Deprecating Criticsrant – Alphabetically

Abdomen abdominal abduction aberration abeyance abhorrence abidance ablution abnegate abominable abominate abomination aboriginal aborigines aboveboard abrogate abscission absolution abstemious abstinence academic academician accelerate accommodate accompaniment accordion accumulate acetate. Achillean achromatic acknowledge acknowledgment acoustic acquiescence acquisition acquittance acrimonious adherence adjuration administrator admonition adoration adulterant advertiser aeronautics aerostatics affectation affirmative aforesaid afterthought agglomerate aggrandize aggravation alabaster alcoholism alderman aldermanship alienable alleviate alteration alternative. Amalgamate amateur ambidextrous ambiguous ambitious ambrosial ambulance ameliorate. Americanism amphibious amphitheater amusement anachronism analogous anathema anemometer anesthetic. Anglophobia animadversion animalcule annihilate annunciation antecede antecedent antechamber antediluvian antemeridian antemundane antenatal anterior anthropology anthropomorphous anticlimax anticyclone antipathize antiquary antiseptic antispasmodic apothecary.

Apotheosis apparition appellation appertain apposition appreciable apprehensible approbation appropriate aqueduct aqueous arborescent arboretum arboriculture archdeacon archaeology archipelago arrangement. Arthurian ascension aspiration assailant assassination assimilate atomizer atonement atrocious audacious audition. Augustinian auricular auriferous authenticity autobiography automaton autonomous autonomy autumnal auxiliary aversion avocation azalea. Baconian bacterium barcarole barograph barometer baritone battalion beatitude believe belligerent benediction benefactor benefice beneficent beneficial beneficiary benevolence benevolent benignity bequeath bereave bibliomania bibliography bibliophile bibulous biennial bilateral bilingual boisterous bombardier botanical brigadier. Britannia brokerage bureaucracy. Cadaverous calculable capacious capitulate caricature carnivorous catastrophe. Catholicism cauterize censorious centiliter centimeter centurion ceremonial ceremonious chameleon characteristic characterize chateau. Christendom chronometer circumference circumlocution.

Circumnavigate clairvoyance clamorous clandestine coagulate coalescence coincidence collaborate collapsible collegian colloquial colloquialism commemorate commissariat competitive complacence complaisance complication comprehensible comprehension comprehensive compulsion compunction concession conciliatory concordance concurrence condensation confectionery confederacy confederate confinement conflagration conformation congenial conjugation connoisseur consanguineous conscientious consecutive conservatism conservative conservatory consolidate conspicuous constellation consternation constituency constituent consumption. Contagion contagious contaminate contemporaneous contemporary contemptuous contiguity contiguous continuance continuation continuity continuous contradiction contradictory contraption contravene contribution contributor contumacious convalescence convalescent convenience convolution convulsion cornucopia coronation corporeal correlative correspondence corroborate corroboration cosmopolitan cosmopolitanism counterbalance contortion counterfeit counterpart countervail courageous creamery credulous criterion crustacean cretaceous. Debonair deciliter. Decalogue decimeter decapitate deceitful.

Aside: This post has single handedly brought the blog readability index of yours truly up from elementary to genius... here's thumbing things at you Rant-man. Long live random web dictionaries!

For the record

Yes... I did wake up in a bad mood... give me Robin McKinley or give me sleep. Or chocolate. Actually, make that and chocolate please... to go.

10.04 AM is such a dreadfully awful time to be writing posts. It's almost like having a job.

Saying Grace

I love the idea of cosmic souls. I love the idea of hot chocolate fudge... the real thing and not what they simply pass off as fudge when it's actually sundae. I love the idea of ruby red. I love the idea of sword-fighting... not fencing. I love cats. I love dogs. Sometimes even kids. The smaller the better. I love the smell of fire. I love being right here right now, even though I sound like a Backstreet Boys' track gone horribly wrong. I love the idea of evenings and nights. I love black. I love penthouses and studio apartments with french windows overlooking busy streets. I love not having peptic ulcer. I love that my nose is a little broken... I think it lends me distinction. I love blues and slow music. I love fast music. I love waltz. I love salsa. I love rea-hlly dark chocolate. I love words. I love being an artist manquee. I love having money. I love the internet. I love laughing with people I like. I like smiling at people for no reason... I love it when they smile back. I love the idea of being a little psychotic and self obsessed without having to be apologetic about it. I love being able to do everything I want to do. I love being loved.

I hate that I just might wake up in an atrocious mood tomorrow and that Frankie and Johnny may not be on.

Curiosity...

... killed the cat. One wonders why.

That's all.

(This is my The-Devil-Wears-Prada moment... please observe silence for a few beers)

Spelling Arrivederci: To See If I Can

I have arrived... and strangely enough, despite being me, I don't quite know whether I should italicize have or arrived. And hence:

1) I have arrived.

2) I have arrived.

Take your pick. Either ways. After two bus journeys, misguided (unguided?!?) autorambos, assorted traffic signals, two blisters on different feet, and two-and-sumfing inch heels. And they say Alexander was a fighter? Ha!

And what about those dragons, hmmm?!? Faster Igor... faster.

The last week's been a trifle cyan, if you know what I mean. And then on Friday I go to sleep at ten thirty, wake up to screams elevenish... and the red and gold burst out of nowhere. I've always liked being me in an abstract sort of manner. Now, until the next accident ambles into collision path, I like being me at this particular time in presentory. So yes... as of now, I like being "settled"... if only it didn't sound so like a gamester's bet, I wouldn't mind being so for the entire of my life. As it is, I think I'll give it the coming ten years. And S, if you're reading this, the office has got to be in red-and-gold... and P can choose the shades for her tattoo corner.

I'm too moved for anything else today... it's strange how unsettling settling in can be. Meanwhile, if anyone wants to help... rattle off books with dragons in them... in starring roles if possible... the obscurer the book the better it smells.

Maybe I am religious.

Clarification: Un-titled due to celebration.

Burp!

I've been gone quite some time... again. Consistency has always been a problem the evil triplet-twin of my 3rd multiple personality has had to deal with... that and a justified jelly bean fixation. More on that on 6th April.

Meanwhile... the interview happened. And that's all I have to say about that. Though the heels looked good. So did the hair. I got it cut to look like Sandy's... the neigbourhood pomerian. And the interviewers had nice cookies. Chocolate. Not chocolate chips, which shows their sterling character. And that is not a pun... as if I'd stoop to sumfing that low.

The semester results materialized out of nowhere as usual. I'd be suicidal if I wasn't convinced of the capitalist-conspiracyist nature of modern education, and of my own innate worth which makes me indispensable to the emerging world order. Wise quips on the next counter please... we take cash.

The winter placement's been panning out fine... just the right dash of sporadic. Absenteeism is a good motto to have. Since I've already booked dark chocolate. Also since I've been back home for quite some time now, my system is now almost purged of coffee... I don't look like a Gary-Cooper-meets-Dev-Anand version of a Woody Allen protagonist dancing to Bappi's Disco Dancer on a Friday afternoon. I understand that's a lot of images to work through. Hire a manicurist.

And when I make my Bank-of-England-loads of money, I'll buy two houses. One will only be a pretend house where I'll never live and I could always tell people I wasn't home when they called. I mean, really, if I wanted to call you over, I'd have taken you out anyway. To The Park - it has immense religious significance at least till the end of this week.

P.S. I was in the queue for a temporary gate pass in the Supreme Court the other day, when this other lawyer told me to cut the line and get the pass made... "know your status as a lawyer". That stuck. I don't quite know why. But it did. Not good or bad, you know... just very, very adhesive.

Odyssey

n., a journey of epic proportions; a coffee shop in Hyderabad with an attached bookstore. Nice books.

I’m writing this in time to the lurches of the Little Red Train (which I’ll have you know has grown up just fine) that has agreed to take me back home. So nice of it, don’t you think? I’m writing this (no, I did not ctrl+C it… it just came from within) because I slept the entire of yesterday and I simply haven’t the moral courage to do so anymore and Delhi is far, f-a-r off.

Also I have inspiration. For one, there is the tree that the train just passed that looked like a dancing lady with an urn… or alternatively like a baby reindeer with holly leaves wrought into its antlers… or like a stooped man in a raincoat and a dripping hat… the train was going too fast and that’s all the resemblances that leapt to mind. The other inspiration is the kid from hell. If I ever, ever have a kid like that… I’d shoot its father. Right now, as of this moment, she wants a balloon. And she’s not afraid to throw tantrums till she gets one. On a friggin’ train? She really can’t be that challenged. I wonder what… oh wow! I mean, oh wow! Her mom just told her to sit tight (a lot of other epithets were attached, but since they were nice ones there’s no point mentioning them here) and she’ll buy her a whole packet of balloons when they get home, so the hellgirl could blow them up on her own. And the kid capisched! I’ve always wondered what breed moms are… where they innovate, I’d simply have brained. We need more moms in the Cabinet. And less aunts.

Next up. There was a guy sitting next to me. Not on the train: on the train I’m one of the elites with “a berth of my own”. Somewhere else. He hadn’t brushed… for ages presumably… and he kept breathing at me. Wooh! An experience if ever there was one. I’ve always wondered about those diet plans that keep asking you to have plenty of water first thing in the morning, even before brushing. Frankly, I think that’s disgusting. In fact, I think the entire idea of dieting is disgusting… a little like self-flagellation. Unless it’s for reasons of health, in which case, it’s disgusting with an excuse.

Right now it’s sunny on one side of the train and foggy on the other. Needless to say… the view out my window is the foggy one. Typical, isn’t it? And a companion road just started. I like it better when I’m on the road running parallel to train-tracks, then when I’m on a train running parallel to a road. Just one of those character kinks I suppose. Apparently Clooney knits.

And with that ten minutes have passed. Leaving only two-and-half hours of waiting time. Oh hell! I am going to sleep… even if it kills me.

Thank you for listening. Goodnight Congo.

Later, much later: I reached... three hours late. And mom was waiting on the station – the entire three hours. I'm one lucky girl. I love you mommy.

A Quick Post Goodbye

A month of back-breaking work... or so I like to think... and now it's my favourite time of the year again. So despite sleeping through the end-sems, I was up the entire last night... it's strange the priorities human psyche has where insomnia is concerned. I mean really... where is a good insomnia when you need one? And there it goes slobbering all over you just when you'd much rather sleep through the long wait home.

So anyway. I was up the entire night watching movies and I was thinking of whether I am a cat-person or a dog-person. And I decided I'm a little of both... sort of like Phantom... only with less purple. A lot less purple. Or the cool signet ring that leaves marks. Reah-lly... a skull? How cliche is that!

I think I'll just leave now... the car is here. The train will be here when I'm there... which makes sense if you write it on a sheet of paper and work it through. And then home.

Italicizing is the New Bold

I saw Working Girl. Ounces better than The Devil Wears Prada for one. Importantly, it reminded me of someone I know. At least the first bit did... before the delicious entree. If you don't know what that means, then you obviously

a) Have not seen the movie, or

b) Are not a girl (woman? Not lady... this much I'm sure of)

Meanwhile the year end is almost upon us... and despite the best predictions of my jyotishi I still haven't had my affair... not even the whiff of one actually... and believe me I have been looking... so have my friends of course but in the wrong places and at the wrong, reah-lly wrong people... children must have their fun. The point is, this time I was sure because he gave me a ring to ward off the planetary influences that would precipitate the affair and the ring gave me a rash... a green rash for some weird berger reason. So you see don't you.. the fates want me to have an affair... the odds are drastically reduced... so much so that even a tax accountant would find it too predictable to be betted on. And yet here I am... doing all my projects on my own. And paying my own bill at the dhaba. Oh well... there's always Tom and Jerry.

I wonder what oysters taste like? The one thing I will do before I die is learn wine-tasting (Learn?!? "Excuse the novice, masther", slurred Egor to Count Dracula as CD told him for the ninety-seventh time that month how to toast marshmallows). And Dracula reminds me... Van Helsing is passable... though I like the black werewolf better than Jackman. If it wasn't for the comfort of my heels, I'd know I was pagan. As it is, sleeping with them under my pillow has been helping a lot... I hear the alarm go off now.

R called today... she just got a job... I'm proud of you sweetheart and wish you the very, very best. If truth be told, I think as of this moment, I'm a wee bit homesick. Okay... maybe a little more than a wee bit. As long as I'm not bawling. Or throwing things. The last looks so tempting on TV... vent frustration... break the Lladro vase... and then pick up after yourself? Anti-climax... very funny anti-climax and since I like wallowing in my moods for at least a day or two, I don't do this more than can be helped. Why let go of a good angst? Onwards charioteer, Betty Foy lives.

Parting Pinch: How much wood would the woodchuck chuck if Kipling's mongoose came for lunch?

Abenteuer

It's been a good few days - from Saturday till today. Went home after eons... good food is undoubtedly the mainstay of civilization and law and order. Start scrumptious food distribution systems, call them Harry, and watch the crime rate plummet. I swear to gawd you'd soon see moms-in-law shopping with tax proffs for pink Christmas gifts.

Be that as it may, behaved extremely juvenile-ly despite A&A being quite out of action after a virulent virus visited. It's a good thing rock-paper-scissor is inter-generational. Which reminds me... if in a house, the ground floor has bombs, and the first floor has chocolates, what would the second floor have? Go on... think like a 8 year old... it shouldn't be too hard, and I mean this in the nicest way. No? Oh well... burgers. I don't know why either. But that's what A felt like eating then. Hence. So anyway.

CCD on Sunday... espresso after four and three seventh lifetimes of powdered milk coffee. Ummmm! Also Ayu-ffee...

Shopped for my interview... on my own for the first time since sixth grade... c'était un cauchemar... bought my first pair of heels... no wonder they are called stilettos... sheer murder... but so very, very desirable. Put your hands together for my first love... a pair of shoes. Typical.

Post-birthday treat on Monday... the four of us together for the first time since time began... we are a bunch of idiots to have not done this before... especially because it was not merely almost fun... it was fun... S divorced me and got hit on by a guy with a green matka, T made eyes at fellow passengers on a hot rainy day, while P thought of food and salivated. If music is the ultimate expression of the human soul, we might, for all we know, have been chanting Dilwalon ke dil ka at full volume, top speed, and no holds barred. Yes, no bars held either.

After appropriately stunning the Basanti that fell to our share with our multilinguality, we barged in at 3.20ish for the buffet ending 3.30. Good Samaritans, like ghosts, exist. For the rest... o-r-g-y is a good word... distinctive and indicative of the sense of abandonment it means to depict. Conversation would have flowed, but we were too engrossed in other matters to notice, even if one of us had spoken up, which I doubt.

That evening we won the Twenty20. Tuesday was a holiday. And today, after a particularly interesting Environment Law class, just a few minutes back S and P have promised to do something which it would be quite enjoyable to watch them accomplish. And hilarious. What dull lives moral people must lead.

It's been an eventful half-a-week. 'Nuff said.

Dial-an-Intrigue

It's simply staggering how many things make me want to learn the salsa... the latest to enlist is Sway by Michael Buble.

Yes, I think it's a nice last name too.

Meanwhile I await the conspiracy of the elements... salsa... sooner or later. Also, now that I come to think of it, origami. One wishes Parker Pynes existed.

Saturday Night Philosophy

I went to watch a movie with a few friends and this one fellow said that songs in Hindi movies are but metaphors of life and feelings... how they are not on-screen superpeople but ordinary everydayers... only with songs in their hearts.

In the middle of a perfectly trashy film? Some people are such killjoys I tell you.

The Insider Reports

A few gems encountered in the three years of pretending to traipse through law school. Let's not get apologetic shall we. "Wallow" has such a nice ring to it. If only the pigs hadn't made it so pedestrian.

"Justice while it winks at crimes
Stumbles on innocence sometimes."

"Justice must not only be seen to be done. It must be seen to be believed."

"The court will not deny equal protection of the law to the unwashed, unshod, unkempt and uninhibited."
(Herman Weinkrantz, ruling that disapproval of hippies should not interfere with their civil rights)

"This is a British murder inquiry and some degree of justice must be seen to be more or less done."

"How much justice can you afford?"
(Anonymous lawyer's answer to a client's demand for justice)

When a 10 year sentence was imposed on the accused:
Prisoner: My lord! Ten years! I'm seventy-six. I'll never do them.
Justice Stevenson: Ah well! Do as many as you can!

Scene from A Night At The Opera by the Marx Brothers where the artists are discussing the clauses of a contract:
"Groucho: Oh, that's nothing. That's the usual clause in every contract. It says that if any of the parties participating in the contract are shown to be not in their right mind, the contract is nullified.
Chico: What do you call it?
Groucho: That's what they call a sanity clause.
Chico: You can't fool me. There ain't no sanity clause!"

"The rain it raineth on the just
And also on the unjust fella,
But chiefly on the just, because
The unjust steals the just's umbrella."

"The law doth punish man or woman
That steals the goose from off the common,
But lets the greater felon loose,
That steals the common from the goose."
(Anonymous 18th century jibe at the Enclosure Acts)

"This is the grave of Mike O'Day
Who died maintaining his right of way.
His right was clear, his will was strong,
But he's just as dead as if he'd been wrong."
(Anonymous epitaph)

"Reform? Reform? - Why, aren't things bad enough already?"
(Lord Justice Astbury)

"The law in its majestic equality, forbids rich and poor alike to sleep under bridges, beg in the streets or steal bread."
(Anatole France)

"We all know here that the law is the most powerful of schools for the imagination. No poet ever interpreted nature as freely as a lawyer interprets the truth."

"The Lord Chief Justice of England recently said that the greater part of his judicial time was spent investigating collisions between propelled vehicles, each on its own side of the road, each sounding its horn and each stationary."

"This contract is so one-sided that I am astonished to find it written on both sides of the paper."
(Lord Evershed discussing a standard form contract)

"The difference between divorce and legal separation is that legal separation gives a husband time to hide his money."

"She cried and the judge wiped away her tears with my cheque book."
(Tommy Manville after his thirteenth divorce)

Letter to Aetna Casualty Insurance Co.:
Gentlemen,

I had an accident yesterday. I consider that neither vehicle was to blame but if either were to blame, it was the other one.

There now. I thought you'd like them.

Keep breathing.

(Alekhya)

Brownian Thoughts

If people/things had no names, would they still be what they are or might they shape-shift into each other occasionally?

It’s strange but from the purest of motives my friends don’t talk of D any more and hence, it was only today through the offices of two non-friends that I realized how very, very funny all of it was… maybe respecting sensibilities defeats its own purpose.

It was raining today and so hundreds of people were bartering shelter under awnings with willingness to buy tepid coffee. Inequity apart, most of them were either with friends or on phones. Sad. We can’t even watch the rain on our own anymore.

My niece finally called me bua. I’d be thrilled if only she signified some differentiation in pronunciation with respect to that and a dog’s bark. However, the enunciation was directed at me and she’s too young to be consciously abusive. Hence I hope for the best. Also she’s started walking… though she might still be asked to pull up for drunken tottering. At least it's a start.

One day I’d have earned enough to walk into a bookstore, browse authors, and buy the entire oeuvre of a likely candidate. I’m comfortable being shallow, thank you very much.

Mid sems are history today… which leaves me with a couple of projects, one and a half couples of presentations, preparing for interview. Etcetera. And some fries to go with it. Now is therefore the perfect time to watch Pulp Fiction. Exit, stage right... watch out for the third step.

Waterloo and Assorted

It's a strategic error to begin reading a book when on a time crunch. It usually goes for a six. The time crunch I mean. Not the reading - that would be a crime.

In Re The Proposed Moniker for the Contemplated Diary: I am christening it Tethalal Mamarde... and if you know why then I'm sorry for you... I really am.

Smile OK Please

I shall, I believe, start a laughter diary to record when I laughed at what. I've been told it's a great indicator of character. That and how one eats apples. So by the end of the month, I should know enough about me to know whether I should buy Chocolate Truffle or Chocolate Total.

I wonder what I shall call it. Perhaps Pelham?

Aside: I wonder why they call it Absinthe... it's so perilously close to abstention that I always imagine it to be a quakerish man in an astrakhan coat frowning through the window pane. Now Rum sounds nice and frolicky... like a fun, rough-and-tumble sort of a person. Whisky, I'm afraid, sounds a little drunk and unable to carry it. Currently, I have no opinions to offer on Merlot. Let me read up on Arthur and I'll get back to you on this. Also, I wonder where the female liquors have gone off to.

Reviewing Real Estate

I read The House on the Strand again today... it truly is magnificent... the grandeur is awe-inspiring. The sheer audacity of her... to think she could pull off a stunt like that! Multiple, multi-layered story-telling is a very, very hard technique to bring off successfully... and she doesn't even attempt her tracks in parallels... she coalesces and blends and makes two wholes into one: it's like mom makes the extra roti... a little atta from this and a little from that... and there it is... the roti that should not have existed but does due to the pure genius of creation.

The colours are brilliant... even the winter-white has the sheen of a glassed-over lake. It's a monochromatic part of the earth - all greys and whites - landscapes and people. But how it sparkles in the moonlight!

A world so marvellously peopled by the reals and the caricatured with equal panache and equal claim to existence. Admittedly, it's a man's world that she sketches... but with so sure a perception, even if the hand be a trifle unsteady, that the monosexual environs seem as unquestionable as the aurora - a flickering, magical world of mirages waltzing with reality to the tune of Pan's pipe. And the music goes on - a prologue long after the last page has been turned... she writes third stories within each reader. I don't know if that's a good thing though. But let her caress you into believing. It's a little like living after all.

Read it preferably at a stretch on a rainy evening. No coffee.

Provisionally Resuscitated

After a long time, today I breathed again from eight in the evening till eight seventeen... now I must make like a wall plaster and study for mid semesters...

Oh well...

Appreciating Asmodai

There are quite a few people who are not just people… they are artists… and not your unshaved, shoeless variety… they are the real thing… they are where it’s at… and a smattering of them are soulless… for they are so absolutely topping at what they do that they’re sure to have rented their soul to the devil, if not to have auctioned it outright… or maybe even sold it over the counter at a 10% discount…

There is of course du Maurier… nobody could possibly question the authenticity of the fact that she had sold her soul to the devil… after all she is so darn delightful… there is also I believe Wodehouse, who in the enormity of his heart faced the world with a brave smile, not wanting us mortals to know of the vaccum in his gallbladder where his soul had put up a “To Let” sign and rented a summer cottage in the Hades… Christie I think leased her soul out at different periods of time… there are in her oeuvre occasional gems indicative of the truly soulless… Dickens and Hardy fancied themselves soulless and that I’m afraid has been their undoing all along… and one cannot not mention von Trapp – mere modesty aside: soulleast, if ever there was one.

To think all great literature and street-corner pubs are nothing but the indelible signs of the munificence resident in dear Ol’ Nick’s heart… the misunderstood unappreciated poor little dah-ling! Sniff!