Love is ...

having someone to hold

It's funny how we Indians, or should I say just I, struggle with what should be the simplest of things when we travel abroad. Like automatically flushing toilets - the kind made by Kohler. Now you'd expect manufacturers such as them to have thought of everything, but with their automatically flushing toilets I daresay they haven't. They will flush just fine if you have your bum firmly down on the seat for some stretch of time and then get up. But if you're a guy just taking a leak (or perhaps a girl doing the helicopter thing ... with your helicopter hovering a little too high) nothing happens. And this I have experienced at least three times now, in three different places, the last being yesterday at the Borders store in downtown Boston. I tried everything to get the damn thing to flush - from waving my hand (and later my foot) in front of the sensor a couple of times, to putting my ass right there in front of it thinking the bludy thing is programmed only to recognize the shape of the human behind. But no would do - our friend just refused to co-operate. So I had to exit the stall leaving things the way they were because some not-so-gentle man outside was making sounds indicating that all hell was about to break loose. Needless to say I didn't wait to see, or hear rather, his reaction on not having a clean toilet to drop his load. And lest he come out and say to someone, -- Look, that's the mothafcuker who didn't flush! giving me and my race a bad name, I beat a hasty retreat from said bookstore.

Damned automation! Always making things more complicated than we can handle.

***

Boston, MA. My second time here and I am loving it. Actually I feel that to really enjoy a city you must visit it the second time. Because the first time is more exploratory; the second time around you know exactly what you want. Like the Berklee BeanTown Jazz Festival starting Sept 15 that I am hoping I can catch. Also on the cards is a quick dash to the Big Apple and New Jersey.

Oh and did I mention I had my little bit of fun with Indian co-passenger before flight to Amsterdam? Barely had he sat his ass down on the seat next to me at the airport waiting lounge when he introduced himself and started, -- So are you working in Amsterdam?

No.

So you are going on holiday?

No.

(Now slightly confused because his IT brain can only think the flowchart way: If Yes, then... If No, so and so. )

So what are you going for?

Sex.

As you can imagine nothing further was said.

Peace, love, and a handle on things.

I couldn't help laughing watching Fake IPL Player reveal himself today. Poor sod. Nobody was giving him any attention after all that shit he wrote two years ago. And I'm sure the book that followed didn't do too well either. And after Twitter and Facebook failed in their respective jobs he was left with no option but to reveal himself or see the brand he created with such a bang die a quick death. So what now? Will we see him emerge as the Real Fake IPL player?

***

Even better than Beijing says Moneybags Kalmadi. I wouldn't go making statements like that if I were him. Because then you have to live up to them. See nobody really expects Beijing, or Manchester or Mogadishu even. They're expecting New Delhi, and New Delhi is what we'll give them. Whether they like it or not.

Which is why I get slightly confused when people talk about the nations image taking a beating and start using words like prestige and reputation. Do we have a reputation? For what? Someone please enlighten me.

Steph Rice isn't coming. Bollocks! I'd have gone all the way to that rotten city just to see Steph do her stuff. The woman is amazing. Though something tells me she'd have spent more time around the Taj and other such touristy places than in the pool. Which might be the case with a lot of other athletes, I reckon. Which will leave us Indians to win all the medals! Who says the games will be a flop?

***

I leave for the United States in a couple of weeks (just on a holiday). Something I am very excited about. Of course I hate travelling in a plane full of my countrymen, but hey, you can't choose your countrymen, can you? So you should do what I do - have fun with them. I'm telling you there's nobody you can have more fun with than us Indians. Oh yeah, we rock. And if I wasn't flying to the United States I'd be wearing my kuffiah looking like a bludy Taliban. You should see the looks I get when I go about unshaven with that thing wrapped around my head - priceless! Can't go to the US with that though. Or maybe I should, see what happens. You know what, I will. I am just slightly terrified of getting someones hand up my bum. Those Americans have big hands.

What if I use that very famous Indian escape line -- Do you know who I am?

-- Yeah, yeah, the last guy said he was Shah-rookh Khan or something. Now bend over quietly buddy!

Why is it so hard for some people to believe you want nothing from them. Nothing at all.

***

The end of August. Good things have been happening. At work I finally get my license to kick ass. Like that guy sitting in the dugout waiting for his chance to make centerfield. Waiting waiting waiting. Until one day the coach decides, -- Ok you, Blues, get in there! Behenc#@d ab mein dikhaunga, is the first thing that comes to mind as you're walking out, bat in hand, so sure you're gonna hit a home run the very first time you make contact with that sweet apple. But I'm too old and too hammered to do that, ain't I? Of course. Just take it cool brother, take it cool. Your success in battle depends not on how much ammo you have or how sophisticated your weapon, but on how well you keep your eyes and ears open. The best of men get killed because they try to be heroes. No, I would rather be the coward who lives to fight another day than the hero who gets it in the chest.

***

So I don't get this thing with some people: They actually think they're worth the attention they demand. Well I hate to break it to you pal, you're not. It's like someone once said: One of the most important things you can do for yourself is take a good hard look in the mirror from time to time.

We had a session the other day where we had to come up with answers to the question, Who am I? One guy said he's James Bond. Yeah, and I'm Lady Gaga!

A tough question to answer though if you really think about it -- Who am I?

Don Henley and the lads call themselves The Eagles. From Long Road out of Eden, Waiting in the weeds. Nice weekend.

"It’s not till sex has died out between a man and a woman that they can really love. And now I mean affection. Now I mean to be fond of (as one is fond of oneself)— to hope, to be disappointed, to live inside the other heart. When I look back on the pain of sex, the love like a wild fox so ready to bite, the antagonism that sits like a twin beside love, and contrast it with affection, so deeply unrepeatable, of two people who have lived a life together (and of whom one must die) it’s the affection I find richer. It’s that I would have again. Not all those doubtful rainbow colours."

-- Enid Bagnold (1889–1981), British novelist, playwright. Autobiography, ch. 6 (1969).

***

Dan Seals with a song I used to listen to when I was in college - Still a little bit of love.

Perhaps it makes more sense to live for the day. And love for the day. Ignore the larger picture, because sometimes the larger picture is so damn large you can't see the ends of it.

More and more people I know are doing that these days. And you know what - the little joys, the temporary thrills, the highs that wear out in a day or hours, they can be as satisfying as the long lasting ones. And if you think about it even the long lasting ones don't last forever. Though many would argue they do.

And so in our search for that thing, that one thing that we want, we miss out on all those things we don't really want but are there for the taking. I don't know if I'm making much sense here but the more I think about it the more I'm convinced that the world is going to hell and we better grab what we can before it's too late.

Unfortunately we are programmed to think long term. But like someone said -- many short terms make the long term. It's not easy of course to change that way of thinking, but if you think about it practically, given the times we live in, maybe it's the smartest thing to do. It's like how when you're in an airplane all you care about is making it through that one flight, life and limb intact -- Lord please don't let this baby be struck by lightning! (And if you're flying Air India your prayer will be a little longer). You don't really think about every flight you'll be taking after that, do you? No, it's just get me back safe on the ground from this one. Perhaps that is how we should be living our lives.

***

So yeah - that's what has been on my mind lately. Too much to post on Facebook. And no, I won't ever let Facebook (or that stupid thing called Twitter) take what belongs here.

For all of you who kept coming and keep coming (it was 7 years a few weeks ago) this is for you -- one of those few Bob Dylan songs where I hate the way he sings. So instead here's Van "the man" Morrison with his rendition of It's all over now Baby Blue. It ain't all over yet, but who knows how long we got?

What do you do when it's a tussle between the head and the heart and neither one is winning?

... And now I understand exactly what they mean when they say, 'It's not you, it's me'.

***

Jack Johnson on a Monday morning. It's good to be back.

Sania - Shoaib. Will they, won't they? Turns out our man was duped into doing a telephonic whateveritscalled marriage thing with the other woman - something he blames entirely on his youth and not "knowing better". See, there are two things that happen when one is young: either you are very stupid or very eager. The fact that he went through with it simply by looking at photographs of some buxom beauty, which as it turns out were not that of the woman he did the telephonic thing with, indicates more the latter than the former, I think.

But Inshallah they will, and Inhsallah she will still play tennis for India, and Inshallah (and this is a BIG Inshallah!) her fans will still get to see those aspects of her that have made her famous ;)

But why an Indian girl? What does an Indian girl have that her Pakistani counterpart is missing? Though with Sania we may be looking at an exception.

The guardians of all that is Indian* are of course not happy. Someone even suggested that the couple's first act of love be treated as an 'infiltration' and dealt with accordingly!

*Sometimes Indian, sometimes Marathi - they really must make up their minds.

***

Easter Monday. A holiday in many parts of the world. No such luxury here.

From 1972, the Doobie Brothers - Listen to the music.

After a while you can tell if the other guy has a fight in him or not. Sometimes you see it in the eyes, sometimes you don't. Some eyes will burn bright with rage while others will be cold and calculating. Sometimes they come at you fast and furious, thrashing away; at other times they will wait to see your first move - wait to see which part of your body you're keen to protect and hit you there - quick and decisive.

But the most difficult opponents were the ones who knew no fear, the ones that had nothing to lose, the ones who'd always keep you guessing. Something always told me they were the ones who would survive - not just the fights, life.

***

What do we fear, really, when the world comes at us with everything its got? Why do we seek solace in tears and words that comfort? Why do we want to run away, hide, disappear, grieve silently over what might have been? Because the world can tell if we have a fight in us or not.

And sometimes all you need to do is stand your ground and keep them guessing. Even if you are really scared.

Jack Johnson.

The snooty bastard from work who had so much free time on his hands he would spend hours in the office gym building big muscles that he would show off on Fridays wearing a tight red T-shirt looking like bludy Daniel Craig, came down with a slipped disc.

My grandmother wasn't kidding when she talked of the power of the evil eye :)

***

She said she wanted a song, so here it is - a late birthday dedication for Parul. From his best selling album Still got the Blues, Gary Moore - All your love.