And we are back

It is tuesday morning and if you don’t know where to find me these days, well too bad.

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Greatness

True greatness is when your name is like ampere, watt, and fourier – when it’s spelled with a lower case

– Richard Hamming

 

Logjam

There are a billion funny (not Stephen Fry funny, more zilch dog funny) things that are competing for my brain-space at the moment. Most of them stemming from my week at Biarritz and the subsequent attempts to stay alive on a surf-board in a clearly feisty ocean. Sporting wood in public has never done my ego any good.

I am obsessing over a detail for the last week and a half. Ta daa.. A couple of tamil songs shot in the rain, mid 80s, iRaja of course. One with Nadhia dancing with an umbrella and the other with Revathi in it ( no, not ‘oh ho, megham vanthatho’)  It is not much to go by but random kind stranger on the internet, HELP !!

I was having this conversation with Anya about why nobody outside India has heard of the term ‘naxal’ and why nobody in India would speak of it. But in all fairness, it takes so much time tooting our imaginary horns. Amidst these grand observations aided by some seriously good gin, we dwelt upon the question of how and when the word ‘welfare-state’ was tarred and feathered in our collective conscious. Most of the discussion is lost to me now but I vaguely remember Gladkov’s Cement coming up. Another one for the bookshelf. Anyway, the summer is half-gone and I hope it isn’t still raining in Paris !

The Beatles scale

If you are a Lady Gaga, U2, blah blah shithead, you wouldn’t get it. Also, if you like  say, The Eels or The Who, you are further up the scale but spare yourself the trouble of reading further and go listen to Freebird for a few more years till you realize it is banal.

Here is the meat, I have this theory about the evolution of a Beatles lover. You start off with the Cute One. Paul is all clean and simple joy. The carefully constructed – brazenness of the Smart One draws you in and seduces you. John becomes an exciting mistress but you keep wanting to go back to the safe comfort of Paul. Like making out in the back-seat of a car and  wishing you had a stable place to put your glass of wine on. This is a common state of limbo most of the self-professed Beatles-fans end up in. The old case of eccentric John vs affable Paul of 1965. Don’t bore me with the details.

Meanwhile, the more discerning ones notice the Funny One and his tales of gardens in the sea and mending socks. You wonder if there is more than what meets the eye. After all Ringo was the one that held them together but somehow you are never really sure.

Then when you are ready, the Silent One appears. You realize it has only been about George. He is the one who has been silently teasing and tantalizing you all along . He is the intricately spun silky web that holds up an entire castle. The journey is complete. Nirvana.

I also have a theory about Pink Floyd. If you don’t find Syd, go fuck you yourself.