tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89603372024-03-13T17:02:14.511+07:00Shilo When I Was YoungAll that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost - JRR TolkienGargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.comBlogger295125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-67571384127074082682019-05-08T20:17:00.000+07:002019-05-08T20:17:04.297+07:00Jet Airways: A personal obituaryAs I listen to the hard facts about the life and death of Jet Airways, I hold at the back of my mind the picture of a silent row of Jet tailfins at Chennai airport last week. I thought then of the 1000-odd grounded pilots they represent, and wonder if one of them had flown my first flight. It was also my first business trip, my first film shoot, my first trip to Bombay, long enough ago to simply Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-61458216507808580062016-05-16T14:57:00.000+07:002016-05-16T14:57:09.088+07:00Why I love my KindleFor one thing, it fits in my evening bag. Every book I have ever loved, and all the new ones in the world fit into a tiny bejeweled thing whose very existence is antithetic to an evening with a book. For me, that makes it a magical object straight out of Harry Potter, like Hermione’s bottomless bag.
Then there's the sheer breadth and scope of it. A press of a button is the soft thump of a libraryGargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-11921963883575800002016-05-06T16:23:00.001+07:002019-05-29T11:18:41.725+07:00To the young waiters in Den & TrangThank you for the smile of recognition after two years. And the questions you clearly want to ask (as do I), but we have never had enough of the other’s language to go beyond `orders and bills.
So thank you, in writing, for still being here. I saw the scaffolding next door from a distance and I thought you’d closed, and I really needed you to still be here today. That's one of the reasons I am Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-28389726453588776302015-12-31T11:10:00.003+07:002015-12-31T11:24:36.124+07:00A house that built usIt came into our lives by accident. My dad was out with an old friend when they passed a rundown house for sale, and he saw something there that nobody else did. When he brought my mother to see it, she was horrified but decided to trust whatever vision he was so keen on. So it was bought, between him and my brother. Then for three months he walked about making complicated drawings (and Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-10193365509255291782015-12-03T15:53:00.001+07:002015-12-04T13:05:36.789+07:00The man in seat 61I found him first in 2007 when I was planning my first epic train journey, across the US. I was startled to find that someone had listed practically every train in the world, with detailed information on how to plan your journey, where to book tickets, and everything else you need to know. He’ll practically tell you what platform it’ll arrive on!
Over the past seven years, he’s become an Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-73504599319004561702015-10-05T19:54:00.001+07:002015-10-05T19:58:14.710+07:00So this year I thought I would make you a present out of my own headWhenever I see a Pajero, I see two hopeful friends engaging a four-wheel-drive for the first time, at short notice, on a soft-sand beach we were not supposed to be driving on. Following the fortunes of six fictional Friends, and trying to decide which of us was which. Walking through strange clubs in search of a Friday night. Crashing parties we were not invited to and getting in every photo on Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-89355201994955433562015-09-28T18:12:00.000+07:002015-09-28T18:12:23.666+07:00Making friendsI don't know how to; I've never had to. They just came. Good friends. Bad friends. Friends who are still in my life 15 years and three countries later. Those who became family in five minutes. Others who came and went according to their convenience or time of life. But always copious numbers of them, of all kinds, ranging from the ephemeral bonding in the rest room of a club to the kind where youGargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-50390627858380113642015-07-02T20:01:00.002+07:002015-07-02T20:22:41.633+07:00DivergentA few years ago, an aura-reader I talked to in a serious error of judgement said sadly: “I’m sorry, I don’t see it”. I’d asked her the inevitable question of “Will I be married? Will I be loved?”, fully expecting in reply the usual variation on “Que Sera Sera”. It was a bit startling to get a flat no.
On the other hand, I never had a picture in my head of a wedding, or a vision of who the futureGargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-91613488697466685172015-05-27T21:45:00.000+07:002015-05-27T21:51:31.818+07:00Just two days in BaliSitting in the airport, composing excited Facebook posts, as befitting someone on their way to a fabulous beach resort, I knew it was not a good time to go to Bali. It was grey and rainy, both outside and in. I did not know if I was going towards something or just away, but whatever it was, I was dragging too much baggage for comfort.
My first day there was spent on the lovely Nusa Dua beach, Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-49949676286973068872015-04-28T12:42:00.003+07:002015-04-28T12:47:45.141+07:00Heavy suitcase, light heartFound this blogpost that I wrote exactly three years ago today, the first day I landed in Vietnam. I took the photo at the coffee shop I was in then. It went on to become "my place" in Saigon.
I have often paid excess baggage. It is impossible for me to go somewhere without six pairs of shoes and three bags. A profusion of other accessories. Laptop, two phones, external hard drive and all their Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-50120201277660818432015-04-15T12:08:00.001+07:002015-04-15T12:14:17.275+07:00After three months in JakartaIt’s hard to get a grip on Jakarta; there’s too much of it. Its not easy to reach around from point A to point B, or any other points – it’s often not clear which is which. Even the food is hard to pin down and understand. Perhaps this is how people feel when they move to India – you sense there is more to the cuisine than the familiar Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-60392849522459482792014-09-14T17:54:00.000+07:002014-09-15T06:57:19.527+07:00“What is it like in Vietnam?”
I am asked this a lot, with genuine curiosity. It’s hard to answer. There are no words that convey the exuberance of life in Saigon. So I’ve fallen back on one-word platitudes and a bright smile.
In the past six weeks, I’ve handed over one job, and started another, left one house, found and moved into another. On a Friday evening, I sent out some mails before shutting down my computer. The Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-73575505040150777162014-08-24T21:23:00.000+07:002014-08-24T21:23:04.452+07:00What's up with Singapore lately?I keep telling people something's happened to Singapore. Nobody takes me seriously, but I'm right, it has. There's a definite increase in what I can only call random acts of friendliness. People in office buildings now actually make eye contact sometimes in the lift. They've even said "good morning", and held the door open. I saw it with my own eyes.
A taxi driver was apologetic that his card Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-71758546240761188922014-06-21T11:54:00.000+07:002014-06-21T11:54:51.522+07:00If you were a young adult in Bangalore in the early 90s…Disclaimer: There are many Bangalores from that time, and this is just one of them, but they all shared that certain something.
You saw Jerry McGuire in Symphony, and Pulp Fiction in Blue Moon. You’ve seen at least one Disney movie in Rex when you were a kid. You remember a long-ago drive-in your parents used to go to. The version you saw in Grease on a VHS tape was both completely different andGargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-52906852067988587262014-06-13T13:36:00.003+07:002014-06-13T13:45:18.595+07:00An underwhelming Cannes 2014?It’s one of those years where two exciting things in my life come together – the FIFA World Cup and the Cannes Lions. Both generally build my exhilaration and energy to fever pitch.
But just as the World Cup opening yesterday was less than satisfactory, the Cannes entries so far are strangely dispiriting, with good ones being exceptions rather than the rule. Last year, almost every shared video Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-73631993049971011152014-05-22T21:17:00.000+07:002014-05-22T21:17:46.910+07:00The mystery of friendsComing from a large and close family, I’m sociable and easygoing (at first), so I tend to make a lot of friends everywhere I go. At least, that’s what my theory has been so far. But the truth, I think, is that it makes me look for family everywhere I go. The wonderful thing is that I’ve found it, over and over.
There are always the precious few friends that cross over into that closer Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-19216435052960646252014-04-21T16:51:00.002+07:002014-04-21T19:16:07.584+07:00Sailboats and wishing wellsIt’s not the saying goodbye. If you’re an expat, you already know how to do this; it’s one of the first things you learn and you get a lot of practice. It’s the not knowing if the relationships you send off with ceremony, celebration and the deepest good wishes will make it across time and space. You’ll only know a month or five later when you’re still Whatsapping every three days, or barely Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-34121224091032968392014-04-04T13:21:00.002+07:002014-04-09T12:11:16.203+07:00The other Phnom PenhThe lychee Caipiroska is excellent. The walls are a matte British racing green. The furniture is lightish wood and grainy leather. The music is hipster house, as is the clientele. I, in my glamorous solitude, fit right in. The manager, assuming resident not tourist, comes over to give me her card and express surprise at never having seen me before. I tell her it's because she doesn't have WiFi. Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-13971295438639604132014-02-17T13:53:00.001+07:002014-04-09T12:11:50.640+07:00A Saturday night in SaigonGrowing older single has taken away the ability to do nothing without the sneaky feeling of being a social misfit. I’ve always enjoyed my own company – or that of characters in books and sitcoms – but now I can’t shake the feeling that it’s pathetic, and I should be out somewhere creating a fracas.
Every weekend I see Facebook photos of my peers taking their kids to the zoo, or watching TV with Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-79522146025032565972013-12-09T14:40:00.001+07:002014-04-09T12:11:50.650+07:00Silent Night, Noisy NightAt my Sunday lunch, someone played Silent Night from my playlist, and the boy who grew up in Darjeeling and the girl who grew up in Whitefield agreed with complete understanding that this song evokes greater nostalgia for our India than any number of Diwali lamps.
When I return home in December, the Whitefield in my mind is the one I grew up in, where it’s quiet enough to hear the church bells Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-12138590899693219432013-12-06T14:18:00.002+07:002014-04-09T12:12:27.193+07:00Down the rabbit hole on a Friday afternoonIt suddenly came to me in the course of my regular morning catch-up that my entire career has been that of a guest star. And the longer I stay in one place, the less of a permanent place I have. Through six years in one agency, I wandered between three floors, with a new desk every year, always a major contributor, always welcome, but never fully affiliated anywhere. At other times, I have Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-40214049608759989832013-12-03T13:46:00.000+07:002019-05-29T11:21:58.491+07:00Counting down at Den & TrangA violinist and guitarist duo play by themselves near the piano unacknowledged and not wanting to be. The lofty sentiments of the violin soar up to the old wooden rafters, but the earthier notes of the acoustic guitar flutter around the slatted wooden benches on the flagstones. The piano is available to anyone to play for 25 cents an hour, and someone will avail themselves of it at some point in Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-58251501955882047312013-07-05T07:06:00.000+07:002013-07-05T07:06:45.762+07:0010 good things about first dates when you're over 391. You don't feel the need to apologise for your tastes - music, books, movies, anything.2. Nor do you pretend to "interesting" tastes that you don't have.3. You still agonise about what to wear but deep inside you know that it won't matter beyond the first two minutes.4. And you don't worry beyond these two minutes about the four extra kilos you could have done without.5. You understand that theGargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-88339005128581230352013-06-28T18:43:00.002+07:002013-07-05T07:07:05.235+07:00Angkor Wat without photographsOrnate gopurams rising into the sky and thousand-year-old lintels with dancing girls on them are not new to an Indian. Especially not if your school insisted on annual cultural excursions across the length and breadth of South India. I thought of the pretty staggering monuments of India and wondered uneasily whether I’d have to spent the rest of my life lying about how awesome I found Angkor.
I Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8960337.post-75409758867062597052012-09-19T19:02:00.001+07:002012-09-19T19:06:40.042+07:00The curse of the bucket listWho cares what someone else decides are the hundred things to do before you turn forty or fifty, or die?
I haven’t seen Petra or the Pyramids, but I’ve been to a Lebanese wedding in Beirut and dined in a mountain villa in Nabatieh. It’s a warm memory that returns unexpectedly now and then to brighten a dull day. I haven’t seen the Hagia Sophia but I’ve picked lavender growing wild in an orchard Gargoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01719949278784703463noreply@blogger.com0