Headed to Goa with no plan in mind
except to get away from the daily grind,
smsed K for advice on places to visit -
for Goa, K equals the ‘Lonely Planet’.
Anjuna beach first :
‘Curlie’s’ for chill-out, snacky food and breakfast,
‘Orange Bloom’ for breakfast more;
‘Infantaria’ on Baga-Calangute road for desserts galore
- you will love it
(quite prophetic,
loved their mixed fruit pancake
and the chocolate cheesecake).
Moving on to Baga beach :
‘Britto’s’ and ‘St. Anthony’s’,
‘O Cocero’ – where Charles Sobhraj was caught, you know,
(Ah, to soak in some local glamour before we go.)
For traditional Goan food
(spicy, non-veg and good);
‘Inferno’ for dinner at Candolim
‘Viva Panjim’ in – where else – Panjim !
In South Goa, ‘Martin’s’ for lunch,
And Varca beach has shacks in a bunch.
Now if it’s food for the soul you seek -
No, magic mushroom is not what I mean ( ! )
Its music I’m referring to;
For Jazz and Blues -
‘Stonehouse’ at Candolim –
(We found it awesome
And went there twice)
And Calanguate has ‘Take 5’;
For dancing, ‘Cavala’ at Baga is good, though
best Thursday nights, or ‘Mambo’;
‘Titos’ is over-rated.
Oh, and find out about ‘Sunburn’ it’s in Candolim.
- Adapted from K's sms by Zen
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Girl and Boy
There was once was a boy
Who needed a toy
So he got himself a girl
But the girl was a witch
With a hypnotic twitch
And she made the Boy plain twirl
So he twirled and he twirled
Till his life was in a whirl
And couldn't tell his west from his east
But the girl was a beast
And she didn't care in the least
As she saw her toy boy unfurl
By,
Anonymous
Who needed a toy
So he got himself a girl
But the girl was a witch
With a hypnotic twitch
And she made the Boy plain twirl
So he twirled and he twirled
Till his life was in a whirl
And couldn't tell his west from his east
But the girl was a beast
And she didn't care in the least
As she saw her toy boy unfurl
By,
Anonymous
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Rockstar - Reflections, not a review
Chances are as you walk out of the theatre you may want to go sit in a quiet place.
As you think of the movie later, you will find several flaws in the script – but when watching it you sort of overlook it because this is Imitiaz’s best; amongst Rehman’s finest, (special mention for Irshad Kamil’s lyrics) and Ranbir, well, he is magic. He makes you burst out laughing, takes you along on his spiritual sojourn, encompasses you in the warmth of his hug (a brilliant touch), puts you in a trance when he’s on the dance floor and finally makes you feel his tragic helplessness…. And leaves you with the nagging question: why is it that only when the quantity of life is limited, that we gain awareness and courage to add quality to it?
Imtiaz Ali has a recurring theme in all his movies –unacknowledged love followed by separation, and then realization and a difficult unity…Rockstar has been the best so far, he has acting talent of a different league, he has some great dialogues, some heart wrenching moments …clever cinematographic technique– especially in the rock concert shots.
This movie is more about love and its accompaniments than the recipients of love …Maybe that’s why you can forgive the fact that the characters are sketchy especially the female character. Nargis has limited acting ability and a mouth that is more distracting than attractive. Shammi Kapoor is fabulous and is the only other actor who deserves mention. The movie has its heart in the right place and music that moves you like you had forgotten music could.
Warning: Savor the movie – it’s like eating a gourmet dish – let the flavors roll onto your tongue, let the taste travel to your brain (or will that be heart?) and relish it. You can feel the taste much after the meal is over. If you’re a fast food lover it may seem like much ado about nothing, slow and painful.
By,
Soma.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Emotions : Part 3 – Contentment
Sitting on top of a hill in the monsoon season, lush green below, blue-grey sky above. Looking at rain escaping the clouds and rushing down towards the earth, inhaling lungfuls of the fresh wet earth smell.
By,
Zen
By,
Zen
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Emotions : Part 2 – Despair
Same road, a hospital at the end of it. Observed just outside the hospital’s gate :
A young guy – 15-20 years old. Thin, not too tall. A face that started out being a rectangle, when the jaw bones suddenly dissented and decided to be sharp and angular instead. Mop of curly hair. Dressed shabbily – frayed jeans, faded top.
In the grip of some strong emotion which has been tightly reined in and suppressed – the effort is visible from the way he has clenched his jaw tight and from the muscles flickering in his cheek and temple.
He has a matchbox in one hand. He takes out one match at a time, strikes it against the matchbox, intently watches the flame flare and burn down, and tosses the match away just before it would have started to burn his fingers. Does not actually move his shoulder in the throwing gesture, just bends his arm at the elbow. Continues to do this with several matchsticks, does not look up from the matchbox and matchstick, as if it’s important to concentrate on every minute detail of this repetitive task. This simple task must be done to perfection. Each time.
Kchrikkkkk – flare – hold – stare
The only thing holding his sanity together.
By,
Zenobia Driver
A young guy – 15-20 years old. Thin, not too tall. A face that started out being a rectangle, when the jaw bones suddenly dissented and decided to be sharp and angular instead. Mop of curly hair. Dressed shabbily – frayed jeans, faded top.
In the grip of some strong emotion which has been tightly reined in and suppressed – the effort is visible from the way he has clenched his jaw tight and from the muscles flickering in his cheek and temple.
He has a matchbox in one hand. He takes out one match at a time, strikes it against the matchbox, intently watches the flame flare and burn down, and tosses the match away just before it would have started to burn his fingers. Does not actually move his shoulder in the throwing gesture, just bends his arm at the elbow. Continues to do this with several matchsticks, does not look up from the matchbox and matchstick, as if it’s important to concentrate on every minute detail of this repetitive task. This simple task must be done to perfection. Each time.
Kchrikkkkk – flare – hold – stare
The only thing holding his sanity together.
By,
Zenobia Driver
Saturday, August 06, 2011
Emotions : Happiness ! or Optimism.
A broad road fringed with tall trees, the pavement littered with branches that the BMC has chopped off prior to the monsoon. Some of the trees have creepers with big pink flowers growing on them, these give out a characteristic strong fragrance that defines this stretch of road during the flowering season. At a certain time every morning, the fragrance is obscured by the stink from the garbage collecting truck, it has an open top and dirty green maws from which streams of garbage hang and sway like so much spittle as it comes trundling down the road.
On most days, the garbage collecting men perch inside the truck’s cabin or on top of the body, in faded uniforms, shoulders slumped, faces downcast, hating their work and their fate. But today is different.
One of the garbage collectors is a young man, tall, dark and hefty, round-faced, with curly hair. His attire hints at his attitude - he wears a dark brown shirt with a mustard print, the first few buttons open – ishtyle hai bhai ! Around his neck he has a locket on a black string, from his hip pocket hangs a dark blue scarf.
This young man chooses to ride the garbage truck with attitude, like he’s at a rodeo, or shooting stunts for a film. He jumps on to the side of the truck as it starts off, and hangs there whistling a happy tune, chest thrown out, head flung back casually, scarf fluttering gaily in the wind, as if he has not a care in the world.
The tale we read in school was true – Aadmi khushi khoj lega ! (A man will find happiness)
On most days, the garbage collecting men perch inside the truck’s cabin or on top of the body, in faded uniforms, shoulders slumped, faces downcast, hating their work and their fate. But today is different.
One of the garbage collectors is a young man, tall, dark and hefty, round-faced, with curly hair. His attire hints at his attitude - he wears a dark brown shirt with a mustard print, the first few buttons open – ishtyle hai bhai ! Around his neck he has a locket on a black string, from his hip pocket hangs a dark blue scarf.
This young man chooses to ride the garbage truck with attitude, like he’s at a rodeo, or shooting stunts for a film. He jumps on to the side of the truck as it starts off, and hangs there whistling a happy tune, chest thrown out, head flung back casually, scarf fluttering gaily in the wind, as if he has not a care in the world.
The tale we read in school was true – Aadmi khushi khoj lega ! (A man will find happiness)
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Sounds familiar ?
One of my objectives while planning a vacation in Dehradun was to visit Mussourie, be at the Cambridge bookshop on Saturday evening when Mr. Ruskin Bond is reported to visit, and get one of my books autographed by him. Unfortunately, we ended up being in Mussourie on Friday, and even though we optimistically trotted off to the Cambridge bookshop, Mr. Bond wasn’t there. Shaken, but not stirred, we bought a Ruskin Bond book each at the shop, I picked up one titled ‘Rain in the Mountains’.
A passage from this is reproduced below, it reminded me of one of my bird-watching friends, she must be related to Sir E in some way.
Someone asked Sir E if he could shoot a bird on his land at Ramgarh. The man wanted the bird for dissection in a biology lab. Sir E refused.
“It’s in the interests of science,” protested the man. “Do you think a bird is better than a human ?”
“Infinitely,” said Sir E. “Infinitely better.”
Does the sentiment sound familiar to you too ? :-)
By,
Zenobia Driver
A passage from this is reproduced below, it reminded me of one of my bird-watching friends, she must be related to Sir E in some way.
Someone asked Sir E if he could shoot a bird on his land at Ramgarh. The man wanted the bird for dissection in a biology lab. Sir E refused.
“It’s in the interests of science,” protested the man. “Do you think a bird is better than a human ?”
“Infinitely,” said Sir E. “Infinitely better.”
Does the sentiment sound familiar to you too ? :-)
By,
Zenobia Driver
Thursday, July 28, 2011
About the Mountains
An extract from ‘Snow Leopard’ by Peter Matthiessen :
The secret of the mountains is that the mountains simply exist, as I do myself : the mountains exist simply, which I do not. The mountains have no “meaning”, they are “meaning”; the mountains are. The sun is round. I ring with life, and when I can hear it, there is a ringing that we share. I understand all this, not in my mind but in my heart, knowing how meaningless it is to try to capture what cannot be expressed, knowing that mere words will remain when I read it all again, another day.
The secret of the mountains is that the mountains simply exist, as I do myself : the mountains exist simply, which I do not. The mountains have no “meaning”, they are “meaning”; the mountains are. The sun is round. I ring with life, and when I can hear it, there is a ringing that we share. I understand all this, not in my mind but in my heart, knowing how meaningless it is to try to capture what cannot be expressed, knowing that mere words will remain when I read it all again, another day.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
The best part of armchair discussions
A holiday at ‘Ivy Cottage’ on the outskirts of Dehradun; a quaint cottage with a beautiful garden full of flowering plants and trees, surrounded by hills, clouds scudding above.
Picture a group of five people with broad grins basking in pleasant sunshine - we are sitting around a breakfast table laden with empty plates and used cutlery, replete after a mammoth breakfast of eggs, sausages, toast, butter, jam, juice, fruit, gobi parathas and french fries. If you have sharp eyes or a strong imagination, you can see a shimmer of lazy contentment hovering around us and slowly expanding.
What do we select as an apt topic for conversation, sprawled out in our chairs, rendered nearly immobile by the amount of food we have gobbled – we discuss true stories of incredible hardship and adventure. ‘Into Thin Air’ by Jon Krakauer’ and ‘The Climb’ by Anatoly Boukreev – both accounts of an expedition to Mount Everest that ended in disaster; ‘Touching the void’ by Joe Simpson – another soul-stirring story of an expedition to the peak Siula Grande in the Peruvian Andes, and how Simpson survived in spite of numerous injuries; ‘Endurance : Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage’ by Alfred Lansing – about a trans-Antartic expedition by sea in which the ship sank, but the entire crew survived in hostile conditions for almost two years before finally journeying to safety.
At some point in our discussion, a few expressions turned sheepish and some of us lost a degree of animation as the contrast between our current condition and the stories we were discussing sank in. But then, as M pointed out, to admire something one doesn’t have to be experiencing it, neither to have experienced it oneself in the past. In fact, one’s admiration of those facing adverse circumstances is enhanced with the distance from the same.
Think of eating samosas at a nice cosy place, say Samovar (Jehangir Art Gallery, Mumbai), while reading one of these books; biting into the crispy part at the end and hearing it crackle just as you read about the crackle of ice on the Khumbu icefall (after Base Camp, Everest); imagining the cold at Everest’s feet while safely savouring the heat and crackle of a crisp samosa – the best of both worlds, wot ?
(Links to info about the books here :
Into Thin Air
The Climb
Touching the Void
Endurance : Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage )
By,
Zenobia Driver
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Yoga, but not Yogi
I started yoga almost two years ago. A teacher would come home twice a week for an hour-long lesson. And that was the beginning of my journey. I started with hatha yoga – which is basically using one’s body and doing simple exercises or asanas. My teacher though, was catering to the modern power yoga students that Mumbai is brimming with, rather than focusing on traditional asanas. “Power yoga helps lose weight you know”. I was not in particularly good physical shape, exercise for me had been an evening walk couple of times a week, so she had me tired. She had a predilection for repetitions and insisted on counting – so I was programmed to do 8 counts of this, 16 counts of that, and I would be huffing and puffing away. Simply put, I was a lazy lump of lard.
Yes, having the teacher forced me to do my classes as she would show up at home at the preset times. But, my teacher was an illustrious Gujarati businesswoman as well, running businesses from India and abroad and this kept her away at points of time from taking my classes. I too, had some travelling to do or at times running late at work (yes one class day was an evening class on a weekday!) and this kept us away at times from each other and our biweekly classes.
Working within these constraints, the guru-shisya team did make some progress and I proudly reported to those who cared to listen that I had succeeded to do the Utthita Padmasana. A posture that involves sitting in Padmasana, and then elevating yourself off the floor with the support of your two palms. It made me feel surreal, as though I had transcended into another world, I had crossed some standard of yogic practice.
My teacher – I told you she was into power, pop stuff- asked me to moon walk one morning. Moon walk – why, I asked myself, that’s what MJ made famous and me no aspiring MJ. I soon realized it was a simple knee and ankle bending exercise, nothing as glamorous as it sounded. And so the classes carried on and I crossed some new milestones like learning the Surya Namaskar in the midst of other frantic ‘post modern yoga’ (term patented by me) practice.
Then, at some point a few months ago, I discovered the Yoga Studio whilst browsing the Sunday Midday. Set in chimbai village in bandra, I went to take the one odd class there, hoping to discover something more. The studio is hip – wooden floors, healthy salads served in kansha bowls and the ambience nice to lounge around. The teachers are ‘very bandra’ – wearing harem pants and with well-chiseled model like bodies. What I learned in these one off classes – was how to add grace to the yoga asana. “Like dance, enjoy the pose, move your arm with grace almost like you are performing, though for yourself…and listen to what your body says. If it feels like doing something today, do it, if not perhaps it will oblige you another day.” Grace and enjoying the beauty of the pose – was the aha I got from this yoga class.
To my delight, pretty soon I figured I was actually beyond basic in yoga – so apart from being ‘bandra- priced’, these classes weren’t stretching me enough either. It could also do with the fact, that now I was doing yoga a little more seriously than before.
A month later, inspired, I gate crashed into the Iyengar Yoga institute, the mecca of yoga. I had been trying to get admission here for more than two years. Every time I went I was made greeted by an elderly semi-toothless man who asked me to record my contact details in a book, (much like those we used in school) that ran into pages – with names of wait listed students. Finally, mind made up that I had to join; I arrived during the evening class hours, with yoga clothes packed into my jhola and requested to speak to the teacher.
She was considerate and flattered too I think, that I had been visiting the place for 2 years now, and allowed me to join the class from that very evening.
I was looking for advanced, boy, I got advanced. Or super advanced. Iyengar yoga as a philosophy is hatha yoga but with the aid of props, teaching one how to hold a pose to perfection. ’Hold’ and ‘perfection’ being the key operative words. So the teacher screams instructions like – “expand your shoulders, open up your thoracic area, put your arms by the rib cage, turn your buttocks in and your pelvic region outward to face the ceiling” … and as you try following one instruction, the earlier one inevitably slips and you try to balance it all furiously recalling your bio classes from school, only to hear her thundering “ and why are YOU,YOU,holding your breath, continue to breathe normally…” Give me a break I want to say, but I am so immersed in holding in my buttock and out my pelvic region, that speaking is totally out of question.
And when I think the worst is over, and it is time for Savasana – ah, the relaxation posture where you lie on your back and relax all your muscles; she bellows “ all of you, now hold the two ropes and walk up the wall and then invert yourselves into sheerasana…” and at this point I am sitting with my mouth open (it is my third class so I am excused from this attempt), as 30 adults hold the ropes and really start walking up the wall only to invert themselves and stay like that for close to ten minutes. Wow!
It will take me this lifetime to inch toward becoming a yogini, but as you can see, it has been an interesting journey thus far, from moon walking not quite MJ style, sprinkled with the grace of dancing, to walking up the walls super hero style…
As for you, next time you’re headed to PVR, ditch the superhero flick, hop over to the Iyengar class instead and watch the real superheroes in action; and who knows, you may start the journey of a superhero yogi yourself!
By,
Soma Ghosh
Yes, having the teacher forced me to do my classes as she would show up at home at the preset times. But, my teacher was an illustrious Gujarati businesswoman as well, running businesses from India and abroad and this kept her away at points of time from taking my classes. I too, had some travelling to do or at times running late at work (yes one class day was an evening class on a weekday!) and this kept us away at times from each other and our biweekly classes.
Working within these constraints, the guru-shisya team did make some progress and I proudly reported to those who cared to listen that I had succeeded to do the Utthita Padmasana. A posture that involves sitting in Padmasana, and then elevating yourself off the floor with the support of your two palms. It made me feel surreal, as though I had transcended into another world, I had crossed some standard of yogic practice.
My teacher – I told you she was into power, pop stuff- asked me to moon walk one morning. Moon walk – why, I asked myself, that’s what MJ made famous and me no aspiring MJ. I soon realized it was a simple knee and ankle bending exercise, nothing as glamorous as it sounded. And so the classes carried on and I crossed some new milestones like learning the Surya Namaskar in the midst of other frantic ‘post modern yoga’ (term patented by me) practice.
Then, at some point a few months ago, I discovered the Yoga Studio whilst browsing the Sunday Midday. Set in chimbai village in bandra, I went to take the one odd class there, hoping to discover something more. The studio is hip – wooden floors, healthy salads served in kansha bowls and the ambience nice to lounge around. The teachers are ‘very bandra’ – wearing harem pants and with well-chiseled model like bodies. What I learned in these one off classes – was how to add grace to the yoga asana. “Like dance, enjoy the pose, move your arm with grace almost like you are performing, though for yourself…and listen to what your body says. If it feels like doing something today, do it, if not perhaps it will oblige you another day.” Grace and enjoying the beauty of the pose – was the aha I got from this yoga class.
To my delight, pretty soon I figured I was actually beyond basic in yoga – so apart from being ‘bandra- priced’, these classes weren’t stretching me enough either. It could also do with the fact, that now I was doing yoga a little more seriously than before.
A month later, inspired, I gate crashed into the Iyengar Yoga institute, the mecca of yoga. I had been trying to get admission here for more than two years. Every time I went I was made greeted by an elderly semi-toothless man who asked me to record my contact details in a book, (much like those we used in school) that ran into pages – with names of wait listed students. Finally, mind made up that I had to join; I arrived during the evening class hours, with yoga clothes packed into my jhola and requested to speak to the teacher.
She was considerate and flattered too I think, that I had been visiting the place for 2 years now, and allowed me to join the class from that very evening.
I was looking for advanced, boy, I got advanced. Or super advanced. Iyengar yoga as a philosophy is hatha yoga but with the aid of props, teaching one how to hold a pose to perfection. ’Hold’ and ‘perfection’ being the key operative words. So the teacher screams instructions like – “expand your shoulders, open up your thoracic area, put your arms by the rib cage, turn your buttocks in and your pelvic region outward to face the ceiling” … and as you try following one instruction, the earlier one inevitably slips and you try to balance it all furiously recalling your bio classes from school, only to hear her thundering “ and why are YOU,YOU,holding your breath, continue to breathe normally…” Give me a break I want to say, but I am so immersed in holding in my buttock and out my pelvic region, that speaking is totally out of question.
And when I think the worst is over, and it is time for Savasana – ah, the relaxation posture where you lie on your back and relax all your muscles; she bellows “ all of you, now hold the two ropes and walk up the wall and then invert yourselves into sheerasana…” and at this point I am sitting with my mouth open (it is my third class so I am excused from this attempt), as 30 adults hold the ropes and really start walking up the wall only to invert themselves and stay like that for close to ten minutes. Wow!
It will take me this lifetime to inch toward becoming a yogini, but as you can see, it has been an interesting journey thus far, from moon walking not quite MJ style, sprinkled with the grace of dancing, to walking up the walls super hero style…
As for you, next time you’re headed to PVR, ditch the superhero flick, hop over to the Iyengar class instead and watch the real superheroes in action; and who knows, you may start the journey of a superhero yogi yourself!
By,
Soma Ghosh
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