hopscotch

Thank You Aymangla villagers (Bangalore-Pondicherry Highway) and Mr Nitin Tonpe of Cummins Engg Oil for seeing P and me safely back home after the horrible accident we met on our way to Pondicherry, last year, this day. Thanks to all those people who helped me out of the car and ensured that I was safe and unhurt. I don't know their names, but I remember their faces all too well. In case I ever run into them I will thank them. No thanks to that reckless, sleepy driver of the truck we hit into. And, no thanks to the cops who fleeced both the driver (who was responsible for the accident) and us for a few thousand bucks. Should I be remembering the bitter memory? I guess so...because I am still alive. I can't forget the fact that we did meet a few good souls too. So thanks again villagers of Aymangla and Nitin Tonpe.

I wish I had a chance to meet Mario Miranda. It has been my earnest wish for fours years now to meet him and wander in the rooms, attics and verandas of his 130-year-old house. Maybe I can still get a chance of wandering in the house, but I wonder if it will be the same without nursing the hope of bumping into the creator of Miss Fonseca and Nimbu Pani. I happened to read the online edition of Gerard D'souza's coffee table book on Miranda. And, since then I was dying to own a piece of Miranda. When I got the book I felt I was truly lucky and blessed. Many nights when I was unable to sleep I used to leaf through the pages and chuckle at Miranda's wicked sense of humour and gape at his acute portrayal of life as he saw it. I have reread his family story - the story of the house and the well which stood in the compound. I wish I could see the house. I wish I could have met Miranda. Even his silhouette by the window would have been enough.

Watched Umesh Kulkarni's Deool on Sunday. I didn't like the movie. Yes, it was topical and relevant. And real - the commerce that goes hand in hand with religion. I have spent half of my life in small town so I have seen the sudden upsurge in economy, and the playing up of religious factor. But what ails the movie or in my opinion makes it one-dimensional is the strangulation of the voice of reason or rationality. Dilip Prabhavlkar's Anna is the rational voice in the movie, who suddenly packs up and goes off to his son in Bangalore. He's the counterfoil to Bhau (Nana Patekar) and his brigade of itching to do something young men. But while Bhau says building the temple is the way of development, Anna doesn't offer any convincing argument or observations or alternatives to the path of development to be forked out. We all have enough Bhaus in our midst and we all can see the effects of their development. But not enough Annas. Perhaps the movie could have been di

Mere sawal, aapke jawab. Sorry, this isn't the title of some corny Hindi movie, but maybe you really really have an answer to these rhetorical questions which trouble me night and day. 1) What will happen when Amitabh Bachchan dies? (I often think of this when I see the contestants of KBC and their relatives gushing at him. Will there be a riot or a stampede before his house? Will one of his myriad admirers also end his life?) 2) What will happen to Bachchan Bahu, AB's Baby and Jaya ma when Big B is no more? (Oops, I forgot the grandchild) 3) Can the Saifeena's (the name sucks) wedding details and the wedding itself be pre-poned and finished with before it becomes the wedding godzilla? (I for one don't want to know what is darling Saifu and his darling Bebo going to wear on their big day.) 4) Why can't I dream of hogging on marble cake without worrying about the calories and how they will sit pretty on my hips and tummy? (Oh well! I would like to eat all that

I have often used google (we all do) to check up facts, stories and other random stuff. Sometimes I have come across bits and pieces about friends and acquaintances - some profile somewhere throwing up some unknown facets. At times like these I have often felt like voyeur - that I am reading something which I SHOULDN'T BE. Some things ought to be private. I then tried to wash off the guilt by telling myself that nothing can't be private and personal in today's age and after all I wasn't out on a snoopy trail. Imagine my surprise and shock when I came across my own marriage profile posted on some unknown site. I knew I hadn't registered myself on this site when I was on a groom-hunting spree. And, yet today when I googled myself, my name, I found this profile. Complete with my name, details and what was I looking for in my-to-be. I tried hard to find their address/email id so that I could wipe out the profile. I did get numbers and I will call them and do that.

I suppose signboards reflect the changing times. But, I can't help wondering how a single apartment block becomes an international school. Earlier, every English medium school HAD to be a convent school, even if it was in outskirts, in some non-descript village and even if it didn't have the jesuits/nuns/fathers teaching or running the school. Now, every school HAS to be an international school. Even if the word International comes after the noun Saylee or Ryan or Vimal. Likewise, when you have a tooth ache, you don't go to a dentist or a dentist's clinic. You go to a dental studio! A rootcanal procedure in these studios must be called as "shining touch to the molars and pre-molars." Who said only photos are clicked at a studio? You can fix your teeth, hair, smile and even nails at the various studios scattered around your neighbourhood. Thank God...the kiranamalache dukan is still the same...until it goes international and calls itself "Kiran's

I was lucky enough to meet PC Alexander and his wife, Ackamma, at Raj Bhavan. I was an intern then and the then Governor and his wife were to meet kids who were suffering from Cancer. I think it was on the occasion of Children's Day. I remember running from the gate number 1 of Raj Bhavan right down to the State Hall, not even pausing to look at the helicopter whose blades were still whirring. Someone had just landed or someone just took off. I didn't care. I was getting late for the event. When I reached the hall, all the kids and members of Cancer Patients Aids Association were waiting in hushed silence. The Ex-Governor's press secretary and his aides were also there. And, then entered Alexander and his wife. While the gentleman quietly fussed over the children, the lady was effusive with her affection. She went hugging and kissing the kids gathered there. The kids looked a little dazed. On my way back, I paused a bit to look around the Raj Bhavan estate. I wasn'