Monthly Archives: September 2008

Famous Blue Raincoat

Posted on September 22, 2008 by

What an utterly fabulous song. I’ve been humming this in my head through the weekend. And how our preferences change over the years. I used to love the Joan Baez version, but as I age (cough!), I’ve come to realize … Continue reading →

Posted in Music, Film and Art | 4 Comments

The street, the city and the banker

Posted on September 19, 2008 by

No doubt everyone’s heard of banks crumbling. Here’s what’s annoying me. In fact Lekhni and MumbaiGirl do a fantastic job of articulating it. A few weeks back, a recent acquaintance remarked that she felt absolutely no sympathy for those who … Continue reading →

Posted in Marketplace and All Things Current, Rants and Rambles | 24 Comments

Song for Senti Sucker Mood

Posted on September 18, 2008 by

I need to stop overdosing on YouTube now. But listening to this wonderful song has me lost in its lyrics. Despite the fact that seeing Asha Parekh’s face makes me want to bang my head on the nearest table, I … Continue reading →

Posted in Music, Film and Art | 8 Comments

On Ghazals

Posted on September 18, 2008 by

The fascinating thing about a ghazal is that it lives a thousand lives. Each time it is sung, it assumes a different form. It draws from the languor of the audience, or from the acoustics of the venue. The same … Continue reading →

Posted in Music, Film and Art, Rants and Rambles | 4 Comments

Crowded House

Posted on September 17, 2008 by

Offered without comment. Don’t dream it’s over.

Posted in Music, Film and Art

Poem: Why Mosquitoes Bite Her

Posted on September 17, 2008 by

She shows me the red bumps angry on her skin. She has been bitten. Mosquitoes chase her everywhere. Her blood is sweet. She scratches the bumps and I try to make her feel better. Kannamma, some send pigeons, and others … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry and Fiction | 3 Comments

Fiction Fragment: A Starched Shirt

Posted on September 16, 2008 by

He likes his shirts starched and well pressed. Pure cotton shirts, creaseless, like a baby’s bottom. She does it for him. She doesn’t mind ironing. There’s almost something hypnotic about watching the creases vanish under the ironing box. Today morning … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry and Fiction | 26 Comments