Cerebral Fallacies

There should be days for music!Governments fighting inflation, taxation and vexation should maybe introduce a month for music. Sometimes only an era seems only befitting for loving music and living it. For now; the blog has to do with an introduction to rock music for the rock novices that abound. This canopy of music is brought together by a guy who calls himself Anti noob --- who lives and swears by music although for now it just gets him from one tea cup to the next. A sound engineer with a taste for mean pj's and a ear for ethereal riffs our man gets frosty and takes a big bite of the rock (music) and spits out the genre and its existing hybrids....Hop on and plug in for A Song for----------- Angst Twisted sister- we re not gonna take it http://www.youtube.com/watch? v=4xmckWVPRaI Ecstasy Ted Nugent- Straglehold http://www.youtube.com/watch? v=IKmf96hUfAE Anger Lamb of God-Redneck http://www.youtube.com/watch? v=i3fZd5qZje0 Peace Scorpions-winds of...

to move from the perfunctory to the diabolical is underway...watch this space for more...

Adventures of the dosa and the filter coffee… Did we tell you about the story of a dosai and filter coffee going on a a holiday, they came back immersed in goodness! We kid u not. If this visual inspires you, by god, its Pondy calling. Call it a whim of the listless. Or wanderlust that strikes the hearts of two people in a profession that has seen far few evenings and too many nights. We responded to the call of a haven nestled in the swaying swishing beaches oiled with coconut trees and headed to explore an urban legend called Pondy. So it came about that after a gazillion phone calls to check ourselves into the coolest New year party haven, we finally found ourselves in a hotel that would want to have us. So go we did. To Pondy.... Blame it on all the films we saw about wild parties at clubs and beaches and beautiful beach clothes and mysterious smiling strangers on moonlit nights. Between a hundred calls between two friends, who were busy making picture postcards of this travel utop...

in denial of rapture we seek, like sailors we sail to thoughts stranded at bay adrift and in hot pursuit- sometimes rocking the ship yet gently gliding to~ the one of many nights till epiphany calls and ever so suddenly do we dive headstrong into the currents of life as we see it, know it and percieve it we sieve "the light" in the prism of our intuitions and take warning forecasts of the stormy weather abound the waters sift but we wait for the currents to go upstream--- but whoever listens to what fishes think after all, they hardly but say it but take heed my friend we sometimes forget about the deck that beautiful sundeck atop the hull where the evenings go by our ticket to the shores unseen,untold "where the living are" moving in our dank, placcid waters we mourn a favourable tide when woe betide we become the day's catch Alas my friend, yarrow hesitated is yarrow lost for 'the light' shines only for those who dare hope!

two sides you beam to me from your million light-yeared smugness a farcical leer only to greet me on the ringside of a severed moon decapitated and shown its place in the pithy corner of an everyday sky and that I put a wager out to you, that for every word I loose to the sky every thought that is devoured by this dark dark night I will be paid in sunny days yet you- armed with nights; like unfinished metaphors choose to be stupefied into the debris of your sullenness every morning While I floss your teeth-- with romance in that one cloudy puff that I blow to you through one million sunshined light years, only for you to come back~ with a putty red eye by dusk... alas, winning was such a bittersweet torment ....

the heart yearns for an inspired sadness silly handwritten notes that have handlebars of music new reasons for self- hatred, contempt that is shared in old songs and cigarettes stubs passed around in illicit groups sitting in shrouded corners fringes and caps sitting in between the gaps in a background of graffiti and noisy silences as I see it home is still far away

Dear Mrs Kamala Das, We are destined to meet in words, you and me! Be it our shared lingual franchise, our roots, the ruminations of the society we have inherited, the philosophies we grope around with in our lives or quite simply our gender even. I came to know you on a sunny little humid afternoon as I worked out my laziness at an aunt’s house in the very Malabar you grew up in and made eternal through your words. I began reading a manuscript of Indian poets. It began with your poem. It spoke of your fatal seduction by your husband. Within minutes we were on an intimate journey, you and I. To say the least, I was first alarmed and quickly piqued at how as a 20 year old I could sense your sense of detachment yet ardour of your complaint on what should be ‘conjugal bliss’. I moved on pleasantly to explore Jayant Mohapatra and Nizim Ezekial, whom I thought quite impressive in his metre as well. I must say that I held together in a couple of typed photocopied notes; some of India’s fines...