After this they reckon it will be a man on the moon - an Indian man in an Indian spacecraft that is. So what if we're 40 years behind the US .... we're 40 years ahead of most of them African rotter states; only rockets they know to launch is usually aimed at their own people and fired from hand-held RPG's.

So who do you think would be the perfect candidate for India's first man on the moon? It's gotta be someone known yet expendable (given our track record for sending spacecrafts into the ocean). And right now I'd say the most expendable well-known Indian on the planet is none other than our very own crusader for the Marathi Manoos, Raj Thackeray! We'll spare Shahrukh Khan just this time.

***

Beautiful day outside. And the holidays just around the corner. No mention yet of what we're gonna get for Diwali ... though the buzz is, will you believe - 500 Rupee gift vouchers! Most people have already left for home, to hell with your bludy vouchers! As for me I don't know. I could spend the weekend chilling at a shack on Candolim beach, but getting a bus ticket to Goa right now will be as difficult as finding a Bihari on the streets of Mumbai. LOL, ok maybe not that difficult, them Biharis are hardy buggers, but yeah, it won't be easy.

Leo Sayer ... for Surbhi. Happy 26.

Doesn't look like it's gonna be a happy Diwali for a lot of people this year. Just reading about the 850 cabin crew Jet has decided to offload ... layoff I mean. What will all those pretty ladies do, where will they go? Frankly I'm surprised Jet even had 1900 odd cabin crew on its rolls; maybe they got them cheap from all those air hostess academies that sprung up overnight. A large majority of the girls are from the North East I believe. Yeah, it figures.

But with airlines cutting down on staff like this I reckon the day is not far when you find yourself walking up to board an aircraft and an airline staffer after checking your boarding pass hands you three foil-covered plastic trays saying: Here you go Sir, this is your lunch, mid-flight snack and dinner. If there's anything else you might need on board, you will have to go and get it yourself!

Bailout seems to be the buzzword these days. The airlines are asking for one now. When I meet Vijay I'd like to ask him: Who told you to order FIVE A-380's when your airline was barely off the ground?? All those cash flow projections may have looked great back then, but what will you do now? Sacking those poor things, forcing them to go back to Sikkim is NOT going to help.

And if Vijay cancels his 380's god knows how many Airbus workers at Toulouse will get the can. Then we'll have the French hating us. Those snails are not all safe to eat, you know!

As for the rest of us who still have our jobs, don't be expecting any hefty Diwali bonus this time around. Not unless you happen to work in essential services, which in our country is maid-servant or garbage clearing. Everything else is non-essential.

David Gray ... Sail away with me honey!

... But what are your options really?

So I'll say this: Seeing how practically everything in America these days is made in China, why bother with an American for President? You folks appear in a quandry trying to decide between Obama and McCain, when it's quite obvious that neither of them knows jack-shit about running the country! Hence why not just get some Chinese guy to step in as figurehead President and let Congress take all the decisions! Easier for everyone.

And think of all the money you'll be saving. On salary, expenses and security. A Chinese dude doesn't need to be paid half a million dollars a year, and neither will he need to move around in Air Force One. Hell, he'll even travel Coach! All those Secret Service guys working round the clock on Presidential protection could be re-deployed to assist in matters of real national security. And if poor Mr. Fcuk Noes Hoo happens to get bumped off by the Al Qaeda, all you gotta do is replace him with his cousin Hoo Cn Tell.

If their clothes are good enough for ya, why not a President!

***

One thing you cannot help noticing about American TV and American people in general is their total lack of interest in anything outside of their borders. Any time I switched on CNN or Fox or any of the other news channels all they were talking about is matters US - politics, weather, sports. It's like the rest of the world does not exist. But truth be told if I was living in America I wouldn't give a damn about the rest of the world either.

***

O.K. I've uploaded the pictures from Rhode Island and Vermont. Both places were lovely to visit; I loved the beauty of the landscape and just that feeling of being out on the road - vast, limitless, free. Do see and let me have your comments. I need to know if there's an alternate career for me in photography ... cuz I'm sick of my damn job. These are all as is - no Photoshop, and taken on ordinary Sony Cybershot and Canon cameras, considering which I think they came out pretty good.

So there's the trip to the beach at Newport with a drive around the mansions, and the visit to Montpelier, Waterbury-Stowe (where we stayed in a wood cabin and went apple picking ... don't miss the Pam Anderson) and Burlington in Vermont. Pictures from Boston will follow later this week.

Natalie Merchant - someone I heard for the first time just the other day and quickly became a fan. From the album Tigerlily this is San Andreas Fault. For Lee on her 5th blogversary .... been great having you around.

So - it's the jayanti of the Gandhi and the birdie of the Bun. But I'm pretty sure that henceforward this day will be remembered more for how it changed forever the lives of smokers in this country. Because with one stroke of the pen (or whatever else he did stroke) a gentleman named Ramadoss has literally made life for them hell.

Hurried conferences will be convened by people in offices and elsewhere to find a way out. I was witness to one such conference today. No smoking ANYWHERE on the premises is what the email from the company said. What if I prop myself against a wall or fence in a way that the cigarette and the accompanying smoke does not actually trespass inside, is what one guy came up with. Another suggested that easier would be to just climb the damn thing and sit on it with both legs dangling outside and cigarette facing away from the premises. Conferences like these won't end anytime soon I imagine.

But many say it might even be a good thing. Because as things now stand the only two places you can light up are out on the street and in your house. And considering how so many men cannot smoke at home either because their wives won't let them or simply because the buggers have been lying to their old ladies about having quit all those months ago, many say it could be the perfect opportunity to make a serious attempt to kick the butt. Whether they succeed only time will tell.

History has shown us though that whenever something is prohibited there springs an opportunity to make money. They're saying pubs, bars and discos will be the ones hardest hit. People will actually have to step outside to take a drag and then go back in. Which, depending on how much they smoke, will mean at least two, three or even more trips to the pavement. Not very nice. And if you're with a lady on a hot date some non-smoker bugger might even seize the chance and chat her up while you're taking a drag. Nope, no can do. So what be the solution? Our man Ally came up with something that I thought was quite brilliant. And could make whoever manages to pull it off a decent pile of money.

Dude- Mobile Pubs! You can smoke in your car, right? So if you buy a caravan like what those American buggers drive (he had seen a photo of one I had taken on the Interstate in the US), the problem is solved. Put three or four lounge type sofas and let people smoke and drink and do whatever they want inside; design it to look just like a pub with music and everything. I'm telling you dude - mast chalega. Cops-bips aaya toh just start the engine and drive away ... say it's your bleddy mobile home and you're throwing a party for your friends. Nobody can do anything!

Now he ain't exactly the smartest bloke around, but I think he may just have found a loophole. You think mobile pubs will work? Imagine if you parked one right outside Toto's :)

But I can tell you what won't work - the Call Centers. Yep, without their Customer Service Associates burning at least 8 cigarettes a day output will drop drastically. I'm pretty sure many companies will cheat even. Secret smoking areas ... where the smoke will be ingeniously smuggled out along with the fumes from the cafeteria.

To a non-smoker like me though it makes no difference. But I kinda feel bad for all my buddies who enjoy their cancer-sticks.

***

Anyone seen that Sajjanpur movie? Masand has given it four stars and says such movies are few and far between. Haven't seen him that excited about a film since Love Story 2050 flopped. And the things he's said gives me the feeling we won't be seeing anything this good till we do bludy get to 2050! (Now that less people will be dying of smoking related illnesses, 2050 is quite reachable.)

I was thinking of taking JC to see it this weekend. As a thank you for the cake.

***

So here's to you Bun! And for you this song: Dylan and Cash - Girl from the North Country, released 1969. Was a good year 1969.

Hot cup of tea after lots of Johnnie Black. Very nice. Best sleep I've had in three days. Jetlag can be quit a bummer. Trust good ol' scotch to fix it.

JC surprised me with a big chocolate cake. The boys turned up as well ... more for Johnnie than for me I reckon, but that's ok. I wouldn't have been happy drinking alone anyway.

Thanks for all the wishes. I'll try to reply to as many as I can (because there were so many) but if I miss anybody know it wasn't intentional.

And there was this one email sitting quietly in my inbox that I was almost missed among all the crowd which I was very happy to see. From someone whose birthday it was just a day before mine. This song for her ... keep spreading the joy! (bet she gets that a lot)

More Allman Brothers ... Midnight Rider.

forever to wander
forever to roam
no place
no heart
to call home

She thinks I'm staring at her breasts, which anybody will agree are mighty fine, but I'm not. I'm looking at her face ... so pretty, so delicate. And wondering how much it says about what's going on in her life.

How much does a face tell really? Does it give you a complete picture or simply an outline that you paint yourself?

Airport departure lounges can be interesting places, and painting pictures from peoples faces even more so. Even if it's not a picture you get to keep. Or do you?

***

In my last day in America I watched a movie that made me cry. About a love so sweet, so innocent, so consuming, so faithful; a love that each of us at some time or the other has wished we had. In which a very young Mandy Moore plays to perfection an ordinary girl with many desires - some ordinary, some far-fetched. Desires that threatened to remain unfulfilled because of her battle with leukemia. But then she unexpectedly lands up with someone who quite magically helps fulfill many of those desires in the short time that she has left to live.

On the flight back home I watched the Sex and the City movie (more out of curiosity than any real interest), the search for love/happiness/fulfillment being the central theme. And the difference between the two I think is that Jamie Sullivan (Mandy Moore's character) wasn't searching. Which is a very big difference.

So what am I - a Sex and the City character or a Jamie Sullivan? I used to be a Carrie Bradshaw, but now with age I'm a Jamie Sullivan (Freak I sound like a girl!).

But how long must one wait for love? ... Or rather, how long can one wait for love? They say you often bump into things after you've stopped looking. We'll see.

***

Back home after two weeks in the USA. Two weeks which for some reason feels like two months. Guess I needed a break real bad. Took lots of fotos which I will share with you here and on shutterbug blues/facebook. Interesting to me were the Indian girls in America. In many ways so different from their sisters back home in that there's a certain freedom on their faces that's not usual to see here. I took this one in downtown Boston. (Yes I know I'm going to get in trouble for these one day ... in fact I'm pretty sure she saw me!)

The Allman Brothers Band ... Sweet Melissa. For Cynic and Yashita. Thanks for the awards.

Greetings from the beautiful city of Boston!

Everything in this country is so BIG - The buildings, the streets, the malls (God you can get lost in there!), the wide open spaces, the pizza even! If only they had better public transportation. In Switzerland you could get from anywhere to anywhere at anytime. Here not so. If you don't have four wheels under you you're pretty much paralysed.

Flight in to JFK was not bad. Desi junglees even did well to keep the toilets usable for longer than I had expected. And Delta's in-flight entertainment was pretty good. Though the most fun I had was when I saw this Southie chap in the seat behind craning his neck to get a glimpse of the steamy love scene from the movie I was watching. LOL! Which left me no choice but to tilt the screen to an angle that made it frustratingly difficult for him to see, until finally he gave up. Arre dude, hokie-pokie dekhna hai toh dekh na ... sharmata kyoon hai!

.... But how many of you would watch the good sexuss in full view of you co-passengers? And I had my mom sitting next to me.

That's about all the update for now. This weekend I got my cousins from Joisey coming over, so a family reunion of sorts.

***

I would dedicate a song to our girl Cynic who, in spite of being told not to, has handed me an award (sweet of her though), but for some reason the Radioblogclub page won't load here on my brothers laptop. Anyway Cynic, I get you a T-Shirt or something.

Cheers!

Never thought it would be so interesting just standing there at one spot on Main Street watching the people pass by. Which is what I ended up doing this morning waiting for bludy Q to turn up. Lots of pretty wimmen, and wimmen are generally more interesting passers-by than men, their conversations especially. What happens is you end up catching little snippets of things they say which at times can be quite funny. 'I don't think we should go in here ... they sell all shit yaar,' says one of the girls in a group of three. They go in anyway.

Only thing missing was my camera. But I wonder how people would react to some fellow randomly clicking away at them. The wimmen for sure would be freaked out ... probably think I'd do some digital masti and post pictures of them on the internet with their tops missing.

But I tell you it's quite wonderful. And with every photo-op that presented itself popped into my head a little caption to go along. Like the teeny-bopper college couple - Lanky boy walking awkwardly beside her looking slightly nervous about the impression he was making; she on the other hand had this lovely carefree look about her ... loose black skirt, slippers and a black tee with the Google logo printed on the front. 'I'm NOT Feeling Lucky' is the caption that popped up. And I laughed. Because he had just asked her what her favourite ice-cream flavour was. And she goes- guess, guess!" And I'm like- Google it, dude! You can find your mothers first boyfriend on Google if you're persistent enough.

Then there was the fatso chick with the layers and layers of lard doing a little jiggy dance under that huge sack of a T-shirt she was wearing. And for her the caption: VLCC ... Very Large Crude Carrier! Mean, I know.

And what's with these chicks getting the tattoos? Saw so many of then, on the shoulder mostly. And they walk around flashing them like they're making a statement or something. Bullshit! You wanna make a statement get your tongue pierced, like this girl Jeannine I know back in Zuerich. First time I went out with her and saw that tongue with the shiny metal stud sticking out right in the middle, I almost jumped. How do you eat with that bludy thing, I asked her. 'Well - for eating it's a pain, but for a lot of other things...'. Ooh she was naughty. And then she goes, 'I got two more of them but I can't show you ... here!' :)

So yeah. I'm gonna do it again. All I need is to find a discrete enough location where I can get the good shots without some dames chappal landing on my face. Wimmen can be quite vicious when they're freaked out you know.

***

This time next week I'll be at Chattrapati Shivaji waiting to take the flight to JFK. Which invariably will be packed full with Gujjus and other assorted desis. Who invariably will render the toilets unusable within one hour or take-off. And one of them will invariably ask the stewardess to confirm that the breakfast is indeed not non-vegetarian. And if she happens to be like the girl on that Austrian Airlines flight I took to Vienna last year will curtly go: Sir, our fruits are not made of beef!

Our Indians are such messy travellers I tell you, such messy travellers. It's like we don't know the difference between one of Lalloo's cattle-carriers (aka the Indian Railways) and a jet airliner. Either that or we don't care. The shit does not fall onto the tracks here Uncle, you gotta flush the toilet!

And we have this horrible habit where if something is free, we must - and there can be now two ways here - we must try it. Have you seen how they will open everything in the food tray, even if they know they're not going to eat it. You have no clue what the hell that is, so leave it alone dude. But no, free hai toh taste toh karenge! And then you see the bugger go bwaaak! Whats he just eaten? Pâté ... or some shit that looks like pâté.

And what do you do when you got a fidgety Joe sitting next to you? Don't tell him to stop. No, never do that. Fight fire with fire - you start fidgeting. He'll get the message soon enough. But if you got a farter, then you're done for. Unless you can beat him at his own game. Now how much fun would that be! Cuz if there's one thing that annoys a farter more than anything it's someone who leaves him blue in the face. Blue in the base actually.

Then there's the nosy aunty. Oh I gotta tell you this - Indian girl at Vienna airport travelling alone to Bombay. You know the type - tall, nice figure, tight blue jeans, American accent, too much make-up, early-thirties Gujju from Joisey with only one problem in life - goddamned relatives doing everything they can to get her hitched. So there she is sitting a few places away from me at the departure lounge reading a novel when this Indian aunty pops out of nowhere. Now I freak out ... Stay the hell away from me bitch! And Praise Jesus, she goes and plonks herself next to Gujju chick. Your ass is grass babe, is what I wanted to say to her. And didn't she know it. It was so hilarious I cannot tell you, the look on her face, because obviously she's been through this before. Hello, I am Mrs. Desai from Chembur. Are you travelling alone? No, No ... say NO!!!, I'm screaming at her in my head. My boyfriend's just gone to the toilet!

But you know what the stupid girl does? She goes and says yes. And that's all Mrs. Desai needs.

To cut a long story short, every aspect of the girls life is queried - her family, her career, her single status (yes that most of all), even her love life. Aunty actually has the audacity to ask if she is seeing someone. Finally we board the aircraft and Gujju girl is in the seat in front of me. Relieved, I can tell. Then the most unbelievable thing happens. Mrs. Desai pops up again from behind somewhere and goes, 'Hellooo, I asked the air-hostess to change my seat so I can sit next to you!' Hahahaha, you should have seen the look on that girls face ... Priceless!

She suffered ... all the way to Bombay. Moral here again: Never say yes when you want to say no.

Goan boy next to me (he was a pilot with Air Deccan btw ... Bandra bugger men!) was complaining to the stewardess that the in-flight entertainment wasn't working too good. You won't be needing that mate, I said to him. We got all the in-flight entertainment we need right here in the seat in front of us. He understood later what I was talking about.

As for me I have the perfect fuck-off line. I was in the train from Luzern to Zuerich when this desi bugger sitting across the aisle, after some of that typical looking me up and down thing we Indians are renowned for, decides to come over and get pally.

... Are you from India?

Karachi.

Not a word from him after that.

***

A long post this has turned out to be. Thank you everyone for not giving me that Brillante Weblog shit that's being passed around. I can think of nothing more ridiculous.

Nice weekend and all. Scorpions. Always Somewhere.

The week started with a visit to the company doctor. After I had spent a good twenty minutes scurrying through various medical websites looking specifically for 'symptoms of heart attack'. Now it's not funny how different websites have so many different symptoms listed down. It's like you go to one and they say this, this and this. You're happy - great so I have nothing to worry about. But then you decide to get a second opinion, which on the internet can only serve to heighten your confusion, if not your fears. Because the second website will have this, this, this and THIS! Bludy hell! Start worrying again. Shit, I'm gonna kick the bucket if I don't rush to a doctor NOW! So that's what I did. Dropped everything and rushed, like my damn life depended on it. And who knows, maybe it did.

Stupid lady doc doesn't seem to take me seriously. I've been having this pain in the left side of my chest since last evening, and I'm not sure what it might be. Do you have indigestion, she asks coolly. Arre indigestion ko maaro goli, my heart may be on it's last few beats here, do something dammit!! No no, I think it might be my heart, I say nervously. She starts laughing. And I mean really a hearty laugh. Which is when I begin suspecting she might be one of them quack doctors from Jalgaon. After all why would any medical professional worth his/her salt sit in a room in an IT company handing out Disprins and Crocin to people ... Nope, doesn't make sense.

Anyway she decides, and I can sense the disinterest, to examine me more thoroughly. Or so I thought. Because all she does is make me lie down and wraps that electronic pressure gauge around my arm. Which is quite a cool little device compared to the old hand-held one that went puchh-puchh-puchh-puchh and felt like it would blow up anytime. Pressure is normal, she says, nothing to worry. Hey hang on - what about pulse, breathing etc. Don't you need to check that? No, not required. OMG she is a quack from bludy Jalgaon!

My mind is racing. Maybe I should take the next transport out and rush to family doctor. But I should call home first. Damn, they'll just start on again about the exercise and the diet and the drinking. No, I'll just rush to the doc - a real doc, not like this quack-ass female.

She gives me two green gel capsules. To thin the blood, or clear the arteries, I'm not sure. So I ask her. Pudin Hara, she replies, cool as a cucumber again. Take two now, two later. But you only gave me two! The rest you'll have to buy, she says bluntly.

I have a good mind to send an email to Chairman & MD. Bastard if you can't give your employees one full strip of Pudin Hara, you you... YOU SUCK!

So that's what it turned out to be. Pressure around the chest region as a result of indigestion (she didn't say that, my own inference). Which, now that I think about it explains why she was so cool. In a company where the gastronomical delights served up in the canteen everyday could easily be converted into low-grade biological weapons, I'm sure every second person is a sufferer.

***

Two weeks and I'll be in the US of A. I really do need to start exercising again. I hate this lifestyle I have now. Work, eat, drink, sleep, shit and blog. Nope, not good. On the diet front I've been eating salads all week, so that's a start. Which is not so bad you know. In fact I quite like it.

I was watching Obama speak at the Democratic Convention last night. Dude is quite an orator, isn't he. And whoever writes his speeches is doing a damn good job.

It's all in the marketing ultimately. Which is something I was thinking about yesterday. So much of life's successes depends on how we market ourselves -- the jobs we land, the women we sleep with. Actually it's just those two.

Natalie and the Chicks. Landslide.