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Memories of Lawns/ "The Kissan 100% Real Blogger Contest",

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Sitting on the lawns adjoining my hostel, a tall and stout woman, with her sari hitched half way up her legs, holding on to the hosepipe as if her life depended on it, suddenly appeared from nowhere. I blinked and she was gone. --- The cool winds and the lush green lawns did nothing to soothe my cranky nerves. Having passed with average marks in my SSC boards, I was pushing myself to score above average in my HSC boards. To save myself from the odious comparisons of studious and more bright roomies, I had taken to studying in the lawns adjoining my hostel. I pored over my books, frowned, scowled, walked up and down remembering, recalling and then going blank. My rather feeble and reluctant smiles were reserved only for the surly, gruff head gardener or Kaka as I called him. He was the one who called the shots in the lawns, shooing away students at will. Seeing that I posed no hindrance when he watered the lawns lavishly, trimmed the hedges, or cleaned the marble statue of o

Someone for the masses

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I was never a Salman Khan fan. But, you have to give it to the man, he is everywhere. Or rather his "Being Human" t-shirts are seen everywhere. Not a day passes, when I don't see someone - student, slum dwellers, street-side Romeos - sporting the t-shirt. They are also selling on the footpath. His heroines/co-stars walk the ramp in his Tees and the man on the street also sports them. That I think sums up Sallu mian's mass and class appeal. Actors and actresses make news for launching their clothes line, perfumes and DVDs...but they have are/never sold on this scale. They never make news amongst the masses. Their products do not evoke, "we must buy Bipasha Basu's DVDs or her clothes" sentiments. They just come and we don't even know when they "go" or fade from public memory. This makes me think, perhaps Salman Khan is also an excellent marketing strategist!

Jaipur in Pictures

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Jaipur street Interiors of City Palace, Jaipur The armoury  City Palace, Jaipur

Tidbits from Jaipur

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Javed Akhtar: Born to Act I think Farhan Akhtar is better off wielding the megaphone...and giving his father, Javed Akhtar a chance to show off his histrionics. He has the voice, he has an elephantine memory and he can act for sure. He can act happy when he's on the stage talking happily when unchallenged, acting up when presented with a contrary viewpoint, acting injured when his viewpoint is dismissed. An evening of You Know... The one phrase which was thrown around liberally, peppered all meaningful and meaningless conversations, discussions was..."You Know".  You know....accompanied by slow motion of bejewelled fingers, was sure to cast a hypnotic spell on you. Alka Pande, one of the panelist for 'Shringara...Costume is the temple of the mind',  began and ended her sentenced with "you know" A reluctant film-maker The bearded gentleman sulked. You could make that out right away. He was dressed to kill...the winter chill, I mean. He w

Late in the day...Jaipur Lit Fest

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Watch out for these writers from the African continent- Shubnum Khan, Teju Cole, Taiwheyi and Ben Okri Vishal Bharadwaj, Prasoon Joshi, Javed Akhtar, Gulzar with moderator, Samit Basu at the Kahani Kise Kehte Hain session Good  girls come to Jaipur...Annie Zaidi (centre) with Manisha Kulshrestha and  Pakistani writer Huma

Thank You

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 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.