Indian Writer-Poet-Blogger John P Matthew on Writing and Life!

Information Overload in a Schizoid Word

zenwriter@gmail.com — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 05:52:29 PST

What we see today is an information overload. Emails, short messages, phone calls, call centre solicitations, forwarded mail of jokes and anecdotes, what not? Yes, I have checked all these this morning. I checked two email inboxes, removed a lot of spam mails, deleted a lot of redundant facebook notifications, cleaned the computer of forwards, images, replied to mail I thought was important, wrote just "hahahaha" to a friend's joke (so he knows I have seen it), etcetera, etcetera.

But have I sifted the chaff out of this harvest of information? How much of this information do I trust? How much of the information I read is fake and make believe? There used to be a time when I could trust the editorial sanctity of newspapers. Today I can't open a newspaper and believe the sanctity of what I am reading, much more, otherwise, lose my sanity over what I am reading. So, I skim the surface, looking for false notes, searching for standard phrases written by public relations people to plug their product or personality as the case may be. I can't trust the objectivity of even writers anymore. Rogues exists in all professions, I know, I know.

The world we live in is a schizophrenic, there are a lot of harassed and harried people out of make a fool out of you, and we are arrant fools to believe them. Even once. Albeit, we do believe them and buy health policies that are only partially enforceable, products that breakdown after the first month of use, gadgets that sit in a corner rotting away. Says Anthonybhai, "This world's a merry place. So, enjoy!"

Kiss and Make Up – the 3 Idiots Controversy

zenwriter@gmail.com — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 02:55:40 PST

Here's more grist for the mill in the 3 idiots controversy. The latest celebrity to join the bandwagon to further fuel the fire is Vir Sanghvi who writes thusly on his blog. Guess everyone had his/her say now, including me. Excerpt:

"What does it cost the makers of 3 Idiots to give Chetan Bhagat his credit in the space where a writer's credit is traditionally placed in the international movie business? It would make no difference to the movie's massive box-office performance. We would not think any less of Rajkumar Hirani, a fine director with a great track record. And Aamir's reputation as the most consistently successful star of our times would remain intact."

But Chetan wants to move on and in this article he says he wants to move on and requests the director and producer of the film also to do likewise.

Slamming Poetry at the Blue Frog

zenwriter@gmail.com — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 09:30:44 PST

Entered the wonderful world of slam poetry performance, and didn’t proceed beyond the first round. Ugh! I never imagined I would do that. Found out it takes guts though as I stood on the state of Blue Frog’s aesthetically designed performance space, bathed in the sharp circle of laser lights last Sunday to deliver my elegy to my dead friend Manoj Rane before an audience of diners and fellow poets. It was a nice experience.

The mill district where Blue Frog is situated is still run down, still the festering centre of the city, decaying, though the multinationals and media companies had moved in in the last decade or so. Hm. As if I expected something else from an area I kept away from, because of its sheer nightmarish decrepitude and lack of civic infrastructure. The night spots are situated inside dark mill compounds, un-tiled, littered, and every bit like it used to be. They seem not to care, Bacchus is worshipped in the night spots, revelry and drinking go well into the night, but people don’t care about the garbage that lies un-cleared on the streets. Gangs of jobless youths wearing shorts and tee-shirts loll around looking dangerous and unconcerned.

Blue Frog is lit in a soft suffusion of lights, and the effect is one of awe and quiet dignity. Shivani Tibrewala is in charge, adding life to the atmosphere of serenity and the capacity to indulge in whatever is ones intoxication – poetry or spirits. Woody on the flute (both Indian and western) and a percussionist (sorry, I forgot his name) lend the right miasma to submit oneself to something wild, like singing one’s poem, which I did.

I know I sounded flat. I don’t know why. I did. I stood before a mirror and performed the usual rehearsals but sounded flat nevertheless. Next time I am going to learn by heart my verses before I go on stage. Makes a lot of difference to know your poem. If you don’t have your poem on your lips, you tend to appear flat. I guess my rivals did better and deserved to win. As for me, I didn’t get past the first round. Hm.

Three Idiots – a Contract Only an Idiot Would Sign

zenwriter@gmail.com — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 04:21:12 PST

Here's the contract between Chetan Bhagat and Raju Hirani for Three Idiots which is at the centre of the controversy over the film which has Chetan claiming that he has been deprived of the proceeds of the success of the film. But reading the contract, one would feel (in fact anyone would feel) that only an idiot (a general observation, no offense, not aimed at anyone) would sign a contract that would handover all rights of his creative work to a production house without reading the fine print, which afterall is what a writer should do before signing any contract. But writers are human, in fact, more human than others, one agrees.

Writers and authors are the sole owners of their work under the Intellectual Property Act. I guess Chetan trusted the other party enough. This is a lesson for all writers to be more careful before signing and giving away their babies to any second or third person.

A Malayalee Redfined - According to Vijayaraghavan, M.P.

zenwriter@gmail.com — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 03:55:22 PST

Yesterday was Kairali’s, Belapur’s malayalee association’s, Christmas party. The entertainment was all rip-offs of Bollywood and western pop. As if being a Christian means following things western. Oh, there was a Bharatnatyam performance too. I was transfixed by the dancer’s movements and the rhythm her feet made on the wooden floor matched so wonderfully, so fluidly, so effortlessly with the rhythm of the drums. Truly a wonderful performance.

The chief guest was Mr. Vijayaraghavan, member of Rajya Sabha, the Indian Senate, who gave a very correct description of a Malayalee (to be taken in the proper Malayalee sense of humour), which goes thusly:

“A Malayali (I am referring to the feminine gender to avoid a lot of “his/her” from cluttering the text) is one who wonders which school her child will go before she is born. A Malayalee is so committed to bringing up her child that she will go to any extent to secure the best for her. She researches all the schools, then carefully prepares the girl for interviews. The school should be good, even if the teachers don’t have any brains. A Malayaee doesn’t mind if the girl brings home a lot of home work, and sits down to do the homework herself. She also sends her to coaching classes which takes three-four hours of the child.

“Then when the child is old enough, she is put through entrance tests for engineering, medical colleges. When she passes, she is married off to someone from the

U.S.

The best of the best should go to the

U.S.

, so also her darling girl should go to Texas or Chicago. Then comes the call from the

U.S.

, the much anticipated call. She thinks she can visit the Niagra Falls, the Statue of Liberty, the Yellowstone National Park. But, it’s for midwifery and baby-sitting she is needed, as these two duties are very expensive in the

U.S.

“കുട്ടിയെ ഇടതും വലതും കൊണ്ട് നടക്കും, കുട്ടി ഉ.സ. ഇല പോയാല്‍ പിന്നേ പട്ടിയെ ഇടതും വലതും കൊണ്ട് നടക്കും.

“Before the girl goes to the

U.S.

they will escort her on both sides – left and right – and after she goes they will escort the dog – left and right.”

Apropriately, as Mr. Vijayaraghavan correctly surmised, it’s a sad reflection of what a Malayalee’s life has become. The trouble parents undertake to get their children in professional colleges is sometimes pathetic, no, phenomenal. Today a Malayalee parent is considered a failure if one child is not somewhere in the U.S. of A.

What’s needed? A change of attitude perhaps.

The Resurgent Religiosity of the Indian

zenwriter@gmail.com — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 23:21:22 PST

William Dalrymple is good at spotting trends. He writes here that there is a resurgence of religious sentiments in India. I agree. Every morning I see the RSS conduct its drill in the neighbourhood, the Jehovah Witness is becoming more aggressive, the Muslim women all wear burqas, or, hijabs. On new year eve a family in the Belapur had a Pooja which involved sounding the conch shell and beating on utensils for the post part of the day. Afternoon siesta of this blogger was spoilt. A friend went to a temple on new year eve, and new year eve isn't even a Hindu festival. Navratri is more lavish, Diwali even more so, and so is the keeping of fasts during Shravan, Navratri and Margashish. The Hindu calendar is full of such rituals and they are keenly observed. Friends of my childhood have set the Gayatri Mantra as their ring tones, and a committed communist has a Shiva Linga in his bungalow. Says Dalrymple:

"As India is liberalising and globalising its economy, the country is experiencing a rising tide of popular Hinduism which is leaving no social segment and no public institution untouched. There is a surge in popular religiosity among the burgeoning and largely Hindu middle classes, as is evident from a boom in pilgrimage and the invention of new, more ostentatious rituals. This religiosity is being cultivated by the emerging state-temple-corporate complex that is replacing the more secular public institutions of the Nehruvian era . . . a new Hindu religiosity is getting more deeply embedded in everyday life, in both the private and public spheres."

I was just wondering, what if we harness the energies and efforts expended in stereotyping a particular class or religion and channelize it into something creative, or constructive. For example, building really nice smelling toilets so people can crap in peace, or, create a green and peaceful environment? There I go again, into my fantasy world. Dhansukhbhai Jethalal Shah thinks the resurgence of religiosity is a good thing. At least people won't do harmful things like destabilize the economy and fuel speculation. But he only knows the meaning of what he says.

Meeting at the Mithai Shop; Happiness 2010!

zenwriter@gmail.com — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 03:59:28 PST

Happy new year, and all that. 2009 - the year that Michael Jackson died, Barack Obama became president, Tiger Woods was disgraced, 86-year-old ND Tiwari was allegedly caught in a sex romp. A lot of expectations for the new year, a lot of expectations of the year that ended. Wanted the year to end on a good note and it did. Wanted to make significant progress on the novel before the year ended, so got up early, worked, worked, worked, had lunch, worked, worked. Then the cupboard that was sitting like a shapeless elephant in the drawing room had to be shifted to the bedroom on the first floor and the sturdy labourers came and put paid to my literary endeavours. But I did make good progress on chapter 11.

Then went to the nearest mithai shop to buy some desserts for dinner, as I was celebrating new year at home, even wanted to go to bed early, as I am working today. Hm. Saw a familiar face in the mithai shop, I won't say names, for I don't have her permission. I wasn't sure. But the hairstyle, glasses, a certain air matched with pictures I had seen on FB. I was sure it was her. We were in online contact close to more than five years and had never met. We are members of an online literary group. Then I hit on an idea. I SMS-ed her. "Are you in Belapur." No reply for almost fifteen minutes. Ergo, damn, wrong surmise, I was glad I didn't barge in and ask her.

Then comes the reply "Yes!" So I go back and meet her, first time after almost five years of online messages. She was on the way to Lonavala for a new year party. Thanks friend! That's how the old year ended. As decided earlier (resolution!) did some more writing and went to bed at 11 p.m. Son, Ronnie, partied the night away at a friend's place in Panvel. The neighbor decided to keep us all awake with a raucous party on their terrace. That's how the old year ended.

Adam Apple or Adam's Apple - Which Is Right?

zenwriter@gmail.com — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 07:09:26 PST

Strange. Someone asked me which websites I have written and I am stumped. I have written content for many websites, I mean, written their entire content from A to Zee. But none of them are in the form in which I had left them. All of them have gone out of business, disappeared, facing technical problems (like my own domain name which my effing service provider has difficulty renewing), or, are defunct in the way only technology can be.

Strange are the ways of online entities. I guess the technology has something to do with it. Look at it like this, there is this large, humongous, world where we can connect, chat, enter into friendships or other relationships and it’s so disorganised and chaotic that web entities just die and are never resurrected or resuscitated. I spend a lot of time online, that is more time than I give to my family, friends, or even to writing. They say the age of publishing on paper is gone and it’s the era of hand-held e-book readers like Kindle. Recently, the venerable British Council Library shifted to online lending and borrowing. I don’t know if these are good or bad trends but truth be told there isn’t the joy in a Kindle that can match opening a book yellowed with age, smelling the glue and perusing the typefaces of old, the style, the indentations, the matching of lines, the drop capitals, the italicisations, etc. all of which were standard instructions for a sub-editor (which I was) entering the world of publishing. Typesetting and sub-editing (or, subbing) was an art then. Alas, no more. The caption writers of a popular newspaper these days write "Adam Apple" instead of "Adam's Apple". There's a subtle difference, you see.

Year End Reviews - My Own Too!

zenwriter@gmail.com — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 02:04:10 PST

What do I write? What do I write today? I am fumbling for words, for thoughts. It is rarely that I don’t have three or four subjects flitting about like butterflies in my mind, trying to find an outlet in my blog.

There are several issues of newspapers and magazines doing year-end, decade-end reviews. I like them. The reviewers are all erudite fellows giving profound pronouncements about the markets – stock and commodities -, political uncertainties, the terror attacks, the future of the world – meaning the environmental catastrophe that we have been ignoring – the ice-thin sheet of environmental safety over which we have been skating at high speeds. Defaults are high (e.g. Nakheel Group, the Dubai group that's building the world's tallest tower - The Al Burj), many more financial entities are going bust a la Lehman Brothers. There’s a tendency among money managers to pay themselves high salaries. Have you observed? Look at any organisation, the finance guys who manage the company’s funds always get away with high salaries and perks. Come on guys, what a selfish thing to do. Well that’s going to change. It has to. We should have looked at our marketing and production guys, they are where the company’s real excellence is, not the guy who totals it all up.

It’s as if the brakes are difficult to put on the way we are progressing, like a “runaway train” as Elton John sang in his song of the same name. The lyrics that accompany it go thusly:

“When we break out of this blindfold

I am gonna take you from this place.”

Noble thought, but take you where? Yes, breakneck speed and blindfolded we are progressing towards a destiny we don’t know where it will lead. In fact, there’s nothing finite about anything anymore. We all tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to control people and the way we think. Marx and Engels did, Mahesh Yogi did, Beatles did, Elvis did, Jim Morrison did.

Coming back to year-end reviews I guess the ones I liked are: Forbes and Crest. The first tries to harness several things in its ambit and succeeds, and Crest (May this newspaper from the Times of India group survive is my fervent wish) sounded very knowledgeable and upbeat in its prognostications. Its contents are well balanced and for once I really like a Times Group publication. Good for them. It seemed well written and edited. As for me I did my year end review long ago. Go back and see.

In the Chromo Today: അയലത്തെ ഇയെങ്ങര്ക് മൂന്നു കൊമ്പ്

zenwriter@gmail.com — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 03:40:34 PST

At the Chroma store in New Bombay today I see this rare sight. It’s an Iyengar, a very distinguished looking gent – yes I can make this out from the three vertical lines on his forehead – in a longish angavasthram and bordered with red and green strip stippled with gold filigree work. His top half is bare except for an end of the vasthram drawn around his neck. He looks learned and I could guess immediately that he wore that dress out of conscious choice, not as a gimmick, and looked graceful in it. I almost break out into a Malayalam ditty we sang in our school. (Pardon my insolence, please, if I sound that, by any chance. I have no intention of hurting the sentiments of my Iyengars friends. We had a very generous Iyengar family as our neighbour in the suburb of Chembur and I owe a lot to them.) The ditty goes thus:

വീടിലെ പശുവിനു രണ്ടു കൊമ്പ്

അയലത്തെ ഇയെങ്ങര്ക് മൂന്നു കൊമ്പ്

Veetile pashuvinu randu kombu

Ayalathe Iyengarku moonnu kombu!

Roughly translated, it reads thusly:

The household cow has two horns

The neighbouring Iyengar has three horns!

(The Iyengars can be distinguished from their equally venerable cousins, the Iyers, by the three lines they draw vertically on their foreheads with sandal paste. Hence, the horn analogy.)

This rather distinguished Iyengar has hair as white as snow and his angavasthram was also thusly coloured (hm, if white can be called a colour). I would place him somewhere as, at least, Chief Financial Officer, in a blue-chip company which offers a lot of perks. Anybody with the name of Iyer or Iyengar just shoots to the top is my theory, just like thairu-sadam shoots to the brain soon after it is imbibed. This Iyengar gent went on to buy so many electronic equipment that it boggled my mind to just look at him carrying all those stuff, while my mouth was watering at the light-weight Sony Vaio Zero sitting there like a Kareena Kapoor on the shelf. Oh, why wasn’t I born an Iyengar?

Cluttered Website and a Walk in the Wild

zenwriter@gmail.com — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 10:09:45 PST

Hm. Today I am confronted with another common problem. Has anyone faced this? You surf a website or a social networking site and suddenly you observe that the icons have been changed, the links don’t appear where they usually were, the colours have changed, you can’t remember the username and password, you try different combinations and are frustrated and, sad to say, a few hours have passed, too much clutter, you give up.

I was at my domain registration site trying to renew my website’s thingamajig. Innocently, I clicked, clicked and clicked again. Nada, nothing doing. Clutter upon clutter fills the screen. I can’t find that page where I had renewed the domain last year. Why did they have to change the website every now and then? They lost business and I, a lot time, valuable time I could have spent elsewhere and god alone knows what damage I have done to my liver, pancreas, heart, arteries and veins. Yeah, sitting in one place for a long time can damage these organs.

Yes, websites have this habit of changing their look as they grow big. They add on this and that, and before long there is too much clutter, while the mantra should be very little clutter. Google could have filled its homepage with a million links, thank god, they kept only very little. That’s the secret of a good website.

x-x-x

After this episode I go for a walk. I am fortunate enough to be living somewhere close to a pristine rainforest. I decide to skip the tarred roads and take a walk in the wild, a one-person-only path that leads into the centre of the Artiste Village valley. It's eerily silent and I can hear the sound of insects and crickets over the pond in the centre of the concavity. The tall grass on either side, now dry, graze my legs, the silence is awesome. It is as if I am alone with nature, a bit frightening, no doubt. When I reached the middle of the valley I paused and looked at the looming Parsik Hills, so majestic that it looked overwhelming. The thick forest clung to its base forming a green canopy, where leopards and wild hogs are said to hunt. This valley is rich in bio-diversity, having as many as 379 identified species and will soon be developed into a nature park by the government.

The walk did a lot of good, it requires skill to walk in the wild and it invigorates. Felt a lot fresh after I returned. Guess, I am lucky to be living so close such a beautiful place, that too, in proximity to a beauteous forest.

It’s Boxing Day, Stupid!

zenwriter@gmail.com — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 02:17:44 PST

Ah, boxing day, not boxer's day, sorry for the gaffe of a few day's earlier post in which I referred to it as boxer's day, duly corrected by Peter Griffin (thanks, Peter, guess you are an authority on these subjects, and thanks for reading what I write on my blog), so accepted, boxing day it is. Today is boxing day, traditionally, the day of giving gifts to the needy and less privileged, which term, would also include employees, dependents, knowing as how underprivileged (and underpaid) this blogger is. Alas, no one gave any gifts, or, presents, so I will let it pass.

Spent Christmas at home, writing, what will be my second novel, completed a difficult chapter, i.e., chapter nine. The day outside was beautiful, the sky an inexplicable and indefinable blue, only known to the color palette of an artist, not common writers of my ilk. The valley was green as usual, myriad shades that merged and emerged, only to please the eye by nodding and waving playfully at me, as I sat writing on the small balcony attached to my bedroom. Have set myself a deadline of completing the novel by year end, which I am sure I can do, if I am freed from stupid stumbling blocks.

The "Christmas Truce" and a Murder that Turned into a World War

zenwriter@gmail.com — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 02:04:46 PST

Thank God, the wishing and saying of “God bless” and “take care” are over. Empty, facile, unoriginal, insincere, it seems. But we say these words all the time. Do we care? Some do but some don’t. A few thoughts in this time of forced jollity and superficial caring, where we depend on messages on Facebook or on the mobile phone to make our day, not live conversations with friends and relatives. I called up all my siblings, with whom I am on good terms: a brother and sisters. No, they didn’t call. The onus is on me I guess. I am a little upset about that. I believing forgiveness and forgive a lot to a lot of people. But there are a few hurts that cannot be forgiven.

Read this on Ratna Rajaiah’s blog “Choti Mooh”. It’s the story of “Christmas Truce” when around 1,00,000 British and German soldiers fighting the First World War came together in the battlefield to sing hymns and celebrate Christmas as well as they could. This was the war that escalated into a big battle of nations because one trivial event led to another and then another. Led me to research the First World War a bit and, serendipitously, I found a lot of information online.

The spark that ignited the war was the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, in Sarajevo in

Serbia

on 28 June 1914. Here’s a film footage of Ferdinand’s arrival in Sarajevo. Austro-Hungary asked

Serbia

for an explanation.

Then started a chain of bizarre events that led to an even macabre massacre of hundreds of thousands of soldiers, which is documents in the website firstworldwar.com:

“Austria-Hungary, unsatisfied with Serbia's response to her ultimatum declared war on Serbia on 28 July 1914.

“Russia, bound by treaty to Serbia, announced mobilisation of its vast army in her defence, a slow process that would take around six weeks to complete.

“Germany, allied to Austria-Hungary by treaty, viewed the Russian mobilisation as an act of war against Austria-Hungary, and after scant warning declared war on Russia on 1 August.

“France, bound by treaty to Russia, found itself at war against Germany and, by extension, on Austria-Hungary following a German declaration on 3 August. Germany was swift in invading neutral Belgium so as to reach Paris by the shortest possible route.

“Britain, allied to France by a more loosely worded treaty which placed a "moral obligation" upon her to defend France, declared war against Germany on 4 August. Her reason for entering the conflict lay in another direction: she was obligated to defend neutral Belgium by the terms of a 75-year old treaty. With Germany's invasion of Belgium on 4 August, and the Belgian King's appeal to Britain for assistance, Britain committed herself to Belgium's defence later that day. Like France, she was by extension also at war with Austria-Hungary.

“With Britain's entry into the war, her colonies and dominions abroad variously offered military and financial assistance, and included Australia, Canada, India, New Zealand and the Union of South Africa.

“United States President Woodrow Wilson declared a U.S. policy of absolute neutrality, an official stance that would last until 1917 when Germany's policy of unrestricted submarine warfare - which seriously threatened America's commercial shipping (which was in any event almost entirely directed towards the Allies led by Britain and France) - forced the U.S. to finally enter the war on 6 April 1917.

“Japan, honouring a military agreement with Britain, declared war on Germany on 23 August 1914. Two days later Austria-Hungary responded by declaring war on Japan.

“Italy, although allied to both Germany and Austria-Hungary, was able to avoid entering the fray by citing a clause enabling it to evade its obligations to both. In short, Italy was committed to defend Germany and Austria-Hungary only in the event of a 'defensive' war; arguing that their actions were 'offensive' she declared instead a policy of neutrality. The following year, in May 1915, she finally joined the conflict by siding with the Allies against her two former allies.”

Before anybody knew it, it became a global war, and hundreds of thousands got killed, for no apparent fault of theirs. But the spirit of “Christmas Truce” in the trenches of

France

made heart-melting reading. Thanks Ratna. If only people decide what they want politically, and whether they want to get killed in a foreign country, or celebrate the spirit of love, which is the theme of Christmas. I wish; I wish.

Happy Yuletide; Happy Christmas!

zenwriter@gmail.com — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 23:23:56 PST

Yuletide greetings! For those who don’t know yuletide is the season before Christmas and Boxing Day is the day after Christmas (thanks, Peter Griffin for the clarification). Time for a bit of introspection and retrospection, which is what I generally do before Christmas. The church carols are over; a carolling party came home and went. I bought plum cakes from the Sassanian bakery at Dhobi Talao which is nearby the office. A Parsi man objected to my bag touching him, he also laughed a typically Parsi laugh as he told me so. Trust the Parsis to be gentle with criticism, too. I love this community, their quirkiness, their cosmopolitanism, their spirit of brotherhood, their cultural assimilation; the protagonist of my novel is one.

So, what next? Next is what is Christmas; the joyous occasion of the birth of Christ, the season of joy, as it is termed. But thousands are dying of the cold and adverse conditions throughout the world. And, most importantly, Jesus was born in a cold manger not in a five-hotel resounding with the strains of dance music and the merry laughter of flirting couples. Ahem! My intention is not to sound holier-than-thou, but to think of people who don’t have a ceiling over their heads, as we do. Poverty is never more felt than during Christmas. What is trumpeted is the feeling of joy, but it is also the time of intense sorrow and depression. Many commit suicide, many descend into addiction, many are the homes that break up during this season.

Nevertheless, notwithstanding, nonetheless, a happy Yuletide and a happy Christmas!

Some Thoughts for Christmas. Can’t Believe It’s That Time of the Year to Be Jolly!

zenwriter@gmail.com — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 21:08:20 PST

It's Christmas once again! I don't know how time has passed, and the songs on my lips, as I take my shower (disclosure: I am an unashamed bathroom singer) are: "Deck the halls with boughs of holly", "I am dreaming of a white Christmas", "Christmas is the season", etc. I love to sing them, out of key, out of harmony. But what a changed Christmas: moved into my new house, the shadow of the recession hasn't lifted from my head, work, well, work is work, never ending. I haven't seen my novel to the end. Don't get the time to steer it towards the end, though I am so charged up with ideas, I only have time to drop into bed after the day and dinner is done. Guess, it will have to wait. Meanwhile I am at a crucial juncture when my protagonist mulls if he should or shouldn't have sex with his secretary. Any suggestions? Ideas? Is it ethical? He is not a very ethical person, too. Consider that.

Hm. How do I celebrate the spirit of Joy that is Christmas, then?

I used to send a lot of cards during Christmas, to my brother, sisters, cousins, friends. But now, we make a phone call, not send cards. And, here too, we make compromises. We put off calling, or, when we call the other party is either busy, else, his or her mobile is dead. Technology gives you a lot of choices, but we are left confused by the choices we are given. Most of my business contacts phone me on my cell phone rather than my office extension. The result is that they find it convenient to disturb me when I am commuting and when I am in the bathroom. Damn! I can't hear a thing when I am in a train, because of the background noises, and the constant jabber of my fellow passengers. It's good we have mobile phones, but we communicate even less and less. A friend got upset that I had disturbed him on his holiday. I don't know in what critical dilemma he was in when I called. But he later made up, so it's okay.

Both Anthonybhai and Kuriachen Kuriakose, regulars in this blog send their greetings to my readers for Christmas. But maro friend Dhansukhbhai Jethalal Shah, one of the biggest money bags of Bombay, is sulking because the market is going through a volatile phase. His company's shares have dropped like the burnt remains of the fireworks of Christmas.

Of Copenhagen and Prostitution of the Media

zenwriter@gmail.com — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 21:50:20 PST

So? Now that this blogger has left the big folly that was Copenhagen behind, he is at a loss to understand and reconcile with what happened. A lot of powerful people gathered there. Sure. Surely they all had children – Obama has Malia Anne and a second daughter, Natasha; Berlusconi has a few: Pier Silvio Berlusconi, Barbara Berlusconi, Eleonora Berlusconi, Luigi Berlusconi; Sarkozy has: Pierre Sarkozy (by Culioli), Jean Sarkozy (by Culioli), Louis Sarkozy (by Ciganer-Albéniz). Now didn't any of them think of their children and their grandchildren when framing the terms of climate control? Hm. What I am asking is rhetorical in the extreme, I know, I know. But don't they realize they are cheating their children and grandchildren out of a good life, a reasonably good and honest life enjoying the bliss of nature and its produce.

Duh, there I go all preachy and maudlin sentimental. But Copenhagen, people, readers of this blog, was a big disappointment, and I can't get over it.

Vir Sanghvi, whose gastronomically delightful shows I sit through out of habit on discovery travel and living – though I don't like his accent which starts with a treble in every sentence and tries (um, unsuccessfully) to end in a base tone – has this to say about the prostitution of media space, considering that most politicians bought editorial space – as distinct from advertisement space – in the recently concluded Lok Sabha election.

Copenhagen – “A First Step in Several First Steps”

zenwriter@gmail.com — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 05:11:05 PST

Says Anu Jogesh from Copenhagen in this article in business.com:

"To me, it's the first step in a series of first steps over the last 17 years. Kyoto, which couldn't get the US on board, was a first step, Bali where any semblance of a global emission target disappeared was a first step, and Copenhagen where no country signed up is being seen as a first step."

Clearly shows there wasn't an accord. Why don't they realize that the environment not a single country's responsibility - not poor, not developing, not developed - but that of the entire earth, the whole jing bang world? The article also shows Barack Obama as an old man in 2020 saying, "I am sorry. We could have stopped catastrophic climate change… we didn't." Exactly. The man won the Nobel Peace Prize not the Nobel Prize for Environment. They were supposed to reiterate the fact that the problem exists for the thousands of "nay sayers" who don't even believe that we are sitting on complacently on a powder keg about to explode, a boiler that is about to go, "boom." Guess, the leaders who were in Copenhagen didn't agree on cutting down on emission of gaseous carbon, but, instead, produced a lot of gas, ho hum, I mean of the verbal variety. No, not that, puhleeeze!

So be prepared to re-locate to higher ground, put on raincoats, wear bare minimum clothing (because of the sweating), cut hair closer to the skull (like some clones do) or wear a pony tail, which I am thinking of doing as I keep my hair rather long. From now the shadow is upon our children, we have robbed them of this beautiful world, a unique world, the only living, thinking world we know of in the universe, the only evolved culture and civilization we are aware exists, the only body of knowledge gathered scientifically and methodically, the only concept that worships a being bigger than them. From now on it's only extremes in this world: stifling hot or biting cold, drought or floods, riches or poverty, passivism or extreme fundamentalism, etc., etc., I could go on…. I will stop for now.

The Truth about Copenhagen

zenwriter@gmail.com — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 20:35:32 PST

Have you noticed? It's difficult following the talks on climate control in Copenhagen. Damn difficult. Nobody knows what the new norms of emission are. All we know is Obama got together some face saving compromise. Which is? Will it save mankind? Nobody knows.

The world media is not like it was before. There is misinformation everywhere and people, especially journalists, aren't asking the right questions. Or those that do haven't been given the chance to ask them. We know Obama did some last minute accord, but nobody knows what. I surfed the net, perused the newspapers, and listened to bland talk on television by so-called experts. But the truth remains hidden as it always has been. Yes, there are streaming videos of Obama, sound bites, audios, by the dozens, no, millions. But the truth is: there is no news on the accord on climate control from Copenhagen. That's the truth.

I should say it is frustrating that is happening when there's media here, there, everywhere, making shrill pronouncements but not being able to get facts. And to think I saw a documentary on National Geographic yesterday which stated that we would end this planet if we don't cut down on emissions. It's titled "The Big Melt". Go watch. It shows a graph where the carbon emission level takes a steep climb, and it doesn't seem to stop. Simultaneously, it shows scientists in the Arctic, Antarctic and Greenland measuring the amount of ice melting and glaciers retreating. They say if it continues all the ice could melt in a couple of years and the sea levels could rise by a few metres. The world is a beautiful place why do we want to kill it, steal it from our children? Why do we want to self-destruct it and leave it desolate with our greed? Well, I could go on.

That's goodbye to backwaters in Kerala, entire country of Maldives, Vietnam, large parts of Indonesia and could be even Bombay and New York (costal cities).

Musings on a Sunday Morning

zenwriter@gmail.com — Sat, 19 Dec 2009 23:46:49 PST

This morning, I woke up late, being a Sunday, and I sat of the terrace of my house in Artist Village looking at the blue Parsik Hills, that surround our little valley on the edge of a rain forest and thought how insignificant are our worries, anxieties and frustrations when compared to the inexorable march of nature and history. I was reading my favourite book – the Bible. It is a best-seller all right, and contains everything from murder, deceit, rape, harlotry, seduction, etc. I am reading Genesis, and this is part of a project to read the bible as another book, say a novel, as a progression of event that marked the coming of Christ. I read how

Judah

’s daughter-in-law seduced her father-in-law pretending to be a harlot. I also read how the wife of the Egyptian captain-of-the-guard of the Pharoh tried to seduce Joseph into lying with her and when he didn’t, alleged that he had tried to rape her. All too common events we encounter in life. Must say reading of the word, whether the Bible, Ramayana, Mahabharata, etc. puts things in perspective.

When I read the Bible as a chronicle of my faith I understand the greatness of humanity, of the written word, the propagation of faith implicit in it. But if we read only a part of it, for example, that how the daughter-in-law seduced the father-in-law pretending to be a harlot and interpret it as the gospel truth and therefore admissible in society, as a precedent exists in it, and fight for it to be legalised, then, that’s where most interpretations of the holy books go wrong. They do it. That’s where fundamentalism creepily sidles in and the zealots begin waving flags and clanging their religious cymbals. They say that since it has precedence in the holy book it is condonable by law and they demand laws passed in this advanced stage of human consciousness based on the less-intellectually-evolved social conscience of those days.

Take today’s literary world. Umbrage is taken on the contents of a book even before people have bought and read the contents of its pages. They buy a book to read a certain chapter, or a passage and start hitting out at the author. I am sure they would think otherwise if they read the entire book, starting from page one to where it says “the end.” Simple enough to say, but hard to do. We humans have a tendency to jump to conclusions, even I.

Indian Society, Politics, Business Still Work on Caste Lines

zenwriter@gmail.com — Fri, 18 Dec 2009 22:27:56 PST

You wonder why everything in India goes the caste and creed way. Really, I wonder. For example step into a Gujju organization and you will find all the top level executives are, you guessed who. Likewise if it is a Kayastha organization, you will find Kayasthas in key positions, if it is a Brahmin organization, you will find Brahmins in key positions, if it is a Jain organization you will find Jains in key positions. The problem is endemic, I worked for a Mallu organization (distantly related) and all the key people were Syrian Christian Mallus. I knew that if I played the Mallu card and pleased the bosses with some blandishments and obsequiousness, I could have stuck to the job, and jumping jimneys, become some hot shot like General Manager, or something. But I am not one for regrets. I have decided earlier in life to rise only if I deserve the rise, not otherwise (no asslicking for me!). Guess that's why I am still stuck somewhere in the lower rungs. Actually there are only a very few organizations which are really professionally managed. All the rest are organized into caste feudalities, governed by their own satraps.

The idea of a person getting into a job with a company and bringing along his kin from his village hasn't ended even in twenty-first century India, I suppose. It still shows at what atavistic level Indian society operates. Even political outfits function in this paradigm. The SP, BJP, Congress, all have their caste equations. In a state if a Brahmins dominate a party all Brahmins will vote for that party. Same applies if an Ahir, Gujjar, Rajput, Kayastha is in power.

Isn't it time we changed this?

Today Is Saki's Birthday

zenwriter@gmail.com — Fri, 18 Dec 2009 09:26:40 PST

Today is Saki’s birthday. We had a story in our English text book in school by him, I don't remember which. Memory fails. (Before my critics claim I have Alzheimer's, let me clarify. No, neither has Alzheirmer's nor growing old has anything to do with it, I was always forgetful.) Hector Hugh Munro, better known by the pen name “Saki” satirised the Edwardian society and culture. Saki, according to some accounts, was the cupbearer in The Rubayat of Omar Khayyam, an ancient Persian poem. His stories were caricatures of people, making them look ridiculous. He was killed in World War I by a German sniper, and his famous last words were, "Put that damned cigarette out!"

He wrote books such as The Rise of the Russian Empire and When William Came. He shares more than a few similarities with Rudyard Kipling. Both were born in India, were brought up by strict aunts and both wrote about apparently bizzare subjects.

Some Random Ramblings on a Frustrating Friday

zenwriter@gmail.com — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 21:05:14 PST

I had meant to write about this for a long time. But since Ratna Rajaiah has beaten me to it with this lovely article, I will cease and desist. The tiger's romp in the woods comes as a great surprise, but most of us aren't surprised. The escapades of our leaders and politicians haven't been documented, which is small mercy. Were it to be done, the holier-than-thous would become fallen angels, pardon the bad simile. Hm. So this frustrating Friday when the week is progressing to a fitting finale, some rambling thoughts.

There's our Deepy-baby who ditched Donny-baba and Raj-babu and hitched up with Ranu, the youngest silver-spoon-in-mouth scion of the Kapoor family. News is she is out of sorts with him too. What I can't understand is how all this remains hush-hush. I guess the public relations gurus work overtime on their accounts, which is why. But these days we can't trust anything that appears in print or television. I trust Facebook more because it is an exchange between a known group of acquaintances, and you can't spread falsehoods among friends can you? I get most of my news from there be it deaths: Michael Jackson, Patrick Swayze, or my friends Manoj Rane or poet Dilip Chitre.

Why do I trust Facebook more? I don't have any clear reasons, but, on a primary level, I am in a lonely profession, which gets achingly lonely most of the time, and I like to connect with kindred fellow writers online (after all, this vanishing breed is notoriously shy and despondent). So online life for me is social life, and has been for some time.

A Little Sparring between Kindred Bloggers!

zenwriter@gmail.com — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 02:47:19 PST

This blog has been moving up in blogosphere. (After all, what's a little sparring between kindred blogs? Hope you will forgive me those bloggers who I feature below:

Blog	Author	Technorati Authority	Overall World Ranking
http://johnpmathew.blogspot.com	John P Matthew	126	30392
http://indiauncut.com/iublog	Amit Varma	124	32844
http://jaiarjun.blogspot.com	Jai Arjun	111	60105
http://sadoldbong.blogspot.com	J.A.P.	99	82002
http://middlestage.blogspot.com	Chandrahas Chaudhari	106	68980

Amit is the leader by far and the more talented and prolific blogger, but my blog is ahead in the Technorati Ranking and in the overall world ranking. Does that make me India's leading blogger? Don't know, it remains to be seen.

Copenhagen: We Are Sweating in Winter!

zenwriter@gmail.com — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 20:54:59 PST

Read some depressing news on the talks going on in Copenhagen. Yesterday evening was very warm, I should say hot. I found, suddenly, that I was sweating in winter. I had to remove my sleeveless LL Bean jacket I wear during winter for protection against sudden cold. Even then I was uncomfortable, the shirt was wet, the bodies around me in the train were hot and were shifting uncomfortably, seated as I was face level against the round lips of a man's ample behind. Yeah, that's how I travel these days on the Harbour Branch of Bombay's famed suburban railway system.

The heat is inexplicable. Usually Bombay is pleasantly cold in the morning and evening, and slightly warm during the day in winter, which is okay. But yesterday I found myself fretting, frustrated that I wasn't able to concentrate on the book I had in my hand (Meena Alexander's Manhattan Music).

The world's chattering classes and faltering masses are now in Copenhagen trying to arrive at a consensus on global warming issues. There has been no consensus so far. I have been following it for some time, with frustration and above usual level of anxiety. No one is agreeing that the planet is going through a dire crisis and cities are being overloaded with people displaced by the after-effects of warming. (I know some people will dispute this, but I am reserving my reasons for a later post.) While they play their petty politicking games we the miserable citizens of the badly affected cities – mostly in developing and under developed economies of India, China, Brazil and other high in the misery index - are sweating it out.

Can we have some consensus soon please? We are sweating and guess you need to switch off your air-conditioners, climate controllers, whatever, to see what we are going through.

Why I Like Football

zenwriter@gmail.com — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 04:35:11 PST

On the way to work I can see cute girls in green striped jerseys playing football at the Goan Sports Association football ground at Cross Maidan, Churchgate. Makes me think of the green football jersey I had when I was in the Somaiya College of Science football team, Vidyavihar, for which I didn't play a single game. I was one of the extras. Well, hm, I have played the game and love it still. It requires skills, keeps the body toned, and you can strike the ball all over the field. That's the game I love to watch on teevee. Atta girls, football's the game for you to keep mind, body and soul together. This also refers to this post where I lamented (quite ingenuously, I suppose) why I hate cricket. Mercifully, there were no hate mails, or, hate comments, whatever. There were a few nice comments agreeing with my viewpoint for which thanks are due. Thanks.