Biryani@koramangala

Mighty impressed with this little shack of an eatery, Biryani@Koramangala, located opp. E-Zone in the 4th block. You'll find this small place, next to it's more popular italian neighbour, Fiorano .

The biryani is quite filling, both in quantity and taste. And although it doesn't quite make the cut when compared to authentic Hyderabadi Biryani, it does strike a chord with the Biryani lover, trying to deliver the spicy Andhra (Guntur) version of the Hyderabadi Biryani.

Not only is the biryani sumptuous, all modern day entrepreneurial aspirants will do well to take a leaf out of their book.

Here are 9 things I like about this place :

1. Not held up about appearances.
2. Very sure about their target demographic.
3. Not trying to satisfy everyone. Operates in its own segment.
4. Reasonably priced.
5. Very courteous, right from the man who sits behind the counter, to the waiter, down to the delivery boy. One wonders if it's all the same family.
6. Extremely accomodating. Not too stuck up on minimum order amounts, delivery radius, and such.
7. No visible power struggles.
8. Genuine interest in understanding their demographic.
9. Eager to please the customer.

R.I.P MJ

As I sit down to write this post, I feel it would be redundant. Better writers have paid richer tributes to the King of Pop.
However for me, the connection I feel with MJ is a deeply personal one. And if I dont pen this down now, I'll always feel I denied an old friend his due.

When a friend messaged me the news of his demise, I hoped that it was one of the cruel jokes that the media seemed to play out from time to time.
Fighting reality with blind hope, I turned to the internet, only to have the worst reaffirmed. MJ had died of a cardiac arrest, at the age of 50.

Involuntarily, thoughts played back in my mind when as a kid, my dad introduced me to this phenomenon. As I watched Thriller on VCR in continuous loop that summer vacation, I fell in love with the persona of this man, who moved like magic, whose feet seemed to have a life of their own.

There was something indescribably smooth about the way he danced. Each step just seemed to naturally flow into the next. There was no abrupt stop and shifting of steps. Nothing. Just pure continuous fluidity of movement.

This was no circus performer either. This was not a person who tried to be famous by bending his body in unimaginable angles. Dancing seemed to be a natural extension of his personality. MJ seemed to have the ability to transform every mundane act into an exquisite dance step. Everything about him was graceful. Heck ! he could do pelvic thrusts without making them look vulgar!

For me, that did it. My disconnect between western pop had just been bridged.
Like countless other kids at that age, I practised the moonwalk, threw up my right leg in his signature style, bought slip-on shoes, and tried to get the pants stitched a little short of the ankle, and entertained family and friends, well atleast until I grew a little older ...

However, even as I grew older, I never grew tired of his music, and he never stopped entertaining. As news that MJ was coming out with "Rock My World", after a long hiatus, spread, I remember the eagerness with which I awaited glimpses of the video on music channels. His appearance had changed now, but for me, his dance still had the supple smooth flow, I had witnessed for the first time almost a decade ago. Even the music was still very characteristic of him, although not his best.

Like Mozart to music, Da Vinci and Van Gogh to painting, to me Michael Jackson represented everything that was the highest in his art, and more importantly the purest. Try as anyone else might, they would only end up as imitations. He was there first, he paved the way !

They say that Thriller remains unsurpassed in all-time record sales till date, with over a 100 million copies sold. However numbers don't do justice to this man.

I'm always going to remember MJ as someone who made the times in which I lived exciting, someone who has given me permanent boasting privileges, to those that come after me, about having shared the same time in history with the greatest performer there ever was, someone who made growing up fun ...

RIP my friend. You deserved better !

How to take your dog for a dump, and write it so it reads like a Hitchcock thriller.

Respite from telemarketers

Hopefully this will act to serve as a stern reminder to all the relentless and often frustrating telemarketers, who have no respect whatsoever, for the customer's privacy or wishes.

Now, if only the courts in India would follow suit, or better still, if Country Club would end in financial ruin ! Ah, what bliss ...

Are You Ready ?

So, when is going to happen, and more importantly what is it going to be ? My pulse is racing, I'm gasping for breath, the tension in the air is palpable ! Oh what a story this will make.
The conditions are perfect, the timing impeccable, the expectations at an all time low, everyone has been left with a bitter taste in the mouth, doomsday predictions float all around, markets take a downturn, environmental pollution is at an all time high, not a single ray of light is in sight!

The stage is set for a story of epic proportions, one that will redefine the way things work. The tale will be told for generations forth, of humble beginnings(, in a garage perhaps ?).
A story of trying times, especially to fund your idea, of finding the right people, of undying perseverance, of uncompromising values, of true genius shining through, of an idea that was so obvious, it'll leave people wondering how they missed it, but only in the aftermath of its success, of an idea whose time has come !

Like a whiff of fresh, crisp air announcing Spring, it'll cut through your senses and bring you back to life. It'll shine like a beacon to those without hope. It'll lead from the front, and exhort everyone to join the fight. An industry will be resurrected, a civilization, awakened to new possibilities. The bar of innovation will be pushed a mile further.

My pulse is set racing again. So, are you ready to think? And more importantly are you ready to work on it, and lead from the front ?

The Graveyard Shift

Graveyards have always caught my imagination. The first time I went to the graveyard was back in Hyderabad, when my grandfather passed away. I was 10 years old at that time. And more than the funeral ceremony, I found myself interested in wandering around the desolate graveyard, reading the epitaphs of all the people who had been laid to rest. Since then, every January, I have eagerly looked forward to visiting the graveyard for grandfather's anniversary. While mom and sis, cleaned away the dead leaves from the tombstone and dusted out the cobwebs, I went on my walk.

Of particular interest to me was the older section of the graveyard where expat Britishers from the British era in India, were laid to rest. Some of them, I imagined were soldiers.
It was all too fascinating for me to think about where their travels had taken them, during the course of their lives, and how they ended up below the ground in a land they had set out to conquer. Most of the graves in this section were of people who had died in the 19th century. For me, this just spiked up the enigma quotient of those graves. They seemed so far removed from my own existence.

My own thoughts wandered away to their descendants, and I wondered if they had settled down in India, or if they made it back to their own country, and if they were aware of their own blood resting in a far away land. It did set the stage for some very compelling stories, if you let your imagination wander.

The big old banyan trees which provided ample shade, the peace and quiet of the graveyard that soothed your nerves, along with the light breeze blowing in from the open spaces all around was a refreshing change from the noise of the city.

I find it fascinating to imagine what kind of lives the buried had led, and how they met their end. Calculating their age by their date of birth and the day they were laid to rest, all of which wa s mentioned on their tombstones, was another absorbing exercise.

It was also interesting to observe how much importance people attach to the tombstones of the departed. Tombstones of all sizes and shapes, some made of marble, others of granite, and some with plain concrete, all of them held a novelty I can't describe. Some of them sported very ornate and intricate designs while others were simple and plain.


Most of the epitaphs were quotes from the scripture with a stress on eternal life, while others were quotes very plainly intended to get the members of the family through the tough time.

Given that things are how they are, I decided to pay the cemetery in Bangalore a small visit yesterday. The cemetery road is en route to Cubbon park when you go from Koramangala via Adugodi. There are around 4 cemeteries located on this road. I decided to stop at one of them and see if I could get any good shots. However, I wasnt sure that I'd get permission to shoot pictures inside the cemetery from the cemetery office. So, I decided to walk right in and shoot, and hope I didnt get caught.


The time was around 4:30 in the afternoon, and I knew that I was just in time for the "Golden Hour". There were some boys playing cricket in the far corner of the graveyard, and the watch man was sitting on a grave, smoking a beedi , absorbed in the match. I took my chance and quickly got a few shots. It's understandable that some people might consider it offensive to shoot photographs. So, I wanted to be as discreet as possible as I went about the shoot.

A bunch of noisy mynahs kept hopping from one tombstone to another and finally settled down on a small tree nearby, and engaged themselves in animated chatter.



A jungle crow flew down from its flight home, to take a sip from the small pool of water near the sump. The cobwebs, adorning the graves, glistened like fine threads of gold as the sun started to set for the day. The caretakers 'mongrels stretched themselves one last time on the black granite of a tombstone, trying to make itself warm one last time, before the harsh chill of the winter night set in the graveyard.