Achtung, baby!!!

Most likely, you encountered it around 7 IST today or yesterday depending on whether you are a reader of Times of India or The Hindu. Volkswagen sprung a novel surprise on the unsuspecting, just-out-of-bed readers by attaching a contraption with a photo diode on the last page of the paper which continually played an audio ad.
The simple device played the ad whenever it was opened.Great recall.Plus.The thing wouldn't shut up though.You had to cut light off in some way (folding the paper,place your hand on it,tape something over it, break the damn thing).Minus.
First such use of audio in the print medium.Plus.Doesn't seem like a great idea if it is going to be a trend(irritating audio every morning could be a PITA).Minus.
Full score for novelty.Plus.The ad itself wasn't all that great though.Minus.
Volkswagen, always known for using wonderful ads for marketing, has done it again.Check out some more VW gems at www.greatvwads.com/

Up against time again...

Back from a 12-day hiatus in online activity and my usual life in general, I am again feeling the heat. There is so much to do in the coming few months that I am almost always thinking about multiple things simultaneously it seems. Having put a lot of my to-do items on the back-burner for now, the few important things still on the list are continually jostling for mindspace. Goodluck,me!

रीढ़

"सर, मुझे पहचाना क्या?"
बारिश में कोई आ गया
कपड़े थे मुचड़े हुए और बाल सब भीगे हुए

पल को बैठा, फिर हँसा, और बोला ऊपर देखकर

"गंगा मैया आई थीं, मेहमान होकर
कुटिया में रह कर गईं!
माइके आई हुई लड़की की मानिन्द
चारों दीवारों पर नाची
खाली हाथ अब जाती कैसे?
खैर से, पत्नी बची है
दीवार चूरा हो गई, चूल्हा बुझा,
जो था, नहीं था, सब गया!

"'प्रसाद में पलकों के नीचे चार क़तरे रख गई है पानी के!
मेरी औरत और मैं, सर, लड़ रहे हैं
मिट्टी कीचड़ फेंक कर,
दीवार उठा कर आ रहा हूं!"

जेब की जानिब गया था हाथ, कि हँस कर उठा वो...

’न न’, न पैसे नहीं सर,
यूंही अकेला लग रहा था
घर तो टूटा, रीढ़ की हड्डी नहीं टूटी मेरी...
हाथ रखिये पीठ पर और इतना कहिये कि लड़ो... बस!"

Reedh (Original Title Kanaa)
Original Marathi Poem : Kusumagraj
Translated by Gulzar

In two places

There is this point in life when I am physically shuttling between two cities 800-odd kilometres apart pretty often. He once said,"i have at times a feeling u r both in X and Y..." and left me wondering how much I'd love that.
X here is the city where I started the most recent phase of my life.It's also the city right now where my boyfriend (for a serious want of another word) stays and admittedly that's the single most important reason why my nomadic self still wishes to retain ties with a place I have physically moved out of. Y, on the other hand, is where I am. I have no ties with this place. Nothing draws me to this place. Nothing I look forward to, nothing I truly love. I feel nothing about it when I leave or when I arrive.But strangely, living here gives me the one thing I have crave for at most places. I love how much I can stay all by myself here , connecting with things and people on the outside only when and as much as I wish.
Wanting to be at X and Y at the same time is a manifestation of the eternal dichotomy of my life - of solitude and company.

Stick to it

A blog of your own provides pretty good diagnostics for self-discipline, at least for me. Having to stick to a routine evokes something almost rebellious in me I think. And the frequency of posts to this blog bears testimony.
Lately, a few disparate things drew my notice to how much I'd appreciate myself to stick to a blog routine,of course, subject to availability of stuff to be able to write about. This charming movie called Julie and Julia with the cooking blog regimen and the frequency of Oren Eini's blog.The latter not only posts regularly but has his future posts planned hours and days ahead. I have never had that sort of planning in my life.
Like most people I am a chronic procrastinator, as much as I hate to admit it.And for someone like me who is perennially unhappy about how little time we humans have to experience all those wonderful things, it borders on sinful to fritter away time like I do sometimes.
So here's an attempted goodbye to procrastination...

Just something

Everyone has their own personal brand of solitude.
You couldn't sleep with anyone, even if you wanted to. Everyone's alone in their sleep. It's waking up to him,in thought or in person, that makes the togetherness.

The Moment

"Don't go", she said.
"What does going take away...", he said, "Nothing."

Keepers of culture

I have always been rather ashamed of the fact that I cannot read and write in my own mother tongue. Nor can my parents. In fact no one in my generation or in my parents' does.I am still quite an exemplary kid in my community as I can speak my language and speak it very well and regularly at home.
I often wonder how much gets lost when we inherit the culture from the last generation. And I'm afraid we are losing at a progressively increasing rate and often without realizing how much we are missing.

So often I listen to/read Khusro or Meer or Meerabai or Dinkar and come across absolute gems of poetry. And whenever my strong sense of preservation takes over , already I find it difficult to fish out more of the sort. Will my children even know who Amir Khusro was or why Dinkar and Mahadevi Verma were termed stalwarts of 'Chhayavaad'...'coz I don't even when my parents do. Will they never taste the rustic charm of Faneeshwarnath Renu's writing? Will they never be charmed by a 'Jungle Book' or a 'Malgudi Days'? I haven't learnt a single traditional folk song from my mom or aunts or grandmoms that I have grown up hearing in every marriage or other umpteen occasions we celebrate from life to death. And I acutely notice how when we talk of music at marriages , all we think of is Jazzy B's bhangra tracks.

And often when I am literally bothered by such thoughts, almost personifying hope, I hear a Gulzarji or a Kailash Kher reusing an old piece of soulful poetry and making sure the MTV generation stops and listens...An Abida Parveenji bringing alive Bulleshah... An Indian Ocean leading me to google Gorakh Pandey to discover the song that elite crowds tap their foot to in college fests round the country is written by a revolutionary poet from UP... A Debojyoti Mishra effortlessly using Meena Mishra alongside Shubha Mudgal to sing folk 'Sohar' in a mainstream Bollywood movie... An Agnee doing a lovely rendition of Kabeer...

There's still time... I can still learn all those songs from my grandmother... I'll learn how to read from my grandpa while he's around...and my kids will listen to Mehdi Hassanji playing at home before they go out in the world to discover Pink Floyd.