Valentine by Carol Ann Duffy

Perhaps the most interesting piece of literature I've read on the cliched theme.

Not a red rose or a satin heart.I give you an onion.


It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears 
like a lover.It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
if you like.

Lethal.Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.

- Carol Ann Duffy

Get Going!

Get up. Get a cup of coffee. Get to the gym. Get back. Get to the shower. Get some breakfast. Get dressed. Get a rickshaw. Get to office.

Get working. Get a break. Get some thinking time. Get some time off. Get on FB. Get an idea for a status message. Get some Likes. Get another assignment out of the way. Get a few more on the work desk. Get a headache.

Get some more writing done. Get hungry. Get some lunch. Get a sugar craving. Get drowsy. Get briefing on another job. Get worked up. Get a game of Table Tennis.

Get impatient. Get distracted. Get a call from random insurance company. Get an opportunity to get out early. Get caught up with an "urgent" assignment.

Get done with work. Get out in time. Get stuck in traffic. Get a call from friends. Get to closest pub. Get chatting. Get a beer. Get to meet an interesting woman. Get to know she's with her boyfriend. Get one big KLPD. Get depressed. Get myself another beer. Get back home late.

Get ready for bed. Now I get thinking, "How do I get more out of life?" Maybe get real? Get a girl? Get serious? Get out of town more often? Naah! Let's not get carried away. Think about it when you get to that bridge. Get a book, and get reading. It's 2 am, get some sleep.

Now I get it! I think I first need to go get a life!

The Grandmother’s Game

Ours is a country that’s full of crazy men and unhappy women. This is particularly true on the day of a cricket match involving the Indian Cricket team – when men conveniently forget and forego all their responsibilities to discuss the brilliance of Sachin’s leg spinner or Ajit Agarkar’s solid forward defence, while women either end up working overtime responding to countless requests of chai and pakoras, or are asked to sit quietly and watch this sacrosanct game. But for all the talk about cricket being a gentleman’s game, no experience came close to watching it in the company of my grandmother, whose love for the game could only be matched by her loyalty for any man who played for India.

 

Back in the early 90s, the Indian Cricket team was not as celebrated as their current counterparts. It was a team of paradoxes – a fast bowler opened the batting, a leg spinner was their fastest bowler and the oldest member was also the team’s best outfielder. The eventual result of the game never really mattered as long as Sachin was the highest scorer. Even if the highest individual score was a mere 31 out of the team’s overall score of 173 all out in 48.5 overs. 

But then my grandmother was the ever empathizing fan who kept insisting, “It’s not easy for a 17-year old boy to play with older men”, “ Do you know how difficult it is to go to an alien country and eat their food”, “We were never as tall and strong as those fair (skin-toned as opposed to natured) Australians”,  “Indians were never raised to do nothing else but play cricket like those dark West Indians”, or “At least, we will never cheat with bad umpiring and win like those bloody Pakistanis in Sharjah”. 

She’d also rationalise her fondness for the men in blue with several gems like “After all, he’s from Bombay”, “He looks so smart, he must surely be a Brahmin”, “Did you know his mother tongue is Konkani and not Marathi”, or the best one, “ I’ve heard he’s employed by Canara Bank, where I maintain my savings account.” Her patriotism was so fervent, that I never dared to admit that Wasim and Waqar were my favourite bowlers, lest I be disowned.

But in hindsight, that’s perhaps what turned me into a critic. My only agenda was to oppose everything that grandma would say during the course of the game. So if you were ever to follow the conversations of the Pai household during a game of cricket, you may be inclined to believe that India was at once the best and the worst team in the world. So a “See they will easily beat Pakistan today” would be followed by “What’s the point, they lose to them on Friday (Sharjah Cup Finals, for the uninitiated, was always contested on a Friday) anyway.” Likewise, “Poor Fellow! Srinath better take some rest. He has fitness problems” would get a “Useless fellows! They should all stop playing and sit at home. None of them are fit to play for the country” as a response.

Somehow, none of my taunts would shake her belief in Indian Cricket. I always imaged that as a cricket fan, Granny was like one of those doting mothers you encountered at school, who believed her son was god’s gift to the Mensa Society, and he’d stand first in class every time but didn’t because he was never a teacher’s pet.

But for all the debates, Grandma always knew that my heart was in the right place. And I’d secretly celebrate ever Indian victory, even if Sachin was out for a duck. And that it had nothing to do with her treating us to a pack of Ruffles (now called Lays) or a bar of Cadbury’s Break every time India won. May be that was her way of ensuring that I inherited her love for Cricket. So thank you Bapamma – watching cricket has never been the same without you.  

How to write a poem?

Just got back from a poetry workshop. And at the end of the session, this is what I came up with:

Always keep your sentences small
If you can't, don't ask yourself not to write at all,

Nails that grow are meant to be clipped, not pulled out,
No bad poem, like bad students, should be sent out,

Don't say don't, never say never,
Remember the rules, but try to be clever,

Makers of rules have always broken a few,
Cutting open silly putty to create something new,

So just write with a free mind, don't keep it in a cage,
Well, if it ain't good, hell! Just pull out another page.

I Feel Lucky...

When I wake up in the morning, only to realise that the snooze alarm does not go off for another half an hour…

When I wake up 45 minutes later, because I hadn’t set the snooze alarm anyway…

When I manage to run an extra 50m without losing my breath…

When I step into an auto-rickshaw without having to heckle for the fare…

When I never encounter a red signal on my way to work…

When I manage to skip reading newspaper yet again, ignorant of what’s happening in the real world, while 

being completely engrossed in my own world…

When I think of a status message that’s got absolutely nothing to do with my life... and it still gets LIKEs…

When I find company who’ll gladly allow me finish lunch at my own pace…and dig into the vegetables I don’t like…

When I can spend one entire day at work just thinking…

When I still manage to do something spectacular on the TT table…

When I finish one book, and place the bookmark on page 1 of another…

When I can polish off an entire bottle of whiskey and still remember everything the next day…

When I realise that some of best friends are not even on my FB friend list…

When the only examination I am subjected to is not at the doctor’s clinic but at airport security...

When I go to a place I've never been to before...and read a book I've never opened before...

When I can participate in a conversation, without having to say anything…even better if it’s a phone call…

When I can beat the evening traffic by simply walking back home…

When I fall asleep, but only realise it the next morning…

When I write something that never seems to end…like this post…

Mad Man's History Lessons: Timeline 10

We've already discussed all the interesting bits of history in our first set of posts that began with where we all came into existence here, and came to a halt shortly after our discussion on the World War II, when mankind nearly destroyed itself. Funnily enough, while World War II united the world against the common enemy - Axis Power - the end of the war divided it almost equally. So the years following the war continued to be a showcase of crimes, follies and misfortunes of mankind. Here's world history, after the start of what ought to have been the happiest days of our lives.

1945: The allied leaders meet up for a party at Yalta, and agree to part with the spoils of war.

1946: Winston Churchill delivers his "Iron Curtain" speech. After practicing it 37 times behind the curtain.

1947: A huge explosion near Sikhote-Alin in the Soviet Union raises suspicion of an American attack. Turns out, it was only a harmless meteor. The Russians were so disapointed, they didn't even bother naming the damn meteor.

1948: NASCAR competitions begins. It was also the origin of the joke, "What's the difference between  NASCAR and a porcupine? In a porcupine, the pricks are on the outside."

1949: One USAF Captain can't deal with his war withdrawal symptoms anymore. So he takes his B-50 Superfortress and flies it around the world, literally.

1950: Korean War begins. Gives Richard Hooker the idea for a book full of laughs, which would eventually turn into M*A*S*H franchise

1951: JD Salinger cracks a joke about this overly abusive teenager. He's surprised when the critics take the book way too seriously. Decades later, critics still swear by it, while Salinger rolls in his grave, laughing

1952:  Elizabeth II is crowned the queen. And she remains so forever (As of 2012).

1953: Samuel Beckett's play "Waiting for Godot" opens successfully. Many of the audience are still found waiting for Godot.

1954: H-Bomb tested in Bikini Atoll. Somehow, the island is still named after the garment that adorns other shapely bombs.

1955: Disneyland opens as a theme park for public. This turns out to be Disney's first venture that made kids throw up.

We'll be back next week with a review of the next decade and a half that takes us into the 60s, when we'll feature a generation that remembers very little, mostly because they smoked some good shit! So until then, keep rolling.

Us and Them: Observations of a non-ManU fan

Before I'm consumed by the violent outrage of football fans around me, let me clarify. Man U is a great team. However, they could never have been as great if it wasn't for the carefully calculated attempts of this one man, who gets inside the heads of opposing fans, and messes with their minds. I don't speak of Sir Alex Ferguson. I speak of ManU's secret weapon - The Manchester United Fan. Especially the one who is found wearing the red jersey in cities as far as Managua (not Manchester) in Nicaragua and Manus (Not ManU) Island in Papua New Guinea.

Typically, ManU fans are known to reinterpret facts and give it a spin that completely bamboozles the rest of mankind. And the one set of people who suffer the most are opposition players. They have no escape because they end up finding Man U fans every where – at airports posing as security guards, on the streets posing as cops, at stadiums posing as referees and as John Terry found out recently, in bed posing as extremely desirable WAGs. Here’s a sample of how ManU fans strategically carry out their devious plans:

Us: ManU Fans are a bunch of out-of-control animals who create havoc wherever they go.
Them: The ManU fan’s behaviour is a result of years of practice, which never fails to intimidate opposition once it’s play time. And we WIN.


Us: ManU needs to sell merchandise worth millions to idiots just to sustain themselves.
Them: The ManU fan buys merchandise knowing that he’s contributing to a greater cause. Like acquiring Shinji Kagawa, who’s the little beast from the East. So we'll WIN.  

Us: Christiano Ronaldo is such a loser. Always acting as if he was fouled.
Them: At least he acted like a winner when he was at ManU. And we’d WIN.

Us: ManU is always full of boors, like Roy Keane. Constantly fouling opponents!
Them: Hey! Roy Keane was an emotionally charged man who played his part the way it was meant to be – The “Attacking” midfielder. And we’d WIN.

Us: Wayne Rooney is such a psycho freak. Remember how he got a red card against Portugal in FIFA 2006
Them: Excuse me! Rooney is a lovable eccentric who helps us WIN.

Us: ManU seems to be having a few fossils in their side, like Giggs and Scholes.
Them: They are seasoned veterans whose job is to teach newbies how to WIN.

Us: ManU seems to be playing some really boring football.
Them: Oh. That’s a part of the grand plan. To put the opposition to sleep and then WIN.

Us: ManU’s defense sucks. They can never lead.
Them: ManU’s defense are not at their best. But even they can attack! So we’d still WIN.

Us: ManU overspent on RvP, who is 30, and keeps getting injured.
Them: But then he’ll come out and score a goal in injury time, and we’ll WIN.

Us: Ha! Lost to Everton in Matchday One! LOL!
Them: They were just warming up. Next game we’ll WIN.

Us: ManU really choked against Norwich City! Bad day, huh!
Them: We just had an off-day. Forget the game. Think Premier League. We’ll WIN.