deviousways

What if God was one of us? Just a slob like one of us Just a stranger on the bus Trying to make his way home... If God was in Chennai over the weekend, he'd never have gotten into the special stadium hired for an ostentatiously grand Srinivasa Kalyana Mahotsavam pooja held on Sunday night. If he hadn't had a VIP pass, he wouldn't have gotten the prized first class tickets -- right next to the pooja pandal. If he hadn't had a tier two, three or four invitation, he wouldn't have gotten into the second, third or fourth class entrances. If, as Joan Osbourne sings, he was "just a slob like one of us", then maybe, he'd have gotten in through the "Public Entrance -- All Are Welcome" gate located approximately three kms away from the main action. Then even if he'd craned his neck and stood on somebody else's shoulders, he wouldn't have been able to see those silk-clad priests chant homas , pour the purest ghee into the sacredest fire and ...

Ever heard of "sandburs"? I haven't either. But people who throng a little samosa-and-chat-and-patties place near Cox Town, don't seem to care. It doesn't even matter to them that on the menu is also something called "North Food". Perhaps the term refers to a greasy parantha-and-pickle combo. Or to oily paneer something tikka. Whatever the secret, there's always a fairly decent crowd at "GoodFooddotcom" -- yep, that's the name of the place. It's got a bizarre location -- bang on the main road. So to even get to the joint, you have to park by the roadside, almost immediately causing a mini traffic jam. But it's no big deal, really. I've seen people do exactly that every evening. But let's be charitable. Maybe, they're intrigued by the "sandburs". Or maybe, it's the "North Food" thing.

Steinbeck said it best. Some days are born ugly. On such mornings, I know there's no coffee decoction in my filter. Because I didn't pour hot water the previous night. Because I fought with the significant other and decided it's his turn to make it, so there! On such days, when I wake up I know the milk will boil over, no matter how often I check on it. I know I'll forget at some point and then hear the ominous whoosh as the white liquid pours forth like a mini geyser, bubbling and frothing, with that horrible burned-out aroma that's difficult to get rid of, never mind how hard you rub and wipe and clean. On such days, I hang around, not wanting to do my morning jump up-and-down routine, not wanting the endorphins to kick in and make me feel better. I want to hold on to my anger, my sense of self-pity. I want to eat all the oily, fried and sweet food I can find. To hell with my healthy living programme. Maybe I want the food guilt to add to my list of grievances. S...

I love surfing the Net. I can troll the whole day and end up glassy-eyed, mooney-faced and headachy, but happy. So, my friends call me "Miss Google". Pretty apt, actually, for 'googling' is definitely the defining activity of my day. If I need to look up a prospective contact; find out who said what, when or where; get some background info on a company or more important, fill up on my daily dose of global gossip... I google. Which is why my friends and I have coined a new term for what I do -- we call it 'oogling'. Basically, it means I ogle on google. Come to think of it, 'oogling' is what most of us do. For me, oogling satisfies many hungers, among them my hunger for absolutely useless trivia. Take a moment to taste the word, run it through your head, roll it around, absorb it. "Oogling" is for the eternally inquisitive; it's about vicarious living, it's even, a little obsessive. I do it in real time, in my real life too -- every ti...

We live in an open world where everything's connected, everything's branded. Living in Bangalore, I get the best of the world's goodies: from Armani and MAC to Jimmy Choo and Zara. The world wants in, on my wallet. And I want the "status" that comes with toting those labels. The world's such an open market place, but we're more closed -- to each other. Everyone's on Facebook, to "make friendship". Everyone's LinkedIn. But do we need their physical presence, in our country, our state, our neighbourhoood? Nope, not really. Maharashtra wants only Marathi manoos . The UK , the US and Europe would rather not have you or me, unless we come with C++ or a specialised degree! Or better still, study in their universities, paying three-four times what their own citizens do. The world's such an open place. So, why do I feel it closing down on me?