Little Boxes

Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky-tacky,
Little boxes, little boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.

The life of an average individual is so predictable. Though different in the details, everyone leads the same life in essence. Like Malvina Reynolds says, we are all like little boxes! Sure I may be a 4*4 box painted in orange and you may be a 3.75*3.75 box painted in green, but at the end of the day we are both cuboids!

And the people in the houses
All go to the university,
And they all get put in boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
And there's doctors and there's lawyers
And business executives,
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.

Each one trying to find your own niche in the world, looking for essentially the same things. I can bet that 90% of people reading this post will have a similar list, Security, Comfort, Family, Love etc...
There is a said way to go about this. Do well at school choose a good profession and spend more than a quarter of your life slogging towards it and the rest, slogging to keep what you have achieved.

And they all play on the golf-course,
And drink their Martini dry,
And they all have pretty children,
And the children go to school.
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university,
And they all get put in boxes
And they all come out the same.

Many people whose blogs I follow have been speaking about love and marriage increasingly lately. Not that I'm reading anything into it but we all eventually do want to be settled and not live out life alone. Children when they come along will have their futures planned so that they in turn can be secure and comfortable.
Restarts the circle...
Little boxes...

And the boys go into business,
And marry, and raise a family,
And they all get put in boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.

Life goes on..

I do not venture to comment on the integrity or achievements of anyone's life but don't you feel like being a different shape sometimes.
I want to be a cone made out of mount board painted in fuchsia!
I don't want to graduate I want to paint and only paint through my life!
I don't want to care where my next meal is going to come from and whether I'll be able to retain this roof over my head tomorrow!

Well but in the end, we are all little boxes, little boxes and we all look just the same!

I love Peter Seeger's songs which my father exposed me to as a child. This is also the theme song for weeds. Do listen to the song.

Top 10 curses

May your blog be shut down due to excessive comments of a weirdly perverted sexual nature

May aliens invade your loo

May the you have a bout of severe urinary incontinence in public

May you run out of toilet paper half-way through your session

May you be struck down by seventy three different kinds of pox, and be sentenced to serve nubile princesses in heaven as a eunuch

May pus filled pustules invade your body

May you be reborn as Britney Spears

May a thousand crows fart in your eyes

May your underwear turn carnivorous

May the fleas of a thousand camels infest your armpits

* Excessive use and incorrect intonation may lead to backfiring of certain curses. The author is not responsible for any unprecedented eventuality and will not take any responsibility for the curser's mental and anatomical deficiencies

void main()

while(no writers block)

{

continue writing;

else

declare state of extreme boredom;

return comments;

}

Just a technical twist on why I’m churning out crap. Not that my previous posts are intellectual gems or works of revered literature, still. Merely an explanation for why some posts tend to be crappier than others. Lack of material coupled with busyness and boredom..you get it. Still write I must and I do, except that it reads something like this. And you, poor souls have to put up with the rubbish I routinely try to pass off as ‘English writing’. Five lines later I still haven’t managed to convey anything remotely useful or enlightening leading me to wonder, if something is useful, is it enlightening too? Or are they mutually exclusive? Does the reverse apply? On a totally different train of thought why is it called a train of thought anyway? Cant’ one have a busload of thoughts? Or a handful for the more intellectually challenged among us? Thoughts are hardly like trains; trains follow well defined tracks, begin and end at defined places. Thoughts, on the other hand begin er.. do thoughts begin at all? Or end? Or are they just an extension of some other previous thought, iterated to the present time? Thoughts spontaneously come into being and manifest themselves outwardly sometimes in speech, or badly written pieces like this. I started off with a pun on programming and am currently rambling along about thoughts and trains. Which is exactly how thoughts run. Or walk. Or just be.

WORDS OF WISDOM

1. No one can ruin your day without YOUR permission.

2. Most people will be about as happy, as they decide to be.

3. Others can stop you temporarily, but only you can do it permanently.

4. Whatever you are willing to put up with, is exactly what you will have.

5. Success stops when you do

6. The biggest lie on the planet: "When I get what I want I will be happy."

7. The best way to escape your problem is to solve it.

8. Look for opportunities...not guarantees.

9. When things go wrong.....don't go with them.

Most importantly....

10. Now is the most interesting time of all.

The wrath of St. Valentine

This blog shall have nothing to do with valentine's day.Amen.

Jab we met...

Good postings, and a few comments later we have a decently running blog...for most of who are wondering about the mysteriously intelligent bloggers a short history..Flashback to august 2004, another boring day in college for me when out of nowhere i hear this chick..babbling away to glory, making no sonse at all..intrigued i moved in for a closer look and i was greeted by a mass of hair (seriously..u have to see it to believe it, entire books can't do justice to the amount of hair sneha possesses..lets just say its as long as her). Behind all the hair, lay a garrulous, talkative gal. The one trait of constantly talking with no purpose whatsoever sealed our friendship that day. Also the fact that sneha would befriend even a tree-stump, given a half hour..still id like to think it was my brilliant personality that did the trick ;)From being aquaintances, to being the best debate team our college ever saw (people never even realized what hit them) from organizing stuff in fests to serious discussions about life, friends we stayed.Only after i moved 14,000 kilometers apart (NO..no romance here..i can see you getting wide-eyed...) did i realize that i actually missed all her talking..That got us talking again(i know..we dont do much do we?) and blogging. That is how idlichutney was born, it was previously christened chaotic lucidity. Idli chutney is just what we are...Solid Dependable Idli meets Tangy Spicy chutney..much like life no? and also the fact that both of us are 'madrasis'So there you go.Enjoy reading.

Through THICK and THIN

A sweet tooth is one among many other things that I have inherited from my father. The Indian version of Rice Pudding called Paysam in South India and Kheer the Northern part of the country is our favourite.
We decided to make this delicacy for ourselves taking advantage of the fact that my mother was out of town and thus there was no one to restrict our gluttony!
Now, at the onset I must explain the major difference between the North and South Indian versions of the dish. Kheer is very thick and creamy its consistency is that of partially set custard whereas Paysam is thinner but richer in its sweetness.
My dad and me all set in the kitchen.........BIG FIGHT!!
Papa wants Kheer and I want Paysam, mind you the preparation is rather different.
After half and hour of arguing we decided to halve the available milk and make both!
We believe in 'The more the merrier' after all!

Finally we both had a splendid afternoon with a simple meal followed by scrumptious desserts-one bowl of each! Yes, Amma could be heard yelling at us later when she rang up but with a bowl in hand and Bombay Jayshree singing in the background it really didn't bother us at all!

LOVE FOR A CITY

I'm sure most will agree when I say, Every city had a character of its own!
Mumbai, though it is called now, will always be Bombay for me. This is where I have lived for the last 20 years of my life!!
I don't know any other city even half as well to be able to compare, so I wont. I'll just say why I like Bombay.
The city is dear to me, not only because of its familiarity but also because I truly believe no other city can reflect my inner self more aptly. This same statement will apply to 6 million others as well. Thats how multifaceted Bombay is.
A plethora of contradictions, it is constantly redefining itself as a city. In no two years does Bombay seem the same to me.The only constants I have observed are change and resilience.
From the Yeur Hills to the Malabar Hills, this city of seven islands has it all. The resplendent beauty and serenity of the sea, the clamour of ceaseless traffic, the melee of devotees at varied places o worship.
Bombay exemplifies the juxtaposition of extremities in every possible facet.
Though I believe Bombay's greatest asset is its HUMANITY. If I cite an example of a crisis situation like the 26th July floods to prove this statement there may be an objection stating that, "Any place would come together in the face of a crisis". So I give you one which you can witness on any ordinary day in Bombay- "The local trains". If you observe a train at rush hour, when people climb over one another to get in, after the train starts moving if one passenger still pursues despite the lack of space many hands shoot out and haul him in. For that one moment he has put his "life" literally into the hands of strangers till he edges into relative safety.

I could rant on and on about my beloved city. Ultimately though, its for each own to chose their own reasons to love her, but love her you will.

Cordon Bleu

Maggi takes a lot longer than 2 minutes to make. In fact it takes a whole 8 minutes to become comestible. My cooking skills (generally thought to be exceptional, just by me!) are such that I managed to burn maggi. Yes impossible as though this feat sounds, I, my friends have managed successfully to burn instant noodles and render them quite inedible. A brainwave hit me only recently and that’s when I discovered the joys of microwaving maggi. Submerge in a pot of water. Shove it in for 6 minutes. Take it out, add tastemaker, 2 more minutes. Generously lather with ketchup, and voila..Dinner’s ready. Its’ ok to thank me for another recipe..all in a day’s work for me. Similar experiments have led me to find the perfect coffee too. American coffee is a bland thin affair, lacking sorely in the strength, flavor and richness of Indian coffee, especially south Indian decoction, straight out of amma’s kitchen. Nevertheless, being a roman in rome, I have adapted myself to the rubbish Americans drink as coffee. The weird decoction, with 4-5 servings of cream, and 2 sugars with skimmed milk somewhat make it human. Still, the punch is missing. Indian coffee hits you with a rich aroma, and a bitter-sweet taste and manages to leave an aftertaste too. Drunk hot, with foam on top..aah the small joys of life.

Musings

“Anula the lustful queen”..no no that’s not the latest C grade flick cheapos are watching now-a- days, nor is it the latest Mills and Boons novel. It simply is the true translation of a chapter in the Mahavamsa; the epic that chronicles Sri Lanka’s history. One of the most influential queens of her time, Anula ruled Sri Lanka for five years, poisoned her way through five husbands, countless other consorts and finally was herself poisoned, disposed off and the Sri Lankan monarchy once again returned to a sense of relative propriety. Considering that this happened circa 47 to 42 BC..one wonders if human passions have ever changed through the millennia. What else is interesting is how little we know about Sri Lankan history. There were approximately ten kings with the same name, one of them dumb enough to let his watchman rule for a day. You guessed it right…the watchman as king chopped of the foolish regents head, proclaimed himself new ruler and bizarrely, the people accepted! This piece of writing has nothing whatsoever to do with anything useful, except for the fact that you can now boast of knowing Sri Lankan history. Nice topic for parties eh?

Continuing with the theme, (Sri Lanka, not lustful queens (perverts!)) the island was known as serendib (mother of the word serendipity) by the Arabs. Sadly this beautiful island, bearing testimony to its teardrop shape has ever been in conflicts eye since 1983. Ethnic strife plagues the island, as Tamils and Sinhalese try to bomb each other out of existence. Sometimes makes you wonder. Aren’t the most beautiful places in the world the most disturbed? Kashmir immediately springs to mind. Tibet caught in endless political dilemmas of its own. Japan bombed with neutrons five decades ago. The cradle of civilization, modern day Babylon trifled with by Bush… Almost like fate wanted to compensate for natures masterpieces.

Viewpoint

A uniform snowy blanket, as white as a sheet over a corpse lay stretched in all directions. Clumps of brown shaggy growths, once trees, disturbed the landscape. Occasionally cluttering the landscape were towns, contributing more to the monotony because of their brutal geometry.

Morbid as though it sounds the above is no prelude to some ghastly horror story, merely a description of the American landscape in winter, viewed by yours truly from 28,000 feet. Flying off to my cousin’s place for the hols, with a window seat, I was excited. As the plane rose I saw the grandeur of the continent, the extent of winter and the orderliness of American cities. I, for one am completely bowled over by the ways Americans plan their cities. Roads intersecting each other at ninety degrees, perpendicular and straight to the core, with a geometrical fastidiousness that only a square can inspire. Breaking the monotony are wide sweeping curves, they too perfect semi circles. Blocks over blocks of houses and people living their dysfunctional non-linear lives in straight lines. Railway lines and highways define straightness here, brutally cutting across geography. It’s no wonder I fell in love with it all. As someone who is particular about symmetry to the point of being obsessed, Indian cities have always frustrated me. Parallel roads intersect, Perpendicular roads never meet, railway lines, boulevards highways and lanes all bewilderingly meet at a single point and more astoundingly, move away with rapid swiftness each to its own course. Neighbourhoods overlap relentlessly and geography interferes causing roads to swerve erratically, chaos reigns supreme. However the occidental cities lack a character, a flavor so present in the orient. With roads at interesting angles, there’s always space to squeeze in that small triangular shop selling funky beads, or that Chinese restaurant with standing room only. By contrast American cities are stiff, strict and formal. Our cities are a vivid mess of informality, with the most unexpected urban landscapes ever. Where else in the world can a straight road suddenly turn right back, for no apparent reason and gift you with a view of the sea? Indian road makers also seem to have an aversion to tunnels, meaning you get sick with hairpin bends and risk falling off cliffs, but are also granted fabulous views in the bargain.

Flight take offs regularly clear the mystery of why roads travel the way they do. I have been surprised several times by looking down and seeing two landmarks of the city exactly next to each other. Travel to them by road and you would never guess. American cities are terribly simple to navigate (given that you have to navigate in straight lines only), and directions to reach an address are fairly straightforward. Compare this with how you would give directions to your house and you get the picture.

So what in the end did I like? The straight neatness of the west or the comfortable chaos of the east? The brain says one and the heart another. Also the air hostess is now getting chips of an interesting texture and I want to try them out. I have to change planes at Minneapolis and the temperature there is a forbidding -12 degree Celsius. Expect more morbid winter descriptions.

Begin

hi all,
we are buddy and vitruvian (being alphabetical here..)
we have a lot of things to share with the world..(blabbermouths that we are)
enjoy the blog..
hoping to post regularly
yours
buddy and vitruvian