Here come the hot steppers...

Va Va Vrooom...
The mean machines have arrived full-throttle.
Besides the killer-on-wheels, Suzuki Hayabusa(that steamed up the movie, Dhoom), another another wish-listed bike is all geared to receive a "roaring" welcome in the country.
Harley Davidson aficionados, sit up and take note - it couldn’t get any better than this.
The machine that has ruled the roost since 1903 could land up in your garage sooner than you thought(provided of course, you have the green bills to pay for it – and I'm guessing you'll have to pay through your nose for this one).
The Indian commerce ministry has given the green signal for the import of these to-die-for bikes.
Although one wouldn’t get any cut on import duty, I bet many would give an arm and a leg for these bikes, which are synonymous with bad boys, whipped-with-wind-faces, machismo, raw power, and pure lust.
It's time for you to stop grinning from ear to ear.
Go take a ride instead.
I'm certain you wouldn't want to get off.

Mystery Shopping - shop till you drop

Love shopping, but groan each time your credit card statement reaches you on a sunny day, causing you to storm out of the room in a huff?
Love the crackle of new shopping bags, full of your favorite goods—clothes, footwear, bags, trinkets, cosmetics, fumes, but are often at a loss explaining to your folks / yourself why you just needed to buy that fourth white bag?
Love eating out at the newest restobars in town, but fear you will be dipping into your pockets a lil’ too much?
Movies excite you—and given a chance, you would not miss any new good flick for words?
Well then, mystery shopping is ideal for you, as it actually pays you to shop.
It’s a pretty neat actually—you go to a selected shop(not selected by you silly—the Company that is paying you to mystery shop), purchase some item(s), assess the performance of the customer care executives / shop assistants in the shop, pick the goods, fill out a form(with your observations), scan a copy of he cash memo, and within a fortnight or so, the money that you’d spent on the purchase is refunded to you.
Now if that isn’t cool, pray, tell me, what is?
Apparently quite a few companies like Bare Associates, Omnitouch India, Shaw Consultancy Services, and RAMMS India pay you to shop, assess / rate / gauge the performance of shops, restaurants, theaters, etc. Their funda is service evaluations and finding out if these so-called customer-assured services publicized by these shops have an element of truth in them, or do they just ring hollow? Whatever is the case, this relatively new concept is fast catching on, and that comes as good news indeed for shopaholics like my friends and me.

The Remember Ring

Bad Scenario # 1: Tired of reminding family / friends / your worse half about important dates, appointments, and events?
Worse Scenario # 2: You are absent-minded yourself, and need to be whacked on the head to remember trifles (and have long run out of knotted handkerchiefs)?
Well, help is at hand with the Remember Ring, which uses a Hot Spot technology to ensure that you never ignore that reminder.
Available in 14carat white and yellow gold, these neat remember rings have a life-time warranty, and you can set reminders for those dates you wouldn’t want to forget.
The tiny microchips will start heating the inside of the rings, causing you some discomfort, on the day you set your reminder. They would increase in intensity every hour.
Before glaring and calling me names to the tune of a sadist-in-the-making, let me add that it's not that the ring would bake you; you wouldn’t get burnt or anything, but oh yes, the heat would definitely get your attention.
Quite a nifty thingie this – I’d love to get my hands on one of these.
Except that the problem is that this is a concept product, and no jeweler stocks it.
Hell – wish Tiffany’s / Cartier / Bvlgari think of making these soon.
Now if only I could also get someone to buy it for me...

The name's Bond...James Bond.

Was pleasantly surprised yesterday to see that the sixth B(l)ond (and the most under-rated one at that), can actually act. Daniel Craig, he of the piercing-blue eyes, curled upper lip(almost resembling a cynical snarl), clipped Brit accent, sexy baritone(va va voom), does a decent job in the twenty-first Bond movie – Casino Royale.
Except that one does feel bad for Ian Fleming's iconic spy, who for once, revealed his vulnerable side, exposed his sinewy chest, lost his heart to Vesper(played by Eva Green), but finds himself betrayed in the end.
Hmmm, probably now, the next time Bond does lose his heart, it would be to a blonde.
After all, don't gentlemen prefer blondes?

What's Going on?

No, I'm not talking of the namesake hit number by Marvin Gaye.

I am talking instead of the more than one piece of bizarre news that were reported this month.

Sample the following:

* Several turkeys who probably didn’t want to end up on any dinner table(today being Thanksgiving), were seen standing on a New Jersey railway platform a couple of days back, looking as if they were keen on catching the first train out of town.

* Reminiscent of our ex-PM H.D. Deve Gowda, Prince Charles sure seemed to have taken a cue from him. The Prince slumped to sleep at a Royal Armistice Day tribute, much to his mother, Queen Elizabeth's shock(and displeasure).

* Some donkey business this. Fancy Amitabh Bachan and the Khan brigade, but clueless how to reach Bollywood? Seems to be the case with some others too, who, in a novel way of paying tribute to their favorite silver screen stars, have named their donkeys (gasp) after them. Don’t believe me? Well then, make your way to Ujjain (Madhya Pradesh), where the five-day Gardhabraj Mela is being held.

* A Dutch woman, her will in tow, happened to go to her family cemetery. She’d already “booked” a grave where she wanted to be buried, right next to her husband’s grave. Her wish came sooner than she wished probably, because she suffered a cardiac arrest and dropped down dead next to her pre-chosen grave.

* So you bought that hot pair of wheels to keep up with the Joneses, right? At the rate we use the Joneses in our expressions; it was only fair they gathered for a jamboree of entertainment. 2000 people who shared the Joneses surname turned up at the decided venue, Cardiff. Their efforts might not go waste after all—they could fetch an entry in the Guinness Book of World Records.

* Closer home, a 3 month-old infant in that dreaded of states, Bihar, was arrested for looting a bus, but later released. TI guess that even the he authorities figured in the end that it was a tad too unrealistic an allegation.

* And lastly, a man who has been dead for 26 years now, has been summoned by the Shimla high Court, in connection with a case.

Dead Man Walking, anyone?!

Home Alone ain't always fun

Kids who stay at home for long spells of time do not always have a ball, as the impish 8-year old, Macaulay Culkin does, in the hilarious Home Alone series.

Termed latchkey kids, they often have to battle issues like loneliness, ennui, fear, low self-esteem, and depression, amongst other things. The phrase, latchkey kids, coined in the 1940s—children returned to empty homes, aptly summed up these kids, who often reached their homes with the home-keys strung around their necks.

Now it’s only fair that parents work hard to maintain their existing standard of living and socio-economic status, vis-à-vis the Joneses. Towards this end, it is imperative for them to be outside and achieve set goals, targets, and objectives. On the other hand, the other school of thought concentrates on the psychological impact this may have on their offspring.

A child, school bag in tow, rushes back after school—only he is stopped dead in his tracks, because he remembers that it would be an empty home that awaited him, and he couldn’t fly back into the reassuring arms of his parents. Of course, if there were grandparents at home, the kid would have been only too happy to come home skipping; however, in these times of nuclear families, this scene is an almost rare one.

So the kid ambles along, taking in all that he can see(which is not much, considering the concrete jungles that abound on his way back). One minute later, he makes a spot-decision, hails a three-wheeler, and rushes back to his empty place.

What follows next is every parent’s horror story – it could be anything - the pre-teen kid experiments in smoking / inhaling pot / gulping some sips from the cabinet full of intoxicating liquids / watching some blue movies / virtual sex. He could be joined in by a couple of other friends.

While the above could be a tad too hypothetical, it is not altogether impossible. Children, the impressionable young minds that they are, often give in to peer pressure, or rebel against the parents, whom they feel are not giving them adequate time. You can’t blame them though.

While loads have been said about latchkey kids, I guess working parents have to only ensure that they extend the big “S” word to their children—SUPPORT.

So the child knows that even if the parents are not home, they are just a phone away.

And after a family dinner, at least one of the parents, if not both, does make it a point to tuck in the child to sleep.

It’s not all that bad.

Calvin and Hobbes

Was trying to cheer myself up last nite by reading this Calvin and Hobbes Digest.
The imaginative, rambunctious six-year old is anyone but whose hair I would like to ruffle; but the kid sure knows how to cause your sides to burst. His “stuffed” tiger, Hobbes, helps him, in no small measure, in adding to the laughs.
Between running around throwing snowballs at the red-haired Susie, spouting vocabulary that would do a GRE aspirant proud, making his parents grit their teeth in frustration, to regularly churning out atrociously bad test-papers at school (much to the chagrin of his teacher, Miss Wormwood), to forming a G.R.O.S.S. (Get Rid Of Slimy Girls) club(which has only two members-himself and Hobbes), to trying to be good around Christmas time to get more gifts (and failing miserably in both endeavors), Calvin sure is one dotty kid.
His (mis)adventures are many—getting roughed up by the school bully, Moe; being hauled to the bath by his long-suffering mom; the “ignominy” of his “superior genius self” having to go to school; his perceived unfairness of having parents who are “staid” and aliens for teachers(gasp); and failing to bully his babysitter even one iota.
This mad hatter has his hands full, and never fails to let us know that he is a prodigy caught in an ordinary world, and plagued by lesser mortals like his parents, teachers, classmates, neighbors, and pets.
Join the Calvin and Hobbes fan site here, if you want.
And get yourself one of those enjoyable digests.

Don't make excuses - stop domestic violence

With even economically-viable, educated women remaining tight-lipped over the issue of domestic violence, do you really expect those from the lower strata of society to fight for their rights and speak up against violence, in any form?
Add to that the stigma of being publicly ridiculed or scorned for daring to speak-up against their “pious” Pati-Parmeshwars and holier-than-thou live-in boyfriends, and trying to seek relief(unimaginable), and any woman would think twice before approaching authorities or women cell workers.
However, the upgraded Protection of Women from Domestic Violence Act intends to change all that, and has arrived—a solace in itself. The improved Law now also covers women who live in relationships outside marriage. These women, have the double whammy of being labeled "immoral," and daring to speak up against their boyfriends, who are foten considered to be benefactors. What Bull!
Though there has been a hue and cry by many “aggrieved” men about the unfairness of the Act, how it subliminally seems to promote live-in relationships, and how women could take advantage of their new, enhanced status, staunch women like Renuka Choudhary, Saumya Uma, Priya Dutt, Rajnitail Patil, and Sharda Sathe have vehemently pooh-poohed the male uproar. Their vigor has paid off—around six men have been put behind bars since the introduction of the Act on October, 26, 2006. No small achievement this.
The Act covers the three main kind of abuse – physical, sexual, and emotional (including verbal), and would probably make more women put their foot down (literally) on the abuse they may have put-up with for so long.
I don’t know about you, but I certainly feel this Act is a step in the right direction to women standing up and speaking against the abuse they face at the hands of the so called stronger, superior sex.
In a country where women and girls have special “kanjak” ceremonies, and are hailed as Devis and Shakti; on the other hand they have to deal with issues that have haunted them for ages—female foeticide, dowry deaths, marital rapes, sati, witch-hunting, and domestic violence.
The last one is being taken to task
May be, the others would also be taken to task soon...
I’m incorrigibly optimistic.

Smirnoff Tastemaker Session on Sunday, November 26, 2006

Love your Smirnoff?

Don't blame you.

Even James Bond is addicted to the potion, hook, line, and sinker, nonchalantly scorching the silver screen, sipping his shaken Martinis suavely, and making us all sigh audibly for those to-die-for gadgets and the gorgeous dream-machine, Aston Martin. Vrooooooom!!!

And with the new Bond flick, Casino Royale,starring Daniel Craig, opening in theaters today, Smirnoff is probably on the tip of everyone's lips.

Shake, Rattle & Roll!

The Smirnoff Tastemaker Session is right here in saddi Dilli...

Meet mixologists and learn the "intoxicating" art of making drinks the way 007 loves 'em.

Show them you mean business - learn how to concoct all the potions in New Friends Colony at a live bar with your friends.

From the Moscow Mule to the Caipirojka to... just about anything that's in the book.

And isn't.

The payoff ?

You get to be the one with the golden arm. The name that pops up on every invite list. The number that's on every mobile phone.

Experts will also teach you to plan a party, choose the most happening spirits in town, set up a bar, and lots more - down to the last detail.

Hurry, your drink's getting warm!

Details:
Sunday, 26th Nov 2006: 4pm to 7pm
Venue: Moksha, Above Pebble Street, New Friends Colony

Your 500 bucks' fee includes the following:
. The chance to make and sample different drinks, while seated at a live bar counter
. Snacks
. Cocktail Handout and Tastemaker certificate

Do the math!
Click here for more details and online registration. For any clarifications, call Suprio at 9818784469, e-mail here, or simply SMS STM to 3636. Seats might fill up fast, so register at the earliest.

Spread the word to friends who may be interested.

After all, you don't drink alone, so why learn to bartend solo?!

Tom "Cocktail" Cruise better watch out. He's got competition.

Bawdy Borat

Have heard mixed reviews about the movie, "Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan."

From a couple of friends who chortled throughout the movie, to a very good friend in Maryland, who was outraged by the racist opinions and incest-hints expressed throughout the movie, and called it outlandish balderdash, I've heard them all.

The mockumentary, starring Sacha Baron Cohen as the Kazakh journalist, Borat, has won its fair share of laffs though. An average journo, Borat was once married to a plough (gasp), loses his second wife(when a neighbor shoots her, mistaking her for a bear), goes on to buy a third wife (who does not bore him), sires three kids, keeps relations with three other women, once had a pet pig(which ended up on his dinner table), is a voyeur par excellence, and extremely anti-Semitist, all in all - a stuffy, offensive, bigot and a prick.

The guy does all that can annoy you, and more. Sometimes he also makes you guffaw, in spite of yourself. Like for instance, this song that he sings in a bar in Tucson(Arizona).

While some people have been hopping mad at his (often sleazy) antics, others are amused by his sincere attempts to marry "pure" Pamela Anderson(Ahem), and his whole-hearted efforts to kidnap and get "knotty" with her! Don't they say, Love is blind?!!

Whatever they may say about the movie, I'm gonna watch it and then form my own opinions.

Oh by the way, id I mention that he marries an Afro-American hooker in the end?

I guess even he couldn't digest the Pam and Tommy video shown to him by some sloshed students.

Don't blame the guy one inch.

A (dim) view

Barely a day after Children's Day, I saw a heart-tugging sight in the morning.
I had just dragged myself out of my still-warm quilt, yawned, instructed my maid to get breakfast ready, peeped in the mirror to see if I had sprouted some sudden pimple(none, whew!),and ambled to pick the newspapers my newspaper guy throws expertly on my third-floor balcony daily.
What I saw below make me stand still for several seconds.
Several kids were cooped up in what could only be described as a cage, attached to a bicycle.
You could say it looked like a closed rickshaw, with about ten kids, all trussed together like sardines.
The cyclist was pedaling furiously, no doubt doing his best to make the tiny tots reach their nearby crèche on time.
I saw them till as far as my eyes could see, and then went into a thoughtfull spell.
It wasn’t just the sight of those bleary-eyed kids making their way reluctantly to school, or the image that made me break out in a sweat, thanks to my acute claustrophobia.
It was the unfairness of it all—those tiny bundles of energy all caged like some stray animals being taken to be put to sleep, or worse, to the nearest abattoir.
A tiny window with bars was the only piece of ventilation the kids had; the iron door as opaque and hideous as ever.
It was also their only peephole to a colorful world outside.
Almost like the jharokhas through which princesses from Rajasthan would see the world, with their deep-kohl lined eyes.
It's almost like putting a lid on what you can see.
What a pity!

The (un)fair gender divide

It is strange how when a woman is trying to carry out her assigned role(s) of responsibility she is straightaway termed an "iron woman," "ruthless, "wearing the pants in her house," "a cold-hearted, ambitious b****," or plain "bossy."
On the flip side, even when a man is being out and out peremptory and Hector-like, he is considered a leader au naturel, and said to be performing his responsibility responsibly.
It's so goddamned partisan.
A woman who is speeding in the corporate race, is automatically character-assassinated if she meets people over a friendly bottle of scotch(Pssst-you know what? I saw that floozie guzzling two straight pegs on the rocks with that Chairman. I bet she's up to no good. Giggle. Smirk. Wink Wink). Even a harmless coffee does more harm than good to her. A beer-bellied man on the other hand, downing pints as if there's no tomorrow - Oh - he's just gathering some useful,top-notch business info. The scotch just comes in handy to loosen him up. After all, he's had a rough day, poor chap. He deserves his Budweiser. He's earned it, damn you!
A woman who is open about her life / relationship / views is a hussy, who doesn't know the virtues of keeping her trap shut; a man who does so, is obviously a candid and transparent man. God bless the honest soul!
A woman who cannot(or won't) cook, is termed unnatural, unwomanly, and too hoity-toity. I mean, isn't cooking synonymous with all womankind, right? Now I agree, that cooking is a survival trait-almost like driving and swimming, but hey, if someone doesn't cook doesn't make her less of a woman. Or does it? In the same breath, a man who cooks(or at least tries to put the cheese, bread, butter, and ketchup together) is one whiz-kid, and whatever he whips up to eat, is nothing short of a culinary delight. And no woman who eats his gourmet offering, better forget that in a hurry(Burp).
If a woman has slapped someone, she is made out to be a screeching cat with red-drawn-out-talons, a battle-axe who is too big for her own boots; if a man is involved in a fisticuff, he is after all a man, one of the boys, showing his dash for derring-do. And probably, who knows, maybe the buggers deserved this male (it's always masculine) specimen of daring, to show them who's the man in control. Biff! Thud! Smack! (Swooning women abound naturally at this heroic display of courage).
A woman who abuses is obviously the worst kind possible. Who knows what other foul things she may be up to (shudder)? After all, aren't all women supposed to be these giggling, tittering, eyelashes-fluttering, quiet(better still, silent), dainty, paragons of beauty? A man, on the other hand, who constantly peppers his language with colorful vocabulary , is just speaking his mind. And giving vent to some justified anger / just letting off steam.
It's all so convenient being a man. No wonder, they call it a man's world.
Do you think it's fair?
Are you shaking your head in dissent or nodding your approval?

Uve gt a nw msg

For Britney Spears it was hitting the right buttons this time. For Kevin-trumpet-blowing-Federline though, the world must crashed.
The bloke who danced his way into Britney’s heart, must have been speared, when his wife of 2 years, texted a message to him, intimating him about their divorce.
The guy must be shattered and must be shedding tears in what was once his heaven. After all, what can be more humiliating than being dumped (unceremoniously), and that too when he was savoring his 15 minutes of fame on a reality show.
His rosy life just turned thorny.
And then they tell me that messaging ain’t all that popular. Ha!
Quite a few people are fairly amazed by the speed by which I can think, compose, and shoot a text message (ting—there, I just got another delivery-report for my last message).
Aha—that person just replied—I do appreciate people who are prompt in replying.
Many are bemused how I am surgically-inseparable from my cell phone (which is a must for me everywhere, except maybe when I am performing my daily ablutions, and other trips to the washroom).
Some find it eerie how I can manage to write a text message, without even having to look at my tiny key pad.
Let me add though that I am not alone in this method of communicating and keeping in constant touch with those I want to; my love for messaging is shared by some friends, prominently two—one with whom I spend many an evening shooting one message after another in quick succession; the other another good friend (but who hasn’t been able to message quite as often, cos’ she's getting nursed back to health after a vicious jaundice attack). Hope she gets well soon.
Texting sure makes me get through the maniacal days.
I frequently cast looks at my dear cell, if it hasn’t vibrated in the previous half-hour, but if it is some chain-forward, all it gets from me is a well-practiced, “Hmphh.”
Some of my friends are of the firm opinion that cells are for talking, and they’d rather call than message.
For me, their words are nothing short of blasphemy.
I mean, I swear by messaging.
How else would you see through the day—office, home, commuting—were it not for those messages-making plans for shopping, movies, coffee-dates, impromptu dinner plans, keeeping in touch with loved ones, all in the twinkling of an eye?
My days begin and end with messages.
And I'm not complaining-not one bit.
Mnwhle, u hve a grt wknd. Njoi. Cu arnd.

No one can eat just one

Though you may be indifferent to shapes, there is one hot triangle that will make you salivate, cause your tummy to rumble, itch you to reach out for more.
Finger-licking mint / tamarind (or both) chutneys are strictly optional.
Salsa dips and Heinz ketchup bottles: sorry guys, go take a hike!
Wondering what I'm talking about?
Before you scratch your head and pucker up your lips, deep in thought, let me introduce to you, ladies and gentlemen, the lip-smacking) SAMOSA!
This humble, triangle-pastry shell comes in various fillings—potatoes, chick peas, onions, meat, fish—you name it.
Though I would like to think that they originated here, I came to know that Persia beat us to it.
Though I can happily gloat that we Indians, known to be gastronomes (burp), beat the Persians hollow, in consuming this spicy snack.
With winters knocking at our doors, and the depressing-rains not far behind, one consolation that I keep reminding myself is that I can bundle myself in a warm-quilt, toes sticking out(I get claustrophobic), newspaper in hand, a steaming cup of tea and piping-hot samosas giving me company (and solace) with the wind and rains lashing outside. Brrr.
The samosa, first mentioned in public records by Amir Khusro, as early as the 13th century, has come a long way indeed.
From street vendors and pushcarts hawking them, to every corner Aggarwal Sweets(why are they always located at corners?) frying them, to a Mughal emperor sleeping with them under his pillow, to all kinds of people going munch-munch-munch, samosas have sold like hot cakes literally over the years.
Ok ok – I bet you are wondering which Emperor was so attached to samosas that he would place them beneath his pillow? That bloke was Humayun. I bet he woke up with a rumbling tummy, and a soggy, smelly pillow every morning.
There are people who sing “Samosa” to the tune of the famous song by The Champs—“Tequila.”
Their popularity is also evident overseas. Known by different names—empanadas, calzones, pasties, knishes, and sambusacs, only the names are different. And they are lapped up by people of all ages.
By the way they are often a way of becoming popular with friends—just walk across to the nearest sweet-seller, get some fresh-just-out-of-the karahi samosas, and arrive at your friend’s winter BYOB gathering.
I’m guessing you’ll receive quite a few friendly smiles, and hell knows, maybe some more invites….

The Case of the Blind (and Bribable) "Bar"

Just as I was rejoicing that Santosh Kumar Singh had been awarded a just death penalty by the city’s High Court, another piece of news reached my ears, and shook my wobbly faith in our country’s judicial system.
One of our country’s foremost liars, oops lawyers, in the glare of publicity for defending a certain former minister’s errant son, who is alleged to have shot dead a model at a watering hole for refusing him intoxicating liquid, has come up with a startling claim.
According to him, a Sikh shot dead the model that fateful night at a "designer" watering hole, and not the ex-politico’s son. He states that he would be revealing the identity of this Sikh.
With this revelation, this 7-year long case, with its hostile and/or tight-lipped witnesses, just got another twist.
The octogenarian lawyer, considered a role model by many lawyers, was in the line of fire when he first stated his intentions of becoming the defense counsel for the accused. Now he is right in the middle of a flaming controversy.
Let’s wait and watch what other lies crop up in this long disputed case.
Or is it going to be another well-heeled cold-blooded murderer giggling his way out.
I hope not.
I also want to see what the President decides as Mohammad Afzal’s fate.
Will it be amnesty or a noose?

Some guys give music a bad name

A fortnight back, a couple of friends asked me if I was interested in attending the 4-day MoonDust Festival, a trance extravaganza, to be held in the sprawling Paliwal farmhouse near Ramgarh sanctuary(35 ms from Jaipur).
Camps, psytrance, renowned DJs, eateries, music-workshops—it sounded like a dream rave party.
Though I was sorely tempted to, I couldn’t afford to miss office (having just come back from a 10-day visit), and had to turn down the idea. My friends too decided not to go.
Wise move, I should say, since the musical jamboree we wanted to attend, had to be called off on the third day itself, following allegations of the party-boppers’ unrestrained abuse of alcohol, dope, and indulging in unmentionable activities.
You would think that a 10k-as-entry-fee-charging party would be a music lover’s paradise, far from the maddening scene it turned out to be. However that was not to be, I guess.
The 3000+ crowd, comprising many foreign tourists, were in for a rude shock, when on Monday early morning, some officials swooped down on their Woodstock-ian festival, ending all the (Ahem) “festivities.”
In the end, the Festival, which had an impressive line-up of both international and national psytrance artistes, and was the first of its kind in India, had to ultimately close dismally.
In yet another shameful incident, Iron Maiden's former vocalist, Paul Di'Anno, peppered a performance in Shillong, with a lot of colorful language, cussing, and liberal showing of his middle finger. Shocked and outraged fans, who had gathered for the much-awaited performance on Sunday, November 5, 2006, flung bottles and stones on to the stage, and left in a hurry. The police had to be called.
I must say I was pretty disappointed with the Iron Maiden ex-frontman, who happened to be a personal favorite, and who acted pretty much like a "Beast."
Why do some people have to give music a bad name?
Bah.

A Reunion after 70 years

Nazi leader Heinrich Himmler’s Lebensborn (Front of Life, in German) program, created in 1935, was in the news this weekend. The program, likened to a stud farm, had the Nazis nurture thousands of children with apparently Aryan qualities, in order to breed a perfect master race for a future Nazi empire.
While millions of Jews were slaughtered, close to 8,000 children each in Germany and Norway were given to families of SS (Schutzstaffel) members to be raised for this Nazi racial experiment. Poland, Netherlands, Denmark, and some other countries in Eastern Europe were also a part of this shameful program. Mothers and fathers had to prove their Aryan qualities, absence of mental or any genetic illnesses, in order for their children to be adopted by the elite SS members. Unwed pregnant women were targeted primarily; conservative times forced many to give-up their children for adoption.
These children, most of who were ripped away from their parents, found themselves ostracized and reviled after the War. Once called Nordic-supermen, they were considered offspring of tainted parents from nights in bordellos, and condemned to suffer in silence.
After decades of ignominy, 60 of these so-called “war-children,” most of them in their sixties, gathered publicly in Wernigerode, East Germany, on November 4, 2006. They have courageously stepped forward to trace their roots, dispel myths, demand that the truth be unaltered, and break one of the last taboos about the Adolf Hitler era.
It waits to be seen whether they will be welcomed with open arms, or pelted with stones.

A "Deathly" Passion

What do Edgar Allen Poe and Stephen King have in common?
Besides being American authors whose stories send shivers down your spine, they had another similar hobby—that of visiting cemeteries.(Stephen king still does)
Heck, they’ve even given a name to this macabre hobby—cemetery (or tombstone) tourism.
Seems like France’s Père Lachaise Cemetery, considered the most-visited cemetery in the world, has competition.
Our country too, has also woken up to this new form of tourism.
With 2007 marking the 150th year of the First War of Indian Independence or Revolt of 1857, premium tours are booked in advance by people who are interested in visiting the “mutiny route,” starting from Meerut, the place where the two-year mutiny started.
Long considered to be a morbid hobby, and an aphrodisiac for necrophilia, cemetery tourism looks all set to draw people, who are willing to spend a few thousands to visit, photograph, and observe graves, mausoleums, tombs, cemeteries, headstones, and crypts.
Sort of creeps you out, doesn’t it?

In a Lighter Vein

If you see your favorite comedian’s face peeping out from your preferred news channel, don’t be surprised.
Chances are, the news channel in question has roped in the “funny” face to tickle your funny bone, with politics as its base.
Indian television has seen a spate of political-based satirical shows. I guess the trend started in the footsteps of “The Daily Show,” Comedy Central’s award-winning satirical news television program.
So now we have quite a few shows that present a tongue-in-cheek look at our political scenario, and the games that Indian politicos play. Think NDTV India's Gustaakhi Maaf, NDTV 24x7's Double Take, Aaj Tak's JBC (Javed Broadcasting Corporation) with Jaaved Jaffrey, Zee News' Khabar Tadka – Chunaav Ki Bhatti Se with comedian Jaspal Bhatti, Star News' Poll Khol with Shekhar Suman, and the newest entrant on the bandwagon – IBN's The Week That Wasn’t with Cyrus Broacha.
These quirky spoofs can be called the equivalent of editorial or pocket cartoons in newspapers, akin to’You Said It’, by Laxman.
Guaranteed to make you and me, the audience smile, I bet the politicians aren’t smiling though.

Make-A-Wish Foundation

The Indian chapter of the Make-A-Wish Foundation, committed to granting wishes to children with life-threatening medical conditions, made Hyderabad-based, 8 year old Mahak Kothari’s wish of becoming a policeman true.
The Hyderabad police chipped in to bring a smile to the terminally-ill Mahak, providing him with a crisp uniform, brown boots, a police cap, epaulets, and a baton to wield.
His smile must have brightened the entire police station.
The kid also popped a question to a thief about his errant ways, and swore to wipe-out crime from the nation.
At a time when most so called non-profit Organizations are bleeding their patrons dry, reading about the Make-A-Wish Foundation warms your heart.
Like it warmed mine yesterday.

Do you wanna go under the knife?

Have just begun reading, “Confessions of a Park Avenue Plastic Surgeon.”
Written by renowned plastic surgeon, Cap Lesesne, the book offers an insight into the inadequacies that we see in our bodies, and our obsession with looking youthful, lean, and chiseled.
The race for physical perfection is not limited, as one might think, to those in the so-called glamorous professions of showbiz, media, fashion, etc.
Just like you may have a model, stopping by to get that last minute liposuction before her center-page shoot in an international glossy, there could also be others—a girl who wants a rhinoplasty to a perfectly fine nose, a business magnate willing to spend any amount to get botox injections to his forehead, a woman in her late thirties who wants changes to her ahem! twin assets…the list is endless.
The book is anything but like a typical narrative of Nip/Tuck, the hugely popular US show about two unscrupulous plastic surgeons.
A fantastic read for anyone who is toying with the idea of cosmetic surgery or going under the knife.
Ohh, and it also keeps you guessing which Hollywood celebs have got some enhancement, reduction, or "touching-up!"