It has been a while you are gone, I know. Not that I have missed you all that much. Well, sometimes, yes. But for what you meant to me, I think I didn't even cry enough. Though still, for whatever its worth, I'll write this down. It's been an year after all, almost.

Do you remember the window in your bedroom? You could see the railway track running at the far end of the plot. Remember how often, as kids, we would run to the window and watch the trains go, counting the cars as they whistled and chugged by. How often did we remember in those moments that there was a world behind us? That I had homework to do? That you had a very old son heavily dependent on you to look after? That if life could be frozen in those couple of minutes, we could just while it happily away? I still wished life was nothing but a series of entertaining clips being played to us. May be it is, for some people. Happy bastards. I know you wouldn't like me cursing. But you aren't reading this are you?

They say with time, everything heals up. If it doesn't, you die. Is that what took you?

You spent so much time bed-ridden and in pain that at the end we were kind of glad you didn't have to suffer any more. And even if I was relieved, what refuses to leave me is guilt. As much as you raised us, fed us and changed our dirty clothes, when you were down and out, we could do nothing, well, except mom, that is. It makes me a hypocrite, I know. No point raking old lingering memories. They will go away, just like you did. Just like you always did when I wanted you to stay with us. You left because I had studies, or you had a house to mind, or just the whole idea about not being a burden to your daughter by staying with her. Did you have an excuse this time? The burden part, wasn't it?

Goodbye, naniji. I do miss you. An old poem by Gulzar is making it's way into my head, but I will let it pass. What will I ever achieve by writing this? I have work to do. Death lingers but life goes on. All we can do is slowly move on with life or die lingering. Well, die anyway, apparently.

Love and Football

Before you recite your habitual and sexist you-are-a-girl-you-will-never-know-anything-about-football argument, I'd say, well, you-are-a-boy-and-you-will-never-know-anything-about-love! There, scores settled? (Pun not intended.)

So there was this joke:

Guy 1: "Dude, she has a boyfriend!"

Guy 2: "So? Football has a goalie, doesn't mean you can't score."

Well, what most guys forget is, getting a girl is nowhere like football, and definitely not as easy. And even if it _is_ like football (since you're all sports crazy anyway), there's the offside rule. At crucial moments there'll be at least two defenders between you and her.

So there. Did some public service for you sad love-lorn souls. I hope you remember.

Fare well, my sentimental fools!

Another Week End and a Tired Book Review

The problem with weekends is the 'end' part of them. They end. They go away. They always do. Like kids who leave your house when their mom calls them home and your toys need to be put back into the boxes. Happy days!

That's the kind of weekend today is. I spent my time juggling the IPL matches, 'The Book Thief' and a few random bouts of a light sleep and now as the light dims in the high skies, I am thinking - what the hell. Where is my weekend? And the answer is clear. This is your week end, pesky mortal .

'The Book Thief' is the only thing worth telling you about. (Ask me about my precious sleep and I'll maim your puny little bottoms, cheeky pests, lol jk - no I have this whole thing about elaborate curses. It's complex. Remind me to tell you some other day.)


The Book Thief, on the whole is a remarkable book, narrated by an unlikely character, Death, who has a 'Terry Pratchett'ish tone. Mostly. The book is set in the early 1940s in Nazi Germany, the Fuhrer has been concentrating Jews, losing in Russia and in general being a badass he was supposed to be. Far away, his actions are affecting the life of little Liesel Meminger, who, after losing her brother (that's when Death visits her first of the three times) is taken to a foster home. Even when the narrator has little regards for humans otherwise and only sees them as a distraction to his work, once in a while (apart from colours), the book is amazingly sentimental and extremely well written. Every detail of Liesel and her surroundings, her growing up, the descriptions of Germany and its people are warmly sketched and are aimed straight to the heart. Not all of them are Nazi fanatics. Some of them even hid and helped Jews. One such family was Liesel Meminger's foster family, who did it despite the upheavals and dangers of helping one.

Humanity was not completely lost in the heartland of war and tragedy. Between all this are Liesel's reading lessons. Needless to say, most books she has come across are the one she stole from different places. As she learns to read she realizes the power of words. How they soothe, give you company, inspire and corrupt people and sometimes, even save your life. In and around them, are the interwoven lives of people at Himmel Street and beyond. There's the twitchy Tommy Muller, Rudy Steiner - Liesel's besty, Liesel's foster parents, other Steiners, the Mayor's wife and of course Max - the Jew. Liesel's relationship with these people is beautifully illustrated and the thoughts of the little girl are very well laid out - for a grown up author.

Perhaps the only awkwardness in the book is, it doesn't follow a sequence. The narrator keeps throwing flash backs and telling you what's going to happen, keeping no mysteries. But, if you look past them, you will see it's a moving book - with generous amounts of abuses.





There, my week(end) ends. Are you happy, sadist bums?

In the defence of Arial

Yes, I am back. I tried to blog a little at wordpress but scrapped the whole idea as tedious. Why? No Arial (no CSS geekery either). What's a blog that doesn't let you set your own font? Sounds silly I know. I'm not wordpress bashing here. It has loads. But Wordpress is for another day. Meanwhile, me, your regular bipolar-disorder-suffering twit is back to the front.

Puns are a great way to start, aren't they? :)