tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-139942882024-03-07T06:22:15.674+00:00Life & TimesThe "me... me... me..." blog for terminally loyal and eternally indulgent friends & family.Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-5271022872032099292007-05-04T06:13:00.000+00:002007-05-04T09:55:08.374+00:00The Delhi, April 2007<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">I had one of those “stop and think” moments recently. I’ve had the opportunity to visit some interesting and exciting places over the past couple of years. We’ve been to <st1:country-region st="on">Egypt</st1:country-region>, <st1:country-region st="on">Morocco</st1:country-region>, Barclona, <st1:city st="on">Prague</st1:city> and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Budapest</st1:place></st1:city>. In each place I’ve explored it with the perspective of somebody visiting for the first time, soaking up all the experiences. But I suddenly realized that I’ve also visited most of these places for the last time. I’m not likely to go back to most of them. Considering all the hundreds of places left to see on the planet, it’s more than likely I’ll get to see some of them at least once, but that once will also be my last time. In fact many experiences are probably our “last times” but we don’t always realize it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p>You wouldn’t expect such deep thinking in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city>, but indeed it’s here that I realized this for the first time. This is the first time I’m spending a whole month in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city>, but equally it’s probably also the last time. It’s the first and may be the last time I’m spending a whole month in a hotel (this is what you call tempting fate). Nonetheless, it’s a sobering thought. So let me tell you about the last time I’m spending a month in a hotel in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Delhi</st1:city></st1:place>. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">But first a story. On the second day of our being here, the car came to pick us up at the appointed daily time of 12:30 PM, for office. On the way out of the hotel, we encountered a typical Indian city scene, where somebody, attempting to get into a car park had managed to block off the exit gate and was holding up all the out-bound traffic. The guards wouldn’t let him into the reserved car park but it was bang in front of the gate that they chose to have this discussion. We suggested to our driver that he back up and go around the car if possible. This he did without looking behind – and in doing so rammed into the car behind us. If you know <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city>, the rest of this story won’t surprise you. Out came Mr. Angry Dilliwalla, a swarthy man, with his veins popping out of his forehead. He yanked open the driver’s door, hurled a stream of abuse at him, his mother, sister and much of his clan. And then he slapped him. Hard. Our driver, being a slight man, and in the wrong to start with, was still apologizing. I jumped out at this time to soothe the situation and asked Mr. Dilliwalla to calm down and let it go, wondering how I’d react if he picked a fight with me (was I secretly hoping he would? Probably not). He stormed back into his car, but then came straight out again and this time picked a fight with the guards and their insistence on not letting the original transgressor to get into that car park. He ranted, swore, and kicked over the cones that blocked the way into the car park. In the scuffle that ensued we were able to make our way out, leaving irate guards, Mr. D and a bunch of now involved people in a melee. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">This is <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city>. Aggressive, abrasive and a law unto itself. And feudal to the core. In the first moment, people size each other up. Mr Dilliwalla knew in that first moment that the driver of our car was physically weaker and in the deeply stratified social structure, many rungs lower. In <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city>, everybody has a servant, a flunky, a somebody to do the jobs you don’t want to do. Armies of servants with their own hierarchy work in mansion like houses. They occupy the same spaces you live in, only not. There are people to open the gate, people to cook, people to keep watch on other people (Avirook insists that one of the people working in his house has an “intelligence” portfolio). People to look after your kids. Sonia says when she takes her children to the park, she’s the only one who’s not a maidservant. When she goes to birthday parties, all the mothers eat and chat while the respective maidservants feed the kids. It’s common in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city> to see families come out to restaurants to eat with a maidservant in tow. I personally don’t like the word servant, and it takes dignity out of the equation. Besides neither K or I are too comfortable with somebody living in our space. But, in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city>, you have servants. Don’t get me wrong, this is not about oppression and most people look after their household help in the best possible manner. But the lines between the classes is deep indeed. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">I thought about that driver incident later. Initially I was stunned – not because I didn’t know how <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city> works, but it’s always the shock of re-entry into a different culture. Later I thought that<span style=""> </span>in the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">US</st1:place></st1:country-region> or other parts of the world, you would have had insurance, legal action and effectively a long drawn out process where a few third parties would have made money. On the other hand, here, its one slap and its over. Both sets of people have accepted the crime and the punishment. And as Sinha argued later in the evening as we sat in the Smoke House Grill, it’s the law of the land and it works. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">So with that rather blunt introduction to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city>, we’ve settled into our pattern. Both of us are continuing to work, K on her job, me on my current project, both of which require working closely with people based in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>. Her organization has been gracious enough to offer me a desk to work out of, and the march of technology means I can call and receive calls from people in London at local rates and a London number (with a VOIP phone – which uses a dedicated internal line to carry the voice from here to London at little or no cost, and then initiates an external call there). This is also my first (and probably last) time working in a call centre. I’m probably the oldest person in the office by a mile. The biometric security and sobriety of the place apart, it could be a college campus, with a canteen and hundreds of twenty-somethings. Working to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">UK</st1:place></st1:country-region> times means we get in early afternoon and then work through to late evening. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">The New and improved <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city> is cleaner than most Indian cities and has smoothly flowing traffic for the most part. Flyovers and bypasses have already been built. Suburban developments such as Gurgaon and Noida have taken care of urban overspill. The new subway system is much talked about – I’m yet to experience it first hand. Quality of life can actually be better in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city> then currently in some of the other metros. Although as Bhaskar and I were discussing last night, one’s enjoyment of <st1:city st="on">Delhi</st1:city> is steeply correlated with affordability and status – true of most cities in the world, but dramatically so in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Delhi</st1:city></st1:place>. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Gastronomically, of course, <st1:city st="on">Delhi</st1:city> has always stood out – <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city>’s Kababs probably contribute as much to its importance as it’s political or business clout. Be it Kareems or <span style="font-style: italic;">kabargas </span>cooked at home – with hundreds of variations and more nuance than a <i>raag</i> rendition, the Kabab has pride of place in Delhi. Avirook toiled for 3 hours to put together his masterpiece version – which he claimed was direct bequest of Nawab Wajid Ali Shah, and the taste of which I’ll probably carry back to London. It’s not just Kababs though, <st1:city st="on">Delhi</st1:city> is the epicentre and embodiment of <st1:place st="on">North India</st1:place> – where as much as the aggression, people revel in the earthly pleasures of food and wine. It is impossible not to indulge yourself. Cosmopolitan food abounds as well. With the “Oh Calcutta” restaurant tucked away at the back of our hotel, and hundreds more to discover at the drop of a hat, and plenty of people who indulge in culinary pastimes, you can safely conclude that we’re well fed, in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city>. I have to say at this point, that my steely resolve (a largely under developed aspect of my personality) to not put on weight in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city> means life is a constant struggle. I have to pass through the valley of temptation every morning at breakfast and pass up the parathas, breads, doughnuts and croissants, and restrict myself to fruits, cereal and juices. If somebody up there is in the least bit concerned, I hope I’m getting some brownie points for this. Most days I’m even able to slip in a swim before work, in the very pleasant outdoor pool that stares invitingly at me whenever I look out of the window of our room. In short, I’ve not resorted to my usual pattern of ordering club sandwiches via room service as a staple and staring concernedly at my expanding waistline in the mirror every morning. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">As I write this, I have Madhushala playing on my laptop, a gift from Kavita which arrived yesterday. Karuna has been trying to educate me about Harvanshrai Bachchan’s poetry for ages now and this version, performed by Manna Dey is mellifluous to say the least, although I can’t follow the all the words at first pass. I’ll probably be singing it with great feeling but completely ungrammatically at some point till it’s kindly pointed out to me that a glass is female or that the tumbler is male and my “ka”s will be replaced with “ki”s or vice versa. C'est la vie as they say in the Delhi. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-88132496459169615082007-02-13T18:33:00.000+00:002007-02-11T20:51:15.947+00:00Mac V PC - The Empire Strikes BackEverybody knows Macs are cool, and PC's are geeky. Mac users are cool, PC users are cubicle monkeys. <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/story/0,,2006031,00.html">Well this article changes all of that</a>.Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-70549187511833359602007-01-26T19:31:00.000+00:002007-01-26T19:50:52.923+00:00Thoughts in No Particular Order<span style="font-weight: bold;">Thoughts on the passing of Deepak Babu</span><br /><br />The passing of Deepak babu or DB as most people who have traipsed through Presidency College will have known him as, brought an inexplicable sadness. I like many of my friends, was one of his less distinguised students, and as such we shared no bond. No friendship. No communication once I stepped out of college. But a man is known by the legends he creates. And Deepak babu was a man whose life was rife with legend. Stories of the things he said, things he scoffed at, the way he taught, the way he chastised, stories of his misspent youth, stories of his dismissive views of people around him... All these are the stories that made the man. Great stories make great men, and DB was a man about whom there were many great stories. Credited with phrases such as "you are innocent of economics" and "boi poro na - literary crossword cheshta koro kano?" - some of us were fortunate to have been the recipient of his wisdom, some fortunate to be the reason for his sarcasm. Most of us were just fortunate to be there when he was. From the time I joined Presidency college, the stories were whispered in the corridors and on the steps - this is where DB once got drunk as a student ... this is where DB told off so and so in no uncertain terms... some almost unreal. Like how he stowed away and worked on a ship to get to England. Or like when he saw a student staring at his wife how he put an arm around his shoulders and told him he would also get a pretty wife if he studied hard... many of them made great story telling and were perhaps far removed from reality. But like I said, great men make great legends, and their passing leaves a very large void in the fabric of our lives, distant though he may have been to us. And that great, distant void brings this inexplicable sadness.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Thoughts on Weather Deterrants</span><br />carried an umbrella today. It therefore didn't rain.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Thoughts on Racism in Big Brother</span><br /> <p class="MsoNormal">As I write this, Shilpa Shetty is on her way to becoming the face of anti-racism. It’s not an unattractive face, to be honest and one could have done worse. But it seems a bit ironic that such an important issue has surfaced so universally, in the definitively but compulsively banal Big Brother show, whose only claim to noteworthiness is the darker aspects of social engineering it seems to always suggest – couched in its grotesque attractiveness. Its also a sign of the lack of social enlightenment which haunts <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Britain</st1:country-region></st1:place>’s masses – making them no different to their much pilloried American counterparts.<o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What should worry most British people is not that racism exists, because in smaller and larger doses, it does, universally exist – even in India or Pakistan – but that the ironically named Ms Goody is a publicly known figure who attracts her share of ridicule now and then but is otherwise not seen as racially offensive or right-wing or even a particularly nasty person. This means that for most Britons, she was, hitherto, “one of us”. Suddenly, her new image - insensitive, racially prejudiced, not very clever and not very nice – hurts more because of this reason. It’s not a nice stereotype you’d want beamed across the world. The reality is perhaps ignorance and not racism. But that too is scant solace. <span style=""> </span></p>Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-2181661912995525332007-01-26T19:23:00.000+00:002007-01-26T19:25:56.160+00:00snow in London<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPwpKuUycvOw1BW2vrn7vfOwzxzb8gRm40zO8Yy1ZraO4_nQNwiqdjEFctNzavh9rIVZah-I_ZVKRIGyOrF0SatXDPmpFBEReTrWLLDStB0tuRG122hbyfFkMn1Tddsk4xVQ4I9w/s1600-h/london+snow+001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPwpKuUycvOw1BW2vrn7vfOwzxzb8gRm40zO8Yy1ZraO4_nQNwiqdjEFctNzavh9rIVZah-I_ZVKRIGyOrF0SatXDPmpFBEReTrWLLDStB0tuRG122hbyfFkMn1Tddsk4xVQ4I9w/s320/london+snow+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024422376559777938" border="0" /></a>woke up on wednesday morning to see the trees covered with white outside the window.Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-49756116320051041352007-01-18T04:46:00.000+00:002007-01-18T05:02:44.244+00:00India PoisedHaving spent the last 2 weeks in India, I've been overexposed to slogans from every conceivable brand - from political, to commercial and from civic to the downright cynical, proclaiming that India is "poised". Poised for what? - You may well ask! I suppose that ever better growth, centrality on the world stage, overall inward investments, reduction in absolute poverty are some good things to be poised for. But the question which has been on my mind for a few months now is: how does a country make a transition from being a 'developing' country to a developed country? What are the parameters of that transition? What are it's harbingers and milestones? What are the danger signals of regression? And of course, what are the pitfalls to avoid?<br /><br />I asked my friend <a href="http://www.isb.edu/faculty/faculty_teaching.asp?FID=2">Amit</a>, who is a professor of Economics, but alas, it was already 3 AM and either he was too tired to explain at length or (more likely) I was too sleepy to comprehend. But wandering around Lucknow, Kolkata and now Mumbai, I had to rethink some of my own presuppositions.<br /><br />The one belief that hasn't changed, though, is my view that the process of development of a nation or a society is not judged through it's most fortunate citizens but by the lifestyle of its least privileged. It's this lens we need to hold up while evaluating progress and growth. This isn't a cry for socialism or equality. I think equality is a somewhat overrated as a premise. In a free economy, growth and wealth creation will always come at the expense of equality. But this progress needs to be measured by the improvement in the reduction of absolute poverty i.e. the actual income and consumption patterns of the poorest sections of the population needs to improve.<br /><br />The questions still remains in my head... the answers hopefully, will come.Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-28371872623447139762006-12-30T12:46:00.000+00:002007-01-26T19:50:52.737+00:00Morocco - Part 1<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">MOROCCO 2006<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">After the inevitable delays en route, the Menara airport at <st1:country-region st="on">Morocco</st1:country-region> proved to be much less intimidating than <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Cairo</st1:city></st1:place> was, exactly a year earlier. Then, we were faced by an inscrutable language barrier whenever people spoke with each other in Arabic, and a stern military presence, to be followed by who-blinks-first style negotiations with taxi-drivers outside. Now, we were greeted pleasantly by immigration officials, who nodded us through to where our friends Nachi, Meenakshi and Topu were waiting to pick us up, having arrived earlier in the day. The challenge of a complete lack of a common language – since most Moroccan’s don’t speak more than very fragmented English – seemed to vanish away in the cold night of Marrakech. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Before long we had left our luggage in the Riad and headed out for dinner, with the kind of insurmountable appetite one displays on holiday. The Djema El Fna at this late hour was quiet save dimming light of the shops and café’s lining the Djema and the couple of food stalls, serving rudimentary kebabs, salads and coffee, while we caught up excitedly about experiences since we last met. The chameleon-like nature of the Djema El Fna wasn’t to become clear to us till the next day… <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Waking up the next morning in the Riad, was a slow and gradual process with oodles of time passing between wakefulness and any form of mobility, competing amongst the three of us for languor, till we were in danger of missing the mid-day sun. The many sounds of the Riad drifting and sifting through the windows reminded us of the world going about its business outside, like the man collecting old and used vessels who goes by with his plaintive cry and his wheelbarrow,. The Riad set inside the alleyways of the old city, is not unusual to old Indian “haveli”s or the ancient houses you will even today in many parts of <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place>. With the difference that the Riad has been preserved as carefully and vividly as a treasured memory. Gracious to almost every detail and an army of people managing to be ubiquitous but invisible as they go about making your life as easy as possible. Gargantuan amounts of breakfast appear by magic wherever you decide to park yourself – be it in the sun on the terrace or under the covered awning out in the courtyard-gardens. The day in the Riad actually passes like one long breakfast. The floors and walls myriad corridors and staircases that seem to catacomb the Riad are ornately decorated with typically blue-green stones – which sharply offset the pink-red of the walls. Outside the Riad is the real world for many in Marakech – these alleyways and houses are their homes and neighbourhoods. The children who play football late into the night by the lamplight and who always have to pause their game for passers by, the numerous wheel barrows and the 2-wheelers, both motored and pedaled, which form the only forms of transport here, and the loitering men on almost every corner – all are an essential and inseparable part of the old city of Marrakech. The strangely alluring monotonicity of the walls as well as the sense of barrenness they convey – few windows, and high walls in alley after alley make the nights deeper, darker and more ancient. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">During the day, through the same walls all over the Djema el Fna and the numerous Souks that lead off from them are splashed with a thousand shades of red and orange. The souks are crowded, bustling and seemingly caught in the perpetual motion of trading. Organized by type of product – you can make your way through the Leather souk, the spices souk, the wood work souk and a dozen that take some finding, the souks are as inviting to shoppers as they are to those just wishing to immerse themselves in the local flavour. As in any developing country, the number of people who appear to be just there, doing not a lot is very high. But somehow, everybody is involved. Everybody can become the face that you turn to for directions or for asking the price. Neighbouring shops may have the same owner, salesmen or you might find shops which are unattended – where the proprietor may have gone for a mid-afternoon siesta, or perhaps to have a neighbourly discussion with a friend down the in souk. You’ll never really know. Through the bamboo slats above, the sun streams in, striping everything in light and shade, adding to the mystery of the Souk. The carpet stalls draw you in eagerly. They tell you they are your friend. As soon as they discover you’re Indian, they reel off half a dozen movies, film stars and burst into Bollywood love songs. Trading is done with a nod to tradition. The man who makes crepes (or what we’ve grown up calling parathas in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place>) only starts at 4, no matter how hungry you might feel at 3. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">When you’re tired of the clamour of the Souk, you step back into the sun at the Djema El Fna – all roads lead to the Djema. At every hour, the tone and nature of the Djema change… till suddenly, it’s a whole different place. At 4 in the afternoon, the snake charmers, and fortune tellers are still going strong. The flea markets, and trinket sellers are thinking about winding up and a little lull has set in after the frenetic activity at noon, where drums from the dancers compete with the pipes from the snake charmers and the acrobats perform outside the cafes. As the sun continues to dip, and darkness shrouds the place, by some miracle there are a hundred food stalls which have appeared and furious consumption of kebabs and tagines is the only activity in the Djema. Interspersed by the prayer times, when the sounds of the prayer ring out from the visible mosques behind the jema. The feeding will frenzy will continue till it all winds down again to the last two food stalls which will serve the late-nighters. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Through all of this, two things stand out quite dramatically, but don’t really present themselves to you upfront – you discover them as you spend more and more time here. The first is the complete lack of aggression. Through the bargaining at the souks, to the jostling in every alleyway, and from negotiating rates to negotiating your journey through the old town as cycles and scooters dodge in and out of pedestrian traffic at impossible speeds, there is a harmony and an acceptance which never rises to aggression or anger. Any angst is kept well controlled, and perhaps expressed in a rueful smile rather than a frown. Apologies come quickly – be it the shopkeeper who tells you how sorry he is that he cannot sell you the piece you want at the price you want it, or the drunkard to tells you how India and Africa share the same sadness. The other is the utter lack of advertising and hoardings. The only signs are at the shops, banks, tourist offices or other places of commerce. There are no advertising hoardings in Marrakech. Whether it’s planned or just another small reason why it continues to preserve its medieval aura – right down to the chamelions, parrots, monkeys and turtles – in cages, on chains or in shows, walking into the Al Medina in Marrakech is like stepping into a time machine.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">20 minutes and a thousand years away, across the city lies Guelitz – where you might remember that this is after all the 21<sup>st</sup> century. Guelitz boasts of bars, Chinese food (best avoided) and even smoky night clubs replete with live performances and scantily clad women. This is a world so hard to reconcile with the old city of <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Marrakech</st1:city></st1:place> that it’s not even worth the effort. But the Moroccan pop/rock band and the entire club could have had one entrance in Marakech and the other in a Soho alley in <st1:city st="on">London</st1:city> or <st1:place st="on"><st1:state st="on">New York</st1:state></st1:place>. But this is best appreciated as a counterpoint to the Marrakech that fascinates visitors.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">In that other, old, Marrakech, food can be an exciting experience as well. The Le Foundouk, turned out to be a gastronomic tour de force. The walk needless to say required us to enlist local help to negotiate the labyrinthine alleys, but the wonderful food like my order of lamb tagine with almonds and prunes left a lingering memory long after the taste had gone.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">When we finally said goodbye to Marrakech, it was with the same gentleness and hospitality. Loaded into a small minibus, which allowed us and our luggage plenty of breathing room, we had an easy journey to Essouira, stopping for yet another sumptuous meal at a roadside café<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/vedsen/">.</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/vedsen/">Pictures here</a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span>Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-86530528316340252862006-12-22T01:25:00.000+00:002006-12-22T01:32:16.363+00:00Souk-wars?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj1g1tPYFmMi6ZO2_BukHAP4VW1WcIjtzBN8W7vc42DuXDk8kKbT7UMCEJReyzESUyaJuSxWNDW9MBTMg-e-LOsnbEOSfF9psQ4daOmw5vT9cz6ISpZMZNl3EERPplZuZnnGRKVQ/s1600-h/mara-kachhi_201206+081.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj1g1tPYFmMi6ZO2_BukHAP4VW1WcIjtzBN8W7vc42DuXDk8kKbT7UMCEJReyzESUyaJuSxWNDW9MBTMg-e-LOsnbEOSfF9psQ4daOmw5vT9cz6ISpZMZNl3EERPplZuZnnGRKVQ/s320/mara-kachhi_201206+081.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5011156830830054514" border="0" /></a>Obi Wan takes a walk through the crowded market... in Marrakech.<br /><blockquote></blockquote>Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-52791431439739618292006-12-22T01:22:00.000+00:002006-12-22T01:23:05.267+00:00Marrakech Souk<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY8vyXlVpJj5BF-HeWY-On2yhWJKZ0C3fyb62FVMnRN2mA8AdNI07IU7A5aN7-tBJZK5YC1Xmpals1DHeC5Ejg7MqaS6qmzxUVsAdC1-9Gn1BEWa_e3LRuPBJSG6InU7DMhl76Hg/s1600-h/mara-kachhi_201206+060.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY8vyXlVpJj5BF-HeWY-On2yhWJKZ0C3fyb62FVMnRN2mA8AdNI07IU7A5aN7-tBJZK5YC1Xmpals1DHeC5Ejg7MqaS6qmzxUVsAdC1-9Gn1BEWa_e3LRuPBJSG6InU7DMhl76Hg/s320/mara-kachhi_201206+060.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5011153313251839058" border="0" /></a>Travelling through the Souk in Marrakech, caught by the afternoon sun filtering through the bamboo slats.Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-45769358164373355092006-11-24T23:46:00.000+00:002006-11-24T23:56:32.365+00:00Perspectives...Rediff has an article titled "<a href="http://www.rediff.com/news/2006/nov/25jintao.htm">Thanks to India the dream of free Tibet resuscitated</a>" - which is a quote from online questions posed to and answered by Tenzin Tsundue - the Tibetan activist. Curiously, the Economist carries an article with the headline "<a href="http://www.economist.com/opinion/displaystory.cfm?story_id=E1_RTSNJNN">Hu's afraid of the Dalai Lama</a>" which essentially maintains that India has softened it's stance on Tibet in order to ensure better business links with China. The Economist, after praising India's long standing support of Tibet, says "... So it is sad to see India follow the West in helping China by making even the limited political space available to Tibetan exiles even smaller". Needless to say, both articles are illuminating.<br /><br />ps Happy birthday aporup.Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-38569073398088688002006-11-19T10:45:00.000+00:002006-11-19T19:15:53.496+00:00Borat, CNN, Junk food ads and bed scenesI saw the Borat movie. It was hilarious...<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />....<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />....<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />NOT!<br /><br />Ok, some parts of it were very funny. Some parts of it were old gags which were vaguely amusing. But a large part of the movie was crass and cringeworthy and my primary emotion through much of the running time was one of embarrassment. The kind you experience when you see something you shouldn't be seeing, with people who you shouldn't be seeing these things with.<br /><br />On another note, I've been watching CNN news of late and I'm suddenly aware that there are subtle changes in their coverage. They actually pronounce Pakistan as "paak-e-staan" and not the american "Pack-e-stan". They even had a program on Khadims the shoe company headquartered in Kolkata and they actually prounounced correctly the word "borobabu" (as Roy Burman the head of the business is called within the company).<br /><br />Today, the news is that Ofcom has banned junk food ads on childrens channels. You have to agree that this is a draconian move as some of the newspapers have termed it. Is shutting off information and communication the right answer to anything in today's world? Would we next stop showing financial ads to prevent people from borrowing too much? Yes I know I'm stretching the point. But keeping in mind the need to curb the influence of the offending ads, in my humble opinion, it's yet another scenario where parents are abdicating responsibility and pointing fingers at other sources. There are always reasons why children may get tempted. We've recently seen footage on TV of parents ignoring the school drive for healthy eating and feeding their kids chips and snacks through the school gates. At the end of the day if we don't take responsibility for the outcomes of our own actions, nobody else will.<br /><br />As I said before, my mornings start reading in bed for an hour or two. Some d<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2352/1708/1600/602296/bed%20001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2352/1708/200/494685/bed%20001.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>ays, I go straight through to lunch in this position - when work essentially involves reading, reviewing, writing, mailing and calling people. Needless to say, K is jealous of this state of affairs. Having the Camden Arts Centre next door is also pretty handy as its a quick option for a coffee and seeing actual people.<br /><br />Current reading includes Ogden Nash, Alex Fergusson's Autobiography and Nick Mason's Inside Out - the story of Pink Floyd.Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-13059464009296805812006-11-10T08:10:00.000+00:002006-11-10T08:37:49.964+00:00Nov 10 - of beds, backsides and browsers.As always I start my day tucked in bed with my laptop, reading, for a couple of hours, in a thinkly veiled excuse for working. No really, I do read lots of fascinating reading ... BBC Sports, Guardian Football, Soccernet, Football 365... its tough keeping up with all the news and gossip.<br /><br />And the fascinating tidbits - like this one - from football365:<br /><br />(<span style="font-style: italic;">my question is, how cold does it get in sunderland actually???)<br /><br /></span><span id="intelliTXT">'A man is recovering in hospital from serious internal injures after launching a firework from his backside. The 22-year-old suffered a scorched colon and other injuries in the incident in Sunderland, Tyne and Wear. A spokeswoman for the North East Ambulance Service said: "We received a call stating there was a male who had a firework in his bottom and it was bleeding. A spokesman for the Firework Association, said he had never heard of an incident like it in 45 years' - <b>The Press Association<br /></b></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>Apart from this, in a major development (life changing moment) I've switched from Microsoft Internet Explorer, to Firefox from Mozilla. Its much much faster, and has a few clever features (imports all your bookmarks and cookies) and you can download plug ins like a clip tagger from Clipmarks, Sage a feed manager and a blogging tool called Performancing, which allows you to blog any content from it's original page on the web, to your blog.<br /><br />The MI5 head thinks there are 200 terror plots being tracked by the police. Sir Malcolm Rifkind thinks that the announcement for Saddam's sentence was timed, on request of the US, to coincide with their elections. And I have a full day of work, at home.<br /><span id="intelliTXT"><b><br /></b></span>Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-7622058770470854882006-10-21T10:13:00.000+00:002006-10-21T10:27:52.860+00:00William Goggins RememberedTouching <a href="http://wired.com/wired/archive/14.10/posts.html?pg=6">obituary on Bill Goggins</a>, Deputy Editor, Wired Magazine. One of the most intelligent magazines on view, Wired has always been a must read for me - although, bizarrely, they don't have a UK subscription, so I have to buy the copies from the stores. That hurts when you see offers in every issue for a subscription offer which gives you 12 copies for some $10 and I get them at about 3 pounds per copy. <sigh><br /><br />Also in the same issue - catching paedophiles and sex offenders on Myspace - a geeky but interesting article.<br /><br />Yesterday another sumptuous meal was devoured at <a href="http://www.londoneats.com/search/complete.asp?Rest_RestaurantID=37">Abyssinia</a> - a little known and unsung Ethiopean restaurant which I swear by. Waddling out of there has become a bit of a habit.<br /><br />Have you noticed how when something that you have never heard of, enters your conciousness, suddenly it appears in so many places, it's spooky. This has happened to me on a few occasions. The first was when I was about 8, and I visited a cousin who spent the evening singing a song I'd never heard before "Sing Mohammed... Mohaaammed Ali, he calls to the other guy I'm Aa... aa... li... Catch Me If You Can... " and the next evening, at my annual school concert, I head a guy called Eugene Paul sing the song. For this reason, I've not forgot Eugene Paul either. And just the other day, after listening to a catchy song on Radio, I discovered it was Keith Urban's voice - I've never heard of him before, but there he is today in MyYahoo again, married to Nicole Kidman and checking into rehab.<br /><br />It's Diwali today, and undoubtedly, in the heartland of Diwali celebrations in the Western Hemisphere - Birmingham - the evening will be a merry one. We're up there on our annual pilgrimmage with K's family. Happy Diwali all and may the best reds win tomorrow.Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-66357883186286293012006-10-19T17:00:00.000+00:002006-10-19T17:02:22.886+00:00October 18th - Home and Away - Worlds and Worlds apartToday it was cloudy and when the first - and only - drop of rain hit my face, I swear that i felt a whiff of the smell of mangoes and wished for just a moment, but with an intense urgency, that I was in Kolkata, soaking in the monsoon and devouring the sour-sweet mangoes that leave an orange trail on your chin.<br /><br />Then I walked on and lost myself in thoughts of work.<br /><br />Later I read this <a href="http://film.guardian.co.uk/interview/interviewpages/0,,1926141,00.html">superb interview of Gael Garcia Bernal </a>- a man who exhudes belonging and an amazing sense of proximity to his roots. I love his description of Spain the the difference between rich and poor countries.Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-1158694241280927232006-09-19T19:30:00.000+00:002006-09-19T19:45:30.036+00:00Prague & Budapest Memories - 1<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/29944066@N00/246837831/"></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/29944066@N00/246837831/"></a><br />It’s been about 3 years since I spent 7 days without my laptop. I took it to Barcelona, to Egypt, to Amsterdam and to Cologne. But this time I decided to switch my mind off completely. Consequently, I arrived at Budapest in a state of total freedom from structured thought. I spent the next 7 days following instructions and directions provided either by Topu or by Karuna or by both of them. Without disquiet, without petulance or rebellion.<br /><br />As I write this, Budapest is pulsating with the fury of its people who have stumbled upon that truth known to most capitalists, communists, democratic and autocratic countries. Governments lie. Nonetheless, all this could have been a million miles away as we wandered through the city. (how many miles do you have to be to be even one second away in time?Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-1156344793993719382006-08-23T14:50:00.000+00:002006-08-23T14:53:14.023+00:00Up Close & PersonalReading this sent shivers down my spine. This is the kind of dialogue that today's technology makes possible. Bringing humans together. Israeli people and their Lebanese counterparts in debate and question-answer.<br /><br /><a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/middle_east/5276272.stm">http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/middle_east/5276272.stm</a>Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-1156201779002129952006-08-21T23:08:00.000+00:002006-08-21T23:09:39.033+00:00Blogging for TruthExcellent and succinctly explained article on Bloggers and/or journalists.<br /><br /><a href="http://media.guardian.co.uk/newmedia/comment/0,,1854562,00.html">http://media.guardian.co.uk/newmedia/comment/0,,1854562,00.html</a>Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-1155679919575135332006-08-15T22:10:00.000+00:002006-08-15T22:11:59.586+00:0012 Year Old "Specialist"<a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/uklatest/story/0,,-6017381,00.html">http://www.guardian.co.uk/uklatest/story/0,,-6017381,00.html</a> they should hire this guy as a senior consultant for airport security!Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-1155575249044786132006-08-14T17:04:00.000+00:002006-08-14T17:07:29.063+00:00Post Modern TimesNoticed in Wired - the impact of dropping Chaplin into Spielberg Sci-fi<br /><br /><a href="http://blog.wired.com/tableofmalcontents/#1537819">http://blog.wired.com/tableofmalcontents/#1537819</a><br /><br />and here's the link to YouTube<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PkITesFhfVo">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PkITesFhfVo</a><br /><br />I am individually convinced that creativity is not positively correlated to "content protection", or "amount of money to be made" - scale and size and the creation of an industry around it probably is... though.Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-1155569111109558792006-08-14T15:23:00.000+00:002006-08-14T15:25:11.136+00:00Will Someone Please Tell MNS?The headline for the FT Review reads: "Lovely special effects, shame about the plot" <em>By Nigel Andrews . </em>Here's what the reviewer thinks "My theory is that M. Night Shyamalan makes films from ideas Stephen King thought too silly"Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-1155385933480341422006-08-12T12:26:00.000+00:002006-08-12T13:05:04.696+00:00Weekend ReadingCatching up on the mountains of newspapers and magazines lying around... here are some of the ones that caught the mind, and where I was able to find the online versions.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2092-2300407.html">http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2092-2300407.html</a> - scary story of a stalker. What would yu do?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2092-2300320.html">http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2092-2300320.html</a> workspace bullying. Over compensated or under represented?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2095-2300301.html">http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2095-2300301.html</a> Felix Dennis' advice on Entrepreneurship.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2087-2300521.html">http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2087-2300521.html</a> Just so you know that there is such an organization as "The Noise Abatement Society" and some of their findings about noise levels going up.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2087-2300574,00.html">http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2087-2300574,00.html</a> - what one of the 9/11 plotters was doing in the British library for 5 years. Also, how easy it is for somebody to enter the UK completely helpless and get a flat and a study grant. Also, a reminder of what it's like in a society where the difference between doing well and doing badly is on the decline.Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-1155280960723608812006-08-11T07:21:00.000+00:002006-08-11T07:22:40.736+00:00Poor MNS - even the Times has it in for him. Really time for him to take a break, recharge his batteries and comeback with more.<br /><br /><a href="http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,14931-2305608,00.html">http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,14931-2305608,00.html</a>Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-1155131225284779962006-08-09T13:43:00.000+00:002006-08-09T13:50:15.940+00:00I Told You So!Here's a review I wrote in disgust after seeing Shyamalan's Signs. Disgust because I genuinely liked Sixth Sense and Unbreakable as well.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.geocities.com/vedbsen/cr-signs.htm">Signs... but of What</a>? <br /><br />And here's the Guardian Review on his latest... Lady in The Water.<br /><br /><strong>Going dark </strong><br /><a href="http://film.guardian.co.uk/patterson/story/0,,1836480,00.html">If only M Night Shyamalan would give it a rest. John Patterson's sixth sense foresees an extended career break <br /></a><br />I told you so! <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4248/503/1600/IMAGE_00004.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4248/503/200/IMAGE_00004.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And here's some hardworking chaps putting up the poster to release the movie on an unsuspecting public :)Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-1154768696336295182006-08-05T08:48:00.000+00:002006-08-05T09:17:53.560+00:00July Thoughts.<ol><li>this was the hottest july in London since they started recording temperatures - average temp through the month was some 19 degrees with the hottest ever day temperature in England also being recorded at 36.5 centigrade. We sweltered, struggled and woke up soaked in our own sweat. Wishing we could run away to cooler places (like in India). </li><li>Al Jarreau concert with the parents and Nanu was pretty good! Started with <a href="http://www.fourplayjazz.com/">Fourplay</a>. Al Jarreau turned out to be surprisingly entertaining. "If they were Fourplay, I guess that makes me the climax". His vocal rendition of Take 5 had me gasping. </li><li>Work continued apace. I've taken to spending 2 hours reading every morning. It's like going back to school, except that i'm usually doing it tucked in bed with my laptop. Otherwise, working at home is proving to be in equal measure invigourating and enervating. </li><li>Movies: Superman Returns was worth the watch. Preserved the mythic value of Superman, the original, the real thing. <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0379370/">Maqbool</a>, vaguely adapted from Macbeth was well acted with a stellar cast and well shot as well. It's a Bollywood mixes Macbeth and Godfather with a dash of Goodfellas. Clearly Bollywood has taken to both Shakespeare and Godfather in a big way. I also saw Sarkar recently, and thought as a remake/adaptation of Godfather it was quite good. The Mumbai-zation of the story was particularly good. "My Wife's Murder" - with Anil Kapoor had a good build up, but as a narrative it lacked a plot or a twist. As a personal portrayal, it lacked the close up of say "Leaving Las Vegas" and had too much story. Sort of fell between the stools. Tried to see the Hindi Othello remake but the theatre was shut due to a power outage. Sigh. </li><li>Books: have just started Nick Mason's "Inside Out" - the autobiographical story around Pink Floyd and it promises to be brilliantly funny. </li><li>Restaurants: <a href="http://www.imli.co.uk/">Imli </a>on Wardour Street had interesting and nicely themed Indian food. Went back to <a href="http://www.london-eating.co.uk/10.htm">Busaba </a>and wasn't disappointed. New Thai home delivery "<a href="http://www.allinlondon.co.uk/restaurants/restaurant-1976.php">Tip Top Thai</a>" has been a welcome addition to <a href="http://www.london-eating.co.uk/3031.htm">Kovalam</a>, who continue to impress with their consistency (Youssuf has shaved his moustache). <a href="http://www.allinlondon.co.uk/restaurants/restaurant-2210.php">Galangal</a>, which I tried with Mathew and Gay was pretty good. Also went back to <a href="http://www.urbanpath.com/london/chinese/ping-pong.htm">Ping Pong </a>- had to wait almost 45 minutes to be seated. </li><li>Sport: Tom Friedman should write a sequel - the World Cup is Flat. Though we still sat glued. And went from Sport overkill (World Cup, Wimbledon, Formula 1 and Test Cricket on the same day) to a complete vaccuum. (Ashley Cole's wedding as the main sports headline. And greedily devouring transfer goss).</li><li>"My body is a temple" department: gymming has been off and on, and it's still showing. Though the new Swiss Cottage community centre promises to be an excellent alternative to the hugely expensive Esporta. </li></ol><p></p>Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-1151929392523425582006-07-03T11:59:00.000+00:002006-07-03T12:23:12.533+00:00Lazy Sunday Barbecue<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4248/503/640/Sunday%20Barbecue%20%26%20Home%20July%202%20017.jpg"><img style="CLEAR: all; FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 163px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 191px" height="288" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4248/503/320/Sunday%20Barbecue%20%26%20Home%20July%202%20017.jpg" width="231" border="0" /></a>Sunday laze and barbecues with family and friends. In the current edition of Timeout London, a minicab driver is quoted as saying "the best present you can give your children are happy memories" I think that's quite profound. And not just your children, it extends to your parents, siblings, spouses and friends.<br /><br />And so we were there under the green umbrella looking up at the bits of sky and enjoying the mild play of sun and shade. The tree spread itself over the clearing and reached out over the Leg of Mutton Pond, in the Hampstead Heath and as we barbecued and picnicked, labradors, spaniels, boxers, and all other manners of dogs and owners walked by us.<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4248/503/640/Sunday%20Barbecue%20%26%20Home%20July%202%20025.jpg"><img style="CLEAR: all; FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 157px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 196px" height="246" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4248/503/320/Sunday%20Barbecue%20%26%20Home%20July%202%20025.jpg" width="157" border="0" /></a>And as we sat there, talking about branches and roots, of soil and substance, the picnic blanket opened up and invited us to expand ourselves over it. The barbecue sent smoke signals through the leaves to entice the happy moments from far and wide to come visiting.<br /><br /><p align="left">Back in harmony with nature we spanned generations and let the summer day sift through our senses. The conversation flowed "like honey... " and the afternoon passed languidly yet very quickly.<br /><br />Parents are like trees that provide you all the shade you need as long as you need it. Allowing just the right amounts of sun, the rain and the air to let you grow and become trees just like them. <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4248/503/640/Sunday%20Barbecue%20%26%20Home%20July%202%20038.jpg"><img style="CLEAR: all; FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 203px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 144px" height="144" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4248/503/320/Sunday%20Barbecue%20%26%20Home%20July%202%20038.jpg" width="225" border="0" /></a>Our parents are very green, taller than they appear and with an admirable shelter-span. The best gift they gave me are firm roots, I guess. But i digress, it must be the wine that loosened my tongue. It was Argentinian. So Joe said.<br /> <br />Piu and Joydeep were househunting. London, Leicester and long journeys in between. If you enjoy a journey, it always becomes shorter.<br /><br />K was calling Papu to wish him a happy birthday. Parents should have birthday parties with many candles and friends too. </p><p align="left"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4248/503/640/Sunday%20Barbecue%20%26%20Home%20July%202%20030.jpg"><img style="CLEAR: all; FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="202" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4248/503/320/Sunday%20Barbecue%20%26%20Home%20July%202%20030.jpg" width="163" border="0" /></a><br />Progga sat on the log and wondered about her blackberry and was in constant commune with all the dogs that went by. My oldest memory of progga includes her befriending the most vicious looking dogs wherever we went on holiday. New Jersey was on her mind, I'm sure. But everybody has their dark moments :)<br /><br />The trees were a happy green. </p> <a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a> Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13994288.post-1151237259498524792006-06-25T11:39:00.000+00:002006-06-25T12:07:39.516+00:00World Cup WeekendYesterday, Art Gurfunkel was playing at the Kenwood concert in the Hampstead heath. Although I had an option of going for picnic to the Heath behind the concert from where you can enjoy yourself, while Mr. Garfunkel serenaded you from nigh, the lure of watching Argentina play Mexico was in the end, too strong.<br /><br />Started in a tiny bar on Flask lane, where the pubs have recently been prevented from allowing al fresco dining and then down at the George in Belsize Park, past Downshire Hill Road, where the unfortunate Alan Chappelow, photographer, write and recluse, who took the last pictures of George Bernard Shaw, was found murdered. Close to the Bombay Bicycle Club where we dined with Steph and down the road from the Freemason's Arms where Joe stared at the "Niche" behind the door, while Jasmine and I stared at the scantily clad women, and Bijoya looked on bemusedly.<br /><br />Watching England at home will be my modus 0perandi, as jostling for a square inch of space hasn't, so far, been my favourite way of taking in a football match. Besides, as a relative neutral I might clap an Ecuador goal or two, which they say can be harmful to your health in these parts. Still think the Brazillians have enough up their sleeves to win this cup.<br /><br />The images of the world cup so far...<br /><br /><a href="http://www.therecord.com/images/kwr/kwr1334337_2.jpg">The Nike Ad with Rooney</a><br /><a href="http://images.scotsman.com/2006/06/21/2006-06-21T081727Z_01_NOOTR_RTRIDSP_2_OUKTP-UK-SOCCER-WORLD-ENGLAND-ARRESTS.jpg">Less Violence, but it's there... </a><br /><a href="http://www.germany-tourism.co.uk/media/05_football_cologne_fan.jpg">Its about the fans, stupid</a><br /><a href="http://www.rediff.com/sports/football/2002/jun/28rea.jpg">Best of Brazil 1</a> <a href="http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.cappuccinomag.com/ehsan/blog/images/brazil_fans/3583141255.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.cappuccinomag.com/ehsan/blog/BrazilFans.htm&h=396&w=300&sz=16&hl=en&start=12&tbnid=ZqqLsVLfsXwNuM:&tbnh=120&tbnw=90&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dbrazil%2Bfans%2Bfootball%26svnum%3D10%26hl%3Den%26lr%3D%26rls%3DHPIB,HPIB:2006-18,HPIB:en%26sa%3DG">and 2</a>Ved Senhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05139678884533339291noreply@blogger.com0