Month: May 2012

Generating More Time.

I find that the backlog of books that I have bought and have not yet had the time to read becoming unmanageable. As at date, I have seven tomes waiting to be read and the influences that motivated those purchases, friends and relatives mostly, are wondering why I am unable to discuss their contents.

The single largest chunk of time taken up in my fairly crowded daily schedule is my reading six newspapers and solving five crossword puzzles. If I can take some time off these, I should find more time to read.

Commencing tomorrow, I have asked my newspaper delivery boy to discontinue three papers. That will leave me with three tough crossword puzzles to solve and that should suffice to keep the old brain from ossifying.

So, commencing tomorrow I shall find more time to read. Inshallah!

The Taklus.

Taklu is a Hindi word that means bald.I am a taklu.

Almost all my friends and male relatives are too. Our group of friends who regularly visit the local joggers park is called JPTC. Joggers Park Taklu Club.

I started to grey when I was around eighteen and started losing hair on my head in my late forties. Now, I have a nice friar’s fringe and a few strands of hair on the top. I insist on getting a discount from my barber because there is so little for him to trim and he always quips that it is more difficult to find hair to trim.

I have known many others who tried to hide the greying process by dying their hair and the balding ones by using all kinds of advertised lotions to stop the hair from falling. I am yet to come across anyone who succeeded in the latter though.

There are others who grow hair on one side or in the back and bring it either across the pate or forward to hide the bald patch. I am usually amused to see this as it is always obvious and considerable effort is needed to keep the hair from flying off from the place intended for it.

There are yet others who use wigs which again amuses me.

I personally prefer to let nature do what it does. What you see is what you get. I am also told on excellent authority that bald men are perceived to be ahem, sexy! Just think of Telly Savallas, Sean Connery, Yul Brynner or Andre Agassi. If you care to read another post of mine on the same subject, you can visit this. If you do, please do read all the comments and responses too. To add some more hilarity, please do go to the links given on the post. (Since posting this, I have been advised that the link to Conrad’s post does not work. A pity.)

I do not personally know the gentleman in this story, but can relate to the writer’s amusement with his trying to cover his bald patch and also the generic weakness of vain males.

The Magnet.

I posted “I started a joke” earlier when I suddenly remembered that song. I am writing this before I am asked “What is the story?”

This is the story.

My lady friend SD from Bengaluru was on the phone the other day and suddenly, out of context said “You are a magnet, not I.” I bantered that yes, I was a magnet and attracted a lot of rusted old nails and useless iron filings and we had a good laugh.

It was later that I realized that the context was something that I had said to her at the start of the phone call. To my query how things were with her, she responded that she was very busy with the annual closing of accounts and I had quipped that I could understand, her being a magnate and all. She manages a non profit organisation on a voluntary basis without any remuneration and I just keep joking about her spending so much time on that without getting any compensation. I suppose that she heard me call her a magnet rather than a magnate and when I announced that my sister was due to arrive, she decided to call me a magnet.

I started a joke which turned out to have been misunderstood. That led me to remember that old classic.

And that is the story.

I Started A Joke.

I started a joke
Which started the whole world crying
But I didn’t see
That the joke was on me, oh no

I started to cry
Which started the whole world laughing
Oh, if I’d only seen
That the joke was on me

I looked at the skies
Running my hands over my eyes
And I fell out of bed
Hurting my head from things that I’d said

Till I finally died
Which started the whole world living
Oh, if I’d only seen
That the joke was on me

I looked at the skies
Running my hands over my eyes
And I fell out of bed
Hurting my head from things that I’d said

Till I finally died
Which started the whole world living
Oh, if I’d only seen, oh yeah
That the joke was on me, oh no
That the joke was on me, ohh

Robin Gibb! RIP.

Sexual Harassment.

I was under the impression that Indian cities were the worst in the world for women due to sexual harassment that they face. Here is a sobering thought about the situtation. It is also another fact that among all the cities in India, Delhi is the worst with one in four registered complaints coming from that city, our capital.

So, this article in the Guardian came as a complete surprise to me. My memory of the London of my visits had not prepared me for this shocking news.

Our two capitals seem to compete with each other for the fist place.

What is it that drives these men to such despicable acts? The most reasonable answer that I have received is that they are frustrated in their personal lives and take it out on women who are perceived to be easy targets and fair game. I suspect that there is more. In the case of India, single men migrate to cities to seek some kind of employment not available to them in their native towns or villages and are subject to loneliness, and also the very suggestive Indian films and television programs that make it appear as though securing the attention of women is very easy.

Whatever the reason, quite why this should happen in London is beyond my understanding. Continue reading “Sexual Harassment.”