I don't do iPhones

There is nothing better than a moment of inspiration.This bursting desire to be creatively bulimic by hurling out the frustrations of your day.

So today, it is my turn.

My day wasn't exactly what could be described as perfect. Alleged happiness (of other people), rose tinted glasses (worn, again, by other people), and realisation that the honeymoon might be over (that would be yours truly), may have something to do with it.

So where does one focus the bile?

On iPhones, of course. Le plat du jour.

I love my MacBook. I will buy me the MacBook Pro, when i save me the money. 


But iPhones?  58 years old, Internet phobic, email printing, blinders wearing grey men have been seen sliding the unlock bar, using the touch screen scroll, and pudgy fingering their way to make a call.  Or drop one. 

That, does not make an aspirational picture.


Platinum blondes with fake nails have been seen glazing on the iPhone screens with bored expressions.


Again, with the fake nails, not a club I want to be a member of.

People who will never get their heads wrapped around using OSX, now feel one with the "I'm a PC/I'm a Mac" commercials.  What irks me most is all those PowerPoint presentations on "innovation" with at least one slide on the iPhone - beaming like they've had an epic thought.  Makes me iPhobic. 

Then I chanced upon a lady who nonchalantly waved her arm and proclaimed - I don't do iPhones - and strutted away.


It was a sign.


Here's to being a no-iPhone snob.  And here's to not democratising iconicity.

a momentary glance of eternity

The summer sun graciously gives way to the night blue sky. There’s a fair riot of colours far away on the horizon as they get on with their greetings and good byes.

Burly waves splash on to the shore in a calming cadence. There’s beer on every table. The bride and the groom have just had their pictures taken for posterity.  If it were not for the baggage you came with, you'd be forgiven for assuming there's tranquility in the offing.

And then suddenly from nowhere, like a military coup, everything changes. The breeze hints it is not going to be so gentle for long. Lightning strikes the navy blue sky; momentarily cracking the stratosphere, letting a tantalizing glimpse into what might be the world beyond. There’s the sound of thunder rolling, much like a percussionist testing bass drums.

Palm trees stand steady on their trunks, but their leaves open out, swaying in the rhythm of the wind first and then opening their arms to embrace the rain. The earth sighs, and the parched mud thirstily sponges the first thick drops of water.

It is a little bit raw. It is completely pure.

It is mesmerizingly beautiful.

One Saturday evening by the ocean in Colombo.

I cannot hear my own thoughts. I’m soaking wet. To have witnessed time stand still for a fraction of a second and then walk by, I can't but ask for anything more.

still running

the delicate imbalance of the trail

running towards the perfect rainbow

in step with unchained thoughts

searching for an an echo

the hesitant thrill

of letting tomorrow explore 

i can feel the scars heal

all that you want can be yours

yes, i'm still running

For those in the know

on a blank moleskin I write
there’s a beer in the museum
while the potatoes fight

little shadows play with the tigers

and old friends meet in muddy waters

to tell you a short story before it begun

perhaps the third time, says the Portuguese nun

a refuge here, C&W maintain

with them in a wink, I would do it again

Do it in the morning

Oscar Wilde, in his life of written genius, once said and I quote “all good things in life are illegal, immoral, or fattening”. Let’s get it up to speed with 21st century freedom of expression and append it. All good things in life are illegal, immoral, fattening or gay.


It hurts, I know ladies but it is true. Now we can either deny it, ignore it, or we can suck it up and find a way to well, have our cake, and it eat too. In a manner of speaking. No, cross that. In a lip smacking, for real, twinkle in your eye kind of way.

Let’s take a look at the view. It’s a rough world out there, and we all deserve an occasional break. It’s not a sin if you’re able to figure out an easy penance for it. The wise folks at any diet wellness shop will tell you if you can not get that piece of death by chocolate out of your mind, well, then go ahead and do it. But make it small. And make it early in the day. Science will tell you that the remaining day helps you digest the sin better, and there’s lesser chance of it resting for good on your hip.

Very well then. Here’s my corollary:


The forbidden fruit is forever tempting. The wee bit of devil inside us does push us to the wanton, slightly wicked verbs here and there. To want to steal a kiss from the one who already has a ring on the finger? To covet your neighbour? To, just once, not wait for the slow pedestrian to cross the road (a bit o’ Swiss humour here, my friend) and drive on? To concede the half truth only perhaps?

Is it always so abominable?

Maybe not if you do it early in the day. A little bit of, even if ostensibly so, undeserved pleasure, just for your selfish self, can go a long way if you let the rest of the day digest it. Like the man himself said, the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.

Do what you desire. Just make sure you do it in the morning.

Of novels and politicians

A blog piece by Jug Suraiya (Shashi Tharoor and the Nehru-Gandhi family) sparked a piquant feeling. Here’s the original article. And I quote some bits from it:

“…However, way back in 1989 - long before he entered politics - Shashi took India's First Family to task in his The Great Indian Novel, in which he retold the story of the Mahabharat in the idiom of modern India's political history…”

…

“…Did you really write that, Shashi? Or are you again being misquoted by the media?”

It is easy to fault public figures, ones who dabble in politics even more so, for their past, their present, for them speaking their minds and more.

And it is paltry to pick up their past work and vilify them with it in the present context. For the lack of exclusive news, this is a trifle target for lazy co-relations.

It is not for me to judge whether Mr Tharoor was misquoted. I would like to mention, though, the bit about freedom of expression, literary or otherwise. What Mr Tharoor penned down a couple of decades ago, was his prerogative, irrespective of his current occupation. The Great Indian Novel still qualifies as a piece of fictional work, irrespective of it mirroring the Indian independence movement and the years thereafter. Last time I looked, as Indians, we are still allowed creative licensing. You probably earn a small chunk of change yourself from it, I’m sure.

Because one is in service of an organisation, be it even the state, does not mean one needs to be servile to all advocacies. Is evolution of thoughts and ideas somehow not expected from our leaders? Or do we prefer stagnancy of opinions?

After all, debate was one of the basic foundations of Nehru’s democracy, was it not Mr Suraiya?