Biscouts and chipes

The Bovine Adornment

The Political Guillotine

Loose wait!

How did you do it then?

A letter to my father

This is the actual transcript of an e-mail that I had sent to my dad, because I had vague ideas of buying a new mobile phone and secondly I expected that a fancier request would earn me a more rewarding response. The reply, however, was so apt and touching that I couldn't help but stare at the screen and smile endlessly for half an hour. I thought I was the writer here, now I know where those genes come from.
I love you dad, and this one is dedicated to all the lovely fathers around the globe.


SUB: REQUEST FOR A NEW MOBILE PHONE


Dear father,

I, Poorvisha Ravi, resident of Noida, own a Nokia N72 mobile phone which I have been using for the past two years. It has been functioning very well, but for the past few months some of its features have got corrupted; the bluetooth device, the camera and the general functionality has become slower and sluggish despite the lack of any misuse from my part. The panel needs replacement too. You may be slightly surprised to know that the Samsung mobile is also in need of repair because of its damaged battery. I am aware that I have already brought these issues to your notice before, and you felt that these can be easily serviced so I do not require another mobile phone.

However, there is a problem that has not been brought to light before. You must be aware that I'm using two SIM cards simultaneously, one being the Vodafone local number in Delhi which I cannot discard for some very obvious reasons, and the other is the Reliance postpaid number, which is more economical. I feel that if in exchange for the above mentioned two mobiles, which become an obvious bulk for me to handle, I could have a dual SIM mobile phone with the most basic features, so that I don't have to manually keep switching between numbers the old fashioned way. My demands are minimalistic in nature, that is, I don't require anything expensive or state of the art.


I hope you will understand my plight and know that I understand yours too.


Hoping for the vaguely possible.

Your loving wistful daughter,
Poorvisha Ravi

AND HERE COMES THE OUTSTANDING REPLY...

My Dear Lovely Daughter,

In view of the purported circumstances & more so because I love you so much that I fall prey to your dramatisations, your demands are hereby acceded to.

Yours most affectionately

Defenceless father

Ravi

Chipped Nailpaint

A golden moment of glee

When the cuticle covered the fingertip

Thus ready to adorn with

A multitude of glossy tints

Make my humble hands

To resemble at least in part

Those of Aphrodite’s favourite children

I trimmed and filed, then

Painted the hard convex canvas

With placid strokes of paint

Fantasizing such imminent moments

When my hand would be marveled at

By amorous men and their envious women

For a cause barring its purpose

I twisted, turned, waved

Or gently rested atop a slab

Simply admired the radiance

Flinched to exert my hands

But for delicate deeds

Little of consequence

More for allure

Hardly did I fathom

That this fortune for my fingers

Was but a fleeting fate

Just days after I painted

This live masterpiece

Tiny flakes chipped off my nails

Minor blemishes, but beckoning

The canvas to be razed to the ground

Only then to be painted again

A week down the line

Vanity vied labour

Work won by a full measure

Neither pressure nor time

Just the impossible incongruity

Of chipped nail polish

      

The Ooze

These photographs were taken at the oil refinery museum at Digboi, Assam. The museum is located on the venue of a previously sprawling oil well, now abandoned and converted into a museum, housing all the machinery and parts used at that time along with some vintage photographs and a touch of history.

This 19th century site is an important site, historically and otherwise as the oldest running oil well in the world. In fact the place is so rich in crude oil that it still naturally oozes out of the ground in the premises of the museum.

The only lament is that why should such an important heritage site lie in such a state of slick and filth. The greasy road and the pools of oil are a complete disgust in the face of an otherwise well maintained museum. The worst part is that Assam gets a bout of torrential rains, which makes the floor a disastrous mixture of gooey oil floating on moist ground, making it more slippery than ever. The factors that these are hilly areas add up to the danger quotient, if not considering the environmental impact that we all know too well about.

The models were noteworthy and well maintained with each having their own tin roof and some informative lines on their usage and precedents. It would've been worth spending more time, had it not been for the fact that you practically had to jump over puddles of water, mud and oil, with a great risk that you'd slip and fall right in the middle of it all.

The place is surrounded by villages and cattle roam freely. Even otherwise, it's a photographer's paradise with undisturbed vegetation, unexplored forests and jungles. You might even get lucky and spot an occasional cheetah or a panther. The refinery was actually built in the midst of pristine pure forests, so there is no dearth of wildlife or indigenous vegetation, wide varieties of orchids, plants, fruits, birds. It's simply heaven and the most self sufficient that any place could ever be. Under these circumstances, health and environmental concerns should have been taken seriously and the Assam Oil Corporation could have taken some steps to clean up and maintain the area, since they're exploiting the most of it.

      

The Ride

      

I love pink!

      

Life riding by

      

Why "Twilight" can never be?

Okay I admit it. Like all the other crazy ladies out there , I too am a die hard for the Twilight vampire Edward Cullen, precisely the personification of a patient, loving, strong, chivalrous man, vampire, werewolf or otherwise. Pretend what I may. He’s mysterious, he’s classy and he is handsome. A couple of thousand years old vampire like Bram Stoker’s Dracula would be an actual warrior in shining armour, though modern aesthetics would not permit him to get into the same garb. He’d have got the medieval historical charm on him that goes like- “Thy will is my command, m’ lady.” (No, no men, quoting Shakespeare doesn’t work!)

The other day my Twilight crazy friend quipped- “I’d date someone who’s exactly like Edward!”

I realized the tragedy. He has successfully put younger modern mortal guys out of business. Not that his age of 109 years, is improving dating prospects for older men. It takes a pale porcelain skin that glows in the sunlight (Bappi Lahiri’s gold etched body is a sham!), a subnormal body temperature (He’s cool and he’s hot), agelessness (Girls, get out your Ponds White Beauty), immortality, superhuman abilities and strength, a couple of fangs with an eternal blood thirst, ultra sexy looks and still managing to tell a very human, constipated looking girl you love, that you actually despise yourself.

Pattinson himself had never been the subject of such tremendous fan hysteria, even through his supporting role in Harry Potter (“Oh, Daniel Radcliffe!” Sigh), until Twilight happened. At least to my knowledge, not many girls cared a dime. Nor have been other strikingly handsome men like Brad Pitt, Orlando Bloom, and Taylor Lautner until they portrayed characters of such mystique as Hercules, Legolas, and Jacob Black. It’s not the hero anymore, it’s the superhero who matters (That reminds me, IPL team Chennai “Super” Kings would have made better grammatical sense without the “Super”. Ah, what does it matter!).  Add popular folklore and mythology, and voila, the deadly irresistible macho male is ready for females to pounce on.

Where there’re vampires there’re werewolves. (“Jacob Black is so hot” my friend coos again. “Well, that’s good then, he and Edward would make a good thermocouple.” “Oh cut it out, they’re not gay.” I was intrigued by this perverted interpretation of what once was thermodynamics.) The same mystique factor again. While it’s fantastic to imagine, I doubt whether a real wolf, or a werewolf, would not send them all scurrying. (“I’m scared to death of dogs.” My friend admits. “Of course, it’s only logical that you should fear the canine!” I smile maliciously)

Our desis have taken the cue only too well. The superhero craze has hit the Indian market late but hard with films like Krrish, Drona, Love Story 2020 and many others coming up. The Bollywood sweetheart of mushy blockbuster romances like DDLJ, K2H2 (That’s not Potassium hydrate) and K3G has taken the mania further to a distinctly Egyptian sounding “Ra-One”. (“Is it the prequel to Osiris-two or a cyber slang Ravana?” I ask innocently. My friend doesn’t respond. She just stares.)

Not long back we even had a Twilight-based soap being aired on a popular channel. The desi Edward was a major turn on for our Indian girls who could proudly identify with the plot. At least girls in Tamil Nadu could gladly and safely dare to fill in Bella’s part. (For those who don’t know, Bella in Tamil means…er…the phallus).  It was a novel venture by a K-addicted someone who has a dubious reputation for saas-bahu (mother in law and daughter in law) mega serials. I almost thought that this pishaach daanav (vampires have mythical legends in Sanskrit literature too) would bring his human girlfriend to his bloodsucking mother (Bloodsucking isn’t it? No wonder she’s a monster-in-law) and his family business obsessed father (“A blood bank maybe?” My friend offered.) who would critically disapprove of the prospective bahu- “Tumne ek insaan se pyaar karke, khoon peete darindo ki sadiyon se chali aa rahi parampara ko mitti me mila diya!” (“By loving a human you’ve disgraced the timeless traditions of the vampire clan” in a more dramatic “Kkkrazzy” way).

The world purports India to be the land of superstition, magic and miracles, but the truth is only more complex. We simply have an intuition for what works and we tap it. We have djinns, kaateris, pishaachs and rakshasas in our mythology. We fear them, we respect them, and we worship a thousand gods not barring the fearsome Kaali maata but we do not obsess ourselves with the urban legend that werewolves and vampires are wholly real and get all excited, happy or dreamy about it. We do not pretend to be Goths, Punks and Raves who crave for extended fangs and an eternal blood thirst just because Twilight and Vampire Diaries sound so cool. We want to stay human even if our troubles here demand more superhuman abilities than developed nations do. We do not imagine aliens, supernatural creatures, UFOS, meteors, asteroids or any other outlandish likelihood in the whole of universe conspiring towards bringing down New Delhi (They’d all fry their noses with the stench at Nizamuddin railway station). We are us; mortally entertaining, mortally superhuman (There were some serious theories regarding our winning the 2011 cricket World Cup as “Superstar” Rajinikanth was present there), mortally evil (Mogambo khush hua!), and mortally good enough for our star-obsessed girls. Just like Harry Potter Kolkata Aaye (someone played Rowling- Rowling), Mahashaktimaan (The Matrix dubbed in Hindi) and Maut ka Saudaagar (Deathly Hallows) may only comically entertain us; Twilight can never be a reality here.


     

Torque

         

Atlas's burden

Atlas’s burden

It tickles, oh lord

He can’t bear it, no more

If it were but for a moment

That he could dispatch his restless digits

To settle this urgent score

For once, soft impulse

Defeats sinew hard

Who will bear

Atlas’s Gaia, for a jiffy

Till he scratches off his back

Banishes the culprit

One tickly piece of hair