A little piece of history.

Contrary to popular belief, the members of Pink Floyd are NOT Cambridge University graduates, and are NOT all architects.

They are from Cambridge, though. Only Waters, Wright and Mason were architecture students. They studied at the Regent Street Polytechnic in London, one of the oldest educational institutions in the country, I believe. The trio formed the earliest incarnation of Floyd, Sigma 6, while there, and gave their early performances there too.
The Polytechnic later became a well-known University.

Clapton once saw Hendrix perform in London and was very impressed. They did a combination show at one of the smaller campuses of the same University. This is historic because it was their first (and if I am not wrong, their only) collaboration. Two of the greatest blues guitarists together. It was supposedly a small gathering, before either became huge stars. Something like an intimate club show. At a University.

Years later, Non-Sensei joined this same University. And didn't know didley squat about its history. Did not fall to his knees and or tread softly the hallowed ground he walked on. In fact, practically looked down upon the now small, non-descript building which once held a concert of Hendrix and Clapton. Of course, he later attended Roger Waters' In The Flesh tour ending extravaganza at Wembley Arena (where, notably, Nick Mason made a special appearance on Set The Controls For The Heart of the Sun). He also attended a lovely Clapton concert (which, if rumours are to be believed, will happen in India soon too). He never thought the University he went to everyday had such a place in history.

But at least he was there. :-)

Who said history is useless?

^

Let this be a lesson to you.

Ever since I wrote about my love for Hyderabadi traffic, I have not been feeling like myself on the roads.

I am quite edgy, have been making more mistakes than usual...basically not driving well. And that pisses me off. I am angry with myself. And it all came to a head on a wonderful long drive on a beautifully overcast afternoon Saturday last.

I had my first accident with Michelle.

While this is criminal in itself, she took it very well, I must say. And it was all the fault of dogs and mangoes. There was an ugly dog putting its head out of the window of the car in front of us. Unfortunately, to me, dogs are dogs - ALWAYS awww material. So as I accelerated to get abreast of the car, so I could gawk, a mango-seller somewhere decided he would push his cart from the side of the road onto the middle of the road. When one is at the receiving end of such amazing fortune, one is too flabbergasted to ask for logic. You can almost see this unfolding in split-screen Guy Ritchie style.

All those people salivating at the prospect of watching Tamil film style bike hitting, man flying, mangoes everywhere, and chubby heroines rushing immediately to roll about in aforementioned mangoes may now proceed to eat crow. Cos that ain't what happened.

The guy on the scooter in front slowed down because of the vendor, I was accelerating, looking at the damn dog (damn my love for dogs! dammit!), and I rear-ended him. There was huge noise, pieces of plastic everywhere, and a numbness enveloped me. It is true - everything seems to slow down at such moments. Maybe it's a sub-conscious defence mechanism. I must've been going at about 50 or 60, but the best part was the brakes. They worked superbly. I didn't even fall. Of course, a small crowd gathered while I was checking my bike for damage. The other guy didn't get hurt or anything either, his scooter just lost its rear light, and had a few dents and scratches.

When he came up to me, I said he slowed down, what was I to do? He said he didn't and left me without a response. Then, luckily, he mentioned the mango seller, and I pounced. So obviously, it's not my fault is it? You DID slow down, and I'm sorry and all that but it isn't my fault. He accepted, and it was all, amazingly, settled quite amicably. M says my new look looks quite aggressive (heh heh), so maybe that helped. And confidence. It's all about confidence. In an accident situation, never be the first to get flustered or angry. Of course, I was partly in the wrong here, but not entirely. If I was, I would have offered to pay for damages. If it was entirely the other person's fault, he woulda HAD it from me. Both parties, including bystanders, agreed it was nobody's 'fault'.

What was most surprising to me was the apparent lack of damage to Michelle. I just suspect some internal damage to the fork, and later I found the crashguard bent. But that was about it. Honda rocks, baby. I love it!

Michelle, darling, it's been a wonderful 6 months. I'm sorry and I will make it up to you. :-)

Obscenity alert

It's so fucking HOT in Hyderabad right now.

Don't get me wrong - I love my Hyderabad. There is a song by Euphoria which goes Dilli hai meri jaan.... I've always wished there was similar song abt Hyd. The city is something else - easy charm, never too far away from anything u might want, lovely places to eat, decent people, quaint language. I just have one small tiny problem with the motherFUCKING TRAFFIC THAT DRIVES ME UP THE FUCKING WALL!!!

I have been understanding road rage from close quarters over the past year or so. One thing the Brits taught me was patience. It's a virtue, apparently (they LOVE saying that. That, and "in this country..."). For a while after I came back to my beloved city, I used to be a very considerate driver, stopping for people to cross, not honking incessantly, letting motherfucking bad drivers get away from me without serious injuries, caused in main due to forceful impact of helmet to side of head.

Sometimes, I am worried by the thoughts that run through my head while driving. Most idiots with reasonably powerful bikes don't know how to use the power. They seem to think it is necessary to drive at 60 kmph from wherever they are to the red traffic light, a distance of oh, say, about 100 metres. OK, that may not be necessarily bad driving - just STUPID driving. But there are those assholes who think it would be more stylish if they weaved their way in at 60 kmph, on an open road, to the light. Then there are those who think the sole purpose of biking is to squeeze between the two-and-a-half feet separating you and the next vehicle. Touching your vehicle, and leaving a long scratch in the process. With absolutely no fucking remorse or apology. Oh, and the million other morons who cut in traffic, suddenly speed up when they see a girl on a bike, and the worst - the madar***** who talk on the phone WHILE driving.

This is when the disturbing images come to me.

I can see myself calmly stopping my bike, while forcing the other guy to stop too. Then, I will take off the helmet, walk over to him, and bash his head in. He will beg for mercy, and I will kick him in the balls. He will express indignance, and I will express uncontrolled rage release. He will, at last promise to drive safely, and I will break his leg just to make sure there won't be any driving at all for a while. And then, I will break a hand too, just because I feel like it.

This is disturbing because I am not a violent guy by nature. I like logical resolutions to conflicts or disagreements. But bad driving ticks me off like nothing else. Do it in front of me, and I'll be on your ass like Rambo on steroids and alcohol. And IF you TOUCH my bike...you can start looking for places which have disabled ramp access and special parking for the handicapped. If you dare drive again, that is.

It cannot be healthy, this violent rage. Ever notice how it's the good drivers who suffer from roadrage? Because all the bad driving chuths have their own little understandings, don't they. Another set of drivers who REALLY piss me off are the painfully slow drivers. These morons just lack basic road sense! See, gnatbrain, it's quite simple, like this - either YOU move, or you let OTHERS move. According to statistics, doing neither suddenly increases your chances of getting a broken jaw by 63%. AAARRGGHHH!! And the strangest part about roadrage is that, because of all this buildup, the guys who made the big blunders will usually get away with it. It is the guy who made some small error who will receive the wrath. You do NOT want to be the recipient of road wrath.

Sigh. After safety bags, they should have blowup punching bags in cars, and maybe even smaller versions in bikes.

For the safety of OTHER motorists.

^

Snapshot 56

Come into these arms again
and lay your body down...

All he wanted was a love story.

He knew there were hundreds, maybe thousands. But he always thought of theirs as something else. He could hear the songs playing when he looked at old photographs. He could hear the soundtrack of their lives when he remembered special moments, whether they were last evening or last year. He could see them sitting contentedly on the couch, watching and listening with pride, while one child played the piano and the other the violin. He could feel her eyes on the side of his face, as they looked up with a love he felt he didn't understand fully. Not then, not now.

He could see the children sitting and listening intently, with glee, as he told them stories about when he first met their mother. The heady madness of their youth, their impulsions, how her eyes took his breath away. How he would steal her away from her house, early in the mornings, and they would ride nowhere - in the sun, in the cold, in the rain. He could hear himself telling them the story they never tired of hearing, of the exact time he decided he was in love with her. He could hear the children laughing, see her blushing, and almost feel the indignant slap on the shoulder. Oh stop, she would say, and he would laugh and just move on to the next story.

And there were so many stories.

About crazy conversations in dingy coffee houses, about crazy friends and crazier trips, about obstacles and how they overcame those, about the time they used to go to rock concerts, and make out like teenagers, while well into their twenties. Make out? Pink Floyd? the kids would ask. And he would say maybe when you're older, and grin slyly at her. And she would suddenly put on her stern voice and decide it's bedtime, amidst loud protests. From everyone. Then she would shoot him a glance, from many years ago, and he would immediately agree it was bedtime. She rarely needed to look at him like that twice before he got the idea. Not that it was ever far from his mind, even after so many years.

He took another sip of the whisky, and nodded to himself. There are love stories, and there are love stories. It took her two minutes to walk through the door, shake the rain off her hair, look around, see him, smile, walk over, sink into the couch beside him, put her head on his shoulder, sigh, and start complaining. She didn't see him smiling to himself. The fact that he could see all that in those two minutes told him something - he was right. The greatest love stories were centuries old, mythical. But then, theirs was something else.

He could already hear the music.

...for there is in all the world
no greater love than mine...

^

Alien Nation

Do you remember that series? It used to come on T.V. a long time ago, about how aliens had come to Earth in year so-and-so, and have now integrated into human society. Well, not completely integrated - they face suspicion, discrimination, and all the rest of it. The series used to follow the life of one alien family, where the father used to work in the police department, and his partner was a human. So we see them finding out about each other, learning to adjust to their differences...oh, the story's been told a million times...just with Blacks, or African -Americans, or Chinese or Indians, or talking dogs, or psychic parrots or....you get the idea... in the alien's role.

These kinds of stories tend to have interesting social commentaries, and are supposed to make people look at themselves and understand how they look at people who are different from themselves. Of course, all this was in the good ol' days of television, before Paris Hilton started actively soliciting sex in 'reality shows'. I don't remember much of the Alien Nation series, it used to come at an odd time, I think. I seem to remember it had a second season too, with newer types of aliens, and alien-human hybrids, who were ostracised by both communities. Somewhat like British Asians. But that rant another time.

I used to only like the music they had for the promos. They never had that music for the show, though. Dammit.

And as usual, I had a brilliant Non-Sensei revelation some time ago regarding alien abductions and all that. Strangely, the 'testing methods' reported by the 'abductees' seemed to by and large agree upon one aspect...

Anal Probing.

I’ve been wondering, during alien abductions, why would they want to stick a probe up the ass??
I’m thinking, to a presumably more intelligent species, would the head area not represent a region from where they are likely to learn more? I mean it has moving parts, the brain, it makes presumably communicative noises and gestures...it's almost a gimme that the head should provide more information.

What could make your average alien want to analyse the ass more than the head - let us try to understand. Could it be the fleshy cheeks? Maybe they poke around and think, 'Oooh, this looks interesting. Something so big and protruding must have some value. Maybe it contains the organism's smarts! Hmmm...now, how to get in....? Hey, look, what's this?" And the abductee might make a face like Orlando there's-ALWAYS-time-for-lubricant! Jones in "Evolution".

Maybe they just haven't gotten to the head yet, maybe they just found the ass first. Maybe alien species' first instinct is to stick metal rods up orifices. So they just stuck something up, and unintentionally delivered an enema. Maybe they went "Ooooh, look what happened when I put THIS in THERE...". Maybe the alien kids went "Yay! Again, again!" And they've kept doin' it ever since. Maybe they haven't yet discovered that large amounts of beer seems to have a similar effect on the other end of the body. Who can tell.

Maybe they just got freaked out by the head. Too many things there, makes noise, moves all on its own, even after repeated smacking to the sides to keep it quiet. Maybe they went "You know what, let's just start at the other end, shall we? Looks simple enough...stick Probe A into Orifice B. Now, then...where's that damn manual gone off to??Stanley! How many times have I told you..." And they've been stuck at Step 2 ever since.

Or maybe they just think it smells nice and the strong Perfume Manufacturers lobby in parliament is demanding details.

Who can tell?

I think maybe we sometimes credit extra – terrestrial 'intelligence' with more of it than they probably deserve.

^

See Saw

Sometimes, people can look at the same thing and see completely different things.

I pictured a rainbow
You held it in your hand
I had flashes
You saw the plan
I wandered out in the world for years
While you just stayed in your room
I saw the crescent
You saw the whole of the moon

Maybe disagreements are important. Maybe we are supposed to see things differently. It doesn't seem like much fun right then, what with all the arguing and the ego hassles, power trips and responsibility pushing...
Maybe it just wouldn't be as much fun if we agreed all the time. But how would we know?

I was grounded
While you filled the skies
I was dumbfounded by truth
You cut through lies
I saw the rain dirty valley
You saw "Brigadoon"
I saw the crescent
You saw the whole of the moon

Maybe the tables have turned a bit, eh? The confidence shoe's on the other foot, maybe. It's nice to have balance. I think this is one of those rides where you only know whether it was good or not once it's over. Where's the point in seeing eye to eye all the time? Like driving through a countryside of rose gardens, looking through a monochrome lens.

I spoke about wings
You just flew
I wondered, I guessed and I tried
You just knew
I sighed
And you swooned
I saw the crescent
You saw the whole of the moon
The whole of the moon
The whole of the moon...

I see you saw.

^