The Fat Duck

This morning one of my friend mails me an article on The Fat Duck. Well not too sure how good it is unless I visit it. After reading the article I decided to restart my quest for good food in this city, which had been on hold for some time.
On a different note, all my decisions, relationships are seen through the narrow prism of food.
Speaking with another friend, he was amazed at the obsession with food that runs through the entire family. And the sisters would easily concur on that.

Tolerance

This Saturday, I had a long argument with a colleague over religious rights, tolerance and the individual. What started as a discussion on Narmada Dam, spiraled into a rant over religion and the minority by my colleague.
Looking around me, all I see is rising intolerance and hardening of views of extremists.
The Danish cartoon controversy, the protests against the movie Da Vinci Code, and the protests against Fanaa which have acquired religious tones all illustrate that extremism is not confined to a particular community or religion.
Unfortunately at times these people are given more importance than is due. Each is pursuing his or her 15 minutes of fame and generating outlandish statements and rulings along the way.

Hard Rock Hallelujah

So said Lordi and won the Eurovision. Their song does give a feeling of deja vou. Of having heard the songs before. As for their masks well I prefer Slipknot's. Better done and cleaner.

Kokomo

This goes back many years. The sisters bought an album with that years' Grammy Winners. A particular song that caught my attention was Kokomo by The Beach Boys. Years passed by and on last Saturday night I caught the video from Cocktail OST.Disappointment followed, the video was not quite what I thought it to be. I had expected more shots of bikinis and exotic locales but it had oldies crooning away on the beach.
No expecting what you visualized and what was realized.

Only in India 1

Only in India does a real estate developer encroach on riverine flood plains, make single brick thick buildings and grandiosely label it as River Heights or French Riviera.

My New Hairdo

Restful days for me are few and far between. Kids, powercuts all conspire to break my reverie.
yesterday I walk along to the salon for my haircut. I plunk myself into the chair, and that puts me into a state of heightened peace as I muse on the relative merits and demerits of bombing Iran. But that was not to be. In walks a doting father with his year old kid. Its time for the kids yearly haircut, one which the kid has no intention of completing in peace. For almost 30 minutes I had to endure that infant's protests. Iran tossed out of the window, in comes ways to control a bawling monster.

Oh what about my hair? Well I now look like Bodhisattva's 673rd follower.