Moritz, Sebastian et al

SO, what is with me and these uber-cool European men?
Seems like I have a proclivity to find/fall for the Moritz and Sebastian Koch type. My prototype of L'homme Ideal et al.

Nor surprising, since I dated a couple of lookalikes way back as misty eyed grad student..the intelligence ridden eyes with the uber-hotness, but in a suave understated way. I do not fall for many of the usual icons of Bollywood.. the SRKS and all. Aamir Khan though was and is a favorite. but I love him like a a cutie pie, 'Bade Mamu' (and 'Sunju' of Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar).

But Moritz, aah is a different thing. Those life infused days in Paris, sleeping at the Sorbonne and walking through the Montmatre landscape, lounging students around, and my ex-calling me and asking me sweet questions in his German infused English. I wish I hadnt gone down the desi route..back to the idiot I was dating in school. Stupid desi baggage, I am still trying to unload. My whole idea of relationships, has come back home..to the girl I used to be. To the Moritzes and Berndts and Jans. Thing with them is that they dont have the machismo, (at least most)the air of male bravado, which even the cutest Latin guys may carry. I'd like the breakfast making, slightly feminine male, who is male enough to acknowledge his female side, and sparkles with the incandescent intelligence of a New York Times editorial, smoothing from Revolution to baking a linzertorte when I am in the mood and walking by the Seine in a beret, hot coffee in his hands. Anyways, I have held the bliss of Moritz in my life..and so much happier for it. :)

A relationship like an avant-garde postcard, backpacking in the Himalayas or Andes, smooth as silk and risky as a high rise cliff, but you've never felt safer..

Revolution aka Bhagat Singh

He's always been my guy. :)
Featured in the much touted 'Rang de basanti', he influenced me years before.
My grandmom was a little girl in Lahore they day he was hanged. By the British rulers, at the tender age of 23. He gave himself up to the Brits, after exploding a sound bomb in the Lahore Assembly and shouting 'Inquilab zindabad'(Long live the revolution), which became the slogan for the anti-imperialist movement, which brought down the British empire.
A towering intellectual, poet and revolutionary, his prison writings, from Urdu and Perisan poetry to European revolutionary thought is eye-opening. His essay 'Why I am an atheist' shakes one up and makes one think..again.

--

'By Revolution we mean that the present order of things, which is based on manifest injustice must change. Producers or labourers, in spite of being the most necessary element of society, are robbed by their exploiters of their labour and deprived of their elementary rights. The peasant who grows corn for all, starves with his family; the weaver who supplies the world market with textile fabrics, has not enough to cover his own and his children's bodies; masons, smiths and carpenters who raise magnificent palaces, live like pariahs in the slums. The capitalists and exploiters, the parasites of society, squander millions on their whims.

- Bhagat Singh, Indian revolutionary, 1907-1931

To Sofia

Sofia Kovaleskaya, creator of the Kovalesky therom, was the first woman to earn her doctorate in mathemetics in all of Europe and Russia, despite not being allowed to attend classes..
- Dr. Ann Liebowitz, Women in Science

We've worked hard to get here
despite sweating blood every month.

Russians

Believe me when I say to you,
the Russians love their children too..
- Sting


How we loved Russia..
growing up.

Land of Marx and Das Kapital (well,not literally)
land of Boris Pasternak and the Bolsheviks, who brought down the Czar.

Beloved land of music and Mendeleev
molcules like their music.

Land of Tchaikovksy and his ballerinas, floating like swans on the frozen Neva.
Land of my first Love and Leningrad.
Land of Petrovski and Trotsky, mad with revolutionary rage.
Molotov cocktails in the their eyes, ballerinas in their hearts.
Death in their souls,
Dostoyevsky in their dining rooms
chopping sausages like their hearts.

Long frozen snow covered Urals, flying by Yuri Zhivago's train.

Pasha Antipov and his passion for the peasants..
those sturdy rock hard sons of the Mother
born in India and Pakistan and China and Peru and Colombia
and Argentina..
as Che.

I loved them all..
and now they are all mafias.
Drunk on gold and Bangkok booze
and call girls
roam the sanctum of the Kirov*

*The Kirov is the world famous legendary Ballet theatre, going back centuries.

Mom and Dad and Dad: Homosexuality in the animal kingdom

Came across this amazing article, which reinforces what I have been saying all along.
That we are all 'ardh-narishwaras'..yin and yang.

This line is particularly telling:
"Homosexuality" and "heterosexuality" are terms defined by societal boundaries, invisible in the animal kingdom.

-----
http://www.livescience.com/animals/061116_homosexual_animals.html

Some argue that homosexual sex could have a bigger natural cause than just pure ecstasy: namely evolutionary benefits.
It could be used for alliance and protection among animals of the same sex. In situations when a species is mostly bisexual, homosexual relationships allow an animal to join a pack.
"In bonobos for instance, strict heterosexual individuals would not be able to make friends in the flock and thus never be able to breed," Bockman told LiveScience. "In some bird species that bond for life, homosexual pairs raise young.

Almost a quarter of black swan families are parented by homosexual couples. Male couples sometimes mate with a female just to have a baby. Once she lays the egg, they chase her away, hatch the egg, and raise a family on their own.
"Homosexuality" and "heterosexuality" are terms defined by societal boundaries, invisible in the animal kingdom.
contd.

Fabian Socialist nostalgia et al

I am feeling intellectually deprived.
Starved in a way..
Wish I could be back in the London of the '30s, hanging with the Fabian Socialists, Oscar Wilde et al. Shaw and Virginia Wollfe, sipping Martinis at bookstore cafes in the West End.

If I have to watch one more American mind-numbing carb-loaded TV show..I'll be ill.

Can sex and the city, love, music, babies ever be a substitute for intellectual stimulation?
Can men ever make up for poetry and the Love song of J Alfred Prufock?
Can a diamond replace the intellectual trip which comes from peeping into the heart of a molecule?

Flowers in my hair

Blooms
orchids
bird of paradise
bloom
in my hair
and heart..

Singing to me of the man
of the sun and sea
bringing his hands
with
his heart..

Sweet
like little birds
they run
up and down
my window
laughing at me
with his eyes..

Habillez moi (Dress me)

Its the buzz..
of waking up.
Like sipping coffee
even though I am off it
for the day.
I have another high.

Feeling lace
legs
feet..
trimmed
tasted
bare.
on the green
grass..

Today

Today is the time to wake up and be free.
Today is the time to go running and breathe in the fresh air, aspire for Jimmy Choos, fall in love, make it big.
Today is the day to go on the 'Skinny Bitch' diet, of Japanese noodles and organic earthquakes.
My body is reeling
from the impact..

Beret Man

So, I have fallen in love..again. With the lost part of my self, I rediscovered on the streets of DC..
city of boulevards and cafes, revolutionaries and artists, untrapped in museums made of light.
I loved it all. The soul of America, as it was born..
Conceived in Baahston, born in DC and bred on the rough streets of NY.
The holy trinity of my love story.
Boston is like french Foie gras, delicate.. love struck, with a glass of wine, you find ubiqutously flowing down its streets..
New York is a barbequed steak- hot and spicy, grilled on the streets of BrooHklyn, with a De Niro accent. (Whot aah you ttohh-kin aahbout)
DC is a gentle delicate kebab..Renaissance artist, filled with the fresh spices of the French enlightenment..gentle and charming, beautiful beret man.
I dont know who I love more..

Macchu Pichhu man

It happens to me everytime I meet a hispanic man.
The fizz
the ride up to Machhu Pichhu

I become an eagle feather

floating above

rocks
revolutions

coffee springs
ripe with red
flowers.

Guantanamera
becomes my name
marisposa (butterfly) with the
tank top.

Marisol (Sea and sun)
and Marisombre (Sea and shadow)
I become both..
riding the
slow scorching
heat of
the desert.

Budapest, live in Istanbul

Jethro Tull's classic is baffling me.
Like the smog in cities of Eastern Europe.
Like cigarette smoke in Budapest..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nUZMbfzrdWQ&feature=related

The Samurai

"In the heart of a man
lives the soul of a warrior"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lKn7lkpU1fE&feature=related

Dekhoon tujhe to..

Tere aane se pehle

tere jaane ke baad

teri hi yaad sataye..

saawariya..the madness

What else is left to say?
A review.
http://saawariyafilm.com/

"Saawariya" is a timeless story of two young star-crossed lovers whose passions almost consume their will to the brink of self-destruction.
In this eternal tale of an ode to romance, stand two lonely souls whose childlike innocence and candour only obscures their inner turmoil, anger, anxiety and desperate wait for love.
An artist, a free spirit, an idealist and dreamer, Raj, is certain that he has found his ultimate dream when he arrives at a quaint picturesque town. A place surrounded by mountains, shrouded in mist and enveloped in beauty, mythical enough to be a painter’s vision or a poet’s memory.However, destiny paints a different picture for Raj…
One silent bright and starry night, he spots a mysterious girl draped in black, standing alone at a bridge.This chance encounter introduces him to Sakina, a shy and quiet, melancholic and enigmatic girl who continues to intrigue him.
Thus follows the beginning of a new friendship, where Raj with his most charming ways and an undying spirit tries to win Sakina’s heart.
Raj is unable to accept her haunting past and their friendship pulls him into a whirlwind of desire, madness and romance.Through Raj and Sakina’s journey together, we are reminded of the fragility of the human heart. In the couple’s anguish and test of faith, is revealed the power of unconditional love through a thousand layers of tumultuous emotions.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=stmKeMVN804&feature=related

Rive Gauche!/The Left Bank

Aah!
to be at the Left bank of Paris..tres tres bien!
The soul of all leftists cries out to be here..

La Rive Gauche (The Left Bank) is the left bank of the Seine River in Paris. Here the river flows roughly westwards, cutting the city into two halves: the Right Bank, to the north; and the Left Bank, to the south.
The Left Bank is one of the city's most romantic districts. This is the Paris of another era; the Paris of Pablo Picasso, Henri Matisse, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald and dozens of other members of the great artistic community at Montparnasse.

Residency vs. entrepreneur

So what choice do you make?
residency vs. blue bay
create value vs. save lives
how do you measure your worth
the number of companies you make
or the number of patients you heal..
stay safe and work hard
create lots of work
lots of money
lots of worthwile products
doctors vaccines drugs
and make one life
safe?
Nights out at the hospital
or all-nighters at the Biotech Bay office..
making a new company from scratch
or delivering a new life
from one?
The case rests..
I want to do medicine
passsionate intense nights out at the ER
full of joints and knees
beautiful molecules like Taj Mahals
intricately married to neurons
exquisite DNA lining up inside
oxygen saturations
which save lives..
or should I make the vaccine which
will do that?
sitting by the Blue Bay
lined up
by the Embarcadero
saturartion of cutting edge
technolgy
high?
What takes me higher?
IS the question?
You cannot measure life capital in stocks
it doesnt lead to jobs
or the high of making a Siemens from scratch
but it brings you man
pulled out of the mud
each company is an immediate
lease of life..

On the road..again

So I'm on the road..
again..
nothing but the breeze
and the wild west
the sound of motorcyle diaries
in the background.
flying through the frontier
running through the trees..
I'm travelling light..
with nothing but the voice of Che..
and your heart..

motorcycle boundaries

I feel the boundaries dissolve
like jumping into the sea..
like taking a leap off the top of the baoli
in rang de basanti
I float above the clouds
beneath the sky
free
from the shackles of self
hood
and false I's
delusion gone..
as I walk to the road
with you
and my hand
in yours..
are you ready
to take the plunge?
---

Blog after Nihari and bean sprouts

Gar firdaus bar ru e zameen ast..
If there is a Paradise on earth, it is this.. it is this..

Well, this is what I think of everytime I smell nihari on my palate.. the flavour of five continents and 16 different spices.
The ribbons of Persia and the bylanes of Purani Dilli.
The smell of Isfahan married to that of my house.
Papa's awadhi intricacies about slicing the adrak too thin, so its 'maheeen' enough for the Adab and tehzeeb of civilised behaviour.
Bringing the plates, warmed up before a Chinese meal, otherwise the Maitre'd's had it.
For nihari, it all about the flavour. Khush- bu.
A farsi word, as intricate as their faces. regal as their eyes. Deep as their hearts.
Dipped with the blood and heart of Love's etiquette.
The fragrance of itrs blended with the flakes of khus khus,
green as the robe worn by the parizaad.
Mix with a little green ginger, grated thin as ice and remove the top off the deghchee before you smell it.
Mystic and melting in your mouth, before you know it, you have melted, like the fragrant oil, which floats on top of the meat, which has lost its soul in the embrace of the poppy seeds, blended fine with the javitri and jaiphal and all the saffron of the world.
I remember eating it in scorching white heat of a Delhi afternoon, in the middle of a lane, packed with scooters and rickshaws, honking cars and old cows..
a recipe as old as the secret passages under the Red fort and as mystical as the Sufis which fill its air.
Ba Khuda..!