2 Films & an Anniversary...

I thought I was supposed to get less busy as I grew older, not more :-)

But hey, considering how I've lived my life till now, on very 'easy going terms', I shouldn't complain about the occasional busy phase. All the same, that's my excuse for blogging after such a long time.

And the reason I'm banging away on my laptop again is right outside my window; the Alistonias are in bloom again in Delhi. They are my olfactory marker for the arrival of winter, pleasurable runs in the forest, a home that's spanking clean for Diwali and seasonal pig-outs on chole-bhature, rajasthani thalis and the like.

This year, the Alistonias are also reminding me that's its been a year since I began to blog.

Would it be pretentious to convey a big thank you to everyone who's logged in to share in my musings? Instead of wasting energy over this question, let me just thank you instead. Many thanks indeed :-)

Now to the post at hand...

I saw two films over the last 10 days; Jhoota hi Sahi (JHS) and Dabangg. I must be one of the few to see the former, and among the last to the see the latter (in India).

Jhoota hi Sahi: ...And that's the only appreciation I can muster

A colleague and I caught the Abbas Tyrewala-directed JHS in Ranchi, at the newly renovated Payal Cinema. The main paisa-wasool was that it brought back the teenage and college-day joy of taking pot-shots at the film as it played out in the theatre.

A quick synopsis before I give you the highlights; John Abraham (Chinese vital element dominating this performance - Wood) plays an Indian nerd nice-guy living in London ,who runs an Indian book store with his two friends (a-la Notting Hill) Raghu Ram (good job) and Omar Khan (so-so).

A telephone number mix-up results in his staying up nights to save people calling a suicide-prevention helpline. One of the callers is heroine Mishka (played by Pakhi, who's also the writer of the film and Director Abbas Tyrewala's wife), who John falls for and the rest is the stuff of all rom-coms.

Two things stood out in the film; one, Pakhi looks tired and like she's pushing 40, a fact that's not made apparent in the film's story. She's not a great actress, her last outing (as a college teacher in Hansal Mehta's Yeh Kya Ho Raha Hai) failed to make an impact. Ergo, when you add the fact that her husband is the Director of this film, my friend and I could only come up with 'vanity at the producer's expense' as the casting yardstick.

Two, when a film is first written in English and the dialogues are then translated into Hindi, lines can sound very funny indeed. For instance, the fact that the setting is London still can't justify transliterated lines like "Mera saath raho!" aka, "Stay with me!", uttered by John in desperation, trying to keep a potential suicide victim on the phone line with him, through the long night.

Lucky the original English line wasn't "Hang in there!" or we would have been treated to "Johoolte raho andar!"

Net-net: go only if you have a vicarious vanity streak.

Dabangg: Don't Mind it. Just Enjoy!

There's no great story line or characterization or anything substantial in Dabangg. If you must have these things to enjoy a film, don't go. It's all kitch, all style, all Salman and I believe, an interesting attempt at a comic-book style, full time-pass Indian film.

The film belongs to Inspector Chulbul Pandey, played by Salman Khan. Everyone else is incidental, except for his buxom heroine Sonakshi Sinha, who makes her debut with physical confidence and vitality that's hard to miss even during her short time on screen.

Chulbul Pandey wriggles through the entire film, dancing and fighting with clockwork regularity as everyone else just watches. Within the first five minutes, I wondered if the film was a remake of a south Indian commercial film; surely, that much slapstick fighting, special effects and 'punch dialogue' could not deny its' Quick-Gun-Murugan', "Mind It" pedigree?

"No", I was told, this was an 'original' creation of Director Abhinav Kashyap, who vehemently denies any 'lift', from Kollywood or Hollywood. Well, good for him, I say. He should get the film remade in Telegu and Tamil anyway, with all the songs and fights and dialogues intact, to set the cash registers ringing all the way to Guntur and Kanyakumari.

Salman Khan is at his crazy best, and for those who like his screen persona from early films like Andaz Apna Apna, this is a must watch.

Happy Diwali guys!

Peepli '(a)Live'? Only just...

P and I caught the evening show of 'Peepli Live' today and came back disappointed.

It's a wasted opportunity. It's comedy all right and it's black to boot, but it's not a Black Comedy, which it could have been.

It could have become the Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron (JBDY) that many reviewers have compared it too, but for me, it stops well short of that, because of a tragic flaw: during the course of the whole film, it doesn't bring a lump to your throat - not even once.

Let me try to explain what I mean, without giving any film details away.

First, the good stuff: Like all films that are researched, detailed, cast and produced well, it never strikes you as false at any point, even during a farcical scene in the second half, done a-la-the unforgettable Mahabharat scene in JBDY. Peepli also has many genuinely funny moments and the actors are all good.

The Peepli Live story, for those who've somehow managed to escape the media blitzkrieg that Aamir Khan has crafted over the last two months, has two main threads; the first, the proposed suicide of a desperately indebted farmer Natha, to collect the government compensation given to the family of the deceased, and the second, the shallow callousness of the media that turns this sad decision into a mad TRP tamasha.

While the film details both tracks well (the irony of government welfare schemes, the use of media by politicians and of everything by media, etc) it fails to make us FEEL the human tragedy in the darkly comic situations it shines its light on.

We laugh with some of the characters, and out loud at many of the characters, but during the entire course of the film, we are never forced to cry with them. If you don't do that in a dark cinema hall, during a dark comedy, something is seriously amiss. It's as if the medium of cinema has been criminally under-utilised.

When I came out at the end of the film, farmer suicides were still a distant, violent, dry reality. The callousness of the Indian electronic media was still an obvious and abstract truth, much like corruption in Indian society. I did not feel any greater emotional connect (in this case, shame/indignation) on either count after I saw the film.

During '3 Idiots', I FELT, at many points in the film, that the Indian education system had got the resounding slap it deserved, during 'Lage Raho Munnabhai', I FELT that Gandhi's ideals were indeed lost in today's India and after "JBDY", I FELT the helplessness of the two young men in the deep seated rot of our corrupt society.

During and after Peepli, I FELT nothing. I THOUGHT about a lot of things, but FELT nothing...ok...maybe a little cheated, but does that count?

My initial theory is that if you got to read the script before the film was made, you would see at least two very poignant moments; lump-in-the-throat stuff, which I believe, has been lost in it's interpretation on screen (one concerns another helpless villager of Peepli and the other, the local hindi reporter who breaks the Natha story -- saying any more would amount to a film spoiler, so I'll hold my peace for now...)

After everyone likely to read this blog has had a fair chance to watch the film, I will write on these two points in greater detail.

For now, having made my big point about the emotional dryness of the film, here are a few more two-bit observations:

- Without Aamir Khan's marketing savvy, the film would have simply not made it as far as it has, especially in terms of the fawning reviews that a section of Indian reviewers have been falling over each other to give. At the height of the IPhone craze, an irate Apple-basher remarked that if Steve Jobs decided to take his morning crap in a box one day and sell it, as long as it was packaged in a snow white Apple box, people would queue up all night to buy it :-) ( This does not mean I think the film is all crap, but I do think Aamir Khan is sitting in a place very similar to Jobs, only his IPhone 4 antenna fiasco is yet to happen) You've got to hand it to him for being such an effective marketeer, but as a buyer, I'll be more careful about stuff he gushes about in the future, especially when he's wearing the Producer's cap.

- Omkar Das (Natha), who has been much-feted in the media, is not, in my opinion, the best actor in the film; Raghubir Vadav (Budhia) is and Shalini Vatsa (Natha's wife Dhania), Vishal (Aaj Tak-type 'sansani' reporter Deepak) and Nawazuddin (local vernacular daily reporter Rakesh) are tied in the second spot.

- The Director, Anusha Rizvi, an ex-NDTV employee, is clearly more at home when detailing the media, than she is when fleshing out the political mileu or the plight of marginal farmers. The film tends heavily towards the former in the second half, and this is not in it's best interest.

- If you're planning to watch the film to hear the full "mehangayi dayan" song, don't. It's not featured in the film beyond the Mukhda!

My final verdict: I'm pissed off because it's a film that could have gone well beyond what it's finally achieved. It could have been a 4.5/5, and is probably worth at least a 3/5, but since it's let itself down, I'm feeling cussed enough to only give it a 2.5/5.

But watch it, all the same. Only, go with an intellectual appetite, not an emotional one.

Hotel California...

The timeless Eagles number is my title today, and I draw your attention to the closing lines of the song. It goes:

"Last thing I remember,

I was running for the door,

Had to find the passage back,

to the place I was before.

Relax said the Nightman,

we are programmed to receive,

You can check out any time you want,

but you can never leave! "

The immortal last para is the unwritten motto of every service provider in India.

A 'pre-approved credit card', a 'pre-loaded caller tune', a 'free-trial' depository/mutual fund investment service' a 'one-click add-on TV channel' - these are things that are easy to start.

Check-in is quick, painless.

Try to unsubscribe or return any of them, and sure enough, you're in the territory of the masochist. Endless, mind-numbing pain.

I've screamed at call center creatures, threatened 'relationship managers' with consumer courts, physically cut-up and mailed back 'free' credit cards...I've been around this block a few times.

My latest is my experience in "unsubscribing" my ESPN-Star add-on package from Tata Sky.

Golf just doesn't swing it for me and Formula One leaves me bored, so most of the year, I prefer to stay un-fashionably, un-manli-ly (I can make up words too, Arundati :-), un-sporty.

When cricket comes up, most of the India games are free on the national broadcaster Doordarshan, so, I don't quite miss ESPN-Star.

I had to make an exception for the FIFA World Cup. I signed up. It was easy.

I just had to check a box on the Tata Sky website, pay online with my card and sure enough, South Africa was in my box every evening.

Now that the Cup has been won and all that remains is for the Octopus to be divvied up between Germany and Netherlands and eaten, I logged on to TataSky, to 'uncheck' my subscription. No such luck.

I searched the entire website, but there was no exit door in sight.

Finally, I googled it and realised that many others had gone down this road before me. The only way to unsubscribe was to call TataSky on the phone.

After being call-centered (subject to endless hold music, recorded promotions & inane questions about my mother's maiden name/date of birth) the TataSky 'Ass-ociate' also wanted to know my reason for wanting to unsubscribe. She went on to explain the 'wide world of sports' that I was shutting out through my actions, how my children would be worse of for it, mildly hinting that they would grow up to be wusses and so on.

But i was ready. I had my best rhino hide on, and kept repeating my request to unsubscribe, till she finally gave in. I am, as of now, ESPN-Star-less again.

I've learnt the hard way that the best way to avoid these situations is to nip them in the bud, however enticing and harmless they may sound in the beginning. These things only get worse with time.

Whether its the mysterious MFIF ('mutual fund investment facility') Rs.110.25/- charge that shows up innocently on my bank statement or the the caller tune that's offered free for a month, I say no right away, firm and loud.

Private marketeers know how we think. They're banking on our weakness for free stuff, our not remembering later, our 'letting it slide'...in short, they're putting their kids through college, solely on their understanding of our human nature.

They know that once we've checked in, we are unlikely to move our backsides to check out, much less leave.

Refreshing Chillies...

Non-spoiler alert: This review does not give away any plot points

Shukno Lanka (Dry Red Chillies), (Bengali film with English subtitles), lives up to its name, adding an unnameable, yet distinctive and interesting flavour to a filmgoer's range of celluloid experiences.

P and I caught it at a special Film Club screening at the India Habitat Centre in New Delhi last night. So before I get into the film itself, a little bit about the evening.

Some of the cast and crew were in attendance; Director (Gaurav Pandey, also Director of the Hindi film 'Striker'), the cinematographer Mahesh Ane (good work in the film), the 'blond' attraction Emma Brown (who plays a brunette film actress in the movie, but impressed everyone at the screening with her single, rapidly delivered line of Hindi - "Mere baal safed hi acche hain, nahi?") and the star attraction of the evening, the truly 'evergreen' Mithun Chakraborty (as opposed to Dev Anand, who's a bit of a caricature of himself now, so can we have the title back please, sir?).

Mithunda held the media and audience alike in his sway with his straight-speak, though our collective patience was worn thin by the length of the Q&A session.

For one, the session would have made more sense after the viewing. All the same, Mithunda fielded the usual mix of inane, desperate-for-attention and borderline decent questions lobbed at him with flair and sincerity.

He told us the title of the film was meant to allude to the film's protagonist, Chinu Nandy, who plays an 'extra' (supporting artist) in the Bengali film world. "They are like the dry red chillies that we add in our (Indian) cooking...they don't have a strong taste of their own, but the do have a distinctive flavour...one that we would miss if they were not there..." he said.

Director Gaurav Pandey went out on a limb at the event and called Mithunda "the only star in Bollywood who can act..." Hmm...I agree Mithunda can act, but is the only star who can? Fight hai boss...

He also praised Mumbai Mantra, the film's producers, who have taken a risk with the film, releasing as many as 9 prints each in Mumbai and Delhi, simultaneous with the West Bengal release. I have no arguments with this statement --- it is bold film economics, and I hope it works out for them.

One last titbit from the evening, before I get to the film itself: It was endearing to hear the Marwari Producer representing Mumbai Mantra call the film Shukno 'Lan'-ka (like the country) instead of the Bengali pronunciation of 'Lon' ka. (Mithun da himself does a brilliant job of inverting this accent equation in the film, when he speaks his 'Bangal-Hindi' to the car and tanga drivers, both native Hindi speakers)

On to Shukno Lanka now.

It begins a little slowly, then picks up pace and once the inciting incident occurs, it hooks and reels you in.

Chinu Nandy (Mithun da), a struggling supporting actor in Kollywood, lives a fringe life, but is not unhappy. This nuance itself sets the film apart from earlier angst-ridden films on this subject.

Chinu's simple existence is threatened when, a much-feted 'art' film director, Joy Sundar Sen (played very well by Sabyasachi), casts Chinu as the protagonist of his latest film.

This is the inciting incident that sets the core story in motion. Chinu suddenly has to 'live' again. He must dare to dream, and live up to the dream. The beauty of this struggle and the unique perspective it offers on the human condition, is the USP of the film.

The characters are all well etched out (and are played by good actors) ; Chinu himself (Mithun Chakraborty), as a man suddenly granted (at 50-plus) the spotlight that he craved for in his 20s gives us most of the 'lump-in-the-throat' moments.

His simple, non-nagging, TV-soap watching housewife, (played brilliantly by Angana Basu), Joy Sunder Sen, the articulate, but emotionally locked up film director (played by Sabyasachi very well), Debasree as his borderline neurotic wife, trying desperately to win his attention, and so on...they're all good.

Now for the bits that, in my opinion, could have been done differently, and made the film better. In this film, I've only got two points to make.

First, length. Like his first release, 'Striker', Director Pandey again works on a wide canvas, weaving many threads of stories and tries to complete each meticulously. In the process, I feel, he loses out on the impact of some cinematic "moments". Just when you think you've hit a lovely movie 'high', especially towards the end of the film, you realise there is more to go...some of the material that follows is not as 'high' and seems to have been included just because all sub-story lines must be completed. That can be a bit of a let down. The film could have been chopped down by 10-odd mins at least.

Second, the songs. The first one, in a disco, is clumsy in execution, but mercifully short. The second though, which is picturised as part of the post-shoot wrap up party of Joy's film in the movie, is painfully long, and has only Debasree doing the usual Bengali atel-type (intellectual) moves, a-la-Ananda Shankar, endlessly.

If the songs are there as a commercial element, they sadly miss the mark. If not, they serve little purpose and the second one looks especially like a home video of self-indulgent Bongs doing the whole "intellectual-letting-hair-down-after-a-few-drinks" routine. I have been unhappily subject to this a few times in Calcutta and in art, as in life, I dislike this part of Bong-ness intensely.

Barring these two minor hiccups though, I liked the film and so, I'll leave you with a nice thought; if like me, you like the softer Bangal dialect of the Bengali language, its smooth flow, fewer-harsh consonants, etc, the domestic banter between Chinu and his wife is a lovely added bonus in the film.

All Eez Well...

Just a short post, this; a follow up from my earlier post on my war against the pesky tele-marketing flies that seem to get into our cellular phones with annoying regularity these days.

First, meet my Commander-in-chief in battle, the

In the week that I've had the software I wrote about on my device, it has stopped 69 unwanted smses and 1 unwanted call.

Unless they're paying some kids somewhere to send me fake marketing smses (to prove their own efficiency :-), I'd say the software has pretty much already paid for it's keep.

Mobiwatchman is made by a Pune-based Indian company called Optinno. At Rs.200 (less than $5) for a license, it's value for money, true paisa wasool.

It has many customisable features - rules you can set up about who gets into your mobile and who doesn't - but its been a busy work week and I've had little time to play around with the more advanced features.

Yet, even the simplest feature, of blocking anyone not in my phonebook from sending me smses, has saved me so much mind space in the last week, I'm moved to give it a high thumbs up.

Other than the unwanted messages kept out, when I got calls from numbers not stored in my phonebook, it warned me that 'suspicious' callers were trying to reach me. At the end of the call, it offered me the option of either blacklisting them or branding them as trusted.

One of these calls was from a telemarketer, and I blacklisted her. This feature proved to be effective within the next 5 minutes, when, as often happens with these morons with lists of numbers to call each day, I got called again, from the same number, and my Mobiwatchman automatically rejected the call after the first ring...ah, sweet justice, without having to be rude to the moron :-)

I'll let you know if my watchman develops any bad habits (falling asleep on the job, getting drunk, flirting with the maids... the usual 'security-wala' problems :-) as the days go by.

For now, I'm enjoying the peace, knowing there's a good man on patrol. Cheers!

Blood Circulation...

Time to give back? :-)

Just a nice experience I thought I'd share with you guys.

P and I donated blood on Sunday. No urgent need, no friends or relatives in hospital...just that a social service and cultural activities club that we'd been part of in our 'youth' was in revival mode and was holding a Blood Donation Camp in Kolkata. We decided to join in from where we were, in red solidarity :-)

Nothing extra-ordinary about our intent or action, I'm just writing to share a couple of nice things from the experience. One, it feels good. You see the warm red stuff come out of your arm and fill a bag and you know its going to help someone in need. Simple and effective. My kind of good deed.

Two, in our search to find a place that would let us do our bit without leaving a bad taste in our mouths, we picked the Max Devki Devi Super Specialty Hospital in Saket.

I'd been to the institution once earlier, and had not had a good experience.

It struck me as large, rich, impersonal, out to suck money in the fine way that corporate medicine (and Indian corporate education institutions) have made their trademark. As if the overpriced medical services and the ill-informed staff were not enough, the bitter cherry on it all was the Rs.30/- parking ticket, that too after having had to drive around for 15 minutes and park a good half kilometer away from where I needed to go (valet parking available at Rs.60 :-)

And yet, we returned, this time, to give voluntarily...simply because, of the Red Cross Society- approved Blood Banks, this was most conveniently located from our home and seemed to offer at least the level of cleanliness and hygiene that can be critical in endeavors involving blood.

So, with mixed feelings, we set out on Sunday morning, after breakfast. And I'm glad to report that we were pleasantly surprised, till almost the very end of our outing.

The parking guy at the entry gate let us double park in netural gear, when he learnt that we were looking for the Blood Bank, to make a voluntary donation. After this, we were guided courteously to our destination, welcomed by a pleasant doctor, who after checking our BP, sent us on to a nice, professional nurse (rare, non-mallu at that :-)

The form-filling was painless, as was the the actual blood donation. The facility was neat, the air-conditioning worked fine, the blood collection bag and needle were sterilised and pre-sealed, the support staff knew what they were doing, right down to disposing the medical waste from the procedure in the correctly labelled, separate bio-waste bins.

The whole thing was done professionally and after we had each shed 450 ml, we were given light refreshments, caps & mugs with blood donation slogans on them and thank-you letters from the Hospital.

P wondered if all this was too good to be true and wanted to know if our blood would end up being 'sold' by the big bad corporate. What the nurse told us, without any hesitation, was that voluntary blood donations go to either poor people, who often came there without enough resources or to foreign patients, who came without relatives or friends who could act as donors.

I can't honestly say that this answered her question fully, but there was no attempt to hide anything and we decided to accept it at face value.

When we stepped out of the hospital building, having done the deed we set out to, less than 50 minutes had passed since we'd stepped in. Pretty good, no? We still had the daylight 30-rupee parking robbery to remind us of where we were, but we were not going to let that spoil the whole experience.

I think a lot of people who would like to / be willing to donate blood, if the they could have the same sort of pleasant experience that P and I had this Sunday. What do you say?

As for me, I've known I could donate blood every 3 months; for the first time though, I think I actually might.

Spamming Me Softly...

This week's Outlook magazine has electronic invasion of our privacy as it's cover story.

In today's uber connected world, it's hardly surprising that we've got folks encroaching into our personal space with annoying regularity. Spam in our e-mail inbox is almost passe now, despite ever evolving, heuristic, spam mail blockers.

My pet peeve though, is when people get into my cell phone.

The mobile is a constant companion in today's world and when people intrude through that omnipresent device, it goes beyond annoying.

If you live in India (and you're not in the ultra-minority of people likely to have access to this blog and yet not use a mobile phone :-), you've know what I'm talking about. We've all had more than our fair share of tele-marketing calls and text messages.

Over the past two months, it's been people texting me to buy "best location flats" and an "amazing breakthrough German power saving device". They also call me regularly to enquire about my non-existent "personal loan requirement (sic)".

I'd made my peace with upto 3 such irritating short messages & 1 call per day (the latter is the dramatically reduced number, after my registering with the national DND - Do Not Disturb service) , but when the nuisance stats doubled and that too, at odd hours, I decided to act.

Round One, I called the Hurt Line at Airtel. The usual call center moron took me through a script on his screen, the relevant part of which went something like this:

Airtel Hurt Line Associate (Ah-A): "Sir, you have to give us the number of the sender and the date & time you received the sms. Then we will send the block request to the vendor. It will take 7 to 10 days to process your request."

Me: "But the sms doesn't come from a number. It says 'TM-Paras', 'TD-German' and stuff like this...and it comes from different names every day..."

Ah-a: (Silence) "Can I place your call on hold sir? (while you listen to the expensive A.R.Rehman Airtel signature tune you're paying for?)"

Me: "Sure (as if I have a choice)"

Ah-a: (After 3-odd minutes) "Thank you for being on hold sir...sir I would like to inform you that we need the phone number of the sender and the date & time you received the sms sir..."

Me: "But...isin't that exactly the same as what you told me before putting me on hold?"

Ah-a: "Exactly sir !"

I ended the call before It could ask me if there was anything else It could annoy me with today.

Round Two, I was on my own. Google searches led to others like me, aggrieved Indians, but mostly, helpless. Apparently, these 'TM' and 'TD' marketeers were using the www to sms us, so that explained the no sender phone-number.More questions than answers.

There were quite a few 'unwanted-sms-and- call- blocker' softwares on offer, but most of them from companies based outside India, who wanted upwards of $15 or so for a license...

...and even if I was ready to pay, they had caveat emptor clauses for networks outside Europe and the USA. They probably knew that Indian/Chinese/Paki tele-marketeers, like all other Indian/Chinese/Paki enterpreneurs, would figure out loopholes in their software and go on to beat them (while, in my mind's eye, doing the famous sub-continent yes-no combined head shake and smug smile :-) Hmm...

But my sense of fair play had been trod upon and when that happens, I can be quite persistent, in my efforts to restore my world to some semblance of balance.

The good news: I may have found an Indian answer (at an Indian price :-), which i will write about in a near future post.

For now, I just wanted to share with you that in first 3 days of the trial period, the Indian software has automatically blocked text messages from anyone not in my phonebook. It also prompts me about 'suspicious' calls that I may want to block, in the future. What's more, it claims to have an intelligent algorithm that will learn with each sms/caller I block. So far, so good.

Once I vote for it with my wallet past the trial period, I will blog again. The" TMs" and "TDs" may have won the battle, but I've signed up for the war. So, here's my short message for them: Boo! :-)

Here comes the sun...it's all right.

(The Beatles, Abbey Road1969)

On Monday, the 17th of May 2010, Delhi recorded its highest maximum temperature for the month of May in 8 years, at 45.4 degrees celcius. The minimum stood at 28.2 degrees.

The kicker, however, came on the next day. On Tuesday, Delhi recorded it's highest minimum temperature for the month of May in 5 years - 32 degrees celcius. The maximum on that day was 44.5 degrees celcius

Anyone living in Delhi can tell you that Tuesday was a lot worse than Monday. The abnormally high minimum temperature meant that the heat never let up, even in the evening, so it 'felt' like you were in an oven all day long.

And that's the nub of this summer theory; this seems to be the nature of the human machine - we can function successfully at extremes on either end of our operating range, but only if we are allowed to rest in conditions that are substantially different from the extreme we are subject to.

Another observation in support of this theory: Delhi is a city of extremes on the weather palette and winters are no exception.

The same max-min principle applies in winter too; the real cold bite is felt on days when the maximum temperature hovers not very far above the minimum. Those are the 'no-sun' days when residents feel cold pretty much all the time. To spell out the learning from the winter: we can live with extremely cold days too, as long as we're given a few hours that are substantially warmer that the coldest temperature of the day.

A final fact in support of my larger theory and I'll let you go.

A year and a half ago, my mother was diagnosed with very high blood pressure (asymptomatic, several cardiac blocks discovered later). Investigations revealed that her blood pressure was 230/120.

For the lucky few in great health and surrounded by only healthy people, hence ignorant of these terms, a quick digression into what the numbers mean...

230 is number of millimeters of mercury that would be displaced by my mother's heart (if it pumped mercury instead of blood with every beat :-) , called the systolic blood pressure). And 120 is the mm of mercury her heart would displace when at rest (called diastolic blood pressure). For a normal, healthy human being, the numbers should be 120/80.

So, in my mother's case, while her systolic (upper end blood pressure) was just over double the acceptable mark, her diastolic (resting heart blood pressure) was only 50% over the acceptable limit.

The doctors however, were worried more about the resting pressure than about the systolic BP.

They told me this was because an elevated resting rate meant that the heart was never "really at rest". If they could bring down this rate, and give her heart some 'quality rest', they were pretty sure the systolic pressure would come down as well.

With that, I sum up my layman theory - the human body is capable of handling extremes, but only if it gets real reprieves from such oppressive conditions soon.

p.s: As I bid thee farewell, let me release a sly cat among the pigeons -- this is all very similar to what happens to the mind during periods of meditation -- even a few seconds of 'real emptiness' can refresh you after hours of activity and chatter :-)