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Where do we go now?

I was working on an article for YourStory late last night when I decided to take a break. I must've signed into Facebook around 2:00am looking for a new message or two from friends in all corners of the world. Well, no such luck on the front but, as usual, I was confronted with tabloid-style conversational blurbs, a few oblique comments on pictures not to mention the ever-faithful notifications of Premier Football and Knighthood. I scrolled down the page looking for something to keep my attention without luck, so I scrolled back up to the logout button. Well, that was when I read one of the status updates. My friend sounded distressed by something happening in Mumbai.

I headed over the Google news and did a simple search for 'mumbai'. I stared blankly at the screen for a bit. All the initial headlines were painting a distorted picture of terrorism, bloodshed and 5-Star hotels in Mumbai. One of my closest friends works in the JW Marriott, so I immediately repeated that search adding 'marriott'. Up popped the words -- "Unconfirmed reports of gunshots in the Marriott". I picked up my cell and decided to call her immediately. As I was scrolling down my contact list, I switched on the TV and flicked past the two Champions League games (momentarily noting that both English teams had taken the lead) before heading for the news channels. It would be pretty redundant to recount what I saw given the coverage over the past 24 hours. However, I will say that the man spearheading the Times Now coverage was trying very hard to dilute his excitement with an appropriate amount of disbelief. Every few seconds the words "Newsflash!" or "Latest" or Breaking News" flashed across the screen to the score of a very dramatic voice. But details were few and far between once more and I still didn't quite know what was happening. Meanwhile, my Vodafone-Nokia partnership was persistently yielding 'Error in Connection' but I kept redialling her number guessing that the network had been affected by the obvious heightened volume of calls.

I continued surfing from news channel to news channel until I my blood ran cold when I saw the JW Marriott. Then came clippings of sniffer dogs and army troops patrolling its premises. My situation wasn't helped by the fact that the Marriott report had just ended and I was watching the outro which read like a cold open. Next followed the words "Mumbai Burns" arriving like the title of the blockbuster before the montage squiggled its viewers on to the studio, the Taj, the Trident, Nariman Point and the other terror spots.

When I finally heard her phone ring I felt the embers of composure glow brighter. But they were extinguished when she didn't pick up. Early reports spoke of these terrorists taking civilians hostages which naturally sent my imagination into overdrive. I cut the second call midway through and messaged, "Are you okay?". No reply. Over the course of the next 4 hours I must've sent about 3 more messages, hoping, praying for a reply. Well, it wasn't till about 7:15am that I got a reply. But until then, I was worried. Very, very worried. My little room was echoing the voices of clueless news reporters babbling incongruous bits of information.

Watching the Taj burn on the news last night, strangely brought back images of Boris Yeltsin's seige on the Duma (the Russian White House). While I'm not really trying to compare the two situations, but the footage we've been watching on TV does bring back hazy memories.

It must've been about a month since I'd celebrated my 10th birthday when this happened. I really didn't understand any of it back then. I remember one evening hearing a lot of commotion in the parking lot downstairs. The cacophony comprised of yelling, the dull rhythm of countless military boots clunking against the asphalt and dogs barking. All the lights were turned off in the house and my parents told me to be very quiet. Like I said, I didn't understand any of it but I knew that something had my family worried which translated to my state. For about 20mins, my dad stood at the kitchen window and peered down into the parking lot where we he said hundreds of troops had assembled. Their voices were coming up to the 9th floor but they were getting distorted on the way. At times they sounded Russian and bizarrely, at other times, they sounded American. We weren't sure what was going on because none of us spoke Russian. Turning on the TV wouldn't be of much help given that the only English channel available was CNN (which woke up the the crisis a little late).

We ate in darkness that night. I kept asking my dad what was going on, but he didn't have any answers at the time. I shut up after a while. The clinking of forks against mom's heavy bone china plates continued and I continued munching noisily. Funnily, I remember that and the fact that no one bothered to say, "Mone, close your mouth and chew". Our silhouettes pitched against the dull, red glow of the Moscow cityscape were transfixed in some place far, far away.

We woke up early next morning and found the parking lot thankfully deserted. Mom and sis were watching CNN which would sporadically focus on the Moscow situation. I didn't bother to watch during those first few days because I remained preoccupied in my own world of toys and video games. It wasn't until Yeltsin called in the heavy artillery that things caught my attention. That morning I remember the sharp rays of sunlight flooding part of the house as the loud sound of rotor blades reverberated across the rooftops. Dad and I ran from window to window looking for the chopper without luck. I had just about entered the bedroom, tracking the path of the sound all the way to my balcony. I struggled with the handle completely forgetting that both the door and the windows had been sealed with newspaper and scotch tape to keep us insulated. That is when it crossed straight over my balcony, complete with rocket launcher pods, missiles and a gunman stationed behind one of those massive machine guns we'd associate with Vietnam. I remember getting very excited, jumping up and down while clapping like a looney. Yes, well, it would excite most 10yr olds, but I was a complete airforce nut back then. I really, really wanted to become a fighter pilot for the longest time (as would suggest my large collection of books on combat aircraft and model aircrafts -- some of which can still be found around the house). My dad arrived the moment the chopper had disappeared out of sight over the opposing multi storey. I was babbling non-stop about the missiles, the gunman and the fact that the chopper had passed right over our building. Like I said, I'd turned into a looney.

I watched the TV for hours that day hoping to catch a glimpse of that chopper on the news, but all we saw were other transport choppers.

I remained obsessive till the next day and I recall getting very upset with dad because he said I must've seen an ordinary military transport chopper, not the gunship I said I had.

Then came that big moment which I still remember. Someone called my dad from the Indian Embassy and asked us to turn on CNN immediately. There was the Duma charred in parts, bullet ridden with automatic fire still very much audible. But then another camera suddenly shifted slightly to a line of armoured vehicles coming down the giant road, oddly leaving some sort of trail behind. Well, on that grainy reception I thought they were armoured vans until they changed formation to drive side by side. That's when I caught side of barrels -- tanks!

Yeltsin was a maniac. Who the hell brings in tanks to deal with a rebel faction in the Duma? That said, I have to admit, he was providing a 10yr old the most excitement he'd ever seen his whole life. Whats more incredible is the fact that these tanks would then open fire on the building.

Meanwhile, CNN was reporting that hundreds of people had gathered to watch the events unfold from right outside the Duma. These people stood openly, unprotected, unnerved by bullets whizzing past, watching the armed forces exchange fire with those holed up inside the building. Many of them were shot. Many of them died.

On some level, I'm guessing these images are echoing the visuals we have been watching on television over the past two days. Today, I think of the lives that were lost all those years ago, I think of the lives we've lost two days ago and I wonder what has violence solved?

The only difference between then and now is the media circus. There weren't 50 cameramen swarming around cops, commandos or survivors in Moscow during or after the ordeal ended. None of the journalists harped on and on and on and on about the heritage and the symbol of the Russian democracy being destroyed. However, they did speak of the loss of lives though. I didn't quite appreciate it back then. My judgement was clouded by age and the fact that we'd subsisted for 9months on James Bond, Die Hard and other commando operation movies where extras dived about when a pouch squirted tomato sauce in their pocket, or a puff of smoke when off in the hero's toy gun. Those journalist had a sense of perspective. The Duma was rebuilt in a matter of days but, unfortunately, the lives lost will never be replaced.

I see Kamte, Karkare, Salaskar and the other faceless heroes who laid down their lives for our people. What do you see?

Russian police said, on 8 October, 1993, that 187 had died in the conflict and 437 had been wounded. Unofficial sources named much higher numbers: up to 2,000 dead.

The kids of the colony returned to their beloved playground -- the parking lot, even though the fierce gun battle waged on only 10minutes away from our compound. I accompanied my circle of friends for a walk around the compound that evening. There was a Pakistani boy named Ali Saleem Mallick, a Nigerian boy named Sydney and this deaf and dumb boy we called Mongolian (because he had the facial features and everyone called him that to begin with) -- all of whom I've lost touch with sadly. Every now and then, the sky would light up and we'd dart out from under the trees to catch a glimpse of the orange beams of strafer fire passing over our compound. We were kids. We were impressionable. We were naive, but not anymore. Its about time some people grow up.

Images taken from the Slate archive.

A blog for no one

I have spent the last hour listening to this song on repeat. I'm sorry I'm posting this Youtube version cause the audio is frankly appalling but its the only way I could share it with the rest of you. There are a few songs somewhere out there in the world that have the power to slowly take control of your mind, dictate your emotional state of being and have absolutely no regard for your feelings. Much like a cranky, whiny, little brat throwing all his expensive, breakable toys out of the pram. You could slap the little twerp or give him a good telling to, but strangely, you really can't do much with a tune once its started. If someone told me that this was one such song, then I wouldn't argue...or perhaps something in the song instructs me not to...

Rolling Stones Editor, David Fricke comments --

It goes in circles and it climbs but it never seems to reach anywhere. And Eric doesn't do a whole lot. He plays this chord progression which is actually very chunky and is again very funky in a way. And Jacks vocals is very powerful -- very operatic and, again, climbing, you know? Its, as if, he's trying to reach something and is not quite getting there. The secret power of 'We're Going Wrong' is Ginger's drumming because all of the action of the song is underneath Jack and Eric. Its in the tom rolls. When Cream did that song at the Albert Hall, and I saw three of those shows, every night that was the killer.

I guess we reach a point in our lives where things must change. Perhaps this is because everything seems to have its own 'Best before' date. But change is not always for the better and, more often than not, accommodating change is an ordeal in itself. I am not talking about Obama's promise of 'Change', however, if you aimed your bayonet at my throat and demanded an opinion, I'd quote Wenger when he says --

“What made everybody happy in his election was that nobody knows what Obama's ideas are, but the system has brought someone to the top just because they have the quality and nothing else. I think that is right.”

Honestly speaking, the world don't know what's in store but there seems to be a promise for a brighter future. *waffle alert* Objectively speaking, Dubya is most definitely not a tough gig to follow so America would've done well even if they'd elected Jeremy Clarkson as President. Yes -- The Top Gear guy! And for those of you with doubts, please read the Clarkson Manifesto. *at ease, soldier* But what would my blog posts be without a little waffle? Largely blank with a sprinkling of post-modernist bleh, I'm guessing. But for the moment, waffle aside, when I speak of change I'm talking about it at an individual and also, a personal level.

The greatest thing about college was that it introduced me to a whole set of real characters. Perhaps introduced is too civilised a word -- exposed would be more like it. There was this chap who slapped the Grinch in the corridor accidentally within the first month. Another one answered a question on Hamlet with an illustrated dialogue between Papa Hamlet and Baby Hamlet. There were also generous smatterings of Mama Hamlet, Sister Hamlet and, reportedly, Doggie Hamlet. Another one, aptly named The Kong, was a queer mix of Jughead Jones, Big Moose and C.M.O.T. Dibbler. You simply had to name your tormentors and Kong would be more than willing to inflict pain and suffering at the rate of Rs.250/- (or a 7 course meal with double helpings of everything) per rib cracked. With the message of peace embodied in all the weed and alcohol floating freely around campus, Kong would've done a whole lot better if he offered his services to campus politics. Yes, I mean The Judean People's Front and The People's Front of Judea. Also, amongst the Judean Hillbillies was the diminutive aneelirh who consistently walked out of every exam 15mins to half an hour before it got over. She will tell you that she ran out of things to write about but her scores would argue otherwise! There was one called Bob because...well...her head went *bob* *bob* *bob* all the time. In the far corner, wearing a black t-shirt with an elephant walking a tight rope was the one they called Deep. He was to be visited twice by the incorrigible, invisible, single Su-borrowing, spelling disaster -- El Nuntu. Gah!...Nostalgia attack! rat-a-tat-a-tat-rat-a-tat-rat-a-tat-a-tat (i.e. sounds of blazing machine-guns for those who haven't read Tintin comics) Man the hatches! Every man for himself!...*sigh*

Unthinkable as it seemed during the first few months, some of them became very, very good friends and I miss them now that our Judean adventure is over. I guess I'm dabbling with a few universal truths here but it just that I feel this way sometimes. The music is still playing in background and Ginger is still going strong with those now overtly familiar tom rolls.

Jack Bruce, the man who wrote the song, says --

It has become deeper to me than when I first wrote it. Songs take on their own lives, they become entities. They disappear and then they come back. They're like kids or something. They change.

Well, perhaps just like the song that disappears and reappears, so will some of the people we've left behind now. And just maybe the future will find all of us with another set of even stranger acquaintances who'd make us feel right at home -- like one of their own, dragging us onwards , kicking and screaming to another chapter in our lives. But until then, we're allowed to walk along dusty roads, kicking small stones about and brooding over change, aren't we?

Virtual Insanity

I'm having a Steven Tyler moment this morning. But before you go foraging into the undergrowth of bad lip humour --- no, there is nothing wrong/different about them today.

I'd just like to borrow a couple of lines from 'Livin' on the Edge' to sum things up --

There is something wrong with the world today,
I don't know what it is...

In case you just missed the wonderful notice...here it is again in HD...



So how does one react? I know what's going through my head at this moment: three lines from a song by this band called OMC which goes ---

How Bizarre! How Bizarre! How Bizarre!

To top things off, I just received a friend request from the most unlikely source. Let me see, how do I put this? Okay, what if you waltzed into the zoo and stole a chattery Scarlet Macau named Meeku. Why steal? Cause your ethics were accidentally sucked into a threesome while partying on lsd in the pool of scantiliy clad women of Ibiza. Moreover, you have decided to undergo a complete image makeover and the parrot fits the part. Now, since no self-respecting pirate can go around with a parrot called Meeku, you christened him Red Rackham. Arrrrrr!

Even though you decided to flee to the jungles of South America with Red Rackham you never counted on the zoo keeper actually being an Amazonian woman. So inevitably you find yourself flat on your back, tongue sticking out at right angles with a blow dart sticking out of your arse and in the dappled light of the forest you can vaguely make out a semi-naked woman (It sounds so much better with the word naked, no?) approaching while yelling, "Meeku! Meekuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!". You smile a weak smile as your preservatory instincts kick in, not because you think you can see up her leafy skirt.

The zoo keeper is not particularly pleased when she discovers that you have renamed her beloved 'Meeku', Red Rackham. She makes her displeasure know in a low, menacing growl and then vanishes into the woods. In the ordinary world, you wouldn't be expecting a Christmas card from her, would you? Well, one must say that stranger things have happened on Facebook!



Till later.

Jump Ship?

Decided to blog today after what I'd call quite a long day. I'm tired but I'm pushing myself to put these thoughts down before they get lost like all the other phantom posts between now and the last one.

I dropped by college earlier today for some work. That got postponed and I ended up going back to the department after what seemed like an eternity. While I was standing at the ledge one of my juniors stepped up to me and decided to engage in some football banter. Or, well, what he considered banter but turned out to be something smelly, gooey and undesirable...much like egg on one's face. Junior said something along the lines of "Its time you stopped supporting Arsenal. You should hang your head in shame." Meanwhile, D-Man, another ledge occupant, suddenly perked up at hearing the word 'Arsenal'. You could not for a moment question the authenticity of his expression of sheer disbelief for his jaws were doing an impersonation of an aircraft hangar and his eyeballs were gravitating out of their sockets towards me. There stood before him a real, live, Indian, Arsenal fan. *Gak!* For the uninitiated, Arsenal fans in India occur as frequently as sightings of the Royal Bengal Tiger in your backyard...unless, of course, you live in the Sunderbans, in which case, I'm guessing, its not much fun.

Anyway, Junior decides to dive deeper into the dingleberry soup when he asks D-Man which team he supports. Dumb question! Paddy Power, Ladbrokes, UKbetting, William Hill and the rest no longer take bets on Indian football supporters. EVERYONE knows that Indians have a dedicated OCD for Manchester United. "Manchester United?", scoffes Junior. "Erm...yes. What are you?", asked D-Man, blissfully unware of the way he'd phrased his question. "Real Madrid!", smirked Junior, "You people and your Premier League. *points to himself* Premiera Liga**! *superior smirk*"

So supporting a continental team instantly elevates you to a higher plane? Why didn't someone tell me this before?!?!?! All along I was supporting a lowly, 2 bit English team. In fact, what the hell is wrong with the rest of my countrymen? Manchester United? What were you thinking? Ah well, lets all go support Wisla Krakow or Grasshopper-Club Zürich!

I support Arsenal because of Wenger. Because of his track record, his brand of fabulous, 1-touch football, (modelled closely on the principles of Total Football) and his ability to work within the financial limitations of the club. Again, I don't support Real, Chelsea, ManU(re), Liverpool, Barca because I'm not a glory hound. I'd rather sacrifice the titles and the bragging rights for a team that knew how to play entertaining football. If I had to pick a Spanish team, I'd go with Villareal over Barca or Real. If I had to pick an Italian team, I'd go with Atalanta over the Milans or Juventus. If I had to pick a Dutch team, I'd go with Ajax Amsterdam because they invented Total Football. If I had to go with a French team, I'd go with Marseille -- not PSG or Lyon. And, lastly, if I had to go with a Portugese team, I'd go with Sporting Lisbon, not Benfica or FC Porto. If I had to go with a small team at the World Cup, I'd go with Japan or Ivory Coast.

For those of you who know a thing or two about football, you'd probably get the fact that I've picked the underdog on most occassions. You may have your own reasons for supporting your team but, thankfully, not everyone supports the Greatest Circus the World Has Ever Known, Real Madrid.

** There is no such thing as the Premiera Liga. You can either call it the Spanish League or the Spanish Premiera División or La Liga.

On a side note...

Kudos to Chris Harris on Arsenal.com for beginning his article with...

Mikael Silvestre reported no ill-effects after making his first appearance in an Arsenal shirt on Monday night.

Yeah, then again he couldn't have added that the Arsenal medical staff had called in the Exorcist just in case the ex-ManU scumbag had some sort of reaction. Chris, you dog! Hahahaaahahahha!

Out of sight...but not out of mind

Its been a long time since I've said anything on this blog. Okay! Okay! So, there was the Ice Age which set in on Sept 11, 2006 and went on till I popped the blog into the microwave and hit the defrost button...but even still...

I have been thinking about this blog. But as with the way things are, one must move on when the time is right. I now work and blog here. If I had to draw a parallel with my life, I guess I should begin with my new job. After spending all my life in sleepy, old Calcutta the time has come for me to move on. Never in a hundred years did I think I'd go to Mumbai but well...life has a few surprises in store for all of us.

Well, the move is not yet set in stone but in all probability it will happen. Its just that I need to iron out a few things before I can flash the green signal. Accommodation and the general cost of living are the biggest hurdles in Mumbai. Everyone goes on and on about it. I've had a whole bunch of fancy figures thrown at me, and its quite funny to be honest! If you live in some place like Dadar, you'd have to shell out 25k for a 1BHK. However, if you're looking for a similar space in a lesser known, hazard ridden (spelt flooding) locality, its going to cost you 15k. Again, the weird thing is that accommodation is not hard to find in Mumbai if you're willing to pay. So, the question is...if accommodation is so easy to find...why are they wanting to cut your fingers off in return? *Bleh!* Must be something my sleep deprived brain cannot comprehend at 1:45am. But, nevertheless, BLEH!

Personally speaking, I detested Mumbai the one time I was there because of one really messed up taxi ride. I started the ride as a small boy and got off the taxi with hair on my chest. In other words, I'm not big on commuting. I usually get cranky. Real cranky. But this just one of those things that you swallow for the sake of the bigger picture.

However, I guess if we never try we'll never find out. My plans somewhat hinge on Kong's decision -- partly, in terms of finances but, more importantly, in terms of setting up shop. I don't think establishing a web empire is a one man job, especially not when you consider the fact that I'm not from Mumbai. Don't you just hate it when none of the parameters are in your hands? Well, I do! Lemme see how it goes.

I suddenly realise that this post is totally out of character for my blog. My apologies if I've freaked any of you out. :P Normal service will resume soon. :) In the meanwhile, you can read my nonsensical, fritter fratter in the Team Blog section of Your Story. Comments are welcome. :)

The little green man from The Flintstones...

Introducing
(or reintroducing for those of you who have seen him before)...*drum roll*

The Great Gazoo
Sometimes found on the Controller's shoulder




Well there...he does exist! Helmet and all! :P Now try your hand at The Great Gazoo Game...but before that here is the *Guffaw of the day*...

Our interest in ancient Brazilian Mineiro has apparently diminished. He played that friendly at the training ground, then did a couple of days training but now is nowhere to be seen. This could be because he's going to join up with fellow Brazilian Scolari at Chelsea or it might be that he's gone back to his house in Berlin to pick up his collection of Beverly Hills 90210 videotapes. He is a big fan of the show and models his life on Luke Whatsiface, scoring chicks all over the place and simply not caring if people don't understand his rebel with some kind of cause attitude. If I had to put money on it though I'd say we took him for a drive, let him loose in the woods and took off while he was having a poo. -- The Arseblog, Pre-Pre Kiev news, Mineiro no go + Celtic Chief Exec linked

Now get on with it...

How much do you love your girlfriend?

Of Mice and Men

I have been rather preoccupied over the past week or so with some work and the odd birthday celebration. There have been new developments -- at home as well as on the footballing front...

First things first -- football. I lambasted Arsenal's performance against Fulham in my last proper post. Yes, it was a shameful display for a club with Champion's League/League Title ambitions. However, that said, we got the response we wanted from Wenger and the team. First against Shteve Mclaren's FC Twente, (4 goal romp. Thank you very much!) and then a 3-0 football exhibition against Keegan's Barcodes. 'Going Home' is not much fun when you're going empty handed with a pea-brained convict (not to mention - a twat) on your team.

The transfer window has been shut, bolted, locked, blocked by a large steel cupboard with a 16 tonne weight on top, covered with radioactive waste and guarded by an army of specially trained, cucumber-weilding grasshoppers. In other words, silly season is over -- for now. It has been a strange-ish transfer window where we lost a huge chunk of our team.

Exits
Mad Jens - VfB Stuttgart (Bosman)
Alex 'The Ice Cream Man' Hleb - Barcelona (£11.8m)
Mattheiu Flattuso - AC Milan (Bosman)
Gilberto 'Invisible Man' Silva - Panathanikos (£1m)
Justin Hoyte - Middlesborough (£3m)
Big Phil Senderos - AC Milan (1 year loan deal)
Armand 'Armed and Dangerous at White Hart Lane' Traore - Portsmouth (1 year loan deal)

Entrants
Amaury 'Crocked' Bischoff - Werder Bremen (Undisclosed)
Samir 'The New Zidane? More like the New Pires!' Nasri - L'OM (£11m)
Aaron 'Rambo' Ramsey - Cardiff (£5m)
Mikael 'Goldfish' Silvestre - Man-chester United (undisc.)

Well, it is safe to say that we're sorta light in the DM department. Nonetheless, Arsene knows! He has suggested that Eboue could fill the gap in the middle, but we're yet to see if that is the effective solution. He has now converted Eboue from a mercurial right-wing back to an ineffective right winger and now it seems that the man from the Ivory Coast will make one more transition -- the nonsense, hard man of midfield. (Hardy Har! Har! Har!)

Emmanuel Eboue exploring his softer side.

What he does provide is direct running, rolling around on the pitch, ridiculous goal celebration routines with Adebayor, and the occasional assist. More importantly, he's not a goal scoring midfielder but neither was Gilberto or Flamini to be honest. Still, I'm not sure Eboue would be as effective or as feared as Flamini in the middle. I mean, when the team is not having a good day and a Michael Jackson look-alike decides to pull out the party tricks to the chorus of 'Ole!'s, you need someone who can stamp it out...

That is a hard act to follow and I'm not sure Eboue is the man I'd pick, then again, he may not need to be that man and perhaps we'll see something different from one of the other players -- something we didn't know already.

Closer to home, namely -- Casa del Manchas, there has been a small invasion of sorts. First they were giant, flesh tearing ants (who are still around) and now it is mice. So where have they been coming from? I haven't a clue! And no, I haven't been secretly playing Jumanji.

This house has been around for over 40 years and this is the first time we've had to face something like this. So far we've discovered a large mouse trying to climb out of the dustbin, and then the mouse trap caught this little fella on Saturday night. We didn't kill either, because well, we're not into the mouse extermination business. The first bugger was tied up in two plastic bags with the trash and ingeniously left right outside my house by my wondefully, intelligent part-timer, Sushma di. (Please to note sarcasm) Within the span of 10minutes, Mouse #1 had torn both bags, spewing trash all over the gutter lane, and escaped into the darkness.

The little chap who was caught in the mouse trap was a crafty little devil who chewed away a corner to escape while we were out to dinner. Fortunately, he didn't go scampering away back into the house, as I had to come back home briefly to send a contact detail to a friend, which is when I heard him gnawing away at the wood. Since I couldn't deal with the bugger there and then, I decided to remove the trap from the house and out onto the landing outside, just in case he decided to emulate Houdini. Sure enough, when we got home we found the trap empty and no trace of Jerry Houdini but tiny shards of wood.

This morning's edition of The Grapevine claims that the mouse menace has struck both floors below our flat. One was apparently found swimming in a commode while the other was KIA. So far, our mouse trap has been baited with things like pumpkin and, more recently, something called Kerala halwa (which looks nothing like proper North-Indian halwa). However, the rodent community seems to have sent out circulars to all infiltrators to steer clear of such tasty morsels in wooden boxes.

When you have a mouse in the house you must spend some time browsing through youtube for interesting mousetrap designs...



I also came across an elaborate setup (which any self respecting mouse will probably avoid given the effort involved in getting to the bait), and as always the PETA are around to make money off you with their design which looks fucking ridiculous.

Fucking ridiculous mouse-trap design

A wise man whose face was hidden once said, "*Sheesh!*". Thank you, wise man whose face is still hidden.

I noted that this mouse infestation has coincided with the emergence of PCI 'No Parking' signs all the way down my lane and all over my area. PCI, of course, stands for Pest Control India. Conspiracy theory? I'm not going to completely discount one.

Anyway, I'm off to have some cheese before Jerry Houdini gets to it! And for all those mice reading my blog...'Mi Casa no es Tu Casa'.

Coffee with The Ba.Ba.s - Episode 1

Coffee with The Ba.Ba.s - Episode 1 from Sandeep Mancha on Vimeo.

Welcome to Coffee with the Ba.Ba.s with Sandy and Rukmini. In this episode we interview Hrileena Ghosh, a budding LE Ba.Ba.Enthusiast who joined us for two fabulous sessions last month. As always, Coffee with the Ba.Ba.s is sponsored by The Real Man's Drink at the one and only Cafe de Milano's, in association with Mrinalini's Banana. :)

Fulham 1 Arsenal 0

Dear readers,
Welcome to Football 101. Let us begin with a few choice phrases from last night game...

Arsenal fans in Manchester - "Football? Bloody hell!"

Arsenal fans in front of the TV - "Boooooooooooooooo!"

Fulham fans at Craven Cottage - "Who are ya? Who are ya?"

William Gallas, Arsenal's French Captain - "Omlette du frommage."

Manuel Almunia, Arsenal's Spanish Goalkeeper - "Hijo de puta!"

Hangeland, Fulham's Norwegian goalscorer - "Jeg elsker de, Frenchies! *muah!*

Arsene Wenger, Le Gaffer - "Thee playyers deed not show goood qwaleeti"

Roy Hodgeson, The Gaffer - "Ma lads deed me prowd!"


The game kicked off last night around 10pm IST and what a pathetic excuse for a game it turned out to be. Okay, so as most of you know I'm an Arsenal fan and that's because I love the club, the manager, and it stands for in the modern footballing world. Now normally when a Gooner walks away from a game after a loss, he carries with him a great feeling of injustice. It could be anything from poor refereeing decisions to dirty tactics by the opposition or just plain bad luck for the men in the red and white. However, on this occasion, this fan is not afraid to come out and say that we were shit! Pure and utter shit! Unadulterated, stinky, putrid, runny, multicoloured shit!

Researchers at the University of Llanddewi Brefi recently concluded an experiment using a bunch of baboons pumped full of laxatives, doused in itching powder and then introduced onto a giant waterbed with a football thrown in. While the results were not pretty, the animals recorded a pass completion rate comparable to Arsenal's last night. It is clear that our midfielders were the crux of our problems yesterday. The only one who had a decent-ish game was our young signing Samir 'I'm not the New Zidane! Oh yes, you are!' Nasri which basically tells the story. The whole midfield looked as though they expected a moment of brilliance from the former Marseille mani, which was asking too much of a 21year old playing in only his second Premier League game. Bleeaarrrgggghhh!

The goal we conceded came predictably from a set play. Bobby Zamora received the ball in the box and with a quick turn managed to scoot ahead of his marker, Kolo Toure. Recognising the danger in on goal, Toure was forced to hit the Nitro as he thundered ahead of Zamora with 'big explosive power', impressively hacking the ball out of play before the striker could let off a shot. The resulting corner saw the ball whipped into the 6 yard area to meet the boot of the big, lumbering Norwegian Hangeland who cannoned the ball between the clueless Almunia and Clichy.

Fulham V Arsnal

The commentator goes on about Gallas' marking, which I have to agree with having watched the replay now. However, the commentator gives a clean chit to Almunia, who they say was blocked off by the Fulham player. What a load of bollocks! Almunia is, perhaps, one of the least assertive goalkeepers playing at the highest level in football -- that is the problem. I can't imagine any one like Oliver Kahn, Mad Jens, Schmeichel, Van Der Sar, Petr Cech, Iker Casillas, or even someone as error prone as Fabian Barthez not coming out to meet the cross. Maybe there was something in the pre-match kissing ritual. Then again, even if Almunia did shave his head who would step forward to kiss it before each game? Hmmm...I don't think any of the older squad members would be too keen so I'm guessing it has to be one of the new entrants. I dare say it would have to be the man of experience - Mickaël Silvestre, the man who has seen it all during the reign of Blanc and Barthez.

On the other hand, sometimes I wonder if Manuel Almunia is our former JUDE goalkeeper in disguise? Wouldn't that be cool? Okay, they don't look much alike but there is nothing modern plastic surgery cannot fix. Picture this...by day he is plain old Prabuddha but by kickoff he is playing for one of the European Super Clubs and his hair has been dyed a ridiculous peroxide blonde. The possibilities are endless.

Anyway, having splashed most of the page with football fritter fratter I think its time we moved on to the other irrelevant things I've learnt between yesterday and today. For instance, did you know that the Japanese obtain their beef from genetically engineered Wagyu bulls on a diet of high quality fodder and crates upon crates of beer. Yes, that's right I said beer. Moreover, they are regularly massaged with sake to prevent muscle cramps. I have decided that the day I go to Japan I will drive down to a Wagyu farm with a few hundred crates of beer and sake, gather up the farm hands and their cattle in front of the TV and watch Arsenal play. Oh yes! If Arsenal are their usual self and win the game then we'll moo till the cows come home. Then again, if they did what they did last night I shall have a grand consolatory Wagyu feast. Its a win-win situation. Any other takers?

The early blog that is still looking for the blasted worm...

Good Morning...

And what a bright and shiny morning it is, one has to admit. Perfect weather for basketball or getting out for a jog. Yes well, unfortunately I haven't been able to capitalise on this sunshine despite setting an alarm for 5:30am. See, I went to bed with every intention to get up and hit the road running but somehow I woke up a little bewildered at around 9:15am. What happened in between is a little bit of a blur. Mom says that setting alarms (yes well, there are two with a 10minute interval) is a pointless exercise because I turn them off and go back to sleep. I shall politely disagree as I have maintained a regular early morning schedule over the past 6months. However, I am also willing admit that this is not the first time I have done this, so where lies the secret you may ask? Is there a way around my gift of shuttingringingalarmclocks&goingbacktobeingdeadtotheworld. Also, as you can see my gift has the gift of thewindingappellative too although I'm not sure why I'm calling it a gift at all!

'Kukur-le goo khanu agade', as the Nepalis say, is roughly when I need to wake up. To do this I have to outfox myself for which preparations must be made the night before. This is done by strategically placing one of the two alarm clocks in a remote corner of the room and usually hidden. Here is how the system works -- Alarm Clock #1 is slipped between the pillow and pillowcase under my head. This goes off first and the effort involved in finding it and fishing it out is usually enough to half wake me up. Now the tricky part is Alarm Clock #2. As the days go by, my brain becomes adept at propping me up in a zombie-like fashion and making a zombie-line(which is preferable to a beeline in my case as it is a lot more squiggly and involves much groping for furniture that I might walk into with eyes shut) to where the alarm clock is kept. Mom, who is the only beneficiary of my elaborate alarm clock set-up, says I can switch it off with my eyes shut. Perhaps I should mention that Alarm Clock #2 is a little bit of a gizmo and shutting it takes some doing. Oh, but don't be fooled, she does not mean this as a compliment by any stretch of the imagination. For instance, it would be rather hard to dream of her at a party where everyone was big-upping their kids and her bringing it up...

Lady #1: My son is a fantastic pianist. He will be going to Vienna next month to work with Beethoven himself!

Lady #2: That may all be well, but my daughter paints beautifully. We will be going to the Sistine Chapel next month to see her latest masterpiece which, might I add, is right next to Michelangelo's God Creates Adam.

Mom : Tsk! Tsk! Simpletons! My son has accomplished things that your children can only dream of. He was born with the gift of shuttingringingalarmclocks&goingbacktobeingdeadtotheworld. Oh, but that is not all, he can turn 'em off with his eyes shut! *smirk*

*sounds of smashing cutlery followed by looks of shock and horror all round*

In the words of KKK, 'Not happening!'.

The road to salvation is a difficult and complicated one which involves hiding Alarm Clock #2 in thatplaceyou'dneverthinkofat5:30am. Unfortunately by day 3, Alarm Clock #2 is now in thatplaceyouthoughtyou'dneverthinkofat5:30ambutaremagnetticallydrawntosinazombieline. As you can see, the latter puts 'shuttingringingalarmclocks&goingbacktobeingdeadtotheworld' to shame not to mention Blogger itself (which explains why I had to go with the ultra small font size. Pfft!).

So the quest for new hiding places is a long and never ending one. There is of course, the other option -- not to mention, a more effective option -- but that involves the participation of The Elusive Begum Rukmini of Monohar Pukur Road, the co-founding member of The LE Ba.Ba. Players. However, despite sharing the curse(no, I would not call this a gift) of the expanding waistline, our joint early morning fitness regime has been hit by bad weather, annexation of the basketball court by the blasted Phys.Ed. dept, variable x** and waning levels of enthusiasm or general laziness (whichever decided to raise its big, fat head that day). Nevertheless, we have managed a session or two a week for the past two weeks but that is nothing compared to the 6 day regime of days gone by. Perhaps this is just a sticky patch one must get through and we’ll go back to our old schedule soon. If that happens then be afwraid, be wewy afwraid. Step aside for the new and improved Sand.Man and rukmini 2.0 - Now faster, stronger, leaner and badder than ever before! So here I sign off from a rather long blog that had originally been 'The early blog...' but will now have to make to with being the 'Noon blog'. Perhaps it could use an alarm clock or two. :P
Later.

** variable x could be anything from random quiz competions to early morning classes/tests to bandhs.

And it begins...

Yes. Its been a long time. A very long time. Almost two years, in fact. Why? Well, I'm not sure to be honest. At times there are things to be said and usually at those times you'd rather say them in person. But here I am after a long time, speaking to you -- to those of who might want to tune back in, those of you who walked out of the last performance before the curtains went down, those of you who were busy making out in front of the computer and accidentally clicked off to another page, those of you who refused to drop money into the hat after watching the whole show, those of you who bent over and picked money out of the hat after watching the whole show... Well, you get my drift. :)

This blog goes back a long way. I started this blog when I was in my undergrad years and it was one of the first few blogs that sprung up amongst the people of my department. While the rest of the JUDEan bloggers went into a blogging frenzy I couldn't quite understand what all the fuss was about. In fact, it got to a point where we managed to lose our classmate to her blog. Yes, blog updates became the most important thing in her life -- more important than classes, college, friends and general socialising in the flesh. Well, perhaps it filled some sort of void in her life that some of us never understood, but thankfully, she is now a semi-retired blogger and has moved on to bigger and better things -- like a Phd abroad. Nonetheless, I have to admit her blog was quite entertaining at times, moreover, there were some other very good blogs in JUDE and I'm sure there will be more added to the pantheon of JUDEan blogs.

So what will this blog be about? Why Ants Marching? Are you going to flood the world with football? Why use a picture of Kikuchiyo? Will there be a hat to pick money from?

Well, let me tackles those questions one at a time. Firstly, I don't quite know. I guess I will go with the flow. Secondly, because the song has relevence within the society I live in and I guess it urges people like you to step outside your lifestyle and think about the things that are really important. Thirdly, yes and no. Hehe! Fourthly, its more Kurosawa's Mifune characters than Kikuchiyo. And lastly, yes. If you can find it. Muse upon it, I will be back. I'm hoping. ;-)

Until later then.