* the young girl who's finished college and now gets ogled a lot at... by matchmaking women

* the software engineer on when he's going to the US of Aaiye

* the star whose wife may not be everyone's idea of a pinup

* the man-who-made-a-mistake-once and would like to get over it, only if you would let him

* the men and women love reading their books, are not making a fashion statement by reading them in public and don't want to show the title of the book they're reading to every curious passerby who doesn't share the habit

I'm sure there a few more: can't think of them right now.

If someone has the potential to be great, sometimes not just great, but capitalized, italicized, mouth-wide-open GREAT! and chooses not to do anything about it, or does nothing out of it from being content with being recognised as talented, is it really a crime? It does mean loss of fame and publicity, but the recognition of having what it took, even briefly: isn't that good too? For every Shane Warne, there was a Laxman Sivaramakrishnan.

Warriors of Heaven and Earth is a Chinese film that has a couple of significances: one, the soundtrack is by A.R.Rahman and two, the guys making the movie had a Blog to record their experiences. (Link: courtesy of Gopal)

Resumé of a few days

Over the last few days I have been:

* Sneezing and coughing like nobody's business

* Making decisions when to bunk work, when finally to go to the doktore and mostly what to eat next

* Steaming idlis with varied results of hydration

* Boiling potatoes like a teetotalling Russian

* Watching the world go by lying on my back

* Checking my ears when the television stopped speaking to me

* Poking and tapping the television

* Re-discovering old audio cassettes

* Led astray by my Imagination that pumps into delirious overdrive when I'm a little feverish

* Trying to catch up on my waiting correspondence

* Giving many thanks to my friends at work for covering for me

* Watching Fargo and a repeat of the well-written Notting Hill

* Wistfully watching myself shell out more money for books in Book Exhibitions: this time to buy O Jerusalem! and Is Paris Burning by Collins & Lapierre (Thanks Sammy, I thought I'll buy a copy for myself)

* Finished reading Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez and feeling a little exhausted after reading chapters the size of watermelons

* Catching up again on the nuances of Predictive and Shift-Reduce parsers from my well-worn copy of the Dragon book

* Meeting variegated relatives

* Spreading cheese on bread, boiling water for a few things

* Unable to put down the story of Israel's struggle for the City of Peace

* Reasoning what I can salvage from the soundtrack of Boys

* Celebrating Independence Day Sun-TV-style watching unending programmes on film people

* Learning that Prakash Raj's Special Jury Award wasn't for a single film, but for his work in 8 films in 3 languages

* Watching India make a traditional opening to a major tournament squandering a 3 goal lead, and then gheraoing the umpire

* Watching India win at last

* Watching the pitch produce a result in England's favour, but not before inspiring two tons and two six-fers

* Joining the Yanks in learning that power cuts can hurt

* Wondering, wondering

Given the usual media habit of slotting people, they usually have names for generations. The American Baby Boomers, the Generation Xers, Generation Y, Generation Next and so on. The kids of these days are the Internet Generation. Not wanting to be left out, I think my generation would be the TV generation, atleast if I was representative of it.

While reading someone's life sketch, I came across a quote by that person. When he was asked what he was like as a kid, one of the ways he described himself was that if his house caught fire, the first thing he would have made a dive would have been the TV. I know exactly what he is talking about. My TV obsession has become a little better these days, but a long time ago, it was a major source of annoyance for people around me, for it wasn't every day one could leave me alone at home to watch He-Man or Hercule Poirot. Result: sulking kid being dragged around shopping centre. My parents being a little old-fashioned in their child-rearing wouldn't offer any bribes, so I had to bite the bullet.

All this nostalgia because I have recently found that some popular Tamil serial has moved from its daily 7.30 pm slot to 9.00 pm. My parents watch only two soaps at night (when I overlap), the other at 9.30 pm. But this change will mean loss of independence from 9.00 pm to 10.00 pm. It's not as if I have something to watch each night at 9.00 pm, but it does mean I don't even have the option of a channel surf in that period. It makes it difficult for me to watch Harsha Unplugged. Since my folks don't demand the remote otherwise, it would be very unfair for me to quarrel over this. I know of some others who spend time from 7 to 11 in front of the TV. I will consider myself lucky in light of that evidence and find one more book to cover the slot.

Why not call Fast Food Centres a Mess too?

The most immediate problem with fast food as I see it is that it encourages messiness in all aspects of consumption. A burger drips butter down your wrist, while the cucumber is trying to escape from the trapdoor below. The toppings on pizzas know all about gravitational acceleration. Atleast bhel puri plates have the humble piece-of-cardboard to help scoop up the mixture, but the pani in the puri loves spurting out, especially if you're a novice at it.

As we know from experience, no one bothers a bit about hygiene, nor do I pay too much attention to it. But if only someone would invent a less messy way to eat these things.

On teaching

I've been teaching for a few sems back in COEP with my friend Nikhil, and have been very happy to see quite a few people from the batch that just graduated (or will graduate) also pitch in their services to volunteer for some of the classes. The Computers department is very under-staffed, and this provides the students the excellent opportunity to interact and learn from the experience of their immediate seniors, while making decent use of whatever time they spent at the Dept. Now, it has always been fashionable to claim one never went to classes, in fact it was highly infra dig to go near Depts. In the past there was some justification for doing so, because the quality of teaching was never consistent, tended to be mundane and monotonous, and there was no real incentive to attend lectures. All resulting in the traditional last minute cram during the preparatory leaves prior to the exams. I wonder if by this recent move by alumni to engage lectures, we can actually make it fashionable for students to say they attend classes, especially if they actually get value for their time.

I don't want to seem boastful, but Nikhil and I definitely pioneered the two-in-one concept, where there is a pair of people teaching the same subject together. It divides the responsibilities well, improves the student-teacher ratio, and one can point out mistakes and problems easily. It makes life easier, we found. I only wish the students in all the classes of the Comp. & IT Dept who receive the benefit of their seniors' time will try and make good use of this opportunity, something we ourselves didn't have much of.

More on NDTV

Turns out I went to air with the where-is-TWTW question too soon: saw a promo for The World This Week. Also, I forgot to express my appreciation for NDTV mentioning the cameraperson on each story as part of the report captions: that is a good touch and is a befitting appreciation for the usually anonymous photographer who often has to do the job in difficult conditions.

NDTV's programming

When NDTV branched off, they promised weekend fare that would not be restricted to mundane news bulletins, much in the style of the BBC's programme list. They have come up with a selection of new ideas that are worth adding to the Saturday and Sunday viewing sheet.

The most well-known one is probably Walk the Talk consisting of Shekhar Gupta (probably the most respected senior editor today) walking about with a guest (just finished watching Uddhav Thackeray). Gupta asks the questions (even the uncomfortable ones) that we want to hear. The only grouse I have is with the duration, ought to be of 60 minutes.

Eye to Eye (or is it I to I) is an interesting concept, but I didn't like it very much, because it basically consists of a well-known figure who plays both guest and host, asking questions that (s)he answers (him|her)self. It seems a little contrived to me, and not sure who comes up with the questions!

Indianama is hosted by Tavleen Singh, who took a peek behind the purdah of Rajasthani royal society at Jodhpur, revealing that not much has changed even today, the opening of palaces to tourists for money notwithstanding. For the rani of Jodhpur openly professed admiration for sati, saying she would not prevent any sati if the widow in question consented without being under duress. Her daughter was resigned to the fact that major decisions of her life such her marriage would still have to be within the maryada of tradition. Indianama is something I'll watch out for. It comes on NDTV India.

24 Hours, featuring Radhika Bordia, this week followed a documentary crew for a day as they filmed their intended six-part series Vision of Faith on the Kumbh Mela at Nasik, uncovering the massive confluence of water, pilgrims, tantras-and-mantras, tantriks-and-mantris, a thick veneer of politics in the akhaaDas, organizational successes and a latrine supplier who built 20 of them in one day following the request of his guru.

They still haven't re-introduced The World This Week, which would be a good move, given the enormous brand it became in the early 90s. They now have a Hindi version of We The People with Pankaj Pachauri (I don't like his style very much, it is too accomodating and blasé). Their old shows, like Limelight and the ever-inconclusive The Big Fight continue to roll on. And IMO, they should get a variant of Good Morning India back.

And in passing

NDTV has a lot of new correspondents manning the various cities, many of them seem to be fresh-faced graduates with little experience in presentation, some of them unable to provide a précis of the situation. Wonder if this will affect the channel in the future. But NDTV is trying to do an Outlook, in attempting to get news scoops, inside stories, leaks, exclusives and purdah-faash type articles, in addition to their usual set of human-interest tales. They had most of the National Film Awards leaked out, and now they're talking about the results of the Arjuna Awards.

But the guys at NDTV have usually had very innovative sets and production values, especially with the graphics. The designs on the accompanying visuals, summaries etc. look very classy, especially on NDTV India.

Walks-Volk

We all have friends, but there are a few that are in the top echelons, the people one likes to be around with and doesn't find their presence too suffocating, atleast on most occasions. These days, with friends in my age group working or studying or doing something that keeps them occupied throughout the day, one has to make a special effort to *meet* up. There are different ways of friendly contact these days: email, instant messaging, a brisk walk after lunch, the afternoon coffee and so on. Each has its own relevance and order of importance. Having never lived away from home, I don't know how that experience of making companions is, but my friends have usually been from school and college. Curiously, I can hardly remember any close friend who ever lived within walking distance of my house, all through my life. So it was never easy to drop in casually while passing through, unless one made a concerted plan beforehand. (This changed a little when I was in my 11th-12th.)

And in the school days before the internet making contact through keyboards the most preferred form of communication, my best friends were the ones I could take a long walk with. In my personal hierarchy of relationships, the ones that rank highly are usually the ones that I've taken long, interesting, sometimes-silent-sometimes-talkative walks with. Around the streets, parks, school compounds, walking in tandem, mentally in-step. Some of my best memories of that period were courtesy such fine walking companions. And if one had an option of freezing the frame, perhaps those would be some of the top contenders for a permanent pause.

It's a question of matching frequencies, I guess, which is not the same as agreeing on all things. In my COEP years, strolls were replaced by a more sedentary occupation of lounging at the BC with the many people who would have made good walking companions too, I should think. Atleast the mental state that developed was similar to the leisurely walks I took in an earlier phase. To paraphrase Elaine's famous yardstick of choosing her men as "spongeworthy", I think I seem to have a yardstick of my own to rank my acquaintances: "walkworthy". Would I want to take a walk with them and not find it an effort at the end of it?

The University Challenge quiz starts today with the Indo-British episodes...

Perhaps those who read this blog don't realize this, but I usually employ a few rules while posting on my blog. I usually try to avoid any references to my readers (a rule that I broke while beginning this post), I don't want to get a swollen head (or depressed acceptance, depending on my current stats and mood) as to imagining the group of people that read these pages.

Also, I usually avoid anonymous references to people, especially if I know they read these posts. I know this kind of self-censorship isn't wholly necessary, but I don't feel like hurting anyone's feelings. But I can make one favourably anonymous reference to celebrate getting a mail from a long-lost friend who I know almost for sure doesn't read this, despite my many exhortations. So if you happened to contact me recently and are reading this post, well, then I'm not referring to you!

I make this anonymous reference because it gladdened my heart in a week that had these train of thoughts:

* Anymore of this, and I'll end up with a face that either is as sad as John Wright's or as morose as Graham Gooch

* What a horrid song, but why do I want to hear it again?

* I must be firm and put my foot down. What's the worst that can happen?

* Damn, damn it... Who do they think they are? Feel like telling them to go to hell.

* I f I make the mistake, it is only fair I pay for it, right?

* Life sucks, get used to it...

* Another case of things biting one in the...

* Ok, now things have to get better...

I'm among those who're very happy to see Graeme Smith, captain of South Africa, break a few batting milestones. I haven't seem him play much, but ever since he put his hand up for the captaincy job, I have wished him well. For which 22 year old opening batsman with little experience and even lesser support willingly takes on so much responsibility voluntarily? Give it to me, he said, and though there's a long way to go yet, he's redeemed himself somewhat.

The biggest winners were traditional heavyweight Bengali cinema and the crew from the acclaimed films Mr. and Mrs. Iyer (English) and Kannathil Mutthamittal (Tamil). It's encouraging to see an English film win top honours, especially a film that is pan-Indian in its setting and characters (English films somehow seem to have stories that spread across the different sections, this film's varied cast bears this out). Aparna Sen always has had good stories that are meaningful but don't lapse into obscurity as one might've feared. It was interesting to watch an interview of her's where she mentioned how Konkana Sen Sharma (Best Actress) told her that she's won it for Jennifer Kendall, a reference to the glaring omission of Jennifer Kendall from the awards list for the pathbreaking 36 Chowringhee Lane that marked the debut of Aparna Sen.

Unfortunately, I haven't seen Kannathil Mutthamittal, but everyone who has seen this Mani Ratnam film tells me it is a classic Mani-saar creation. I have seen a few clippings, and can't wait for someone to get me a copy of the film to watch (hopefully, this will happen soon). I was also told that it is has probably the most realistic depiction of war in an Indian film (evoking analogies again with Spielberg and Saving Private Ryan in an Indian context), and Keerthana (who is the central character and is the daughter of Parthipan and Seetha, a couple who've worked in Tamil films too) has put in a standout performance as the child in search of her past. I was wondering who would win Best Child Actor this time: thankfully they gave it to both the top contenders Swetha Prasad (Makdee) and Keerthana.

KM also picked up Best Sound, Best Tamil Film, Best Lyricist and Best Music Director. I saw some conflicting reports as to whether it won Best Editing and if the Special Jury Award that Prakash Raj won was indeed for this film. If the latter is true, Prakash Raj's second National Award would again be from a Mani Ratnam film (Iruvar last time). The clutch of awards should hopefully perk up the recovering Mani Ratnam (he was admitted with chest pains after the Vivek Oberoi accident in Kolkata and his brother G.V recently committed suicide). The media didn't really follow his condition, in the blaze of the Vivek Oberoi story, which is a little bit of a shame, for he is one of India's best directors.

The combination of Vairamuthu and A.R.Rahman has been a very successful one in the past, and I don't know if this is the first time they've won the awards for Lyrics and Music in the same year. It comes at a time when there are rumours that they're no longer working with each other, the reasons not entirely known. KM was not really a commercial runaway success, but it did go down well with the critics. The songs were not meant to be crowd-pleasers, so it is a little pleasing to know that the film won these awards. I just missed the announcement in the live telecast, but did hear Prakash Jha (Chairman of the Jury) read out the citation that the songs rose "above the conventions of film songs to reach the realms of poetry". Vairamuthu's lyrics, especially those for Vidai Kodu Engal Naade (evoking the pain of the refugee, and voiced by Tamil Film Music legend M.S.Vishwanathan), were quite impressive.

Having missed the actual announcement as to which film Rahman had won, I was a little surprised to hear most channels (Hindi ones at least) claim it was for Saathiya. Of the three possibilities (KM, The Legend of Bhagat Singh) and Saathiya), that seemed the least likely. Thankfully, it was widely misreported and KM was the film. The KM songs ranging from the playful Signore, the more conversational and offbeat Sundari, the simple ode to peace to the accompaniment of a guitar Vellai Pookal, the two versions of the title song and the lament of the exile Vidai Kodu make up for a deserving collection. For those who might not entirely agree with the choice, I will agree that this album was not a choice that stood head-and-shoulders over the others, but it definitely was not undeserving of such an honour. Rahman's fourth award (previously Roja, Minsaara Kanavu, Lagaan) can be considered just reward for being overlooked for Dil Se, Alaipayuthey or Kandukondain Kandukondain.

A surprise was Udit Narayan winning for a not so well-known song from Zindagi Khuubsurat Hai, but Shreya Ghoshal (Devdas) and Saroj Khan (Devdas) were no surprises at all. I was not expecting Ajay Devgan for The Legend of Bhagat Singh, but as I have had noted before in these columns, his performance was very strong, consistent and competent. But I was a little surprised to find no other efforts surpassed his. Yet, there can be no doubting Devgan's claim to the award, and is another indication of the great leaps he has made in the last few years. I would normally disregard any Devgan films in the past, but I pay good attention to all his upcoming releases (however bad they may seem!). I haven't seen Devdas, and I'm not sure I will, or that I will complete the film if I start watching it. But going by the reports of some of my friends (Nikhil, Akshay) who did, it did provide "wholesome entertainment", but not all of it was intentional. Also, the wrongs of Oscar nomination have been righted to some extent, with the aggrieved Kannathil Mutthamittal nabbing a few while Devdas picked up the awards for opulence.

Chandrashekhar (who has put in a few good performances in the past in Tamil cinema) won his maiden award (Best Supporting Actor), Rakhi got the female equivalent, not too many Marathi names (despite one news channel's announcement of Atul Kulkarni having won Best Supporting Actor, something he did a few years ago - stale database?), the other heavyweight Malayalam cinema sadly didn't feature much in the big awards.

The media coverage was a little weird, news channels covered the announcement live, but most annoyingly, broke off in the middle for various things, and did not have the sense to fill in what happened when they weren't beaming live. News channels here have a long way to go in live telecasts. Also, most news bulletins had only the prominent winners and there was no coverage of the other winners. Newspapers weren't too great either, devoting very few column inches again to note the main winners. The website of the National Film Festivals of India had no list of winners too. I still haven't found the complete list of winners.

Phooey-sics or Phy-sicks?

Led by N.S.Ramnath's blog (btw, one of my frequent reads, features nicely written posts on life in Madras, journalism among other things) to the INSULTINGLY STUPID MOVIE PHYSICS page that in its own words : ... Strikes a Blow for Decency in Movie Physics!

It discusses common physical phenomena as observed through a camera lens and rates movies using grades that range from GP = Good physics in general to PGP-13 = Children under 13 might be tricked into thinking the physics were pretty good; parental guidance is suggested and even XP = Obviously physics from an unknown universe .

The Matrix scored a RP i.e. Retch! rating (it was a simulation, dear reviewers :-) !), Road to Perdition got itself a GP and Armageddon, not surprisingly, enjoyed more pillorying with its XP (extreme prejudice ?) grade.

These physicists are probably playing killjoys, though. Someone ought to show them a few Rajni and Mithun blockbusters. That'll sweep them off their feet, even though that may not be possible physically.

This /. link led to this Article on how automation will take many jobs away from humans and also contains this :

We are seeing the tip of the iceberg right now, because robotic replacement of human workers in every employment sector is about to accelerate rapidly. Combine that with a powerful trend pushing high-paying IT jobs to India. Combine it with the rapid loss of call-center jobs to India. When the first wave of robots and offshore production cut in to the factory workforce in the 20th century, the slack was picked up by service sector jobs. Now we are about to see the combined loss of massive numbers of service-sector jobs, most of the remaining jobs in factories, and many white collar jobs, all at the same time.

The Computer History Museum seems to be an interesting collection...

A prayer

Is God listening? Is He reading my prayers? Is He so busy that He has no time to fulfil our aspirations? I implore Him to update his blog or give me some sign that He is not in a North Korean prisoner-of-war camp :-) !

(In continuation to Trailer Watch from a few days ago) - The Production House of Ram Gopal Varma has another innovative set of sequences for their latest film Main Madhuri Dixit Banna Chaahti Hoon. The early trailers essentially consisted of a set of short films with kids saying what they wanted to become when they grew up (like Sachin Tendulkar, the Prime Minister and so on). These were shown separately finally leading up to a wide-eyed Antara Mali saying she wants to be like la Dixit.

A Head for Red

I didn't think it would quite happen to me, but like they say in the books, there she was, walking on the cobbled stones, down the street and into my heart. (If you think this is one of those cheap ha'penny stories that end with the object of my intense passion turning out to be some inanimate object, be assured, this is no ephemeral tale, but my own personal masterpiece that I chose to paint for eternity's wonderment.)

But hark! As I stood there lost in the mists of the searing passion that rose from the deepest recesses of my being, she stepped lightly past me. I could not thank the streets for being narrow enough; she brushed close past me, the fluttering of her skirt of red mimicking the flurry of intertwined emotions in my throbbing mind. Ah! the cruel hand of fate: after she was past me, she slipped and clutched wildly at a passer-by who helped her regain her balance. That could have so easily been me, I could not help bemoaning the loss of a divine chance to feel the touch of that flower who had set me wild on the path of intoxication.

For she was glorious in her womanhood, her red cheeks glowing in the wintry air, a petal seeking my hungry sight, lips luscious and redoubtable, daring and beckoning. She flitted about, seemingly no care in mind, but I knew what her destination would be. Or must be. It must lead to me, and to me alone.

Rarely does one know. I knew, I knew. From the depths of my heart I knew she was the one who would complete my life's mission. There had been a few before her, but I could never feel the same way about them as I felt now. It was glorious, my friends, and I wish I could share my joy with more people! But I wish they would understand, no, they couldn't and wouldn't. I had to press my heart to myself, this affliction was deeply personal.

Dream I might, but as I stood there amidst the gentle patter of the rain that had begun, I suddenly realised she would soon be out of sight. I could not bear to confront the fact that memories were all that would be left of her, and I began to run towards her. There she stood, laughing along with some girlfriend of hers, the tinkle of her pretty voice tugging playfully at my earlobes. Stop it! I wanted to tell her playfully, without really meaning it. Stop being so perfect! You make it very difficult for me to resist!

You see, I didn't know her. But it was not such an insurmountable task though, that of approaching her. I could boast of some experience in these matters. I waited patiently for her plain friend (plain it seemed to me, though some might have disagreed, but oh! such was the manner in which every other work of beauty paled before her) to retreat. It was a question of time, I knew, I was more convinced of my destiny now.

Soon, my girl (how wonderful that sounds to me!) waved her goodbyes to her friend, and walked on, turning into a sidestreet that was solitary, and if I had to talk to her alone, this was my chance, my godsend. I sped up towards her, the nightfall unable to diminish one miniscule portion of her rouge cheeks, her swirling skirts kissing the paved stones. She stopped by the lights to check one of her heels and must've seen me coming, but she didn't straighten up immediately as would any other woman in a lonely street at night. Not this lass. My girl was feisty, that I could see. Her heels fixed, she looked coquettishly at me. I had wrapped my coat tighter around me, the chill in the October air was getting more pronounced by the minute.

"So sir", her voice betraying her Scottish ancestors,"you're out pretty late for a gen'l'man, ain't yer?". All I could was smile sheepishly, like some teenager unable to comprehend the first flushes of infatuation. But it was the blood coursing, roaring, thundering through me that left me speechless. This was not the first time I had been in this situation, I knew what to do , but my lads, it is like a debut each time. "Hurry up now!" she said. "Don't want to keep me waiting, do yer?". And she looked around for a place to keep her hat.

At which point, I decided I had enough and slit her throat with my trusted scalpel, a friend that never let me down. The redness of her blood seemed to go perfectly with the scarlet that is such a mark of her profession. My friends, the joys of the next few minutes I can still feel, though I can't recollect in stark detail their occurence, that of steel meeting unresisting flesh and bones. This one was special, my best ever, my pinnacle.

So it came to pass on that dull and drizzling October day in Her Majesty's reign, I walked contented, an artist and teacher in the classrooms of those East End streets, the gaslights bouncing off my grey coat as I receded once more into that all-embracing fog that endeared my city to me. As I dodged the newly-formed puddles, I couldn't help reflecting on her. She had been special, this one, she had something the others before her did not. Some might have even considered her heavenly. But there was no doubt that most of my fellowmen, now and in what we called the future, would consider that I had come from nowhere but From Hell.

I have been a little ignorant of this, but another smartly innovative (and typical) idea from Google:
Google Viewer is the name.

I loved the icons for increasing/decreasing the delays: A tortoise and hare respectively.

Pres-Digit-ator

Probably my first post in bad taste:

The Romans even had a special name for the middle finger -- they called it digitus infamis (infamous finger) or digitus impudicus (indecent finger).

Want to see some notorious examples: You might want to check this one. (The best one is the close scrutiny of O.J.Simpson's)

There's even a book: "The Finger: A Comprehensive Guide to Flipping Off". The above page even has a reason why you should buy it: If you buy only one book this year, you'd be an idiot to pass this one up. .

Impressive.

int foo()
{
    if ( ! doYouKnowWhatFooIs )
    {
        ask();
    }
    else
    {
        printf("\nYes, the answer is %s !", bar()");
    }
    return LOL;
}

Thanks to an illuminating discussion on acronyms in the weekly newsletter sent to subscribers of A Word A Day including one on the various degrees of having f***ed up, I know the answer to something I always wanted to ask, but was afraid to. The question is why do a lot of examples in c/c++ textbooks use the strings foo and bar in examples. The answer lies in the geeky sense of humour and the expansion of FUBAR.

More info at this link (look up the link for foo and bar as well)

My contrib. to this time's newsletter (inspired from a question from an old Mensa quiz ) provided a happy punching bag for many :-)

Announcing blogs from two more friends:

Saket Jamkar and Vinay Kakade.

One more BC-Quizzer and one more of my classmates (makes five now, I think: Sandy, Pooja, Deepali, me and now Vin).

I half-noticed this before, but now I can confirm it.
Whenever I edit my blog from IE (from home), the interface is different from the one I'm used to i.e the two frames with the top for posting and the bottom show old posts. Instead, in IE, I see only one textarea for posting, after which I can't directly post-and-publish, but need to preview, then publish. I thought the new blogger interface was not so good.

But while using blogger with Netscape, it reverts back to the older interface (the better one). Why does Blogger do this annoying thing? The same url in Netscape that leads to one interface is redirected to another url (with the "lofi" uri in it) which shows the single-framed window.

Kya pain hai! One more reason not to use I.E.

Athlete's Foot Fault

"... and so I stood at the end of it all, taking a breather, letting my swirling thoughts settle down. But the knowledge that soon it would (sooner this time, later next time) begin all over again cannot be banished from the foreground.

I stood at the starting line, waiting for the gun to go off. Again. It is an endless cycle, it seems, but I can do something about it if I wanted. I could probably change the venue of the run, or may be if I created enough of a fuss, I might even change the starting point. But it is very difficult to see how I cannot run such a circuit given normal circumstances. I am not alone in the trot though, there are many doing it all the time, some with me.

I think I would be one of those who'd prefer each lap to be exactly identical, or as similar as possible: I usually learn with each iteration, and more importantly, improve as I run back to the beginning. Some others would argue for the opposite: they wouldn't mind the journey occasionally straying off into uncharted territory (which it often does), but unless I make it out safely, I wouldn't consider the adventure a success, the path not outscoring the result. For you see, in this race, I never have enough faith in my abilities: my stamina, my reflexes, my instincts, my technique all remain under suspicion. Therein, my friend, lies the difficulty in coming back to the starting line, and pushing off on another run. But there are some others that think my self-flagellating criticisms are baseless, because (and this is rather hilarious) I can jump higher and longer than most others. They naturally assume I'm a gifted athlete in every other athletic event, but why should I pay the price for someone else's assumptions?

I prefer it when I can run with someone I trust, trust to pick me up when self-doubt cramps the legs, trust to have a good shot at finding the way out when we're lost. I can be vice-captain of this track team, never cap'n. I can remember what I did on a near-previous visit to this tricky swamp area, and hence I can help new runners to avoid being sucked down when they choose to rest their weight on some unsupported tuft of grass, but I cannot believe I have the fortitude and imagination to hack the exit out myself. I have fallen a few times and been a little lucky not to drown yet, but do not doubt the fact that I have had to wipe the slush off my clothes, scars of the slips that were.

So why did I choose to run this race (Is it a race? Not for me, I should think. Do the planets race each other around the sun, like excitable kids? Guess not. It is their need to live their existence, to avoid being caught out by the invisible and powerful force that would otherwise suck them to their end, like moths and their fiery nemeses.) I could have run at other places, so I thought, but a lot of runners seemed to find this a good surface to try their legs on. Having also lost the ability to ponder on the destinations these cross-country exercise take their runners, I have no choice, at least for the moment, to make the cyclic journey.

Let me get specific! This time's run as a sample; not representative, but still a sample. This time's journey would be different because I had lost my pace-maker for ever, and had temporarily lost my radar and rosary. Which meant that beset by the devils of the track, I would have to make the play happen myself, with some rookies looking over my shoulder for a little direction. I ran with apprehension, but if someone had seen the start we got, they would've laughed my anxiety away. The run took us into a new area, yes, but this was verdant and peaceful, with the sparkle in the air that seems a little too artifical to be true. Instead of allaying the pins-and-needles in my feet, these happy surroundings seemed to heighten my fears.

It is the turns, the sharp corners, the ends of the bridges, the sudden drops in elevation that seem to be the best settings for surprise. But there was no question of being taken aback by that for imminence can be a feeling that makes "there-didn't-I-tell-you!"s the winner each time. The road got rough, there were hurdles of heights that I had never attempted before, and even a water jump! I don't like to get wet when I run outdoors, and especially if I haven't even crossed half the distance. The coach made an unexpected stopover at one of the rest-points to *instruct* us, when all I wanted was a gulp of glucose and vitamins instead of lectures on my technique and strategies that should've been someone else's work to theorize over. Take your pointing-stick somewhere else, I want to tell him. But the trouble with coaches is they run your races merely in their heads or in distant memories, whereas I have to do it in the now. By now I know I've dropped even the pretence of making a brave run. They all know the only thing I care about now is to drag my sorry self back to base. But have I given up too early? And is it not important not only to try and succeed, but to also *try*? J'accuse! I gave up too early!

If you keep running long enough (however slowly you do) in a track (however meandering it may seem) that's supposed to lead you back to the starting point, the sheer force of that inevitability can take you home (there are many ways of going home, All roads lead to Home!, but in different states of wear-and-tear). I did so too.

But even after the race, I was on my face. Tripped over the bloody finishing tape. When I thought I had put all my grief behind me and was looking forward to some rest, light training and a new start. But having been denied that luxury, it seems that I haven't really finished the circuit to look forward to the next attempt. Instead, it feels like the two races have coalesced into two laps of the same race. Drat.

I just caught an energy drink, not bothering to look at my times for the last attempt. I stood at the end (?) of it all, taking a breather, letting my thoughts settle down. But the knowledge that soon it would (later this time, sooner next time) begin all over again cannot be banished from the foreground..."

Trailer Watch

These trailers caught the eye, for wide ranging reasons:

* Darna Mana Hai : continued its innovative plug for the ghost stories medley that becomes more and more awaited as the ads appear. The creativity content did dip with an unwanted song featuring Sameera Reddy, but the latest (and last, I should think) set of spots pushed it up again. The basic idea is to show a clip from a film, and say aana mana hai ! if you're the kind who likes the film clip shown from a family drama or romantic film or so on. The delicious bit is that all the clips are from previous Ram Gopal Varma films. Who else would have the confidence to run himself down to promote another of his own!

* MPKDH (I can't bear to sully these pages by the complete expansion): Each year trots along a film that hits you in the solar plexus with its incredible silliness. The mushiness permeates every aspect of thes movies, leading also to some of the hammiest (they can make words ham too!) subtitles. Giving the immortal It's all about loving your parents - Karan Johar (It was the byline that tipped the scales above the tolerance-meter of every sane-minded man. Did it in turn inspire the coccyx-like Times of India "Our Comment" ?) a run for its mushy money is this year's topper with I will love him till the end of time. Any more thought on it and I'll probably evaporate with infuriation.

Mumbai Se Aaya Mera Dost: If this inspires dollops of deja vu, then it probably is because:
* The film is shot in a desert location
* The umpteen "how-we-made-the-movie" clips tell you how the locals were roped in to act in the film
* The Director is Aditya Lakhia who is definitely a relation (but what kind) of Apoorva Lakhia who is in the film too, sans the spinning hand though.
* Yashpal Sharma (dunno if he is a carpenter this time also) has more than just eyes for the local gaao.n ki chhori
* There is a temple on a hillock nearby
* There is a pujari who seems to enjoy a long hairstyle
* The hero is touted as a "Leader"
* The choreography is by Vaibhavi Merchant

Of course, these could be mere coincidences with Lagaan, and there seem to be nothing common with the story except for young man versus unnamed bad people.

Tere Naam: A wide gamut of hairstyles for Salman Khan, starting of with upturned-bowl-of-noodles cut to prickly-cacti styling. Accompanied by what is now becoming his trademark dancing style (he does with his hands what Sunny Deol does with this feet) in which right hand pushes an imaginary piston to the left while the rest of his body twists in exactly the opposite direction. Repeat one-two-three with left hand and there's no need to go to Laughter Clubs anymore.

Koi Mil Gaya: I'm beginning to believe his teeth are clamped in some sort of hideous death grimace, like the deceased Sholto brother in The Sign of Four. Or else, why doesn't Hrithik Roshan stop baring his canines and incisors? I don't really wish to "vibe with" him, but if it will make him stop grinning, I might. If only I could understand the rest of the lyrics that go xxx-cha hai, yyy-cha hai, zzz-tta hai, sab khel hai. His pose (can't call it a dance step) at the zzz-tta hai makes me feel he is saying "kutta hai", but I'm inclined to discount that as a little too extreme even for the Roshan clan. Add to that his choice of colours for his costume, a bright blue, red and yellow ensemble, after which can anyone blame me for getting visions of the flags of the collective Central African nations when the trailer is on?

Hawa: Ghastly, not ghostly. Pass please.

I didn't think I heard it properly each time it came on, but a news item in today's paper seems to make it plausible that the words in a song from the cross-over (from the border of course) film Dil Pardesi Ho Gaya is indeed Ek Pakistani Chehra... (followed by lehra and sehra in quick succession.

And quietly lingering in the background with establishing shots of the Metro and crowds is Calcutta Mail.

After reading the name of the male opponent of Martina Navratilova and Leander Paes in their historic Wimbledon Mixed Doubles triumph, I realised that a few re-arrangments later, my name could easily be that of an Israeli. Or alternatively, if Andy Ram were to come to India, he'd find that no one would have any trouble pronouncing his name. That's unfortunately not a given for Lisa Krasnoroutskaya and (even better), Alex Lopez Moron!

And speaking of the great Martina, imagine coming to the same tournament for 30 years! And if you throw in the fact that a kid was named after her by a mother who happened to be a big fan of her as well as a tennis coach, the kid then grows up to win a few Grand Slams of her own including Wimbledon, and the kid even retires early due to career-stopping injuries, puts the longevity of the ex-Czech American in sharper perspective.

It is incredibly awful. It completely baffles me. I know that all Indian cities exhibit manic traffic behaviour, but why should Pune be one of the stars of this dubious distinction? Each time one is on the road, we're treated to some appalling behaviour by people who seem to be educated in everything except common-sense. We pride ourselves in being very cultured, educated and refined, but don't hesitate in demonstrating our dementia each time we take the wheels out for a spin.

Not to say that I've had a completely spotless traffic record, but atleast I don't consciously try to break the rules. When I make a mistake, I feel guilty and if I were to be caught, I'd have to accept the consequences, I would have to take the blame. But it is completely shocking when some people, without a trace of shame, profess to turn a blind eye to the rules, or claim they don't know most of the rules, and even state that they don't agree with certain rules, hence they break them.

Even if they did, they lack basic etiquette in their traffic behaviour. We've got down-counters at red lights telling how much time is left, a good facility by any standards. But when there are about 8 secs left and there is no longer any traffic which can use the green-signal, a few morons will start honking or speed away. How much difference does 5 seconds make in a person's life under normal circumstances? Isn't one's life the most important than getting to point B 5 seconds early? It is just extra-ordinary, this level of indifference.

I sometimes feel like going over to some idiot who's doing something silly and give them a nice clunk on their heads: they better have a helmet! I had an idea for a small story on this subject: The protagonist of the story is a ghost, having died in a traffic accident for no fault of his own. He takes it upon himself to drum some sense into other offenders, using the fact that people can still see his ghost vehicle and him not knowing that he's a phantom. Essentially, this guy goes about giving these idiots a good scare on traffic whenever they've broken a rule, to get them to understand what could happen. A little contrived yes, but soothing in theory!

At the end of the day, rage at these people won't solve anything because we can't educate these idiots by telling them anything. The only way is if they pay the price for their own ignorance. The only thing I'd like to say is that I value my life, so don't run me over. You may not value your own very much, so swerve and hit the electricity pole instead. The pole won't mind much, and seeing how you drive, neither will anyone else.

Far-moolah

In this season of formulae, I believe I might have one of my own, which ought to be more acceptable to the vast and silent majority of this country. It probably requires a lesser amount of suspension of reality, and it may have certain fallouts that would appeal to quite a few people.

The scheme essentially involves collecting together in one place, all these self-styled representatives of both the communities, more the rabid the better. (One thing seems to stand out: here the most common factor is that most of these reps. have beards). The formula espouses a collective and democratic spirit, so the more of these people the better. We then proceed to bundle all these bearded barricaders into a room. Conventional politics has it that there are usually two ways to settle an argument: violent and non-violent. We've made several (mundane and half-hearted) non-violent attempts to settle the dispute, but let's face it, these guys have often specialised and distinguished themselves with two eyes for every hai! hai!. So why curb their natural animal instincts?

Having pushed our representatives together into a room, we announce that this is a fight to the end. Instead of every Indian going at each other's throats, we let their well-meaning representatives to do that. The ones left standing at the end are declared the winners, and the land in Ayodhya is now theirs for keeps.

And when you tap my shoulder trying to get me to inhale smelling salts, I'll confess there's no way this solution will solve anything. When one community makes it out of the room with a few casualties of their own (martyred!) but having wiped out the other non-believers, do you think the vanquished community will accept the verdict? (Court judgements are doomed to have the same fate). No, they won't, and so the game will continue. But, and this is the nub of it all, we shall atleast have become rid of a few bearded rabble-rousers, and the noise will be a little less for a few days.

These days, that's the best one can hope for.

I've been fiddling around with a few popular blog tools of late and the results have been instructive and appealing. RSS Feeds are something I had heard of, and I knew many blogs and websites use it as an easy method of announcing changes to their content. Knowing that my comments-provider, YACCS also provides a feed that lets me know when new comments have been posted prompted me to plunge into a few feeds. Taking a few tips from veteran feeder George, I discarded his earlier pick Amphetadesk in favour of his current favourite FeedReader, which has an interface similar to news-clients that we're so used to. I've slowly been adding a few feeds of my own: the list now includes Yaccs comments for my blog, NYT, BBC, Slashdot, India News and Crickets. I had to push the update intervals to a longer period after I realised the updates were getting too much attention from me!

Part two was installing Movable Type and setting up a small blog of my own. Amit first pointed me towards Movable Type as a clean way of blogging with a great deal of control. I decided to set up a little internal-to-Persistent blog as I can set it all up on my machine.Since I don't have space to host it on the Web, it can't be seen by outsiders, but if anyone from Persistent is reading this and wouldn't mind a dekko, let me know and I'll send you the url. This blog is called Perspiring Pistons (a hark back to this), a tribute to my constant exhortations to my colleagues to turn the AC settings away from Cold and well, to the up-and-down cycles of work!

There's still a long way to go in terms of it settling down, but so far MT has made it very easy to use. The blog is meant to be rather lightweight in content, with emphasis on recent on-goings in my immediate workplace.

Moving to the newer version of Blogger means that finally, the timestamp on my posts reflects that actual time of posting. I'm now officially posting from IST.

In what has become an annual ritual, the British people enjoy an attack of nerves in July. They call it Henmania.

This has happened quite consistently for the last few years: Tim Henman moves up to the quarters or even further, he gets some of the best crowd support in tennis, he plays up-and-down tennis, sometimes scraping through, sometimes falling by, but always giving his British fans a lot of nervous excitement en route. I've been trying to think of another sporting parallel, especially Indian, but fail to come up with such an occurence that happens so consistently. Perhaps India's annual cup-of-woes at Sharjah about a decade ago would qualify in the amount of expectation and disappointment that Henman provides at Wimbledon each year.

I hope there will be a silver lining for Henman at Wimbledon some day soon.

With the backdrop of another batch of fresh faced almost-graduates set to become the latest of my colleagues tomorrow, I stumbled upon this little introduction I wrote up for an appropriately silly skit that we newbies put up a few days after we added our names to the office register:

Routine Disclaimer: Any coincidence is completely intended but wholly denied.
Welcome to Perspiring Cisterns - The Movie. A classic tale, it is widely considered as the worst movie ever made, even surpassing such blockbusters as Sauce Bhi Kabhi Tamatar Thi & Hamara Pill Aapke Aas-Paas Hain. It was also the first Indian film to make it to the Mongolian top 10. The makers of this movie are so proud of it that they have decided to go into hiding. The rumour is that great dons such as PlyWood Ibrahim & Mota Vakil were so affected by this movie that they have made threatening calls to the makers - pleading with them to stop screening this movie. Like most hit Hindi films, it has absolutely no plot. So we would like to remind you that the makers are not responsible for any loss of mental equilibrium that may result. We pick up the action, surprisingly, in the 1st scene itself where our hero is ready to go out in to the big, bad world - to face an interview in a software company.

I don't think it quite got the reception it deserved.

1992, Wimbledon Finals: Along with Goran Ivanisevic, I was devastated. An absolute wringer of a final had just concluded and my second-most favourite tennis player had lost a chance to lift the only Slam he would ever have the game and opportunity to win. And ironically, he had lost to the one player that everyone thought wouldn't win at the All England courts. Or to rephrase that, if there was one Grand Slam that Andre Agassi would have the least chance of winning, it was thought to be Wimbledon.

I didn't like Agassi. Very simple. He was too flashy, too flamboyant, he thumbed his nose at a place like Wimbledon which for a kid like me who absolutely adored tennis then, was a temple. And why wouldn't he play? Because it meant that he would have to swap his flourescent dresses for a very sober white. I didn't like Agassi because he was the garish neon light from a Vegas casino in the sparkling starry sky of tennis in the early nineties.

I watched with approval his losses to Andres Gomez and Jim Courier in two consecutive French Open finals. I didn't like it one bit when he beat my personal top-ranker, Boris Becker in Slams, especially at Wimbledon. I thought Goran would pull it off, also because it was his best chance ever. (I thought he deserved to win Wimbledon, but didn't think he would ever win a Slam since. Goran's pummelling by Sampras in a later final seemed to further underline the writing on the wall, but that amazing win over Rafter later in the decade was unexpected but poetic justice (Harish would disagree :-) ). It meant Rafter himself would miss out, but tennis has rarely had a more romantic figure than Goran Ivanisevic. So by a strange coincidence, my best two players are the only two unseeded players to lift Wimbledon.). While a guy who didn't want to play in Wimbledon because of flimsy clothes and even flimsier reasons won it! The injustice of it all, it seemed to me.

But as times changed, so did Agassi. A much-needed boost for the game came with the rivalry with Sampras. With Sampras having mentally retired from the game, Agassi is the one true superstar around. Whatever my personal dislikes of the man's habits, I couldn't help admiring the brilliant groundstrokes, the weapons of a stinging return-of-serve, tactics, and accurate placements that were his hallmark. The man himself has sobered down and is almost unrecognisable from the hirsute, ear-ringed, girl-friend flashing pop icon of an earlier decade. I don't follow tennis so much nowadays, and definitely am not so emotional about the whole thing today. I can understand the value Agassi brought to the game, bringing in starry-eyed followers earlier and helping to keep the interest of the fans today. His interviews today are strictly about the game, a far cry from those tabloid press meets (which one can still sample in the DD Sports reruns of those Wimbledon wrap-ups hosted by Cliff Richards) where the subject of tennis was left outside in the cold. He is getting to the other end of the hairy scale, but his control and clear thought are still the same.

Of a man who has the rare distinction of winning a Career Grand Slam, I can only say that I wronged him by speaking ill of his tennis. It was and continues to be, even 11 years after his first Grand Slam, quite classy.

It was something like visiting an old friend and observing how things had changed while keeping something of the endearing past alive. Or as she said (paraphrased): "Some things change, while some things do not". Precisely my feelings after watching the The Matrix Reloaded.

I'm so glad I didn't watch it on a very small 16 inch screen. According to me, the whole success (and hence the governing principle) of the Matrix movies is that they've been able to throw in all these abstruse concepts that don't quite make a lot of sense while one is watching the film unfold, but the danger to the commercial returns that this apparent profundity may cause is offset by the stunning effects that continues to hack a path in unknown territory. Which means I can walk into a screen, not expect to understand every piece of the story, but be immersed in the visual outrageousness, go home, read the script and various explanatory texts and arrive at an acceptable interpretation for myself. Good enough, I say. Hence the whole point of not watching the film with a free copy but on a monitor. The whole impact of the visuals is deprecated corresponding to a loss of every square inch than was originally intended.

I was happy to see Neo still a little baffled and not completely cocky and confident as it seemed he would be at the end of the first Movie. The usual collection (of old favourites as it now seems) were there: More glimmer in Trinity's costume, more black-Smiths, ripple of a shock wave - this time in a container truck than a building in a collision with a chopper, the spoon, the wine-coloured sofa with bits of stuffing visible and more bringing back from the dead. We had our eyes peeled for a glimpse of Trinity typing "ssh" and "nmap". Yep, I caught it. What colossal fun it all is!

I was just thinking that there are a few things that we'll be able to tell our children and even with the usual expectations of the future at that time being more strange than we can imagine today, we've seen a few things that will make their eyes pop out. The audacity of the September 11 attacks in a political sense perhaps, but undoubtedly, whovever sees the Matrix movies will be inundated by stories from their grandmas and grandpas about how it blew our collective imaginations then. And I think they'll understand.

The Great Indian Novel is to books what Kalyug is to films. A contemporary reworking of the Mahabharata, it weaves the story in a political setting, with backdrop of India from under British rule to the end of Indira Gandhi's reign. Shashi Tharoor gives the lead roles to various Indian political figures such as Gandhi being Bhishma, Yudhishthira donning the cap of Morarji Desai and Duryodhana being renamed as Priya Duryodhani, in the mould of Indira Priyadarshini. It was pretty interesting with his use of verse in parts, but I wouldn't go gaga over it. The many references, clever word-twists (like Laslut for Lahore. Get the joke?), comparisons of people and events in the original epic and the Indian political scene are what make it worth atleast a one time read. The book was courtesy the generous lending of Samrat. And yes, yes, Jinnah is Karna!

The ESPN School sports quiz is heading for an exciting climax, with the three teams that performed the best in the earlier rounds making it. There were Birla High School - Calcutta, St.John's - Chennai and Rajendra Vidyalaya - Jamshedpur. It is also a tribute to the format of the quiz that enabled all these three teams to be there, because without the three-legged semis, lucky loser principle for qualiying for the National semi-final and finals, we wouldn't have seen any of these teams make it. For Calcutta were second to Jamshedpur in the Zonal Finals (which decides qualifiers for the National semis), St. John's were second to Calcutta in the first semi-final but were better than the 3 other losing teams in the combined semis, and Jamshedpur lost the first leg of their semis. But there was no doubting the fact that these are the best three this year, and that's one for the ESPN guys. Plus the fact that in Harsha Bhogle, they have probably the best TV quizmaster, a person who has his quizzing principles perfected, knows a lot about sports, knows when the teams are trying to pull a fast one, and makes consistent decisions, which is more than what one can ask for. Can we arrange to send a few copies of the show to a certain address in Calcutta for one very whimsical "quote" quizmaster "unquote"?

Birla have always been my pick to win the quiz, because unlike the other teams, both members are capable of pulling out the big answer. They also have a great gameplan and aren't afraid to take chances. Their choice of 9-pointers when they have the opportunity early in Citius is a great ploy, especially against weaker teams who don't want to incur -9. It can help them retain the strike, to use a metaphor, and attempt a guess at the picture behind. Very smart kids, these.

The major grouse I have with Joy Bhattacharya's questions is that the questions aren't always graded properly in the last round, Fortius, and these questions could also be a little more workable, considering time is at the discretion of the quizmaster and is for one team only.

Anyway, it is one of the best quizzes on Indian TV, and easily the most exciting. And the first prize is worth all the year-long effort these kids must put in.

15 films and 7 books. That's the tally for 30 days in June. I didn't plan on being a little too prolific this month, but it has somehow just happened. Following the lead of Samrat, I keep a log of these books and movies, and I was trying to check if I had been guilty of reckless spending of time. I could only identify two movies that had been unnecessary, the rest I had wanted to see for a while. Same for the books, that's just the way the laddoo crumbled (quoting from my last read The Great Indian Novel by Shashi Tharoor). Not that I had a lot of time on my hands, but time just contrived itself to present such opportunities that I couldn't refuse. I will have to take it a little easy the coming month, because I don't want to overdo it and lose the taste and urge for them. I also feel I've lost a little touch with reality, by being immersed upto my head with these entertaining pursuits. Time to step back and take a quick look around.

A new person will be joining my project in a managerial capacity, who happens to be a retired Colonel from the Army, ultimately replacing the current manager. We're calling it a Colonel upgrade.

I usually have a lousy memory when it comes to the necessary facts of daily life: road directions, shop locations, names and telephone numbers. My memory banks do however welcome bits of useless data like they were long-lost twins, hence explaining why I know Pankaj Kapur was the voice for Ben Kingsley in the Hindi dubbing of Gandhi: very interesting (if you wanted connections, Kapur's brother-in-law is Naseeruddin Shah who desperately wanted to play Gandhi in Attenborough's version, and had to content himself with doing so on stage and on screen in Hey Ram!) but as you can see, not likely to be very important when I am on Lakshmi Road wondering which street takes me where I want to go.

Though I found that I remember some phone numbers better than others especially when I'm staring intently at the dial-pad. Turns out I've memorised a visual pattern made by the sequence of numbers that I recall. For example, pressing 6542580 on my phone recalls the symbol for '4' with an elongated leg. Or even an arrow if put this way:

1  2  3
4  5  6
7  8  9
*  0  #

So now it's a question of remembering the right visual clue for each phone number. Hmm... Perhaps it's easier to remember the fact that it was English footballer Gary Linekar who played an exhibition cricket match for the MCC versus Germany, was out for one, and remarked "I always score 1 against the Germans".

Cricket administrators keep doing funny things: Now it is the turn of the LBW again. The plan is to draw lines on the wicket to help the umpires get it right(Guardian Report). I can foresee a lot of practical problems with this: lines will get rubbed out, so will they keep painting it in the middle of the innings (you ought to have the lines perfectly in to make it fair), will the batsman or fielders have a right to draw the umpire's attention to inspect the line to see if the ball landed on the line like in tennis ;-)? More seriously, it makes life easy for batsman against spinners, takes another chunk out of the human element of the game. If you wanted to make it so fair, why not draw a line on the batsman's pad/trousers indicating what the height of the stumps is when he is in stance, to adjudge the height.

And so she cried....

So they're really good at the sentimental hype too, I guess! Pretty soon, her mood will change... to laughing all the way to the bank.

Sometimes, I dig out a song from the dump on my hard-disk and I find something that pleases me and I keep rewinding and playing the same for a while. Till the fascination lasts. The song filling that column on my personal playlist right now is Strawberry Kanné. Ok, it does have some rather corny lyrics, but I love the uncoventional structure, being somewhat of a conversational song with instruments bursting in and out with elan.

Much of Minsaara Kanavu's songs were like that.

The Internet and the whole system of indexed and memorised pages can reveal some very surprising and less-known facts about people one knows. I just love googling on names of people to see what comes up. It does involve an element of voyeurism, perhaps that makes it more interesting.

Fair P(il)lay?
And in another vivid example of the stellar vacuousness at which the Pune Times of India excels, today's front page has the Indian hockey captain, the pride-of-Khadki, Dhanraj Pillay posing along with two (surprise, surprise) models. What it all means is completely beyond me. What is the significance, even to the editorial team of the PTOI? If this is how Indian hockey is to be glamourised, then ahem... I still don't get the broad (no pun intended) picture. Leave the looking-silly to the cricketers.

And here are some more reasons why good ol' Wodehouse is like a balm to the spirit and gets himself well-liked with the reading masses:

Captain Biggar, even when seen through a mist, presented a spectacle which might well have intimidated the stoutest. His eyes seemed to Bill to be shooting long, curling flames, and why they called a man with a face as red as that a White Hunter was more than he was able to understand. Strong emotion, as always, had intensified the vermillion of the captain's complexion, giving him something of the appearance of a survivor from an explosion in a tomato cannery
::Ring For Jeeves

Constable Dobbs's was not a face that lent itself readily to any great display of emotion. It looked as if it had been carved out of some hard kind of wood by a sculptor who had studied at a Correspondence School and had got to about Lesson Three.
::The Mating Season

Some writer, eh?

BBC & Synergy's latest Indian TV quiz has identified the participants for the first Indian version of the University Challenge Quiz. Here's the list of qualifiers.

BC buddy Harish is part of the MDI team that made it. The other teams have some known faces, with AFMC being the lone Pune team (though MDI took their elims in Pune).

Quite an interesting format. This also means that Mastermind takes a vacation this year.

And in passing:

* Nice way to spend the weekend: surrounded by books, movies and a small quiz at the BC with the vacationing and (for the first two) recently demobbed Gaurav, Harish and Saket.

* In a hugely surprising decision, Adrian Le Roux has quit the Indian team to take up an offer with the South African team. Homesickness or better pay? Big blow to the Indians.

* We were just wondering: When Rahul Dravid plays for Scotland against Pakistan in the latter's tour game, would it be considered as an international (two countries participating) and hence make him one of those rare players to play for two countries. Though we did know this wasn't quite true, it was an interesting scenario to chew on. But I would still like to know how the ICC classifies Scotland when it plays in the county matches (are there different grades of teams?). Is Scotland representing the country or the county? Anyway, the part-honeymooning Dravid made a first-ball duck.

* And India smack some Aussie butts in the tri-nation series Down Under. They won 5-3. That's wonderful to hear.

* They keep calling it a mix of E.T & Forrest Gump. Unfortunately, the trailers of Koi Mil Gaya suggest that Hrithik Roshan is going to play the not-so-bright boy as the wide-grinning stereotype. But all pretence to gawkiness is abandoned when it comes to the wide-armed dance steps. A far cry from the much-loved Forrest Gump. Papa Roshan will make a re-entry (pun intended) into the film space and Preity Zinta is thankfully back to her old hairstyles, after a brief lapse in Armaan where I thought she looked almost like one of those human hair-mops that can be seen in the Addams Family movies. Music by Chacha Roshan is pleasant so far.