But that it's done at all

In a world where "size four" is such a goddamned unstated standard in the ladies' section of any store that I have virtually given up climbing that extra flight of stairs just to be politically correct-gendered, its no less than a moment of epiphanic proportions when i finally discover something custom-made for big women (vertically if not horizontally - and I'd rather say big than tall, what the hell!): power dressing. This is me going into rapturous exclamation not about chocolate or food or even chilly-wine or sangria (well maybe a little later), but about suits. Suits made to fit (and complement) a 5'10'' frame, and NOT FOUND IN THE MEN'S SECTION!! I mean, yeah I'll admit i buy my sneakers and Jeans from the men's section, but thats because they seem to design only men stuff with both utility and comfort in mind. Tho' with the whole new metrosexual trend i shudder to think of what I'll encounter the next time I go shopping (c.f. "SouthPark is Totally Gay"). Anyways, I can almost relate with Kartik's sudden wish to be a Corporate Exec. just to wear his tie loosened a little, oh, and the office with the view. There is definitely something incredibly sexy about strutting down the corridor in a black suit and a light pink shirt, your not-so-high heels (not so yours either) clicking away to glory, in a dance of morse that spells out 'watch out she means business'.

whoa! here she comes, watch out boy she'll chew you out...
ok this high flying exec-without-a-job has to sign off now to go watch Fiddler on the Roof one goddamm more time, considering that the only other option right now seems to be Goodnight and Goodluck. But tomorrow, ah, tomorrow is another story, one where i shall be awash with choices. hopefully...

yup, it's that time of the year again: when squirrels are sparse on the ground, puppies proliferate, and you spend half your time trying to dodge people you still haven't written write-ups for. Ah, it isn't really april that's cruel Mr. E, not when mid-January temperatures in Delhi start dropping to 0 degrees, and you find yourself coming down from dharamsala only to realize leaving half your woollens there wasn't such a smart idea after all.

Anyways, back to writeups and all such last-minute attempts at immortalizing oneself. It's quite unbelievable the amount of time and energy one is willing to invest in them - after all, they're no "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" (a prime instance of the Gothic in Romantic Poetry apparently, and the only poem by Coleridge that Rockers still refer to). Anyway, it was fun if exhausting for a person such as moi with my extremely insistent amnesia and stuff - but thankfully its all over and done with. Now of course comes the even more impossible task of editing my own writeups - the word limit is 200 but my we have somewhat successfully managed to bully Jayant into giving us something more like 350. Though you know he'd say anything to get out of a tight corner, so this might no longer apply. But hey c'mon, as higher exalted beings who merely deign to inhabit the world of less lowly mortals (read non-english people) we are allowed some privileges. Besides what right minded editor would give up a chance to have more good literature in his publication rather than less. After all (to end on a modest note), as our prestigious forefather once put it "We are such stuff as dreams are made on".

On the 45

Moving into convalescence (though not quite recovered yet) from a period of long silences and short posts - a disturbingly universal condition as it turns out - the recovering, though still frail, patient promises... well, to fall off the wagon.
The first attempt however, notwithstanding Johnson and Gender (or Johnson on gender) must be appreciated more for the very fact of its existence than for its outstanding excellence. Much like most male children in North Indian Society - all they gotta do to be a veritable miracle of nature is exist successfully for as long as possible, and even that seems to prove tough going for most of them. Somehow the self-destructive gene seems to manifest itself in much more outwardly-directed violent impulses in males of the species, though thats not to say it's more predominant in males, I mean women still continue to marry men, right, and that's practically like cutting an arm off.
And yes, everyone's got their own little swan lake's and songs of course.