Tuesday, December 27, 2005

Love or Hate?

I recently read "One night @ the call center" by Chetan Bhagat, about 3 guys and 3 girls who work at a call center. As do I, almost (ok, maybe a little more glorified than your usual "Hi, I'm vAArsha. How may I help you?" call centers... Btw the capital double As represent the way firangs pronounce my name, unless it's changed to Vanessa or Victoria or Vinaigrette or something, which I would hate to do).

Oops, I'm not coming to the point, as usual. What I wanted to talk about was the America-bashing obsession everyone seems to have. Recently "Anonymous" called me "quite the American" on the previous post, and then there was the book, bashing America and Americans as scared, materialistic schmucks.

I hate to think of myself as that. (Although I get scared sometimes, I am materialistic to an extent, and maybe even a schmuck, to an extent. :) )

Anyhoo, we Indians love America and we hate it. We go there to earn dollars and curse the Americans for pushing their "non-spirituality" (read: consumerism) on us. We buy the latest digicams from Circuit City, now have malls which are like cc's of American malls which we throng like Kumbh-ka-mela, heck, we even think in "American" (read the book).

So where does the bashing emerge from? Are we the confused lot, caught between Friends and Buniyaad? America is not perfect, and neither are we. Maybe the trick to understanding ourselves right now is in riding the change, not resisting it.

Friday, December 23, 2005

Inching closer

So another new year, another party, another resolution, another wish.
I'm not going to be bothered making "good" resolutions, let's see if I can compile a list of non-resolutions:

  1. I will drink more than 8 units of alcohol every weekend (are u reading me, gypsy?)
  2. I will smoke at least 2 packs of cigarettes a week (20 to a pack)
  3. I will completely screw up my perfectly boring life
  4. I will have at least one accident this year
  5. I will read tons of MBs and Jane Austen books
  6. I will not think about U2 all the time

And as Rachel said, Have a Shitty Christmas, and a Crappy New Year. :)

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Hey hey what can I do

I tire myself out
I smoke myself up
It's the closest to bliss
I want to come

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Lost in Translation... not!

Currently, I am listening to Strings, the Pakistani band. Hey, they are inspired by U2.. that makes it okay doesn't it?

Anyway, here is translation of Yeh hai meri Kahani (This is my story) from the movie Zinda (Alive). If someone knows a better translation for any line, please do not hesitate to comment or let me know. More song translations to follow, maybe Dhaani.

(Its an urdu song, btw)

This is my story
Silent life
The stillness is saying
Why (are you) bearing this torture...

An old tale
Through the language of loneliness
Every wound is gaping
Saying something to me

I pick out prickling thorns from the bosom of memories
I am alive in the shadows of crumbling walls.

That's my story.
An unmarked mark
An ache is flowing
Saying something to me...

I pick out prickling thorns from the bosom of memories
I am alive in the shadows of crumbling walls.

(You) played (in) the dew of love in my garden
The shadows of death keep falling all the time
My eyes get entangled in what's written in ink
No one, no one at all
To tell me how long I will wait and hope for the light
No one, there's no one either near or far,
There's a friend, heartbeat
Which keeps proclaiming its love
Life is that which keeps living
Keeps on swallowing gulps of blood.
Keeps sewing dreams with thorns

There's no one close now
But I can still feel
There's a will to live, tangled with what's written in ink
This heart is a wilderness of memories
This heart is filled with thorns

I pick out prickling thorns from the bosom of memories
I am alive in the shadows of crumbling walls.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Back to Bengalooru with a Bang

Bangalore, Bengaluru, Bengalooru. Take your pick, da.

I just say: who in *****'s name cares? After all, what's in a name? We'd be better served discussing the never-ending construction of the fly-over at Airport Road or the pathetic drainage system.

Would we then care if its Bangalore or Timbuktu or Thiruvananthapuram?

Get a life, people!

Although I have to admit that living in a town named after boiled beans takes the little romance it had out of it.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

New Delhi, New Delhi

Recently yours truly went to New Delhi for a couple of marriages and had a blast. Yes, the afore metioned sarees came into play, and there were a couple of other surprises and lessons learnt. Here's a list:

1. Not all gentlemen prefer blondes
2. All men are not gentlemen
3. According to U2, blue-eyed boys meet brown-eyed girls
4. U2 still rules, no matter what Lexie says!

On that note, here's a song from U2 that I love:

All I Want is You

You say you want diamonds on a ring of gold
You say you want your story to remain untold

But all the promises we make
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you.

You say you'll give me a highway with no-one on it
Treasure, just to look upon it
All the riches in the night.

You say you'll give me eyes in the moon of blindness
A river in a time of dryness
A harbour in the tempest.

All the promises we make, from the cradle to the grave
When all I need is you.

You say you want your love to work out right
To last with me through the night.

You say you want diamonds on a ring of gold
Your story to remain untold
Your love not to grow cold.

All the promises we break, from the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you.

Friday, December 02, 2005

Mother do you think they'll drop the bomb?

Dated: Sept. 2005

Dear Mom,

I am reminded of Che Guevara as I write this today, of how he wrote, as he said, “beautiful” letters to his mom, describing his adventures and thoughts as he roamed the South American continent.

At this point, I feel the upheavals and pits in his life as if they had occurred in mine. His thirst for new lands – his wanderlust, the almost fierce love he had for his sweetheart, across borders and boundaries.

I share his sensitivity, so rare in a man, his sense of injustice, the deep feeling he had for the indigenous and the uprooted. I feel it.

I learnt something very valuable from Che, mama. I learnt that in the end, you are alone in the world; and this is a very useful, although often painful, discovery to make.

Let me rephrase that: even before the end, you are alone in the world, and the sooner you realize that, the better.

The worst mistake anyone can make in life is to make something the center of their universe. What we don’t realize is that this center is deceptive and mutable. One minute it might be there, the next minute its gone.

The only thing constant in life is your self. Not your parents, not your love, not anyone. I’m sorry mama, but not even you are constant in my life.

I turn to you in my hours of need, the times when I feel battered, betrayed and abandoned. How can I, who wasn’t constant in your life, expect you to be constant in mine?

So, mama, Che really taught me something. That I, myself, have to be the center of my universe. No matter how many loved ones surround me, no matter how deeply I feel for anyone – friends, family, loves – they can’t be anything but the seasoning.

The real dish will always be me.

Thank you, Che, and thank you, mama.