My latest book is The One Who Swam With The Fishes.
"A mesmerizing account of the well-known story of Matsyagandha ... and her transformation from fisherman’s daughter to Satyavati, Santanu’s royal consort and the Mother/Progenitor of the Kuru clan." - Hindustan Times
"Themes of fate, morality and power overlay a subtle and essential feminism to make this lyrical book a must-read. If this is Madhavan’s first book in the Girls from the Mahabharata series, there is much to look forward to in the months to come." - Open Magazine
"A gleeful dollop of Blytonian magic ... Reddy Madhavan is also able to tackle some fairly sensitive subjects such as identity, the love of and karmic ties with parents, adoption, the first sexual encounter, loneliness, and my favourite, feminist rage." - Scroll
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26 May 2007
The post with a lot of fairly useless links, where I also sound like I'm a little stoned. But I'm not. Really.
(No, it's not, but wouldn't it be fun if it were? Or, p'raps not. I DO turn 26 this year, which I think everyone will acknowledge is High Time to be An Adult. High Time. Heh. Every night is high time.)
Anyhoo, I have nothing to say. Really. My life has been fairly calm and uneventful. I finished work on a Major Personal Project, which made me bounce all over the house, like Tigger. I wish I had a tail, some days.
I've decided to buy an air conditioner after several mornings, waking up feeling like I've had a warm shower.
Old Monk and Coke will have to be given up for the summer and this makes me very, very sad, because nothing does it for me like Old Monk. But, after several comparision night type drinking things, I've realised that Old Monk hangovers are now leaving me nauseated and dehydrated all day, while the several large vodkas I imbibed yesterday and a couple of days ago can still get me out of the bed in the morning feeling absolutely peachy. Old Monk, Old Monk, why have you forsaken me? You served me well for close to, oh, nine years now.
I might very well be a sex addict, according to Oprah. I'm not sure exactly what to do with this news.
And to get the link for the last sentence, I typed Oprah Sex Addict into Google, and this made me giggle.
Speaking of things that made me giggle, I happened to look at a cricket match being played the other day--England versus the West Indies, I think it was--and one of the players was called R. Sidebottom. Heh. The poor guy.
I'm not very much of a cricket fan, as you have no doubt guessed. I'll go so far as to say that it is the scourge of our nation and if we spent less time watching people with stupid bats and balls, running around like great Freudian Stereotypes, or six year old boys, and if we spent less time investing and actually giving a fuck about who wins whatever matches and more time paying attention to a country where a lot of things are still very fucked up despite the fact that we have now proudly upgraded from a Third World label to a Developing Nation one, things would probably be a lot better. *coughcolonialhangovercough*
Also, I think it's deadly boring, and I dread whatever major matches India happens to be playing because that means I have to LISTEN to people going on and on and ON about scores and who hit what and how many overs. Not over soon enough, if you ask me. And I don't know why people keep watching anyway, because the Indian team invariably loses. Boys In Blue, my ass.
I also realised as I was typing that last paragraph that it would probably bring the trolls creeping out from wherever they are in hordes. Hah, it's more like a troll magnet. Oh well. You win some, you lose some. Blogging is not a popularity contest.
Except it so is.
Have you ever noticed when you say things aren't popularity contests they usually are?
See? I told you I had nothing to say.
Maybe we could chat next week? Yes? Call me!
EDITED UPDATE: And because I'm home for the first time in a very long time on a Saturday night, I'm announcing a mini contest! Oh, don't roll your eyes at me, this will be fun. So I was listening to We Didn't Start The Fire and I did a bit of a desi version. Only it's not finished, because I can't quite think how to wrap it up. That's where you come in. Pretty please?
Robert Clive, the last Mughal, Mangal Pandey raising hell,
British killed, Indians spilled, no one left alive.
Mahatma Gandhi spun a wheel, Mohammed Jinnah sprung a deal,
Pakistan—east and west, divide and rule put to test.
Nehru came to power, his little daughter learnt by far,
Aim taken by Godse, Gandhi blown away.
We didn’t start the fire etc etc
Indira Gandhi, no relation, launched the colour television,
Family Planning came to be, that and the Emergency
The Golden Temple was invaded, Sikhs felt violated,
Bodyguards machine gunned, Indira was stunned
Sikh riots ’84, worse than they had been before,
Genocide, tales of woe, British said, I told you so
We didn’t start the fire (and so on)
Rajiv Gandhi sworn in, Congress in the loony bin,
Enquiries were made, Gandhi family’s rep saved
License Raj fell apart, the LTTE’s broken heart,
MTNL came about, Bofors cast him out
Chandrashekar came on stage, ended that golden age,
The widow declined, Narisimha Rao changed his mind
We didn’t start the fire (ah, you know the rest)
And this is the part I don’t know what to do with. So, I put it in your hands, oh wise and capable reader. Finish this, updated to present day and you win a prize! (Well, not a real prize. But fame and glory on this spot on the internet, which is nice anyway, don’t you think?)