She came, she saw and she conquered
'What'? -- Did you ask?

Curiosity and purpose writ large on her face

Ambling, enabling and enquiring –

Picking on that, probing on this…she swooped down at the hint of a slightest cue

She chewed, she churned and she digested – leaving little to the imagination!

Often gnawing at things as she went along; yet so stately and regal -- like that Falcon on the royal sceptre!


I study, I read, and I overfeed

Judging, and often Adjudging -- artless mortals who have no defences

A forlorn glance – or a tap of the finger, a lazy yawn – or a shrug of the shoulder

…all chewed, churned and digested

And Sincere words thrashed, like chaff from grain


She came, she saw and she conquered

‘What’? – Did you ask?

…Not the Heart which had so much to say

Like a fish out of water...

My harried neighbour is concerned how FDI in retail will affect his early morning sojourns to the local market. Vegetables, he pointed out can still be bought fresh from retail stores; but what about fish, he asked.
The aquatic animal which has attained iconic status in Bengali cuisine, and is relished, (quite literally so) 'to the bone' is actually proving to be the real 'bone of contention' for the true-blue Bengali.
Fish, is a sacred subject among Bengalis -- as sacred as that talisman or good-luck charm that he fervently swears by! So you can well imagine the dilemma and distress, the very thought of having to buy fish from an air-conditioned store is causing him. Fish, after-all is to be bought from local markets -- with its colour, weight, lustre and 'smile' providing appropriate cues of its freshness. Which therefore also means that the discerning Bengali would like to 'touch, feel...and smell' the fish during such a purchase...and yes, getting his hands 'dirty' is also part of this skilled process!

Will the Bengali therefore get a similar experience at a retail store while selecting the limbless piscean delight, is the grave question bothering many Bengalis, including my next-door neighbour. Hopefully it won't be a case of a 'fish out of water'-- the true-blue Bengali who might find himself completely ill-at-ease in such 'antiseptic' environments while selecting his favourite meal of the day.

So Paschimbanga it is!

So Paschimbanga it is -- and like always the name change, or rechristening saw its fair share of raves and rants. From citing linguistic, parochial to more practical concerns such as pronounciation -- the debates have been intense and often plain sensational. But Mamata being the leader that she is, chose to follow the rules she best knows. And while we feel sad or sorry, for this rather odd name of our state, since we had hoped for a more 'presentable' appellation, something like Banga or Bangla for instance; this move cannot be ruled out as being unacceptable. In the recent past we have seen many cities adopting more indianised names and which had attracted their fair share of protests as well. A name of a place is a reflection of its linguistic and etymological roots, and therefore should mirror that ethos. It therefore makes sense to call 'Bombay' Mumbai, or Bangalore as Bengaluroo, doesnt matter if that seems unpalatable for some more so-called modernised souls, who have certain globalised concerns.

On the railroads...

Travelling by train on India’s chequered railroads is an invaluable revelation of sorts – it’s a fascinating lesson in history, culture and demographics. Each traveller has a story to tell, an interesting sensibility to reveal, or a riveting experience to share. In little less than 24-hours, I have been exposed to an array of people, from different parts of the country, all chambered in an air-conditioned cell, often conversing and a lot of times reading the other. The journey is a witness to new friendships, heated arguments and often tearful adieus. The physical destination is the same, but dreams different; goals diverse, and beliefs various -- yet what brings people together is the urge to share and express, and to seal new relationships. In the cubicle, was a small time entrepreneur, travelling to Delhi for an urgent medical treatment. Another disparate group of people vociferously voicing their support for a yoga guru’s battle against corruption, and anxious to join their leader’s clarion call; or a French couple oblivious of everything around, enveloped in each other’s embrace. These are such dissimilar aspects of life; just as multifaceted as the scenes outside – from the very lush green farmlands of Bengal, to the rugged brown hills of Bihar, or the sprawling sugarcane fields of UP – the window offers a kaleidoscope of images, of India’s effervescent and ever-changing landscapes. Somewhere in the distance was a lone house topped with dish antennae, standing amid green farm fields, where cattle grazed peacefully. Or an insignificant lake with droves of white and brown ducks, they seemed like school children queuing for some special morning ritual. Elsewhere an abandoned storehouse, standing unkempt near the rail tracks – it’s worn out pillars, a reminder of the British era, a time, probably long forgotten by this nondescript village and its people. Such is the beauty of a train travel in India – no matter which area you traverse, the glimpses are always as diverse as much as they are captivating.

"Simply the thing that I am shall make me live" - Shakespeare ...

She walked into the prayer-hall meaningfully; the back stiff, holding her craning head firm, so that she could get a clear view of the hall. Seated on the floor were mortals of different colours and delineations; and she grudgingly worried if this is where she would be required to sit, as a ‘significant other’. Her scanning eyes did finally trace a not-so-crowded area; here she could snugly fit in with her largish Chanel tote, she thought. She raced towards her goal, and plonked herself definitively, keeping her fashionable tote cautiously right next to her. Still unsure, she acquainted her fidgety eyes to her surroundings – an elegant bangle here, or a refined silk there. The sparkling diamond ring on someone’s hand, or a smartphone gracing someone’s palm; minute cues, which gave her significant assurance, that she was after all surrounded by some who were distinctly in her league; though plenty in that hall, who still represented an unobtrusive category, just like the haggard lady and her teenage daughter, sitting behind her, draped in their diaphanous bright clothes.

The puja was yet to begin, and crowds were still milling into the prayer-hall, filling up the empty spaces like a game of musical-chairs in progress -- except that, the music which set the rhythm to this morning ambience was the lilting Suprabhaatam by M.S Subbulakshmi. Peace was evident on most faces; they tried to immerse themselves in the purity of the morning…with eyes closed. And then trudged along a pedestrian, a dusky lady, probably in her fifties, carrying a paltry bunch of four red-roses and a palm-sized pouch, a cheap velvet concoction in purple, it bore the name of the jeweller in white, which the lady gladly used as her purse. Having noticed the stylish tote from a distance, she made her way, to the area. She picked up the bright Chanel matter-of-factly, and sat down, then warmly handed over the pricey item to its owner next to her. Was it time for all hell to break loose – how could a petty pair of hands touch a Chanel, and one that has been kept so gingerly on the floor...the tote owner just failed to undertsand. Appalled, she firmly demanded an explanation as to why her pretty bag was removed. “Madam, your bag looks so expensive, you should be more careful about it and keep it close to you, lest it gets stolen!” replied the lady prosaically. Least expecting that unadorned answer, the tote owner bellowed angrily, “it’s heavy; I can’t keep it on my lap, for the entire ceremony.” “Madam you have come here to be part of a puja ceremony, to unload yourself of your worries…why have you brought along another headache?” came another unpretentious reaction from the very modest woman. Stunned at that plain-speaking from an ordinary woman, the over-bearing tote owner felt a sharp sting inside her heart that unsettled her to the core; and yet in that instant a realisation dawned inside her. Through the rest of the morning while the purifying Vedic chants rented the air, the tote owner spied glances at her humble neighbour, who was sitting there pleasantly, immersed in the prayers; while she argued the merits of her day’s experience inside her head – the effect of which was jolting, and its lesson taking time to percolate her being. Yet somewhere inside her that message had found roots, and it would only be a matter of time before she herself would espouse that very belief.

The theatre of life on Marine Drive

…And so, the waves rolled on; undulating and incessant, just like the city itself. Glitzy buildings, crowding vehicles and rows of palm trees behind me, I looked on ahead, at the horizon -- the sparkling necklace of street lights however, commanding my attention every now and then. The sky-high buildings, now lit up in their evening finery as it were, looked resplendent. The glamour and sheen, part of the city’s DNA, was unmistakable…for even a ‘chanawallah’ looked so presentable in his crisp-white pyjama and shirt, selling his wares on one of Mumbai’s most glamorous spots. Yet the promenade sees a convergence of people from all walks of life. A humble family of four, excited to see the smart residences and hotels; a tired taxi-driver taking a breather from his gruelling hours or a modish young woman briskly walking the path, wearing a fine pair of Adidas. It’s a mishmash of colour and contrasts on this breezy stretch -- somewhere a sexagenarian, dressed in an earthly silk sari, sat unperturbed by all the hullaballoo around, taking in everything with the quiet demeanour of one who has seen life in all its colours; while elsewhere sat a youngish couple, cheek-to-cheek basking in the aura of new love, sharing sweet nothings, and laughing heartily! Nearby, a middle-aged man, looked forlornly at the horizon, probably lost in the nothingness; ironical in the ‘city of dreams’ which envelops one and all, in its everyday grind…’Keep Walking’, I’m poignantly reminded by a very recognisable Johnnie Walker sticker on a car – I do just that, and find my own place of quiet, soaking in the theatre of life as it unfolded on the very busy Marine Drive!

The divine oyster in the heart of Mumbai

The last strain of the orange-yellow sun was gradually waning from Mumbai's glazed skyline, while teeming crowds were negotiating a busy traffic on a muggy May evening. Bright street lights permeated the bustling milieu -- for the rest of the evening they will show the way, to a city that quite-literally never sleeps. There is urgency; a rush everywhere i look, and a noise that is deafening almost. The cacophony of sounds wheeling in my head, i looked at the white structure at a distance, poised elegantly against the roaring sea waves, Zen-like in its appeal. In an instant my mind achieved a quietude that i was so long striving for. Simple, yet mesmerizing it charmed my senses -- the crowds, the sounds, and the clutter were now a thing of the past.
I walked on with my sights laid on the minaret of the Haji Ali Dargah -- the white edifice, like a divine oyster, seemed to say, "come hither, for here is peace". Beggars on the pavement called out for alms and a sprightly middle-aged lady egged visitors to purchase the sweet-scented white and orange flowers laid plainly on her outstreched hands. Dusk had set in by now and hundreds were quietly making their way into the holy shrine. As i neared the steps, the rustic strains of Qwawalli reached my ears -- the words incoherent to my untrained ears, yet its appeal (to the Lord) so profound and gripping.
Having offered my obeisance, i looked around; admiring this antiquated Islamic edifice - its serene marble courtyard, the intricately laid pillars and minarets, and the enticing mirror work...and with that time just flew by. Night, having now engulfed the sea, the occasional roars reminded us of its stark presence every now and then; i walked back to the clutter of Mumbai once again -- yet this time with a serenity of mind and spirit...i felt replenished!

What makes sexy?

The other day the very opinionated Shobha Dey wrote an interesting article on Mamta Banerjee where she described the CM in-waiting as not being sexy. In Shobha Dey's perceived notion, which has been shaped in the world of elitist Mumbai glamour and brazen display, surely the very frugal Miss Banerjee might seem unsexy. Mamta is not a stilettoed, wine-sipping dolled-up uber society-chick trying to make sense of the latest fashion trends, and neither does she belong to the traditional and sophisticated political class of foreign-educated people. Mamta is, what her party symbolises as pure grass-roots -- a woman who has risen from a very modest background. She has often been erratic, belligerent and disruptive in the past -- but she is talented, knowledgable, and a thinker in the true sense of the term. Her methods might have been illogical in the past, her mannerisms devoid of any sophistication and her English full of grammatic errors, yet she had depth, she could discern and she could speak, albeit in the language of the masses. So what makes sexy then -- an outward air of refinement and sophistication? -- Surely Not! Sexy is independence of spirit, sexy is the indomitable mind, sexy is the ability to stick on and make your point of view known, and sexy is humility. If Mamta is all this, then she is sexy...even with those hackneyed flip-flops and the humble begali-cotton saree!

another history in the making?

It's the season of creating new highs and turning a new leaf -- we are basking in the glory of our fascinating ICC WC 2011 win; a devout Gandhian is making us sway to his anti-corruption mantra, while a churning of a different kind is on in the eastern part of the country -- a very determined Mamata Bannerjee is all set to change tables in Bengal (read: chairs, cushions, in fact a complete overhaul of Writer's Building!!)

The lady in question is the firebrand Trinamool Congress leader, being described as the one who might topple the pious 34 year rule of the Communist Party of India in Bengal. Its mid April now, with the sweaty summer month making us cringe, and the scorching heat making tempers fly! Quite naturally therefore the mud slinging contest between political parties has reached a feverish pitch. But nothing can beat what a senior CPIM man said about Mamata a couple of days back -- he compared her to a sex worker! It is no surprise that in the male-dominated pious bastion of red politics, women have very little role to play. But this isn't about some party ideology. It's about a man's inherent belief that a woman is nothing more than a 'physical entity' sans emotions, intellect or wisdom. She is to be taunted and ridiculed as and when one wishes to. Surprisingly Mamata, who in a very populist way has been associated with all things disruptive (never mind even if her intentions were pure)chose not to comment about this controversy, distancing herself from this very dirty and demeaning brand of politics, and concentrating on the task at hand. And this is exactly the kind of evolution that she wants to see happen in the state which has lost its moral and philosophical grounding under the left rule. Is it another history in the making?

Liz Taylor's love affair with bling (another published feature)

Elizabeth Taylor had once famously said, that big girls want their diamonds big. She sure wasn’t mincing words, but spoke from her heart, about her love affair with all things bling. And this was an affair that unlike her many marriages was deep, long lasting and eternal — much like the diva’s own classic beauty that mesmerized audiences for generations.

Liz Taylor’s love for bling and bright began at a very early age, when she brought her mother a beautiful jeweled tiara. But that was when Taylor was in her teens. As the lady grew up into a breathtakingly beautiful woman so did her passion for jewelry. In a rare interview she gave to Barbra Walters, the goddess of glamour showcased some of her jewels from her mammoth collection — laid out on a table, these were diamonds, pearls, sapphires emeralds, golds, all carved to perfection, just like the lady herself. Her collection was then estimated at a whopping $150 million.

Many of Taylor’s exquisite jewelry were gifts from her lovers whom she wed. The Taylor-Burton, passionate affair, told a different story through the gems and jewelry that Burton gifted her. The 33 carat Krupp Diamond ring for instance is one of the most well known of all Taylor’s jewels. Purchased for $305,000 in 1968, the diamond was the first gift from Richard Burton during their marriage. She wore this piece throughout her life, and even when she wasn’t filming! Or take the La Peregrina pearl, a large pear-shaped white pearl, discovered in 1513 and purchased again by Burton for Taylor as a Valentine’s gift in 1969. After purchase, the pearl was set as a pendant to a necklace made out of pearls, rubies and diamonds designed by Cartier.

The Taj Mahal diamond is another striking piece from this legendary collection. A yellow heart shaped diamond that was another present from Richard Burton for Taylor’s 40th Birthday in 1972. Burton had joked that he ‘would have liked to buy her the Taj-Mahal, but it would cost too much to transport’. The diamond has ‘Love Is Everlasting’ in Parsee inscribed to the back,and Taylor had the original silk chain replaced with a diamond and ruby rope!

Another gift from Burton was the Grand Duchess of Russia suite, a collection of emeralds and diamonds comprising a brooch (which was an engagement present from Burton), along with earrings, a necklace and bracelet. Designed by Bulgari in Rome, Taylor famously wore it to her 1964 wedding to Burton at Montréal’s the Ritz-Carlton hotel. But probably the most talked about from this entire collection of jewels is the famous Taylor-Burton diamond, which also has quite an interesting tale of its own. The 69 carat Taylor-Burton diamond was bought rough by Harry Winston. It was carved into a pear shape and discovered to be internally flawless. It was then put up for sale in 1969 on the understanding that it could be named by the purchaser. The stone was however bought by Cartier (who paid $1.05million), but after some negotiations it was sold to Burton under the understanding that it could be displayed in Cartier’s stores. After Taylor and Burton divorced for the second time, she sold the diamond at auction for $5million, with the proceeds going towards the building of a hospital in Botswana.

In this precious collection are some notable pieces like the 29 carat diamond ring she received from Mike Todd, and which was also a regular feature on her hand. Todd, also bought her an antique diamond tiara which she wore frequently during their marriage.

Many of Taylor’s prized sets were purchased during auctions. The beautiful Duchess of Windsor brooch for example, which is a plume shaped diamond encrusted brooch that was designed by the then Prince of Wales for his future bride, Wallis Simpson. Taylor was a close friend of Mrs Simpson, and she purchased the brooch at auction after the Duchess’ death in 1986.

The magical beauty of her jewels in their intricate designs and colours, showcase aptly the very life of the diva — sparkling, extravagant and irresistible.

Tales of a luxury bookseller (my recently published feature)

Picture this — Google Books, the Internet library has since 2004, collected 15 million of the estimated 130 million titles published since the 15th-century invention of the printing press; according to a 2010 Harvard University study by Jean-Baptiste Michel. And while we still scramble for our favourite titles online, there are some, who are willing to pay astronomical prices to beget what can be described as rare literary gems.

Meet Angus Rob, a senior executive from Asprey, the luxury gift shop on New Bond Street London — who explains how old celebrated books are still preferred collectibles and make amazing gifts. From the Prince of Wales, to Bill Gates, or the nouveau riche investment bankers — the value of a good book, and one who’s print is to be seldom found these days, are considered big-ticked items — often more valuable than that diamond ring, or rare China ware or expensive leather accessories. It’s a very niche market that Rob is dealing with — a meager $500 million-a-year global market that’s controlled by some 10 book brokers whose wares won’t be found on Amazon.com Inc.’s website. Yet it’s a business where a first edition of a Casino Royale fetches 21,000 pounds ($33,900), or the rare Cosmographia by Ptolemy, only two volumes of which are known to exist, will not sell for anything less than 4 million maybe.

And while Asprey introduced books as way to fight the recession hit period during the World Wars, books sold even then, as they are now, as luxury goods. A value of a book, is after all invaluable; and the customers who are willing to pay a hefty price are as cherished. These are people who negotiate with Rob, over the phone or through intermediaries — they’re either seeking something special for themselves or a rare printed treat to offer a client.

In Rob’s art-house library you’ll find anything from Jane Austen, Charles Darwin, Beatrix Potter, Dickens, William Shakespeare and Winston Churchill; and all original volumes! There are rare comic capers such as a sketchbook of 135 drawings titled ‘Caricatures of Lloyds of London’; and social commentaries like Huckleberry Finn that gave us a glimpse of black life, culture and politics. Or maybe a precious collection on Russian ballet dancing — books that through their prints and pictures give us a wealth of information of the times, the cultures, traditions and the people. It’s not for nothing therefore that the book which launched Clark Kent’s career, and published in June 1938 for 10 U.S. cents, sold for $317,000 in 2009; Bill Gates shelled out $30.8 million in 1994 for Leonardo da Vinci’s 'Codex Leicester'; and U.K. art dealer Michael Tollemache last year paid $11.5 million at a Sotheby’s London auction for an original four-volume edition of John James Audubon’s 'Birds of America'!

It’s a very robust market out there, and one that has been marginally hit by the recent recession — yet for Rob who is willing to go the extra mile, literally so, to collect the rare gems in his library of books, these are treasures meant to be cherished forever!

What aches my city?

What is it about a city that makes it attractive -- it's culture, its people, it architecture;or is it its history? When i think of Kolkata, i think of all these factors which combine to create it's unique colour; just like a Mumbai or Delhi.

But what set Kolkata apart from many other cities that we know of, was the warmth of its people. Amidst the pollution, the hour-long power cuts, bandhs and scourge of poverty; it still symbolised in many ways the 'city of joy'. Today, standing on the nascent steps of a brand new decade, I can see the city literally going down the depths of ignominy. Bandhs and power cuts still loom large;a few swanky malls have replaced the evident shanty areas maybe, and sparkling new office buildings and gated communites dot Sector V and Rajarhat -- yet the 'warmth' that defined Kolkata seems to have evaporated.

What aches the Kolkata of today then, i wonder -- frustration, inertia or is it restlessness -- traits that i see seeping into the lives of people around me. They say an idle mind is a devil's workshop -- has idleness therefore left a gaping void somewhere -- so deep that young and bright young men have to waste their lives making lewd remarks on women; or if need be harass them as and how they wish to; often drunk on alcohol, blinded by lust, and intoxicated on political power. Young men breaking into fights in the middle of rush-hour traffic on petty issues and snarling traffic; or hurling abuses and flaunting their 'political affiliations' to teach the other a lesson....i rue, ' this is not the kolkata i grew up in' -- this seems like some unknown land where people are going down an abyss; and they know not what lies ahead!

If recent statistics are to be believed West Bengal is today (after Madhya Pradesh), the second most unsafe state for women in India! Here crime is breeding instead of industry. If there is an occupation for the thousands who remain unemployed, is to join the lower rungs of some political party; and then go about showing their machismo on those without power; and in some cases brashly flout all rules to take on those in uniform as well.

it was probably all over for the state post the 1950s, when fed on glories of the past, the society gradually stopped looking ahead. This was the time when the state lost its victorious men and women - visionaries, thinkers, litterateurs, educationsists, businessmen, statesmen - the renaissance men and women, who gave Bengal its global identity. That identity got erased in a span of some decades - we lost the best of everything that we had. We did not have any more visionaries to lead us, and we lost what was once our pride. We are now a people who live and build our dreams on remnants of the past; for we have stopped reinventing ourselves. Look at our neighbours and you'll realise how far behind we have been left....yet a Bihar has risen again! Bengal too will hopefully regain its lost ground.

A bug for dinner?

"There is no love sincerer than the love of food."~George Bernard Shaw

Shaw had put across this tangible truth in very simple yet unequivocal terms in his celebrated work, 'Man and Superman'.
In the Hindu way of life, it is believed that the kind of food we eat has a direct bearing on our mental and spiritual (if any) development. Thus 'enjoying' one's food is a critical aspect of this enriching process.

But what if you were forced to eat something that you didn't quite enjoy. As a child i remember how often i was forced to eat bitter gourd or 'neem' leaves because they are good for health. And, though i struggled with the bitter eatables on my lunch plate, i managed to develop a taste and actually began enjoying them. But that was bitter gourd and 'neem' - all i had to overcome was my dislike for bitter food!

But if i had to follow the UN's dictum, i might soon have to develop a taste and an appreciation for insects too. These 'edible insects' as the UN Food and Agriculture Organization is promoting for their nutritional value, include creatures such as bees, wasps, ants, scorpions, termites, cicadas etc. Through this novel program the UN hopes to improve the general health of communities, as well as their economic concerns -- especially since food scarcity, poverty and strife are common factors contributing to malnutrition in many underdeveloped and developing nations/areas of the world.

Highly prized for their protein content, a variety of insects are enjoyed as snacks, or as gourmet platter in many corners of the world, including Africa, Mexico, Thailand, Japan and China. However, there are many cultures and communities where it might still be considered taboo.

What we eat, is governed by our regional demographics, socio-economic status, and just as much influenced by our cultural and religious beliefs. For Muslims, insects would be considered 'haraam', and for Jews it wouldn't be 'kosher' therefore unfit for consumption. The only insect which is however 'fit' for consumption according to these two religions are certain varieties of locusts, and not wasps, bees or scorpions as the UN is trying to promote.

Religious sentiments apart, convincing people at large to overcome their abhorrence for certain food types would be another significant challenge for this project.

So how many friends have you?

Girl A - "So how many friends have you in facebook?" .

Girl B - "close to 200, maybe".

"Oh that's a lot."- snapped A.

"Now, what am I supposed to do if i have, like 200 odd people i know...well actually, 200 and still counting!!", quipped B geelfully.

"But you're not supposed to have 200 friends on Facebook," thundered A, almost!

"Why not?" - asked B, a little ruffled.

"Coz that's uncool," said A sniggering.

"What's uncool about having 200 friends? It shows how popular i am!" shot back B, a tad vehement at that jibe.

"Tell me, do you know all 200 of them really, really well?" asked A.

"Ummm...well yes kind of!" was B's very unsure reply.

"what's that 'ummmm', suposed to mean?" asked A pointedly.

"Well, i was actually thinking about my equation with them..." spoke B rather softly now.

"What equation?", jutted in A -- "If you have so many people on that list you call 'friends', the only equation you got to have is friendship'! she explained.

"Well some of them aren't 'friends' then!"...B somehow rattled off.

I overheard this animated conversation between two sprigtly young girls, a few days back at the coffee shop; and surpisingly saw the same update on a friend's profile the next day -- 'So how many friends have you?'

If, for the past few years, Facebook told us, how, having over 300 or more friends spoke of one's immense "popularity", in defiance and spoofing the famous Dunbar Number theory almost -- a recent trend says, having less than 170/160 is the 'way to be' on FB! But why this volte-face? -- well, as the 'new trend' on FB shows, apparently our 'social network' happy, and 'virtual' crazy generation has suddenly realised, that you can't after all, have 300 'friends' in a lifetime. At least 150 of those 'friends' in that list would be, just 'acqaintances', while the rest would be scattered in the domain of 'familiar'; some definitely could be called 'strictly formal relations', and others 'seemingly polite associations', like your much hated ex-boss, for instance! So, that technically leaves room for a 'handful of friends' - 5,..6,...10...ok fine, 15.

Maybe friendship like all-else, is just as changeable, in this virtual age, as are the minute-to-minute updates on Facebook. But i'm beginning to wonder, what about the 150-odd who have suddenly been 'unfriended'on FB!