Simple steps to happiness

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

How less they demand. And how much they give back...

My mother's love for gardens was instrumental in making us shift from a flat right in the city, to a house on the outskirts. She nurtured rose beds and creepers that gave huge orange flowers. She grew bhindi (ladies fingers) and brinjals and we were trusted with the task to collect them. The bhindis grew so much that we began gifting neighbours and family with the produce. After a time, we complained of 'garden fresh bhindi' she thrust down our throat in every possible form. Bhindi stir fried, bhindi with vegetables, bhindi with kadhi. Bhindi, bhindi, bhindi.

Those were the days when our garden had gone mad with a sudden flush of fertility. Everything grew and bloomed and blossomed. The Sona (Kanchan or Bauhinia purpurea) she planted all those years back is now a tree and covers the lawn with bright pink petals every winter.

When I moved here in Kolkata, I had a faint image of the kind of house I wanted. I wanted to recreate Ahmedabad in the small space I had. I bought lots of plants, only to realize I was either duped with bad cuts or the good ones just died due to watering too scant or too much.

When I set my eyes on this Adenium plant in the nursery, I knew I wanted it. It was costly and after some haggling, with both the nurserywala and my husband, I got it home. It has stuck. We have made some emergency visits to the nurserywala when the leaves turned soggy in winter. It was left in his care for a fortnight. This plant tends to go a little weak when it rains a lot or in cold. The nurserywala had told me told water it once a week. And so I did, only to realize that the plump obese stem (from which it gets its scientific name Adenium obesum) was shrinking away.

A person selling manure shook his head in disapproval when I told him this. "Water it daily, you understand. With this hot weather, how can you feed it just once a week." And he put some packets in my hand with precise instructions. That was about four months back. The leaves had developed some worrying spots then. I was keeping my fingers crossed after the medicine, manure and plenty of water routine. Last year, the flowers were great too, but now, they seem to have a new life. This year the bloom has been extravagant...

Click here to read the description.

Belief and Technique for Modern Prose

Jack Kerouac is a writer I got to know of through various blogs. I came across his name on the profiles of many bloggers and finally bought myself a copy of On the Road. I am half way through the book, but for some reason, it is not the kind I finish reading in one go (like Persepolis or Broken April)...

I wouldn't quite keep On the Road in my list of favourites, for the escapades seem too random and directionless. Yes, the writing is racy — and my reserve may be simply because of a totally different culture — the 'beat generation' that I can't quite readily digest.

Nevertheless, I found these 30 points listed by him very interesting:

Belief and Technique for Modern Prose, a list of thirty "essentials."

1. Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for your own joy
2. Submissive to everything, open, listening
3. Try never get drunk outside your own house
4. Be in love with your life
5. Something that you feel will find its own form
6. Be crazy dumbsaint of the mind
7. Blow as deep as you want to blow
8. Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind
9. The unspeakable visions of the individual
10. No time for poetry but exactly what is
11. Visionary tics shivering in the chest
12. In tranced fixation dreaming upon object before you
13. Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition
14. Like Proust be an old teahead of time
15. Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog
16. The jewel center of interest is the eye within the eye
17. Write in recollection and amazement for yrself
18. Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea
19. Accept loss forever
20. Believe in the holy contour of life
21. Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind
22. Don't think of words when you stop but to see picture better
23. Keep track of every day the date emblazoned in yr morning
24. No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge
25. Write for the world to read and see yr exact pictures of it
26. Bookmovie is the movie in words, the visual American form
27. In praise of Character in the Bleak inhuman Loneliness
28. Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better
29. You're a Genius all the time
30. Writer-Director of Earthly movies Sponsored & Angeled in Heaven

Holi...

For more than three years now, I have been away from home during all the major festivals. I sorely miss the festivities in Ahmedabad, especially Navratri and Uttrayan. Diwali, which always used to be a quiet, foodie affair, doesn't even make its presence felt here in Kolkata. There, we had a good 20 day holiday in school and college, here it's only one day of Kali Puja.

On my way back home just now, I passed by holi pyres at almost all the crossroads. Most fires were dying down, one or two were still ablaze. I remembered the story of Prahlad and how he embraced the Holika chanting the name of God. How the ant changed to God himself and saved him.

We used to offer raw green mangoes in the flames, also coconuts and dhaani (popcorn) after the usual pradakshina. "Don't eat the mangoes before Holi, you will catch your throat," warned Indiraben everytime. And then, when the flames died out, I remember scouting for roasted coconuts with other kids once. I don't have very pleasant memories of the mad colour play, except for the very first time in our new colony. I must have been seven or eight then. But it's the evening fire a day before dhuleti that has always been very special.

Those dying fires in the middle of the night made me want to rush back home and listen from aaji the stories of victory of good over evil and all such things.

Some necklaces I made

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

I got hooked to making jewellery sometime in FY, college. Then I used the wires, threads and beads I got from Matcheswala (a store in Ahmedabad)and made a huge batch of earrings and necklaces.. Even held an impromptu exhibition and sale. That was a wonderful day, friends came over at the small house, we had a party of sorts and some sale :). The major turning point for my jewellery-making compulsion was a trip to Ajmer and and the Pushkar fair... There, to my joy, were many sellers squatted on the road, selling all kinds of beads. My sister and cousins had a tough time dragging me from the footpaths, for I used to squat by almost all the roadside sellers, haggle a lot and as I am choosy when it comes to beads, hop from one seller to another to get just the kind...

Cut back to Ahmedabad. On the secluded university road, sat a beadwala. He mainly had those square beads with letters written on them (they were a rage then). You could get him to make keychains or necklaces with names out of those... He also had some other nice beads and on one day, when I had a lot of time on hands, I sat there and asked him to show all the variety he had... I was thoroughly impressed and at once wanted all those... Somehow, I don't know how, I managed to cajole him into selling me his entire collection and there I was-- with bags of beads(many which I have used in the necklaces shown here)...At the time he sold off his stuff, he was planning to quit what he called a 'measly means of income' and get into something quick and risky... We chatted for a long time, and he was hell bent on giving it all up and running away somewhere. His name was Raj and I sometimes wonder where and how he is...

My interest in making my own jewellery has since then led me to markets in Hyderabad, to a Mumbai wholesale market and to the little-known narrow lanes of Kolkata. Now, my necklaces are far more finished than the FY days. (Matcheswala wires used to rust after 7-8 months!) I am not sure if all these details about beads and jewellery interest you... In college, Minal used to tease me and mimic 'Bhaiyya, aapke paas koi beads hai?" everytime she saw me, knowing my compulsive obsession with looking for new beads at handicrafts fairs... So that's how it goes...

I feel I am lucky to have chanced by a desire to make something and thankful for the day when I thought, "Damn, this jewellery is too expensive, even I can make it!" and started my bead-hunt... I am sure it's a passion that's going to last a lifetime...

You can read the short description of each necklace here

Do tell me how you liked the stuff...

Dev D

I wanted to see this film ever since I read TOI had given it 5 stars. Unprecedented!

Dev D is entertaining, sad, funny, contemporary, bold. It's witty, vulgar and charming. It's demanding, for the film cannot be described without using far too many adjectives.

The thing that amused me was that I found Paro more slutty than Chanda.

Chanda, the prostitute has an icy dignity about herself, a mysterious shield that keeps her happy in spite of being pained, focused in spite of having reasons to destroy herself. And she has the sweetest smile I have seen in ages. Her business she handles with thorough professionalism — the multi-lingual sex talk was impressive...

Kalki Koechlin must be congratulated for a wonderful debut.

The film had a nauseating aura of sorrow laced with humour, of the pangs of urban life. From MMS scandals, to BMW road rage, to drugs and booze, to sex trade, everything that we know in third person through newspapers comes alive on the screen in a manner sensitive and well-thought over.

We ran to buy the tickets of Luck By Chance as soon as Dev D ended. Seeing two films back to back momentarily helped ease the impact of Dev D. But when I slept the two films over, the next morning Dev D came out a sure winner.

In comparison, Luck By Chance is a typically entertaining, a quite predictable film.

Dev D is snappy, unpredictable and immensely relevant. It's a smart film, it's wholesomely entertaining. Don't go with your parents to see it though, you might have to fake blushes when you are really enjoying a dirty dialogue.

PS: I think it deserves the 5 stars. What do you think?

Mee Asheech Mee Tasheech

Mee Khari Mee Khoti
Mee Asheech Mee Tasheech

-Read the complete poem here...

Enraged and tired, Borivali commuters finally protest

Angry commuters at Borivali station in Mumbai have blocked all trains on the station for more than four hours now. Harried rush from one platform to the other due to last minute diversion of local trains had already irked them no bounds and a sudden cancellation of a local at 9.10 am on Wednesday was a trigger. They demand more trains and better management. (A report)

Their fury was piling up, after gross mismanagement and discomfort when extra train platforms were added. As the news goes, their trouble started in August. This article, Railway woes for Borivali residents, throws light on what is behind the impromptu fury.

From what angry protestors say and the TOI report, this is what enrages the Mumbai commuter:

1) The railways needed more platforms to run more trains from Borivali

2) With no space available, they extended the platform number 1

3) Platform number 7 and 8 were introduced.

4) There is no exit point on platform no 8

5) So, Commuters who get off at platform 8 have to walk for at least 10 minutes to get out on the road.

6) Trains schedules are frequently and suddenly changed

7) Commuters complain that often a train supposed to come at platform number 1 is suddenly diverted to platform 8, they have to walk a good kilometre

8) Crowd of more than one or two trains gathers at platforms, making the walk slow and tedious.

9) Many miss their trains thus.

The fact that railways wanted to increase trains and so introduced new platforms is a silver lining. It is possible for a system as massive as the Indian railways to come across some glitches— after all, local trains do their bit in accomplishing the 'Six Sigma' services of Mumbai dabbawalas, as with being the chosen mode of transport for millions of Mumbai residents. But if inconvenience becomes the order of the day, a protest as this, is a natural consequence.

***

I remember reading somewhere on a blog, a writing so emotional and candid, about an incident on a Mumbai local. I don't even remember if it was a post or a comment, but someone had talked about a girl who sold rubber bands and earrings in the local . With an infant tucked to her, she was negotiating the crowd to sell her stuff.

Someone was haggling a lot and she, otherwise quiet and aloof, suddenly ran up a temper. "Saala do rupiye ke liye chik chik karta hai, mat khareedo."

The blogger apparently asked her something and she replied, 'Maa mar gayee, ab se ise leke aana padega".

And then I have heard there are women who have their kitty parties, haldi-kunkoo on the train. Who cut vegetables for the evening meal on the train. Who get up at four in the morning to cook for the family before boarding a train at six. I always linked Mumbai with its crazy fast life and local trains. This news somehow brought all these unrelated things I have heard or read about the trains.

The first time I was to board a local, I was quite scared. My cousin was like, "Gauritai, don't worry, you simply have to be there and ensure there's a crowd behind you. The mob will push you in and the mob will push you out."

The shoeflower that blossomed two days too late

I wanted this flower to blossom before parents left for Mumbai. But like the innumerable things I want that evade me, this was not to be. It bloomed today, exactly two days later than it was supposed to.

Supposed to? Anyways... It would have been really nice if it had blossomed two days before, so that I would have proved that I do indeed water my plants and the nurserywala does not manage to cheat me each single time.

Coming to think of it, Shoe flower is such an inapt name for a flower as lovely as this. Anyone knows why is it called so?


Mummy's lovebird birds now have three chicks. When I told someone this, he said I make the birds sound like mammals. The new female lovebird I got is as crazy as she can get. She has her seeds swinging upside down from the jhula. She pecks the male innumerable times when he silently eats his food and works up a frenzy when he chooses to ignore her. She bit me real hard when I was putting her in the cage and thank God for the napkin I use to handle the birds. The earlier pair, whom I miss so often, would lie as quiet as babies just out of shower, and open their mouths at the sight of the dropper to take their vitamin.

A rose by any other name

What if I were born in a suburban Mumbai family of someone called Vilalat Khan? Would my life have been the same if I had grown up as Zaheera? In today's 'MNS' times, I am afraid, if it were so, I might as well have been called to prove my allegiance to the nation I was born in, worse, to the city I grew up in and loved as my own. Far-fetched scenarios. Far-fetched-- but plausible and scary.

The latest bit of bossing from the MNS brigade has led to the change of name of a sweet-shop in Mumbai. From Karachi, it has now morphed to Jai Shri Krishna.

What's in a name?

In a name, is the right to sound as you want to, to reflect what you have chosen to associate with, and with that choice, many thoughts, many ideas are linked. When you are asked to change this, you are asked to give up your right to identity. The owner may have buckled down under pressure, and made a conscious, personal choice. But as a person sitting miles away, this change sounds yet another horror-tale of limited democracy, limited choice and a life that is dictated by fear and politics.

If politicians today have reduced patriotism to such a simplistic notion, if patriotism could be so superficially proven, lord save India.

Here are the two reports on the basis of which this post was developed:

MNS goes after 'Pak' sigh boards

Karachi Sweets to turn Jai Shri Krishna

Is your life now governed by fear of goons who vandalise store and maim people who they declare 'outsiders'? Is fear and prejudice that you want to give your children in legacy? Has the judicial mechanism of this country gone so feeble that people who voice such separatist ideas roam free and have the audacity to make such demands time and again?

Happy Republic Day...

Orphanage death in Baruipur near Kolkata

A government-run orphanage has made it to the headlines after a child died of malnutrition. Four others have a long road to recovery, after being diagnosed of severe malnutrition. A child had already lost eyesight in one eye because of this and the vision in his right eye is unlikely to be restored, fear doctors.

When this news first came, we were shocked and angry. After these two emotions, we didn't quite know what to do.

Imagining the children huddled by in a filthy room, hungry and unkempt, smelling and itching, craving for bit of food that they were denied at a place they had taken shelter. And even after this unforgiveable happening, though the state social welfare minister Biswanath Chowdhury admit "lapses on our part," he didn't find time to visit the home.

As reported here, the welfare home stank of filth, and the kids themselves were in an abominable condition, many with severe skin infections and rashes.

"When I asked for a soap, I was thrashed," said Sharif Jani Wassa.

And there was no food.

"Many of us would go to bed hungry as the food we got was too little. The ones who protested were beaten up by home superintendent Nirapad Poila," said Raju Rajik, another inmate. (Excerpts from this report)

After all this, what will happen? A probe? Of course, that's the easiest thing bureaucrats can promise to do. They will check what went wrong after it has irrevocably gone wrong.

And this may not be the first or the only such death, hints this report in The Telegraph.

After a time, your soul gets tired of the number of deaths that crave for attention each single day in a newspaper. It begs you to leave it free from such alien misery. But such horrible deaths come back to haunt you in nightmares and take you unawares. I imagine a home shrouded in mystery and secluded, inside which children crawl about in hunger and pain, and finally shrivel and die. And with a shudder, I get back to work. Another newborn has been left in a garbage vat, a child has been strangled after medical expenses began to spiral, another death is waiting to be subbed.

Kaapyo chhe

I don't remember the last time I had a super-duper-fabulous Uttrayan.. So much has been left behind ever since I left Ahmedabad. I miss that city that is so full of colours, it makes you go heady with happiness at times. Uttrayan was always my favourite. Seeing the sky dotted with thousands and thousands of kites, with the sun setting in the backdrop almost takes you close to nirvana. When the sun set on 15th, Vasi Uttrayan, a very selfish gloom would pass over me.

Did you fly kites? Wishing you a happy makar sankranti. As they say in marathi, speak sweet. :)

Laughter doesn't cost a paisa

Arnold is coming up with some really witty stuff these days. You might want to have a good laugh. Have a look.

:)

What font are you?

An interesting quiz.

I turned out to be Helvetica:

'Industry standard. Classis, reliable. So what if a tad boring, I have plenty of friends who think I am the best'

Also, read the piece by Nino's mom. She talks how a font can say a lot about what you have written and mar or make it.

Poster Campaign

I made these posters for the 'Another India is Possible Poster Campaign'.

I was thrilled to start doing something, for this sounded a lot like the good old school and college festival days. Only difference, trying my hand at Coral instead of Camlin.

The entries will be accepted till Jan 31.

Here are more details:


www.binayaksen.net and www.tasveerghar.net call upon netizens and all those interested anywhere to make posters on the theme of 'Another India is Possible'. The idea is to encourage artists and others to think afresh of what a positive vision of a future India could be like- in an imaginative, constructive but provocative way.

The posters could be digitally produced or hand-made but they need to be available in soft copy form to be put up on a specially created website for this purpose. Some of the suggested topics are: (a) Democracy (b) Justice (c) Dignity (d) Human Rights (e) Children (f) Indigenous People (g) Gender (h) Access to Health (i) Safe Environment (j) Social Harmony.

The campaign will culminate on 31st January 2009 and the best 50 posters will be compiled into a 'Visual Election Manifesto' to be presented to all the political parties prior to the next national general elections. A panel of eminent artists and social activists will vet the posters and special prizes will be announced during the campaign for the best poster (s) in different categories.

CONTACT: saeed.yousuf@gmail.com or satyasagar@gmail.com

I got to know about this from Baruk, here.

Gauri Gharpure asserts her copyright over all the drawings and matter published on her blogs, unless otherwise referenced. Understandably, she discourages the use of these in any other media. In case you feel you want to make use of any of the written and/or drawn matter published on her blogs, you must reach her by email for prior permission.

Respect Originality

A Quiet Beginning

It was 2003 I guess. I was on an island in the middle of nowhere. I had a mobile, but signal was a rarity. I was blissfully alone- there were not many with whom I was obliged to talk. The sky was studded with a million dazzling stars. It was a sight I have seen but once or twice. That was how I welcomed 2004. And 2005? That's a different story. Some other time. For now, I remember that peaceful start-studded night of Dec 31 '2003. Five years is a milestone. These five years have been soulful. God has been kind. I look forward to many nights of solitude when I have only stars for company.

Wishing you a happy new year...

Good read

This is what I have heard my Baba rant a thousand times over. Sara has put her angst against a certain (consumer driven?) lifestyle being propagated heavily through films in words that are powerful and straightforward. I am completely bowled over by this rare piece of frank, logical writing. Take time out to read what she has written.

Those who take the polio campaign forward

Amitabh Bachchan may be the face of the polio campaign, but it is the toil of thousands of common men and women that takes the fight forward. They have a gargantuan task before them: to eradicate polio from the India and for this, they keep no stone unturned.

Most of these health workers are engaged in fulltime activities, but whenever the polio campaign is announced, they take time off to volunteer. They are paid only Rs 50 per day for a shift from 9 am to 4 pm but this paltry sum does not affect their dedication.

Tapati Saha (56), the deputy chief municipal health officer, said of the 6,803 health workers involved in the polio programme, more than 4,000 are volunteers. They get Rs 225 for five days on an honorarium basis.

Sumana Nag (24) teaches swimming at the Southern Avenue Swimming club from 6 am to 9 am, but asks her employees to adjust for the five days of a polio programme. “I feel I am doing a noble deed by giving my time. I first volunteered when my cousin Ankita Dey (18) could not attend due to her exams,” she said from ward number 82 booth at the Gariahat mod. Ankita still volunteers at the Lake Girl’s High School booth in spite of her oncoming HS exams.

Arati Das (42) comes all the way from Kasba to Gariahat to volunteer. A housewife, she considers being a part of the polio campaign as ‘a small contribution to society’. In fact, Arati’s sister-in-law Shelly Das (37) also volunteers at the Chittaranjan High School booth in Kasba. “Ours is a big joint family, so whenever we volunteer, someone always manages the cooking and housework,” Arati said.

Rajiv Bhattacharya (36) is an electrician but volunteers for the house to house polio campaign in Tangra, ward no 59. “A team of two covers about 126 homes in a day. If a child is sleeping or is away, we go back again after sometime. When some parents appear reluctant, we try to convince them our vaccine and training is just as good. Volunteers are given an intensive training each time before the campaign,” he said.

Sandhya Bhattacharya (54) is one of the six supervisors of the Intensive Pulse Polio Immunization (IPPI) plan of ward no 59. After being associated with health work for the last 22 years, all she gets today is about Rs 2000 per month. “The pay is extremely less. We have been hearing it may increase since long. I am happy though, as I started off only with Rs. 200 per month,” she said.

“We feel that the compensation for these volunteers is very less in comparison to their efforts and the importance of the work. However, this pay scale has been fixed by the Centre so it is up to it to increase. It would definitely give a boost to health work if the pay is increased,” said Tapati.

***

***

This article got bunked for it was felt that people volunteering for such a measly sum is not a big deal. For people are in need of money anyways and will take up any job that gives assured money. Besides, the success of the polio campaign has come under scanner recently for various reasons-- like the type of vaccine used, the technical expertise of the volunteers. Both points agreed to.

But with an emotional attachment to the legwork and information that I gathered, I find no reason to not put it here. For something is being done, and something need be thus written to acknowledge it.

From what I gathered from talks with volunteers and the deputy chief municipal officer, is that all the volunteers are given training sessions before each campaign and provided with insulated ice-boxes so that the vaccine remains safe. Whatever may be the doubts or cynicism, here's a government motivated movement that is regularly carried out on a massive scale. As I said in the article before, at least 4,000 people work for as less as 225/- for five days to keep campaign going. The least that the Centre can do is to fix decent scales so that more people, who want money and are prepared to slog for it, get a worthy platform to do their bit.

-Gauri Gharpure

Yay

This one's from Nino's mom...



It goes to Phish

Pass it on...

My first blog award comes from The Indian Homemaker.

Peace is a very strong and responsibility laden word. Thanks!

I would like to pass on the appreciation to

To a youthful brigade who have their own way with words (and music) that I don't quite understand. But their zeal to see things their way and their urge to express is what is the key to any process, including peace...

They are Sudhanshu, Darshan , Kaushik

To the Bum, who surprises me most of the times with his simple, down to earth thoughts

And to Void, who's presumably quite idle now and you never know, he could rake up some movement to make a huge difference :) if he stops being midly idle, i.e.

To Hans and the team who work ceaselessly each day to put up news of what's happening all over the globe.

To Baruk who gets angry, sad and frustrated about all that seems wrong and has an amazingly sharp eye to support, promote the causes he deems fit through his blog...

A much-used maroon sweater

Santa, who?

Eight-year-old Virginia O'Hanlon wrote a letter to the editor of New York's Sun, and the quick response was printed as an unsigned editorial on
Sept. 21, 1897. The work of veteran newsman Francis Pharcellus Church has since become history's most reprinted newspaper editorial, appearing in part or whole in dozens of languages in books, movies, and other editorials, and on posters and stamps. The matter follows.

"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.
"Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
"Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.'
"Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

"VIRGINIA O'HANLON.
"115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET."

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measure by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest man that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. No Santa Claus! Thank GOD! He lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.



This post was sent by Pinto sir. Many thanks for sharing it...

Kind attention

Gauri Gharpure asserts her copyright over all the drawings and matter published on her blogs, unless otherwise referenced. Understandably, she discourages the use of these in any other media. In case you feel you want to make use of any of the written and/or drawn matter published on her blogs, you must reach her by email for prior permission.

Respect Originality

New Year and Christmas cards...

Wish you all have a joyous festive season...

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Whipping up a bittersweet story

What makes us alive in the physical sense of the word. And, what makes one dead.

Think about the dead. They were there, all fine and healthy and suddenly, in one moment the transgression happened. They became still and cold. Loved ones then became a body that must be immediately disposed.

Here's my theory:

We live as long as we are bodily connected with the surroundings. Each breath we take is an alien mix of life-matter being pumped in. Imagine how much of the environment have we actually devoured to be alive for 20 or 30 or 80 years? Your life is the aggragate of your interactions with your surrounding. Once you stop breathing, that connection is lost, and so, you are 'dead.' I thought of the human body as a cocoon that shelters us from the disappointments of the outside world. Till this thought breezed by. Since then, living has got a strange, better perspective.

I owe my life to a million and more interactions with my surroundings, to strangers who came close enough in crowds for me to share their life-breath, to dogs who greedily lapped up my face and even to rogues who molested me in jam-packed buses. Everyone, however sweet or crude he/she may be, has made a contribution. Made me happy or sad, better or worse, but pushed me ahead by the way of experience. I am grateful.

Like this road I pass by everyday, it breathes into me. From the comfort of my car, I have slowly come to know all the urchins and madmen who line both sides of that street. A cycle cart is always parked on the left side, close to the dargah and half a dozen children play about. The other day, an absolutely bald girl, must be four at max, had fallen in the cart face down. She was flapping her feet frantically up in the air. Her hands were in a desperate position to keep her from tumbling down. She was screaming and crying and whipping up the most humourous frenzy I had seen in days. All beggers, tea sellers and betel nut sellers seemed to stop for a moment to have a good laugh. My car went a little ahead and I saw that bald girl fleeing the spot and galloping in the traffic with utter relief and disbelief. Someone must have finally thought to help the naughty child.

Then there's the old mad woman. I see her anywhere from one end of the street to the other. But wherever I see her, whenever I see her, she is busy counting something in the air. Without a break, without a moment's rest, her hand is always up, her lips always muttering something. Standing up, or sitting down, she has to count. I wonder how tired she may be at the end of the day, after such a ceaseless exercise. Just as I was wondering the first day I saw her what I could do to 'help', a street urchin walked to her, pressed a few coins in her hands and left. A few days later, her head was clean-shaven. She was oblivious and still counting, and still scratching her bald out of old habit. Someone had decided to give her a haircut and rid her of the lice. Someone cared.

These people have made a connection, made me feel more alive. When I die, I am sure a few breaths will be accounted to them.

Good reads on Mumbai attacks

These are some well-thought articles you may take time out to read:

Why they hate Mumbai

- Suketu Mehta



Death Of A Salesman And Other Elite Ironies

- Tarun J. Tejpal

Beauty

Why should you think that beauty, which is the most precious thing in the world, lies like a stone on the beach for the careless passer-by to pick up idly? Beauty is something wonderful and strange that the artist fashions out of the chaos of the world in the torment of his soul. And when he has made it, it is not given to all to know it. To recognize it you must repeat the adventure of the artist. It is a melody that he sings to you, and to hear it again in your own heart you want knowledge and sensitiveness and imagination.

-The Moon and Sixpence

W. Somerset Maugham

An interesting tag

An interesting tag. Saw it on Neilina's blog and couldn't resist making my own list... It's too long and takes up lot of my blog space, so may remove in some days. Give it a try, it's fun!

Rules:-

Out of the list, you are supposed to make ‘bold’ the things you have done.

01. Bought everyone in the bar a drink

02. Swam with dolphins

03. Climbed a mountain

04. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive

05. Been inside the Great Pyramid

06. Held a tarantula

07. Taken a candlelit bath with someone

08. Said “I love you” and meant it

09. Hugged a tree
10. Bungee jumped

11. Visited Paris

12. Watched a lightning storm at sea

13. Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise

14. Seen the Northern Lights

15. Gone to a huge sports game

16. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa

17. Grown and eaten your own vegetables

18. Touched an iceberg

19. Slept under the stars

20. Changed a baby’s diaper

21. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon

22. Watched a meteor shower

23. Gotten drunk on champagne

24. Given more than you can afford to charity

25. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope

26. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment

27. Had a food fight

28. Bet on a winning horse

29. Asked out a stranger

30. Had a snowball fight

31. Screamed as loudly as you possibly can

32. Held a lamb

33. Seen a total eclipse

34. Ridden a roller coaster

35. Hit a home run

36. Danced like a fool and didn’t care who was looking

37. Adopted an accent for an entire day

38. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment

39. Had two hard drives for your computer

40. Visited all 50 states

41. Taken care of someone who was drunk

42. Had amazing friends

43. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country

44. Watched whales

45. Stolen a sign

46. Backpacked in Europe

47. Taken a road-trip

48. Gone rock climbing

49. Taken a midnight walk on the beach

50. Gone sky diving

51. Visited Ireland

52. Been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love

53. In a restaurant, sat at a stranger’s table and had a meal with them

54. Visited Japan

55. Milked a cow

56. Alphabetized your CDs

57. Pretended to be a superhero

58. Sung karaoke

59. Lounged around in bed all day
60. Played touch football

61. Gone scuba diving

62. Kissed in the rain

63. Played in the mud
64. Played in the rain

65. Gone to a drive-in theatre

66. Visited the Great Wall of China

67. Started a business

68. Fallen in love and not had your heart broken

69. Toured ancient sites

70. Taken a martial arts class

71. Played D&D for more than 6 hours straight

72. Gotten married

73. Been in a movie

74. Crashed a party

75. Gotten divorced

76. Gone without food for 5 days

77. Made cookies from scratch

78. Won first prize in a costume contest

79. Ridden a gondola in Venice

80. Gotten a tattoo

81. Rafted the Snake River

82. Been on a television news program as an “expert”

83. Gotten flowers for no reason

84. Performed on stage

85. Been to Las Vegas

86. Recorded music

87. Eaten shark

88. Kissed on the first date

89. Gone to Thailand

90. Bought a house

91. Been in a combat zone

92. Buried one/both of your parents

93. Been on a cruise ship

94. Spoken more than one language fluently

95. Performed in Rocky Horror

96. Raised children

97. Followed your favorite band/singer on tour

98. Passed out cold

99. Taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country

100. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over

101. Walked the Golden Gate Bridge

102. Sang loudly in the car, and didn’t stop when you knew someone was looking with the windows open

103. Had plastic surgery

104. Survived an accident that you shouldn’t have survived

105. Wrote articles for a large publication

106. Lost over 100 pounds

107. Held someone while they were having a flashback

108. Piloted an airplane

109. Touched a stingray

110. Broken someone’s heart

111. Helped an animal give birth

112. Won money on a TV game show

113. Broken a bone

114. Gone on an African photo safari

115. Had a facial part pierced other than your ears

116. Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol

117. Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild

118. Ridden a horse

119. Had major surgery

120. Had a snake as a pet

121. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon

122. Slept for 30 hours in a 48 hour period

123. Visited more foreign countries than U.S. States

124. Visited all 7 continents

125. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days

126. Eaten kangaroo meat

127. Eaten sushi

128. Had your picture in the newspaper

129. Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about

130. Gone back to school

131. Parasailed

132. Touched a cockroach

133. Eaten fried green tomatoes

134. Read The Iliad and The Odyssey

135. Selected one “important” author who you missed in school, and read

136. Killed and prepared an animal for eating

137. Skipped all your school reunions

138. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language

139. Been elected to public office

140. Written your own computer language

141. Thought to yourself that you’re living your dream

142. Had to put someone you love into hospice care

143. Built your own PC from parts

144. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you
145. Had a booth at a street fair

146. Dyed your hair

147. Been a DJ

148. Shaved your head

149. Caused a car accident

150. Saved someone’s life

Be Good

Goodness has its own rewards

A post to make me see sense

Ever since 26 night, as the whole drama unfolded, I have become numb by slow but sure degrees. The hostages who came out, most of them amazingly clam, poised and appreciative of the hotel staff and the commandos, surprised me with their impeccable hold on themselves.

We had been joking about a 'strike' for sometime now, and a few days ago, I had imagined the place if there were an attack. I actually saw bodies lying scattered for a second, and that open-eyed nightmare / simulation sent a shrill down my spine. Now, as the hours passed into another set of bloody, helpless hours, precisely the same imagination of horror was taking place somewhere else...

Taj, Trident, Oberoi , CST... more...

In the past 2-3 days, some of my very beliefs, my way of thinking has come under a tremendous thump. For the first time in my short short life, have I questioned myself about the persistence to be liberal minded, secular, shun generalisations and be open- to all. I called up Baba in face of the turmoil I was facing and I could not possibly let grow. His words, simple and straightforward as they always are, have reined in my stream of confusions significantly.

Terror is not the face of any religion, I still cajole myself to believe. I know, I know. 'Still cajole myself to' should be eliminated to sound correct, to represent a secular, broadminded chunk of mindset through this blog. But this space is free of any adages-personal or professional. And so I feel, it is my duty to my conscience to be honest here. For the first time, first unfortunate time, I am faltering from the beliefs I held so firmly. How could someone manage to do such a ghastly thing motivated by a war of faith? If faith, any faith it may be, can produce such brainwashed young men, I may well be on my way to become either an atheist or conversely, take deep deep refuge in the teachings and consequently, a deeper understanding of religion.

The other day Void had written this post, and I had replied there, my optimistic self, that hate is a counter-productive emotion. The problem is, counter-productive though it may be, incidents like these can very easily give vent to hate. Perhaps that’s what they exactly wanted. That's what Baba said. If you doubt your stance now, they will win. They wanted to spread a lot of hate. If you unwittingly fall prey, they will win. He said I am too small, too young and so I am likely to jump and take a anti-this or for-that stand. Even at 24, for him I will still be in the cradle. But at 59, you start seeing life very differently, don't you? A few years ago, in my college days with late evenings and long phone calls, my parents had this anxiety which they so elegantly controlled so that their concern might not come in the way of my discovering life for myself. Then, they said you just won't understand what we are scared of. Six years down the line, I now know what they meant. I must listen to him now.

I was toying with the idea of removing the Dhoop Kinare videos. I was angry hearing about the very evident Pak connection and my anger suddenly took a collective, desperate form. Till I called my father. I know he is right. Everything begins and ends with the moral fabric of an individual, he said. A trivial connection when cited with respect to such a massive, such a horrific attack. But brood over it and there’s so much truth in it. Hate is such an expensive, fatal emotion to invest in. It produces nothing but regret.

So however confused, however shaken that I may be, I am going to stick to my original line of thought. Terror is not the face of any one religion. People, as a whole, are good. I am going to repeat this to myself a hundred times over till I can say it one breath, with as much conviction I said this before the 26th. If I can't, as Baba said, they will win. We can't afford one more person added to the vicious cycle of hate. Writing this post really helped me frame my random mind. What have you been thinking since the 26th? Are you still the same?

Mumbai attacks- A consolidated link list

More than 101 injured

Anti-Terrorist Squad Chief Killed

Encounter Specialist dies

Japanese citizen dead

Australian reported dead

Seven British nationals injured

Places where attacks took place*:
Taj Hotel, Trident, CST- Victoria Terminus, Near Bootleggers, Near Cafe Leopold, Nariman House * Based on TV reports, please confirm with other news sources too

Not again...

Terror attacks in Mumbai. At least 25 feared dead. The pics I saw are spooky.

This is a Reuters article, with as much info as was available right off the scene...

Is our country entering in a spate of uncontrolled, random fits of terror?

More take birth than can easily live,
More die randomly like this,
A cruel twist of fate
May take me or you away tomorrow
Today is all we have

GG

Dhoop Kinare--- Anji and Zoya

Dhoop Kinare is a legendary Pakistani drama. I don't know how I missed searching for this gem of a serial on the internet. There's something about this serial that haunts you long after you have stopped seeing it. The dialogues, Zoya, Dr. Ahmer, the soulful music and lyrics (can't beat 'Jaise veerane mein chupke se bahaar aa jaye, Jaise beemar ko bewajah karaar aa jaye' can you? ) Embedding some episodes.

Dhoop Kinare

Dhoop Kinare is a legendary Pakistani drama. We saw all the episodes back in the 1990s at my aunty's place. After a lot of search, she finally found a site that has put most good episodes online. Here, I embed the last and perhaps the most romantic episode. It's 30 minutes long, so see it when you have time. But see it.

Links to this post / further reading:

Zoya (Marina Khan): 1) Wikipedia 2) Interview
Dr. Ahmer (Dr. Rahat Kazmi) : 1) Interview 2) Wikipedia
Haseena Moin (Writer) : 1) Wikipedia 2) Interview 3) Another interview

Love rectangles

A friend likes another friend, but that friend hates him. Another friend likes another friend, that friend doesn't hate him, but doesn't love him either. A third friend loves one but seems to like many other friends too. A friend of a friend who patched with her bf also has a gf.

Life, did you have some fixation with screwing everything up?

LOL

At least I have a good laugh

Dasvidaniya

Ten reasons* I liked the film:

1) It make you think about how we assume the things that need our immediate attention are as mundane as faulty geysers, buying vegetables for dinner

2) It brings out beautifully well the breadwinner's struggle at a day in a busy metro. Sweat, shoves, queues, snub

3) The pang of unexpressed first love

4) Childhood friendship

5) Death, and the opportunity it brings so that we can live to the full

6) The line, 'Zindagi kitni khoobsoorat hai'

7) A mother's denial (i.e. the quack) and acceptance (i.e. the lift) at the same time

8) The film repeats the most spiritual cliche of all times ever-- to live your dreams--- beautifully

9) The thing about gifts.

10) The fact that Dasvidaniyan is predictable and yet it's something a good movie buff shouldn't miss.

* There are so many wonderful films I have decided to write about here, but haven't done so for want of time to put a 'proper review'. From now, I am going to blog about ten reasons I loved a film. That should be short and doable. One request-- please share your reactions to all film reviews w/o revealing the suspense as far as possible. Or give a SPOILER warning. :)

CAST and CREDIT

Banner: Lemon Tea Productions, One More Thought Entertainment Pvt. Ltd.Producer Vinay Pathak, Azam Khan

Director: Shashant Shah

Star Cast: Vinay Pathak, Ranvir Shorey, Rajat Kapoor, Neha Dhupia, Saurabh Shukla
Gaurav Gera...... Vivek, Suchitra Pillai, Sarita Joshi...... Maa
Suresh Menon, Purbi Joshi...... Garima, Joy Fernandes...... Savio Sachin Khurana...... Varun

Singers: Kailash Kher, Sonu Nigam, Paresh, Naresh

Lyricist: Kailash Kher

Screenplay, Dialogue, Story / Writer: Arshad Ali Syed

Bell Bajao

Talk about advertisements that touch. Public service/ awareness campaigns are powerful tools to reach the masses. The Bell Bajao campaign is one such.
I saw the advertisement for the first time today.
The message has been cleverly depicted. Dialogues are almost non existent. A bell, a look. That's all. An intervention that says a lot without saying anything.
Those who ring the doorbell to interrupt an episode of domestic violence ask nothing more than a cup of milk, or a cricket ball. And yet, they convey such a lot. Perhaps, even put an end to something that could have ended up in a suicide, a burn case, a grievous knife injury. These are not far-fetched ideas, no. Just read your news briefs more carefully and you will realise how sadly common it is for such misfortunes to happen in homes that are caught in domestic turmoils. (And you know what, half such news doesn't even reach you. It dies a sudden death for want for space.)
Bell Bajao. As long as there are people who are sensitive enough to give importance to such seemingly trivial, but indeed quite vital issues, there's still so much to feel good about. This is a wonderful, wonderful campaign. Hats off to the ad-men, script-writers, directors, producers et al.

Cliched but true is only an excuse

I had asked a question about cliches on Against the tide. While a complete post is awaited, here's what I got as a quick reply:

Cliches from Associated Press Guide to News Writing, Rene J. Cappon.
The link: http://cliche.theinfo.org/

awkward dilemma | brutal murder | close proximity | end result | entirely absent

exact counterpart | future plan | general public | gory murder | grateful thanks

| gruesome tragedy | lifeless corpse | mutual cooperation | new record |

original founder | patently obvious | personal friend | personal opinion |

present incumbent | sworn affidavit | surrounded on all sides | true facts |

ultimate outcome | gave permission to | held a meeting | proved of benefit |

to put in an appearance | reached an agreement | submitted his resignation |

take into consideration | established | conclusive evidence of | take into custody

accommodations | approximately | assistance | commence | finalize |

implement | in consequence of | initiate | methodology | motivation |

objective | purchase | remuneration | substantial proportion |

underprivileged | utilise | armed to the teeth battle | royal |

beat a hasty retreat | beyond the shadow of a doubt | bite the dust |

blessing in disguise | blissful ignorance | burning issue | club-wielding police |

colourful scene | conspicuous by its absence | coveted award | dramatic new move

dread disease | dream come true | drop in the bucket | fame and fortune |

gentle hint | glaring omission | gory details | grief-stricken | hand in glove|

hammer out | happy couple | head over heels in love | heart of gold |

heavily armed troops | iron out | intensive investigation | Lady Luck |

lash(|ed|es) out | leave no stone unturned | light at the end of the tunnel |

lightning speed | long arm of the law | man in the street | marvels of science |

matrimonial bliss | meagre pension | miraculous escape |

Mother Nature | moves into high gear | never a dull moment | Old Man Winter

paints a grim picture | pay the supreme penalty (price)

picture of health | pillar of society | pinpoint the cause

| police dragnet | pool of blood | posh resort | prestigious law firm | proud

heritage | proud parents | pursuit of excellence | red faces | red-faced |

reins of government | rushed to the scene | selling like hotcakes |

spearheading the campaign | spirited debate | spotlessly clean |

sprawling estate | spreading like wildfire | stranger than fiction | storm of protest

| supreme sacrifice | surprise move | terror-stricken | tie the knot |

tip of the iceberg | tower of strength | true colours | vanish in thin air |

walking encyclopaedia | wealth of information | whirlwind campaign |

last but not least | beck and call | bits and pieces | very unique |

clear and simple | death and destruction | each and every | fair and just |

few and far between | nook and cranny | pick and choose | ready and willing |

right and proper | safe and sound | shy and withdrawn | smooth and silk |

Annapurna Tiffin Service

Food. Mortal existence essentially revolves around what we get to eat and how. The fortunate ones elevate the exercise of eating to exotic levels of culinary perfection. The less bestowed ones get something to eat only after a day full of rigid toil.

My being a foodie has a lot to do with my family, like I have said in this post. My parents are people who enjoy a simple, home cooked meal with humility and zest.

My earliest memories are playing about with my sister and cousins at my nani's house. Every festival meant going there. My nani would sit down in the kitchen, frying jalebis and malpuas, with the gas cylinder creepily close by. On festival days, she used two gas burners, instead of the usual one on the kitchen platform.

When I grew old enough to be scared of fire and the possibility of a cylinder blast dawned on me (children become aware of dangers sooner than us these days) I told my nani how risky it was to fry mal-puas thus. Everyone in the kitchen laughed me of. Food never fell short in that home. Go there at any odd hour and rest assured, you will find either a complete meal, or some filling snacks coaxed down your throat.

My mother had her mother's passion for cooking. And my father, never failed to appreciate her art. Each morning and each night, he sang passionate praises of how wonderfully she fed us all. He would only get cross if something fell short. Thankfully, it never has. Aaji has to ensure that the quantity is just right, for if rice or dal falls short, my Baba has this indignant fit of anger. He can praise rice gruel as if he's eating Biryani, but he pouts like a child even if a spoonful falls short.

While I am nowhere close the diligence of either my mother, or my aaji, I have inherited the appreciation of good food from my family, and a certain amount of whimsical fancy for cooking. Whimsical, for as my aaji says, only she is a good homemaker who boils her milk every day and makes ghee at the end of the month.

My father has immense respect for anyone who feeds him one complete meal. He says those homes are blessed where kitchens are always full of women happily churning out delicacies for their families. He calls such homemakers 'Annapurna', after the Goddess that ensures bounty of food in any household.

Some days back, when we called many to our home for dinner and I planned a menu so ambitious that even surprised me, Baba was overjoyed. "I am glad you take joy in cooking," he said. "You should take immense pride that you can feed someone. Don't turn out to be like those feminists who take pleasure of renouncing the kitchen. It's not a chore, but a privilege to be able to cook elaborate dinners," he told me.

When I didn't study, my father would chid me and weave this fantastic future scenario. He said if you don't study, the only resort would be to start Annapurnaa tiffin service, and jump up the bicycle wearing a ghaghra to go from door to door to deliver lunch boxes. But no sooner had he said this, he always added, "But I don't even mind if you do that. An honest and cheap restaurant business is a kind of social service."

The laughs we had when Baba started his Annapurna tiffin service story came to my mind when I was reading this blog sometime back. People from all over the world read and try her recipes. Their jubilant feedback after trying some item, even for a third person like me, is heartwarming. Ah, the joy food can spread...

Hail George Orwell

In an age of politically correct writing, even gearing the subconscious in a politically correct mode of thought, George Orwell's writing reeks of candour to the best possible level of journalistic perfection.

While you may freely disagree with his views, you must read his essays, just to learn with what clarity and simplicity it is possible to put your thoughts across.

I have read, re-read, and plan to re-read his essays.

Last night, I found an amazing online collection of almost all his essays. Some, which I had not even heard of before. I feel it my duty to pass on the link here, and hope that at least few good readers here would find time to read this master wordsmith.

My favourites are Shooting an Elephant, A Hanging, Books v. Cigarettes, The Prevention of Literature, In Defence of English Cooking, Why I Write, Some Thoughts on the Common Toad. Even his critique on Gandhi is an interesting read. For that matter, each piece written by Orwell is special, sensitive without being overtly emotional. For example, Looking Back on the Spanish War.

The direct link of the entire list is this: netcharles.com

Orwell is worth investing time in.

Cold spell rant

A bad cold has left me feeling miserable. This is not a worthy topic for blog space, I know, but just once in a while I allow myself to use the blog as a ranting machine. In my cold spells, the anger I otherwise keep under a tight tab slips out on its own. All my silent, rather acute Virgo criticisms effortlessly fly to target the cause of my irritation. Under normal circumstances, I am satisfied by speaking only when necessary, or when I feel like doing so, or with people who happen to be within one hand's distance provided my mood is right. Then, I don't need introductions or familiarity. For a brief five minutes, I might just catch you and share with you any thought that passes my mind at that moment, however ridiculous it may be. When this happens in office, I have seen that people frantically start scouting for some work to keep me occupied. For my quips can be quite random- I know, I know. :(

For example: The other day, my usual herbal soap was finished and I had to use the Dettol menthol body wash (the one which comes in a blue pack). People, don't ever, ever make the mistake of buying this product. It is one of the most ridiculous toilet items ever made. It's a yucky experience bathing with this psychedelic bluish gel. It's exactly like bathing with colgate gel toothpaste. If you don't take me seriously, and dare to try the Dettol bodywash, you shall remember my blog while trying to wash that horrible, artificial, cold, 'minty' sting off your body and bitterly regret not heeding to this cold-spell-rant.



A scribble which turned out to be what I see as a House-fly...

Learn while you can

It’s difficult to get good teachers, the real kinds.
Who, with their very passion, can make learning a joy. In their presence, syllabus escapes out of the boredom of books and starts dancing merrily about you. You catch all their words awestruck, sometimes not without a dumb reverence for which friends chide you. Many teachers shaped the course of my life in their own special ways. Like my aaji, or Fr., or Ishwarbhai or Joseph Pinto.

Of the two years I spent in Pune, I owe a lot to his teachings. Pinto has decided to take his experience beyond the restrictions of a classroom. He has started a blog where he intends to discuss what his students and friends wish him to. But he has a condition.

In his own words:
You will have to ask. As the good man says in the good book, "Ask and you shall Receive. Seek and you will Find. Knock and the Door shall be Opened."

Be it editing (how to write a crisp copy), features (typical blog material), reports (the nearly extinct species in newspapers today), or media ethics (a classmate declared journalism selfish- "I write about the ill and poor, get a byline and forget,” she fumed. Pinto called her to the dais, applauded her and talked about journalism activism) --- if you have a question related to journalism, drop in a comment on his blog, Against the tide.

Recalling my student days, Pinto thundered with a fanatic insistence on how words should be used and we wriggled uncomfortably initially. He was unpredictable in his insistence for accuracy. One day he would rip us apart while discussing reports- get furious on seeing any adjective or adverb thrown in a report. The next day, in a feature writing class, he would censor the staid language, lament the loss of imagination; the extinction of innovative adjectives to describe a situation. We thought the man a tad too eccentric when he insisted 'write it down' in response to any raised hand to answer a query. Here's a chance, for everyone to benefit from the expertise of a seasoned editor, a real teacher. Learn while you can.