Gee Whiz!
  • So how far would you go to get that perfect look? Temptation to go under the knife is immense, especially if the surgeon is easily available at an unrealistically low rate. Oneal Ron Morris, 30, was one such "doctor".  Born a man but lives as a woman, she got patients (usually women and transgenders like herself) who wanted to enhance their looks by going under the knife. Little did they know what was actually injected into their bodies was a toxic mix of cement, aerosol for flat tires and super glue! From pictures of Morris' own backside, it's clear that she's injected herself with the toxic mix as well. And it isn't exactly aesthetic to look at. So wasn't that reason enough to rethink a surgery under her?

    If you are thinking of surgery to get more shapely lips or buttocks or whatever, you might want to check the credentials of the doctor first. That is only if you don't want to end up looking ten times worse and later to have to go to a real surgeon to correct the mess. Like Rajee Read More »from Fake doctor injected cement to enhance looks
  • Midnight in Paris

    Watching Woody Allen's latest film 'Midnight in Paris,' about an aspiring writer who magically finds himself transported to another time, I felt that warm sense of comfort that accompanies the realisation that I'm not completely neurotic. Or if I am, then I'm certainly not the only one.

    The protagonist, played by Owen Wilson, is earnest, naïve, idealistic.  It felt, in fact, a lot like he was playing Woody Allen himself; that sweetly endearing boy, wavering on self-confidence, stammering uncontrollably in the presence of a pretty girl, but witty and insightful nonetheless. Makes you miss seeing Woody onscreen - no one plays Woody better than Woody. But Owen Wilson's fresh innocence earns itself a spot in your heart.

    He is engaged to Rachel McAdams, who in contrast to her usual roles, is delightful in her portrayal of the shrewish and materialistic fiancée. From the very first scene, it is easy to hate everything about her.  She constantly criticizes his writing in public, talks down to

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  • Much fuss has been made of a male goat in Lucknow that has started producing milk (watch the video). Now here's a primer for those who can't tell a male goat (for that matter, most four-legged mammals) from its biological mate: Look between the hind legs. This can be tricky, for the udders of female goats — or nannies — have two teats (unlike cows, which have four). In males, called billies, the corresponding appendage to be found there is the scrotum. Never expect milk from there — because that is NOT milk.

    But hello, Sheru in Lucknow actually produced milk. Proof is in the white liquid squirting from his barely visible udders.

    Is this some divine milkman at work? Sorry to burst your milky bubble, but no.

    NBS News video: Male goat in Lucknow produces milk

    The last time I wrote about goats, people ganged up to get mine. So I'll keep this one short and pointed — the horns of the dilemma, I mean.

    First off, Sheru isn't the first or the only billy-goat in the world to be the cynosure of

    Read More »from Can men produce breast milk?
  • David Beckham, Robert De Niro, Jude Law... there's no dearth of celebrity husbands who have flirted with disaster for the misdemeanors of their kids' nannies. I've not been that unlucky -- or lucky, depends on how you look at it -- but my experiences have been enlightening on the run and entertaining in retrospect. Here's my story:

    Babysitting can be a nightmare, especially when taken literallyThe Greater Painted Snipe is one of the intriguing one-offs of the Animal Kingdom, and literally the closest living thing to a sitting duck. He is a drab, dull homebody whose singular goal is to keep his house in order and his brood well-fed. His sometime wife — the painted one — wears the proverbial pants and is an aggressive and promiscuous go-getter. She fights off other females for the attention of this dreary chump. Once he is suitably smitten, she conducts her business in a lustful frenzy. After she has accepted his seed, she potters around impatiently feigning interest in hubby and home. One stormy night, she lays her eggs and leaves. The next thing

    Read More »from My Nanny Diaries
  • The days of Ramzan

    Over the last fortnight, I have found myself waiting impatiently for the clock to strike 6 pm; just around the time of evening prayers, before the fast is broken.

    In the days of Ramzan, the air at 6 pm is thick with celebratory aroma; the road across the mosque is lined with stalls, cooking up a storm, and it draws a crowd like moths to a flame.

    The people it draws are wide and varied. I look around me as I wait for my first taste of the evening's pleasures. I see a girl with a dark, khol-rimmed eyes and a nose ring mount her bicycle, with a bag of steaming sheekh hung across the handle bars. Groups of boys, curly-haired and goateed, tear into legs of tandoori kebab. A couple of college girls with colourful jholas march determinedly from one booth to the next, paper plate in hand, steadily munching on assorted goodies. The local celebrity chef moves from stall to stall on a food walk with his friends, sampling the wares and taking pictures. And couples, united by their love of food,

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  • Holding on to friendship

    It's that time of year again, when schoolgirl wrists are lined with colourful bands, often all the way up to their elbows, to represent the circle of friends that encompass schoolgirl worlds.

    But it's not a tradition we carry with us into adulthood, and perhaps in the scheme of things, dropping it into the basket of 'leave behind' allows us to pick up other shiny objects from the basket for grown-ups.

    But grown-ups have a lot of things on their minds — careers and house loans, laundry chores and grocery errands, babies and education funds. And friends often don't make the list. Friends must take a backseat to the grind of daily routine.

    It's a loss that we learn to live with, and don't really miss. But what are we really losing out on? Does friendship merely represent an ear to hear our stories? Is it just someone to be silly with, to regress over memories of simpler times?  Not to belittle these things at all, but friendships can be so much more; more than sharing stories, and

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