It always started off as a scene reminiscent of the ones you see in hindi movies picturized with song and dance. There were a few excited young ones among us, holding water guns in one hand, and packets of color in the other. The dry colors were unobjectionable even when they came in the most unspeakable shades of green and black. But those suspicious looking small packets they brought that had shiny crystalline powder or gold-silver paste were insufferable. We squirted some colored water on each other and gently rubbed dry colors on our faces and clothes and made ourselves look as varicolored as possible! There were a few new ones in the group who were worried about dirtying their clothes too much or having their faces dominated with just one color. It always amused us how silly they were being. We knew they would grow out of it by the end of the day and laugh at themselves for being daft as well (either that, or it was the last time we were going to see them!).  

Then the moms and dads brought in some more huge bags of color (the ones in our hands weren't going to cut it), turned the water pipes on, filled big drums with colored water, oiled the cars and scooters so that they wouldn't catch color, and set up the boom box and an assortment of fast music (mostly telugu and hindi street songs... and never songs related to holi). They blurted out some quick instructions like "wash yourselves well before entering the house", "don't walk barefoot on the roads"... You could tell they were not entirely committed to giving instructions, because it was a pointless exercise in futility. The one instruction that came with commitment was "DO NOT RESIST ANYONE" Some of us knew what that meant, some were about to find out. 

We played on and giggled and laughed and tried to pull a smart one on each other. This lasted the first one hour. 

Then the hoodlums (young adults) among the family and friends arrived like a pack of hungry wolves, ending all tranquility. Nothing can prepare you enough for being liquidated (literally). There was no running for cover or screaming for help. You were cornered on all sides and lifted like a bag of grain and flung in the air and into a tank full of frigid water. In you went and out you came to gasp for breath only to go back in again from the force of the second person being thrown into it. Then the third person was flung in, then the fourth, the fifth, the sixth... anyone who attempted to get out of the tank was pushed back in forcefully. Our heads bobbed up and down and up and down to the whim of the hands holding them. The few who escaped this treatment, were dragged by the leg, pulled up and smeared with a thick layer of the silver paste... their teeth were rubbed with dry red powder and their body attacked mercilessly with eggs! The air was filled with sinister laughter. 

I can't remember why I thought this was enjoyable. I suppose evil is only evil only when it comes from an unknown source like the bike rowdies. As soon as an innocuous balloon full of red water broke on one of us, the whole group ran towards the biker (now victim) and attacked him ferociously by giving him the most savage treatment of color you can imagine. Some bikers who managed to whiz past us after throwing water balloons got a loud cheer, mingled with swear words and glorious hoots! (Few bikers even threw glass bottles at people. These were the dangerous kind, we hoped wouldn't visit our streets. They rarely did). 

Some friends would stay indoors out of fear of all the aggression, only to have fifty people screaming in front of their houses. A few of them would climb over the walls and try to kick the doors open. Finally (and I never understood why), they succumbed to this threat, and became unwilling guinea pigs of a horror experiment.  

The violence usually came in cycles. As the hours went by it got less and less fierce. By now the uncles and aunties from neighboring houses arrived and brought a different kind of celebration with them. It was spirited in joyfulness of a more pleasurable kind. In a good year, the crowd added up to two hundred people (most years were good years... the bad years were when a majority of us had our final exams and were restricted to playing holi for a few hours with our immediate families at home. These were the terrible years. If you squirted more water from your gun than your mom thought acceptable, or rubbed too much color on a cousin's head, you had to listen to a long lecture on toxic chemicals and safety).  

There was a whole lot of music and dancing, and delicious food contaminated with color (despite all efforts)! Bhang flowed like a river and befuddled the minds of the young and old alike. Some people went ahead and threw the bhang in the water tank, which was by now entirely black and full of kids. 

After a few hours, when most of the neighbors dispersed, and the close family and friends remained, several other groups of friends and family who had celebrated elsewhere joined in. We drove to someone's farm house or someplace in the outskirts and spent the rest of evening and night there in wild celebration! This was my holi until six years ago! Now I think of it in past tense and wonder whether it was celebrated in India yesterday or today and if it was as dramatic as it had been before! (The answer is never yes)

HAPPY HOLI. (This year, I will spend mine learning the significance of holi... something that I never cared to learn before)

----------

I don't usually upload blog comments to posts, by these are funny.

1. Shanky's story:
I thought it was safer to throw boiled eggs at people instead of raw eggs, so I spent a lot of time that morning in front of the stove, only to burn my hands later!

2. Pakoda and Anand's story (from anand):
Did i tell you about my running out of eggs experience?
this was with my hps group... we bought eggs and roamed around in our bikes and threw eggs at people on the streets...but we ran out of eggs... then pakoda (anand's friend) got this brilliant idea and bought fish. so he would dip these fish in holi color and go "SLAP!!" on poor passers by as i drove around the kinetic honda,... finally we put these fish under the riders butts on neighboring vehicles! like at traffic lights and a guy in the other bike would go.. "uncle there is a pink fish under your bum"... hahaha. that was like one of the funniest things ever. pakoda was a crazy dude.
actually the most disgusting holi i ever had was in anantapur...  at least fish was funny... i mean it was creative making fish shaped marks on people
in anantapur they ran out of colors and water! so they started throwing mud at each other in the hostel. it was horrible mud and people were kicking up a sandstorm.

In the next few days, while you won’t even have noticed I’ve gone, I will have been accomplishing something exciting. :)

A thought came to mind. There is a certain age where you have the energy and drive to take risks and do unimaginable things. It is also when you wish you had the means to do more. You hold on to the thought of acquiring those means eventually. That’s what keeps you going.

Then there is the age where you lack the energy, lose the drive (to pessimism maybe), but achieve a state of mental stability that keeps you grounded in reality. It is also when you have the means to do more, but no desire to. Your lack of aspiration becomes your key to contentment. What little desire you have, you pin on your children, or get yourself a Bugatti Veyron (if you can afford it)

Wouldn’t it be nice if you could arrive at the age where you had the energy and drive to take risks, and the means and desire to do unimaginable things, while staying grounded in reality?

Seeing as I am not driving the Bugatti Veyron, and am not getting any younger, I am left with some energy, some drive, some mental stability…

They say my desires are not grounded in reality. But, I have a lot working in my favor. Shouldn’t I put them to some use before I am left just desiring with no means of fulfilling them (to whatever possible extent)?

Sometimes it helps to have a blog. You can say things on it without feeling self-conscious or obliged to explain your actions. You can just say, I will be gone for a bit to accomplish something exciting. :)

(I will be on twitter if I can’t help myself)

In the spirit of the snow season, and because the atmospheric water vapor in the Deece threatens to freeze again and form a mass of ice crystals and fall as white flakes (possibly for the last time), I am going to allow myself some Snowbama humor on this blog. :)



Today, I walked two miles to a diner on a slippery main road next to a sidewalk piled up with snow and wasn't happy about it at all. Moreover, my friend who accompanied me on my way back slipped on ice and bruised her knee quite badly. I was wondering whose responsibility it is to make the roads pedestrian-friendly. Does my city council's snow ordinance say anything about requiring the sidewalks to be clean and safe to traverse at all times? It absolutely does!... I called their hotline with the intention of reading their ordinance to them and lamenting about the hazardous walking conditions they are having us live with, but their hotline is warm at best and directs you to an answering machine. Very annoying! If they don't do anything to clear the snow after tonight, I am going to try the Public Works Department next. Think that might work?

Lovely movie this My Name is Khan! Karan Johar took the filter out of his brain and made mixed vegetable kurma out of a million global calamities and served it alongside bheja fry (mine and few other minorities). Most people seem to have liked the full-on dishing out of anti-patrioterrorism rhetoric. I, for one, enjoyed it completely, but for reasons that would make Shiv Sena question my (dis)loyalty!

I have always maintained that verbal diarrhea is a result of repressing strong emotions for too long. What better example can I find to establish the validity of my claim than this epiglottis Khan film!

After years of bottling up his emotions about all that he had been reading in the op-ed pages of newspapers that his favorite juhu beach peanuts came wrapped in, Karan Johar could not restrain himself any longer and had to vomit out everything he felt about everything in one go.

There is a scene in the movie where Khan identifies all the animals in a crossword puzzle competition and wins his stepson a stuffed animal. I wouldn't be surprised if it was a metaphor for all the social issues the film touched upon that the audience needed to identify.

Moreover, it was a three-hour long exercise in suspending disbelief except for two occasions where he showed some restraint. One: Khan did not have the hurricane victims pump out flood water from their town by converting their bicycles into motors (perhaps because he already did something similar in Swades, and hey! Funny Hair Joel broke his bicycle after the accident!) and Two: Obama did not sing "Hum Honge Kaamyaab".

I was in tears as I did a mental rundown of when the stock market crashed in the US. Had it not been in the nonexistent timeline that the film was based in, Chacha "Khan" Chaudary, whose memory works faster than a computer would have solved a global economic crisis and restored normalcy to our dysfunctional markets as easily as Superman circled the globe and made time run backwards.

Is this what happens to opinionated filmmakers who restrict themselves to the romantic genre for too long and need an outlet to vent their political discontentment? What was the film propelled by and what propels Karan Johar! Seeing as the film celebrated a "direct symbolism" bonanza, should he have called it Montezuma's Revenge (a.k.a. Traveller's diarrhea) instead?

My grandmom is an avid reader who devours literature like she also does cashews and dark chocolates! :) When I think of her, she is usually sitting on her bed next to this large window and reading one of Corbett’s books. For a long time, everything I knew of Corbett was through her accounts of his narratives of his exploits. Perhaps from that and her love for nature stems my own love. Now I read books about nature, often thinking about her. I also read them with this sense of awe for all that the writer observes and the thoughts that they inspire in him-- something that would have been lost on me had it not been for her.

I hear my grandmom complain that she can’t sit up too long or hold a heavy book in her hand. While I am convinced that she is inconvenienced by this lack of strength, it can’t be enough to stop her from holding one in her hand. Now when I read a book, I often wonder if she might want to read it, but is too big for her to hold, and that doesn’t sit well with me.

I am contemplating whether to buy her an eBook reader (Nook, Kindle, iPad) or not. Then again, I realize her handicap is with holding books she already owns, for which the eBook reader is of no help. A book holder perhaps?

The ergonomics of book holders is lost on me. Would she find a book pillow convenient, or a stand that can be placed next to her bed and positioned to eyelevel, or an adjustable bed table like the breakfast table that can be placed on top of her?

I am lost. I need your help.

Sitting on a warm bed.

Sunlight pouring into the room.

A book in hand.

The sound of traffic.

The smell of jasmine

Mom’s long winding conversation on the phone.

Cousins floating in and out.

Laughter.

Unbearably loud TV.

Servant sweeping the floor.

A nanny for every kid. A driver for every adult. A helper for every task.

The smell of rain.

The taste of mangoes.

The sight of my grandmom. My missing granddad.

The company of my grandparents.

Their beautiful study. Lovely old books. Their old furniture.

The gardens where time stands still.

The arguments. The opinions. The pride. The criticism.

Politics. Money.

The gossip. The lack of silence.

Variety in Advertisements.

People selling things.

People staring...gawking... gazing.

Me Avoiding, ignoring.

Us Fighting, Bargaining...always Negotiating.

My brother on the guitar.

Dad on his cell phone.

Several pictures on the wall.

Newspapers and magazines all over the table.

Missing memorabilia, fading nostalgia.

The battle with the geaser.

The whirring of the fan.

The sight of a lizard next to the tube light. Roaches in the kitchen. My mom’s denial of their existence.

Cousins in palatial houses. Cousins in tiny flats. English speaking cousins. Artsy cousins. Intellectual cousins. Brainiac cousins. And the rest.

Idlis for breakfast. A jam session with food. Variety, spice of life.

Concerts. Music. Movies. Entertainment.

Art exhibitions.

Drinks. Chaos. Mayhem.

College kids. Fat bellied men. Beer.

Crowded pubs filled with smoke.

Being driven and then driving :))

Nature. Old trees. Cows. Dogs.

Buildings of every kind and size.

Zoos, Museums and other pretentious “avoidables” that I must not avoid!

Fashion. Bragging. Class. Mass.

Abundance of religion.

Shopping malls. Markets. Book Stores. Tiny Shops packed to the brim.

Weddings. Parties. Gatherings. Socializing.

Dad's constant traveling.

My touristy explorations and wistful pursuits.

Living it up. Fitting in. Getting out.

This is the India in my head. Is this the India of May 2010?

There is nothing natural about being me. 

On an average occassionless day, what I am is a result of painful facial waxing, careful primping and preening, battling with frizz and then straightening or curling, scrupulously concealing, calculatedly revealing, managing my everyday fragrances, selecting my "occassionless" makeup, choosing the right dress and then the right accessories, and then after all that making a statement about who I am and why I am through how I am!  If I don't look dolled up enough, don't let it fool you into thinking I am what I am because I could care less, or want to look real. There is nothing simple and natural about being me! 

Today, is not an average occassionless day and the pressure of living up to it is daunting!

I am going to ignore those who are plain sick of Hallmark’s internationally anointed day of love. I would much rather celebrate a day of forced romance than anything else.

But, I was thinking about how awful tomorrow can be for broken hearted people world over. What a painful reminder it is that life isn’t what you hoped it would be.

What is even more disenchanting is the results on googling “ease a broken heart”.

The first link says

“Acetaminophen, the active ingredient in Tylenol may not only ease physical pain, but the pain of social rejection as well!”

The second link offers a pointwise solution that begins with

“Let your broken heart be broken. Don't hide it. Don't bury it. Don't ignore it. Don't numb it. Don't curse it. A broken heart is proof that you took a risk, that you were open, that you followed your energy, that you saw possibility, that you believed. But now you lie shattered and split, and it feels terrible. You want the pieces back. You want your heart pounding as it did before. But life is not meant to be filled only with rousing beats; it needs monotone hums as well. Just as things are built, they are crumbled; just as plants grow, they wilt; just as we live, we die. Do not let the significance of this moment be lost in a mad rush to put the pieces back together. Be broken for a while. A heart has a way of mending on its own.”

The third link points to a witchcraft website that offers a magic spell to ease the broken heart with impossible-to-find ingredients.

“Strawberry tea bag, a stick from a willow tree, sea salt, 2 pink candles, a mirror, a pink drawstring bag, one quartz crystal, a copper penny, a bowl made of china, a teaspoon of dried jasmine, a teaspoon of orris root power, strawberry leaves, a teaspoon of yarrow, ten drops of apple blossom oil and ten drops of strawberry oil”

My "happily single" friends seem to be coming up with some desirable celebration ideas. Perhaps there is some lesson to be learnt from them? In the meantime, Tapi and I will try to keep out of reach of the disillusioned lot while celebrating our undying love.

Ok! Here's my two cents for the broken hearted. Tomorrow might not be a bad day to watch 500 days of Summer or Prime or The Break Up.

Happy Valentines Day!

White Winter Hymnal – Fleet Foxes
Horchata – Vampire Weekend
Transliterator – DeVotchKa
Countdown - Phoenix
I Summon You – Spoon
Paper Aeroplane – Angus & Julia Stone
The Clockwise Witness – DeVotchKa
The Hazards of Love 1 – The Decemberists
Number With No Name Ben Harper & Relentless7
We Use to Vacation – Cold War Kids
I Can See Your Tracks – Laura Veirs
Blue Is My Heart – Exit Clov
Hooting & Howling – Wild Beasts

Other Music Playlists

I want to see what people carry in their pockets. I want to see everything they want to be able to do by putting their hands into that little receptacle behind their asses and pulling out their favorite wonder device.

I want to see what people are wearing these days. If everything they wear is designed with just functionality in mind. I am particularly curious to see how they are putting that small inside pocket in their jeans to use.

I want to see the interiors of people’s houses. I am particularly curious about the extra functionality that their expensive grandfather clock offers. Those pretty boxes that hold their jewels. Those paintings that adorn their walls.
Those porcelain vases that hold their flowers. Those chest-cum-coffee tables that store their ill-gotten gains. Those cosy leather couches with recliners. Those magical lamps and chandeliers that do more than light their living rooms. Those media consoles with those entertainment devices - are they keeping them entertained well?... and functionally?

I want to see where people are eating these days.  Do they fill up on those hors d'ouerves, amuse bouches and mezes in high-end Tapas Bars because it is convenient?
I want to open their fridges and see what they've been snacking on. Those carefully picked wines and cheeses from speciality stores, those matsutake mushrooms, snail eggs and luxury pizzas, those organic veggies and fruits, those truffles and ice creams... do they only serve to fill their stomach?

I want to know why they think the ipad is a futile purchase!

I am usually a few months behind on magazines. While I am still "Dealing with America's fiscal hole" (The Economist Nov 21st issue), the world thinks it is "Time to Get Tough" and learn "Lessons from Obama's first year" (The Jan 16th issue)!

If you read magazines like I do, line by line, cover to cover, you are essentially treating it like a novel. And if that has been your modus operandi for some time, you will begin to respond to news stories the same way you would each episode in a series. You read them with close attention, go over what might happen next, and wait eagerly for the drama to unfold. Given that most magazines are a 100 pages long, it is time consuming and I am usually behind all news.

Now, don't let this fool you into thinking I do this before I think my method has virtue. For one thing, I am terrible at remembering facts. Everything I read, be it about politics, art, technology, science, environment or finance, turns into the same glop of cogitative matter -- none that I can use in a social conversation. Moreover, by the time I have read it, people have moved on to something more current and know so much more.  

Even with the podcasts I listen to, the news articles I read online, the TV shows I watch, I find that it is less about keeping up with affairs and more about adding to that same glop of cogitative matter, which only satisfies my mind. 

But sometimes, I wonder if I should be less ignorant and put an effort into remembering those facts. Most people I know who do, seem to have so much more to offer to a conversation... and seem so much more knowledgeable. I find that I am utterly fascinated by what they have to say, even though I have read about it before... their cogitative glop is more meritorious and full of cognizance, while mine only makes me look ignorant! 

But perhaps, what mine helps with is in understanding a dinner conversation with my friends better than I would have if I had not read anything in the first place.

I am afraid I will keep going off on tangents with this post. Therefore, I will begin with clarifying that this is just my musing on my actions and reactions. There is a sensual side to seeing and doing, reading and watching, interacting and sharing, thinking and dreaming... and in my case I think they all point to my unhealthy interest in myself, in you, and your excessive interest in me! :)

Nothing excites me as much as foreplay and persuasion. I am a big sucker for reciprocal action and could be happy giving or taking from an interaction as long as it encourages pleasant afterthought. What I also like is living vicariously through people. I like taking in their experiences and getting into their minds and seeing the world through their unique perspectives. It is something of an exploration of their physical and abstract selves as if I was them, or with them, even if I am only observing them on the quiet. This establishes me as the average voyeur -- the curious majority. As far as I can tell, if you are reading this post, there is a good chance that you are a lot like me in this regard.       

One would think that if you take excessive interest in someone else, it is the opposite of narcissism. But, your interest in them has mainly to do with gratifying your own self. Your excitement for them, your empathy and sympathy even have mostly to do with gratifying yourself with that emotion. I speak not only about people, but also about the stories we enjoy and the news we read everyday!  

Our narcissism doesn't end with our vicarious living. We also cater to someone else'sz narcissistic interest in us, and in that again lies our own narcissism. The importance of our lives and thoughts lies primarily in what others think of them. Everything we experience is less about going through the experience as we would naturally, and more about how we would present our feelings about it to people.

We take it on ourselves to impart wisdom to the world and make our opinions known as if without our input the world would be deprived of a certain enlightenment. Then there is the other side to us that makes us want to share the mundane. The unremarkable details of our everyday life, our ordinary triumphs and failures take on a role of importance. You end the day not thinking of falling on your bed in utter exhaustion but finding ways to express that exhaustion and how you have fallen on your bed!

I suppose it is okay to see importance in the mundane. What I am worried about is that my mundane is deriving its importance from the interest of others in it, rather than on its own. The things I do don't matter unless I think them tweetable or blogworthy!

Does the fact that I constantly need affirmation for my feelings and actions tell you that I am self-deprecating? Or am I, as a result of all this self-absorption and craving for admiration, being narcissistic!  

This self-absorption doesn’t end with voyeurism. Like I said in the beginning, nothing excites me as much as foreplay and persuasion. Let me speak purely in sexual terms before I extend it to other spheres.

Let us say a person obliquely indicates an interest towards you by designing his words with suggestive meaning or using his body language to express the right amount of intimacy. You can tell he is gauging your interest in him behind that cloak of playfulness. His double entendres are even more charming when he lets slip his anticipation of what might happen after this prelude. His intention becomes less devious and his next move more apparent. If you play along, you have become the audience of persuasion.     

Let us say the very same person is less flirtatious, but just keenly interested in you. With your best interest at heart, he sets out to impart wisdom through personal stories and promote his opinions on things. This he does while making you feel like he is providing you a captive audience, while at the same time showcasing his astute wisdom. If he has your attention and the conversation lingers, you have become the audience of persuasion.    

Now let us say the person does not know you. You watch him on TV as he expresses his opinion on an issue. You are beginning to be discern his point of view and find yourself reacting to it either in approval or disapproval. He has stirred your emotions and created a ruckus in your head. You turn off the television and the discussion still continues to inspire thought. You have become the audience of persuasion. 

Seduction is such a deceptive word. People often think it is about sexual desire... what it is is the gratification of your senses, or your ticket to pleasurable emotion. You could be seduced even when you are not the recipient of seduction! For all you know, you could be seduced by looking at someone else being seduced, or watching him dance to a trance unaware of you or the world around him, or even addressing a political concern - a far cry from wanting to be considered desirable! What about it persuades you to keep watching him if not for that you have been seduced!

Now to think of seduction and foreplay in broad terms. Let us say you have gone off into your cocoon of random thoughts. You could be keeping yourself amused by reliving an experience you just had, analyzing a news story you just read, fostering an idea you came upon, or dreaming about a hypothetical date you’re your infatuation. If you catch yourself smiling as your mind drifts away, or admiring your chain of thought... you have become the audience of your own persuasion... 

Isn't it true that everything we enjoy doing could arouse sensual desires if not sexual?    

I think about why we clink our wine glasses before we drink. It is said that tasting wine involves four of the five senses. You hold the glass of wine in your hand, appreciate the color and the finish of both the glass and the wine, savor its aroma and taste the many layers of flavor. When you clink the wine glasses as you make a toast, you include the fifth missing sense - hearing. Now say you swirl the glass and let it breathe, and the wine gets better with each sip, isn't it a bit like foreplay? The only difference perhaps is while we can have wine in a crowd by engaging all five senses, I highly doubt that group foreplay will ever be morally acceptable! :)  

Still if you have a story to tell, an opinion to share, a perspective to promote, a product to sell, an idea to hash out, you are in essence (intentionally or otherwise) flirting with your audience. And while artists, storytellers, columnists, op-ed writers, critics, editorial cartoonists, commentators and opinion journalists are infatuated with their conception, you are their unwitting muse... until you find yourself persuaded or seduced!

Among the many cheesy things I do (example), there is one that is becoming my favorite. Every birthday, I pull out a card from a deck of angel cards and try to follow the word on it for the rest of the year.

The original intent of the card may have been to suggest a spiritual pathway that gets you closer to your angel. I like to think of it more as an inspirational start to a year, much like with new years resolutions where we take on new projects or reform bad habits. Only, with angel cards there is no success or failure. There are just thoughts or qualities to be aware of and encourage for the rest of the year.

Some of the words in the cards seem quite direct, like "Adventure" or "Commitment" and then there are some that are more abstract like "Resilience" or "Expansiveness", but they are all as simple or as deep as you want them to be and can have meanings beyond the obvious.

This year Tapi and I decided to do the angel card tradition together, so we pushed it from birthday to new year. Tapi’s word is "Harmony" and mine is "Respect". We both made our grumpy faces at what seemed like the most unexciting words for the year! Tapi is already Harmony personified. Anyone who has met him will attest to that. "Respect" and I are like Mayonnaise and Sunshine. I suppose his challenge is in figuring out how to follow his word better than he already is, and my challenge is to follow mine, period. :) (For some reason, the really exciting cards that say "Exploration" or "Celebration" always elude me!)

If you like, I have an angel card for you. You can tell me at the end of the year how you did with it. :)

What does it say about me that my website received most hits when I was least active!

I am back from my vacation and feel a lot like Alice after her adventure in Wonderland, like Gulliver after his voyages through Liliput, Brobdingnag, Laputa and Houyhnhmns, like Dorothy after her return from the Land of Oz.

For one thing, my monopoly board game came to life and in such style! We arrived in London on Christmas day and drove the night through eerily empty streets, all brightly illuminated with Christmas lights of all varieties. It resembled an impressively geared-up set just before a flamboyant musical is about to begin. And just like that, over the next few days, the curtains opened and the streets began to fill up with traffic, the sidewalks came alive with the hustle and bustle of a teeming metropolis, much like in Time Square on a bad day with no place to drive, park or walk!

Most people I met were dressed in colorful costumes of fantastical creatures, and did things like playing the violin while walking a tightrope, juggling five balls with their mouth, singing and dancing in the most evocative ways.

We sat through a glorious performance by the Belmont Ensemble of London in a beautiful baroque setting at St.Martin-in-the-Fields. The violinists played familiar yuletide masterpieces by Vivaldi, Bach, Handel, Mozart, Corelli, and Torelli.

Then one frosty morning, we witnessed Christmas Crackers, a very festive blend of acrobatics, comedy, music and burlesque in a vibrant setting at Shakespeare’s Globe. It was a bit like a Pantomime with actors walking amongst the audience, telling stories through jokes, songs and dances, mostly satirizing Shakespearean plays and Christmas carols.

We also watched a traditional Pantomime of Snow White and Seven Dwarfs in Manchester, with kids in the audience booing the horrible witch and cheering the Prince as he saves Snow White.

There was a beautiful jazz concert by the Scott Hamilton Quartet at the Jazz Club Soho.

The highlight was a dazzling Cirque du Soleil in the Royal Albert Hall. Every time, a winged creature gracefully tumbled from heaven onto earth, rotating, whirling, spinning, spiraling in unhumanlike ways, I lost my capacity to react.

It was very unlike what happened at Mathew Bourne’s Swan Lake ballet at Sadler’s Wells the night before. The dance sequences with the male swans were so graceful and emotive, that I could see myself drawn to their sensual beauty and physical expression like a moth to a flame. The intense scenes of romance were titillating, those of loneliness causing physical pain.

The concerts and shows are one side of London. There was a divine side to the city, with cathedrals and churches of beauty seemingly unmatched anywhere else in the world. We walked into Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s Cathedral, and a small Anglican church, each time expecting to get out in a few minutes, only to be drawn to the extraordinary beauty of the sanctuary. The ambience stirred feelings of awe and wonder and we stayed on for a few hours. I have never thought myself religious, but how do I explain that transcendent joy I experienced when listening to the Evensong in this sacred setting. I saw myself crying my eyes out in what felt like an overwhelming feeling of religious guilt and love for God.

I have heard so much about the unthinkably old pubs in London, their architecture competing with their reputation, their beers with their character… we went to a few over-packed pubs that more than lived up to the buildup. I couldn’t also help admiring the contemporary ones, and some small street-corner locals. (To my beer-loving friends: I liked some of the well-hopped pale ales, but I still prefer to be “lager than life”). The coffee shops and bars were just as charming.

We did a few touristy things as well, including some guided tours through museums and such. When there was no guided tour, there was the distraction of very good company to keep us entertained. (It is never a good idea to go to museums with really good company… especially not in London where there are both buildings and artifacts in the buildings to admire!)

The (window) shopping experience was splendid… all those secondhand bookstores at Marylebone High Street and Charing Cross, toys at Hamleys, the vintage clothes at Seven dials, everything at Harrods, everything else at Westfields… the visits to American stores in London… the food... the south-asian food! It was a sensual feast, a tactile banquet... a very expensive sensual feast, an overpriced tactile banquet. :)

I am left feeling a yearning still. Like this was just a prelude to many more vacations. There seems to be so much to see and do in London and I haven’t even begun exploring. I feel like an actor in a musical who has been asked to wrap things up after the interval, without finishing my performance because I have already been singing and dancing too much! And when I am not feeling like the actor, I feel like the audience who is waiting for the actor to show up after the interval, only to find that the show has been declared over, because I have already been given my money's worth!

I think I most regret not watching Sherlock Holmes (the movie) in Baker’s Street. I also regret watching the New Years parade. It was a "profound" disappointment (profound because it brought to mind a lot of philosophical questions that I would much rather not think about!) ... But it was exciting to be in Covent Garden right where the My Fair Lady scene takes place, or Darcy’s home in Lyme Park, or the Poet's corner in Westminster Abbey … among other things.

Some of my most favorite people in the world, also the most talented people I know personally live in what is now one of my most favorite cities in the world. I have had extraordinary experiences with them… traveling with them; meeting their "famous" friends; pouring our hearts out; listening to them recite their poems, sing with the choir, play the piano and the guitar… It’s been one heck of an emotional (borderline melodramatic) and memorable trip.

We also went to Paris… which felt like the sequel to Alice in Wonderland. Through the Looking Glass?

It’s a long post in itself, but I just don’t have it in me to dash off some more … :)

But here's something that occurred to me. Why do people say the Brits and French are not friendly. I have had the most interesting conversations with complete strangers.... it's not quite my everyday experience in my talky adopted country even!

I am in a serenely happy state of mind, like I just came out of a long aromatic bath in an oversized tub. I am out of the warm soapy water, have slipped into a comfortable shirt and pajamas and am ready to drift into a restful sleep. :)

There are a lot of things I learnt over the last few days that have brought me here.

Very recently, I read Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser and a few books by Michael Pollan - In Defense of Food, Omnivore’s Dilemma and bits and pieces of The Botany of Desire. I then watched a film version of The Botany of Desire, followed by Food Inc, which features Pollan and Schlosser, and Super Size Me.

They all speak of what goes into the food we eat, where they come from, and how they affect our lives from every point of view that you can think of … imagine the good, bad and the ugly played out in a socio/political/economic/ethical/scientific/cultural/nutritional scenario with regards to food (!) The Botany of Desire even describes how human desires affect the plant life from the plants point of view. It takes examples of apples, tulip, marijuana, and potatoes to show us how these species have adapted over centuries to different environments all over world by manifesting themselves in hundreds of varieties that cater to our ever-changing desires of taste, beauty and experiences. What you take home from these books and films is an aspiration to contemplate our food choices in a less monotone way…

Tapi and I watch a lot of Food and Travel shows (apart from million other shows that keep us glued to the tube). The latest season of Top Chef was especially stimulating. It brought in some really gifted chefs who inspired a great deal of respect for the art. I speak especially of the four finalists who transformed the show from competition to purely display of talent.

This excessive food-related reading and watching is making me wonder if I am addicted to what Anthony Bourdain calls “food porn”. It is an unsettling feeling when your voyeuristic urges are given an unflattering label like that. I also think it simplifies the multitude of other satisfactions I derive from them. The entertainment is not just in the visual appeal or the urge to see talent, but also in the intellectual curiosity it satisfies! ... Am I saying I am a "food porn" addict and more?

Over the weekend I watched all ten episodes of “The Life of Mammals”. I don’t know how to talk about it without feeling like in saying more I am saying less. The dominant emotion I felt while watching the series was that of astonishment. I saw myself asking if these mammals really exist on this planet! If humans are the inferior mammal—if we are a much tinier blip in this series of blips in the universe than we thought we were. Moreover, within each episode Attenborough hurdles from continent to continent like a little girl hopping from one box to another on her chalk-drawn hopscotch court on the sidewalk! One minute he is inside a dark cave full of flesh eating maggots filming hibernating bats, and right after that he is hanging hundreds of feet above ground on a thin rope tied to a tall tree in a dense forest. And he does all that without looking muscly and athletic, but as strange as a flightless bird taking to the air with ease! His enthusiasm to share his discoveries is endearing and inspiring.

I thought The Life of Mammals was a revelation until I saw Attenborough in Paradise.

In early 19th century, Alfred Russel Wallace wrote a book called The Malay Archipelago about his first sighting of the birds of paradise. In it, he describes these birds as “the most beautiful, and most wonderful living things on the planet”, with illustrations of creatures of astounding beauty with structural features and plumage beyond anything imaginable. His description of the birds inspired an ambition in Attenborough to find them, only, there was little scientific evidence of their existence. Over the years, the birds of paradise took on an almost-mythical status, and were mostly talked about in speculation of what they may have looked like based on hearsay of local tribes or illustrations of artists. Many were even thought to be extinct. But, after six decades since reading the book, and trying to find them several times, Attenborough finally manages to fulfill his ambition through this film. What you see in this film is not just beauty, but a miraculous marvel that extends beyond the aesthetic! Their unique and elaborate courtship rituals, and their ability to impress their mates through careful planning is otherworldly!

Between the Botany of Desire that speaks of how plants take advantage of human desire to perpetuate themselves, and Attenborough in Paradise that looks at beautiful creatures living spectacular lives without the knowledge of humans, I have to wonder where we fit in this overall picture… Clearly we are looking less and less like we are in control of our environment and more and more like the environment is in control of us… and also like not everything on earth is made purely for our enjoyment. There seems to be beauty even where we cannot see it. Now, how does that sit with our swollen ego!

With that thought in mind, I am off to bed after that long, warm aromatic bath in my tub!