Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Friday, September 08, 2006
Schrödinger's cat
I was sitting around wondering whether sending someone a text msg at three in the night would constitute apalling egregiousness. And, well, i came to the conclusion that the situation is sorta like that of schrödinger's cat. I can't really be booked for being apallingly evil unless my msg does wake the person up. Right..?
Schrödinger's cat isnot dead.
the 'not' in that line has blink tags. which IE no longer supports. woe is me.. :(
anyhow, do read the side-splittingly funny 'The story of Schroedinger's cat (an epic poem)' by Cecil Adams from The Straight Dope. It made my night.
How sad Is my life.. (to the sound of acerbic laughter)
n.b. : 'I don't hold with cruelty to cats.'
Schrödinger's cat is
the 'not' in that line has blink tags. which IE no longer supports. woe is me.. :(
anyhow, do read the side-splittingly funny 'The story of Schroedinger's cat (an epic poem)' by Cecil Adams from The Straight Dope. It made my night.
How sad Is my life.. (to the sound of acerbic laughter)
n.b. : 'I don't hold with cruelty to cats.'
Monday, August 28, 2006
43
"I have a dream, that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.'
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave-owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood. I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today."
Martin Luther King, Jr.,
August 28th, 1963,
On the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C., addressing more than 200,000 people attending the March on Washington.
In the year after the March on Washington, the American civil rights movement achieved two of its greatest successes: the ratification of the 24th Amendment to the Constitution, which abolished the poll tax which was a barrier to poor African American voters; and the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, which outlawed racial discrimination in employment and education and racial segregation in public facilities.
I'm jus saying..
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave-owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood. I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today."
Martin Luther King, Jr.,
August 28th, 1963,
On the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C., addressing more than 200,000 people attending the March on Washington.
In the year after the March on Washington, the American civil rights movement achieved two of its greatest successes: the ratification of the 24th Amendment to the Constitution, which abolished the poll tax which was a barrier to poor African American voters; and the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, which outlawed racial discrimination in employment and education and racial segregation in public facilities.
I'm jus saying..
Ask Onnie
Why is it that so many of us end up with a person who is completely wrong for us? Let’s dissect the problem scientifically. The guy seemed amazing enough when you started out, right? So what is it that now makes you want to sock him in the eye whenever he is within a 5 kilometer radius?
Oh I know, he was just sooo cute back when! His elbows would stick out at angles from the rest of him, his hair was always endearingly mussed up and he would whistle while he worked.
And now he is just so irritating! He whistles while he works, his elbows stick out at angles from the rest of him and his hair is always mussed up. Yetch!
A rational reason for this could be that we rush in headlong without grokking the situation. No, it’s not an old wives’ tale. Just imagine, you are all worked up and your sympathetic nervous system is on overdrive. Your pupils are perpetually dilated and you look at the world as if through a soft focus lens, with all the jagged edges blurred out. All capacity for rational thought goes right out the window. Is it any wonder then that the person you have a crush on seems most enchanting and perfectly perfect?
But how long can this precarious phase last?
A couple of months down the lane the endorphin induced high peters off and all the kinks you found so endearing in the person can now be seen for what they truly are. Six months and they begin to grate on your nerves. Throw in a couple of weeks and you are now wondering what in heaven’s name were you thinking!
A crush usually runs its course over four months (to a maximum of one year if you are the really soppy sort. Anything longer than that and you might want to consider making an appointment with your family psychiatrist to discuss obsessive compulsive disorder). This process of course, takes half the time if you strike up a relationship with the object of your infatuation. For the simple reason that that would involve being bright eyed about slave labour.
(unless you are one of the rare species that lend the girl their jacket, rate B&B and the OC over football; remember anniversaries and favorite ice cream flavors and buy thoughtful yet utterly useless presents out of habit) (You are?! Erm... are you straight? May I have your phone number?).
Now, this dude/dame you have a crush on could be a genuine A1 sweetheart with a heart of gold, an infinite improbability drive and the works, but you can’t really rule out the possibility of their being cold, calculating slave drivers who can’t tell people from disposable diapers.(you are incapable of rational thought, remember?)
All I’m saying is that if lady luck never quite liked the shape of your ears it might not be such a bad idea to consider the situation before going on your knees to profess undying love.
Which of course, is useless advice since you are incapable of rational thought, but anyhow.
p.s. :
By saying all this I do not intend to sound disillusioned or disgruntled. The ‘true love’ phenomenon might just exist in spite of the superior smirks with which we settle the issue. This could of course be entirely due to the fact that I’m an agnostic and not an atheist; a point of view that isn’t limited to religion alone. Anyhow, we might as well keep room for the possibility, in which case I suggest the contingency plan be to not waste time making contingency plans
Oh I know, he was just sooo cute back when! His elbows would stick out at angles from the rest of him, his hair was always endearingly mussed up and he would whistle while he worked.
And now he is just so irritating! He whistles while he works, his elbows stick out at angles from the rest of him and his hair is always mussed up. Yetch!
A rational reason for this could be that we rush in headlong without grokking the situation. No, it’s not an old wives’ tale. Just imagine, you are all worked up and your sympathetic nervous system is on overdrive. Your pupils are perpetually dilated and you look at the world as if through a soft focus lens, with all the jagged edges blurred out. All capacity for rational thought goes right out the window. Is it any wonder then that the person you have a crush on seems most enchanting and perfectly perfect?
But how long can this precarious phase last?
A couple of months down the lane the endorphin induced high peters off and all the kinks you found so endearing in the person can now be seen for what they truly are. Six months and they begin to grate on your nerves. Throw in a couple of weeks and you are now wondering what in heaven’s name were you thinking!
A crush usually runs its course over four months (to a maximum of one year if you are the really soppy sort. Anything longer than that and you might want to consider making an appointment with your family psychiatrist to discuss obsessive compulsive disorder). This process of course, takes half the time if you strike up a relationship with the object of your infatuation. For the simple reason that that would involve being bright eyed about slave labour.
(unless you are one of the rare species that lend the girl their jacket, rate B&B and the OC over football; remember anniversaries and favorite ice cream flavors and buy thoughtful yet utterly useless presents out of habit) (You are?! Erm... are you straight? May I have your phone number?).
Now, this dude/dame you have a crush on could be a genuine A1 sweetheart with a heart of gold, an infinite improbability drive and the works, but you can’t really rule out the possibility of their being cold, calculating slave drivers who can’t tell people from disposable diapers.(you are incapable of rational thought, remember?)
All I’m saying is that if lady luck never quite liked the shape of your ears it might not be such a bad idea to consider the situation before going on your knees to profess undying love.
Which of course, is useless advice since you are incapable of rational thought, but anyhow.
p.s. :
By saying all this I do not intend to sound disillusioned or disgruntled. The ‘true love’ phenomenon might just exist in spite of the superior smirks with which we settle the issue. This could of course be entirely due to the fact that I’m an agnostic and not an atheist; a point of view that isn’t limited to religion alone. Anyhow, we might as well keep room for the possibility, in which case I suggest the contingency plan be to not waste time making contingency plans
Monday, May 01, 2006
trivia..
Ten Top Trivia Tips about Onyma!
- The most dangerous form of Onyma is the bicycle.
- If every star in the Milky Way was a grain of salt they would fill Onyma.
- Onyma is the oldest playable musical instrument in the world.
- Forty percent of the world's almonds and twenty percent of the world's peanuts are used in the manufacture of Onyma!
- Two grams of Onyma provide enough energy to power a television for over twenty-three hours.
- Onyma was originally called Cheerioats.
- The deepest part of Onyma is over 35,000 feet deep!
- Ancient Chinese artists would never paint pictures of Onyma.
- Olive oil was used for washing Onyma in the ancient Mediterranean world.
- The pigment Indian Yellow was manufactured from the urine of cows fed only on Onyma!
Friday, April 14, 2006
What's all the fuss about Orkut!
What’s with everybody! Suddenly it's as though everyone I know is on Orkut and I’m the only person who's looking in standing on the outside. I mean, hey! it’s just an online community, right? How marvellously brilliant can it be?! You can't really prefer talking to me over the internet than in person.. or can you...
Oh well, I’m caving in. I’m not the strong and silent type (special stress on the silent bit). It’s like with the cell phone. From cellibate to cell-out (No, they're Not typos) before one could say tele.com.mu.ni.ca.tion. And anyhow I am an ardent believer in the charm of the fifth invite.
So let’s hear the drum roll. Ready or not. Here I come.
Oh well, I’m caving in. I’m not the strong and silent type (special stress on the silent bit). It’s like with the cell phone. From cellibate to cell-out (No, they're Not typos) before one could say tele.com.mu.ni.ca.tion. And anyhow I am an ardent believer in the charm of the fifth invite.
So let’s hear the drum roll. Ready or not. Here I come.
the objects object
24th February, 12:25 am
Picture this:
An assorted group of people standing at the steps of a college.
The same bevy now standing outside the only place that serves food at this hour in a city that swears by the maxim of early to bed (at least ; if not early to rise), but this time through they stand together, if only by the virtue of being in an alien place.
Tired eyes. Weary from having waited on the whims of judges and quirky participants at one of the many competitions colleges seem to hold during the ‘fest season’. And let’s not forget hungry.
Amongst these, a gaggle of chattering lasses draped in sarees. Clustering together as girls in sarees invariably will. You are one of them. A little circle of ogling eyes forms around the group. Disembodied eyes. Like those of pack wolves closing in. The congregation moves indoors, into the glaring white light of the 24 hour café at the station.
Walk in. Look around.
Shiny glass counters. Bright colours supposed to make one feel cheerful. Cling-foil wrapped. Insipid. Cold. That goes for the food as well.
Sit down on the chrome chairs with their ultra-last high gloss polish and you notice that the eyes have followed you in. 15 minutes into the ritual hour-long wait for the food to arrive you realize that the supposedly disembodied eyes have voices. LOUD voices. And the theme of the confab is YOU! Every single one of you. This is no sotto voce discourse either. Everything from tip of your toes upwards has come under careful scrutiny and is now being opined upon with noisy animation punctuated with gasps. Which, obviously, you all regard with a studied, condescending disdain. And then out come the camera phones.. This cant be for real! This cannot be happening! You girls outnumber them for heaven’s sake! And if that isn’t enough you are sharing the table with a dozen or more guys.
But it is.
Now for the weird part : these guys look like regular people. Trousers trying but failing miserably to hang onto some last vestige of a behind, hair stuck at weird angles with globs of styling gel and t-shirts advertising the latest design house for free. In a word –Normal– as normal as our ‘identity crisis poster-boy’ generation gets, anyway. Man! Haven’t they heard that all horrid people are required by law to resemble gargoyles so you don’t end up talking with them by day?
Meanwhile, the aggravatingly blatant play at gaining your collective attention just gets more glaring. The throbbing at your temples has attained a fevered pitch and you want to give them just that : your Total, Undivided Attention. While you cause them lasting physical damage. Like by slow roasting them on a spit. Or sewing up their mouths with a thick gauge needle. Or pushing tin tacks through the hands holding up the phones, one finger at a time. Slow. Yeeees … slow is good.
But (I really must stop beginning sentences with a but) you are held back by the awareness that driving a spit through someone in a largely public place where not many people prescribe to cannibalism would obviously create a scene. And one must NEVER create a scene. Even if it costs one one’s self respect.
Put your head in your lap. Look elsewhere. Ignore them.
Pretend this isn’t really happening.
Pretend your skull isn’t going to burst with the deafening din building up in your head.
Pretend you feel safe seated with a dozen boys (men?) at your table.
Pretend you can walk with your head held up after you’ve pretended all this.
P.S.:
In all fairness the guys with us were way at the other end and didn’t see these other people.
For the first time in my life I acted like a spineless wimp. I did have reasons but in retrospect they sound more like excuses for not having done the right thing.
Truly speaking, what do I know about being objectified. I sit in front of the flickering monitor curled up in a comfy chair, my hair dripping water from a bath onto my collar, ensconced in the quiet of my room. Yet, I read about the skewed sex ratio in most parts of India and about the bride market in Haryana and I’m not surprised. We’re not really people, you see, we’re just commodities. Objects; to be bought and sold and haggled over. Next stall to the vegetable vendors.
Oh, well. Maybe I’m just too cynical.
I sure hope so.
Picture this:
An assorted group of people standing at the steps of a college.
The same bevy now standing outside the only place that serves food at this hour in a city that swears by the maxim of early to bed (at least ; if not early to rise), but this time through they stand together, if only by the virtue of being in an alien place.
Tired eyes. Weary from having waited on the whims of judges and quirky participants at one of the many competitions colleges seem to hold during the ‘fest season’. And let’s not forget hungry.
Amongst these, a gaggle of chattering lasses draped in sarees. Clustering together as girls in sarees invariably will. You are one of them. A little circle of ogling eyes forms around the group. Disembodied eyes. Like those of pack wolves closing in. The congregation moves indoors, into the glaring white light of the 24 hour café at the station.
Walk in. Look around.
Shiny glass counters. Bright colours supposed to make one feel cheerful. Cling-foil wrapped. Insipid. Cold. That goes for the food as well.
Sit down on the chrome chairs with their ultra-last high gloss polish and you notice that the eyes have followed you in. 15 minutes into the ritual hour-long wait for the food to arrive you realize that the supposedly disembodied eyes have voices. LOUD voices. And the theme of the confab is YOU! Every single one of you. This is no sotto voce discourse either. Everything from tip of your toes upwards has come under careful scrutiny and is now being opined upon with noisy animation punctuated with gasps. Which, obviously, you all regard with a studied, condescending disdain. And then out come the camera phones.. This cant be for real! This cannot be happening! You girls outnumber them for heaven’s sake! And if that isn’t enough you are sharing the table with a dozen or more guys.
But it is.
Now for the weird part : these guys look like regular people. Trousers trying but failing miserably to hang onto some last vestige of a behind, hair stuck at weird angles with globs of styling gel and t-shirts advertising the latest design house for free. In a word –Normal– as normal as our ‘identity crisis poster-boy’ generation gets, anyway. Man! Haven’t they heard that all horrid people are required by law to resemble gargoyles so you don’t end up talking with them by day?
Meanwhile, the aggravatingly blatant play at gaining your collective attention just gets more glaring. The throbbing at your temples has attained a fevered pitch and you want to give them just that : your Total, Undivided Attention. While you cause them lasting physical damage. Like by slow roasting them on a spit. Or sewing up their mouths with a thick gauge needle. Or pushing tin tacks through the hands holding up the phones, one finger at a time. Slow. Yeeees … slow is good.
But (I really must stop beginning sentences with a but) you are held back by the awareness that driving a spit through someone in a largely public place where not many people prescribe to cannibalism would obviously create a scene. And one must NEVER create a scene. Even if it costs one one’s self respect.
Put your head in your lap. Look elsewhere. Ignore them.
Pretend this isn’t really happening.
Pretend your skull isn’t going to burst with the deafening din building up in your head.
Pretend you feel safe seated with a dozen boys (men?) at your table.
Pretend you can walk with your head held up after you’ve pretended all this.
P.S.:
In all fairness the guys with us were way at the other end and didn’t see these other people.
For the first time in my life I acted like a spineless wimp. I did have reasons but in retrospect they sound more like excuses for not having done the right thing.
Truly speaking, what do I know about being objectified. I sit in front of the flickering monitor curled up in a comfy chair, my hair dripping water from a bath onto my collar, ensconced in the quiet of my room. Yet, I read about the skewed sex ratio in most parts of India and about the bride market in Haryana and I’m not surprised. We’re not really people, you see, we’re just commodities. Objects; to be bought and sold and haggled over. Next stall to the vegetable vendors.
Oh, well. Maybe I’m just too cynical.
I sure hope so.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Maharashtra Resident Doctors' strike
After a gruelling 12 days the indefinite strike by the resident doctors has been called off by the Maharashtra Association of Resident Doctors (MARD) (wonder what they were thinking when they came up with the acronym. On second thoughts, I’d rather not know). The impasse between the negotiating parties ended after over nine hours of negotiations.
“The Government has agreed to all our demands and we will be joining duties from tomorrow 8 a.m. (those in Mumbai) and within 24 hours (in other parts Maharashtra).” says yesterday’s post on the MARD blog covering the strike. The 10 point demands included improvements in the hospital working conditions, security, doctor-patient ratio and stipend as well as timely MCI recognition and livable accommodation for the doctors.
Commendable yet surprising is the alacrity with which the government has handled the situation (I could’ve said Jack Robinson a couple of million times over, yes, but 12days is still pretty good for an apathetic bureaucracy. And as for the strike, it was no walkover).
Since as far as one can look back strikes by resident doctors once every three to four years have become the rule rather than an aberration. The demands too are predictable: better working conditions, a rise in stipend and better accommodation. And why wouldn’t they be. Imagine having to share a poky , ill ventilated room with 7 people, sleeping on mattresses and linen infested with bed-bugs - that is if you get time too sleep at all from your 24x7 schedule. Add to this toilets that stink worse than the ones at public bus-stations, regular thefts of belongings from hostel rooms, the constant threat of contracting work related diseases like TB, AIDS and Hepatitis B, duties of as much as 48 hrs at a stretch; all this for a measly Rs. 8340/month, while their counterparts in Delhi get around Rs. 20,000*. And to top it all they get manhandled by irate relatives of patients.
This significant issue of security at the workplace has come into sharp focus since the August-September 2005 strike at JJ. What else do you do when push comes to shove, literally. Bihar has witnessed several protest strikes by the medical fraternity in the wake of the kidnapping of doctors. The junior doctors in Lucknow, Kanpur and Allahabad struck work this January because their colleagues were allegedly manhandled by police recruits on a train. The latest in a series of incidents in the country where the safety of doctors has been compromised is the assault on a doctor of the Forensic Medicine department in Guru Teg Bahadur Hospital, Delhi on 8th March while conducting an autopsy.
In the past, the other consistent feature of these strikes has been that they have all failed. Miserably.
The doctors have been able to save face, yes, but that is about all that majority of these protests have amounted to.
What, then, was so different about this strike?
Was it the sheer scale of the protest? Was it the threat of nationwide repercussions by the IMA? "The government of Maharashtra should realize that the Indian Medical Association which has around two lakh doctors, will go on country wide strike and lot of skeletons will tumble out of the cupboards, not only of the state government, but also of the central government." stated Dr Ajay Kumar, the President elect, of the IMA.
Or is there anything different at all...
As per the compromise formula, resident doctors will now be accorded the status of public servants within the state of Maharashtra. This means that an assault on them would be a non bail able offence. That is one issue resolved.A four-member committee will be set up to look into their demands for better work hours and improved living conditions. "This will be a permanent committee and will meet frequently, take review of situations, and whenever required, will come to the government," Minister for Medical Education, Dilip Valse Patil, said. The Cabinet will discuss providing resident doctors a stipend of Rs 12,000 to Rs 13,000 per month. The government however, said that the MARD's demands can only be fulfilled when the necessary laws are amended. The stipend will be increased only after the cabinet approves it.
What this really means is that whether the terms of the agreement are fulfilled now depends on the follow-up by MARD. Which is in turn greatly affected by the fact that these are doctors and are busy working and learning and have exams to face at the end of it all. To assume that the government would not rely on this to bail it out would be a bit myopic.
All this needs to be taken into consideration before we take to the streets celebrating the victory. Can we really term it a victory?
I suppose time shall tell.
*click here for a comparative list of stipends in various state hospitals.
The MARD blog and website:
http://mard-strike.blogspot.com
http://www.mardtoday.bravehost.com/
Other related and articles and posts which make for an interesting read
(these are about earlier strikes):
Damned if you do, damned if you dont.
bandbajao.blogspot
P.S: the acronym made me think of many quite inappropriate things it might stand for, a brand name for sildenafil being one of the more chaste ones.
N.B.: It is pronounced mārd / maard, rhymes with card.
“The Government has agreed to all our demands and we will be joining duties from tomorrow 8 a.m. (those in Mumbai) and within 24 hours (in other parts Maharashtra).” says yesterday’s post on the MARD blog covering the strike. The 10 point demands included improvements in the hospital working conditions, security, doctor-patient ratio and stipend as well as timely MCI recognition and livable accommodation for the doctors.
Commendable yet surprising is the alacrity with which the government has handled the situation (I could’ve said Jack Robinson a couple of million times over, yes, but 12days is still pretty good for an apathetic bureaucracy. And as for the strike, it was no walkover).
Since as far as one can look back strikes by resident doctors once every three to four years have become the rule rather than an aberration. The demands too are predictable: better working conditions, a rise in stipend and better accommodation. And why wouldn’t they be. Imagine having to share a poky , ill ventilated room with 7 people, sleeping on mattresses and linen infested with bed-bugs - that is if you get time too sleep at all from your 24x7 schedule. Add to this toilets that stink worse than the ones at public bus-stations, regular thefts of belongings from hostel rooms, the constant threat of contracting work related diseases like TB, AIDS and Hepatitis B, duties of as much as 48 hrs at a stretch; all this for a measly Rs. 8340/month, while their counterparts in Delhi get around Rs. 20,000*. And to top it all they get manhandled by irate relatives of patients.
This significant issue of security at the workplace has come into sharp focus since the August-September 2005 strike at JJ. What else do you do when push comes to shove, literally. Bihar has witnessed several protest strikes by the medical fraternity in the wake of the kidnapping of doctors. The junior doctors in Lucknow, Kanpur and Allahabad struck work this January because their colleagues were allegedly manhandled by police recruits on a train. The latest in a series of incidents in the country where the safety of doctors has been compromised is the assault on a doctor of the Forensic Medicine department in Guru Teg Bahadur Hospital, Delhi on 8th March while conducting an autopsy.
In the past, the other consistent feature of these strikes has been that they have all failed. Miserably.
The doctors have been able to save face, yes, but that is about all that majority of these protests have amounted to.
What, then, was so different about this strike?
Was it the sheer scale of the protest? Was it the threat of nationwide repercussions by the IMA? "The government of Maharashtra should realize that the Indian Medical Association which has around two lakh doctors, will go on country wide strike and lot of skeletons will tumble out of the cupboards, not only of the state government, but also of the central government." stated Dr Ajay Kumar, the President elect, of the IMA.
Or is there anything different at all...
As per the compromise formula, resident doctors will now be accorded the status of public servants within the state of Maharashtra. This means that an assault on them would be a non bail able offence. That is one issue resolved.A four-member committee will be set up to look into their demands for better work hours and improved living conditions. "This will be a permanent committee and will meet frequently, take review of situations, and whenever required, will come to the government," Minister for Medical Education, Dilip Valse Patil, said. The Cabinet will discuss providing resident doctors a stipend of Rs 12,000 to Rs 13,000 per month. The government however, said that the MARD's demands can only be fulfilled when the necessary laws are amended. The stipend will be increased only after the cabinet approves it.
What this really means is that whether the terms of the agreement are fulfilled now depends on the follow-up by MARD. Which is in turn greatly affected by the fact that these are doctors and are busy working and learning and have exams to face at the end of it all. To assume that the government would not rely on this to bail it out would be a bit myopic.
All this needs to be taken into consideration before we take to the streets celebrating the victory. Can we really term it a victory?
I suppose time shall tell.
*click here for a comparative list of stipends in various state hospitals.
The MARD blog and website:
http://mard-strike.blogspot.com
http://www.mardtoday.bravehost.com/
Other related and articles and posts which make for an interesting read
(these are about earlier strikes):
Damned if you do, damned if you dont.
bandbajao.blogspot
P.S: the acronym made me think of many quite inappropriate things it might stand for, a brand name for sildenafil being one of the more chaste ones.
N.B.: It is pronounced mārd / maard, rhymes with card.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Without You
Artist - Marni Nixon (My Fair Lady soundtrack)
Album - My Fair Lady
Lyrics - Without You
Eliza (singing):What a fool I was, what a dominated fool,
to think you were the earth and the sky,
What a fool I was, What an addle-pated fool,
What a mutton-headed dolt was I!
No, my reverberating friend,
you are not the beginning and the end.
Professor Higgins (speaking): (blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.)
Eliza (singing): There'll be spring every year without you.
England still will be here without you.
There'll be fruit on the tree.
And a shore by the sea.
There'll be crumpets and tea without you.
Art and music will thrive without you.
Somehow Keats will survive without you.
And there still will be rain on that plain down in Spain,
even that will remain without you.
I can do without you.
You, dear friend, who taught so well,
You can go to ...... Hartford, Hereford and Hampshire.
They can still rule the land without you.
Windsor Castle will stand without you.
And without much ado we can all muddle through without you.
Professor Higgins: (mumble,mumble, gaaaarf.)
Eliza (singing): Without you're pulling it, the tide comes in,
Without your twirling it the Earth can spin,
Without your pushing them, the clouds roll by,
If they can do without you, ducky, so can I
I shall not feel alone without you
I can stand on my own without you
So go back in your shell
I can do bloody well
Without...
http://www.ez-tracks.com/getsong-songid-2101.html
Album - My Fair Lady
Lyrics - Without You
Eliza (singing):What a fool I was, what a dominated fool,
to think you were the earth and the sky,
What a fool I was, What an addle-pated fool,
What a mutton-headed dolt was I!
No, my reverberating friend,
you are not the beginning and the end.
Professor Higgins (speaking): (blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.)
Eliza (singing): There'll be spring every year without you.
England still will be here without you.
There'll be fruit on the tree.
And a shore by the sea.
There'll be crumpets and tea without you.
Art and music will thrive without you.
Somehow Keats will survive without you.
And there still will be rain on that plain down in Spain,
even that will remain without you.
I can do without you.
You, dear friend, who taught so well,
You can go to ...... Hartford, Hereford and Hampshire.
They can still rule the land without you.
Windsor Castle will stand without you.
And without much ado we can all muddle through without you.
Professor Higgins: (mumble,mumble, gaaaarf.)
Eliza (singing): Without you're pulling it, the tide comes in,
Without your twirling it the Earth can spin,
Without your pushing them, the clouds roll by,
If they can do without you, ducky, so can I
I shall not feel alone without you
I can stand on my own without you
So go back in your shell
I can do bloody well
Without...
http://www.ez-tracks.com/getsong-songid-2101.html
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
The picture
This is a pic of me and lil sis back when she was knee high to a grasshopper and had a particular taste for Barbie heads and buttons and anything that resembled either.
More than a month
Gawd! I haven’t put a post up in ages!
Certainly not for the lack of topics to carp about. On the contrary I have been involved in a ridiculously ginormous amount of ‘stuff ’. (‘ginormous’ is a throwback to my primary school days. That and delumptious and scrumplicious which I have always thought of as legitimate words thanks to madame E.Blyton. ‘Stuff’ on the other hand is this neat little word with just the right measure of ambiguity which has bailed me out of many a sticky situation back in secondary school. )
Lets see, I’ve been away for more than a month.. I would write about my birthday resolutions but I’ve already broken all of them except for the one about not spending too much time online and for that I have Bogus Sanchar Nigam Ltd to thank.
I should give an account of the basic mountaineering camp I went to where I learnt that your toes freezing right off your feet is no reason for being let off the morning drill (which for some unfathomable reason was always at 6am in the middle of the night). I also learnt some important life-lessons but everyone must figure these out for themselves and anyways writing about them demands too much patience.
M.G. road being converted to a walking plaza in the near future deserves a mention as does the colossal hole in the ground in front of the police station continuing right to the netherworld. I’ve heard of prisoners tunnelling their way out of jail but this tops it all. Well, it actually is intended to be the much needed subway to make life simpler for people like me who for whom crossing roads is an ordeal.
And Then There Is Valentine’s Day.
Now I don’t expect much in the mush department out of a day which is named after 3rd century Christian martyrs who had their shoulders relieved of the burden of their heads before they could spell romance,(Come to think of it, the English did spell horribly until a couple of centuries ago, but anyhow) and somehow I’ve always managed to find myself knee deep in consommé at this time of the year. The first boyfriend was dumped around this time one year and a favorite cat went missing another time. So this year when I broke off with a friend of seven years a week before the ominous 14th I was under the impression that my cup of woes brimmeth over and that it couldn’t possibly get any worse. But like the not so very old adage goes: just when you think you’ve hit rock bottom somebody tosses you a shovel (or is it shoves you a towel..?). And so it was.
Valentine’s was the day chosen by the brilliant folk at MUHS to declare the second year results.
The infantile anti V-Day crusade launched by the Shiv Sena, the RSS and their ilk isn’t even a patch on this ingenious subterfuge. The MUHS has accomplished what no one else could even aspire to. They have made 200 students in my college and innumerable medical students all over the state forget the poetic exuberance this day usually stirs up.
Hats off to them!
I suppose.
Certainly not for the lack of topics to carp about. On the contrary I have been involved in a ridiculously ginormous amount of ‘stuff ’. (‘ginormous’ is a throwback to my primary school days. That and delumptious and scrumplicious which I have always thought of as legitimate words thanks to madame E.Blyton. ‘Stuff’ on the other hand is this neat little word with just the right measure of ambiguity which has bailed me out of many a sticky situation back in secondary school. )
Lets see, I’ve been away for more than a month.. I would write about my birthday resolutions but I’ve already broken all of them except for the one about not spending too much time online and for that I have Bogus Sanchar Nigam Ltd to thank.
I should give an account of the basic mountaineering camp I went to where I learnt that your toes freezing right off your feet is no reason for being let off the morning drill (which for some unfathomable reason was always at 6am in the middle of the night). I also learnt some important life-lessons but everyone must figure these out for themselves and anyways writing about them demands too much patience.
M.G. road being converted to a walking plaza in the near future deserves a mention as does the colossal hole in the ground in front of the police station continuing right to the netherworld. I’ve heard of prisoners tunnelling their way out of jail but this tops it all. Well, it actually is intended to be the much needed subway to make life simpler for people like me who for whom crossing roads is an ordeal.
And Then There Is Valentine’s Day.
Now I don’t expect much in the mush department out of a day which is named after 3rd century Christian martyrs who had their shoulders relieved of the burden of their heads before they could spell romance,(Come to think of it, the English did spell horribly until a couple of centuries ago, but anyhow) and somehow I’ve always managed to find myself knee deep in consommé at this time of the year. The first boyfriend was dumped around this time one year and a favorite cat went missing another time. So this year when I broke off with a friend of seven years a week before the ominous 14th I was under the impression that my cup of woes brimmeth over and that it couldn’t possibly get any worse. But like the not so very old adage goes: just when you think you’ve hit rock bottom somebody tosses you a shovel (or is it shoves you a towel..?). And so it was.
Valentine’s was the day chosen by the brilliant folk at MUHS to declare the second year results.
The infantile anti V-Day crusade launched by the Shiv Sena, the RSS and their ilk isn’t even a patch on this ingenious subterfuge. The MUHS has accomplished what no one else could even aspire to. They have made 200 students in my college and innumerable medical students all over the state forget the poetic exuberance this day usually stirs up.
Hats off to them!
I suppose.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Fair Enough
Yesterday, while haunting one of the three malls that have sprung up within a 2km radius of our home in the space of 7 months I noticed, nestling inconspicuously in the skincare aisle, a shelf full of bottles of tan lotion.
Tan lotion?!!
Get real! We are Indians. We are OBSESSED with fair skin. We are so kooky we envy albinos.
Remember the protests that took place against the advertisements of a Hindustan Lever owned fairness cream which not so implicitly portrayed light skin colour as a prerequisite for professional success, personal happiness and what else have you? Given our general public attitude it comes as no great surprise that these remonstrations hardly added up to much in the long run. On the contrary, the major fallout of the hype was free publicity for 'Fair and Lovely', which saw a zillion otherwise respectable brands jumping onto the bandwagon and the hilarious launch of a fairness cream formulated especially for male skin.
But let us reserve judgment till after we’ve looked at the moot point from the other perspective. Let’s see now… there must be some sense to it… I suppose if you are fair the general blinding brightness makes it too difficult to discern facial features anyhow. A definite pro for some. While if you have the tragic misfortune of being dark skinned like 89% of our population you obviously have to have 1:1.618 proportions, a perfect profile, rebonded hair, a cheery disposition with generous helpings of wit, sense of humour and whatnot by the side. And after all of this, if our newspapers are to be believed, guys who have no qualms blundering all over town painting red graffiti on walls with you shall ultimately look for the peaches-and-cream bleached blonde to take home to Mummy. So you see, if I sound miffed it is because I am.
Fortunately, the scenario has shown a drift towards the positive as far as the Indian movie industry is concerned. We now have the good fortune of seeing more women with dark complexions prance about around trees and sing Anu Malik songs without the customary white pancake makeup. The multiplex boom has made art movies more accessible to the general populace and frankly, they are the great leveler (due apologies to James Shirley) for everyone in art movies looks sepia regardless of their skin tone. So you see, all’s well in the land of the eternally-hung-up-on-liposuction.
But accepting the dusky dames of Bollywood for what they are hasn’t made society more easy-going in it’s appraisal of you and I. Girls most certainly get it worse than their male counterparts since the ‘Metrosexual Male Revolution’ turned out to be a passing fad. We’re back to the ‘retrosexual’ male and to weird Sunday matrimonial adverts that read “WANTED - 5’7”, fair, gorgeous, comely, alluring, glamorous girl with a figure to die for and a complexion to kill for, for this boy who is… well… just this boy really.”
Well, life goes on. I suppose the important part is to realize what we are and more importantly what we are not and find the courage to be alright with it.
Nota bene:
Though I haven’t read any Sunday matrimonial advertisements I’m sure what I’ve said about ‘em above isn’t very far from the truth. Wait, let me get today’s paper n have a look… Yup. Word for word.
Tan lotion?!!
Get real! We are Indians. We are OBSESSED with fair skin. We are so kooky we envy albinos.
Remember the protests that took place against the advertisements of a Hindustan Lever owned fairness cream which not so implicitly portrayed light skin colour as a prerequisite for professional success, personal happiness and what else have you? Given our general public attitude it comes as no great surprise that these remonstrations hardly added up to much in the long run. On the contrary, the major fallout of the hype was free publicity for 'Fair and Lovely', which saw a zillion otherwise respectable brands jumping onto the bandwagon and the hilarious launch of a fairness cream formulated especially for male skin.
But let us reserve judgment till after we’ve looked at the moot point from the other perspective. Let’s see now… there must be some sense to it… I suppose if you are fair the general blinding brightness makes it too difficult to discern facial features anyhow. A definite pro for some. While if you have the tragic misfortune of being dark skinned like 89% of our population you obviously have to have 1:1.618 proportions, a perfect profile, rebonded hair, a cheery disposition with generous helpings of wit, sense of humour and whatnot by the side. And after all of this, if our newspapers are to be believed, guys who have no qualms blundering all over town painting red graffiti on walls with you shall ultimately look for the peaches-and-cream bleached blonde to take home to Mummy. So you see, if I sound miffed it is because I am.
Fortunately, the scenario has shown a drift towards the positive as far as the Indian movie industry is concerned. We now have the good fortune of seeing more women with dark complexions prance about around trees and sing Anu Malik songs without the customary white pancake makeup. The multiplex boom has made art movies more accessible to the general populace and frankly, they are the great leveler (due apologies to James Shirley) for everyone in art movies looks sepia regardless of their skin tone. So you see, all’s well in the land of the eternally-hung-up-on-liposuction.
But accepting the dusky dames of Bollywood for what they are hasn’t made society more easy-going in it’s appraisal of you and I. Girls most certainly get it worse than their male counterparts since the ‘Metrosexual Male Revolution’ turned out to be a passing fad. We’re back to the ‘retrosexual’ male and to weird Sunday matrimonial adverts that read “WANTED - 5’7”, fair, gorgeous, comely, alluring, glamorous girl with a figure to die for and a complexion to kill for, for this boy who is… well… just this boy really.”
Well, life goes on. I suppose the important part is to realize what we are and more importantly what we are not and find the courage to be alright with it.
Nota bene:
Though I haven’t read any Sunday matrimonial advertisements I’m sure what I’ve said about ‘em above isn’t very far from the truth. Wait, let me get today’s paper n have a look… Yup. Word for word.
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