Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Go Cast a Spell
Take out that black gown and cape, mascara, kohl, and red lipper(Broom optional).
It's Halloween!
This Celtic observation has, in recent years, caught on in our country too.
Halloween parties are all the rage, what with children (and their parents) spending lavishly on costumes that make you jump out of your skin.
Leading shops in Khan Market and Gurgaon offer costumes on rent too(so you needn't spend a small fortune to go dressed as that particularly spooky vampire, zombie, ghoul, goblin, or witch).
The foodies needn't be disappointed - there are loads of candies, pumpkin pies, treacle tarts, and bonfire toffees to choose from - all available easily at your regular confectionery shop(But with today being the second day of the three-day Delhi bandh, I'm not all that sure. Why didn't you stock up before, silly?)
And hey, that big turnip and pumpkin has nother use too - go carve it into a scary face, and light a candle inside(you might want to take help from a sibling / friend here - twice the fun, half the effort).
Happy scaring.
The Man Who Sold The World
The guy who shaped grunge, lives on, even 12 years after his death.
In fact, he even continues to rake in the moolah.
I’m talking about Kurt Cobain, Nirvana’s front man.
This year, Cobain has topped the Forbes list of top-earning dead celebs, beating the erstwhile winner, the King of rock and roll – Elvis Presley. He raked in a staggering $50 million, all within one year.
Others that Cobain beat were Charles Schulz (creator of “Peanuts”), John Lennon, Marilyn Monroe, Ray Charles, and Albert Einstein.
Once you hear Nirvana’s hit, “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” you’d know why the guy still rocks.
RIP, Kurt.
Monday, October 30, 2006
The Terminator is back...
Read a very interesting bit of news the other day.
You’ve heard of professional dating and marriage agencies, right?
But have you heard of professional separation agencies?
I have you there, don’t I?
Seems like the title, "Terminator," is not limited to beefcake Arnold Schwarzenegger, Anatoly Onoprienko (the Ukrainian serial killer, now serving a life sentence), or Sukhoi fighter planes.
There is a new Terminator in town.
And believe me, you don’t wanna meet or bump into him.
His Modus operandi is simple enough – for a fee, he will “terminate” (ahem) your relationship(s).
Before you think of hiring his services for “terminating” your relationship with The Boss, let me tell you that a) he’s available(currently) only in Germany, and b) terminates relationships of only the engaged / beau sort.
The Herr(who can strike terror into the hearts of many a brave soul, by his brawny body), draws out a contract for you, no less, and offers you four packages to choose from: a) Let’s be friends (if you want the relationship to be ended amicably enough) ; b) Leave me alone (if you want to have no contact whatsoever with the soon-to-be-ex beau; c) separation by letter; or d) for 50 euros, you can ask him to make a personal visit (and a permanent impact).
On last count, he had successfully "terminated" 56 relationships.
Knock Knock.
Is that someone knocking at your door?
Friday, October 27, 2006
The weekend, Marley, and me
I absolutely loved this week.
I guess Wednesday’s mid-week holiday had something to do with it.
Small wonder that I was chirpy the entire week.
I wish this would become a regular fixture, Wednesday-being-a-holiday scene; in fact, if this were to happen, I swear I won’t mind working on Saturdays.
The weekend’s here again, and I have all the ingredients for a smashing one, viz., movie tickets for big bro and me, plans of some retail-therapy with best friend, and re-union with a college mate.
Some other plans are also already forming in my mind, but I have to take care not to exhaust myself completely.
Started reading John Grogan’s “Marley and Me,” last night.(had to positively plead with good friend’s younger sis to let me borrow it). That I had taken chocolates thoughtfully, could have done the trick, and after some nail-biting moments, she finally agreed(though a trifle unwillingly), to let me borrow it.
I hugged the book close to my chest, and invoked all the Gods that she shouldn’t change her mind.
From the moment I turned the first page of the book, and saw the goofy Labrador, Marley—he of the heart-melting chocolate-brown eyes, I could scarcely put the book down.
A fantastic read, I was doubling over with laughter, late last night, reading about Marley’s antics; much to the annoyance of best friend, who was attacking a particularly iffy subject—geography.
I'm gonna keep you posted about Marley; but as for now, I’ve gotta go and make some more plans for the weekend.
Cheers till then.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Some ads, like legends, live on...
A tramp, dressed in a coat a tad too tight for him, trousers that are two sizes big, a bowler hat, a bamboo cane, signature toothbrush moustache…
No prizes for guessing, I’m talking about the man who made the world smile at his antics—Charlie Chaplin.
The iconic American pop singer—he of the delectable looks and kiss-curl, fondness for burgers, and tight jump-suits, the baritoned guy whom we all love tenderly—Elvis (the Pelvis) Presley.
The equally iconic khadi-wearing, armed-with-a-cane, political (and spiritual) Indian leader—Mahatma Gandhi.(See him above with Charlie Chaplin)
The English statesman, Winston Churchill, known both for being a brilliant strategist, and orator par excellence.
Despite being dead for many many years now, these idols live on in our hearts and minds.
Indian advertisements, long considered (inferior) imitations of their French / American counterparts, have come of age, and are playing a significant role in facilitating (and perpetuating) their appeal.
Not all Indian advertisements resort to being campaigned for by Bollywood actors, cricketing stars, or nubile models.
Think Cherry Blossom and its intrinsic Charlie Chaplin theme; Elvis Presley spoof Vanilla Coke and Worldspace ads; and the splendidly done Airtel ad that is doing the rounds(and getting well-deserved applause).
It is as if they are invoking a unifying, pan image—frame after frame of emotionally-appealing images, as also defying conventional norms of using cheap, gaudy, mindless images. No wonder, these ads are retained for long(er) spells in our minds, and remembered as a several notches above the rest.
Such adverts serve a dual purpose—associating these figures with coherent brand recall for us (the viewers), besides making the producers / manufacturers go grinning to the banks.
We ain’t complaining though.
They do rock!
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Don (Yawn)
Friday, October 20, 2006.
It started out as any other average day.
Except that we were to go watch the first day first show of the much-hyped, “Don.”
Let me add here, that we went with zero expectations, and the movie well lived up to that.
3 hours, replete with Shah Rukh Khan grinning, whispering hoarsely, baring his fangs, declaring how much he fancied "wild-cats", and some fight-scenes, saw us all emerge from the theater bleary-eyed, yawning, and exclaiming that Farhan Akhtar should go back to what he does best—1) picturising three “dudes,” in Goa / Australia 2) Changing hairstyles 3) Posing prettily for the shutterbugs 4) All the above.
The three women-Priyanka Chopra, Kareena Kapoor, and Isha Koppikar, are little more than ornamental pieces, though Priyanka definitely has the most meaty part, among the three. (She has literally taken the term "bee-stung" lips, though. Catch the promos of the film on TV, to know what I mean).
Bebo disappoints us, more so, because after having delivered a swell performance in Omkara, here she is relegated to a blink-and-you’ll-miss-her-role, “donning” a gold dress, war paint, sexy strappy sandals, and gyrating uncomfortably to the original Helen-number,”Yeh Mera Dil.’
Five minutes later, she is dead in the lift. Courtesy, the ugly-lipped Don. Bah!
Isha Koppikar casts dagger looks at Priyanka Chopra throughout the movie, while secretly looking at SRK with love-lorn eyes.
Champagne flows freely throughout(now, where was I?)
Boman Irani and Om Puri are wasted. Om Puri, more so.
Arjun Rampal as the limping Jasjit, doesn’t “walk” into our hearts either.
The music is nothing to write odes about.
The mid-air action sequence is a laugh.
SRK’s sunglasses look as if they have made their way to him, right from a scrap-dealer / local flea market.
All in all, a strictly avoidable flick.
My suggestion is, see the original “Don” on DVD.
As for me, I wish I’d seen “Open Season” instead.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Winters...
Why do all good things have to come to an end?
That was the persistent question in my head all day yesterday, as my close-to-ten-days-break-from-work, came to an end.
After ten glorious days of pigging-out, traveling, retail therapy, sight-seeing, I’m back in town, and might I add, back to work.
Sigh!
Anyway, the last ten days will keep me going for some time at least, till my next trip, I daresay.
The city’s weather has also changed quite a bit – there is a palpable nip in the air, and today morning, I saw a few people, wrapped snugly in their gaily-colored mufflers, stoles, and caps.
Piping-hot coffee, waffle ice-cream cones, Classic Regular cigarettes, Old Monks, rich chocolate truffles—never taste as good, as during winters.
Add to that – the jaunty pace of your step, woody perfumes, warm Ming blankets, snow(if you are lucky enough to be living high up), and all sorts of colorful woollen attire.
Hurray! I’m so glad winters will be here soon.
I love them. Don’t you?
That was the persistent question in my head all day yesterday, as my close-to-ten-days-break-from-work, came to an end.
After ten glorious days of pigging-out, traveling, retail therapy, sight-seeing, I’m back in town, and might I add, back to work.
Sigh!
Anyway, the last ten days will keep me going for some time at least, till my next trip, I daresay.
The city’s weather has also changed quite a bit – there is a palpable nip in the air, and today morning, I saw a few people, wrapped snugly in their gaily-colored mufflers, stoles, and caps.
Piping-hot coffee, waffle ice-cream cones, Classic Regular cigarettes, Old Monks, rich chocolate truffles—never taste as good, as during winters.
Add to that – the jaunty pace of your step, woody perfumes, warm Ming blankets, snow(if you are lucky enough to be living high up), and all sorts of colorful woollen attire.
Hurray! I’m so glad winters will be here soon.
I love them. Don’t you?
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Doggie-love.
There are animals that serve humans.
And then, there are dogs.
No matter what the weather—lashing rains, sweaty summers, snow, listlessly dry days—only one animal will leave its comfortable place, and rush to welcome you, tail wagging, twinkling eyes, and drool in place(not unlike Odie from Garfield).
Be it guarding a place, looking after children (remember Nana, from Peter Pan?), or just staving off loneliness, dogs have been faithful companions for as long as mankind can remember.
It is very rightly said that cats love comfortable homes, and dogs love their owners.
How else would you explain a mangy-eared, tired-looking dog, trotting faithfully beside its owner - a scruffy 13-year old ragpicker.
And now compare how your so called "domesticated" cat will glower at you if you even try to push it a little from the rug it is inseparable from.
Dogs will look at you with those deep, brown, melting doggie-eyes, trustingly, lick your face (if you’ll let them), bark a short “wuff wuff,” to let you know of their presence, and just flop down, near you, heaving a long sigh, when you don’t pay any attention to them.
But the minute you are near the door, they’ll rise, wagging their tails (stumpy, furry, long – all kinds), and look at you hopefully, as if saying, “Hey buddy, you taking me out for a walk?”
If a walk is not in your schema of things at that time, and you have to go elsewhere, they will go back to their preferred place, and settle down, uncomplainingly.
They don’t hold grudges; even if you’ve shouted at them for chomping away your shoe-laces, they’ll greet you with the same kind of warmth(and drool—day after day.
You have a whole variety to choose from—Terriers, Pomeranians, Pugs, Beagles, Dachshunds, Bull dogs, Dobermans, Labradors, Dalmatians, Collies, Saint Bernards, Mastiffs, Golden Retrievers, Spaniels, you name it.
We people have lots to learn from these humble, but extremely loyal, animals, I daresay.
You’d even enjoy taking them for their daily walks, and love them for their little idiosyncrasies(read hiding bones in the most unlikely of places; sniffing around anywhere[and I do mean anywhere]; chasing cars, postmen, and cats-though not necessarily in that order; and of course, their penchant for eating your prized American grass).
Those doggie-eyes looking at you trustingly, more than make up though!
And then, there are dogs.
No matter what the weather—lashing rains, sweaty summers, snow, listlessly dry days—only one animal will leave its comfortable place, and rush to welcome you, tail wagging, twinkling eyes, and drool in place(not unlike Odie from Garfield).
Be it guarding a place, looking after children (remember Nana, from Peter Pan?), or just staving off loneliness, dogs have been faithful companions for as long as mankind can remember.
It is very rightly said that cats love comfortable homes, and dogs love their owners.
How else would you explain a mangy-eared, tired-looking dog, trotting faithfully beside its owner - a scruffy 13-year old ragpicker.
And now compare how your so called "domesticated" cat will glower at you if you even try to push it a little from the rug it is inseparable from.
Dogs will look at you with those deep, brown, melting doggie-eyes, trustingly, lick your face (if you’ll let them), bark a short “wuff wuff,” to let you know of their presence, and just flop down, near you, heaving a long sigh, when you don’t pay any attention to them.
But the minute you are near the door, they’ll rise, wagging their tails (stumpy, furry, long – all kinds), and look at you hopefully, as if saying, “Hey buddy, you taking me out for a walk?”
If a walk is not in your schema of things at that time, and you have to go elsewhere, they will go back to their preferred place, and settle down, uncomplainingly.
They don’t hold grudges; even if you’ve shouted at them for chomping away your shoe-laces, they’ll greet you with the same kind of warmth(and drool—day after day.
You have a whole variety to choose from—Terriers, Pomeranians, Pugs, Beagles, Dachshunds, Bull dogs, Dobermans, Labradors, Dalmatians, Collies, Saint Bernards, Mastiffs, Golden Retrievers, Spaniels, you name it.
We people have lots to learn from these humble, but extremely loyal, animals, I daresay.
You’d even enjoy taking them for their daily walks, and love them for their little idiosyncrasies(read hiding bones in the most unlikely of places; sniffing around anywhere[and I do mean anywhere]; chasing cars, postmen, and cats-though not necessarily in that order; and of course, their penchant for eating your prized American grass).
Those doggie-eyes looking at you trustingly, more than make up though!
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
An (Over)Worked Wednesday
The entire country is in a tizzy because of the life-threatening dengue fever, that is doing the rounds thee days.
I must admit that I'm scared too (though only a trifle).
My running quite a high temperature last night, only fueled my family’s and friends’ alarm (The phone hasn’t stopped ringing, much to my exasperation).
People have been cautioning me not to leave for my trip, which is due in another two days time (As if!)
I can barely concentrate on my work; the days going by at a snail’s pace don’t help much either.
Fight with friend got sorted last weekend—glad.
Have to begin packing for the trip, but as usual, have been lazy, and haven’t started yet.
Will try to rope in best friend—with her OCD for cleanliness and all things orderly, she’s the purrrrrfect person to help me. (Tee hee).
Mind screwed today, so not writing much.
Have so many things to do. Aaaaaaaaaaaaargh!
Packing Packing Packing – have to gear myself up.
Sigh.
I must admit that I'm scared too (though only a trifle).
My running quite a high temperature last night, only fueled my family’s and friends’ alarm (The phone hasn’t stopped ringing, much to my exasperation).
People have been cautioning me not to leave for my trip, which is due in another two days time (As if!)
I can barely concentrate on my work; the days going by at a snail’s pace don’t help much either.
Fight with friend got sorted last weekend—glad.
Have to begin packing for the trip, but as usual, have been lazy, and haven’t started yet.
Will try to rope in best friend—with her OCD for cleanliness and all things orderly, she’s the purrrrrfect person to help me. (Tee hee).
Mind screwed today, so not writing much.
Have so many things to do. Aaaaaaaaaaaaargh!
Packing Packing Packing – have to gear myself up.
Sigh.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
The World's 10 Fastest Cars.
You can’t miss this one. These are the top ten mean machines, bound to be on the dream list of every motor aficionado. They’ll make you go weak in the knees, make your heart aflutter—be it their speed, power, performance, drop-dead chiseled / gorgeous looks, these cars are a heady potion.
Go chase them!
1. Ultima GTR
0-100 mph: 9.4 secs
$99,270 USD
http://www.ultimasports.co.uk/
2. Bugatti Veyron
0-100 mph: 9.90 seconds
$1,700,000
www.bugatti-cars.de
3. Ariel Atom Supercharged
0-100 mph: 10.88 secs
$85,000
http://www.arielmotor.co.uk/
http://www.arielatom.com/
4. Ferrari Enzo
0-100 mph: 10.9 secs
$1000000
http://www.ferrariworld.com/FWorld/fw/index.jsp
5. McLaren F1 LM
0-100 mph: 11.5 secs
$140,000
http://www.mclaren.co.uk/
6. Porsche Carrera GT
0-100 mph: 11.6 secs
$106,000
http://www.porsche.com/usa/
7. Pagani Zonda
0-100 mph: 11.8 secs
$1400000
http://www.paganiautomobili.it/
8. Caterham CSR260
0-100 mph: 11.95 seconds
$ 69,100
http://www.caterham.co.uk/showroom/sevens/csr.htm
9. Brooke Double R
0-100 mph: 12.50 seconds
Between $55,000 and $75,000
http://www.brookecars.co.uk/
10. Porsche 911 Turbo
0-100 mph: 12.50 seconds
$ 122,900.00
http://www.porsche.com/usa/
It was a tad disconcerting to see that the British Aston Martin (James Bond’s car), and the German BMW, have nose-dived to the nineteenth and twentieth slots, respectively.
Buck up James Bond.
You can do better, can’t you?
(But with Daniel Craig now, I’m highly skeptical).
Mean, ain’t I?
If you are craving for more, you can read the AutoMotoPortal article here. Vrooooom!
Go chase them!
1. Ultima GTR
0-100 mph: 9.4 secs
$99,270 USD
http://www.ultimasports.co.uk/
2. Bugatti Veyron
0-100 mph: 9.90 seconds
$1,700,000
www.bugatti-cars.de
3. Ariel Atom Supercharged
0-100 mph: 10.88 secs
$85,000
http://www.arielmotor.co.uk/
http://www.arielatom.com/
4. Ferrari Enzo
0-100 mph: 10.9 secs
$1000000
http://www.ferrariworld.com/FWorld/fw/index.jsp
5. McLaren F1 LM
0-100 mph: 11.5 secs
$140,000
http://www.mclaren.co.uk/
6. Porsche Carrera GT
0-100 mph: 11.6 secs
$106,000
http://www.porsche.com/usa/
7. Pagani Zonda
0-100 mph: 11.8 secs
$1400000
http://www.paganiautomobili.it/
8. Caterham CSR260
0-100 mph: 11.95 seconds
$ 69,100
http://www.caterham.co.uk/showroom/sevens/csr.htm
9. Brooke Double R
0-100 mph: 12.50 seconds
Between $55,000 and $75,000
http://www.brookecars.co.uk/
10. Porsche 911 Turbo
0-100 mph: 12.50 seconds
$ 122,900.00
http://www.porsche.com/usa/
It was a tad disconcerting to see that the British Aston Martin (James Bond’s car), and the German BMW, have nose-dived to the nineteenth and twentieth slots, respectively.
Buck up James Bond.
You can do better, can’t you?
(But with Daniel Craig now, I’m highly skeptical).
Mean, ain’t I?
If you are craving for more, you can read the AutoMotoPortal article here. Vrooooom!
Monday, October 09, 2006
Clothes make the man....
It all started with me, on one of my bright, sunnier days.
So, there was this group of guys who were discussing Thierry Henry.
I butted in, opened my big trap, and moaned how I had been dying to buy Thierry, except that my depleting wallet kept me in check from going all out and splurging.
The startled guys looked at me, and exclaimed that they didn’t know that he was up on sale.
A split second saw me transform from confident chica to stammering senorita.
Too bad, in my eager-beaver avatar, I hadn’t paid much attention; the guys were discussing the Arsenal striker, while I was musing about the French perfume. Except the common name, and nationality, the two had nothing in common.
My face was a dead giveaway, having turned a beetroot / crimson shade, and I hastily beat a quick retreat.
Doesn’t matter, I tried to reassure myself, there are a lot of times that men, those people who claim to be “superior” know-it-alls, are completely clueless about women’s clothes, accessories, and other weapons of mass destruction.
Now, don’t go about thinking that the next few lines are gonna contain a comprehensive glossary of clothing items. They aren’t. I’m just gonna be telling you how men are completely at a loss, knowing precious nothing about things like the difference between bell sleeves and raglan sleeves.
Read on…
99% of men would think that the word “fillet,” means an average McDonald’s burger, and have absolutely no idea that it is also a headband. So if you are busily rummaging for one, and tell your keeping-an-eye-on-his-watch beau that you are looking for a fillet, chances are that he might disappear and return in a flash, with what else – the namesake burger.
I wouldn’t be surprised if you choke back your laughter, much to his puzzlement(and later annoyance).
One of my male friends, once asked me if “cowl” is “scowl” minus the “s.” He just couldn’t get it, when I almost bit my hand, to keep from guffawing.
You ask men something, and if they don’t feel like replying, they’d probably “shrug” their shoulders. Imagine their surprise, when you tell them that a “shrug” can also be thrown over a woman’s shoulders.
For a simple guy, a hose is just a tool to squirt water on the grass (and on his friends, when he is in the mood for some water-fun). However, apparently, you can also wear a hose on your legs.
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!
You “clutch” a beer, and hang on to it, if some mean chap is trying to snatch your beer (Ha! Fat chance! Let the sodding guy try as much as he wants – you’ve got a vice-like grip on your poison, and you are definitely not letting go. He can try each ounce of his brawny body, for all you care, right?)
But now, it seems, a “clutch” is also a lil’ bag that women carry (No wonder men have this glazed, bewildered expression on their faces, when their women pals drag them for those yoyal-pain-in-the-rear shopping trips).
To add more confusion, “peasant” tops are not worn by the humble, peasant girls. They were all the rage on the Milan and Paris ramps a couple of years back, adorning the most high-maintenance of models on their sky-high stilettos.
Many men believe that "Harem" pants are usually worn by (ahem) street walkers, or 21st century "Marjinas"(remember Ali Baba). Imagine their surprise (and alarm), when their college-going-teeny-bopper sisters suddenly crave for this piece of clothing to make an addition to their already overflowing wardrobes!
“Bolero,” is not just a car, it is also a kind of jacket.
(What about Baleno, Verna, Sonata, Lancer - you are asking, right ?)
Similarly, a bonnet, besides being the hood of your car engine, is also a kind of hat(the kinds that that horse-faced Camilla Parker Bowles wears, on her visits with the equally equine Prince Charles). Now Price William, ah, he is a different story altogether…
During winters, if you were to tell a guy that you just needed to buy that “parka,” you’d probably receive a mystified look.
“Spaghetti straps,” done to death by Mandira “noodle” Bedi,” are perhaps the term that some guys are familiar with, but try telling them that a “skort” is a pair of shorts with a front covering, like a skirt, all you would receive is a well-practised snort of derision / despair.
“Leotards” are not leopards, spelled incorrectly; neither are “kick pleats” kicked into place.
A “Racer back” has nothing to do with Michael / Ralph Schumacher, or the equally competent (and delectable) Fernando Alonso.
“Halter” backs have nothing to do with motion, though they are known to cause many a man, to pause and admire an exposed back and shoulders (nudge nudge).
“Basque” does not only refer to the Spanish revolution, it is also a kind of waist; so is an Empire waist. (More and more weird, isn't it?)
Oh pleeeeeeese tell me that Maoism isn't some kind of dress
A chap looked completely bamboozled, when his girlfriend came out of a trying room in an up market mall, and demanded to know whether she should buy the kurta with the sweetheart neck, the crew neck, or the Mandarin collar. I really wasn’t surprised to see the poor chap, pretend a choking attack, and run in the opposite direction, muttering something about women and their perplexing ways.
“Wet look” is not just the slicked-with-Brylcreem look; it also refers to clothes that have a shiny surface(usually with some amount of lycra). Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!
And then, how could I forget the time, when I had to gently chide my guy friend, and correct him, when he remarked that Ustad Amjad Ali Khan (he of the two cute sons), was a whiz with the “sarong,”
I bet the “sarod” maestro’s wife would not have been delighted to hear my friend’s confident account about her husband’s skills.
So, there was this group of guys who were discussing Thierry Henry.
I butted in, opened my big trap, and moaned how I had been dying to buy Thierry, except that my depleting wallet kept me in check from going all out and splurging.
The startled guys looked at me, and exclaimed that they didn’t know that he was up on sale.
A split second saw me transform from confident chica to stammering senorita.
Too bad, in my eager-beaver avatar, I hadn’t paid much attention; the guys were discussing the Arsenal striker, while I was musing about the French perfume. Except the common name, and nationality, the two had nothing in common.
My face was a dead giveaway, having turned a beetroot / crimson shade, and I hastily beat a quick retreat.
Doesn’t matter, I tried to reassure myself, there are a lot of times that men, those people who claim to be “superior” know-it-alls, are completely clueless about women’s clothes, accessories, and other weapons of mass destruction.
Now, don’t go about thinking that the next few lines are gonna contain a comprehensive glossary of clothing items. They aren’t. I’m just gonna be telling you how men are completely at a loss, knowing precious nothing about things like the difference between bell sleeves and raglan sleeves.
Read on…
99% of men would think that the word “fillet,” means an average McDonald’s burger, and have absolutely no idea that it is also a headband. So if you are busily rummaging for one, and tell your keeping-an-eye-on-his-watch beau that you are looking for a fillet, chances are that he might disappear and return in a flash, with what else – the namesake burger.
I wouldn’t be surprised if you choke back your laughter, much to his puzzlement(and later annoyance).
One of my male friends, once asked me if “cowl” is “scowl” minus the “s.” He just couldn’t get it, when I almost bit my hand, to keep from guffawing.
You ask men something, and if they don’t feel like replying, they’d probably “shrug” their shoulders. Imagine their surprise, when you tell them that a “shrug” can also be thrown over a woman’s shoulders.
For a simple guy, a hose is just a tool to squirt water on the grass (and on his friends, when he is in the mood for some water-fun). However, apparently, you can also wear a hose on your legs.
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!
You “clutch” a beer, and hang on to it, if some mean chap is trying to snatch your beer (Ha! Fat chance! Let the sodding guy try as much as he wants – you’ve got a vice-like grip on your poison, and you are definitely not letting go. He can try each ounce of his brawny body, for all you care, right?)
But now, it seems, a “clutch” is also a lil’ bag that women carry (No wonder men have this glazed, bewildered expression on their faces, when their women pals drag them for those yoyal-pain-in-the-rear shopping trips).
To add more confusion, “peasant” tops are not worn by the humble, peasant girls. They were all the rage on the Milan and Paris ramps a couple of years back, adorning the most high-maintenance of models on their sky-high stilettos.
Many men believe that "Harem" pants are usually worn by (ahem) street walkers, or 21st century "Marjinas"(remember Ali Baba). Imagine their surprise (and alarm), when their college-going-teeny-bopper sisters suddenly crave for this piece of clothing to make an addition to their already overflowing wardrobes!
“Bolero,” is not just a car, it is also a kind of jacket.
(What about Baleno, Verna, Sonata, Lancer - you are asking, right ?)
Similarly, a bonnet, besides being the hood of your car engine, is also a kind of hat(the kinds that that horse-faced Camilla Parker Bowles wears, on her visits with the equally equine Prince Charles). Now Price William, ah, he is a different story altogether…
During winters, if you were to tell a guy that you just needed to buy that “parka,” you’d probably receive a mystified look.
“Spaghetti straps,” done to death by Mandira “noodle” Bedi,” are perhaps the term that some guys are familiar with, but try telling them that a “skort” is a pair of shorts with a front covering, like a skirt, all you would receive is a well-practised snort of derision / despair.
“Leotards” are not leopards, spelled incorrectly; neither are “kick pleats” kicked into place.
A “Racer back” has nothing to do with Michael / Ralph Schumacher, or the equally competent (and delectable) Fernando Alonso.
“Halter” backs have nothing to do with motion, though they are known to cause many a man, to pause and admire an exposed back and shoulders (nudge nudge).
“Basque” does not only refer to the Spanish revolution, it is also a kind of waist; so is an Empire waist. (More and more weird, isn't it?)
Oh pleeeeeeese tell me that Maoism isn't some kind of dress
A chap looked completely bamboozled, when his girlfriend came out of a trying room in an up market mall, and demanded to know whether she should buy the kurta with the sweetheart neck, the crew neck, or the Mandarin collar. I really wasn’t surprised to see the poor chap, pretend a choking attack, and run in the opposite direction, muttering something about women and their perplexing ways.
“Wet look” is not just the slicked-with-Brylcreem look; it also refers to clothes that have a shiny surface(usually with some amount of lycra). Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!
And then, how could I forget the time, when I had to gently chide my guy friend, and correct him, when he remarked that Ustad Amjad Ali Khan (he of the two cute sons), was a whiz with the “sarong,”
I bet the “sarod” maestro’s wife would not have been delighted to hear my friend’s confident account about her husband’s skills.
Friday, October 06, 2006
(B)ADVERTISEMENTS
So you want that toned body?
Not to worry...
Don’t join a gym, don’t even go for those yoga or dance practice classes.
Heck, kick those kick boxing sessions too.
Just reach out for that green bar of firming soap.
It promises to be quite an “uplifting” experience, and bring you closer to that Shakira-esque / Beyonce bootylicious body.
Yeah right!!!
And I am Princess Diana, may I add.
With the spate of products rolling out into the market every day, and the equally swift way in which consumers (read you and me) lap them up like hot cakes, it’s kinda known that you manufacture something, arouse people’s curiosity, make some TALL claims, and Bingo! Some bloke’s gonna go out pronto and buy it.
So thus, we are inundated with toothpastes that guarantee sparkling teeth (and dates every Saturday night); “superstars” who claim that people who drive a certain pair of wheels are “smarter;” shampoos that promise to do wonders for your receding hairline (when all that they do is empty your wallet); creams that promise you youthful, fairer skin,(or swear that they will do-away with the dark spots that you’ve had for years) and make you land that coveted job / eligible bachelor (Psssst—there’s a NEW fairness cream for men too—you interested? Chortle); cigarettes that perpetuate machismo and spirits and soda that promise you endless party nights; shoes that claim to improve your vertically-challenged stature; and sundry commercials for flour, noodles, rice, etc. that guarantee happy family-members breaking out into smiles (and worse, dances).
Some commercials, besides being a pack(or web) of lies, go beyond pomising the sky and the moon, and become downright tasteless. Don’t believe me—just think about those Sunny Deol adverts, where he talks of “inner strength,” brawny fists, “coziness,” and other similar stuff. Eeeeeks.
Right from the brainwashing India-shining adverts, to the miraculous diabetes-curing pills, to the various sauna-belt ads that promise slothful beings (like me) to lose weight, without lifting a manicured finger, advertisements have for long, propagated outrageously silly claims.
Not to be left behind, print advertisements also have their share of (B)advertisements.
A well-known Indian management guru, known more for the management school he runs and his absurd sound-bytes to the media, than his lectures, was in the line of fire when a Mumbai-youth magazine, JAM, did a commendable job in bringing out the truth.
And obviously, I’m guessing that you haven’t missed seeing those “painless epilating” ads!!
Not to worry...
Don’t join a gym, don’t even go for those yoga or dance practice classes.
Heck, kick those kick boxing sessions too.
Just reach out for that green bar of firming soap.
It promises to be quite an “uplifting” experience, and bring you closer to that Shakira-esque / Beyonce bootylicious body.
Yeah right!!!
And I am Princess Diana, may I add.
With the spate of products rolling out into the market every day, and the equally swift way in which consumers (read you and me) lap them up like hot cakes, it’s kinda known that you manufacture something, arouse people’s curiosity, make some TALL claims, and Bingo! Some bloke’s gonna go out pronto and buy it.
So thus, we are inundated with toothpastes that guarantee sparkling teeth (and dates every Saturday night); “superstars” who claim that people who drive a certain pair of wheels are “smarter;” shampoos that promise to do wonders for your receding hairline (when all that they do is empty your wallet); creams that promise you youthful, fairer skin,(or swear that they will do-away with the dark spots that you’ve had for years) and make you land that coveted job / eligible bachelor (Psssst—there’s a NEW fairness cream for men too—you interested? Chortle); cigarettes that perpetuate machismo and spirits and soda that promise you endless party nights; shoes that claim to improve your vertically-challenged stature; and sundry commercials for flour, noodles, rice, etc. that guarantee happy family-members breaking out into smiles (and worse, dances).
Some commercials, besides being a pack(or web) of lies, go beyond pomising the sky and the moon, and become downright tasteless. Don’t believe me—just think about those Sunny Deol adverts, where he talks of “inner strength,” brawny fists, “coziness,” and other similar stuff. Eeeeeks.
Right from the brainwashing India-shining adverts, to the miraculous diabetes-curing pills, to the various sauna-belt ads that promise slothful beings (like me) to lose weight, without lifting a manicured finger, advertisements have for long, propagated outrageously silly claims.
Not to be left behind, print advertisements also have their share of (B)advertisements.
A well-known Indian management guru, known more for the management school he runs and his absurd sound-bytes to the media, than his lectures, was in the line of fire when a Mumbai-youth magazine, JAM, did a commendable job in bringing out the truth.
And obviously, I’m guessing that you haven’t missed seeing those “painless epilating” ads!!
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Car(toons) we love
Reporter Tintin and his dog, Snowy; the imaginative Calvin, and his effervescent tiger, Hobbes; the entire Archies gang, the bespectacled Beau Peep, the perpetually-“dieting” Garfield, and his socially-inept owner, Jon (not to forget the drooling dog-Odie); the other, mischievous (though more active) cat—Heathcliff; the daydreamer-dog Snoopy (from Peanuts); the three always-ready-with-snappy-retorts women from Between Friends; the annoying(but endearing) Dennis the Menace; the height-challenged Sire / King from the Wizard of Id; the warrior, Hagar the Horrible—cartoon strip characters, in their colorful avatars, go hand in hand, with that morning cuppa (or evening cuppa, depending on your mood).
For many of us, rarely a day goes by, when we don’t turn to the second page of that ubiquitous morning paper. Be it the school kid who’s got to run for the school bus, the average office-goer who is gulping down a hurried breakfast, the retired army Brigadier who is leisurely sipping his chamomile tea, or the busy CEO who has to deliver yet another speech—most people do take those five minutes to read about Jughead’s languorous mini-meal(Ahem), derive schadenfreude from Mr. Wilson’s hard luck because of a certain pesky kid, or shake one’s head merrily, seeing Garfield have another fight with Jon, Odie, spiders, or…doughnuts.
We relate to these characters, who are as familiar to us as our closest pals. We smile with them, hold our sides hard and fall off laughing at their antics, wipe an invisible tear seeing their heartbreak, and marvel at the truth that even tigers (like Hobbes) are capable of dishing out.
Be it girlie fights between Veronica and Betty, Snoopy’s dreams of becoming an author par excellence (and his eternal opener, ‘It was a dark and stormy night…’), the disheveled kingdom of Id, and the “brave” Viking, Hagar,—we identify with each one of these characters, and they have grown to be an inseparable part of our daily lives.
So much so that, we wait eagerly, morning after morning, to chuckle over that lovable loser, Charlie Brown—he of the wispy curl on the head, accompanied by his dog, Snoopy, who can smell marshmallows and root beer from a mile off.
For many of us, rarely a day goes by, when we don’t turn to the second page of that ubiquitous morning paper. Be it the school kid who’s got to run for the school bus, the average office-goer who is gulping down a hurried breakfast, the retired army Brigadier who is leisurely sipping his chamomile tea, or the busy CEO who has to deliver yet another speech—most people do take those five minutes to read about Jughead’s languorous mini-meal(Ahem), derive schadenfreude from Mr. Wilson’s hard luck because of a certain pesky kid, or shake one’s head merrily, seeing Garfield have another fight with Jon, Odie, spiders, or…doughnuts.
We relate to these characters, who are as familiar to us as our closest pals. We smile with them, hold our sides hard and fall off laughing at their antics, wipe an invisible tear seeing their heartbreak, and marvel at the truth that even tigers (like Hobbes) are capable of dishing out.
Be it girlie fights between Veronica and Betty, Snoopy’s dreams of becoming an author par excellence (and his eternal opener, ‘It was a dark and stormy night…’), the disheveled kingdom of Id, and the “brave” Viking, Hagar,—we identify with each one of these characters, and they have grown to be an inseparable part of our daily lives.
So much so that, we wait eagerly, morning after morning, to chuckle over that lovable loser, Charlie Brown—he of the wispy curl on the head, accompanied by his dog, Snoopy, who can smell marshmallows and root beer from a mile off.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Casabianca
Though I first read this poem by F.C. Hemans in school, it still moves me everytime I read it.
A boy, obedient to his father, to the point of being charred to his own death, is the stuff that breaks our hearts, and makes us salute the heroic 13-year old lad, who died on a burning ship, waiting for his father's command.
A boy, obedient to his father, to the point of being charred to his own death, is the stuff that breaks our hearts, and makes us salute the heroic 13-year old lad, who died on a burning ship, waiting for his father's command.
The father, however, lay dead on the ship's floor, oblivious that his son too was just a few paces away from death.
Do I have you hooked? Read the poem below:
Casabianca
The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though child-like form.
The flames rolled on–he would not go
Without his Father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.
He called aloud–'say, Father, say
If yet my task is done?'
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.
'Speak, father!' once again he cried,
'If I may yet be gone!'
And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames rolled on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death
In still yet brave despair.
And shouted but once more aloud,
'My father! must I stay?'
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way.
They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.
There came a burst of thunder sound–
The boy–oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strewed the sea!–
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part–
But the noblest thing which perished there
Was that young faithful heart.
Do I have you hooked? Read the poem below:
Casabianca
The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though child-like form.
The flames rolled on–he would not go
Without his Father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.
He called aloud–'say, Father, say
If yet my task is done?'
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.
'Speak, father!' once again he cried,
'If I may yet be gone!'
And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames rolled on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death
In still yet brave despair.
And shouted but once more aloud,
'My father! must I stay?'
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way.
They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.
There came a burst of thunder sound–
The boy–oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strewed the sea!–
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part–
But the noblest thing which perished there
Was that young faithful heart.
Death of Democracy
Yet another weekend whizzed past...
Watched a couple of flicks, spent time with friends.
Watched an award-winning pandal, done up in full splendor.
But on the grim side, the newspapers are getting more and more depressing.
Another jerk goes on a killing spree in a school (the third in recent times).
With pedophiles (think Michael Jackson), (mass) murderers like the one above who are rebels without a cause, and who go on butchering sprees, conniving politicos’ sons changing their testaments regularly, and groups masterminding various terrorist activities in our country and yonder, the stories just become more horrific, with each passing day.
Fathers die waiting for justice for their murdered daughters, the speeches and lies just get longer, the plot gets more thickened.
People in power sit smiling beatific through it all.
At such a time, when democracy goes for a toss, many are denied justice, the guilty are allowed to go scot-free, back to their chinking of flute glasses and power lunches, I sit back and think of the charade.
And only three words come to my mind,
It’s a shame.
Watched a couple of flicks, spent time with friends.
Watched an award-winning pandal, done up in full splendor.
But on the grim side, the newspapers are getting more and more depressing.
Another jerk goes on a killing spree in a school (the third in recent times).
With pedophiles (think Michael Jackson), (mass) murderers like the one above who are rebels without a cause, and who go on butchering sprees, conniving politicos’ sons changing their testaments regularly, and groups masterminding various terrorist activities in our country and yonder, the stories just become more horrific, with each passing day.
Fathers die waiting for justice for their murdered daughters, the speeches and lies just get longer, the plot gets more thickened.
People in power sit smiling beatific through it all.
At such a time, when democracy goes for a toss, many are denied justice, the guilty are allowed to go scot-free, back to their chinking of flute glasses and power lunches, I sit back and think of the charade.
And only three words come to my mind,
It’s a shame.
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