Bangalore pangs

My beautiful city is under seige. Held at ransom by an invisible army. An army of committed communal conscripts. Of religious renegades looking for retribution.

The shadow of a man rides a charred excuse for a rickshaw in front of me. Tears streaming down his face. His hennaed beard blown from side to side by the wind coming through a windshieldless void in front of him. The seats at the back are still smoldering as is the anger and helplessness inside him. He brushes his emotions aside with a swipe of his dirty sleeve, leaving his face smudged.

I ride on past the remains of another 4 rickshaws that lie smoking. Belly-up in total subjugation, even in death. Like crushed cockroaches on the roadside.

A little futher I come upon a bus. Or what once used to be. Glass lies everywhere. Small fragments littering the road. Symbolising the shattered spirit of the city.

What is it that makes these maurading madmen pick on public transportation to vent their venom? Glance through photographs of any riot in India. The first casuality is often a Public transport bus. The Emergency, the Mandal Commission, the Indira Gandhi riots, the Mumbai riots. In each case, you can see a burning bus in every photograph.

I turn a corner and am face to face with the devil in camouflage. He wears the garb of the ordinary man. You'd have passed him on the way to work everyday with not a glance. But today you dare not ignore him or the very large crudgel in his hands. This is his time. He shall speak and you will listen.

"Ellie Hogtaidira?" a surprisingly nasal, almost squeaky voice asks me. I would have expected death to ask me where I'm going in a baritone instead of a shaky soprano. My kannada is sparse and unconvincing so I pretend to have a toothache. "Doctor ge hogbeko!" I answer.

Suddenly I'm kin. We're brothers, tied together with the umbellical cord of discomfort. I've touched a chord. Or a nerve more likely. He winces, and waves me onwards. Anger condensed into concern in the distilling pot of pain.

I ride on home thinking O Henry was right. Pain does make the world kin.

Keeping it real with B.I.G.

Fuck the luck, shit, strictly aim,
no aspirations to quit the game.

Spit your game,
talk your shit,
grab your gat,
call your click,
squeeze your clip, hit the right one.
Pass thatweed, I gotstalight one.
All them niggas, I gotsta fight one.
All them hoes,Igotsta like one.
Our situation is a tight one.
What youwanna do: fight or run?

Seems to me that you'll takeB,
Bone and B.I.G., nigga, die slowly.
I'm a tellyoulike a nigga told me,
cash rules everything 'round me.

One more Matinee

Here's why Mark Knopfler rules.

One more matinee!

Here's One Of The Two Of Us
In 1954
Don't LaughI Keep All Of The Pictures
Are You Going To Take A Photograph
Here's Something Nice For You
A Dear Old Thing Came To A Show
Last Time Here We Did
An Interview On Local Radio
Make Yourself At Home My Darling
Come On In
Hand Me Down That Jar Love
Can I Offer You A Gin

We're Proud To Be The Oldest
Ugly Sisters In Variety
There's Not The Glamour Now
You SeeWhat Happened To Society
There's Another Light Bulb Gone
They Don't All Answer To The Switch
I Don't Know How We Carry On
And Her She Couldn't Care The Bitch
But In A Whi E The Old BoysIn The Band
Begin To Play
And In A While The HouselightsAnd The Curtains Slide Away

And Something's Going To Happen
To Make Your Whole Life Better
Your Whole Life Better One Day
Something's Going To Happen
To Make Your Whole Life Better
Your Whole Life Better One Day

Now The Landlady's All Squared Away
It's Just A Temporary Deal
I'm Afraid Tonight It's Take-Away
You See There Is No Evening Meal
Don't Worry Dear You Shall Go
To The BallI Think The Fairy Said
These Suitcases Have Seen It All
From Under Someone Else's Bed

You Want To Smile Those Tears Away
Now Don't You Cry
You Want To Know What I Say
I Say Never Say Die'

Cos Something's Going To Happen
To Make Your Whole Life Better
Your Whole Life Better One Day
Something's Going To Happen
To Make Your Whole Life Better
Your Whole Life Better One Day