Dilli Ka Shayarana Andaaz

Truly a magical evening. The dramatised readings from a new novel had us riveted. An Urdu translation of The Last Mughal followed. It sounded much better than the original English version. 1852 Delhi was not much different from the Delhi we know and still love today. Sweltering summers, hookah wallahs who emerge in the evening..." Hum Dilli wale chatpate khane ke liye hi to yahan rehte hein."
Agreed.
Ghazals in a melodious voice followed- Yeh na thi hamari kismat by Ghalib, followed by Zafar, Daag et al.
I promptly bought the novel and am waiting for the Hindustani translation of The Last Mughal to be on sale.

Books Binge

I finished A star called Henry by Roddy Doyle..a very interesting subject. Ireland during the civil war period. History seems so much more personal when lived through a particular person's crises.

Also read Galileo's daughter--about a very interesting man and his fervently religious daughter and their bond. As this was a biography, that too dealing with science, it did not move me as much as the first one did. It was enlightening reading more about Galileo and his struggle to be believed.

Am now reading the Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klien-- a very powerful tome which exposes the hypocrisy of Western lending institutuions when they deal with Russia, Asia in their times of need.

To b-school

And Oblige
by Dorothy Parker
When I've made a million dollars—it may take a year or two
At the present rate of speed that things are going—
There are various little matters that are somewhat overdue,
And the prospect, at the moment, isn't glowing;
But as soon as I've a million, as I started in to say,
Life will be, I take it, gloriously happy;
For already I am planning to expend it in a way
That will be, if I may say it, rather snappy.
I will charter me a taxicab of cheery white and brown,
And you'll never catch me glancing at the meter!
And I'll make a little tour of all the milliners in town;
And the question is, Could anything be sweeter?
Just for stamps and lunch and cigarettes, each morn I'll draw a check
For a thousand dollars, payable to bearer,
And you'll hear the pearls a-clanking, as I drape them on my neck.
It occurs to me that little could be fairer.
It is true that a million doesn't take you very far,
And it's hard to find another when you've shot it;
But I'll blow it like the widely known inebriated tar,
For I want to be a good one while I've got it.
So the minute I've a million, I'll go right ahead and spend,
Though it doesn't last me more than over Sunday.
In the meantime, though, I wonder, as a favor to a friend,
Could you let me have a dollar—say, till Monday?

Gwendolyn Brooks

a song in the front yard
I've stayed in the front yard all of my life.

I want a peek at the back

Where it's rough and untended and hungry weed grows.

A girl gets sick of a rose.
I want to go in the back yard now

And maybe down the alley,

To where the charity children play.

I want a good time today.
They do some wonderful things.

They have some wonderful fun.

My mother sneers, but I say it's fine

How they don't have to go in at quarter to nine.

My mother, she tells me that

Johnnie MaeWill grow up, to be a bad woman.

That George'll be taken to jail soon or late

(On account of last winter he sold our back gate).

But I say it's fine. Honest, I do.A

nd I'd like to be a bad woman, too,

And wear the brave stockings of night-black lace

And strut down the streets with pain on my face

Reality Bites

The sequel cannot top the original

Panache comes but once, c'est droll.

Whopper tellers

The Storytelling workshop was supercalifragilisticexpialidocius fun. Puppets, dancers, actors, pint sized story tellers made for a very entertaining Saturday morning.

Currently

Like the descriptions and characters in Sacred Games

Male got me

Every man
Should read Anne
Of Green Gables
Guys watch cable.

A hunger for books by Doris Lessing

Her Nobel prize acceptance speach dealt with how the children of Africa have no book of their own.
As the Internet revolutionises communication, imagination has new tools- for good or bad.
As corporates march on to rural heartlands, their goal are still very different from their consumers' hopes.
The risk averseness which habitutates elephants extends across organisms- whether it be front, middle or top end.
Risque is so much easier to compehend.
Once playing safe becomes a habit, it percolates across layers- top and bottom.
As kicked upstairs, downstairs and in our ladies' chambers, no one cares.
For business for everybody is business for nobody.
And we are perfectionists.

In Search of Excellence

has been the only management book I liked. I read it after College. Later, I learnt that it was fictitious. I did not feel betrayed.
Au contraire, I felt a deep admiration for the con artiste.
Business has always been a scam- I have sold kurtas for my mum since I was ten. We believed in dynamic pricing- if the chicken looked fat enough, we would pluck her more.
When organised retail killed the boutique, my product lifecycle evolved.
I worked for Shopper's Stop- my mother had made me promise I would never sleep with the enemy.
When I flipped to bschool, I recalled asking my quizmate, why is it bschool not college? He did not know.
I found bschool similar to school not College. Think that's why it was bschool- although as it was University it was mitigated somewhAT.
As I reread Tom peter@60, 25 years after In Search of Excellence, I find him text heavy.
Why do you not use images?
Image is everything.

Bhagvad

Gita- Arjun's monologue
By Arun Kukreja's provogue
Arjun feels guilty
Confesses sin city
Eklavya preys on his mind
A good flip through mankind.

Orhan Pamuks

slim voluminous read
Death unravelled sped
Towards plays pleasant
Gyan browsed, insouciant.

Professors met, greeted anew
Bhel wolfed, College trailed dew
MainCor people watching also
Today's Engagements, Cafe ho.

Nimbupani ran out, Mohan cawed
Rohtash shut shop, Mince alawed
Rajpal was on, Venky was playing
'Nuff theatre in me, am going.

Metro wrong, circular roads
Auto found, hi me homewards

to you wunly youwho n you know you

:)

XXX.

Is the world still flat?

Post attending the lecture delivered by Friedman, I don't think so. The global playing field may be level now, but as an audience member pointed out, Africa remains the dark continent. The lecture was a rehash of the book. The saving grace was the delivery- very interactive, he had the audience rolling in the aisles. The sneeze which could be heard in Pakistan added to the merriment.
Decolonising the Indian mind remains a challenge. His book has sold 50000 copies in China, which he thinks will own this century. I still think that as the world's largest democracy, the world is now at our feet.

Ah, Poetree

I absolutely adore Wendy Cope's work.

Viral marketing is most insidious
SuperCaliFragilisticexpialido.Cious.

Harry Potter & the Deathly Hollows

The way she kept killing characters reminded me of the finale of Hamlet :)

jabberwhacky

Jabberwhacky

Or, The Romance of the Rime and Rou


With thanks to Louis Carol
‘N’ With Apologies for shaking Shakes ‘n’ joy ce as well.


Of loves and quick!silver and other riches,
Vroom stick witches in black britches.

As you can make out (lucky you)
This is just an excuse to rime

It’s been such a while
I’ve forgotten my style

I’ve decided it’s time for me to be
Fashion my passions
And so be in again.

Passions wax and wane
Especially when they are for the vain.
I fain would not feign.

I’ve always loved rain
It’s helped me stay sane
And ever hated pain
Or things that stayed the same.

That’s been my bane.
They say-no pain no gain
Here’s to Plane Janes.

O what would I do.
With words that wouldn’t rime
Commit the unforgivable crime.
Of torturing them till they fit.
Regardless of how they sit.

I have now a sneaking suspicion.
This poem’s vaporizing in confusion.
That’s because the Big Words are here
Throwing the sweet nothings out of gear.

When a mere of beer’s near
Everyone’s a seer
Talking of whom they hold dear
Name(ly)- their fear.

There’s there, here’s here
A jeer’s there, here’s a leer
Some also wear a tear.

The wor/ods retreat. Their masters-
Thought- approach. Reproach
The words that write themselves
Dancing themselves in tune
To the moon. It’s noon in June.

This poem’s entropying in confusion
Fun joins Ye and Funny is born.
When Fun fucks Ye Foney’s born.
Pop Corn, Mom Corn and baby Corn.
My first pee jay in the poem.

It burbles out gurgles flows
pours water falls. In a stream.
Of un con sciousness.

Messy ol’ Nessie.
Carts me along like a dream.
On cartwheels.It’s a scream.
Green whipped cream on clean jeans.

The words whirl around
Dance with one another
Changing partners with the end of ev’ry line

Stop reading when it gets too much.
I’ll stop writing when it gets too much
We’ll outstare each other

I’ll win-‘cause I read as I write
Taking care to abandon the trite.
Retaining only the light and bright.

‘Cause the heights of kites of delight
Are a sight at night. It feels right
to the tight wight

‘N’ the slack in the sack.Gak!
Not the one who’s got the sack.
Or the one who’s tacked on the rack.
Zac. He’s got a knack for packing a smack.

Don’t worry. B happy. This isn’t suppos’d to make sense.
Ain’t that a relief? No heap of promises to keep,
But miles of deep to go before you sleep.

Sheep in a jeep. Don’t look before you leap.
You’ll never go beyond a seep of a peep.

Tubes take time to warm
Thoughts take time to darn.
Gyan takes time to farm.

Swarms of schoolmarms in tarns
Of marma a laid wearing green jade
Holding spades. Such cards.

Thoughts on a tumble tosser
Blending Bi xie the pixie in a mixie
Shoving for the embrace of space’s case
Trippin’ over their shoelace.

Canter ‘n’ banter in a race of pace
Play in the alleys of their wicked ways.

Puns hide and seek. Rime with fun.
I revel in the Pan demon I um.
That’s why hell’s more fun.
With cream buns young guns
Suns of nun stun.

So when ever you’re glum
Have am kneesia or Ambroseia for fun.
Talk to Tushar

Or string some words together
Play the word guitar
Take the doggerel for a walk
A lark in the park
Pee jay three hee hee
Lemme record it for postmodern posterity.

But I dv8. To re turn the point
‘N’ paint it in a line of rime
Blows the blues away
‘N’ b rings in the sunshine in no time.

Words line up to show you the way
That you knew not when you went your way.

So all fellow atheists, B leave
In the rope of hope. It helps you cope.
Don’t grope for dope.S(i.e.)eze the pope.

It’s trite but true-
It’s the journey that’s the thing
Not to vex the conscience of T-Rex(King).

Crash the trash. Just B brave ‘n’ brash.
Cut a dash ‘n’ a quake cake to fake bake
For Jake the rake’s sake make to take
When he’s awake.

The con/fidence of words
As they arch in March
A spring instep

Keep it simple I say.
Or the rime will say nay

Don’t try 2 be Happy
Play hard to get
Then Happy will come skippin’ along
Begging you not to leave him behind.

I’m queen here. So listen up.
No gloom doom to spoil my view.
That goes for me too.

Off with my head I say
If I think too much or pray
Neither lay in the hay in May
Nor am fey or gay
But simpley grey.

Oh I say it don’t pay
To simply weigh
‘n’ not know the way
to fun ‘n’ frolic

But only to the street with da lal walls
Or fall to the call of the molls.
Because, it palls. Even if she’s tall.

The rimes return reborn
With new part/ners to play.
It doesn’t make sense
When only nonsense makes sense.

Poems rock ‘n’ shock, prose sinks
Pushes you over the brink.
Forces you to drink
makes you lose the link
‘N’ no longer turn mink pink. Or (w)ink.

All rise! Like yeast.
When you’re stuck for fun
Just call on the witches
of Word, Rhythm ‘n’ Rime

The mews leaves.
She’ll be back.
Ce’st la vie. Nope.
Que sera sera. Sirr ah! Sirr ah!
‘N’ with pee jay fore!of the day
We close for the gay hey day.

Phew!A magnum o poo for me
Muse ins. Pseudo he hee-glee.

Words.Locked up too long
When let loose
They let their hair loose
‘N’ went loopy
Goopy Gayen Bagha Bayen.

The sophistry of solipsism.
Soulitude pays off in magnitude.
Let’s navigate to levitate.
Whew. View. I Miss Muse. You’re fickle.
Slew to a trick le.Put me in a pickle.

The spirit of the sprite
We toil not. We do spin.
We are but hillybillies of the field.
No effluence of effart.
My baby.



naughty nutty.
Not at the moment, knotty nutty.

when life's like a poem with rhythm, rhyme and reason.

Am feeling really nice inside. Just had an invigorating adda. Interesting looking twinkly guy. Looked dhakka sa dhakkan. Typos can lead you down interesting bylanes.. Then I discovered he quizzes. Went for bournvita. Sat next to him in class. Class was also god. So I had good formal education n informal education as well.
I learnt about the intriguing-pun intended-life of the Da Vincis.
Thought I’d make a pact with myself-just do a pun everyday. Doesn’t work though, unfortunately.
I think I’ll start writing positive everyday for ten minutes though, just to keep my hand in.
Writing negative would be cathartic. Writing positive would be creative. Fiction, but creative.
To resume-if you have trouble following my lines of thought as they criss cross and play hop scotch on the rocks, read woolf. I find her boring but her metaphors are mindblowing. Enough to make you die of the green eyed monster.
She discovered stream of consciousness. Now I understand why engineers can’t spell. Or why artsis can’t count. They don’t use it much.
So I’ve been to the moon and back-all in an hour, while an interesting class was going on. This is called spoiling yourself and yet not being spoilt.
I think I’ll live life a bit, and when the conflicts outweigh the adventure, start a content club of interesting knick knacks. Or teach. Preferably kids who need an escape route. Not rich MBA type kids who go to class because they are forced to, but because the word school means leisure.
A word’ etymology is like a signboard. Grammar without thought is so lifeless. Thopught overrides grammar all the while.
You can get interesting rhymes and ideas from spell check options as well.
Wrote my longest poem yesterday and my first fun one. Am really excited about it.