Tuesday, June 28, 2005

The Ultimate love poem

I read this poem, by Walter 'Savage' Landor, way back when I was in class 12. Many moons, miles, and a million shattered hearts later, I still sigh when I read it.

You smiled, you spoke, and I believed
By every word and smile deceived
Another man would hope no more
Nor hope I what I hoped before
But, let not this last wish be in vain
Deceive, Deceive me, once again

...Bluddy romanticist, bluddy!

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Age Old or Old Age

...Got this 'forward' on email recently, and it opened the same ol' debate that I have had with so many friends, peers, and family.

According to today's regulators and bureaucrats, those of us who were kids in the 60s, 70s and early 80s probably shouldn't have survived, because our baby cots were covered with brightly coloured lead-based paint which was promptly chewed and licked.

We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, or latches on doors or cabinets and it was fine to play with pans.

When we rode our bikes,we wore no helmets, just flip-flops and fluorescent 'spokey dokey's' on our wheels.

As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or airbags - riding in the passenger seat was a treat.

We drank water from the garden hose and not from a bottle - and it tasted the same.

We ate chips, bread and butter pudding and drank fizzy juice with sugar in it, but we were never overweight because we were always outside playing.

We shared one drink with four friends, from one bottle or can and no one actually died from this.

We would spend hours building go-carts out of scraps and then went top speed down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into stinging nettles a few times, we learned to solve the problem.

We would leave home in the morning and could play all day, as long as we were back before it got dark. No one was able to reach us and no one minded.

We did not have Play Stations or X-Boxes, no video games at all. No 99 channels on TV, no videotape movies, no surround sound, no mobile phones, no personal computers, no DVDs, no internet chat rooms.

We had friends - we went outside and found them.

We play elastics and rounders, and sometimes that ball really hurt! We fell out of trees, got cut, and broke bones but there were no law suits.

We had full on fist fights but no prosecution followed from other parents.

We played chat-the-door-run-away and were actually afraid of the owners catching us.

We walked to friends' house. We also, believe it or not, WALKED to school, we didn't rely on mummy or daddy to drive us to school, which was just round the corner.

We made up games with sticks and tennis balls. We rode bikes in packs of 7 and wore our coats by only the hood. The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke a law was unheard of....They actually sided with the law.

This generation has produced some of the best risk-takers and problem solvers and inventors, ever. The past 50 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas. We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned how to deal with it all.

And you're one of them. Congratulations!

Pass this on to others who have had the luck to grow as real kids, before lawyers and government regulated our lives, for our own good. For those of you who aren't old enough, thought you might like to read about us - we had a childhood!!!

This, my friends, is surprisingly frightening, and it might put a smile on your face. The majority of students in universities today were born in 1986. They are called youth. They have never heard of "We are the World, We are the Children", and the "Uptown Girl" they know is by Westlife not Billy
Joel. They have never heard of Rick Astley, Bananarama, Nena Cherry or Belinda Carlisle.

For them, there has always been only one Germany and one Vietnam. AIDS has existed since they were born. CD's have existed since they were born.

Michael Jackson has always been white. To them John Travolta has always been round in shape and they can't imagine how this fat guy could be a god of dance.

They believe that Charlie's Angels and Mission Impossible are from last year. They can never imagine life before computers.

They'll never have applied to be the A Team, Red Hand Gang or the Famous Five. They'll never have applied to be on Jim'll Fix It or Why Don't You.

They can't believe a black and white television ever existed. And they will never understand how we could leave the house without mobile phone.

Now let's check if we're getting old:

  1. You understand what was written above and you smile
  2. You need to sleep more, usually until the afternoon, after a night out
  3. Your friends are getting married/already married
  4. You are always surprised to see small children playing comfortably with computers
  5. When you see teenagers with mobile phones, you shake your head
  6. You remember watching Dirty Den in EastEnders the first time around
  7. You meet your friends from time to time, talking about the good Old days, repeating again all the funny things you have experienced together
  8. Having read this e-mail, you are thinking of forwarding it to some other friends because you think they will like it too....

Yes, you're getting old!!!!

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

As if...

...getting to know when you will die - and down to the lastest second at that - wasn't enough, there is another site, which tells you what/who you were in your past life!

Ah...the many uses of the Internet...

Monday, June 20, 2005

Of tributes and other such...

Well, since no one answered my question, I am going ahead and posting one of the greatest influences - both in terms of effect on me, and by virtue of the fact that its very creation stemmed from one...

For those not in the know: This is a five page long poem by Bob Dylan when he was a 20 something 'nobody' - this was the output/his reaction to hear that one of his greatest idols - Woody Guthrie was, in fact, dying.

I first heard of/read it thanks to Jabberwock many, many moons ago. Since that fateful day, I have read, re-read and then, re-re-read it about a million times...not to mention the number of times I have heard it as part of the Bootleg series. You can also hear it here.

Anyway, here goes...

Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race
No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup
If the wind's got you sideways with one hand holdin' on
And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long
And you start walkin' backwards though you know it’s wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'
And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'
And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'
And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'
And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'
And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'
And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourself you sometimes say
"I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they tell me the day I was born?"
And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat
And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air
And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare
And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying
And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'
And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet
And you need it badly but it lays on the street
And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat
And you think yer ears might a been hurt
Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush
When you were faked out an' fooled while facing a four flush
And all the time you were holdin' three queens
And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly when you're layin' in bed
And no matter how you try you just can't say it
And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it
And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start closin with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself just what am I doin'
On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hanging
On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking
In this air I'm inhaling
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'
On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'
In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'
In the words that I'm thinkin'
In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'
Who am I helping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make yer heart pound
But then again you know why they're around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down"
Cause sometimes you hear 'em when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
And you know that it's something special you're needin'
And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'
And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleedin’
And you need something special
Yeah, you need something special all right
You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That's been banging and booming and blowing forever
That knows yer troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at yer looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need something to open your eyes
You need something to make it known
That it's you and no one else that owns
That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting
That the world ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy no matter how many
Times you might get kicked
You need something special all right
You need something special to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said or maybe you heard
On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve
But that's what you need man, and you need it bad
And yer trouble is you know it too good"
Cause you look an' you start getting the chills"
Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill
And it ain't on Macy's window sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's road map
And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain't on that dimlit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Ranting and raving and taking yer money
And you thinks it's funny
No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell you're bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub
No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you
And it ain't in no cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'
Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry
When you can't even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No you'll not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache´
And inside it the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind yer back
My friend
The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do
And think they're foolin' you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of money and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat
Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel
No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race
You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You'll find God in the church of your choice
You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital
And though it's only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown

...and yes, I could have linked to where it is, but I deliberately chose to post the whole thing up here to feel it once more…

On another note - Thank you, Jai…

On yet another note, I found
this site, which claims that you are a Dylan fan only if you have done any of the zillion things it lists!

Thursday, June 09, 2005

Freudian Fate

Am currently working on a set of graduate courses in Psychology…came across this and it all but split my sides!

The name of the Psychology thinker: Horney
The area of research/expertise: Penis Envy

...even funnier - this line that I quote straight from the book - "The section "Horney's explanation of Penis Envy" was revised to show Horney's early acceptance of the belief "Anatomy is Destiny" and her later rejection of that belief..."

Hee Hee!


Wednesday, June 08, 2005

I am so I am

was browsing through some random blogs off links from friends' blogs...etcetera...came across another test/quiz on this site...something I haven't seen in a while since this....and so...

You scored as Cultural Creative. Cultural Creatives are probably the newest group to enter this realm. You are a modern thinker who tends to shy away from organized religion but still feels as if there is something greater than ourselves. You are very spiritual, even if you are not religious. Life has a meaning outside of the rational.

Cultural Creative - 88%
Idealist - 81%
Modernist - 75%
Romanticist - 69%
Postmodernist - 63%
Materialist - 56%
Existentialist - 38%
Fundamentalist - 31%

Click here to take the test.

Can't get...

...Kajrare - the slutty-semi-mujraesque-item-number out of my head! I loved everything about it - from the way they have used Alisha's voice, to the very, very, U.P. dancing ...Last year, I went to Kanpur for a friend's wedding, enjoyed the entire experience tremendously ...and this completely took me back to the time! The song itself has been playing practically on loop...and the wannabe item dancer in me has been having a field time moving with/to it!

sighhhhhh....back to kajrare then...

Epilogue-ish sort of thing: I couldn't care less for its force-fitted-and-totally-showcasing-the-father-son-thing placement of it in the movie.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005


Are we allowed to name a work by a songwriter that is not a song, yet means a lot to me? For example, a poem or short story by a singer/songwriter.

...and just FYI, I am not referring to Madonna's books just yet.

Oh, and I tag:

WiTcHsHinE - Though if you see her blog, this should be a piece of cake for her!

...may the curse be with you!

Doomed or How I was Song-tagged into submission

Ok, Jabberwock, this is by far the cruelest-est thing you could ever do (even by your standards!) to me. For everyone else, I have to say this by way of introduction, almost each song I listen to means something deep in my heart. There’re just so many millions more, that it is heartrending to put in just these songs as the ‘chosen’ ones.

Total volume of music files on my computer: 2761

The last CD/cassette I bought was: Didn’t really buy this, but a friend gave me a CD full of Bengali rock music…

Songs playing right now: Somewhere only we know by Keane

Five songs that mean a lot to me: Ok, I am going to divide this into Hindi and English too. And by ‘Hindi’ I mean ANY language that is not English (and no, American songs don’t count)… I have to tell you this though, I am totally cheating here – call it dyscalcuaulia, but this list can NOT end at just 5!


  1. Black by Pearl Jam
  2. Romeo and Juliet – Indigo Girls
  3. Knocking on Heavens Door – Bob Dylan
  4. Lightning Crashes – Live
  5. The End – The Doors
  6. Coming Back to Life – Pink Floyd
  7. The Sounds of Silence – Simon N Garfunkel
  8. Move Over – Janis Joplin


  1. Kya Hua Ek Baat Par – Amit Kumar
  2. Raasaathi – Srinivas (I think!) from Thiruda Thiruda
  3. Kandisa – Indian Ocean
  4. Ishq Mein Tere – Abida Parveen
  5. O Sanam – Lucky Ali
  6. Laaga Chunari Mein Daag – Manna Dey

…explanations for each by and by…and it is still SO not complete…ah well…

PS: For whoever invented this game – there’re so many more sub-sub-categories I can think of adding – top5 covers, OST, classical (genres can be a whole thing in itself)…and of course, you’re so going to fry in Hell.