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Ok, I am starting to lose my touch with titles on blog posts. That title is so lame. So let me first explain what this post is about.

This post is not about callipygian features. It’s about allegiances and disappointment, specifically my allegiance to the the Old Lady of Mount Road and the disappointment resulting from reading her newest stable-mate. (more…)

Some say he has go faster stripes on his back, and that he’s the love child of God and an Aston Martin v12. Yet others say that his genitals are on upside down, and that if he could be bothered, he could crack the Da Vinci Code in 43 seconds. While we all know that he is also known as The Stig, but do we know if THIS (picture courtesy Autotrader.uk) is THAT Stig?

This brilliant picture was shot yesterday somewhere in London. Apparently the photographer used a big flash and rendered useless the Stig’s trademark black visor on this crash helmet. Sadly though, speculation still abounds. (more…)

Ten days ago, Lekhni tagged me and urged me to essentially recycle 5 of my old posts. Normally I don’t do tags. I mean, unless there is potential for me to play the fool and essentially evoke a few laughs even if the joke’s on me. With this tag, however, the laugh potential seems to be rather marginal, but then I remembered something else.

I realized that I was closing in upon a milestone. By the time this post is online, it will be 5 years since I started blabbering. My first post was posted on Blogger on the 10th of February, 2003. And barring a few months early on and around 100 days in late ‘04 and early ‘05, I have been posting rather regularly.

Looking at Lekhni’s tag, I realized that she had given me a good chance to take a retrospective look and to reminisce upon these five years gone by. But the problem with my blog is that, as my erstwhile tagline goes, it is the record of an egoist’s road trip through life with cricket, music, books, cars and movies for company.

Which means that this blog is about me and me alone. So, as the days go by, it becomes increasingly difficult to remember the odd posts that one has “written” relating to some of the keywords of this tag. Also, the difficulty is compounded by the fact that I took an oath, with myself as witness, that I wouldn’t post anything personal here. So the odd heartbreak has almost never found an outlet here, even if some friends (both online and IRL) have heard me obsess over it.

I have come to a conclusion that wherever I think I won’t be able to fit within the confines of the tag, I will bend the boundaries to my whims and fancies. Hey, this is MY blog and I do what I think is right. Also, my ego prevents me from sticking to the “1 post per keyword” rule of this tag. I will hence go ahead and regurgitate multiple links wherever possible. But let me just make the basic rules clearer to everyone. (more…)

Every Australian tour is packaged with pitfalls, both for individual and the team itself. The team pitfalls come on the field, via the Aussie juggernaut. But the individual holes are dug by the team management and in some cases, allegedly by the players themselves. Ganguly’s apparent refusal to carry drinks as the 12th man comes immediately to mind.But these individual issues mostly get resolved as time goes by, but the real problems are the ones that are caused by loud mouthed non media savvy administrators of the game who don’t think before their speak. Jayawant Lele’s comment did more for the downfall of the ‘99 team than the potent Aussie bowling or the impotency of the Indian top order. (more…)

Asok, the world’s most famous desi intern and telekinetic IIT alum, died today. His age is unknown.

More here…

Everybody has a secret they fight to keep – a secret so dark that it makes their skin crawl and feel like numerous caterpillars have deigned to walk on it. For some, it is inappropriate thoughts. For others it is a petty crime. For yet others, it could be political affiliations, Nazi party memberships even, things that will make them outcasts in the current social fabric.

My dirty secret is something that will probably earn condemnation from most of my friends. Some will smile and make polite public noises about how it is all fine and yet privately swear off any association with me in the future. Maybe my inbox will be flooded with emails with “WTF” on their subjects. Maybe people that I haven’t spoke to in years will call and pray to get my voice mail because they don’t want nothing to do with me and yet are forced by social pressures to commiserate with my less than perfect life now. (more…)

It’s not always that just the title of an article would invoke a sense of dark foreboding. When a post from Prem Panicker’s blog popped up on one’s feed reader, a mild curiosity was aroused. And a few minutes ago now, the retching started.

The circus, my dear friends, has begun. Go and read. And make sure your stomach is empty. I haven’t even started reading and I probably will not have the time to read for the next 12 hours or so, butI have a faint idea that by the time you finish reading, your contents of your stomach would have disappeared in a stream of retching coughs.

In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that, in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is more meaningful than our criticism designating it so.

- Anton Ego / Peter O’ Toole (Ratatouille, 2007)

One of my pet peeves has always been bad reviews and their reviewers, be it for movies, books or something else. And this line just stuck a chord with me. Reviews and reviewers are bound to be judgmental, but I can’t stand reviews that give away plot details, even if it is with the usage of a single word. (more…)

Update: Thanks for the clarifications, Su. The post’s duly updated to reflect your clarifications.

A couple of years ago, I had ranted (parts 1 and 2) about the disdain shown towards “massy” dappankuthu (and in general non-Hindi/non-Bhangra) type numbers by DJs and the “classy” crowd at dance parties both here in videsh and back home in India. But my personal experiences have mostly been outside Chennai, in fact outside India.

And those who know me will attest that, at times, I can be as “massy” as one can get, mostly in the (few) aforementioned dance parties that I get to go to. And most of the DJs I have seen in these parties, suck. One DJ even went as far as feigning loss of the mix CDs (they magically re-surfaced at the end of the party) that a couple of us had painstakingly created so that he has a mix of Hindi, Punjabi, Tamil, Telugu and Marathi numbers to play during the party. But that old post immediately came into mind when I read about the fiasco Radio Mirchi RJ hunt party at Dublin, the disco/night club at the Park Sheraton in Chennai. (more…)

YouTube link (via Autoblog)

Funny, but interesting ad, considering how the McLaren drivers’ working relationship has panned out IRL. Watch out for a special appearance at the end. The Europeans surely put the “F” in the word funny.