Of cities, and thoughts, and places and ideas and cricket and drama

Tirupur is a city without structure. It is sprawling in all directions, and desperately misses a distinguishing feature. Anything would do - a bay, or a sea, or a decently running river, or a mountain range, or even a single mountain, or a national highway that has more than 2 lanes, or a 'demble', or a city plan that had more than just "build anywhere you like, as long as the price goes up" as its mantra.

And since motorcyclists are denser than flies here, so driving on Tirupur roads is an opportunity to exercise mindless dysfunctional autocracy of imperious aggression, as you try to fit 2 indicas, 1 tempo, 2 rickshaws, and 4 passing motorbikes on a road designed for the sedate passage of 1 vehicle in either direction.

As Tamilnadu progresses from Tamil to English, and the people pride themselves on their forward-looking attractions for visiting dignitaries from neighboring and distant regions of suspect vernacular lineages, on display are pictures such as these:

And as they set sail for their elaborately laid out plans for the future, Erode had this to offer as a ladies toilet:

And I have more to share about the last 4 months in hiding.

Like Orlando Airport has developed a special liking for my body, since they frisk me on a Special basis every time I pass through there.

And I have found that I like living out of a suitcase. Especially when the suitcase has international baggage tags on it. And I found out that Chicago Airport is one of the worse Airports in the world.

Like I went to Philly, but neither the Wharton School of Business or Mr Rocky Balboa, set in stone, or the dreary climate, or the saddened Pakistani taxicab driver, or the Marathi-speaking Jew who was born in Matharpakadi, Mazgaon, and whose wife is a travel agent, made a favourable impression on me.

And I went to the States but did not visit New York. And I was very sad about it.

And I went to God's own country in February. But God was in Kashmir . Here is evidence. I found it in April.

And since the IPL has started, so much that was sacrosanct is now being questioned. Like the art of bargaining, especially in the face of some extremely moneyed folks. Like the sacking of Charu Sharma has given me the audacity to question any and all HR policies of Mr Vijay Mallya. Like MS Dhoni suddenly realised the devastating effect relying on Australians could do to his resourcefulness. Like Shane Warne is laughing. At Ricky Ponting, and John Buchanan and the Australian establishment. And Ricky Ponting is laughing at Harbhajan. And Yuvraj Singh is secretly laughing at Rahul Dravid. And Shane Warne is also laughing at Saurav Ganguly, and Virendra Sehwag (after tonight). And Shane Watson must be laughing at Virendra Sehwag also. And Kolkata is laughing with Saurav at Hyderabad. Everyone is laughing at VVS Laxman, and Herschelle Gibbs and Shahid Afridi. And Everyone is also laughing at Sree Santh. But Sree Santh is crying because of Harbhajan. And Harbhajan is crying because of Lalit Modi and the BCCI. And Sachin Tendulkar is crying because of his groin. And Mumbai is crying because of Sachin. And Dravid is crying at himself. And Mr Mallya is crying because of Dravid. And Bangalore is crying because this is T20 and not a test series. And Hyderabad is crying because of complete breakdown of expectations.

And I am unsure of whether to laugh or cry. After all, Duniya Hila Denge Hum.

utekkare,

Pranay