Bolt Man and Lady Love

San Francisco is home to the hippie movement (actually Berkeley), though protests here are *always* crazy. Windows are smashed, people run amok, policemen would rather be working in Montana or Jaunpur, and Danny Glover is the only celebrity guest. Like the one this Sunday, which resembled a Baby Einstein get-together.

On the way home after a cuppa joe, I was blockaded by a bunch of antiwar protestors. Curious, I spoke to one protestor, a young man with a pierced tongue. I wanted to ask him how he ate with the bolt in his mouth, instead this question popped up:

"Whats up?" I asked.

"A war is going on. That's why we are protesting," said the bright young man, a little confused and a little excited, not knowing whether I was a friend or foe. He looked at his female companion for approval, and she smiled back. They were in love.

"So why do you smash windows and stop public transport from operating?" I asked Bolt Man.

"A war is going on, it is not business as usual," he said in a higher tone, raising his hand, pointing east, in the direction of Moscow. He looked a millennium version of Lenin. Bolt Man looked at Lady Love again, who nodded in approval, proud of her boyfriend's profoundness.

"But it's Sunday, my friend, and no businesses will be open," I told him.

Bolt Man was dumbfounded. "No wonder, I've been here for six hours and haven't found a single window to smash," he said, looking at lady love in disappointment. "The police have been giving us a hard time," he exclaimed, veering his head to lady love for her approval. My head went in the same direction.

But Lady Love's attention was elsewhere. She was looking at a convoy of policemen on motorcycles. "Ohh, they look so cute when they ride those Harleys and wear sunglasses," she squealed in delight.

--

The commentary is partly fictitious of couse, a light-hearted crack at the protesters who always create a ruckus in San Francisco. I respect what the protesters stand for; it however it is not justifiable to stop ambulances from going through in the name of civil disobedience, as has happened in the past.

The good part? Activism is well and alive in San Francisco. People have freedom of speech, which is a hallmark of a true democracy. Kudos to the people who came out and raised their voices for and against the war.

For me, the protests are fun to watch. I can't protest out of professional courtesy, but walking through the protest is a welcome change from the usually boring and mundane days on the streets. Lady Love and Bolt Man will remain two icons who personify protests - both are confused, yet have a genuine heart -- they were just unsure of how to put a message of peace across.

Breakups and shakeups

At the risk of getting too personal, sometimes I get a feeling that just doesn't sit right. The next step for the women I have broken up with has always been a quick marriage. Not one, but *all* of them.

Now is that some sort of testament or indicator to how I handle a relationship? Or is it my choice in women? That fun thought slips my mind sometimes, and I don't look for answers. As for how things are now, the present and the future looks great.

And I love the baseball season coming to an end. Most of my co-Boston Red Sox fans don't want the NY Yankees to reach the playoffs, but I want them to. The playoffs are fun to watch only when the Sox and Yankees duke it out for the pennant. Of course there's a bit of misery when it all ends in most cases as the Yanks win. The days are sore, I can't watch ESPN SportsCenter, and I have to resort to Seinfeld reruns and trashy Hindi movies.

Talking of Hindi movies, I saw Black two weekends ago. A well-made movie, inspiring, though the crybaby part just wasn't me. I like the campy dance jing jang stuff. One reason it won't go to the Oscar's as India's representative in the foreign film section: It is based on Helen Keller's life, for which movies do exist. So it's not really original. Though the movie being based in Goa could win it a Best Film from the Europeans Who Love Dope organization.

UPDATE1: Got the news that Paheli went up as India's choice. Let's see how the Oscar folk can maintain their butts on one seat for 3 hours.

Erin and the dishwasher

Over the last 3 years, Erin and I have been the complete roommate package -- great friends and occassionally, great foes, but our chemistry has been impeccable. When the split time comes, I might opt for a studio as handling roommates again will be tough. She's thinking on the same lines.

One of her funniest habits was wobbling stuff around the dishwasher to ensure it was loaded perfectly. The legend deserved a poem, so I wrote this on a bus one day. I kept looking out of the window in an attempt to spot a rare Parsi woman, but failed, so I needed something else to do. Read on!

Erin and the dishwasher

Since Erin was a teen
She was obsessed with the dishwashing machine
Spic-and-span, neat and clean
Loading it perfectly was in her gene.

To design school Erin went to learn
And boy, how it made her life turn
In study, midnight oil she started to burn
Missing her, dishwasher started to yearn

Loading dishwasher became A's job
At which he was a very big slob
Dishes were placed not in a mob
And dishwasher's patience A would rob.

In this dishwasher and A bout
Dishwasher began to loudly shout
"Erin, please save me from A's rout,
For this moron I can't stand, no doubt."

And hear this desperate plea did Erin indeed
For help her beloved dishwasher did need
She loaded dishwasher with lots of greed
And from bad A was dishwasher freed.

(some blogs have real pro poetry, so apologies for the poor quality. It's purely meant for humor.)

A few stray thoughts from Raja

(Editor's Note: Ever experienced Raja's writing before? Yep, his name isn't Raj or Raju, its Raja. He pens interesting stray thoughts about Bombay, rains, Kashmira ben, Bollywood, hitmen, just about anything in his range. Because he won't start a blog, I'll publish his stuff for him. So here I present, Raja.)

Dear my friends,

Ok it’s been a while but then all good thinks take time and patience.

So on this Friday not the 13th one I shall put down a few strays thoughts and a few and a few more obviously all my own work. Not like anybody else seems to be interested except for our friend who is amused at Pope driving the Limo.

Well have you guys noticed how one particular clothing has transformed and re transformed. It has seen a sea change in its styling , colouring, stitching, looks, buttons, pockets, rivets have been added and deleted, the length has been made longer and shorter, and some times the width too has been broadened from the top and bottom, it has got lots of colours, effects, its got embroidery, and believe it or not it has been torn I had read somewhere even it has been shot with bullets to give it the desired effect. Well I am talking about a pair of jeans. No two jeans seem to be the same any more. how many of you guessed right. All of you get a chance to be as audience on KBC (king bachan is Crorepati)

The rate at which we see people having and the class of people having mobile phones has been quite amazing. In fact there used to be a time when I have heard ppl saying “ oh, I saw a fellow caring a cell, what shit arrey I saw a fellow caring a cell in the train. ” Earlier it was “What shit man you got a cell phone”, then it became “what crap you don’t have a cell phone” soon it will become “what you only have only one cell number”

I heard two gujjus talking in the train
Gujju # 1 : Arrey yaar kale su hari gayu Michael Schumacher match ma.
Gujju # 2 : Hah yaar aulo bijo bahu solid chalavto hoi che

Gujju # 1 : pehla Schumacher bahu jitto hato. Anney solid kamayu che
Gujju # 2 : I think aye sauthi wathare kamai che

So guys which sports and which sportsman earns the most amount of money. I think it should be football. Do give your valuable feedback. I shall appreciate it.

Read in the paper today A Japanese Woman complained to a cop about a hitman whom she hired who did not execute the job ( Hitman paid a whooping Rs. 59 lakhs ). How weird are people.

Wow I think I have written a lot
To milte ha ek chote break ke bat, do not go anywhere.

Clubbing in San Francisco

M and I hit San Francisco's clubbing scene last Thursday night, going to the Blue Cube where Cheb-i-Sabbah rocked the house with spicy mixes. His mix evenings are partly Bhangra, partly Arabic, African and other beats, all that keeps the Bhangra fresh.

One Hindi song, with the words "Sharara" in it, really racked up the club's tempo. Can anyone help ID the song? I've never heard it and M said she heard it somewhere.. but couldn't remember. I'll buy you a box of Ben & Jerry's or a Falooda if you help. Your choice. (Not both though... i'll have to run to my pop for extra pocket money)

We're still kinda hung over from that evening, so M today e-mailed a new version of Satyam Shivam Sundaram, unsurprisingly from Thievery Corporation. Take a sample listen here. Thievery Corporation's a great jazz band; they constantly clock up some of the best beats Indian music has to offer.

Gunjan is the one who recites "Satyam Shivam Sundaram," less glam than her usual UK garage stuff. Her high notes in Bally Sagoo's Noorie remix hit the perfect spots; her Naiyon Dil Lagda remix with Rishi Rich's garage spin is a fun MP3 to tune into to give phoren listeners a little Indian classical music intro. SSS won't help her get to Bollywood, though she'll be better known in the world alternative jazz/lounge scene.

After our energy diminished, M and I grabbed some chow at Bubble Lounge. Over an appetizer, she dished out a lovely smile and cooed "We must do it again soon!"

I smiled back at her and said "Whenever you say that, it takes a long time.".

"It's you who always backs out," she said. Aha, making me feel guilty so I covered this bill? I gave her a cheeky look.

"Don't even think about it, I covered the cab fare." Yep, the cost of living in SFO was breaking both of our banks. We fight for every penny.

But she was right -- I'm the flaky one. Our Cheb-i-Sabbah outing was the first one after close to six months. Definitely wanna do it again.

Clubbing is the best way unwind and release a bucketload of stress, especially with the people who understand the music and aren't shy to shake their tushy. Unfortunately, the SF clubbing scene ain't that hot.

Fixing the U.S.

The world is thinking about N-O and Iraq, but who is thinking about the kids suffering within the United States? Teachers. That's right.

A while ago, going to work, three kids on the bus saw a police car and said "Uhhh, look at that police car, I smell bacon.... oink oink." It sounded funny, but I tried to mute my chuckle so as not to discourage more poor jokes.

The kid's teacher, said "That's not good, don't do that."

The kid who oink-oinked at the police was a young black male, I assume from the projects. It seemed like his life had been torched by the economic realities of today's America and by the SF police, who I hear routinely rough up people in the projects and low-income housing neighborhoods. His innocent act expressed so much - his disdain for the San Francisco police, his harsh life, the prevailing economic scenario in America. Our president cannot fix our country, I'm scared to even think how he'll fix Iraq.

Till our president understands what is happening in our country, the fixing of America will be in the hands of the teachers who will try to help kids forget historical baggage and make their future bright.

A few days later I got drunk at night and had to go to work in a cab the next day. As I got off the cab, the driver remarked "sir, you look in real bad shape. please take this money and buy yourself a cup of coffee." He returned the $1 tip, and I bought a coffee that kept me going all day long. He was much better than that MUNI bus driver who threw me out for having a cup of coffee in my hand.

That day, I also lost my debit card. Life's never dull.

Getting real at the airport

The aspiring flautist playing looney tunes sitting opposite me was annoying. The guy was a shame to Indian Classsical music.

My moronic friend, who used his flute as an "ear cutting machine," made more interesting use of the wood. He'd flash his flute to his kids and shout "I'll use my ear cutting machine if you don't go to sleep." Scared, the noisy kids would scram to bed.

"When the kids mature and discover that Hariprasad played a flute, not an ear cutting machine, they will smash me with a dholak," he said.

I told you Hariprasad Dholakia was a moron.

The flautist attracted a fan following with his proud represention of India -- sitting in a yoga stance, his eyes closed in deep concentration, his sweet and soft Indian music. No dhoti, sorry. The problems started when he flauted his music.

He churned out one 2-second tune over and over again, with a million ragas thrown in. Was it Desh raga? Malhar? Raga Chandrakala that only baapu knows? Only my dad or siblings would know.

I was anyways annoyed as a desk attendant didn't upgrade me to an emergency exit aisle seat.

I launched a fake cough to break up his block party, but the musician got louder and louder with each cough. He won, and I took a hike, hitting the aisles of San Francisco airport alone. An isolated place on the edge seemed like a nice place to take refuge, but a fight broke out there.

"My dog has flown 50,000 miles, but I've never heard a complaint," a man said to a woman who objected to his dog sitting next to her.

"Well, there's always a first time," the woman told the man, who started walking away with his dog.

"I look forward to sitting next to you on the flight," the man retorted, with the frantic woman double-checking her boarding card's seat number. The indicator said the flight was headed to Kansas City -- she was up for a bad time on and after the flight.

Before the she spotted me and objected to sitting next to monkeys, I dashed into Terminal 2's Anchor Steam pub. A table I sat on had a view of a beautiful woman on a barstool, and she came in between me and a TV playing baseball.

When I started viewing the game, the woman turned sideways and gave me a dirty look to say she loved me, and in a split second, glanced back to the bar and continued guzzling her beer. She gave me that same dirty look every few seconds. I loved women who played dirty.

This dude's trying to make a pass at me, she thought.

I tried to be accomodating, changing the angles of my looks to the TV screen, but I just had to look above her. I couldn't help it. Why does an attractive woman always believe she is being checked out whenever a man looks at her?

She finally bottoms-upped her beer and walked out. The magic of my presence can be astounding.

As I downed a beer, I checked out the other attractive women in the bar. Soon, the time to board came and I walked to my gate.

There, the flautist was talking to his fans, trying to extol the virtues of Indian classical music. I wanted to contribute to the discussion, instead I chatted with a friend over the phone. She was blabbering on how I should limit my blabbering, which I will do right now.

One final note: It's cool to wear a tinted glass and observe an airport's colorful characters!

Another country recovering from a tragedy

As New Orleans recovers, Russians are trying to recover from their own 9-11, the Beslan tragedy that happened a year ago.

If you remember, a hostage crisis in Russia killed 300+ people after Chechen terrorists held a school hostage for a few days, before the terrorists were gunned down by the Russian army. Innocent kids were killed on a day meant for celebration. A year later, kids are going back to another rebuilt school, equipped with better technology and security. But the sequence of events still chills Beslan residents, who look for answers on why and how it happened.

In Russia, Sept. 1 is traditionally a "Day of Knowledge," a start of the new school year for kids. Though a national holiday, kids and parents go to school and celebrate the gift of knowledge; they receive speeches and flowers, and the unfortunate who are not rich receive gifts of books, pens, pencils and other school paraphernalia to help them gain education and knowledge.

As kids and parents celebrated in a school in Beslan, a town in the southwestern Russian state of North Ossetia, 32 Chechen terrorists approached the building, going helter skelter, shooting point blank at innocent people and ultimately taking 1,200 to 1,300 people hostage.

The reason I refer to them as terrorists -- the Chechens call themselves rebels, but the way they operate, killing innocent people and helping other terrorist groups, makes them a bonafide terrorist outfit. Looking back, the Beslan hostage crisis was clearly pre-meditated; they knew a school building would be ripe for an attack as it would be crowded on that day. The terrorist leader, Shamil Basayev, later took responsibility for it.

In quick response to the hostage crisis, the Russian army swung into action immediately, with tanks, special forces and helicopters hovering around the building. Tracking the reports and speaking to people, what surprised me then were the negotiators chosen by the Russians to get the terrorists to release prisoners.

One of them was Ingushetia's former president Ruslan Aushev, also a former Russian armyman. Ingushetia is a Russian state bordering Chechnya, and both are known to be at "friendly" terms, with similar backgrounds historically and culturally. He was perhaps chosen because of his ties with the terrorists, and an analyst I spoke to believed that the Chechen terrorists would trust him, so Russians were better off sending him than any other government official. The logic is pretty easy to lay out, but who knows what the reality is.

What was also worrying was the Russian army itself, if they decided to just storm the building, which they ultimately did. When trying to overcome a hostage crisis in a Moscow theater in 2002, 100-something hostages died when the army used a chemical weapon in an attempt to gas out Chechen terrorists.

The negotiations led to some releases, but after a few days, the tired Russian army just stormed into the building and cornered the terrorists, killing 31 of 32. The terrorist who survived the shootout, Nurpashi Kulayev, is jailed in Vladikavkaz, North Ossetia's capital, denying any involvement.

When the siege finally ended, 338 were listed as dead, many children, and more than 1000 were injured in the hostage crisis. That is the worst terrorist attack Russia has ever seen, yet it goes by quietly today. The Russian govt. today lists the official casualties at 331.

The Russian army handled it the best way they could, though they got a lot of heat for it.

A year later, though the school has been rebuilt, Beslan residents still suffer. Mothers cry over lost kids, kids still limp, and town folk are still shaken by it. People still question Moscow on how and why it happened, but Kremlin has no answer for them.

Was the security in the region poor? Was the army nowhere to be found to let these many terrorists with guns through? At any rate, Kremlin is trying to acquire the answers, and has taken measures to get the process of making schools secure.

Schools are a bit more secure now with alarms, cameras, metal detectors and fences. And Shamil Basayev is Russia's most wanted man.

Tragedies like this, or London or 9-11, are demoralizing, but they represent the strength of the human spirit. It shows our ability to withstand such terrible incidents, put it beyond us and move on with life. It doesn't demoralize us, it makes us stronger. The way people responded to the tsunami, and now New Orleans, with aid, money, supplies, whatever possible, was amazing -- shows how much love and compassion exists on this planet.

Ok, ok.. better put an end to the rant. Did I just sound like a hippie? You are welcome to have a joint....and then go seek White Castle...