Snippets from an Autobiography in Progress

If you are still around, yes you, ardent reader of White Noise, you will realize posts have started appearing with the efficiency of an Indian Gorment employee, still endeavoring to smart from all the red tapism. Why you ask? Cuz it's my bloody blog, and you may be my customers in a business sense, but my entrepreneurial skills are like Dravid's T20 skills. So, what's happening on the western front, you ask?

The IPL has disciplined me more than the fear of an exclusively broccoli diet and I wake up promptly at 7:30 each morning to some destructive batting (unless of course Bangalore is playing) and some death mass sermon for bowlers, of all shapes, sizes, pace and turn. Some turn on one another and bitch-slap each other in full youtube view, and then get slapped bans. Others probably just go home and cry each other to sleep, in the process wetting each others' pillows.

I have been meaning to write a post about the antras of old songs, especially, Kishore's ones. I realized that I like them more than I like the mukhdas. Essentially, both - lyrics as well as the music, maybe cuz the mukhdas have been played to death But a friend has my Kishore collection and isn't returning it. So whattodo. In a Rafi phase starting yesterday. I finally drove the Blue Lady through a dilapidated, creaky carwash while providing the chorus for Pukarta Chala Hoon Main. What's up with the gas prices?? I spent 60 bucks filling her up today and the W says that Billua Clinton, prospective First Gentle(have to ask Monica about that) man says I will be paying 105 by next year! I need to contact Icarus for those wax wings to fly to San Francisco. In any case, I can fly on the alternating icy cold days, yes, yes, I know its summer, but Gillette f!@#ed up the ozone layer, na. I just had a vision of God, stroking his carefully shaped white goatee, saying, "Good Ol' Spice! I told you so". Oh, wait, maybe it's Vijay Mallya, but never mind, there is no stud in his ear.

Just saw the Pianist. Very good. Roman Polanski. Adrian Brody acts with his eyes and body and hardly has any dialog in his Polish accent. What a transformation the character goes through. Saw Shyam Benegal's Mandi a few days back. The script is a lesson in character development. Each actor, with their varying amount of screen time, give each other competition. Om Puri, Naseer, Smita, Shabana, Kulbhushan Kharbanda, Anita Kanwar, Neena Gupta, Ratna Pathak Shah. Aah, and that delicious Hyderabadi accent. Always makes me hungry and reminds me of biriyani. Talking of which, Captain's moved here. Aah, I must also emoblackmail Mr. Dandi to make his biriyani, but I need to meet him first. Yes, I have been a bad friend, but whattodo, I have a life now, after Sultana Daku.

PS: Someone said I look like Dhoni today from the left acute angle under sunshine. I am sure my boro pishi is feeling vindicated now. I did not even have long hair back then! And then his next question was if I play cricket.

PPS: Also, meant to blog about this Zakir Hussain Masters of Percussion concert I went to. There's a great story to it. Got a front row dead center celebrity seat after waiting for an hour to get in after the concert started. The concert was awesome. I fell in love with the sitar and bought a Ravi Shankar CD on iTunes.