Things That Bang

Which part of the woman's body do you find most attractive? My question isn't directed towards the men who'd be quick to tell me their preferences but towards women. Makes you think doesn't it? Is it the boobs, the life giving vagina, the sloppy waist, the thighs, the calves, the ankles or the feet?

When I was asked this question my brain froze ! In all my thirty two years of existence on this earth not once had I thought about the best feature of the female anatomy. It isn't as if I am attracted to the female form sexually but shouldn't I know which body part of my gender I like best?

Men like their penis. There is no .ambiguity about it. But what about us women? Which part are we most proud of?

While sitting in a cafe I found myself looking at the women going about their business on the busy street. Women of shapes, sizes and ages were scrutinized. There was some binding feature that bound us all together and that was where the beauty lay.

I focussed on the boobs, but realized that boobs are the most fickle part of the woman's body, they tend to sag even before the woman can savor her prime years, I looked at the legs and they seemed no different from mens in fact men have better legs, the butt also seemed asexual to me. The vagina? Nah, most us heterosexual women tend to view the down and under like any other functional part of our body- say the nose or the tongue; important yes but nothing earth shattering.

Apart from the Vagina Monologue I have yet to hear some vagina praising poetry from regular women.

So what could it be? I seriously watched women, even looked at myself in the mirror but the answer eluded me till one day I saw a eunuch begging for money at a red light. She was full of grace, soft spoken and a beautiful carbon copy of us women. Watching her was like seeing a lotus gently sway in a calm pond. It was then that it struck me- I love the woman's body in entirety - there is grace to be found in every part of the body

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Two weird lights clicked late last night in the garden. What could they be?

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The BBC Headline piqued my interest - Indian Male Singer In Burqa Row

As the link loaded I wondered who the singer was and had he grabbed some burqa clad woman. But much to my surprise I found myself staring at a picture of Himesh Reshammiya wearing a burqa at the Ajmer Shrine.

Himesh was quick to apologize in case he had offended any one's sensibilities but said he wore the burqa to pray in peace since his fans at the main entrance gate of the shrine had mobbed him

The shrine of Hazrat Khwaja Moinuddin Hassan Chishti, a medieval Muslim saint, dominates the town of Ajmer.

The shrine draws followers from across India's faiths, including Hindus, Sikhs, Christians, Parsees and Jains.

Reshammiya created a stir at the shrine on Tuesday night when some devotees spotted him in a burqa. They took it up with the prayer attendants.

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"If only you'd lose weight you'd look so pretty." My mother's soft voice chided me on a long distance call and had me grinning. I knew this was coming when I sent her a recent picture of me with the kids at Lal Baugh. The reason why I don't like having my snaps taken is because it’s a cruel reminder what can happen to a woman’s body after having more than one kid and that the world like the camera lenses can be cruel in their astute judgment of your sagging overweight body.

Fat, overweight, auntyji... so many terms float around to describe the woman's girth if it is more than 30 inches. Women with kids tend to get nostalgic about their pre-pregnancy girlie figures when everything was on the upside, perky breasts and tight buttocks but post pregnancy comes the gut (there is no glory to go with these sorts of female guts), the wobbly thighs, the scars, rounded butt and the drooping breasts.

Having gone through the cycle of dieting and exercising more times than I care to remember and letting my self esteem be attached to the weighing machine I realized that the yo-yo ride brought me closer to hating myself.

When I got pregnant with my babies my first thoughts weren’t – Yippie!! I'm gonna be a mother but more like - Jeez, how fat will I get?

And, fat I did get. The babies were born healthy but the mother would have given the Walrus a run for his money.

My youngest is going to be two years old this July and I have still a whole lot of inches to go before I can get back to my size 10 jeans.

A lot of things need to be sacrificed. I would have to end my love affair with food, sugar in particular, change my music from Lou Barlow to Justin Timberlake to increase my pace on the elliptical machine and become a kitchen Nazi and browbeat my maid to stop making spicy oily food.

The weight loss is important but not to look like a twenty year old (for that I’d have to go to Thailand for tummy tucks, breast implants etc) but for health reasons. Being in my early thirties my metabolism rate has gone beyond being slow, it's crawling! Every little nibble of cake, Tiger biscuits or rice finds its way to my ass and sticks!

By the time I’ll be in my forties I could be ridden with heart problems, joint aches, diabetes and god knows what else. We can't stop aging but can definitely try to keep our bodies younger by eating healthy food and trying to beat a sedentary lifestyle.

There was a time when my mom would have got a earful for saying what she said but this time round I told her that I would lose weight for health reasons and for sexy clothes but not for the damn world.

Incidentally, there is a big hoopla going on about the Nivea 'love your black booty' ad that has thrown the net world in a tizzy where Nivea has come up with a lotion for us overweight women.

Gulp! A lotion for fat women is as bad as promoting a fairness cream to a dark skinned person. Neither work but while in the latter case one is urged to accept their inherited characteristics, in former situation one would consider the buyer to be a self denying gullible looser!

Self image and self esteem has nothing to do with weight issues. We all cannot be Paris Hiltons or Shipla Shettys but we can lead healthy lives and that is what should really matter.

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Should pedophiles be allowed to live in society secretly? In the US there is major uproar about this issue but here in India the matter is hardly touched upon. The abuses kids suffer here generally go unreported except a few that are so gruesome that they get to be featured in the inner pages of the newspapers.

Some may call pedophilia to be a mental disease but when it harms the most vulnerable in society why should society honor their right to freedom? Of course there are those who say that the innocent maybe falsely accused will suffer gross injustice if they are forever left to rot behind bars.

The same argument is made against the death penalty but here the innocent does have the right to continue to appeal even when convicted so yes, I am for throwing away the key as far as pedophiles are concerned and would be delighted if there was an Indian website like www.safenz.org.nz to kept abreast with Indian pedophiles living amongst us.

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She stared at the juicy white root that lay nuzzled in the moist darkness of the soil. The plant had died a long time ago but the root had survived against all odds. She dug at it with her bruised fingers not caring about the dirt that collected under the nails, the root was her prime concern. She tugged and she pulled, the soil gave way but the roots held strong and steadfast.

She bit her already torn lip and grabbed the spade that was lying nearby. Blood spurted out of the barely recovered wound and dribbled a little down her delicate chin. “Nothing matters” she muttered to herself and dug more frantically. The tiny red droplets christened the ground and her agony was mutely accepted by the malleable soil.
Her bones creaked and muscles groaned with pain when she fell to her haunches and tried to yank the root out. “Nothing matters” She muttered again and punished her body for suffering untold abuses. She yanked at the root harder still; tears fell from her eyes as she hacked away at the unerring stones that crumbled down into the hole she had made with her spade.

Deeper the root went, deeper were her thrusts. She had to get to the bottom of it; she had to pull the whole root out. “Nothing matters” she muttered again. The smell of the soil failed to please her senses. It had rained the previous night, fierce thunder storms had played in the sky, trees had been uprooted in distant parks and her world had been pillaged again and again.

Monsoons had come, the heavy downpour had cleansed her garden but her spirit lay broken. The root gave way a bit and she wrapped its whitish brown tentacles like a twine around her fingers. It yielded and then resisted, just as she had the night before. She had tried to plead to his better nature and tried to resist when she realized his brutish intent. He had yanked her hard when she had clung to the baluster just as the root was holding on. The harder she resisted the more force he applied.

He hit her hard, slapped her fingers with vicious intent and then pried them open one by one as she screamed and pleaded.

She hacked at the nearby soil in the pit, steadily dismantling its support structure. The smaller supporting roots were removed. She became systematic in her strategy to gain the upper hand; isolation was the best strategy to disarm the enemy, he had told her so when times had been good and then he used the same technique on her.

The root lay exposed like a white entrail, sullen, silent and abused, just like her. She pulled it out and clutched it to her chest. Her body racked as she cried silently. A car engine roared into the driveway and hurried footsteps stalked the cobbled garden path.

A warm embrace engulfed her and tried to soothe her hurt. “Ma” she looked up at her grieving mother’s face and showed her the root “Ma, it survived, just like me.”

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I'm not into tagging and there are a few which are pending already but I guess I will do this one but break a few rules while I'm at it-

Eight Things I Am Proud About-

I'm A Loner- I don't need to draw on other peoples energies to feel complete or stay connected with people 24/7.

I'm Not Open To Constructive Criticism- I don't believe there is such a thing as Constructive Criticism especially when it comes to personality traits. We are who we are and change has to come from within.

I'm An Aggressive Angry Person I can't stand fools or fools who think they are damn clever and I love to take their trip but not with verbal lashing but with passive aggressiveness. I'm still perfecting that art form.

I'm Very Defensive- Old childhood defense mechanism that has trailed along with me into adulthood.

I Can't Stand Losing Things- If I loose even a pencil I have to find it or else it drives me crazy.

I'm Snotty About Who I Hang Out With- I like to be with people who can think beyond money, shopping and food.

I Can Do My Own Housework- Yeah, for Indian women thats a big thing.

I Love To Sleep in- Though I never get to sleep in after having kids.

Done! No more Desigirl! Have pity on little old me!

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Today was Aayan’s first day at school. He was a real champ, there was no cribbing and cry and he went straight up to his class. The circus, however had camped outside the school on the parking lot. Parents were fighting with
bus drivers. Their arguments ranged from the buses being too crowded to picking their kids up first. One couple even had a mini fight between themselves in front of a whole crowd of people. When the wife backed down and was out of earshot the husband turned to the bus driver and asked the driver whether he had seen his wife make a face at him.

I choked with laughter. People can be so damn weird. The gentry were basically from the Punjabi community and it seemed to me as if I had been transported back to Delhi hearing the aggressive conversation being held in Hindi and Punjabi and seeing the mostly North Indian faces.

The day was fun, I had a fantastic time observing hassled, insecure parents and watching the convoy of cars following the buses after school. But what was disturbing was the clique of Koromangala Punjabi crowd hanging out together and bitching to each other about the school and bus system even before the school’s begun.
It’s a spanking new school and they were bitching and whining. Some parents don’t change. Nothing is too good for their spoilt angels or them.

A few parents complained about kids vomiting in the bus and hauled up the driver for it. I felt like stepping in and telling them that the cause for early morning vomiting had nothing to do with the bus but more with the obsessive need Indian parents have to force milk down kids throats and while some are lactose intolerant (like me) others have trouble keeping heavy breakfast down early in the morning.

And, we all know that when one kid pukes five more would throw up.

But I kept my trap shut! I’m done being the ‘in your stupid face’ type! Let them lead their stupid lives and hassle people. All I do is sit back and enjoy the circus when it comes to town.

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I’m pretty choosy about my shoes. Back in the US I was in love with Prada, Nine West, Victoria Secret shoes and the good old Reebox. Now back home my feet are incased in Soles and Levis. Soles is a popular Bangalore shoe store my sister in law introduced me to. She is a shoe freak. Every month she buys at least three to four pairs. Of course she is crazy but we all are crazy about something or the other, right?

She had come over to spend the weekend and I couldn’t take my eyes off her elegant red flats. The flats sported a simple yet elegant triangle design with a loop in the middle. I was in love with the flats and when I wore them I had a shoe orgasm. They were so soft and comfortable. I felt as if I was walking on fleece. I had to have them!
The next day I found myself looking for parking on the congested Church Street. My feet were hurting in the Hideout Heels I had picked up in Delhi. The heels had burned a hole in my wallet, expensive, hard and bitch to wear but like all sexy shoes they were a must have at the time but I was done being a sexy siren, the heels had been hell on my knees and made me feel my age; I wanted flats and Soles was the place to be.

The shop sported very trendy flats and I was in shoe heaven. The pricing was reasonable ranging between Rs 800 to a grand and I wanted them all. I tried a whole bunch; greed filled my heart, but then found myself settling for the same flats I had seen on my sister in law’s feet.

Love prevailed; I didn’t give in to temptation and returned with only one pair of flats.

When my sister in law met me the next weekend she was kind of weirded out that I bought the same pair. Yeah, even I would have found that weird but love knows no norms or etiquettes and I’m to be seen wearing those shoes most of the times when I’m being a mom but when its time to be me and not a mom traversing Bangalore I am to be found wearing my below the ankle Levis shoes.

Again, Levis biggest show room is on Church Street and the shoes are daammnnn hot! They give the slim look and are so smart that I found myself wearing my regular straight jeans instead of the boot length jeans. Levis jeans and Levis shoes, can a woman feel any more empowered?

I’m not too sold on Metro and other shoe shops. They give me the auntyji feeling. Especially sandles with bead work on them or those with tacky nuggets on them. And keep me away from those pointy shoes. They remind me of the witch from wizard of Oz! Pointy shoes to go with the pointy hat.
BTW, did I forget to mention that those Levis shoes are for about four grand? Stop hiccuping! Shoes do reflect our personalities; stylish shoes mean that we take care of even the smallest details in our lives.

Though I don’t suffer from shoe fetish like most women but I do feel that a woman should have at least five good expensive pairs. Men rarely notice what we put on our feet but women do look – all the way from top to bottom and if their sizing up matters to you then taking interest in your shoes should be top priority.
Recommended- Soles and Levis and no it isn’t an ad ;-)

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Death, stoning, whipping are still punishments practiced against women in certain parts of the world. Corrupters of the world are to be killed why? Coz the Prophet said so. Off with yer head. Who the fuck gave you the right to call my god an ass? Or gave you the right to show you freakin’ naked ass? Cover your silken thighs, don’t show your cleavage! Someone might grab you and fuck you up and it will be all your fault.

Man is weak by nature, a wolf who would hump you savagely if it weren't for for rape laws to protect that clit of yours. You need to stay down, keep your legs crossed, your eyes be down, your mouth sealed shut or you wouldn’t like what we do to you. A 'fatwa' or a ‘dharna’ by the womens’ group would have you in hiding.
Don’t you dare act all frisky! Didn’t your daddy kiss you enough? Fuck you and all your talk of feminism. You are nothing but bra burning, home wrecking feminists. Piles of shit, worse than the scums of the earth, you should have been killed way before you saw the first light of the day.

Bitches, whores, cunts- you are corrupter's of the world, Eves that caused humanities downfall. Even the Buddha begrudged you enlightenment so given in are you to your shrewish, whorish nature. Down with you and your sweet talk. You are the dark to our light. Mothers of destruction, sisters of greed, adulterous wives you are the seeds of our destruction.

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Madhya Pradesh does not like sex toys. Why? Because it goes against our culture to indulge in pleasurable sex. Sex is about having babies and not frolicking about wearing strapped penis or using vibrating condoms.

While the Madhya Pradesh Public Welfare and Development Minister Kailash Vijayvargiya is convinced that the vibrating condom is a sex toy, the company that had introduced the product about six months ago denies it."It is not a sex toy but simply a pleasure enhancer that is in great demand by the people," said Mukesh Gupta, a HLL distributor in Bhopal.

But the minister said: "Condoms are used for family planning. When they are used for pleasure with devices like vibrators, they become sex toys.

The minister, apparently, was distressed when told by some Bhopal students that sex toys were abundantly available and he decided to take the issue of vibrating condoms up and not the illegally available naughty toys. He was further affronted when he realized that these 'pleasure enhancing' condoms were made by the central government.

After all the government is in the business of pragmatic, sterile contraceptions and should not stray into the arena of filthy liberal pleasure promoting activities. Pleasure makes the youth promiscuous.

Frankly, I think its the case of the fox with a cut tail. The minister is probably not getting any and is miffed that others are having more fun than him in a shanty little town like Bhopal;)

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Power cuts can be shitty. You sweat, you curse, slowly loose your mind and blow your brains off using a AK-47. A Pakistani youth committed suicide saying that he had no control over the government but could control his own destiny and it was lights out for him.

Laiq Sher, 18, killed himself on Saturday after his relatives stopped him from blocking a road to show his anger at blackouts in his village near the northwestern city of Peshawar.

His death gives new meaning to the term- blowing one's fuse;)

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If you happen to be a complete green horn when it comes to gardening and live in India then the book – The Penguin Book Of Gardening In India will probably ease you into the world of flowers, plants and trees quite easily.

Meer Uberoi has done a fantastic job of turning a subject that might seem to be boring to some into an interesting read by providing interesting historical
information about the respective flower or plant.

The Romans’ passion for the rose was nothing short of excessive. According to Seneca, Romans constructed special greenhouses, heated pipes filled with hot water, to get out of season flowers. During their ceremonies, roses were used on an astonishing scale. At banquets, roses were worn in extravagant garlands and wreaths; rose petals were strewn on the couches and flours and were floated in cups of wine. When insufficient, shiploads of roses were imported from North Africa. Cicero writes that Verres, the governor of Sicily, was carried about in a litter, the cushions of which were stuffed with petals. ...In Sybaris (from which we get the word sybarite), the inhabitants were so given to luxury that people slept in mattresses filled with rose petals- literally a ‘bed of roses’!

The book is a resourceful storehouse of vital gardening knowledge. The first few chapters deal with essential information that gardeners should be aware of, ranging from having a complete chapter on gardening Jargon where a newbie gets acquainted with words like Blanching, Bract, Dead Heading, Pleach etc to chapters on cultivation, watering, fertilizers, pests, diseases, designs for small or large gardens.

Entire Chapters are dedicated to Roses, Bamboos and even on Bonsai. My favorite chapter happens to be on trees that can thrive in large containers. Trees like Mandarin Orange and Coral Jasmine are a must have in Bangalorean gardens though I couldn’t get them at Lal Baugh and I’m scouting around in other nurseries.

Ms Uberio has also done a good job of providing information on the type of plants and flowers that can survive the Indian climate. Information on perennials, annuals , bulbs, corms, tubers etc and essential information on potting has made gardening less overwhelming for a newbie like me.

The book, thankfully, is not a coffee table book filled with generic professionally landscaped garden pictures with little information instead it is stacked with minute details that seasoned gardeners know but those relatively new to gardening inevitable get wrong and having failed give up this pleasurable hobby even before they dig their hands into the earthy beauty of molding nature.

Newbies often tend to forget to make drainage holes in their pots or neglect to put crocks in the pot or fail to realize that the broken shards need to covered with a layer of sand or moss before the soil mixture is put in the soil. Many don’t even know the importance of the top soil for a plant to thrive.

There is never enough information about gardening and I’m of the opinion that the more books one has on this subject the better chances one has of having a manageable if not a beautiful garden.

Another book that one can pick on gardening which pertain to fundamental queries about gardening is 1000 Handy Gardening Hints, the consultant editor is Alan Titchmarsh. The book provides solutions and tips on gardening which most people tend to learn by trial and error method.

I am told a laurel hedge should not be cut with shears or a mechanical hedge trimmer. Is this true?

Yes, because the leaves will unavoidably be cut in half by these methods and will turn brown. Eventually this damage may weaken the hedge, as such leaves will fall. Although rather laborious, it is better to use secateurs and cut stems individually.

The question and answers range on all fronts from Hedges to Trees to Roses and even though many of the plants and trees aren’t available in India yet this book is a must have since it provides important gardening tips which are universal to gardening no matter what terrain, climate or soil one might have.
Another book which proved to be handy is about flowers is Indian Garden Flowers by Amarjeet Singh Baath. The pictures of flowers are breath taking and the information about which flowers to grow during which seasons is quite handy. At a glance one can recognize the type of flower one wants or has and the care it needs.

Thankfully this was one book that did not get obsessive about the Rose but provided information on flowers like Calendula, Treasure Flower, Sweet Peas, Larkspur etc and also talks about raising the plants from seeds, propagation etc.

In fact, I gained courage to buy Namdhari Seeds and plant my own seeds and within a few months reaped the benefits of seeing thriving plants and flowers.
My search for good gardening books is ongoing and I will continue to share reviews of books that have proved to be of help in my venture to restore some beauty to my neglected garden.

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A phantom hand caressed her lower back but her children and husband were lying with her in the pitch black darkness of the bedroom. Laughter and giggles filled the air as her husband poked fingers into the little ticklish stomachs and under arms. The children wriggled and guffawed. Her husband also chuckled. But she lay still on her side of the bed, struck with sadness and loneliness. There was grief in the touch of that small hand, a deep regret and desire to be part of her hearth but she knew that laws of nature would never let it happen.

The touch burned deep into her soul and her maternal heart cried out for its ghostly soul. There was no fear to be felt, no screams to be mouthed or flurries of rough motions catapulting the family into a frenzy of experiencing a second hand ghostly haunting.

She quietly told her husband that it had happened again. But this time there were no shadows scurrying by or flashing images of a child playing in the silent playroom but a hand being put on her back demanding attention as if there was a third child feeling neglected.

The children could hardly understand what the parents were discussing such are the comforts of tender age but they knew something unusual had happened. Their mother had become unusually still and spoke to their father in soft measured tones.

The two years old laid a hand between her mother’s breasts, demanding attention and surety. The mother closed her eyes, the feeling was the same, she instinctively patted her child- She was there for her but who was there for that bewildered soul? Who would take that child home?

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Remember how Salma Hayak looked in the movie From Dusk Till Dawn? She had men and women drooling. A sensuous beauty with grace and sex appeal all rolled into one.

Today Salma is very pregnant and the media is being snide about her breasts. Sure, she looks like she could feed an entire village but thats something to be proud about. Her baby will have plenty if she decides to breast feed and good for the mommy and the baby.

In my books the lady looks beautiful and all the men who find her pregnancy to be a deformity should be made to undergo similar conditions to appreciate the effort it takes to carry a fetus 24/7.

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While watching the movie- Secret Lives of Dentists a few years back I remember scoffing at the part when the entire family falls sick and the sickness brings back the bond of love and trust between the couple and the erring wife does not leave her husband.
I remember sayings – ‘WTF? How can the misery of being ill bring the love back in a marriage?’ and then remembered the countless Mills & Boon that I read where the arrogant hero met with an accident, or became blind (Jane Eyre) and the lover’s unconditional love transforms their rabid relationships and they lived family ever after.
Even in the show The Sopranos the bond between Tony Soprano and Carmella was re-strengthened after he was shot and she had ‘been’ there for him. But by this time I understood the emotions that strengthen a relationship when a loved one falls sick.
Recently my kids fell sick one after the other. Their temperatures soared, body aches, chest racking coughs and they passed nasty gas that made the house stink as if we had a skunk living with us. Though I had gone through similar exercises for over five years but being a mother I continued to fret and made constant calls to Aaman about the kids’ sickness.
The calls would have irritated any sane person but our worry and love for the kids kept him from telling me to cut short the minute by minute report.
He took off early from work and we took the kids to the Doctor and within a few days the kids were somewhat back to being their normal selves.
Today while talking to my mom I brought this matter up about appreciating Aaman for providing support when our kids fell sick and my mom remembered my grandfather always being there when we fell sick.
Fretting about a loved one when sick or in a life and death situation makes us vulnerable. It’s as if we ourselves become like children and need some kind of emotional assurances even though we may be the ones managing the entire activity of trying to get the person back on his feet.
During these times we start seeing Doctors like gods who would magically restore our loved ones and tend to rely on those who extend their unconditional support while we aren’t our normal selves.
It isn’t the happy times that bind us together but the tough times weathered together be they financial or ill health that strengthen relationships.

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“Write Deepti ‘Fucking’ Lamba! Write!”

“But what the fuck do I write?”

“I don’t friggin’ care bitch! Something! Anything”

I stared at the laptop screen and mutter “Nothing! I have nothing left to talk about. I’m freaking squeezed dry of any entertaining thought.”

“Fuck you bitch! Write!” the attention whore in me demands.

“Nada! I’m all out!”

“Go sit in a café and write some likeable gibberish. Stop catering to your shack of a home and move that fat arse.”

“But my kid is sick.”

“Give him his medicine.”

“But I can’t leave him at home.”

“You have a maid.”

“But-“

“Christ! You are such a whiny lazy cunt!”

“I gotta write! Its been seven days.”

“Yeah! Its been seven whole shop closed days, go to the café, you need ‘us’ time.”

“Us time? You mean ‘me’ time?”

“No Bitch not me ‘getting to go to Spa’ time but us time like- writing for me- the attention whore and for her clients.”

“Did you just call my readers Johns?”

“If the boot fits”

“It doesn’t, they aren’t buying any goods from me!”

“They are all the time – you are whoring your thoughts!”

“Come again?”

“All that sex talk, celeb gossip, hot stories, graphic novel reviews are for your Johns”

“My readers!”

“Your JOHNS!”

“Shud up bitch!”

“No you shud the fuck up and write something concrete you nasty old lump of lard.”

“I gotta write.”

“Well, you just did sweet heart and the Johns are here to read it.”

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******WARNING: SPOILERS, READ AT YOUR OWN PERIL*******

The old lion has lost his hold over the Serengeti and has gone into hiding. With a gun resting against his belly he stares at a door feeling the end of his reign. His luck seems to have run out and the days of reckoning seem to be at hand. There is no glamour in the life of a mobster but Tony somehow weaseled his way into our hearts and has us sympathizing and hoping he survives.

Did the creator of The Sopranos manipulate us into suffering from Stockholm Syndrome? He reveals Tony's sociopathy once and for all when Dr Melfi (finally) reads the report on the effects of therapy on sociopaths, and recognizes Tony for what he is. We love Tony despite knowing him to be a hard core criminal, an asshole who didn't think twice about suffocating his own nephew in his own blood. What is it that endears that fat fuck so much to our hearts that we have been reduced to blithering lovelorn idiots who cannot do without the Soprano alpha male?

Like all larger than life characters Tony Soprano has a charismatic personality. He projects the typical mobster qualities of leadership, loyalty and drawing in the weak under the guise of giving protection. And despite knowing his criminal nature we are drawn in by his charisma and like Dr Melfi continues to look for some redeeming qualities where there are none to be found.

Tony and his goons are sociopaths, people who don't think twice about killing those who stand in their way and yet like most mob bosses they are patriotic to their country though at best it’s a misplaced loyalty as they act like maggots eating up the bowels of the nation from within.

But time and again the writers of the series have cleverly made Tony’s concerns relatable such as when he talked about nuclear bombs coming into the country with the ports not being protected well enough or pointing out some innocuous Muslim guys who gave up their 'borrowed' American vices and became devout Muslims. The issues of protecting the ports and racial profiling had been subtly addressed in the episodes along with other issues such as the neurotic sibling rivalry between Tony and his sister Janice, his wife’s selfish need for monetary security and Tony’s disappointment of having a wimp of a son.

But while the issues may be identifiable but Tony’s reactions to the situations show him to be a ticking time bomb ready to explode at any given opportunity. He is tired of life, his family and his job. It’s as if the lion knows that the end is near but the old geezer still has some pride left in him and will not go down without a magnificent fight.

Hopefully the ending of the show will not take the simple moralistic angle of Tony dying a dog’s death or going into witness protection. Even in his destruction I root for him that he meets his maker with the old Western style ending – a shootout or at the hands of the one person he least expected to betray him – Carmella.

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The Virgin Comics label continues its reinterpretation of global myths with Deepak Chopra's Ganesha. This goes beyond the basic story telling of the genesis of the Elephant God, the son of God Shiva and Goddess Parvati/Uma. It's a beautifully illustrated graphic novel. The emotions evoked seem sincere but the logo of 'authentic India' irked me like biting into an errant pungent cardamom that spoiled the taste of an otherwise succulent dish.

Ganesha, the god of compassion through knowledge, adorns the walls of most homes and is considered to be the harbinger of good luck and yet his origins lie in the ultimate truth of the Universe that we have trouble accepting - birth, death and rebirth and more so the grief felt by parents when the young ones die.

Ganesha appeared in the Hindu pantheon in about the 8th century A.D., and analyses of his role have ranged from proto-Dravidian origins to heralding the coming of an age of progress and conquest. Ganesha is currently one of the most popular gods in the Indian sub-continent, with numerous adherents, cutting across social boundaries, and with a reputation of being a 'remover of obstacles' or problem-solver, the symbology suits the current solution-oriented dialectic, one reason perhaps for the popularity of Ganesha.

Deepak Chopra's interpretation of Ganesha's origins in the first issue of the series is straightforward. He talks about the love that lies between a mother and her child, the jealous heart of a child unwilling to share his mother with others and yet the mother's heart being big enough to encompass all beings in maternal compassion.

Shakti or Uma the giver of life is married to the destroyer Lord Shiva who in anger killed his own son and regretted his impulsive actions. The dichotomy of being a life giver living harmoniously with the destroyer God clearly symbolizes the relationship between life and death, good and evil and looking beyond these truths that the rhythm of the Universe is eternal, that the laws of cause and effect govern the lives of divine beings as well for they too can die and be resurrected.

The beauty of the novel does not lie just in the narration or the illustration or the philosophy of karma or finding the 'godly' qualities within us or what was called incarnating the gods within us but in human qualities as well of honoring one's parents, forgiveness and grieving despite knowing that life is eternal.The memory of elephants is a boon and a curse, especially when combined with the passion of humans.

Visually, the images are wonderful, with a hand-drawn, soft tint, and the coloring is reminiscent of the Amar Chitra Katha series, updated for modern inking and aesthetic tastes.

Deepak Chopra's Ganesha is a must read and a collector's item.

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