I Need a Bookshelf

Because it has now to come to this.
Stockpiling books on my bedside table is just not cute any more, especially since I knock them down every day.

No place on the table, that's choked up.

The cupboard is pretty packed as well.

Let us now head to the other bedside table. No. No hope there either.

One tiny bookshelf provided in a corner of a corner... How much can this guy do? Moving on.

It is but obvious that this bare wall now deserves rows and rows of dark wood shelves, one below the other etc. to serve as guest rooms for my books. It is the only Hope left....

The Spider and the Fly

Sensational scene at breakfast a few days ago, up in my village. When I say breakfast, I mean mine and the spider's. Have a look (click to zoom).A good-looking arachnid who's always hanging about near us is in the process of devouring an annoying fly. One must not speak ill of the dead but this fly had it coming.

Lahore, March 3, and it's India v. Pakistan again

As expected, the blog scene across the globe has been pulsating with the news of the incredibly tragic attack on the Sri Lankan cricket team in Lahore yesterday.
Here's Simply61, an Indian blogger with sense in the right proportions.
And here's Pak Tea House.
Also as expected, blogs by Indians or Pakistanis on the subject have led to a flood of comments by readers from both sides of the border, which comments then take on a life of their own and soon spiral down into the usual mess of bashing the other's country /beliefs / politics and what have you. So we see the familiar and mindless accusations of extremist Islam, Talibanisation, Hindu fanaticism, Muslim-ghettoing, State-sponsored ethnic cleansing, Church-destroying, nun-raping, priest-killing, Dalit sidelining, honour killing, school burning, beheading etc. doing the rounds...
What is it with India and Pakistan? Or rather, with the common Indian and Pakistani youth? (This is the demographic that is active on blogs.) For a longish time I held firmly to my belief that, "No, no, it's all good. The average Indian Raju or Pakistani Pappu bears no ill-will to his neighbour . It only seems that way in the movies, media and among hard-right politicians."
But the unfortunate fact is that this is not so. Can't say about Pakistan, but I've lived in India for over 10 years now and all my friends are Indians. For every sane and tolerant voice I hear among these my sensible friends, I hear and see many more intolerant, hateful, angry voices that bear malice towards Pakistan. I'm pretty sure it must be the same on the other side.
And why? None of the youth today have any real attachement with the Partition Era or the tragedy that unfolded then. Where is all this Hate-Thy-Neighbour sentiment coming from? I fail to understand. This feeling is never more evident than, ironcally, during a Pak-India cricket match. I need to wear ear-muffs to drown out the name-calling at such times. Why for?

I can distance myself from India- or Pak-bashing since, being a Kashmiri, I have the luxury of not belonging to either. (On the other hand, I'm equiliberal in India- or Pak-bashing when I see an injustice from either side. I'm not blind, I'm just more objective.)

What I really don't get is that overwhelming feeling of patriotism/nationalism/call it what you will, that takes a person to such a level of self-righteousness that he feels he is superior to anyone else. Because that is what nationalism is. A fierce pride that convinces you within your man-made borders that you are better than the other.
I reject nationalism outright. No 'nationalism' for me. I will judge people by their actions and intentions, wherever they may be from, and extrapolate that for Governments too.

And the moral of the story, based on this theory above, must be that the US Government sucks. :)

Cartoons flicked from Nicholson Cartoons and CartoonStock.com.

Haaalow!

Excuse me, Boomsa. I am missing you. Come back.
Okay, bye.

Moooahahahahaaaaa...

Was reminded today by Pinkah about this insanely funny cow video, and how we had enjoyed it back in 2005, at DigiCaptions.
Presenting "Cows With Guns." Enjoy.

Hyaahhahaa @ 'Bad Cow Pun'.



Credits:
Music by Dana Lyons
Copyright 1996 Lyons Brothers Music (BMI)
(http://www.cowswithguns.com)
Animation by Bjorn-Magne Stuesol
(http://www.shagrat.net)

One good deed a day... Or should I?

And so it is. Lightning has struck twice. Every time I go out of my bleddy way to do a good deed, it blows up in my face in the most unbelievable manner. (Okay, not every time. But two big shockers is a lot.)

Let me hark back to my Mumbai days, where I lived for all of one month - December 2007. I was taking the morning train as usual from Andheri (home) to Lower Parel (near work digs). And more often than not, being one of the earlier stops, I'd get about 5 to 7 inches of seat space between corporate type ladies reading the Economic Times and college gals and other assortments, which I used up very gratefully. Lulled by the slow train into a semi-doze, I was whiling away the minutes and mentally preparing to claw my way out, visualising a way out as it were; this is probably the toughest part about riding on a Mumbai local.
Came a stop and a flood of women entered the compartment. As is the norm, with a lot of gentle nudging, tsk-ing, shoving, squashing of toes and other acceptable forms of Mumbai train etiquette, the ladies were arranging themselves in all the available gaps they could find. One lady established herself in front of me. I shifted back and assumed a ramrod straight posture to make more space available to both, the party of the first part: me, and the party of the second part: newly established lady. And that's when.... eeeks. My insides started an uncomfortable churning thing that had nothing to do with digestion. I began feeling extremely uncomfortable and not happy with myself. I felt I had to DO something. You see, the lady in front of me looked very preggers. She was youngish, not yet 30, with an otherwise slim bod except for her very cute protruding tummy. I estimated her to be at 6 months gone or so. And here I was, sitting pretty while a pregnant lady was balancing herself precariously using the rails and the hand-holding suspended thingamajigs that all trains have. Anyway. So.
Now by this time I'm getting increasingly antsy. You see, motherhood and pregnancy and all the beautiful miracles that come under that umbrella affect me very deeply. *sniff* (I would of course be equally ready to hand over my seat to elderly women, or frail, sickly, swoony anorexic types who suddenly couldn't breath, others injured/bleeding profusely or in a similar predicament, SO DON'T BE JUDGING ME!!!)
So now I'm thinking, "She's pregnant but how do I KNOW? What if she isn't? Won't she kill me if I'm wrong? But what if she IS pregnant? How dare you sit there with your young, fit, strong bod and let her stand by in her delicate state...?" And so on and so forth for about 5 dreadfully long minutes. (All this while I'm also checking her out scientifically to satisfy myself that yes, she is very much carrying another precious life inside of her.) Finally, I can't take it anymore. I steel my guts and prepare a face to meet her face etc. On the point of tipping over, since I've made up my mind to stand up and offer her my seat, I ask her (very casual, like so), "Hi. Are you pregnant?" And just as my toes are about to propel up the rest of me, she looks embarrassed and smiles sweetly and shakes her head and.... *sob! KILL ME! KILL ME!!!*, she says, "No." Aaarrrghhhhhhhh!!@@@#$#!!#!!!!!!!
Noooooooooooooo..... Don't be NICE to me, I want to screech. I am a horrid, horrid, nonsense person and I put you on the spot and made a fool of myself and you have every right to give me withering, dirty looks, but you just smiled and looked away as if it was your fault. Naaahiiiinnnnnn. That was not a good day for me. I felt like shit for at least a week after.

Moving on. Many months since.
Today's episode in the life of the Saab is another case in point. August 2008, Bangalore.

Had just finished fabulous lunch with the Insaneuptas and Co. at Nanking, Sigma Mall (aside: had the best crab ever... Overall meal experience gets 9 on 10) and was heading homewardly on my sputtering ride.
Reached the traffic junction down past HOSMAT, just before hitting the approach to the Army Quarters and Vivekanagar (you know, the junction one where the Mahindra service station is), and stopped at a red. A few other cars were stopped ahead of me, some waiting to turn left towards Airport Road, some right towards Lifestyle etc. I was calmly waiting to go 'On Straight On', like a true Cottonian. Suddenly, as is the wont near traffic signals in Bangalore, all the cars in the left-most lane started making a godawful racket, honking and cussing and gesturing at Car 1 waiting to take a left. The young man in the driver's seat of that Car 1 was being a doll and following the rules and staying put because the traffic light visible to him was showing red. But from a little behind where I was, the traffic light on the other side of the road(where he couldn't possibly see it) was signalling green for the left lane. Which is why everyone else was showering him with the choicest abuse and honking and pissing me off in the process. So, Heroine Sabbah decides to help everyone by going out of her way and putting the young man out of his misery. I vrrrooomed up confidently to him, snapped up my helmet visor and said cheerfully, "Hi, they're all making a racket because the traffic light's actually green. Back there." (Self pointing to traffic light behind.) Young man does not know what to do, he says, "But this light shows red." Advocate Sab persists with her case and says, "Yes, but it's probably faulty. These guys are honking at you because they can see the left is green. You can go. Cheers!" So he says, "Thanks," and takes off turning left..... and noooooooooooo....!!!!!!
Before my very eyes! A traffic cop with standard unhealthy paunch and half-asleep-obnoxious-expression emerges from the foliage on the left turn and stops him! He charges him with flouting the rules and breaking the law and all such things. I can only imagine the young man's confusion at what has just happened. With mouth agape I'm watching this unbelievably ridiculous turn of events. I'm still at the traffic lights waiting to go on straight on. But I can't take it anymore. I swerve off my route, take the left and stop next to the cop.
The young man is still stunned and looks quite emotionally wounded. And now the most unreal scene starts to unfold. Here I am trying to explain to the paunchy, inept cop that, "No, no, this guy was stopped at the red and everyone else was yelling at him to go, and the other light was showing green and he didn't want to go and he's innocent like anything and wait...! I TOLD HIM HE HAD TO GO," etc etc etc. Hah. Fat chance the cop registered anything. He looked at me with utter laziness and said, "You go, maydum." Nawwwwwww.....
I of course start apologising to young man and his wife/gal pal, and they smile sweetly at me and say, "No, not your fault," "This happens," etc. I try hanging out and explaining to the cop again, but he just totally disregards me and tells me to be on my way. Young sweet couple shrug and wave me a "No problem, you carry on," and me and my broken heart, feeling extremely guilty and stupid and very angry, make our way home (having to take a wide detour because I had turned left etc etc). And what really gets my goat is I'm sure there were folks in the cars behind Innocent Victim who had a good laugh at what happened to him on account of their nonsense. Sheesh.

So there.

That's what happens when I go looking for sawaab any which way I get it. Grrrowl. I'm mad. As in, pissed off with what happened.

Boo bloody hoo. Deal with it.

So, this morning as I was going through my all-time favourite news publication, the classy, sober, completely accurate Times of India (*sputter*cough*choke*gag*), I came across an unbelievably silly article on a page titled 'View From Venus' (clenching fists and gritting teeth) that brought tears to my eyes and melted my heart.

I lie. Nothing of the sort happened. If anything, it merely induced another episode of me rolling my eyes heavenwards which is so often the case when I read this shite daily.

Anyway. Let me put down the intro para of this fascinating article.
"Young, single men are fed up with being typecast as immature, insensitive and sex-obsessed, with a survey finding that the majority believe in having a soulmate, aren't scared of commitment, and say real man can cry."
.....
Well, boo hoo.
Jeez Loiuse. Can I throw up now?
Vot, men? We think it's true. Make us believe it isn't. Go on then. Go on.

The source of these gems of wisdom was an online poll on AskMen.com.
Let me take my milk and cookies and retreat to the TV room as I cackle over another amusing Sunday morning.
(And let me think about real men crying, finding soulmates and shying away from even thinking about other women as they gaze lovingly at their one and onlys. Tee hee.)

Haaaaaaahaaahaaaaa. Men are fed up, it seems. Guaaahahahhaaaahaaaaa....
Join the club.

Cartoon courtesy cartoonstock.com. And when I say courtesy, I mean I borrowed it without asking.

And another one

Utter nonsense

I cannot write poetry,
On account of being too prosaic.
(But, at least it doesn’t get any verse.)

*blink*cough*

PS: Cartoon taken from funnyman Doug Savage. Check out his Savage Chickens.

New funniest blog

Here's a hilariously good blog I've come across in the past week: Bengalooru Banter. The subject matter is just the name suggests.
Read for much fun, smart-ass cartoons and also if you want to learn Kannada slonguage.
Young Writer#1 led me to this very funny blog. Thanks you.

Oops.

Kimi sees red.
Because Hammie didn't.

Maybe, baby.

Spoke with Glaahaaa after ever so long a few nights ago. For the most part we were talking absolute nonsense, which is how we normally communicate. In between the gibberish and laughing I learnt that she has had quite enough of Mumbai and is definitely back to Bangalore in a few months from now, after wrapping up a good year and more of excellent training at a pet grooming salon (of which I have made mention in a previous blog). Glaahaaa is going to do good things in the near future, but most importantly, she is coming back. Yayyyyy! Fun times again!
Now the reason I write this is, Glaahaaa mentioned to me in a fit of feminine fury (alliteration again) how she's just about had it with the single life and how she had that very day made up her mind to get married within the year. As in, by 2009, Glaahaaa has promised she will be a Mrs Someone in addition to being herself.
Now I found this declaration extremely eerie because I too had been thinking about this whole 'single deal' earlier the very same day and had in fact decided on something entirely different. Namely, that I was really much, much happier this single way than in erstwhile times of horror, and that in all likelihood I wouldn't want to look at marriage again. EVER. And yes, so I want children very badly, to an almost painful, obsessive degree, but oh, well, I'll resign myself to the Madonna, Brangelina or other celeb-style serial adoption process. Except I won't be visiting Rwanda or Cambodia. I'll stick to someone more local. It's a better plan. And more common-sensical.
So. There it was. She said that and I said this and how very strange that it all happened the same day.
(Must make mention that I sneakily tried to talk Glaahaaa [once again] into having extra babies and letting me take care of the lot, but she saw into my subtle, cunning maneuvering and scoffed. Glaahaaa claims she won't have kids. I'll see about that...)

Erm, I think the point of this post is I love children and I want mine. Like now.

how do I neglect thee?
let me count the ways.

And they did it!

ManU took home the UEFA Cup last night/this morning. A double with the EPL and CL cups in the bag. But a shame that the game came down to penalties, which I find unbelievably unfair and inappropriate as a means of deciding a final.

Congratulations to Sir Alex Ferguson. A fitting end to the old Scot's season, where he had made it his goal (look, Ma, a pun) to win the UEFA Cup in memory of the Busy Babes of the Munich tragedy of 1958.

And so to last night.

Twinkletoes Ronaldo was in the thick of things again. A brilliant header to start things off, and then a ridiculous miss at the end of all things, when the match went to penalty shootout. Felt terrible for John Terry who slipped while taking his shot and missed the goal that would have won his side the Cup. Poor sod was inconsolable. Even Avram Grant's sweetly available shoulder couldn't alleviate the Chelsea champion's pain.

Since we are talking penalties and goalies, let's be honest and point out that Edwin van der Sar is a far, far superior goalie than the clumsy Cech. He is too. Only fitting that he turned out to be the hero at the end of the drama-filled night. I mean dripping with drama.

Right from some very interesting spats between the players, to blood-spurting collisions, almost-but-not-quite on target shots, and the usual spills-and-thrills overacting that soccer brings, this was a match to remember.

The match started off very well, with ManU uncharacteristically trading in short, quick passes (lessons from Barca?) and dominating ball possession in the first half. It always looked like ManU would penetrate eventually and score first, which is exactly what happened in the 26th minute. Ronaldo sent home his 42nd goal of the season and the match got an added burst of life. The Chelsea Blues immediately raised their game and an equaliser was imminent. Chelsea had a few great shots on target which Luck alone deflected on to the woodwork, keeping ManU a nose ahead for a while. But Chelsea were always on the hunt. Enter Frank Lampard (who else?) as always, present in the box when time came to get things done. In a heart-wrenching moment, Lampard managed a skiddy nudge past van der Sar and Chelsea pulled out a fabulous equaliser from its hat.

The second half came and went in a goalless frenzy, ditto extra time, and then it was down to to what is every fotball player's/viewer's/fan's worst nightmare: Penalty shootout.

Gaaaaaah. (I am passing over stupid, arrogant Drogba's behaviour and sending off because everyone else in the world will write about it. New nick: 'Did-yer Have To?' Drogba)

As if the match itself didn't have enough drama, the penalty shootout was a notch higher. Ronaldo missed after doing a strange dance before taking his kick. It was alllllll over, but but but. Poor Terry slipped on his run up and MISSED. Ye gods! We were into suddent death.

ManU's sub Anderson stepped up to the mark and slipped his shot in. So did Chelsea's sub Kalou. Scores even at 5-5. (Scene at home: The Elder Haji sibling, second Haji sibling and youngest [fourth] but tallest Haji sibling, sitting in a row biting fingernails, followed by toenails).

ManU veteran Giggs stepped in.... and goal! Chelsea sent in their experienced striker, Nicolas Anelka, to do his thing. Monsiuer Anelka walked up looking nonchalant. Lazy kick (or so it seemed) and VAN DER SAR dove and what a save!!!!!!!! It was all over! ManU crowned UEFA champs!

Thank God it ended when it did, though. At one point I was all ready to take after Cousin Bob's example and develop ulcers. Sudden death was turning into slow, teasing death for everyone watching the match. I imagined the sudden death stalemate would go on till break of dawn at least, when Mama and Abba would walk into the TV room and discover three dead Haji sibling bodies with heart in mouths. (See the word play? Notice how I managed to intersperse 'sudden' with 'slow, teasing' and thus change the meaning of the phrase, almost as if by magic? Vaav.)

Anyway. Manchester United won in the end, and it doesn't matter how, they did win. Tough luck to Chelsea, good game throughout. My point is it was worth it. Even dragging Self to Orifice today and maintaining a semblance of professional normalcy. (Which really isn't saying much.)

Important points to make:

1. Ronaldo may well be the young cutie-pie of the team, but Rrrrio Ferdinand. Vaav! Whatte.

2. Penalty shootouts are a lottery.

3. This is the only Red team I support.

Also, while reading through various websites, came across this article on the Sky Sports site which had nice comments from readers. Surprisingly no venom-spewing diatribes from miffed fans and no chest-beating gloating from the victors.

This new cricket buzz...

The ICL series has come and gone in a heartbreaking fashion. I will of course, not mention the events that brought the series to a close. I tend to block bad memories out. (Damn and blast.)

IPL just taking off. Let's see how this goes. As of now, all I can pray for is that Shah Rukh Khan stop inviting Arjun Rampal to matches with him if he's going to act like an absolute jackass. Which is what he's been doing on both occasions so far. (Mr Rampal, what's with that hair? Were you too busy sucking up to Shah Rukh Khan to notice he finally chopped his embarrassing attempt a whiles ago? Or are you trying to oull a Milind Soman? Because that would be truly hilarious... )
And, SRK: Vivek Oberoi? Seriously?
Anyway. So the Kolkata Knight Riders are two for two, and Bangalore finally managed a win tonight. In thrilling Mark Boucher-ish fashion.
We shall watch with interest to see if all the hoopla is sustained.
In the meanwhile, Life carries on.
And Boomsa is walking a little way away from mine. To Secunderabad. Maudlin, painful, silly post to follow on that. Which won't even begin to cover it.
I mean, I know and up and left for Mumbai last December, but does that mean anyone else can? NO....
Bwaiiiii, Anupam.

That movie they all talk about

I rewatched Casablanca the other night. I had watched it once before when I was much younger, and had come away feeling not very impressed. This caused immense pressure on my soul as an already-confused teenager. "Why," I thought, "does everyone rave about this film in the manner they do when it really isn't all of that?"
Such were the traumatic questions I subjected myself to in addition to more obvious troubles of raging hormones and finding of feet at that pivotal time known as teenagery.
So, in order to wipe the slate clean, to form a new, better-informed opinion about this hyped-up classic, I thought I should watch the movie once more, bringing all my so-called critique and knowledge of cinema to the table. I fancy myself able to spot a good movie when I see one and I know this is a hundred percent accurate because it is true for everyone. If you like a movie, it's a good movie to you. Hence proved. (But, seriously...)
So I watched Casablanca. I watched it in an atmosphere most conducive to movie-watching: Alone, with the lights switched off and no disturbances, all my attention on the acting, the music, the dialogue, the look of the film.
I watched Humphrey Bogart do his cynical Rick Blaine, Ingrid Bergman as the lovely Ilsa, the interiors of Rick's Café Américain, the whole anti-Nazi, pro-Allies thingamajig etc and all those things that I knew to watch out for and which were always repeated time and again in various reviews or nostalgic walks down the memory lanes of Hollywood.
In the end, as it was all those years ago, I came away unimpressed again. I mean, look, I've been hearing this is one of the greatest romances of all time. One of the best movies ever made. I beg to differ. It's an okay film. And that too on the strength of the fast pace of the story, a good supporting cast (esp Claude Rains as Captain Louis Renault), and some very snappy dialogue. (Again, mostly from the quarters of Captain Renault.) Also, film noir always looks slick.
First things first. I did not like Humphrey Bogart. Forget that he's ugly and speaks funny... No, wait, let's not forget that. That may be it! I think Bogey is the biggest reason I didn't like the film all that much both times. I know I didn't much take a shine to his character from beginning till the end, even when the script tried to embellish his nature with references of his gun-running to Ethiopia, his assisting the Spanish Loyalists, when he helps the couple in his casino and his final sacrificial move at the climax of the film. Bah humbug. (Which is almost a word play for Humphrey Bogart.)
I can tell you right now that I kept thinking to myself, "Ilsa, surely you can do better than this?" I mean Ingrid Bergman deserved a hotter guy. Which Paul Henreid/Victor Laszlo was. So really, no heart-wrenching tragedy when Rick says toodle-oo to Ilsa. (Matter of fact she didn't seem too hurt about it either.) The thing is, in a movie touted to be a great romance, you'd ideally want the lovers to be together. Whereas in this case, I was gunning for the lady to run off with anyone else or at least stick to her dishy husband without so much as a glance in Ugly Bogey's direction. 'Twas never meant to be. I didn't see any crackling chemistry between the two actors even in their flashback montage. And that song, As Time Goes By, didn't do it for me either. Fuggedaboutit. I will write off Casablanca as an average film with my favourite bits being the ones where Claude Rains as the oppurtunistic, slimy, yet likeable Captain Renault makes his appearances.
I can understand why Casablanca was such a big deal in its time. The film was released in 1942, when the War was at its peak. People would have probably jumped out of their seats, cheering and clapping in the scene where the La Marseillaise drowns out the German patriotic number Die Wacht am Rhein. I mean, in its time the film's anti-Nazi motif would have certainly moved a majority of the film-viewing public. But there are countless movies which convey even that sentiment better. To conclude, I watched the movie waiting for the magic of romance to take over and that never happened even once during the film. What did happen was that I was glad the leading lady took off with Blondie instead of Bogie. (I was even hoping Ilsa'd throw a few snide comments Rick's way, about how stupid she was and what was she thinking etc.)
Oh, well.
Over-rated movie of all-time: Casablanca.

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

It was a Sunday I had waited for, for a very, very long time. Two days almost. I woke up at the crack of dawn, around 12:30pm, buzzing with excitement at the impending high-action drama that was to follow. High-action on the part of my favourite sports persons, not me - I was only going to be adjusting the body into a comfortable supine position most conducive to telly-watching.
Cooked a quickie pasta lunch for the Sister since she has strange food cravings every fortnight or so and simple daal-chawal just doesn't cut it. Finished Facebooking for a bit and got down to business.
I had a packed schedule to adhere to. Beginning with the Bahrain GP.Expectations ran high and there was a palpable tension in the air of the Haji household as various family members seated themselves in accordance with their F1 loyalties. Self assumed comfy left corner slot in the McLaren stand. Cousin Suhail and Br Ozz occupied opposite right corner slot, being the Ferrari faction. Sister and mother looked disgusted and left because we made them turn off 'Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustani' and switched to Raceday.
Feeling glad that BMW did so well in qualifying, I put my faith in ze Germans thinking McLaren and BMW would sweep the podium. After all, two little red spots on the radar could be overcome, non? NO! Goddammit.
Lights on, lights off, Go, Go, GO! Except Mr Hamilton remained stationary, while the rest of the field whizzed past. Massa took over P1 right from the first turn and so it remained till he came home with the top podium place. Iceman Kimi made it a comfy Ferrari 1-2. Sigh. Hamilton added to his already incredible start by trying to mount Alonso's Renault from behind (see pic)! What was this? Delayed vengeance for last year? Gadzooks! Ferrari had a thumping victory, BMW walked in tall and proud to take the lead in the Constructor's and all of a sudden Self was feeling very hard done by. Good on you, Heikki, but McLaren's been looking dodgy in these past two races.
Moments of the race:
1. The start that ended it all.
2. Impressive BMW driving and speed throughout.
3. Hamilton's screw-up with Alonso. ("Racing incident" indeed. Hmmph.)
4. Superb driving from Fisichella in the Force India team, and the great battle between him and Hamilton for three or four laps before Hammy finally managed to over take him. And really, Lewis, there was no need for your juvenile hand gesture to Fisi. Why the hell should he have moved? You were racing.
5. The Button and Coulthard tussle.
6. Fisi finishing one place ahead of Hamilton. Haw haw.
7. Superb racing by Alonso, again.

Other exciting occurrences during that evening were extraneous to the actual race. A sudden shriek from the materfamilias jerked our attention to the fact that the inverter was spontaneously combusting and that disturbing smell of burning wires was spreading through the domestic territory. In addition to this, and for dramatic effect, thin wisps of evil, black smoke were emanating from said inverter. In a frenzied manner, all of us family members started yelling our opinions on the matter and speculating on the best method to combat this hazardous phenomenon of flaming electronic devices. For a longish time nothing of any actual use was proposed until better sense prevailed and it was decided to nip the problem in the bud. Or plug. We used our 'kaanoon ka lamba haath' personified by Ozz, who stood on tiptoe on a chair, grappled with the main switch and finally managed to kill the inverter. With the result that all the power in the house was also killed. Hence ending our mouth-agape-viewing of the Bahrain GP. Truth be told, I didn't give a bloody damn any more. I learnt soon, from various taunting texts and jibes that Ferrari had reigned supreme and McLaren indeed 'had gone red in the face'.
*Shakes head*
Cut to an hour later, helpful electrician had restored power and semblance of sanity to household and the TV was ready to entertain us again.
Onwards to Hyderabad where the second of three ICL finals was taking place. With great enthusiasm, the entire Haji family plus Cousin Suhail forgot past divisions and sat down as one to cheer on the Lahore Badshahs. The Lahore Badshahs had to win, 'and of course they will today!' was the general consensus.
Nyet. Nothing doing. Scores level in the last over. Both teams at 130, and the match was to be decided by a bowl-out. Ha ha, say the Hajis. The Pakis are so good at bowling, it's a cinch. (I myself was having internal, horrified flashback of T20 India-Pak bowl-out...) And so it went. The Hyderbad Heroes kept their heads at a time they needed to. Their bowlers did what presumably all bowlers across the world, from indoor drawing-room cricket, to gully-cricket, to net-practice to international level cricket bowlers are supposed to do, viz. hit the stumps. The Lahore Badshahs screwed it all up in the end. Zero out of three hits. The Heroes got a healthy three out of four hits and it was all over. Poor Inzy, having to apologize over and over and over for his team's infuriating performances. Ah, well, still can't help loving them. 'Hai jazbaa-e-junoon toh himmat na haar' etc.
Saving grace: Abdul Razzaq won Man of the Series, a trophy woth Rs 1 crore and a cheque of Rs 40 lacs.
In the meanwhile I learnt that ManU had just barely drawn with Middlesborough, giving Chelsea a very good chance to take the top spot of the EPL. Grrr. Rooney came in with a late equaliser or else it was another huge upset in keeping with the day's events thus far. So now Man United are only three points ahead on the table at 77.

Later on in the night (the damn Sunday just wasn't getting over), I managed to catch Rafael Nadal lose the Sony Ericsson final, 6-2, 6-4, to Davydenko. I mean, I like Nikolay, but I wanted Rafa to win, okay???
A few hours later, in the middle of the night, Sister, Ozz, Suhail and self were playing spades. Girls versus boys. We drew at one game all after a sensational landslide victory in the first round. It was not a good feeling.

All in all, this Sunday was a write off. As Skinny rightly mentioned, I was in a 'talk to me and I'll kill you' mood.

Pics stolen off: formula1.com, EPL site, ICL site, espn

Be a sport

Have been in a very satisfied frenzy these past few days. Sporting encounters of all sorts are making one's ho-hum life all the more exciting.
To start with, the baby rebel Indian Cricket League has gripped me by the vitals on account of a certain Lahore Badshahs being part of the arrangement. This team takes one back to the wonder years of Pakistani cricket. Led by the big bear Inzy, coached by Moin Khan, and featuring all former Pak players I love, from Azhar Mahmood, Mushtaq Ahmed, Mohd Sami, Saqlain, Imran Nazir, Naved Rana, Hassan Raza, and so on and so forth. Why these brilliances were left out of the Pak national squad no one will ever know. And Pak's current dismal form is a result. So, the Lahore Badshahs are my favourites and the Lahore Badshahs are undefeated. First semifinal tonight v Kolkata Tigers. Who are going to lose!!!
And then. There's the football that's keeping us entertained. Not the bizarre American travesty where grown men wear body armor and tight pants and carry around a strangely-shaped object that they refer to as the ball. Tell me, whence foot and wherefore ball? What is wrong with those guys? The proper name of the game should be Running-Around-Handling-Leather-Thing. Eww.
Anyway, we're talking about the English Premier League AND the Champion's League. Weekends and weekdays accounted for. Man U sits pretty on top of the Barclay's board - with the even prettier Cristiano Ronaldo creating magic with Rooney. What eye candy. What legs. What fantastic skill. I love them.
Last night's Arsenal-Liverpool match was a ripper. Shame about the 1-1 draw, but Gerrard is really something else. What a game though! PS: Hleb should have been given a penalty, but the referee was really too far off and at a weird angle to see what went down. Hah. Bollocks! He was about ten yards away and had a ringside view, damn him!!! In a fair world, the final scoreline would have read Arsenal 2-1. "Fly Emirates!"
Onwards now. The Bahrain GP action starts tomorrow in the practice sessions. Hope floats on McLaren. Praying certain other teams go RED in the face after retiring/crashing/injuring pit crew and having mechanical problems.;) And that BMW continue their surprising good form. So far it's a McLaren-BMW one-two on the Constructor's. *stands up and applauds German engineering*
A little bit of tennis going on as well. Great Nadal-Blake match last night at the Sony Ericsson Open in Florida. Rafa looked down and out till the middle of the second set and then.... VAMOS! He was back, and took the match decisively in the third. Roddick-Fedex coming up too, though that's almost certainly going Fedex's way (however much people make a fuss about Roger losing his edge, that chink in his armour etc). To put things in perspective, Andy has lost 15 of the 16 times he's played Roger. Also, Serena-Kuznetsova match today. Serena, by the way, annihilated Justine in the quarters. Wha-hey!
Trivial Trivia: Uber-cool Boyd Tinsley of DMB (the violonist, duh) spotted several times at the Open.

Then. What else?
Oh, yes. The domestic sports scene. Since my brother Ozz is done with his II PUC exams, him and me make a formidable twosome as we head to the gym every night in our sports gear. We engage in great duels across a table-tennis table. It has to be said that Usman runs me over, destroys me, dances over my remains every night with cringe-inducing scorelines along the lines of "21 to nothing". That's number of games, not points. I have taken him to deuce only once. And have reached 18 or 19 on occasions I can count on the fingers of one hand. *Blush* Anyway, I don't care about that. "We play the game because we love it!" I mean to say, I really don't mind losing to him. I'm a loser.
On the bright side, you should check out my muscles now. Glutes that would make a sit-up champion envious. Streamlined calf muscles and biceps. Happy ache in tricep area. Working on abs and only time will tell. Love handles are fast disappearing. (And when I inhale deeply and hold my breath, I look quite something!)

And the movies I've been watching! Ruthie is my movie dealer. She has a kickass DVD rental shop near her digs and I go and get the latest movies from there. Plus she has her own sources for getting me unheard-of but very good Korean, Thai and other foreign language films. I'm on to a good thing here.
Acquired The Sea Inside yesterday, which is quite old. Must go watch now. Javier Bardem beckons.

Anthony Minghella and that movie I love

Anthony Minghella died today, aged 54.

Which reminded me of The English Patient, one of my all-time favourite movies. We have the North-African-Arab connect, we have deserts, we have impressive dialogue, fine non-American actors (Ralph Fiennes, Kristin Scott-Thomas, Juliette Binoche, Colin Firth, Naveen Andrews), great cinematography and background score, and above all, a painful love story. Any movie that makes me sob loudly is thumbs-up. And I cried bucketfuls with this one.
Note to self: Must read Michael Ondaatje's novel. Still haven't.
Quotable quotes from the film, and maybe the book:
1. (Almásy writing): "Betrayals in war are childlike compared with our betrayals during peace."
2. Almásy: "I fear Madox knows about us. He keeps mentioning Anna Karenina."
3. Almásy: "Swoon, I'll catch you. "
4. Madox: "I have to teach myself not to read too much into everything. It comes from too long having to read so much into hardly anything at all."

5. Hana: "There's a man downstairs. He brought us eggs. He might stay."
Almásy: "Why? Can he lay eggs?"
Hana: "He's Canadian."
Almásy: "Why are people so happy when they collide with someone from the same place? What happened in Montreal when you passed a man in the street? Did you invite him to live with you?"
6. Katharine Clifton: "Will we be alright?"
Almásy: "Yes. Yes. Absolutely"
Katharine: "'Yes' is a comfort. 'Absolutely' is not."

Also liked Minghella's Cold Mountain (primarily be on account of Jude Law, Renee Zelwegger and some very impressive landscapes). And the Talented Mr Ripley. Not so much Breaking and Entering.

“Into each life some rain must fall, some days must be dark and dreary.”

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Well, I agree. Completely. So where is it?
There was a time not so long ago in Bangalore when one could write meaningful literature on one's windshield while driving around in the rain:(If you can't make it out, it says 'RAIN' on the windshield.)

Lots of folks complained even then, but give me a dull, rainy, cold day over hot, dusty, migraine-inducing brights any time. *Imagining misty, cool breeze on cheeks*
Summer has hit Bangalore with an ugly vengeance. Apart from greedy FMCG barons (who are sitting in their air-conditioned homes, offices or limousines) clapping their hands in glee watching deodorants, sun-block lotion and cold drinks fly off grocery shelves, everyone is agreed on how the day-time weather sucks. Look about you. Gaaaah. I need a shovel to pick the dirt off my face every time I get back from the outdoors. What's with the gale-force-winds? "All the more dust for you to chew, my dear." Was almost knocked off the Old Reliable bike a couple of times; only the heavy bulk of an over-sized helmet maintained the center of gravity and helped me stay the fort. Highly unsettling feeling. Plus it doesn't help that I have no control over my scarf when the wind puts on a show of strength.
Non-sequitir: The blasted wind doesn't meddle in your affairs only outside the threshold of your house. Oh, no. What about the associated phenomenon of doors slamming at awkward moments, say like when you've had an argument with a Parental. Little tiff concluded, you calm your nerves, walk away into the next room being all mature about it when WHAM! The strong wind does its devilry for the day and slams the door shut behind you as if you were a moody, sulky adolescent all over again. Leaving Parental seething in fury at 'the nerve!' and Self seething in fury at the Wind.
Rant ends.
Summer doesn't.