Porcupyn's Blog

Music Director Ravi – R.I.P.

porcupyn — Wed, 07 Mar 2012 18:30:25 +0000

This morning, I learned about the passing of octogenarian Music Director Ravi today via Vividh Bharati. True to its moniker of vidhva bharati (bestowed by a hostelmate of mine a quarter century ago), the station is playing tear jerkers all morning (night in India) long. I would rather celebrate Ravi’s life. Here are some of my favouirite songs composed by Ravi:

For a more exhaustive – but still by no means complete – list of songs by Ravi, please go to giitaayan.

Aaah! vividh bharati!!

porcupyn — Tue, 06 Mar 2012 02:51:45 +0000

Thanks to a friend on FB, I have been able to tune in to vividh bharati after quite a while. The songs played on that station are still similar to those that used to be played three decades ago. After a week of intense catching up listening , I have rediscovered a few old favourites that I had forgotten.

नींद कभी रहती थी

यूँ ही दिल ने चाहा था

Not only that, I rediscovered a few songs of somewhat dubious quality (hidden among some more gems) as well. These songs I like – without prejudice against the dubious ones – as they remind me of India of that time, an era when I used to be glued to the SLBC while studying for the plethora of entrance examinations right after Class 12th. Without much ado, here they are, good ones interspersed with the couple of dubious ones. I won’t say which I consider dubious – YMMV!

तू जो कहे तो राधा बनूँ रे

गंगा तोहरे घाट पे

और नहीं बस तुम से कहना, जीवन साथी

मैं ने ये फ़ैसला कर लिया है

A tale of a toenail … and other related items

porcupyn — Thu, 01 Mar 2012 21:53:53 +0000

I have had a ingrown toe-nail removed. The growth in itself was not all that painful, though it hurt once in a while. But now that it is out, the bandage and related aftercare has resulted in a blister that hurts. While wondering about what ointment to put to relieve the blister, I thought of what I would have used, had I been in India right now – Burnol, of course. So, I googled it to see what it’s active ingredient is, so I could get a similar local balm – it appears that Burnol does not carry the influence in India that it once did. What had been brilliantly marketed as a burn salve was re-marketed as a general antiseptic, and that strategy failed to take-off.

While checking out other posts in the blog referred to above, my attention was drawn to a link about Gold Spot. I am (was?) a Fanta kid. When it suddenly out of the market along with the rest of the Coca Cola products, thanks to the Janata Party, I wondered where it went. Gold Spot took some getting used to, but get used to it I did after a while. Now, sadly, it has gone out of the market also and Fanta is back. But, Fanta is nothing like what it was before, at least in the Indian marketplace. What is ironic is that by kicking Coca Cola out of India back in the 1970s, Janata Party seems to have ensured that at least some of the Coca Cola products won’t carry the same reach they carried before (or maybe I am wrong, and I was part of the 49% – as opposed to the 51% – back then). But either way, it is sad that Gold Spot is gone for good. Hopefully, some entrepreneur can buy the franchise/brand back from Coca Cola and get it re-started.

The Rotting iPhone – Tales of Katya (series resumes!)

porcupyn — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 18:23:11 +0000

Mrs. and Mr. Porcupyn are sick and tired of Katya and Bob playing on the electronic gadgets. Having had enough, Mrs. Porcupyn got on her soapbox.

Mom (Mrs. Porcupyn): Can’t you kids leave these gadgets alone? They do not help develop your brain. You know what happens when you leave something in a place and don’t do anything with it? Like if you leave a leaf in the same place for a long time? It will rot.

Katya: So, the iPhone will rot?!!

My Commentary – on pronunciations in the commentary box!

porcupyn — Mon, 17 Oct 2011 14:23:41 +0000

It is funny listening to the commentary team for the second ODI – one Englishman (Collingwood, I presume) and one Indian (Gavaskar). First Collingwood complains that names in the subcontinent are difficult to pronounce and gives Jayasuriya as an example (pronounces it जेसूरिया or something, and then complains how easily the subcontinenters roll it off their tongues).

Then, Collingwood asks Gavaskar teach him to pronounce his own name, and the latter obliges with “सुनील गावस्कर”; fifteen minutes after the lesson, Collingwood is back to his true form, pronouncing the first syllable in Gavaskar’s first name as “Sun” and the latter syllable as “Nill”, ends up with सन्निल गवस्खार. Kind of makes sense, when you realize how folks in India spell the words (as they are pronounced) – for example, “lekar” is pronounced by Indians just like a Westerner would pronounce “Laker” (which is what I was wondering driving to work this morning, and listening to this song).

And though Gavaskar, for his part, tries hard (example ठेन for “ten”), he cannot maintain it through thick (थिक्ख) and thin (थिन)!

In defence of my Defence Attorney (Katya)

porcupyn — Mon, 26 Sep 2011 02:43:14 +0000

In response to my complaints that Katya is not picking up our mothertongue, Kannada, and talks in English all the time, Mrs. Porcupyn tried to start off with lesson 0.1:

Mrs. P: Katya, what does ‘ooru’ mean?

Katya (brightly): One hundred.

Mrs. P: No Katya, ‘nooru’ means one hundred, What does ‘ooru’ mean?

At this point, I decided to step in and bat for my attorney. Invoking the spirit of Kalidasa (in the manner he beat his wife in debating), I explained: Just like ‘eeruLLi’ and ‘neeruLLi’ mean the same (onions) in Kannada, similarly, Katya must have determined that ‘ooru’ and ‘nooru’ are the same.

Katya the Foodie (not!!)

porcupyn — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 22:17:21 +0000

So, we come home from school (daycare, to be precise). As is her wont, Katya had her requests lined up:

“Appa, may I watch TV?”

Appa (how can I let your mind starve for the whole day without your TV, my child?): “Sure”

“Appa, may I have a brownie?”

Appa (how can I let your stomach starve in the evening, my child?): “Su … Oh, waitaminute! Finish the 2/2 waffle from this morning that you did (could) not finish before you had to rush to school!”

Katya (five minutes later): “Appa, I am done. Now may I have the brownie?”

Appa (good job – you’ve finished your breakfast, my child!): “OK … Ooooh, waitaminute!” (memories of uneaten lunches past come flooding to the father, who has to listen to a daily tantrum that child throws at mother in defence of those uneaten lunches) “Did you finish your lunch?”

Katya: “Ummmm … No.”

Appa (glad at having staved off tantrum of the day): “Eat that first then!”

She’s finished her breakfast (finally); now I am now waiting for her to finish her lunch, so I can approve the snack (brownie).

Note: The above sequence of events would’ve been impossible without the catalyst in the background (the TV, of course).

Update: She is only halfway through lunch … and has quit for the time being.