Collecting clouds

If only I had that extra set of arms
Life, as I know it, would have been a different boxing match.
I'd field life's punches and stick in some of my own.
I'd feint and hook; I'd counterpunch
And maybe even learn to do a bolo.

If only I had that extra set of arms
I'd have known how to handle what life throws at me
With just one retreat into my corner.
I'd handle unemployment, a surprise baby and angst of where I am going
All with one power punch.

If only I had that extra set of arms
My crochet would have been complete while I wrote a blog entry
And email Puri a 'happy birthday'. I'd be able to fry the onions,
Not burn them, while I chopped tomatoes.
Domesticity calls for extra limbs and innovation.

If only I had that extra set of arms
I'd be able to do unspeakable things in bed.
I'd be able to touch skin and toussle hair while I remove
A book jabbing into the small of my back
While the fourth hand was straying and unpredictable.

If only I had that extra set of arms
Life, as I know it, would have been a different Hindu mythology.
Like a goddess, I'd dangle a head or two by the hair,
And with the other hand I'd bless someone to bounteous ever-after
All the while using two other hands to ward fools off.

If only I had that extra set of arms
I'd fly a plane, weigh a different weight,
Live in a different city, own a home near the sea.
Dive with dolphins, sing like a dream, follow Neruda
To whichever heaven he lives in.

Jai Ho!

I had to say this.

I don't think too much of the Oscars, on principle. Somewhere I don't know, however, is an awareness that, well, these awards are a sort of a big deal. I just didn't realise it till this morning when I saw Resul Pookutty and A R Rahman accepting theirs.

I've been saying it often enough that I don't think Rahman's music needs the validation of an Oscar win. But when I saw this diminutive man go up -- looking slightly excited, because he truly is the king of composure -- and make his little marriage joke (which I don't think anyone paid attention to) and thank his god for what he had got, I realised it meant a big deal to him. And I saw myself tearing up and feeling a little starburst of joy in my slightly contracting heart. It took effort to not have a blonde Miss World moment and dab my tears away. What a proud proud moment, although it took a non-Indian film to take these two mega-talented people to a place where they stood a chance.

And then, Rahman performs and comes back to take another one home. His first outing at the Oscars and the man comes back with two of them. What to do with him, ya?

And R Pookutty? How cute is he?!

A lesson that will be well learnt after this is that the official entry from India for the Oscars shouldn't be something that all of the world liked. Despite all the critical acclaim, we at home who saw Slumdog Millionaire thought it be a so-so film. Just goes to show our judgement is so non-existent.

Another thing I can see happening is a whole bunch of Malayalees taking credit for Rahman and Pookutty. Tamilians and Mallus fighting over Rahman. Bollywood claiming Pookutty to be their own. Now they belong to EVERYONE! That should some interesting reading in the couple of weeks to come, no?

Aside: Freida Pinto is so lovely! Her smile is just dazzling. Just so much poise and grace. And in all her international appearances she's so well turned out. I couldn't help think of Aishwarya Rai who so constantly gets it wrong internationally; her latest hot pink plunging number at the Pink Panther 2 premiere! Way to go, men, Freida!

Hearts, flowers and chuddies!

This is a nice change, no?

Every St Valentine's Day I vacillate madly between wanting to do something special for M, writing a scathing piece (yawn!another one) on the futility of the way this day is celebrated today and finally, completely ignore the day.

I've done all three, I'll admit. But this year is nice. I haven't heard a single person griping about how much soft toy makers, jewellers and florists are making. I haven't heard a single wide-eyed naive lamb just out of college saying how "commericialised" this beautiful tradition has become.

If anything, everyone's looking forward to tomorrow, hoping they'll be entertained -- love conquers all and all of that. Or at least some kind of action -- either jobless saffrons being trounced by this all-conquering love or timid little lovebirds being yanked about and harassed. Preferably, the latter -- after all, everyone loves a victim, no? And no one wants to see the villain become one. And think of all the programming on air if the latter happens. Talk shows, sms voting ("do you think members of the Ram Sene were ignored and molested as children, which is why they're doing everything to sabotage the celebration of love?") completely clueless reporters saying the same thing over and over again on PTCs and or, better, watching mutely, only to pontificate later, while some poor couple gets manhandled.

Well, I have a feeling it's going to be one damp squib and everything will be peaceful and pink.

Heppy Velentine's day, then.