Cilla

Of school time dreams and achievements

2011-09-15T08:24:00.000-07:00

I just realised that its been 6 years now that I started living on my own, away from home. 2 years in college and then 4 years in big, bad Mumbai. Seemed like a good time to trace the journey till here. I also happened to read some college discussion forum on Pagalguy.com and it just reminded me of all the studying, choosing colleges and all the madness.

I remember Joe Pinto sir writing a similar nostalgic piece, partly this is inspired by that and also a need to remember all that has gone by. So there I was, a little girl in a small city in Gujarat called Rajkot. My favourite stories about my birth year are the fact that it was the year colour TV became popular in India and the year India first won the world cup in cricket. Perhaps, it is fitting then that I am now a TV professional. But how did I come till here?

I used to be a very methodical student, a geek according to all my friends. Back in my school days, I used to have a personal time table for things. If I had say 6 subjects and 12 days, I would give each subject 2 days, that kind of a rigid time table. Though I did allow myself Chitrahaar breaks. And then, even when I studied topics, I would give them a particular number of minutes before finishing them. It may sound funny now to think back on all that, yet, it helped me all through my studies. But that didn't mean I was only into school books. I read a lot of other stuff, I always knew all the latest Bollywood numbers, life was interesting.

Growing up in a small town has its own benefits. I have seen in a city like Mumbai, people are pretty much set about what they want to achieve, after all everything is here. But in a place like Rajkot, there was always something to aspire to. Little wonder that most of the reality shows today have more people from small towns. I remember the conversations we used to have in our college. Most of us wanted to do something big, out of the box, maybe become the next Ambani, the eternal Indian middle class dream.

During the time we were graduating, the MBA madness had just begun (umm did I reveal too much about my age here? :-P ) Most people in Rajkot did a B. Com. then did a CA or went to Pappa ni dukan. But some of us used to look at Jeena Isi Ka Naam Hai, the popular celebrity show on NDTV, and tell each other stories of how one day we would be there and who all we would call as our friends then. Strangely, almost 12 years down the line, these people are still in touch and the dream continues though the show is long over.

So this aspirational crowd of ours, we wanted to get out of Rajkot, do either an MBA in Finance or in my case something to do with communication. So my options were either MICA or Symbiosis. I was what some would call a news addict back then, switching every 15 minutes to some Sabse Tez or Breaking news. Wasn't much of a newspaper person, but read a lot of magazines, so journalism was a huge interest area.

The whole preparation for CAT and the Symbi Admission test was another thing that took hard work and discipline. Again, I had a time table, for the year that I took a drop after graduation. I enrolled with a CAT training institute that was famous for its Mock Tests and for 8 weeks, just before CAT, I travelled all the way from Rajkot to Ahmedabad, 5 hours away, to give a test that would start at 9 : 30 in the morning. Looking back, I don't know how I did that. I also remember how my dad would travel with me each time, never complaining. It was just a hunger to do something other than the usual MA, M.Com, everyone I knew was doing. Finally I got through to Symbiosis.

The two years there taught me about people and also about how to handle some of them. The best times there were according to me the various trips we took. I also got to learn a lot about my second biggest passion - Cinema. I met some wonderful people who still are my sounding boards. Nimisha Srivastava, Megha Singh, this goes out to you :-) And yes, Nimisha, this post is in response to our recent chat.

As I went through those Pagalguy.com forums today, I remembered all that we had been through, the whole selection procedure for the college, the worry about placements, the rush of the first few weeks on campus, the one year of doing a quasi MBA while learning advertising and PR, the hours of watching movies, analysing them at NCC canteen, the vigorous debates on TOI and Indian Express news coverage, the first byline, the first college newsletter English and Hindi, all sorts of memories. And who could forget the Greenday song that was almost a class anthem.

Finally placement time and the first interaction with the real industry guys. Some of us bullshitted and were caught, some of us weren't caught, others just breezed through, some cried, some had to have more than one attempt and finally that coveted job. Sometimes when I look back it seems nothing short of a miracle to have come from a city where people barely manage a proper sentence in English to working in an English news channel, but at other times I know it took a lot of my parents' and my hard work and maybe a whole lot of God's blessings. Yes, all those hours our moms spend praying don't go waste.

The last 4 and half years now I have been working and living on my own. This was another lesson. I have made mistakes in assessing people, I have cried, I have sometimes ranted, I have lost faith in things, but I know that if I were to die tomorrow, I might not have many regrets. I have tried things, learnt things, pushed myself, but yes, there is still a lot more I want to learn. Still a lot more I want to do, both for myself and my parents.

Its good to dream and sometimes remind yourself of dreams you fulfilled. Its important at times to see where you were, where you are and where you can go.

Who moved my eggs?

2011-08-16T02:19:00.000-07:00

Ever since I read These are not my eggs written by a very good friend, I have been wanting to write a rejoinder. Just that something or the other always prevented me from getting down to it. What Arpita has written reminds me a lot of my own life. Maybe the fact that both of us grew up in somewhat similar backgrounds also is a factor. It is imperative to read the link, so that you would understand the post that follows.

So which were the eggs I experimented with? Handwriting was one. I used to change it every year too. It was cursive 90 degrees for two years, then cursive 45 degrees for two years. Finally, I modelled my handwriting on that of one of my favourite teachers, who had a slightly childish veering to printed words handwriting. Mine I am told only looks childish, not the eggs I wanted, but never really complained about it.

But like Arpita says acceptance is a major thing. What do you do when you don't like your eggs? Back when I was a teenager, I used to just shut it out. Ok I don't like these eggs, so I will pretend they don't exist. Maybe I would also have one of those fantasy escape day dreams that we generally have as kids, somehow getting rid of the eggs to my satisfaction. Aah the number of innovative ideas that have come to us in our teenage revenge fantasies could make up an alternative universe or atleast a great script for Tom and Jerry.

As I grew older it was more about resisting. Ok I don't like this egg, what do I do now? Sometimes it came to constructive dialogue, finding solutions. But more often than not, it turned into the unhealthy feeling of not having the power. Feeling powerless acts itself out in various ways. Some people take refuge in sadism. Children and anyone perceived weaker is an easier target. You target them to feel powerful.

Another common reaction to feeling powerless is feeling victimised. You cry, rave and rant to yourself or anyone who would listen how the world is unfair to you. Victimhood has a way of making you feel entitled. You place an unrealistic expectation on the world to give you much more than it would because you argue, oh well, haven't I gone through so much already. How dare the world not give me what I want? Karpman, the man who invented the concept of the victim triangle always says that the victim often ends up becoming the persecutor after years and years of pent up frustration. There is also a demand of perfectionism from those around you.

A fallout of victim mentality is the loss of faith and the subsequent readiness to place faith in just about anything. This I believe is one of the major causes for blind faith and superstitions. You don't like your eggs and you have tried all the rational methods of throwing them away or getting new ones, but you failed, so you turn to Voodoo. Ok, not that drastic, but you get the drift.

But at some point something snaps within (well not for everyone). You realise that your eggs are different and that different and bad are not the same. This happens sometimes when you get a closer look at the eggs you think you wanted or sometimes when you have tried every trick in the book and you see that no one has been as loyal to you as these old eggs that you hate. It could also happen because well, you just woke up to reality. However it happens, at some point, you realise that different is not so bad. You can live with different. Infact, different makes you, you. But that doesn't mean you dont eye the other eggs again. I guess, a part of human condition is to always look at what's ahead or on the other end. Sometimes, it leads to self betterment and sometimes you just go vegetarian.

Chronic dissatisfaction

2011-07-12T01:11:00.000-07:00

At the outset I would like to mention, if you are looking for something you didn't know, you may not find it here. There are no solutions here, there are no startling insights. Just an observation of things happening around and within me.

So as usual been talking to a lot of friends and fellow journalists about a lot of things and the constant theme of late has been disenchantment. Someone is dissatisfied with their job, someone with their spouse or lack of one, someone with their finances. Everyone seems to be struggling somewhere, even if on the surface, it looks like an enviable life. Mind you, none of these people are unhappy or too depressed to move, but there is this vague sense of not being fulfilled somehow, a feeling I understand too well. Some have changed jobs, cities, significant others etc all in the pursuit of something, just anything that would make them feel more alive, stimulated.

The dissatisfaction seems more generational because if you mention it to my parents' generation, they say we are dissatisfied even when the going is good. And being a true blue internet generation kid, what I did was google it up, yes, google 'Chronic dissatisfaction'. The first thing that comes up is of course Woody Allen's Vicky Cristina Barcelona and how Penelope Cruz accuses another character of having this disease called 'Chronic dissatisfaction'.

So what are the characteristics of people who have this 'disease' (personally I would call it a condition)
* They have been bright students, have generally excelled in life and till date achieved what they had set out to do in childhood.
* Its been at least a couple of years since they landed that dream job, that dream partner or dream whatever, they may not be at the peak of things, but they are not down in the dumps either.
* When compared with the soceity's definition of normal, their life is as good as it gets and this is what confounds them, if it is so good, why don't they feel it?
* Yes, there may be skeletons in the past, but that is not the cause of their current vague discomfort.
* There is a constant sense of what next, is this all there is and yet they don't know if there ever was supposed to be anything more than this.

Most of my observations come from conversations with current and former media professionals. I do not know what is the situation in other fields. There are also various theories about why some of us feel this. Some say we are an entitled generation, we think just because we exist, we deserve better. Others say we are just immature and will get over it. Some others say we are zombies in any case, uninspired people who have been spoon fed everything and expect that to continue. The religious say it is just a crisis of faith and using the magical name of God/Universe will solve all these problems. Yet others say very simply but emphatically - this is growing up and this is life.

The reactions to this 'something is missing' feeling are diverse. Some try to push away the feeling, dig in their heels deeper in whatever they are doing and hope the problem will vanish. One friend changed jobs. Another started a new venture with like minded people. A few others just quit it all and are taking a break, thinking of traveling or spiritual exploration. Unlike in the past, the 'quitters' of today are met with awe and respect for their brave decision, about time. Yet others have taken time off and gone back to school or started volunteering. Some other formerly 'career minded' friends have started families and used that as a distraction. There have also been friends who seemed stimulated by the 'change' they chose but a couple of years later, they are again back to the state of dissatisfaction. And some of us are still observing from the sidelines, trying to make up our minds. Very few have taken up destructive habits.

The ancient wise men and women tell me that dissatisfaction is a source of creativity. It is only if you feel uncomfortable do you start doing something about it and what you do about it is your decision. At the same time, they also tell me doing nothing about it is also ok. It just means you are not ready, or in the extreme case, it just means this is my 'destiny' and I have to live with it.

But there is one thing the wise tell me, which if any of my friends or I could do, perhaps we would achieve Nirvana. They describe a Catch 22 situation where one is content with where one is in life, but at the same time striving to a better state. An ideal state of being they say it is.

But wasn't human existence all about being imperfect? And if it was, the only solution that comes to mind is the magic mantra of 'living in the moment'. To stop looking back at the ideal and enchanted childhood, to also stop looking at the uncertain future and live as if this day, this moment is all that counts. Darn, that Ghajini dude was sure lucky.

And because very few of us have it in us to be so zen, the dissatisfaction continues. My current dissatisfaction is that I cannot provide some erudite conclusion or some magical solution at the end of this piece. Aah, maybe its time to watch 'Bruce Almighty' once again!

Approach to post Independence India - Raj Kapoor and Guru Dutt

2011-05-14T03:35:00.000-07:00

While travelling in a car, I heard an almost forgotten 'Dil ka haal sune dilwala' playing on the FM. The simple lyrics of the song and the eternal image of the very own Indian tramp/vagabond Raj Kapoor make the song immortal. While I was listening to the words carefully, I suddenly realised we don't anymore have songs that laugh about our troubles.

This song actually talks about an encounter that the protagonist had with the police. The last two paragraphs of the song, talk alternatively about hope for the future and precautions the poor have to take to stay out of trouble in a country like ours. What struck me was that nowadays we just don't see a song that sounds so happy but actually talks about the degeneration of the society. The song is all about laughing at and along with your troubles, but telling it like it is - seedhi si baat na mirchi masala...

Kapoor's tramp was besieged with problems but always hoped for a better tomorrow. He complained about the system, but believed 'Woh subah kabhi toh aayegi'. The fifties were a time of optimism in the new republic of India. And so despite the poverty, the problems, people felt the end of the British era would surely bring some positive change. Raj Kapoor's protagonist knew he could do better, but he didn't resent where he was in the moment. It was not resignation, but a kind of calm acceptance - Jeena Isi Ka Naam Hai. His movies showed an imperfect world which was still ideal and in the end, all was well.

Contrast that to Kapoor's contemporary Guru Dutt, who also told it like it is, but offered no hope. He was a realist, almost to the point of pessimism. His view of independent India is best described in the song from Pyaasa, Jinhen naaz hai hind pe woh kahaan hai... A scathing report of the actual state of the country which everyone had thought would once again become the golden bird after independence. The song is bitter and harsh. The picturisation equally grim.

Dutt's look at the whole situation was one of cold observation and his films also reflected the all or nothing perfectionism of his life. His most famous protagonists were always struggling to come to terms with lost hopes and dreams while facing an indifferent world. What is striking about a song like Jinhen Naaz or Ye Mahalo ye takhton is the loss of innocence. No other film maker of his times would have let these immortal words by the lyricist Sahir be part of a film. Even the happy go-lucky songs like Ae dil hai mushkil jeena yahaan sing of the isolation capitalism brings in. While Dutt's earlier movies show the urban India in the 50's crime, romance et all, his later movies, considered to be classics are the ones that show the eventual decline in human relationships, the effects of capitalism and the impact of a loss of idealism.

While Raj Kapoor's protagonist though aware of the flaws of the system, is more concerned about how he can progress despite them and maintain a personal optimism. Guru Dutt on the other hand is the idealist who doesn't see the point of optimism if things are not the way they should be. But thanks to the two of them, we can see a fair enough portrayal of the whole spectrum of nationalism of a young nation.

Judge not and ye shall not be judged?

2011-03-19T03:03:00.000-07:00

IHM asked a question on her blog Why do women judge other women. To me this is interesting psychologically, because the kind of judges I am going to describe are peculiar. These are the 'been there done that' ones. Somewhat like abuse victims turning abusers.

So if you have had an abusive mother in law, instead of being kind towards your daughter in law, you will treat her badly too. And you will use excuses like this is how the traditions are to be passed on, there was a reason I was 'tamed' by my mother in law and so I will 'tame' my daughter in law too.

Sometimes the judgement isn't as simple however. Sometimes they try to be sympathetic and tell you how things should be. You hear statements like, you know one should 'adjust' (and I hear this more from women). You know these children today, they have too many expectations. These are people who have been 'victimised' but have rationalised it somehow and integrated it into their lives. So the very fact that you are not taking shit and are actually thinking of getting out of it becomes a mirror to them, a reflection that they can't stand. If you have noticed 'un'happily married women seem to make the loudest noise when someone else gets a divorce. These women then go on about how that girl was too modern to ever last in a family or give the famous line about how there are always going to be fights and that is no reason to end a marriage.

This type of judgement is not just restricted to women and family life. You find it in the work world too. Somehow anyone who does something different from the 'established' norm is wrong, too rebellious, immature etc etc. The ultimate argument always given is that the world is unfair and everyone has to live with that. To me when that comes from people who have the power to do something only shows their own selfishness, it is because the unfairness of the world is skewed in their favour that they do not want to change or that they are not willing to take responsibility for shaking up things.

Most of these 'victims' get a perverse, sadistic pleasure in seeing that someone else is going through the same shit. It indirectly validates their experience and every effort is made to stop the new person from breaking free, because once the new person breaks free, they have no justification for why they didn't do anything. Agreed, getting out of abuse is not easy, there are many considerations for victims sometimes. But if someone else is sticking their neck out, why pull the rug below their feet? Why not rejoice that atleast another person is not going to be in the same predicament as you? Why not wish them well? Maybe they can get out and you still can't but who said that it makes you wrong? Why not just accept that someone else's life is at the end of the day, someone else's life.

RIP Uncle Pai

2011-03-01T03:54:00.000-08:00

Just a short note to the guy who taught me some of my first science lessons. Anant Pai or Uncle Pai as readers of Tinkle know him was the creator of fantastic characters like Shikari Shambhu, Suppandi and Tantri the Mantri. He also had these short pieces in every issue where he explained simple science that one could test at home. I had long wished he was asked to design our school text books, we could have learnt stuff that was more practical and also in a fun manner. Uncle Pai is also why I can almost fluently read Tamil and Malayalam. Having lived outside South India, it was reading Amar chitra katha in Tamil and Malayalam that helped me pick up the languages. It seems like an era has ended. Truly how wonderful a person you have to be to have influenced close to two generations. May you rest in peace uncle.

A childhood in gardens

2011-01-19T04:45:00.000-08:00

Reading My Family and Other Animals was quite like a trip to my own childhood. While I was not that interested in insects as Gerry was, plants were always a source of wonder and joy. The earliest recollection I have of feeling this sort of wonder was when my cousins used to make a 'watch' for me with the long leaves of a coconut tree. At that time, we used to live in a small house with no space for a garden. So my exposure to plants was restricted to annual vacations to Kerala and the school garden.

Another source of wonder during my Kerala visits was this tree that had leaves of an odd maple kind of shape if I remember correctly. When you pluck the leaf from the tree, you would see this gum like thing oozing out. My father showed me this trick. After you pluck the leaf, try to separate the leaf from the stem right at the point that it meets the leaf, however take care not to distend it completely, just about enough for you to see that gum like substance. Then just blow and voila, bubbles emanate from the leaf. I kid you not, I have seen this, done this. How I wish I knew what that tree is called, I dont even remember the exact shape of the leaves to identify the tree anymore! Kerala also meant to me the land of touch me nots. A favourite pastime used to be going to the backyard of my grandmother's place, where there was long bed of touch me nots. Start from the beginning and keep on walking on all of them till all the leaves folded and by the time I reached the end, some of the leaves in the beginning would have opened again. The other joys in Kerala were plucking tropical fruits like Love apples, Arinellikai (a type of very small amla, very khatta, you get them at Mumbai bus stops too), mangoes, collecting the coconuts that would fall off at the seed stage itself, green and small. Every vacation was about new discoveries till the fireflies heralded the dark.

Back at school there was this tall eucalyptus tree. Now the eucalyptus sheds something that looks like a mini fool's cap. All of us students used to fill our pencil boxes and empty nashta boxes with these 'topis' and we would take them home. Some of my friends had used these topis as decorative items for craft projects. Some of us just collected them and made imaginary castles and barricades with them. One of the things I used to do was collect the topis and the sticky upper part of ladies finger and try various permutations and combinations of arrangements. Sounds silly now, but was quite entertaining then. Another plant in school had these peculiar seeds which were a source of great amusement to all of us. If soon after plucking the slightly dried brown seeds, you put them in a bowl of water, the seeds would explode like mini crackers. All this experimentation continued till the school authorities changed and students were asked not to touch any plants on campus. Quite the spoilsport our principal was we thought!

By now we had moved to our new home. Here we had ample space. My mother loves gardening and soon we had 5 colours of roses, many shades of sevanti, sunflowers whose seeds parrots would come and pick, mogras and many other flowers. The land was very fertile and I have seen tomatoes, water melons, passion fruit, brinjals, chillies, mangoes, pomegranates and even wheat shoots grow at home. These are experiences that I wouldnt trade for anything. Here in Mumbai, there isnt much of an opportunity to experience all that. The closest one can get is to go to agro-tourism spots like Saguna Farms in Neral, to see for yourself how things take root and grow. I may be wrong, but somehow I feel that one needs to experience such things as a child, thats the time when you still are capable of feeling wonderment at the things nature has to offer. Everyone I believe should have their own version of Malgudi days, what say?

Lessons learnt from the first job

2010-12-17T03:35:00.000-08:00

Just got this video yesterday on Facebook So You Want to Be a Journalist. Was absolute hilarious fun watching the exchange between a wannabe journalist and a seasoned journalist and any journalist worth his or her salt would say that they did behave like the kid in the video at one time or the other. Then another FB contact started a thread on the silly mistakes everyone made in their first few months. This finally prompted me to write on something I have been thinking of writing, that of my learnings from my first experience as a working professional. The idea had come to me after I was called by my alma mater SIMC for a lecture, but somehow I never got down to writing it down. So here goes :

Lesson 1 : Your boss is not your teacher/mentor

All throughout our school and college life, we have guides, we have encouraging people around us (yes even in the worst places there is atleast one teacher who inspires you). But that doesnt extend to the workplace. I am not saying that your bosses will be mean, discouraging people; all I am saying is that they won't take decisions for your 'higher' good or give you opportunities so that you would 'learn'. The basis of their decisions would be based on other factors like company policy, equations with others in the organisation, their perceptions/prejudices and if you are lucky you will have a purely objective boss, but even then he/she won't be there to coax you into learning the ways of the trade and make it easier for you to adapt. That is totally upto you. So please don't get discouraged that they don't seem to be acting as nice, fatherly figures. Not happening.

Lesson 2 : Nothing is personal
This is a tough cookie and stumps most of us. Say someone is cutting you at work, someone is being mean to you, realise that this is not about you. It says more about them than about you, so don't take anyone else's bad behaviour personally. Its not about you, its about them. They are behaving badly because they think that is the easiest or best way for them to succeed. Let's face it, at the core of it, all of us think only about the best for our own selves. So take that as a given and if there is a difficult situation try to work around it in a different way rather than feel bad about this person who is out to get you.

Lesson 3 : A litte self promotion is needed

This is where I struggle myself a lot, but I have seen that it always helps. Don't make a hue and cry about how much work you do, but make a few subtle suggestions for sure. You need to make yourself heard, don't be a wallflower.

Lesson 4 : The praise in the first few months doesn't mean much

At this time you are new, the company yet doesn't know what you are worth or how much you can deliver. This is the honeymoon phase for both you and the company. Whatever you bring to the table might seem great and there might be mails flying about what a great job you are doing. But then after a few months it will cool down and people might start finding holes in your work. Don't panic, it just means that whatever you did till now, was being treated like your first outing. The criticism coming now will only help you grow and only means they expect more from you.

Lesson 5 : Think long term
Whatever you do, whether you stick around, switch jobs, work harder, don't work at all, whatever you do, try to keep the long term in mind. Its especially tough in jobs like journalism, where every day is a new day but still look at the bigger picture of how what you do today will help you later on. Don't just stitch the sails to keep the boat from rocking today, get money to buy new ones.

Lesson 6 : Remember this job is your dream not that of the company

It helps to remember why you are here in the first place. In most cases, we are the ones who decided we want to take this career path. So it is our dream and not someone else's. The responsibility for its trajectory therefore lies with us. There will be people who will try to put you down, there will be people trying to mislead you, there will be people who will think that you are not worth making it. Forget all that, what is important is what you think. Remember these people were not the ones who made you decide to study hard and choose this particular job. You did it on your own, so when you decided where you are right now on your own, you are the one who will decide where you will go from here. Yes, there are people who are more powerful in the hierarchical system and it can seem that you are but a pawn, yes there will be things that you might have to do that you don't particularly fancy, but the final choice in everything lies with you.

But going after your dream doesn't mean that you just do what you like without considering the larger mission of the organisation. You do have to align yourself with the company's mission and culture, your progress should not be at the cost of the overall good of everyone on your team. All I mean is that you can't be sitting and blaming the company or its policies for why you didn't succeed. Either you work around it or find another path that fulfills your goals. Buddhism says there are only three choices in life 1. Change the situation by talking it out, 2. Accept the situation or 3. Leave.

Lesson 7 : There will be people who compare you to others to get a rise out of you

Hopefully this is not your boss :-) Many people try to compare you to someone else of the same league, my only suggestion to this is, adopt what most successful people I have seen in my short career span have done. If there is some area which you acknowledge you need to work more on it, try a course correction there, but don't take the comparison personally. Try what you can, but don't change who you are. You are unique, as cliched as it sounds and despite how much other people might try to convince you otherwise, there is something of YOU, something no one else has, that you will bring to your work. Don't get reactionary to the comparison.

Lesson 8 : Your GK scores don't make you automatically eligible for special consideration at work
This has happened to some very close friends. They are good writers, they read voraciously, they know all that is happening and make intelligent conversation. They can write wonderful essays on just about anything. But that doesn't impress their companies enough to give all the important work to them. Some of them become disgruntled idealists, blaming the system and mediocre seniors (they might actually be, but that's not the point) for their lack of progress. Please don't fall into this trap of blame, it only harms you. You have to realise that people want to see that vast reserve of GK being applied somehow to your job and once you start doing that, the work will pour in. Unless you show it in your work, your seniors aren't going to appreciate it. The workplace is not someplace where you will get a certificate for your general knowledge or witty reparties. Doesn't mean you kill that part of you, just try to apply it to your work or keep that separate from work.

Lesson 9 : You are more than your work
As we spend a lot of time at work, we sometimes come to associate all of our existence, its success and failures with our work. Work is of course important, as it pays the bills, but remember you were a person before the work came along, you are still a person after it. Sometimes competition has a way of making one feel inadequate, inefficient and these feelings spill on to other parts of your life. Sometimes the people around you maybe myopic enough not to see what a brilliant person you are, but that means nothing. All of us have instrinsic value that shines through at the most unexpected times and others can live in denial of it, but the truth is it exists. Don't let anyone convince you that you are nothing if you have not conformed to a particular idea of success. Who knows, you are probably the one who is going to set new standards? So stick to what you know of yourself, don't let anyone tell you what you are or how much you are worth because frankly only you know that best. You need not seek complete approval from the clique at work, you are only answerable to yourself and your near and dear one sometimes.

Ok, so now the sermon is over. And yes, I wrote this not just to answer some questions people asked me, but also to reiterate to myself what I have learnt. Anyone else who has any other suggestions to add, especially the ones who already have spent many more years than I have, please add to the list.

The Chinese attack

2010-11-19T03:19:00.001-08:00

We keep reading about Chinese policies that could be a threat to India, how the Chinese are competing with us on outsourcing, how they are taking away our trade and various other ways in which they undermine us or attack us. But all these discussions leave out the one single thing that has probably affected the normalcy of India the most - the Chinese mobile. You know the ones with flashy flip open technology available in the most garish shades?

The fact that they are so affordable, makes it easy for every Bunty and Babli to own one. Now, I dont have much against affordable access to technology, but just look at what a nuisance they are sometimes. If you are in Mumbai, you would get what I am saying. No train/bus ride of yours is free of the screeching loud sound of Himesh, Altaf Raja and whoever you find irritating playing from three different mobiles of some tapori or the other (yes, they are mostly owned by the taporis, sorry for being classist here).

Ok, maybe this is just my personal problem. So let me give you another example. Whenever there is any tragedy in Mumbai, be it 26/11 or a riot or a fire, you have all the rescue operations in place. A lot of localites also help the rescue authorities and the media with getting access to these unreachable spots. But there is another section of localites who are busy clicking away or capturing videos of towers going into flames. These wannabe photographers compete with rescue workers for the best vantage point, so that they can click this sensational picture and brag about it at the bar or nukkad ka paanwala the next day. I do understand if there is no media present and you become a citizen journalist and really want to expose some problem during the relief and rescue or any wishy washyness of the authorities that only you are witness to. But what is this madness about clicking a picture of a raging inferno just because you happen to see it while you are walking on a skywalk close to it. Why create problems for the security agencies by crowding a disaster site clicking pictures for your personal collection?

Is there some way to ban Chinese mobiles in India? Can Jairam Ramesh find some reason to do so?

Is sexual abuse gender specific?

2010-11-12T19:24:00.000-08:00

The wonderful IHM has again written about a topic I have been thinking a lot about in the last few years. This is her take on male sexual abuse. And while I was going through the comments, I found another gem where a male adult talks about what happened to him.

Over the years, the stories I have heard about male sexual abuse have amazed me for their lack of clarity and ease with which those who have been 'lucky' or 'male enough' to escape it deride those who could not. There are also the myths. One of them is that its the sexually frustrated auntie who might have done it. The other bigger one is that it is someone who is part of the LGBT community who did it. Well truth is, more often than not, it is just someone who is a sexual bully who does it to the boy who probably didnt even know such a thing existed. Most easy victims are the ones who havent yet explored their sexuality arent they? Also it ensures that the victim wont talk about it out of fear. A sexual predator is a sexual predator, period, regardless of his/her orientation.

The problem with the male victim is he cant say it happened to him, not that it is easier for the girl to say, but just that society has a mentality that such things dont happen to men. If it was part of the hostel ragging, then admitting to it is facing ridicule from the rest of the gang. And oh, the 'man enough' crowd would always wonder why you couldnt fight your way out of it. The sad part is that the male victim might get a similar reaction even from close family. It is similar to how the 'girl must have invited it', in case of a guy, it is 'why didn't he fight it'. Rarely do victims of either gender find someone compassionate and understanding enough to help them soothe the pain.

The 'man enough' or 'woman enough' crowd has another allegation too. After the victim talks, suddenly they start viewing him differently, looking for signs of homosexuality. This I have found particularly revolting. I have heard quite a few comments about 'you know that incident has altered him', 'you see how he is more feminine' etc etc. For God's sake, sexual orientation is not infectious. The trouble is it is very difficult for men and some women to digest that a man can do this to another man. As I read somewhere this is because you cant blame the boy for inviting it. Suddenly you stare at the stark reality that a sexual abuser is just a vicious bully, that it is not about sex but about domination. That is a harder pill to swallow, the basic evil of anyone's mind. So we choose the easy way out as always, blame the victim. We wonder why he couldnt fight, we wonder if he has turned gay.

Truth is we dont want him saying all these things, we dont want him exposing the evil and our silence towards it, so we have to make it about the victim. Truth is that some of you know it could have been you, but dont want that reminder and so shun him. Truth also probably is that you might have your own reasons to side with the perpetrator. And truth also is that you know that the victim is so scarred already, ashamed of what happened to him already, that he wont challenge your gossip. Makes you feel powerful doesnt it? Wonder who really is 'man enough' there.

P.S. Yes, it is an angry post and I dont care what prejudice you want to form about me for saying this.

Rajni is so cool, he makes ice jealous!

2010-10-16T00:05:00.000-07:00

Originally written for http://www.ibnlive.com/

The number of Rajni forwards, SMSes, jokes doing the rounds is simply unbelievable. The popularity of Rajnikanth seems to have just grown year after year. If you were an 80’s child in South India, you would have practically grown up with bloated legends. If you lived elsewhere, then you would have teased your South Indian friends about the kind of over-the-top sunglass flips and cigarette throws that the ‘Madrasi’ films have. Whether you were a fan or no, you sure knew Rajni. The man is simply hard to ignore.

Most of the elite, even in Tamil Nadu, would initially dismiss the rising star as the poor man’s hero. What is all that nonsense, they would say, all those gimmicks. They would rather watch the ‘thinking’ actor Kamal Haasan. For most of the 80’s Tamil Nadu movie buffs were strongly divided into Kamal and Rajni camps. You could very well have a terse sibling battle, not just mild rivalry, if you and your brother disagreed on who was the best. There were fashion wars amongst stars to ape the hairstyle of both the stars. While Kamal over the years maintained the ‘thinking’ cap, what has ensured Rajni’s continued success and growing appeal is the self deprecatory attitude. Rajni doesn’t take himself seriously, on screen or off screen.

But his fans do take him quite seriously. The Rajni Rasikar manthrams (fan clubs) across Tamil Nadu, take it upon themselves to propagate the Thalaivar’s name by engaging in philanthropic activities. It also helps that ‘Thalaivar’ himself does a lot of charity and in his public appearances gives an impression of the man next door. Only with Rajni, it is not just a put on, but who he is.

80’s North Indian audiences were familiar with Rajni, thanks to the handful of Hindi films he did with big names of the time like Amitabh Bachhan, Hema Malini and Sridevi. But most of the 90’s and early 2000’s Rajni stuck to the South. He was the hero of jokes, you had a Santa, Banta from the North and you had Rajni rip offs from the South. So much so that for the North Indian, the definition of South Indian cinema was raunchy numbers by fat women and some crazy gimmicks by a dark guy wearing sunglasses.

One doesn’t know when, but sometime in the early 2000’s Rajni might have decided to play on this perception. Could have struck him after the immense success of his films like Baasha in countries like Japan (yeah the Robot land loves the Dancing Maharaja). The Rajni one saw after that was more and more about the style, the superstar persona. Perhaps the best example of this was Sivaji-the boss. It was the movie that was sort of Rajni’s comeback in North Indian popular perception. Delhi theaters were fully booked for the first several weeks. Non-tamilian were raving after watching the Tamil version of the movie. Compared to some of Rajni’s work, Sivaji was average at best, it had the same one man against the system theme, that Indian cinema has done since time immemorial. But what stood apart in the movie was that the script was secondary, most of it was about gimmicks and more gimmicks, with a few punch dialogues thrown in and Rajni in a modern young man look dancing to some slickly shot numbers. Understanding the language was not necessary to understand the movie and that ensured Sivaji’s success.

Sivaji was also highly self-deprecatory. Rajni almost smiles indulgently at his fans for their continued support to what he seems to know is some tomfoolery passed off with some cool effects and 70’s style larger than life acting. That perhaps arouses the most respect for him, that he accepts who he is perceived to be. He doesn’t pretend to be this intellectual guy who does idiotic things on screen and then gives interviews about how commercial constraints force him to do such stuff. He just does what he knows best and works for his fans and by doing that he proves to be more intelligent than the average image-conscious star. The self deprecation is evident in most of his latest flicks. Enthiran is a step further in the I-know-you-like-me-this-crazy series. And this has just endeared him even more to audiences that traditionally do not watch his movies. The jokes on him are told in an almost ‘oh he is so cool’ fashion.

Infact there was almost equal excitement in Mumbai about Enthiran, as in Chennai. So maybe finally we have one star who is a universal hit in this diverse country.

Gossip Girls

2010-08-25T23:56:00.000-07:00

Well this is not about the series which I have never watched. This is more about garden variety grapevine. This post was in the drafts for quite sometime now and I had almost forgotten about it, but I met one of them recently, so decided to post it. This about those whines (pun intended) in the grapevine that attempt to strangle you. Here are the various types of gossip girls (and boys too). Enjoy!

1. The relationship expert : This person knows all about who is seeing whom, who is sleeping with whom and at exactly what level of dating someone is. They find great pleasure in letting others know about the latest IT couple. Breakups, makeups, make outs real and imagined, you can get all the information in typical soap opera full with dialogues when you ask them. Said person is generally married or in a stable relationship so a lot of first timers actually believe every word that comes from their mouth. Said person actually never speaks about their life much, maybe their own relationship life isnt really crackling.

2. The empathiser/guide : This individual generally comes across as an angel when you are going through some personal shit. He/she will be very nice to you, listen to you always, even encourage you by telling you how you are right and others are wrong. You are almost taken in by the goodness and you would end up spilling the beans about your miseries. Next thing you know, your most personal anguish is all known to everyone, sometimes they don’t name you, sometimes they do, but the details are all there and infact travel back to you in the form of questions about your well being.

3. The Q & A expert : This one I met recently. This person would meet you after ages and ask with some level of curiosity in a manner of catching up with you all sorts of pokey questions like ‘so did you get a raise?’ ‘are you getting married soon?’ ‘is your boss treating you well?’ Mind you these are people who can fake idle curiosity, they might seem like people who are sort of trying to get back in touch after a long time, but also remember that these people arent really interested, if they were they would keep in touch with you regularly.

4. The why of it : This is the kind of person who tries to find links to everything everyone does. Oohh he went to the boss’ cabin, surely he has gone to lick ass about that new project, hmm so she is going to lunch with him, surely it is because romance is brewing, ohhhh these two are meeting for coffee surely they are ganging up against someone else and so on they cook up stories and spread it around.

5. The shameless : These are the ones who will come up to you or your friends and ask you pointblank about the latest thing they have heard about you. These are the kinds who don’t realise that personal things would be shared only with friends, not with random passersby. They want to know and they will persist, if not from you, from your friends or someone else, they have to get their dose of the addiction or life loses all meaning.

6. The office spy : This is the person who finds professional linkages and is also up to date on who was hired/fired/reprimanded etc etc. This person talks with much authority about who is efficient, who is inefficient, who is going to go far and who is trash professionally. This person at times also infuses the characteristics of the relationship expert and guide to extract maximum information and provide maximum fodder.

7. The carriers : These are those people who have always heard from so and so, or just heard what happened. No first person account or interpretation, these are the Chinese whisperers and some of the most judgemental ones at that.

Its all about appearances anyways, who cares what you really are. If they start caring then they wont be able to pass time because well nothing interesting is happening to them anyways and everyone’s got to do something to make their own lives feel better right? Yes pulling you down makes them feel socially/morally/financially/whateverly better. And in case you are wondering, I did write this to feel good (wink).

Walking with the quake

2010-08-17T04:42:00.001-07:00

(Another submission for the Soch lo contest on Indiblogger. This is about past conditioning and a reimagining of my memories of the earthquake in 2001)

Every once in a while someone comes along in life who mocks your illusions and brings you to the reality of being human. For me that was you. Before you I never thought anything was impossible. I never felt there was a thing that good intentions and persistence couldn’t set right. But you proved me wrong. I don’t know it if made you happy. But maybe nothing makes you happy, you never seemed to be. Somehow your negativity seems to have rubbed off on me. Shouldn’t it have been my positivity rubbing on to you?

It still is difficult for me to comprehend how little the quake affected you. It devastated my home. The little cracks in the old home, they burst open. There are times I still wonder if I had repaired the cracks would the home have been saved. But how was I to know a quake was due? And even if I did, some destruction was inevitable.

You walked with the quake. That was the way it always was, wasn’t it? Your coming was the signal for the coming of the quake. Someone long ago had told you that. Someone whose words were the truth for you. You ran from the quake always, but the times that it was late, you worried and almost wished it would strike soon. After all, how could the self fulfilling prophecy be wrong? Someone long ago had told me of the havoc you could wreak. But I was given no tools to recognise you, no plan to protect the house from you. So when you came, I just let you in, just like I have always let everyone in.

You seemed to admire the house. The cracks were strategic, even pretty you said. They gave the home a character. You talked of strengthening the house, painting over the cracks. No traveller had talked that way. For them, it was just an Inn. You seemed to call it home, but I could somehow feel that you didn’t mean it. You feared the quake and at that time, I didn’t know.

The rumbling had begun. I could feel it but for sometime I thought my ears were playing tricks on me. It registered somewhere that it was a quake coming, but I told myself it couldn’t be. I asked you if you heard anything. Didn’t you smile and say no? Didn’t you hold me tighter saying you feared it too but you didn’t see it coming and that I must have imagined it? You had told me of your quake nightmares so I trusted you knew better. That night we hugged each other close as we slept, I still felt the rumbling, but I let it be.

At dawn I could no longer ignore it. Then the first slab fell and I woke up. I felt for you beside me but you had already woken up. You were at the door, all ready to run. But you said it wasn’t coming I cried. And you replied, well I walk with the quake so it had to happen. So matter-of-fact your voice was. You never wanted to stop it, I understood. You had wished it away for a while, but you believed that was your destiny. And even before I could cry out in anger, I could see you had a counter to every question if mine. You were going to walk away, maybe laughing at the illusion you created or cry that you couldn’t control the quake. Either way, my house was going down and you walked away because you never had any.

When the sun rose I stood by the road, in front of the heap that was the house. It was all a-rubble and it was all I had and it was still mine. I still had a place. The neighbours wept silently with me. But we couldn’t wait beyond afternoon, we had to get to work. Each of us started piecing things back. We gathered what was intact, we fixed what was fixable. We chased away the robbers too. This was the first time I felt that good intentions might not be enough. And yet, aren’t they always the foundation of beautiful edifices?

I could see the path you walked on. I could be the quake harbinger too. But I still had my land and I could still build an edifice here. I didn’t have to wander away from what I had built. Yes, it was now a rubble. But then it was old and wearing away. Now I could build something new. I am not alone, the neighbours help with the logs, the fresh mortar. There is that boy who loves the way I lay the bricks. There is the old woman who thinks my paint is good. There are some old cracks still there in the remaining part. But there is more mortar we have all got.

I had waited for you till evening, but from the next day, I have only built my house. I had one before you and now I am building one after you. Its already taking shape. I can see the neighbourhood growing too. And I hear there are some settlers on the way to this town. I didn’t need the quake, but now that I have a new home that I am building, maybe it will only get better. And this home would stand all the quakes in the future.

The ex-files - Soch lo

2010-08-02T07:01:00.000-07:00

(Submission for the Soch lo contest on indiblogger)

What if your partner’s ex wants them back? Well, shoot the ex, as in who cares what the ex wants? I would be more concerned about what my partner wants. I would ask my partner what do they have to say about the Return of the Big EX. If there is any amount of hesitation in deciding who they want to be with, I would just say dude, I am leaving, good times to you and ex. If your partner cannot for whatever reason decide, that is not your problem, its his (using the male pronoun as I am a female). Just like taking a decision is a choice, sitting on the fence is also a choice and every choice has its consequences. You are not obliged to sit on the fence wall with Humpty Dumpty just because he is scared to climb down or hates or is confused about the ground on either side. You are entitled to your walk in the garden without a bumpy ride.

That said it also depends on how the ex and your partner broke up. In most cases, there never is a justification to return. If say your partner had been the bad person, maybe the ex needs to get their head examined as to why they want to return. If the ex was a bad person, then your partner of course, has no reason to return. But if the ex was the bad person and your partner seems to waver at the offer, you really need to rethink your relationship. Why is your partner behaving this way, are they alright?

A lot of times people use exes like some back up plan, even unconsciously, running to them for consolation when something else fails in life, if not for a new relationship but atleast to get some support for old times’ sake. There are very few exes who can be good friends, lets say 1% of the population. The rest of the 99% keeps in touch because of unfinished business and by this I refer to the numerous couples who do not have kids together. If you have kids, it’s a totally different story.

Someone wants the ex to one day finally realise that they made a mistake in leaving. Some others keep in touch because they don’t want to face the fact that they had been the jerk or jerkette. Some genuinely believe that they are trying to be friends and are really not aware of the fact that they are actually trying to avoid being seen as the bad or uncool person who wont talk. Its an evasion of either guilt or the reality of the end of the relationship. Some others are keeping in touch waiting for that one moment or moments of vindication, when they can tell the ex what you sow, so shall you reap. The cycle of emotional manipulation that the two started during the relationship continues much after it ends. What’s amazing is that for practical purposes, these two people have moved on, they now have new partners, but even then they keep in touch for some ego validation, forgetting that in the process they are disrespecting their current partner.

In very rare circumstances, both the parties have matured to such an extent that they can put the past aside and start afresh, but most people still have trust issues after getting back. So it is very important for both parties to actually know their own real motive in getting back. Is it to get validation, vindication, make the past alright or to actually have a better future together? Are they trying to numb out the past rejection by trying to get back?

And if you are the new partner caught in the ex drama, all I have to say is, if your partner hesitates, then they have dug their own grave. You are fully justified in leaving them to their fate. If they go back to their ex and find that they want you after all, then that is their problem. You surely deserve someone who wants you all the time and not as an afterthought. So if they waver, please walk out. Don’t be party to a drama that two people want to create. You deserve a drama free life, especially when the drama is not of your own creation at all. But if your partner comes to you and says that the ex wants to come back but they don’t want to go, hold on to dear life. You have a keeper on hand.

I am what I am - part 2

2010-07-29T00:09:00.000-07:00

Thanks to IHM for tagging my previous post I am what I am and also encouraging me to post something for emotional atyachar contest. Taking on from the previous post, here are some more statements used to victimise people

I have seen worse/ You should understand I am having a bad time/ If only things were different/ Now is not the ‘right’ time

Perhaps the first time we heard this was when we asked our parents for more pocket money. They were unable or not ready to give it to us and then they started on this whole talk about how when they were your age, they didn’t have chappals, or had to walk miles etc etc, you get the picture. While I would still support it when it comes to flimsy (oops hope I am not stepping on someone’s toes) things like pocket money, there is a limit to how much this argument can be used. But because we are lulled by this usage early on, we stop asking, we stop asserting, we stop everything once someone says ‘I have seen worse’.

A lot of times I have been involved in friendships and relationships with people who truly have seen some bad times. And I would assume the responsibility that knowingly I remained in their lives. The moment of clarity always came when suddenly ‘I have seen worse’ became an excuse to treat you as they wish. The first few times a person says this, you being the empathetic you, think that ‘Oh poor he/she, has had it rough’ and also something like ‘If I were in his/her place, I would want someone else to understand’ and all your decisions taken henceforth are to avoid any discomfort to that person, so what if it adds to your own discomfort. ‘Ok I will obey him, I wont call him before 12 pm, he hates being disturbed the first hours of work.’ Little voice in the head says but you are sick and you need someone to help you out but you silence it saying no no, how can I be selfish enough to think about me when he has told me it ruins his concentration, I should understand his problems because we love each other.

Your abuser/coward (any control freak is one and abusers are control freaks) has had a bad day in office, because she/he couldn’t stand up to their boss (its funny how abusers always have some person they don’t have the guts to stand up to) and then they come back home and are all dull and morose. This also happens to be the day when you have made the gajar ka halwa or done whatever it is that pleases them. But the only thing the abuser notices is that you havent folded the napkin just the way you have always been asked to. A fight ensues, you cry, the abuser hurls his/her choicest abuses and walks away in the end satisfied that the pent up anger has been expended. But what about you? You regret not folding the napkin well, what a dunce I am. And then the classic case, seeing you crying for so long the abuser comes and gives a half hearted apology, ‘Listen I am sorry, but baby you know how I have a tough time most of the days, don’t you see how much I have struggled and is it too much to ask that you do what I say?’ And you hear some great professions of love after that. Most of us get taken in again, please, please don’t be so naïve.

The abuser is not really sorry, he/she is doing this because they have to keep you confused and holding on to the promise of a good time, the time which is supposed to come once their ‘current crisis’ is over. But if you have been in a long term abusive relationship, you would know the good times never come, its an empty promise, so that you don’t leave. The time is never right. And if you ask, you will always get a variant of ‘I am in so much pain’ or ‘I have seen worse’ and the ultimate ‘You don’t understand don’t you, you are only thinking of your benefit.’ Their bad times are no excuse to treat you bad. That is sadism, not love.

X, Y and Z arent complaining, so why are you?

Well because X, Y and Z probably love being the jellyfish without a backbone or maybe because X, Y and Z’s reality is different from mine or maybe because X, Y and Z find it to their benefit to agree. This argument is generally used by schools, organisations and communities. You don’t like the new dress code, you find it uncomfortable and say so, the boss says well whats your problem no one else is complaining. The worse forms of this is when you are demanding something that you deserve and you are told something to the effect of well its really not so bad, look at A, he/she has worked harder/longer and is still waiting for that which you are asking. Or the missionary type arguments of why you shouldn’t be unhappy with your lot because there are hungry children in Somalia. (I love this analogy I read in a book :-) ) Fact is you are living your life, not someone else’s, so you have every right to ask for what makes you comfortable and it is not mean to want something for yourself.

They do this because they love you

This is a statement that the bystanders use. Bystanders are those people who while you are suffering abuse, are somewhere in the background, aware of what is going on and sometimes complicit with the abuser. The bystander is either dumb/scared or stands to gain himself/herself by your abuse and so wouldn’t do anything. Sometimes even an abuser says this. Children in abusive families are told this a lot. Say the father is highly verbally abusive and sometimes even hits the child. This time the child got a beating for asking for a new bicycle. Mom stands by as the child is being beaten, probably even crying helplessly. But once father has gone and the child has also spent some time crying alone, suddenly mom bursts into action. She comes and tells the child, see dad is having a bad time etc etc and you should understand that, see he loves you or else would he have paid for your new watch. But mom conveniently forgets to talk about all the times when dad has done everything that shows contempt, tells the child he/she is a burden, bane of their existence. The child should feel grateful and know that the parents love him/her because, well, because the child isnt wearing torn clothes, is not beaten up to an inch like some others and that the parents have put him/her in a school. This brings me to another excuse that we hear a lot…

That is how the world is, you should just accept your lot

Say you are having a bad time with some friends, they are being unsupportive and basically malicious. You walk up to this best buddy of yours and you say that those people are unsupportive and you feel lost and betrayed. What does your supposed best buddy say ‘Well that’s how the world is, you should know that you cant trust anyone’. Darn, there your bubble is burst again. You thought that someone would understand and validate your experience, instead you are re-victimised, you are told that you were stupid enough to trust and well what were you expecting. Technically, you are being told that you are the one with the flaw. Now many times, people say this thinking their intentions are good, that they are only making you aware of the reality. Well maybe they are right, but do they really have to tell you so heartlessly, wouldn’t it be of better help if they shared their similar experience and the two of you find a common way to deal with all this?

Most forms of emotionally abusive statements are some form of invalidation. Invalidation in fact is at the core of abuse of all types. Invalidation seeks to deny the importance of your existence by denying you your feelings, your rights and your dreams and expectations. So whenever you come across any of these statements, dig deeper before you decide to act on their suggestions. Like my favourite writer on this topic Susan Elliot repeats, “Love is an action” and so mere words wont and shouldn’t suffice.

Life lessons in ambition : Revolutionary Road and Marley and Me

2010-07-19T05:39:00.000-07:00

A little late in the day, but managed to catch both Revolutionary Road and Marley and Me the last week. Both are realistic movies about life. While one deals with ambition and the discontent it causes, the other talks of readjusting goals according to the reality.

The couple in Revolutionary Road, Frank and April Wheeler would remind you of how you were in your teens and early twenties. Its about having this feeling that life suddenly happened to you and that you are not living to your full potential. True as that may be, Revolutionary Road talks about the incendiary nature of unfulfilled dreams and delusions of potential. At one point in the movie April says : “If being crazy means living life as if it matters, then I don’t care if I am completely insane.” But the same April, when confronted with the reality of life, says, “For years I thought we've shared this secret that we would be wonderful in the world. I don't know exactly how, but just the possibility kept me hoping. How pathetic is that? So stupid. To put all your hopes in a promise that was never made. Frank knows what he wants, he found his place, he's just fine. Married, two kids, it should be enough. It is for him. And he's right; we were never special or destined for anything at all.” Perhaps the premise of the movie is best explained by the dialogue by a certified insane neighbour of the Wheelers who says about their view of suburban life “Plenty of people are on to the emptiness, but it takes real guts to see the hopelessness...”

The Wheelers are torn by their own ambitions and April especially finds it difficult that life is generally not what its cooked up to be. It is not all about achieving your potential and the dreams, but about drab details like bills, cooking and kids. She sums up the general angst faced by young couples best when she says that they have been punishing each other for their unfulfilled dreams that they believe were interrupted by the kids – an attitude that leads her to try the tragic try-at-home abortion of their child. Frank on the other hand, wants to make it big, but it is not for the sake of ambition, its more because he equates big with the good life, more respect, better standing in the society.

The Wheelers are not liked in the neighbourhood much, they are admired for their odd ball thoughts, but not liked, because looking at the Wheelers reminds the neighbours of the drabness of their existence. It is like the Wheelers show them a mirror and mock them with their plans of quitting it all and moving to Paris. The neighbours want to be like the Wheelers, but at the same time think the Wheelers are delusional. The Wheelers however are just you and me, with an exaggerated sense of dissatisfaction, people who believe life should matter and that there should be a reason for everything. But perhaps life isnt that logical. At one point, April screams in frustration, “Who made these rules anyways?” But it is more about their inability to make their own rules, rather than about following the herd. Reviewer Mick LaSalle talks about the brilliant use of extra marital sex in the movie. To quote him, “As is so often the case in life, it's the only creative outlet left to people who have given up hope. It's an expression of deep despair.” With the Wheelers this is true.

While the Wheelers end up as a dysfunctional, confused couple who feel betrayed by life, the Grogans in Marley and Me come across as the few who have made peace with life. Like the Wheelers there is a time in the life of the Grogans when the stress of handling daily family details, takes its toll on the marriage. Jenny hates the fact that she has had to quit her job and play suburban wife while her equally talented husband is still earning. She is edgy, depressed and picks up fights and John Grogan doesn’t quite know how to salvage the situation. But the Grogans are more real, they have no illusions of being ‘special’. The mature way in which the Grogans talk their problems out and the way they discuss everything together in the movie, is in complete contrast to the Wheelers, who heap their own inefficiencies on to the other. While Jenny slowly comes to accept her new responsibilities, April openly loathes the constraints of family and kids and Frank claims to be special but has no clue in what. The mutual frustration of the couple and the way they punish each other for their problems leads a neighbour to say that he is glad he wont be the Wheelers’ child.

John Grogan too has had to let go of his dream of being an investigative reporter and has to instead be a columnist to run the house, but he makes peace with this change in life. John is shown to sometimes yearn for and maybe even secretly grudge the life of his single friend, a fellow journalist, who can travel to exotic locations, write great stories, flirt around to his heart’s content. John however does get a chance to see for himself if the grass is greener on the other side. Like it often happens in life, much after he has forgotten about his reporting career he gets an opportunity at a different city. The Grogans make the big move but John discovers that he truly is a better columnist than a reporter and all the angst is suddenly gone, however by now, John is also around 40 and has learnt to make peace with life as it is. A significant moment that shows his change of attitude is when he meets the same high flying friend again after years and sees that while his friend is still the single flirt, still asking out girls on the road, looking for the One girl who would be right, Grogan himself has a fulfilled life. Like they say, in the end, it all works out and Grogan’s is a true story. Frank on the other hand, remains clueless about what he wants till the end. His desire for something more is born more out of the need to appear special, than really be special, whereas April wants to achieve being special at any cost. It is this fundamental difference that plays itself out leading April to view Frank as man of all fluff and no substance while he views her as unrealistic.

While both these movies might never be mentioned in the same breath by cinema purists, what I find to be a learning experience in both of them is how your attitude to ambition can make or break your own life. The Wheelers are forever looking for that extra something and in the process hating every minute of the present. The Grogans on the other hand make adjustments based on the circumstances and because they make those adjustments, life gives them an opportunity later on to even try what they perceived as great once.

A lot of people in their twenties like me are still struggling with that fine balance of what is ambition and what could end up as delusion. Just out of college, we have our ideas of what the world should be like, how we would contribute to it and what we want to do in it. But life is hardly perfect and probably even life, if it were an entity, doesn’t know what the next moment is going to be like. When our ideas of what life ought to be like, clash with reality, most of us have those ‘Is there any point?’ moments. But what I am slowly learning to accept is that perhaps life wasn’t meant to be this star studded event of cosmic brilliance, life was meant to be about days that turned into months and years. If life really were supposed to be one adrenaline rush, maybe there wouldn’t be so much routine in nature. Maybe because life is also about routine and ordinary stability just like the mighty sun rises everyday in the same way. If it were meant to be different each day, maybe the sun would rise differently each day too, maybe it would end up shuttling between Mercury and Pluto whenever it pleases. I do not mean to say that one shouldn’t aspire to be more, do more, but one should also accept that sometimes life is not all its cracked up to be. Maybe there really isn’t much beyond the horizon, or maybe there is and like John Grogan found out, you are better off with what you have.
Its ok to go slow in life, its ok to be ordinary, because like someone said any idiot can handle a crisis, it’s handling the daily living that is tough. Or like Frank Wheeler himself puts it. “Knowing what you've got, knowing what you need, knowing what you can do without - That's inventory control.” Knowing it all surely isn’t life. Maybe its wise to stop asking, “Is there a point?” when the question has remained unanswered throughout recorded history Life really isn’t perfect and not all of it is in our control, the key is to change what we own and leave the rest to sort itself out, a lesson that I hope to fully assimilate someday.

I am what I am

2010-07-07T06:40:00.000-07:00

Here are some common statements people make, specially on those days when you feel down and out, statements that do nothing to change/help you, but instead are designed to keep you hostage in the land of confusion, hurt and stagnation. These are some pretty harmless statements actually, that might even seem like an assessment of your character and a way of helping you out, but beware, unless you know the correct intentions of the person, take these statements. And one final word, the interpretations are based on my experience and understanding, could vary for you.

1. Its for your own good – means that this is what I think is right or this is what I can concede to you. It has got nothing to do with either your good or your bad, its all about the other person.

2. You think too much – unless you are a person who has some sort of an OCD, this just means one thing, you have probably put the other person in a spot, where he/she might have to take some action. This is a techinique of abuse known as minimising or even denying your feelings. By saying you think too much, your abuser is trying to again point out that the problem is with you and that he/she is on the right track and has done everything possible. But has he/she really done everything possible? At the end of this talk you will probably question yourself and the validity of your feelings/reactions, well its their mission accomplished.

3. You are too sensitive – means that you are asking for something the other person is not ready to give. If you are asking your boyfriend to give you more time, he says he has a lot of work (while you find him on facebook or out with friends) and when you confront him, he stays adamant. You break down and he says, you are too sensitive, in that patronising, come-on-calm-down-girl voice, you have to understand that this is not about your sensitivity, but about his lack of it. If you ask your boss why you didn’t get a particular assignment and he/she runs you down similarly, even then realise that you are sane here. Its human to get upset, its human to feel bad if something doesn’t go well, its human to cry over unfairness, so don’t think you are wrong.

4. You are too small/large/brown/pink/blue – any statement that starts with you are too…is 90% of the time patented untruth or a statement of uncontrollable truths. You cant help it if you are tall, you cant help it if your color is brown, you cant help it if you have a muscular figure, its what God gave you. So if you have learnt to live with 6.7 feet of height or 300 pounds of mass, its time the ones who told you this start living with it too. If they don’t, then they always have other options, just like you have others who wont mind these attributes of yours. Never let anyone victimise you about the body God gave you. While its nice to be fit and try to achieve some of that too, its certainly not worth it to get anorexic or bulimic or even fat just to please someone.

5. You are the only person who can do this for me – this is a statement a manipulator uses so that he can get his work done, so what if its your first PTA meeting, so what if its your mom’s birthday, the manipulator will make you do the work with this backhanded praise. Don’t fall for it.

6. I cant because – like I said in a previous post, there is NO cant. There is only WILL NOT because of such and such.

7. Don’t you trust me – classic case of throwing you off by confusing you. And yes, they are probably cheating on you.

8. Do we have to talk about this now – and they sound hurt, stressed out even though you are the one who is hurt, suddenly you are apologising for your lack of consideration. This is just a way of guilt tripping you and avoiding the conversation. The fault is all yours after all, you just are not adept to know that they don’t ever want to talk/change/take responsibility. Normal people, sensitive people believe in solutions, unempathetic people or those who live in denial avoid talking about it.

9. Why cant you just forget/get over it – everyone takes their own time to get over things, and your feelings are your own, there is no fixed time limit or no specific way in which your feelings should be. As someone I admire says, feelings are not right or wrong, they are just there. If you hear this statement, it only means one thing, the person who told you this, doesn’t have the time or sensitivity for your feelings. If they are really caught up in something, you can be understanding, if not, then just learn that this is not the person who can offer you empathy, so look to others for that.

10. You have a victim syndrome – of all the examples, this takes the cake. It puts all the responsibility of all that’s wrong squarely on YOU. While it is true that thinking like a victim makes you powerless and wont help you change, its also important that when someone says you have a victim syndrome, you don’t minimise what the other person has done and look only at whats wrong with you. Own only what is yours, don’t make this about how you need to try more and more, try what you know is reasonable, anything else is unnecessary. I agree with those people who say that victims syndromes were invented by intelligent psychiatrists because they figured that manipulators/abusers don’t come to shrinks to get cured, its always the victims who come and well what better way to keep them and the fees coming rather than say that it’s the victim who is the problem.

Finally one word, everyone owns their perceptions and you can only own your own actions and the perceptions that caused those actions. You cannot and will not succeed in changing anyone else, so quit trying hard. You need to know what is within your control and what is outside yours and once you know that, quit worrying about what is not in your control. Let whoever is in control of that deal with it. You are what you are and if others demand you to be something else, you have an equal right to demand them to be something else. Acceptance is mutual, if you want to be accepted unconditionally, you should accept unconditionally too. Be what you are, no one is perfect and in the end we all do die, so it doesn’t really matter (wink).

Why didn't you understand?

2010-06-29T04:39:00.000-07:00

'You were supposed to understand. Didn't I tell you how much I needed someone to understand me? No one ever understood. My family had their own problems, I was supposed to understand them and behave accordingly. At work they would not give me what I deserve and I was supposed to understand because I needed the money. You were the only one who got me. Didn't I tell you how much I cared for you because you understood?'

'I tried, I really tried you know. I tried being nice to you. I know you had your own problems, wasn't I sweet and romantic when necessary? But you weren't satisfied. You wanted more of my time and attention. WTF? How was I supposed to give you more, when you knew that I had so many problems. You should have understood dammit. Now look what you have done to yourself?'

Right in front of him, she lay motionless. The baseball bat was just nearby and the blood was still oozing out of her head.

'I didnt want to do this. Its you, you made me do this. Why didn't you just understand? If you had just stayed quiet, not questioned me, we would have been happy. But you really had to do this didn't you? You were also like the rest of them, just not ready to understand me, accept me. Why, why didn't you understand?'

(P.S. my little attempt at explaining the reverse thinking of psychos and a major trait of theirs called psychological projection)

Crazy love explained in Mahesh Bhatt movies - 2

2010-06-07T00:50:00.000-07:00

Part 1 of this post can be found here

Another thing Voh Lamhe explores is the period when Bhatt and Babi had been ardent Osho followers. Though this part has only been touched upon. But Bhatt’s interviews to publications over the years, confirmed a belief that I had held for long. Following a cult is another form of escapism. When you don’t know who you are or what you want, that is the perfect time when a Narcissistic Godman can enter your life. I for one believe that God is not so insecure that he has to declare to the world he is almighty, whereas most Godmen do declare that time and again don’t they? In all religious texts if you read closely, it is said that your God and peace reside in you, but in our dysfunctional relationships with ourselves and the world, we tend to seek God in others and become fresh meat for cult Gods.

A similar escapist way of dealing with the chaos in life is shown very briefly in one of Bhatt’s most brilliant movies – Zakhm. Pooja Bhatt’s character is shown to shut the door to her room and excommunicate herself from her sons whenever she is in great mental distress. It is later revealed in the movie that at such times she would fervently say her prayers to get over her distress. Another passive and escapist way of dealing with the issue of the illegitimate relationship. The less spiritually inclined might go for the numbing addiction provides. No wonder Marx equated religion with addictions.

Movies tend to make us believe that love just happens, that no one can control it. Actually it’s the animal instinct of attraction that is uncontrollable. Love is a set of choices you make everyday. Love they say is an action, and no amount of praying/drinking is going to change anything unless you make the decision to act. And being in an illicit relationship is a choice, one that I have seen some people walk away from, once they realise how crazy it is to be in those shoes. Granted you don’t always know what are the consequences of your actions, but once you know, you can always make the effort to change, rather than chanting “I cant”. Cannot I believe is an unnecessary word in English, there is no cannot, there is only wont, because each of us makes our own choices.

Arth, the first in the Bhatt-Babi trilogy was a story more suited to the moralistic landscape of the time. The characters were black and white, good Shabana and Raj, weak/bad Kulbhushan and Smita Patil. Even Aashiqui which was semi biographical, had the evil hostel warden and good orphan. It was in the later movies that Bhatt experimented with the world and its craziness as it was, without offering justifications for why his characters did whatever they did. They were weak/twisted/evil and though he did give the psychological background of the troubled childhood, he stopped justifying why they were who they were. And Zakhm is perhaps the best example of this. Ajay Devgan’s character doesn’t judge his parents or blame them for his problems, its an acceptance that only age and maturity can give you.

Jism and Murder on the other hand explore the fragility of purely hormonal love as opposed to love based on genuine understanding. Bhatt’s characters in these movies show the darker side of the passion in illicit relationships – the basic uncertainty of them. Mujhko dil se yahi shikayat hai, jo usko mil nahin sakta kyun uski chahat hai goes the song in Jism. Nothing is more draining for the human soul than getting attached to something that rests on a shaky ground. Again separation and starting life afresh requires a lot of courage too, something depicted very well in Arth, but many extra marital affairs are escapism, and if that is what it is, both the parties tend to stay stuck with their partners while playing victims constantly crying if only things were different. Of course since it’s a movie, there is murder, mayhem and lots of drama. Paap on the other hand depicts the flip side of morality and impulse control. A day to day example of this could be how children from extremely conservative families tend to turn out to be the most experimental when it comes to relationships and addictions, the moment they start living in a different city because of work or studies. This movie also explores parental influence in our life choices and also expresses that needless denial of impulses to gain salvation in an after/future life is just pointless.

According to my own understanding most of us make only two mistakes that create all the madness in life. One is refusing to take responsibility for our own actions and the other is denial of reality. Bhatt’s semi autobiographical movies frequently have such characters and Bhatt also reiterates the fundamental truth that no one is good or bad, it’s the choices people make that make them good or bad. Though a lot of the reality gets watered down because of the over dramatisation, characteristic of Bollywood movies, Bhatt still manages to get in some honesty and anyone who has gone through the pangs of growing up to a reasonable level of maturity can see the patterns of thinking that guide his confused/weak/crazy characters.

Many of his central characters have a victim mentality and keep rolling in the muck of self created disasters, something Bhatt depicts taking a leaf out of his own mistakes. On the screen its all a rosy picture, but for Bhatt and the people he touched, living it might not have been easy. And though he probably took a long time to himself own up to the responsibility of his life, in the process, he learnt how to serve up the psychological struggles within his mind with a generous sprinkling of song and dance.

Any successful author would tell you that the best stories ever told are the ones that you lived and Bhatt used this formula film after film. It takes great courage to put up your life under scrutiny for the whole world to see. It may not be the whole truth, but the movies do talk of a life of making mistakes and learning, of being human and fallible.

Crazy love explained in Mahesh Bhatt movies - 1

2010-06-07T00:49:00.000-07:00

Since I can remember, my favourite song of all time has been Tere dar par sanam from Phir Teri Kahaani Yaad Aayi. This was Mahesh Bhatt’s second cinematic exploration of his relationship with Parveen Babi. While the first movie Arth focussed on the dynamic of the other woman, Phir Teri was about Parveen’s mental illness and the push-pull of their relationship. As a teenager, Tere dar par seemed to me like the ultimate declaration of love. Its only recently have I realised what a self defeating song it actually is. Many songs of the 90’s had a pining away quality to them, but Tere dar par was probably one of the best/worst examples. Tu na aaya toh ham chale aaye it goes, perpetuating the myth that one doesn’t have any self respect when one is in love. The trouble was that for a lot of people like me who grew up then, this song did not mean a lack of self respect, but a sacrifice of pride, because after all there is no place for pride in love is there?

But if you look at the song in the actual context, you realise it is apt, Pooja Bhatt who plays Parveen’s character, in the movie, is mentally ill and for her Rahul Roy is her only confidante, she is shown as needing him. And Rahul Roy’s character keeps running around in circles with the relationship, knowing fully well that he cant ‘save’ her and yet trying to save her. It’s the classic dysfunctional relationship dynamic. The person who ‘saves’ the lost soul feels good about himself being noble and the person who needs ‘saving’ controls by being helpless and angry alternately. The psychological dynamic is called Karpman’s drama triangle and a lesser known phenomena called codependence.

As I was listening to this song last evening, I was suddenly struck by the number of Bhatt movies that have supposedly star struck lovers. Another movie the songs of which I liked a lot at that time was Gunaah. It had Bipasha Basu as a cop with a troubled past falling in love with, you guessed it, a criminal with a troubled past. Both have a lot of unresolved issues that they hope their love can resolve, an idea which is at best a delusion because like they say even God helps only those who help themselves. The song goes Hamne tumko dil ye de diya ye bhi na socha kaun ho tum. Typical hormonal reaction, jumping into a relationship – the hallmark of the beginning of any dysfunctional romantic relationship. And true enough, Bipasha who is sent to arrest him, is mesmerised by him because of a sudden hormonal reaction. Dino hardly speaks a word in the movie and yet you are led to believe that both of them have fallen in true, undying love.

In fact a lot of our ideas of love as teenagers are fed by these Mills Boonesque ideas (plead guilty of reading many of them) of how love is all you need to ‘save’ the other person. But what happens when the person you are trying to save, doesn’t want to be saved. A lot of people are more comfortable in identifying with the victim mentality, because when you are a victim, nothing you do is your fault, you are not responsible, its circumstances/destiny/God that made you like this. (Remember Bruce Almighty?) Its an easy way out, you don’t have to responsible or go through the actual pain of growing up and taking responsibility. But in real life, if your hurts decide your life, you push away the very people who are closest to you, a self fulfilling prophecy, where you end up exactly at the place you wanted to avoid.
Perhaps a more honest take on Bhatt’s relationship with Babi, was Voh Lamhe, though it still was highly romanticised. It has Bhatt almost admitting to the fact that he in some ways did ‘use’ Babi’s emotional turbulence to further his career (the financial aspect of this was dealt with in Arth) and in turn got entangled in a tangled, haunting relationship. Kangana is trying to run away from the cloud of darkness that her illness is casting on her thinking and anyone who offers her a little attention is instantly her soulmate, so Shiney Ahuja’s character just has to appear to be nice. Shiney on the other hand is trying to run away from his failure and Kangana provides him the reflected glory. Most emotionally disturbed relationships are an escapism, one or more of the person’s is actually running away from other realities in life and trying to find ‘solace’ in the ‘sanctuary’ of a relationship. Perfect recipe for disaster. The songs in this movie however did not have the intensity of relationship dynamics that Phir Teri had.
Continued in part 2 here

They say he's gone!

2010-05-21T05:31:00.000-07:00

It’s the kind of phone call you don’t want to receive in the morning. ‘Listen there’s a bad news. A is gone, killed in a road accident.’ And for the next 20 minutes I thought it was just the kind of prank A would play, of course you are joking. And the caller says no Kajal, he really is dead. Dead and gone. His bike tire burst because of the heat and he lost control.

Sometimes you just meet people randomly and you become such good friends with them. A was one such friend. I had met him while on assignment 3 years ago, while I was getting vox pops for a cricket show. He was one of those college boys hanging around Shivaji Park with his circle of friends and they all even did a celebratory dance for the camera when India won. Of all the guys, A was the only one who requested for my phone number and a journalist never lets go of an opportunity to make a new source. So I had given him my number. In the next one year, A would call me randomly just to say hi and then the phone calls stopped. I didn’t bother much because the phone calls were completely random.

Then about a year ago, I got a call from a new number. It was A. He had graduated and had started working. He was talking almost normally but there was an undercurrent. I asked him and he almost broke down as he narrated the story of how he had just recently broken up with his girlfriend of 4 years and how his obsession to just speak to her once had almost sent him to prison for harassment. This surely was not like the carefree college boy I knew. Here was the maturity and perspective that only pain gives you. It was all done and over, but A just couldn’t fathom how something that started out so beautifully could have ended so horribly. Over the next few months he would call sometimes just to chat and we became fast friends. Along with some other friends of his, I would take turns to scold him, tease him and coax him out of his ‘undying’ love. And he would take it all in stride, keep smiling and in a mock imitation of a Bollywood hero would say ‘this is A’s love story, its gotta be different.’

Never once had I thought that this seemingly immature boy, whom we used to all advice about his heartaches, would ultimately be one of those few people who would help me out when I went through a bad phase recently. I could call him at any time of the day or night and he would patiently listen, divert my attention, give me surprise visits just to cheer me up. And he never expected anything but friendship from me. I didn’t feel that I was burdening him with my emotions, I didn’t have to be careful, I could be the emotional girl I am with him. I didn’t have to carry a rep with him or wonder that he would demand a price for his show of affection. All that he expected was a smiling friend in return for his troubles.

Then around 3 months ago, he moved back to Delhi, his hometown. Most of us friends were sad but we felt that after all that he had gone through the last year, going back home would do him good. And true to his style, just last month he came down on a surprise visit to Mumbai just a week prior to my birthday. All of us went out to Gorai to celebrate the engagement of another friend and we were again ribbing him about how he should now get married. His parents were pressurising him and he was dodging it off because he was still in love with his girl and we had again started scolding him.
And now I am left with so much unsaid, so much anger that he is dead. Since morning, I have only been repeating to myself, he is dead, he is dead, as if my repetition would somehow change the reality. I still half expect him to call and say it was all a prank. Listening to ‘kaise batayein kyun tumko chahein’ would be a painful reminder as that was his ringtone. There are so many little things about this friendship, this boy I have only met half a dozen times, things that might live on for quite some time even though he didn’t. Heck he wasn’t even 25. Why this boy who may have only hurt people in ignorance, why not those who make a living out of hurting people? Anger, confusion and just pain at a life that was lost. But A you had a full life, you had friends, you loved like never before and you touched the lives of many. Yes, the few years you lived, you probably lived more than many a lifetime. RIP. Miss you ever.

Maar diya jaaye ki chod diya jaaye

2010-05-01T03:46:00.000-07:00

Originally published for the company website www.ibnlive.com

When it comes to Kasab, this is a no brainer you would say. Maar diya jaaye. One of the few terrorists in the world who was caught alive, Ajmal Amir Kasab has now been in jail for around 18 months. And in this period he has been a living, breathing, unscathed reminder of the horrors of the most dramatic terror attack in the history of the world. As I write this, the Mumbai police is in deep discussion with journalists of the city to provide for unhitched and secure media coverage. Security has been increased near the Arthur Road Jail complex and by Monday there will be many more road diversions and restrictions around the area. Newsrooms are abuzz with discussions on how to carry the story, who would follow it and who are the talking heads to consult about this trial.

Everything about Kasab has till now generated a lot of curiosity. He was the one man the nation could punish for not just his acts but for the failure of important security agencies. He was the embodiment of the nation’s frustration, the living proof of why we no longer felt safe in this country. And so the brash behaviour of this 21 year old became the topic of great discussion. ‘Look at how fearlessly and remorselessly he was shooting those people at CST’, ‘He is the one who killed our brave officers’, ‘Look at how he mocks the judges at court’, these were oft repeated sentences showing our collective hatred of one man who reminded us time and again of what we lost and how we failed on 26/11. We burnt effigies, staged plays, made Ganpati pandals and did whatever we could to act out our anger towards him and the ideology he represented.

Since day one every report has been about what is going on in Kasab’s mind, what did he eat, what was he wearing, was he laughing, was he frowning, did he understand the question, has he picked up Marathi, any and every information about the kind of person the aam aadmi is never going to become. We even had people commenting on how well kept he looked, how he was ‘handsome’ (yeah right) and there was also the youngster who declared live on FM radio how she found Kasab cute and would like to meet him (Stockholm syndrome or its variant?). Notoriety after all is not exactly the opposite of popularity, its just the other side of the same coin.

The trial itself went through a lot of twists and turns. First there was no lawyer and the late Shahid Azmi had said that Kasab should be hanged without trial after declaring him a state enemy. Then a little known Anjali Waghmare came in, was spooked out by the Sena and enter Abbas Kazmi, who was later sacked for inconsistencies. And all through this time there was the push and pull between India and Pakistan about who was Kasab. There were the various confessions and retractions and allegations and counter allegations. And despite the heinous crimes, it seemed that Ajmal Kasab had also become a prime time entertainer for our voyeuristic pleasures. Every story about him fed the curiosity of a public trying to decode the mind of a terrorist. The only ones who hated every bit of it were understandably, the victims. Many of those from the lower strata of the society wondered why 31 crores were spent on him, when some of them are still waiting for the lakh or two of compensation sanctioned by government authorities.

On Monday, though it might seem to be the beginning of the end. A verdict shall be pronounced and the question Maar diya jaaye ki nahin would hopefully be answered. But the saga seems to be far from over. In a country where there is a huge gap between the sentencing and the actual punishment, this could just be the beginning of another long drawn process. The questions might shift from whether to hang him to when to hang him, where to hang him and even is there an executioner available? If there is another appeal, then the process could even get longer.

But these questions seem irrelevant to many Mumbaikars. The bigger question as always is whether this would be an exemplary verdict, which would discourage any such attacks in future. Doubtful. Or maybe the mundane question of the layman is more important, ‘Madam Kasab ko phaansi hone ke baad Arthur road ko jo one way banaya tha voh wapas se two way hoga ki nahin?’

Cricket and all that jazz

2010-04-25T09:10:00.000-07:00

I should start this post with a disclaimer. The last world cup I followed religiously was more than 10 years ago. The 99 World Cup. And this post is more about memories. 99 World cup was a refreshing break after the 10th board exams for most of us. Those were the days I used to know the names of Kenyan players too. For a person who took pride in the fact of being born in the year the country won the world cup, cricket was a natural obsession. But then the match fixing scandal broke. The idealistic teenager in me was frustrated with the scandals in the game especially heartbroken to know that the fiery team led by Azhar was not all that fiery really. And hence ended the cricket craze for me.

Subsequent World cups were a blur. And especially after players like Jhonty Rhodes quit, I didn’t have the incentive to watch even my favourite underdogs South Africa. With Sachin, it was love, hate, awe, disgust all the usual feelings that the average viewer has for him. And after that the only places I saw cricketers was in ad films. I knew the top brand ambassadors, but didn’t bother again for the one match/series wonders or the team fixtures. Gone were the school friends who would gush about how cool Shahid Afridi was. Even Shoaib Akhtar’s histrionics only held my attention very briefly. Gone was the craze for having a batsman’s average and a bowler’s previous best on my fingertips, today I have almost become the typical girl who doesn’t like cricket much. Not even aapdo Amdavadno chokro Parthiv Patel got me interested.

The only T20 memory I have is of Dhoni’s team passing by my Mumbai home and watching all the frenzy standing at the gate. The team under Dhoni seemed to be getting the same fiery edge that it had long ago. Suddenly my interest was revived, but never did it reach the extent of sitting down to watch even a fast paced T20 match.
But for the first time this year, I thought I would catch up on the IPL action. Felt like watching atleast all the Mumbai Indians matches, 3 years in the city makes you a devotee. The mongoose and its shenanigans seemed interesting. Plus the large screen set up at Press club, friends and the newly acquired habit of gulping cocktails proved to be some incentives. And just one tweet ended it all. This time there was no disappointment, just a quiet acceptance, a ‘this is the way it is’ attitude. But this scandal turned out to be much bigger, murkier. Match fixing seems almost tame now. Anyone who was anybody and their sons and daughters were part of this scandal. Older and hopefully wiser, there wasn’t much idealism left in me and hence not disappointed at all. Just waiting to see whether it would be Mahesh Bhatt, Madhur Bhandarkar or Ram Gopal Varma who would make the biopic on Lalit Modi. More importantly, who will play Sunanda?

The walk

2010-04-06T00:27:00.000-07:00

She walked by the beach. Her feet feeling the soft sand, some sort of soothing effect that had on her constantly churning brain. The sand was slipping through her toes, kissing them and then just going by. It was like the eternal dance of time. There was some strange comfort in feeling something not so solid beneath you, in feeling something that moulded itself to you. Sand at the sea is like a lover’s embrace, one that fits your body perfectly. As she walked into the sunset, it felt as if every tension was leaving her through her toes. The sand was absorbing it all. She had long believed that is how love should be. Something that absorbed all your worries, consumed them and replaced them with loving care. But what she had overlooked all this while was that while she was busy getting the loving caress of the sand, the sand itself was getting depressed by her footprints. While she got her love, the sand was losing some parts of itself, being pushed down. Some parts of it was still sticking to her, but most of it was just going down, deep down into some unknown darkness. Was this truly love then?

Here's looking at you kid!

2010-03-29T07:40:00.000-07:00

Though I wasn’t born then, I think this line was written for me, or those who share a similar deceptively ‘little girl’ look like me. So as my 27th birthday comes closer, I wonder how many years more will I have to listen to this line or some variation of it. For all practical purposes, I look the same as I did around 10 years ago, which though one would say is a great thing for a girl, has also had its own negative aspects for me.

The first time I heard I don’t look my age was when my long lost cousin met me around 10 years ago. He said you look so young, a naïve me then replied, good na, when I will be 30 no one will guess I am thirty, that will be so cool. Of course back then I thought that I would look somewhat grown up by the time I cross 23-24. Alas, that was not to be and it has caused me endless embarrassment at times.

Like when in my PG course we visited the sets of Kaun Banega Crorepati and the guy at the security wouldn’t initially let me in, because he wanted to ensure I was above 18. Thankfully there was another classmate who looked as small as me so I atleast had a fellow sufferer of the ‘Who’s that kid syndrome’. Then once again in college there was this sweet boy lets call him V, who I had become good friends with. V was in first year college and so was I, only I was in PG first year. We enjoyed joking around and my room mate used to always say he has a crush on you, to which I would say gosh he is a kid, come on and he knows I am older. Wrong. I had said first year mass communication course and he thought it was a graduation course. I still remember the day he actually got to know that I was 4 years older. I shall call upon you to use your vivid imagination to picture how his face must have looked, because the mixture of confusion and slight disappointment at losing a potential girlfriend is something I cant describe too well. Some years down the line, a boyfriend too happened to tell me that the first time he saw me he thought I was ‘just an intern.’

‘Just an intern’ is another thing I have had to face a lot. TV is a game of perception more than anything. And there have been times when I have not been taken seriously despite giving enough and accurate information because apparently the so called viewers think I am a kid so well I couldn’t be saying anything worthwhile. What could the kid possibly know? Then I have had comments on my blog page that are some form of veiled disbelief of my credentials, something to the effect of ‘despite being so young, you seem to have a deep understanding of the issue’ Or take the I-know-it-all-and-hate-it-all gentleman from Shivaji Park, who very ungraciously aired his grievance on how news channels hire these ‘young college’ girls to do stories and that is why the content is going down the drains. WTF? Haven’t they heard that age (in this case perceived age) is just a number? Then there is also the problem of having to either shop at the kids’ section, skipping branded readymade stuff altogether or the hunt for the perfect alteration tailor.

But the kid look has its own advantages. People tend to act sweet around you because they don’t want to trouble the little child. Policemen that I meet on the field always are very sweet and polite, mostly out of disbelief that such a little thing is working all alone in Mumbai. Neighbours become your guardian angels when they see that the poor young thing is managing it all alone and is such a quiet and ‘mature’ child. And when some person is acting difficult on field, you can always make a cry baby face and say please sir, bite de do, mere boss varna bahut naaraz honge. Fleet drivers always offer to carry the tripod for you because main hoon na madam, aap thak jaoge. And one of the compliments I cherish the most, given by a man whom I consider to be my best teacher was, ‘Good things come in small packets.’ That should be enough to shut all you morons who crack jokes at the expense of my ‘littleness’.
So as April draws near, I am starting to feel the first signs of denial about aging. 27? Really am I getting that old? Nah, m just the little kid, aint I?

Addiction

2010-03-16T13:02:00.000-07:00

It had been a year since he had held her. Memories of serenading her flooded his vision, how he would hold her neck close to his face and drink in her scent. He looked at his phone and wondered if he should call for her. Would she be available now? He had even deleted the number. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

She had been his refuge from the chaos in his world. He remembered how he would drown himself in her, burying his sorrows in her. She was the only high in his life, the best thing after every tiring day. She had never failed him. Soon it was difficult for him to imagine life without her company. She was the crutch that helped him face the cruel world and kill his demons.

The relationship was perfect until one day he realised just how much he depended on her. He could not see her that day and it drove him mad. He could feel the shivers, the fear, the frustration and there was no one to take away his pain that day, no one to make the day good again. And when he realised he needed her so, he started hating her. Yes, hatred and a lot of anger. How could he become such a slave to her? He was a man bound by nothing, so there was no way he could be bound by her. His independence was everything to him, he held on to it with all his pride. So he decided he would abandon her, nothing should have so much power over him. His relationship with her was because everyone else had ruled his life, she was the only one who gave unquestioningly. So if now she was gaining power, he had to run. He had to.

He ran. Many times, but each time he would return with a new found intense thirst for her. He would bury himself even deeper into her, he wanted to forget, forget not just the chaos, but also the time he had spent apart. But each time after he returned, he felt worse because it meant she had won. She still had that f*ing hold on him. And that’s how the cycle of abuse started functioning. He would pretend he didn’t need her, that it was she who seduced him everytime. He would play hide and seek with her. But he knew it was not her, it was him, he knew it every moment he spent with and away from her. He hated himself, no he hated her for being so powerful. And what was worse everytime he would reject her and then return feeling helpless, she would still be where he had left her. Loyal and as sweetly seductive as ever. What was it about her that he couldn’t let go?

Then one day he returned after his self imposed exile, burying himself deep into her, so deep he couldn’t feel much, so deep he was almost numb. But the chaos wouldn’t go, now the chaos included her too, voices shouting in his head, accusing him of being a weakling when it came to her. He decided enough was enough, there was no point in trying to leave her, because she would still be there if he returned. So what should he do? He had to survive this and he had to win this. He needed to destroy her for his own sanity. Yes he needed to end her, that was the only option. He worked up the courage and he crushed her, that was the only way to take away her power. Hearing the commotion, his servant came running. The servant was aghast at what he saw. But wordlessly he picked up the pieces of broken glass of his favourite wine brand. She was now just a piece of trash. That was a year ago.
As he glanced at the still empty cabinet, he let out a sigh full of yearning. But he knew he couldn’t go back. As he walked towards his bedroom he remembered the doctor’s wise words – Sometimes what you want and love, is not good for you.

Car-nama

2010-02-26T00:34:00.001-08:00

It was the 31st and we had planned to go to Lonavala to welcome the new year. We were supposed to start at 9 pm from Bandra court. At 8 30 the friend who organised it gets a call from our hired driver, "Saab mereko police ne BKC ke paas pakad liya hai." We go like what, why? "Saab woh main apni girlfriend ke saath gaadi mein baitha tha toh police aake hamko pakad liya." Talk about PDA. Amidst confusion over whether we would go for the trip or not our group that had quite a few crime reporters in it called up the policemen apologising profusely for our 'jawaan hai galti ho gaya' driver. Finally thanks to the goodwill of the crime reporters they let him off with a small fine and we could set out, albeit late to our trip. I remember ribbing him all through the trip about the incident, and quite unabashedly he said, "madam aadha ghanta tha aap logon ke aane mein to maine socha ki usko bula loon waise bhi driving ki wajah se time nahin milta." But that was not the end of the excitement. He was a 20 something driving at top speed on the express highway, so naturally we had to have a tire burst at the speed of 140 kms/hour, during which his hands went wobbly as he screeched in a I-am-here-to-control-the-situation-but-dont-know-how-to voice "Kuch nahin hoga, kuch nahin hoga." This incident probably takes the cake when it comes to my experiences with fleet drivers.

In my two and a half years of TV reporting, every day is filled with experiences with fleet drivers, some witty, some cocky, some funny and some sorely lacking. Breaking news and Khabar har keemat par demand that you get a driver who knows the basic layout of the city and yet more than once I have had drivers who have asked in crucially important times, "Madam CST kidhar padta hai?" WTF? These episodes have always resulted in me breaking off the thin barriers of my patience and yelling at the fleet operators back in office.

Then there are those drivers who love flouting rules. They cant keep lanes, they dont understand traffic signals and they love to speed in cars with faulty brakes. So naturally the neighbourhood Pandu gets hold of them. Sometimes when breaking news demands a hassle free movement, we flash our press cards and tell the cops that we are in a hurry, some cops understand and others get even more wild on seeing the press cards, "Media ke ho to kuch bhi kar loge?" The corrupt ones however steal a glance to see if this interaction is being recorded on camera or not. Then at some other times we let the driver face the music. In such scenarios either of the two things happen, the driver proves to be adept at handling the situation or we and the cop come to know that the dude has more offences listed against him than we could have imagined. "Saab license kal doosra saab ne jabti kar liya, chudane ka hai", "Saab license nahin hai", "Woh saab paper aaj hamara malik ne nahin diya", "Kya Saab aap mereko pakda aur usko jaane diya, woh pehle signal toda to main bhi peeche peeche aaya", "Saab aap Jadhav saheb ko jaante hain, mere maama hai", are some of the common answers but I have even had a young driver who cried in front of the traffic cop pleading to be let off. And when he finally was we thought he would be grateful, instead he took to the gear and started smiling mischievously.

Then there are those who have just learnt to drive or are too old to drive. The effect is that they are so scared of everything, applying brakes, changing gears, absolutely everything, so much so that you fear for your life. But one common characteristic with all of them is that despite not knowing a thing they speed, which scares the passengers even more. Once in fact, the driver was so bad that my cameraperson who thankfully knew how to drive had to take over. Or else we would have surely ended up in hospital that day. Another driver was understandably scared on the night of 27th November and dropped me off somewhere in Colaba at midnight rather than taking me all the way to Nariman house. It took me half an hour to find Nariman house on that scary night with no one around me. I thanked my stars I wasnt a girl roaming the streets in Delhi that night, strange how roaming the streets on the night of a terror attack seemed safer than Delhi to me then.

But there are also drivers who are a great help. Some of the drivers double up as camera assistants, carrying your tripods, helping you around. Some of them are more informed about what is going on in the city than the news channels. Other older drivers give you insights into the city's history and psyche that no one else would give you. And some others are an asset just because they know all the routes and take you to the right place even in the dead of the night. Some of them help you with the local language and some of them know the best and cheapest roadside eateries to take you to. Well enough said now, I gotta go and ask the fleet for a cab to take me to a shoot to far off Mulund, hope I have a good driver today. Oh, did I mention my last driver had the loudest and awfullest ringtone ever or about the one who plays 90's loser songs all the time??

Can you let go?

2010-02-18T02:19:00.000-08:00

Has it been raining break ups or what? Suddenly in the last few months so many of my friends have ‘broken up’ that I seem to have heard about all sorts of reasons for break ups and seen all sorts of ways people deal with them. For a person with limited actual experience, I think its great I got to hear of these things, I atleast know what not to do now. So one of those usual coffee discussions about the big R word and my friend says, ‘So you don’t believe that there are people who cant let go of their love?’

Honestly, I think we can do whatever we want, if we put our mind to it. So yes, we can let go of love too. But with the numerous second hand break up experiences and my limited experiences, this is what I have learnt of people who don’t let go. Prime reasons are as follows.

Fear : What if I don’t get anyone else, what if its not the same as this? Frankly these are tricks your mind is playing on you. There are 6 billion people in this world, surely you can get someone else.
My pain is my badge of honor : You wear your pain on your sleeve. You tell the world how much you have suffered and how despite all that you are still surviving. You don’t let go coz it satisfies this need of yours to tell others that you have gone through shit and still you are surviving bravely (?). Now unless you can write poems like Ghalib (a famous Urdu poet) out of that hurt or you can build a Taj Mahal out of that pain, its not worth holding on.
Guilt trap : For some others it is a matter of revenge and reverse control. They want to make the other person feel bad about what they did. So they act all hurt and hold on to that hurt and bitterness all their life. Even if they get someone else who is actually better they wont allow themselves to be loved, because then they would lose that righteous anger of theirs.
My love is the purest : I happen to know some of these people. They don’t let go coz they think that they are the ones who are responsible to prove it to the world that true love still exists. You ask them why are they torturing themselves, they tell you how can they let go of true love? They are proving just to themselves that their love is pure and divine. By no means am I saying that true, honest love doesn’t exist. Thing is you don’t have to prove its existence. And if you have to prove it to someone, seriously are they worth your time?

And all of these people are uncomfortable with their status. You can forever hear them saying that they want to move on, that they want to get out of it or that they want to let that person stop affecting them, but honestly they don’t want to do any of it. They want to hold on for all the above mentioned reasons. So to all of them, people decide what you really want and then just stick to it and more importantly, take responsibility for what you decided. If you want to keep crying, then realise that you made that choice. If you want to get out of it, decide that and don’t look back. In the end, life works itself out.

My 160 sq. ft. on Mumbai

2010-02-11T23:27:00.001-08:00

Two cents are not of much use in Mumbai. What is really worthwhile is a having a small 160 sq ft apartment for yourself. I happen to be lucky enough to have one on rent, happily given to me by a Marathi Manoos and hence here is my 160 sq ft on this city.

2009 has been a tough year for the city. Living in the shadow of 26/11, recession and parochial violence, the city once again endured a lot. Add to this, poor rains in a city that always makes headlines for its torrential rains.

So 2010 started on a bleak note for the city. As the days progressed things went from bad to worse. The city’s water crisis has become a major cause of concern for the ‘aam aadmi’. Every day most of us wake up with or even before the sun to fill up our buckets and tubs so that we have enough water to last through the day. The state irrigation minister has for the time being diverted some water from the irrigation department for drinking water purposes, to keep the water cut from increasing to more than the current 15%. Then there are the reports that two hydel power plants will have to be shut during the summer due to water shortage. Which means some more power cuts in areas that already have many hours of load shedding daily. The prices of vegetables are already high. For singles like me who live mostly on take away food, these hikes have resulted in more than 2k rise in our spending, not something we can afford in times of recession. Summer would mean irrigation problems and further shortage in vegetables raising the prices even more. It is going to be one tough summer this year for Mumbaikars.

So every day while I scan the newspapers I think that there would be some good news to tell me that the summer would be better. That there is some policy change, some statement, some tussle in political circles over these issues that touch me everyday. But everyday I hear of andolans for North Indians, Marathis and every other thing but no word on how the city is to survive this summer. And in the midst of this all, the leases of many occupants of my building too will expire, which could mean some more money to be shelled out. So this summer I wonder, along with my Marathi neighbours, if there would even be a 160 sq ft of borrowed ownership that we could claim in Mumbai, while politicians and socialites debate on who the whole city belongs to.

Sona

2010-01-27T08:51:00.000-08:00

It was 5 am. One of the busiest docks in Mumbai, Bhaucha Dhakka was already up and running. No one knows how long has this port followed the same routine. The rush starts at the Dockyard station where hundreds alight from distant suburbs. You could see them running across the foot over bridge every morning, men and women of all sizes rushing about their daily business. Daily wage labourers, fishermen and fisherwomen rush to board the shuttle service BEST no. 41, waiting at the end of the overbridge, that takes them to the Dhakka as the locals call it.

The dock itself smells of all things dank and deep. Fresh and dried fish being traded everywhere, some newspaper vendors and the quaint snack shops complete the picture. A place with an ancient routine and yet some newness everyday. The old wooden benches seemed to have stories of conversations of ages ago. Every part of the dock, a piece of history itself.

It was in this ancient place that Bhola had set up a brand new tea stall. He was one of the many enterprising North Indian migrants in the city, trying to make a place for themselves in the city of dreams. Everyday the hustle and bustle reminded him just how much he loved to be a part of this city that never slept. He had just finished attending to two deck hands of one of the many catamarans that ferried people when Sona jumped onto the table at the stall. Sona was one of the many cats loitering at the dock. Apart from stealing fish from the many baskets kept at the dock, Sona loved to lap up the milk that Bhola offered her everyday. She had been a weak kitten when she had walked in one rainy day. Bhola had taken pity on her and had fed her hot milk and since then it had become a daily routine. In a friendless city, Bhola and Sona were what each of them had for themselves.

But today was the day when this delicate friendship was set to change forever. As Bhola was stroking Sona, he heard a voice calling out. ‘Suniye, do chai dijiye.’ Bhola turned to find two college students standing at his stall. The owner of the voice, a beautiful looking young girl. The freshness of her face seemed odd at this run down dock. A sense of it all being unreal descended on Bhola. ‘Do chai bola’, her voice shook him out of his thoughts. The girl was looking slightly irritated at his lackadaisical attitude. Bhola quickly got back to work and gave the girls the tea. Sona seemed to be whimpering loudly in the backdrop and the girls threw a dirty look at the cat and then an accusing glance at Bhola for letting dirty animals into the stall as they left. ‘Safai ka dhyaan bhi nahin rakhte yahaan ke log’, the girl muttered as she left.

That brief exchange changed something within Bhola. Try as he might he couldn’t get the girl out of his head for the rest of the day. At night as he fell asleep in his little slum room, he wondered if he would see her again. It was strange for him to feel infatuated so soon.

The next day was business as usual at the Dhakka. The same sea of humanity going about their work. For Bhola though it was a different day. It was a day filled with anticipation for him. Would she come again? He was serving tea as usual but his mind was restless. Well it didn’t seem as she would come, but Sona was there right on time. As the cat settled herself on the table as usual, Bhola felt a mild irritation for the first time. He really looked at the smudges of dirt on the table her paws were leaving, the greyish brown fur and the slight smell that emanated from the cat. ‘Maybe the girls were right. I should discourage this cat from coming here’, he said to himself. He poured Sona an extra hot saucer of milk today. The cat whined slightly with the first lick, but instead of going away, she just settled herself for the milk to cool a bit and continue feeding herself. This irritated Bhola a little more. Just as his irritation was mounting he heard that voice again. His heart almost jumped with joy.

The girls were there again. Seemed that they came from some village near Rewas and had taken admission in a Mumbai college. The girls lacked the finesse of the South Mumbai college girls, but made up for it with the freshness of their faces. Bhola could not help but stare at this girl, but like every infatuated man, he would look away if she looked in his direction.

Soon it became a routine. Bhola would give the girls their morning tea and would spend the rest of the day mooning over the girl who he had by now gathered was called Deepa. Deepa would come each day with her friend and Bhola started connecting every good thing happening in his life with her. His tea stall seemed to be getting more popular and he felt it was all because he started his day looking at her beautiful face. But one thing that bothered him was Sona. The more he started liking Deepa, the more he wanted to banish the dirty cat from his stall. Invariably Sona would end up coming to the shop at the same time as Deepa. This irritated him no end. He tried hot milk, putting some salt in the milk everything that would irritate the cat, but she seemed to be somehow tied to his shop and wouldn’t leave.

His nights now were full of two thoughts. How to get closer to Deepa and how to get rid of the cat. One day though it seemed that his wish was granted. Deepa finally spoke to him. Though it was just a casual chat about how the weather was turning slightly chilly and how his tea was a life saver in this weather, it was all Bhola needed to feel over the moon. He started thinking Deepa liked him too. This pleased him but even that day while leaving the girls threw a dirty look at the cat. He shooed Sona away as he smiled sheepishly at the departing girls.

From that day onwards he started giving Deepa and her friend something free with the chai, a toffee, a piece of cake and when the girls asked he said that it was because they were his loyal customers. The weather was getting cooler and though Mumbai didn’t really have a winter, early mornings could be quite chilly. Sona seemed to spend more time at the stall trying to get some warmth from the heat of the burning stove. Bhola was no really losing it with the cat. Her presence was like some bad omen to him. If on some day he had a fight with some customer or someone commented on something lacking in his shop, he blamed it all on the cat’s unlucky presence. Deepa and her friend continued to frequent the shop and one day while he was shooing away the cat she told him, ‘Why don’t you get a stick tomorrow and beat her away? The cat is really a nuisance.’ You know I had never thought of this, thanks for the suggestion’, Bhola replied.

The next day when Sona pounced on the table, Bhola was ready he took out a stick and beat the cat and chased her away. Sona squealed and whimpered and ran away. It was a very cold day and the cat really seemed to have needed the hot milk, but Bhola was determined that he would not let the cat spoil the cleanliness of his shop. She could get the milk from somewhere else. The cat had received enough blows from his stick. When Bhola returned he was greeted with the smiling faces of Deepa and her friend who had seen him chasing away the cat. ‘Good you did that’, she said. ‘Anything for my loyal customers,’ Bhola replied with a smile. Deepa’s affirmation wiped away the remaining guilt of sending the cat to fend for herself on such a cold, damp day.

After the girls left, Bhola realised that one of the customers had left a bag at his shop. He seemed to have gone in the direction of the bus stop. Conscientious as he was Bhola asked the newspaper vendor who sat near his stall to look after it while he rushed to the bus stop to find the customer. He finally found him waiting for the bus. The man thanked him profusely for returning the bag. Bhola declined the offer of being paid for his honesty and was going back to his shop when he heard a familiar giggle. ‘That tea boy is really smitten with you Deepa, he does anything for you’, the friend was saying. Bhola stopped in his tracks, he wanted to hear what Deepa would say to that. He was standing slightly far away and the girls had not yet noticed him. Deepa was giggling, ‘Yeah I noticed that the first day itself, the way he was looking at me. I just felt like playing along. He looked like such an idiotic infatuated puppy. And look don’t we get freebies everyday from him. I am sure someday if we have some problem at the dock, he will come running to help. I don’t want to be mean, but you cant help but string along such fools’ she laughed as she walked away.

Bhola’s ears were ringing as he returned to his stall. It was like someone had just taken out his heart and squeezed it of all the blood. The disillusionment was terrible. ‘And it was for her that you beat up that poor creature?’ His guilty head asked him constantly. He shut his shop and went about looking for the cat, but she was nowhere to be found. Disheartened he went home early that evening, but couldn’t sleep a wink. The next day he was up early and reached the dock to his stall. He kept on looking out for the cat but couldn’t find her. Just then the newspaper vendor came to set up his stall. He looked at Bhola and said, ‘That cat wont trouble you anymore. I just saw her bloody body on the curb of the road. They say she was run over by a car sometime ago. A dead cat, not a good omen to see early in the morning on your way to work.’ Tears were Bhola’s only reply.

Censored within the fourth estate

2010-01-20T10:50:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer : This is a post written after a friend was 'Tharoored' recently by his publication for his use of social networking. If it is slightly politically incorrect or even incoherent, apologies. This is just a personal view.

Now why am I putting out a disclaimer already? Well its thanks to what happened to the friend I mentioned earlier in the post. We are a status message generation I could say. So this friend of mine, who writes a no-holds barred, sarcastically yours blog loves to proclaim his world view once in a while. He puts up something about a recent much talked about event on FB, the only glitch is that it involves some higher ups in his organisation. Suddenly he is branded as a rebel without a cause and asked to change his status, which due to professional pressures, he eventually does. Now I am not taking sides, not saying whether he was right or wrong. But it made me wonder how insecure we fourth estate people ourselves can be of the one thing we keep talking about upholding - 'Freedom of expression'. My friend had been ‘Tharoored’, as he put it.

While I was in college, I remember avidly reading this blog called War For News. This blog was started when the English news channel scene was hotting up in the country with the launch of two new channels. The blog started out as a sharp critique of news room decisions and on air presentations of news channels. As a student, struggling with an ancient syllabus that was divorced from reality, this blog was one of the places I used to go to get an idea of what happened day to day behind the studio lights so to say.

Some might say it was a warped view of the news industry. Indeed some of the comments were too personal in nature and the site was reportedly blocked in many a newsroom, but it was the only place where media men themselves critically looked at what was being dished out. At first it was all the rage, but then later on the site degenerated into accounts of who was seeing whom and who was whose favourite, clearly losing the aim of being the watchdog of the watchdog. Stories still abound about the forceful closure of the website after it indulged in unethical leaks of corporate mails and such.

The only other well-read media watchdog is probably The Hoot, but it sticks to the basic debates of journalistic integrity rather than day-to-day decision making in newsrooms. The Hoot was the Indian express to the Mumbai Mirror of War For News. The slew of copycat websites after War For News either died a neglectful death or degenerated to gossip magazines about media celebrities.

Social media makes freedom of expression a dicey concept. The lines between professional and personal blur on most of these sites. Recently a friend’s twitter account was added into the official twitter list. She had to now refrain from posting all the personal updates she did till then, because now it had been made into a professional mouth piece. What she tweeted now would be seen as the view of a responsible journalist. Some editors recognise this power of the new media and make wonderful use of it to serve the cause of expression.

But introspection is not a strong point yet in world media. And criticising your own system is a big no no. Tharoors of the system are mostly strongly dealt with world over. The Washington Post, the BBC and the Wall Street journal all have a list of ‘dos and don’ts’ in social media for their journalists. The Post circular says 'We must remember that Washington Post journalists are always Washington Post journalists', and that, '[we must] relinquish some of the personal privileges of private citizens.'

'Post journalists must recognize that any content associated with them in an online social network is, for practical purposes, the equivalent of what appears beneath their bylines in the newspaper or on our website.' (http://www.editorsweblog.org/newsrooms_and_journalism/2009/09/should_journalists_self-censor_on_social.php )

While a certain amount of responsibility is required of any media professional using a free for all medium like FB or Twitter, the question arises if we are taking ourselves too seriously? Are we taking these mediums of communication, that cater to less than a tenth of our population, and as Rajdeep Sardesai puts it ‘perfect to express a strong opinion without having to actually get involved in the muck of public life’ (http://ibnlive.in.com/blogs/rajdeepsardesai/1/54062/to-tweet-or-not-to-tweet.html ) too seriously? Would censoring opinions of their own vocal employees amount to negating all that the fourth estate stands for?

The question shouldn’t be whether to express an opinion or not. The actual question is where to draw the thin line between constructive criticism and disrespect, the line between rebelling with and without a cause. Maybe the day we as the fourth estate figure it out, we would be able to decide more precisely whether bigoted views of right wing politicians and idiotic or insensitive representations of issues in various art forms should be given a voice in the name of ‘Freedom of Speech’ or not. Should it be a voicing of opinions or informed opinions, maybe that is the bigger question.

Over numerous cups of coffee

2009-12-26T02:32:00.000-08:00

Well have had the following revelations about relationships over numerous cups of bad office coffee, some good barista coffee and well just coffee, because I am not the lets talk stuff over drinks person :-) Thought it might be interesting to share this debunking of myths with people out here :-) Its probably just a continuation to being in twenties post earlier but exclusively with respect to relationships.

The space myth : Oh we have all heard that we should give our partner space. Girls are told more often than boys that they should give their guys space. Yes it is necessary to give space. But what I have seen many people I know do is take getting space to mean being able to whatever they like without any consideration of what their partner wants or feels like. So if the partner says that such and such habit of theirs is not to their liking people accuse their partners of not giving them space. Space does not mean that you encroach on the self respects and rights of you partner. You do what you like within the limits of your partner's personal space too. You give some you take some.

The commitment myth : 'But I didn't think of another guy/girl while I was with them, doesn't that show I am committed?' No it doesn't. Did you discuss the future of your relationship with them and if yes did you ensure that you included them in your vision of your future? Are you still jittery about introducing them to all your friends or keep crying for time to introduce them to family? Does your family atleast know that such aperson exists in your life even if they think its a friend? Commitment is not just marriage or being monogamous. It means that you commit to share your lives and in that case you include your partner in all aspects of your life. You can't say you are committed if a part of your life doesn't even know about the existence of your partner. Then you are devaluing your partner's importance in your life and it would also seem to them that you are not sure of the relationship and that is why you have an escape route ready by not acknowledging their existence. Don't be surprised if they out of the blue dump you. They probably tried to talk but you might have given them the I need space and time talk everytime they asked. And one can ask only so many times. Also a person I spoke to told me that they could of course not be there for the other person always coz guys have other things too apart from their love life. So what is your love life, a time pass diversion to you? And if other things are so important why don't you live with with just them other things? Why get into a relationship?

The relationships shouldn't be hard work myth : Well here is the truth. Life is difficult, so nothing in it can be easy. It seems that people take it literally when they read all those relationship self help books. If you believe them nothing in life should be hard. It should all be blissful and perfect. Well kiddo doesn't work so. You have to actively work at maintaining a relationship. If at the first conflict you abandon it saying it has to be easy then maybe you have commitment issues. Also people have the absurd expectation (probably comes from the media of which I am a guilty party) that partners have to absolutely understand them almost to the point of telepathy. And not just that partners should think exactly like them in everything. Again completely wrong. You are two different individuals and so you will think differently. You will not agree on everything, sometimes you may have to give up something, sometimes they might. Never expect the other person to do it always. Don't give them the you should love me as I am speech. Relationships mean that there will be some changes you have to make. It should not change who you are but you can't say that you won't budge an inch. If you were so happy doing only what you want without considering anyone else then you better remain single.

Water thicker than blood?

2009-12-03T07:11:00.001-08:00

Mumbai has been reeling under 15% water cuts that were imposed at the end of monsoons. For a long time residents had been complaining about how they couldnt get water at the top floors of their apartments or how the pressure was low. Its an open secret that there exists a powerful water mafia that has links to most political parties in the city. But ironically it is these same guys who come up with protests to show their 'concern' for the common man's problems.

First the BMC's ruling Shiv Sena took up the issue, trying to distance itself from the bureaucracy and claiming that they did not support the administration's idea of increasing the water cut to 30% and the resolution was rejected. (The lake levels at the end of monsoons showed a deficiency of 25% which the administration cited as the reason for imposing further cuts). Then in classic Sena style activists went and ransacked the office of the hydraulic engineer. The BMC was renovated just a couple of years back at an enormous cost but public property is everyone's property anyway. The Sena just fresh from an assembly defeat had to do something radical to assert their existence in their only remaining bastion in Mumbai.

But if there is a ruling party action there has to be an opposite and probably more spectacular action from the opposition. So Congress leader Nitesh Rane organised a massive protest march at the BMC under the umbrella of his NGO Swabhiman. Around 1000 people gathered outside the BMC premises carrying buckets and shouting slogans. The police had already somewhat anticipated the extent of the protest and had put up barricades near the BMC. But the unruly crowd broke through some 2-3 barricades in the city. The crowd was very agitated about the fact that while they got less water the high rises and commercial establishments got more water. There were people who told us that they received water only once in two days and that too only for half an hour. There were allegations of tampering, pilferage and unattended leakages.

While the issue was genuine, if you were at the location covering the protest, you would only see a bunch of drunk men who were shouting at the top of their voices and very few with a genuine concern for the issue. Many of us female journalists had to keep away because we were getting molested by the crowd. The crowd kept pushing against the final barricade and gave the 50-60 odd policemen standing there a hard time. After about two hours of the ruckus, the police finally resorted to lathi charge. The scene changed completely. Suddenly people were seen running for their lives.

Later we were told that one person died after the lathi charge. The minute the news spilled out, I saw many channels condemning the police action. Is there no value for a life? Demand for water gets blood and many other headlines. Yes, there is a value for every life. But what do you expect the police to do after trying to control a mad mob for around 2 hours peacefully? Had the police not lathicharged these people they would have got into the BMC office and then we would have seen the headlines crying is there no law and order in this country. While no death is justified, there is no method in a mob and sometimes striking back is the only option the police have.

And its not just protest marches, the mob mentality is visible every time there is a festival. You see the same crowd of drunk men shouting recklessly and trying to molest women be it Ganpati or Shab-e-barat. And if its a festival there is an even better justification for breaking the law - religion.

So what is an ill equipped police force supposed to do when a crowd that believes itself invincible threatens the peace of the city? Just sit and worry about political retaliation and villification by certain section of the media or protecting public property? The devil or the deep sea?

The storm after the lull

2009-11-24T14:45:00.001-08:00

Piece originally published on our company website www.ibnlive.com/mumbaimemories/

November 2008 was a dull month as far as news was concerned. The week starting 24th seemed especially so. I was down with a bleeding infection in my leg, so finally on the 26th I decided to take the day off. It was such a lean day that another colleague also took an off and it didn't seem to matter.

I was sleeping under the influence of medicines when a source alerted about some firing in Colaba. Oh another mafia thing this must be, I thought as I forwarded the information to office and went back to sleep.

A few minutes later another source frantically called about some blast near Mazgaon. His voice was cracking with fear. As I scrambled to get more details, I felt a fear that this was going to be something ominous. Being from a small city, till now blasts and other mishaps were things I had only seen on TV. But suddenly it seemed that I was going to be out in the middle of something like that.

I feared that this could be more ominous. I called up office, though I didn't know what assistance I could provide as I was barely able to walk. I was asked to report the next day at the crack of dawn. A feeling of desperation that I couldn't get to work because of an ailment and also some fear as to what exactly was going on, kept me awake most of the night.

There had been firing all over. Two blasts. But it wasn't until the hotels were under attack that it was clear that this was something really big.

It was the storm after the lull.

The first thing I remember about the morning of the 27th was waking up to the news of Hemant Karkare's death. It was 4 in the morning and it seemed unreal. Just a few days ago while following another story I had joked about how Karkare seemed to be cagey now and didn't answer phone calls. And he was at that time the most talked-about officer. I rushed to office and my first assignment was to gauge the mood on the streets. Were people scared or were they going about their daily business?

Mumbai seemed virtually deserted that day. Never were the major roads so empty. And I remember being the only person from Churchgate to Mahalaxmi in the ladies compartment. It was eerily empty.

For the first time, the famed resilience seemed to have crumbled. People were not just scared but completely confused about what was happening. TV sets were blaring everywhere and people glued to them like they are glued when there is an Indo-Pak match.

The same night I was sent to Nariman House. South Mumbai residential areas are generally deserted on normal nights, but this day it was scary. As I tried to locate Nariman House several locals asked me to take detours through various lanes as the bullets were flying about. The area where Nariman House is, is a maze of narrow lanes and only someone who knows the area well could have found that place out. Even residents nearby didn't know that it was an Israeli centre. Finally I took position right across the house, near a bank whose windows had been shattered in the firing. We were very close and every time I turned to the camera, I would get this irrational fear 'What if a bullet finds its way close to us?' after all we had our camera lights on. But people of the area seemed to be unmindful of such fears.

At any point in the night there were around 100-200 people who were standing close to the spot, curious onlookers that the police had to fight off. There were atleast 50 of us media professionals too, from various countries scrambling for details, ducking bullets and ricochets and dodging off overly curious people. But there were also the locals who were coming at frequent intervals with tea and biscuits for the forces and media professionals.

Suddenly in the morning the police seemed to be acting strictly against anyone coming close to Nariman House. Barricades were being put up and drunk onlookers were being lathi-charged to clear them off the way. We wondered if some senior official or politician was coming to visit.

And then there was a whirring sound. After a night of scattered firing, the forces had decided on a final assault. A chopper started hovering over the building and there was deafening cross fire. We were going live with most of it though we were cautious about keeping the camera frame tight and moving constantly so that the exact location of the cops on ground would not be revealed. We tried not to give out numbers or directions. The onlookers cheered.

Standing there and witnessing the assault, one couldn't help but feel proud of our men in uniform. It was the most dramatic visual of the entire tragedy.

Yes the media was criticised a lot for airing it too. But I still don't have the answer to whether it should have been shown or not. TV is mostly about the here and now so one could say it could be shown, but there were other decisions, too, that could not be made in the 20-odd minutes while the helicopter air-dropped commandos. Those 20 minutes will stay with me forever, they were the first signs of hope that Mumbai though scarred, will overcome this too.

It took another day for all the operations to end and the hostages to be liberated. And it has taken us forever to try and forget the horror of what we saw then. But life moves on in Mumbai even as court trials and diplomacy take their own time to come to conclusions. A fragile fast-paced life, with no guarantees of what awaits you in the next moment - a lesson 26/11 taught me.

Frandship

2009-10-26T23:39:00.000-07:00

In my online life of around 4 years, I have had many friendship and even more frandship requests. Here is a list of some of the names of the frands whom I thought I would do without. Enjoy and add your own :

1. lover_4_u
2. sexyloverwaitingforu
3. cool_(name or surname of person)
4. nightking
5. ruler of hearts
6. princeofdreams
7. handsome_boy
8. Love is life
9. raju reporter (guess he saw guide too many times)
10. loveme
11. Loveguru (yeah yeah)
12. dreams of u
13. awesome_abhi
14. hotvicky4_u
15. coolsameer_luv

And many more that more or less talk about how 'love'ly it would be to have them as your friends. Most of these are also accompanied by lines like 'I love your eyes', 'u hv prety smile' (spell check doesnt work for them), 'beutiful girl' and also once 'I want to be media man' (didnt know till then that networking meant this). So Sandy Balan and me got discussing about these names and we came up with some names for fellow Writer's Lounge members and friends if they ever went over the top and wanted to show off their awesomeness. Hope no one takes offence, this is just for fun. The first target of course is you all know who :-P

1. sensational_ste
2. hotste_rulerofhearts
3. MBA_romeo
4. freelance_boyfriend
5. dashingleo
6. P.S._Iluvu
7. lippy_cilla (personally I prefer the other suggestion sundar_cilla :-D)
8. Rapchik_Jawaani_RJ
9. giveme_more
10. dontstep(man)onmyheart
11. Tanman_4u
12. solitaryluvboy

Any other suggestions and additions please please add in comments section...also add in the weird ones you have got till now :-D

सपना

2009-10-15T06:15:00.000-07:00

कतरा कतरा तिनका तिनका जोड़ के एक सपना सा बुना था
तेरी आंखों में कहीं उसको छुपाया था
सोचा था पलकें तुम मूंदे ही रहोगे
ख्वाबों को कभी बिखरने न दोगे
पर भूले थे हम कि रात तो बीत जाती है
और पलकें भी खुल ही जाती हैं
पर ख्वाबों की रातें अभी और भी हैं
और न सही तो
हकीकत को ही हम
ख्वाबों सा बना लेंगे ।

Man ka radio

2009-10-09T06:24:00.000-07:00

After a long time yesterday I switched on Vividh Bharati and was pleasantly surprised to hear that they were playing only requests received on Wednesday and Thursday evenings. A far cry from the snail mail system that I remember. A few minutes later I heard another message asking defence personnel to send in their song requests by SMS for the popular Jaymala programme and I thought wow they sure have caught up with the times.

The mention of Jaymala brought a lot of memories. 90's was when I started listening to the radio religiously and back then Vividh Bharati was the most popular service in my city. FM channels hadnt yet launched. As I had an afternoon shift in school, my typical day used to start with Chitralok at 8:15 in the morning. It was a programme completely dedicated to latest songs and film promos. Satellite television was just catching up, so most of the film promotions were still done on Radio. The programme used to go on till 10 am and that was the time I used to get ready and prepare myself for the day after some last minute homework, done listening to some of the loser songs mentioned here. On holidays I used to even listen to Manchahe Geet in the afternoons. Evenings after school at around 6:30 there would be regional presentations and then come 7:10 pm and it would be time for Jaymala, the special programme for requests of defence personnel. The programme also had a weekly celebrity episode where many singers, actors and other Bollywood personalities would come to present their favourite songs and some message for the Fauji bhai. The signature tune of this programme, something like a tune from a military band, is something I will never forget. 8 o'clock was the time for Hawamahal, the daily programme that had radio adaptations of plays and short stories. Though I wouldn't listen to it regularly, I remember liking most of what I had heard. 8:30 was new songs again and then by around 10 there would be Chaayageet. This had some of the most melodious numbers. On weekends programmes like Pitaara would have nuggets of repeats of popular programmes. There were many more programmes that I used to follow then, but do not remember the names of anymore. My parents used to reminisce about Binaca Geet mala which I have never heard unfortunately. They even recall listening to the audio of hit Hindi films that used to be broadcast on weekends, entire movies would be broadcast.

Song requests programmes like Hello Farmaish were the most popular shows as they were very interactive. There were also shows where you could mail in your requests and who can forget the ever present listeners from 'Jhumri talaiya' who would always request some song or the other. I remember my father doubting the existence of 'Jhumri talaiya'; he used to say that AIR probably cooked up this place to show more listener demands hehehe.

I attribute all my knowledge of hindi film music to the Vividh Bharati service. My knowledge of songs from those of Hemant Kumar to Sonu Nigam and Geeta Dutt to Alka Yagnik all come from listening to AIR regularly. And if I manage to sing reasonably well today, that is also because I used to sing along loudly while the radio was playing. Some of the most repeated songs on radio those days were from the films Abhimaan, Aashiqui, Phir Teri Kahaani Yaad Aayi, Aandhi, Naaraaz, Naajayaz, Hum Aapke Hain Kaun, Saajan, Vijaypath, Shree 420 and Baazigar. My antakshari skills those days were just great and it helped that we were a generation of antakshari freaks. Like Doordarshan had its Rukawat ke liye Khed hai, AIR had this particular whooshing sound that would interrupt broadcast clarity. It was probably because of some astral object interrupting with the radio signals. At times, the broadcast would be interrupted by electricity cuts in the studios. Even these sounds are ingrained in my memory.

I also remember the transition in radio. My uncle used to have one of those huge radio sets the kind that you see in that song in Abhimaan. We had a sleeker and slightly smaller Philips radio initially. And later on we bought one of those newer sets but Philips again. Murphy was gone by the time we had started buying radios. Later on briefly we had a Chinese two in one system and more recently listening to radio was just on phone. And now I listen to it on my Dish TV service.

I have also seen the deterioration in the popularity and revenues of AIR. When I initially used to listen to Chitralok, which was a sponsored programme, it used to play new songs for around 2 hours. Gradually the number of new songs reduced and the time reduced to 1 hour and at last count (which was around 5 years ago) it was reduced to a paltry 15 minutes. Around the time the duration of new songs decreased, AIR was also getting mails constantly from people that new songs were against the culture. It was also the time when cable TV and FM channels (only allowed in the metros then) had started eating into AIR's pie. But AIR still managed to survive because of its immense reach. Today only those who love to listen to old songs without some shrill RJ ranting out PJs, switch on to AIR. But FM channels have also realised the potential of this loyal customer base and have started sober programmes featuring old songs.

The newer generations don't know much about AIR and if the organisation continues to go on with whatever policies it has, there would be a day maybe when people will no longer listen to it at all. AIR will probably exist only because the government hasnt pulled it off the bandwidth. Not the way a radio channel that entertained so many generations should end up. AIR still scores high on reach which is why it is still doing well in the mostly inaccessible regions of the country, at those places, AIR still is one of the major sources of entertainment.

Being twenty something

2009-10-06T00:30:00.000-07:00

A friend recently sent me a forward on maturing in life…Sharing part of it…

As I mature…

I’ve learnt that you cannot make someone love you. All you can do is stalk them and hope they panic and give in.

I’ve learned that no matter how much I care, some people are just assholes.

I’ve learned that it takes years to build up trust and it only takes suspicion, not proof, to destroy it.

I’ve learned that you shouldn’t compare yourself to others, they are more screwed up than you think.

I’ve learned that we are responsible for what we do, unless we are celebrities.

It was a forward that touched a chord (unlike the hundreds that irritate you). If you thought only teenage is a difficult time, then wait till you get into your twenties. That is the time when all your notions of right and wrong, all your beliefs of happily ever afters and picture perfect bonds get shaken up. Suddenly you wake up to a world of new realities, which are far different from the idealistic picture education gives you of the world.

I have spent most of my twenties away from home studying and working. And having to juggle changes within and around you all on your own is something all my friends would agree has been the greatest challenge. You want to succeed at everything you do and nothing seems to happen as fast as you want it to. Some of your dreams get fulfilled, some become nightmares and some are broken irreversibly. You want to be serious and you also want to have fun with your new found freedom. You want lasting relationships and you want material success. It’s a decade when you are left wanting and trying and you look at people who have crossed that age and wonder if you will ever get to be as self assured as they seem to be right now (but like the forward says, they could be screwed up too).

It’s a time when you could start to make your own decisions and not believe that parents always know better (and sometimes they don’t). And when you do make your own decisions for the first time, chances are you might make many mistakes and as you are no longer a child there comes the responsibility that all of us non-celebrities have to take. Its probably the first time in your own life that you really, truly get out of the crowd and get to know yourself and your mettle. And you could either like yourself or hate yourself.

Well you might ask what is the point of all this. Just that as I sat back and looked at the last five years, I realised, I am no longer the dreaming school girl from Rajkot. My friends have changed, my likes and dislikes are different, my bond with my parents is different, my take on love and commitment is different (read no more Mills and Boon anymore :-P) I have done things I never thought I would do both good and bad and at the end of it all, I know I have learnt a lot. I still am not the kind of self assured that some of the people I know are, but I know I am on the way to it. And I just wanted to tell all my friends in their twenties that some day we shall all sit back and laugh at these crazy times and look at them fondly like our parents right now look at the era of 60’s and 70’s. We shall all get together someday and toast to these days that showed us how much shit we could take and yet give back our best. Happy 20’s all you guys out there. We, the freaks, shall inherit the earth J (SIMC 07 tagline).

Homeless

2009-10-03T03:02:00.000-07:00

She was looking out the window of the local unseeingly.

Now at the footboard she wondered if she belonged anywhere? Going back to a room, not home.

A call. “Hello Priya, its Shikha yaar come over and stay for Diwali, its been long.” She smiled. There would always be some home for her.

55ers

2009-09-30T23:12:00.000-07:00

Trying my hand at 55 fiction. A daunting task for someone who is known to be wordy :-) Here are my first two attempts.

Power Play

Little one always had the remote. Elder one wanted to watch news but it was always MTV. Mom also lets little one be.
Now eldest is working out of town and comes home only on holidays. “News please.” “Give her the remote she hardly gets time to watch TV”, a voice from the kitchen :-)

The following is an extremely cynical view born out of a random conversation I had with a guy friend. No offense to any gender please, this is just a look at the various excuses made by commitment phobes and yes I do concede women could be commitment phobic too.

Commitment phobia?

“I love you, but…”

A’s mother won’t agree, B’s sister had to be married first, C wasn’t sure, D felt he didn’t deserve her, E wanted just fun. Finally F decoded the golden rule for her. BOYS need women only in the interim when they aren’t playing, working or wasting away. Any MEN around?

Loser songs of the 90's

2009-09-27T09:50:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me would tell you that songs especially Bollywood numbers play a huge part in my life. In fact every time I make a new friend, within the first two three meetings I ask them what songs do they listen to and more often than not, the future course of the friendship gets decided by that discussion. I can't interact with people who don't have an interest in music nor can I get along with the 'I love only firang songs coz they are supposed to be cool' crowd. I could spend days discussing old hindi film songs and my ideal vacation activity would be a campfire singing old songs.

But there is a category of songs that I am particularly fond of discussing. I call them the loser songs of the 90's (umm actually could include some 80's songs too). Now the 90's were the era when I had my first crushes and had all those growing up pangs and all. And the songs of that era particularly were about some sort of impossibly undying, pining away sort of love. As an infatuated teenager I used to really believe in 'Dil jigar nazar kya hai main to tere liye jaan bhi de du..' but now that I look back I cant help laughing at the songs and their loser in love kinda lyrics.

Many a stimulating discussion I have had about these songs and how the hits of that era now just remind you of the silliness of your own life then. I remember a discussion with Smiling Serpent which I am unlikely to forget anytime in my life because I have never laughed so much ever (much to his consternation, because unfortunately the joke was on him :-). This post has been inspired by insomniacal chats during night shifts with Phoenix in the last few days.

The 90's were a 'dramatic love' era. I remember Filmfare and Stardust publishing stories about fans who used to write fan mail in blood. There were people who had committed suicide after Divya Bharati died. So it was all about hyperbole. Naturally the songs of the era also followed this trend of being high on an aching, nauseating kind of unrealistic love which was supposed to true love. So you had Kumar Sanu crooning away 'Tu meri zindagi hai' (I do like this one still) as if he were a dying man looking for the oxygen of love (ooh even reminiscing about the era is making me use hyperbole). That is why I call them the 'loser' songs, all about aching love nothing about love's uplifting qualities. That reminds me of the ultimate loser song, ever heard Achha sila diya tune mere pyaar ka?

The songs of the era were the kind that the roadside tapori would sing in his mistaken view of love which actually would be some funny form of eve teasing. 'Premi pagal aawara, aashiq majnu deewana...' or 'Main hoon aashiq, aashiq aawara'. The songs of the era also seemed to propagate the myth that if you chase a girl hard enough (like a needy psychopathic stalker) she is bound to fall in love with you. 'Is tarah aashiqui ka asar chod jaunga, tere chehre pe apni nazar chod jaunga' scary man. Or 'First time dekha tumhein ham kho gaya second time mein love ho gaya yeh akkha India jaanta hai ham tumpe marta hai...' Perfect songs for the guy who is waiting at the corner of the road for his favourite girl to walk past.

Lots of metaphors and lots of promises of undying love. 'Tu shayar hai main teri shayari (I remember everyone of us girls in the school had tried to move their index fingers the way Madhuri does in that song). 'Saanson ki zarurat hai jaise' 'Tumhein apna banane ki kasam khaayi hai khaayi hai' 'Dil hai ki maanta nahin' 'Saanwali saloni teri jheel si aankhein' (cute still) 'Juliet ki tarah honthon pe hai surkhiyan dekh le khud ko tu nazar se meri jaaneja'.

Unrequited love, betrayal or some form of separation was a common theme. 'Chupana bhi nahin aata', 'Accha sila' mentioned above, 'Ae kaash kahin aisa hota ke do dil hote seene mein' 'Jaao tum chahe jahan yaad karoge wahaan ki ik ladka duniya mein hai jo de sakta hai tumpe jaan' 'Woh meri neend mera chain mujhe lauta do' 'Ab tere bin jee lenge ham zehar zindagi ka pee lenge ham'. How many lovers of that era must have gone through breakups listening to these depressing numbers.

There were also the quirky ones with weird lyrics. 'Tu tu tu tu tara...' 'Ole ole' 'Oye oye' 'Ruk ruk ruk' 'Sexy sexy' 'Choli ke peechey' 'Bambai se gayi puna' 'Jaipur se nikali gaadi dilli chali halle halle' 'Barana de' 'Shehar ki ladki' 'Madhuri Dixit mili raste mein' 'Meri marzi'. I could go on and on.

Each of these songs brings back some memory of some Antakshari won while travelling jam packed in a school rickshaw, some train journey listening to these songs on the walkman (do they exist still?), some wedding band favourites, some that I sang to my then crush in the privacy of my own bedroom believing every word to be coming truly from my heart, some poem I wrote taking off from the lyrics of some loser song, lots and lots of memories of growing up. I dearly loved these songs then, I laugh at my own adolescent image of love now. What was I thinking when I used to sing 'Teri ummeed tera intezar karte hain' or sometimes shyly to myself 'Raah mein unse mulakat ho gayi..'? Well I guess I was just behaving my age.

Some of these songs are gems and I still love them. But 'loserness' being the characteristic of the songs of that era, I cant but help call them all loser songs of the 90's. Anyone remembers any more of these songs, please add your list in the comments section :-) Lets remember the days when we were all bitten by the bug called infatuation :-)

Death of a mayfly

2009-09-23T15:00:00.000-07:00

It was Simon and Garfunkel again. It had been ages since the strains had scented the air. But the pain was the same. It was almost evening. The lights were going out and the mayfly was lying in a corner huffing. Its life of one day was coming to an end. It remembered how people had told it that it should not have come out. It should have stayed in the protected cocoon. But it knew it had wings and had wanted to try them out. They had said that it was not a butterfly. Why hadn’t it listened? It had wanted to atleast know what flying meant. So it flew the moment it came out of the cocoon. It flew all afternoon, glowing in the heat of the warm sun. It made love to the wind. It felt glorious. It felt that it was probably worth it despite all the pain. For a while it forgot that it had only one day. That was its mistake. Now it was lying there gulping in some last breaths of air.

She saw the dying mayfly. The last bit of the song was playing.

I am a rock

I am an island

For a rock feels no pain

And an island never cries.

She wondered why the mayfly couldn’t have been a rock or an island. Why did it have to be this little vulnerable thing with dreams of flying? The rock and the island are tied to their places, yes, but then they don’t know what it is to move so they will never miss it. But the poor mayfly, now lying there dying. Why have wings if you were to die fallen on the ground like that?

She had always been a zoology enthusiast and had an unusual liking to breeding insects to study them. In its short life the mayfly had surely laid an egg somewhere in the water tank. But looking at the dying mayfly, she wondered if she would ever let its child out of the cocoon. Maybe she should just kill it before it started to want to fly, yes she should just throw away all the water from the tank tomorrow. Maybe…. She didn’t know what to do. The song, which was on loop, started again.

A winter's night

In a deep and dark December

I am alone....

Enjoying the kill

2009-09-17T03:49:00.000-07:00

As a child I had never owned a toy gun or even one of those tanker trucks. The closest I must have come to so called boys’ toys was probably a car. I had my dolls, my mini kitchen sets, my building blocks and some gender neutral games like carroms and scrabble. But a few days ago, a friend suggested trying out some text based mafia games on Facebook. At first I laughed it off, what could I possibly get by shooting and robbing imaginary targets? But my friend insisted and I joined in thinking lets see whats the big deal about?

I belong to a generation where video games were considered a luxury in most cities in India and being the studious student I was, I was taught to look down upon these useless addictions J So when I started playing combat games on Facebook, I had no idea what fan following these games had. But man, was I hooked. Suddenly I completely understood why exactly were people all around me so excited to grow one new virtual crop, make virtual billions, ice some cold-blooded killer or earn the tag of a knife thrower.

I also discovered that out of my virtual mafia team members, majority were girls. Another friend told me about this growing trend that around 30% of the hardcore gaming market in India now comprised of women. So I thought why not check this out. When I set out to do the story I discovered that all over the world, online gaming companies were coming up with new websites specially targetting women. Most of these were casual online games (70% of the market for these hand-eye co-ordination and easy click games is women). But there was a growing number of combat and strategy games that were being added to these sites constantly. In the US, women in the age group of 30-40 were slowly capturing almost half of the total market for all sorts of hardcore (violence included) games.

The women gamers I met were a bigger surprise. One would expect that someone interested in such games would probably be a rebellious character, maybe a young college goer with a piercing or black coloured nail polish. But Dhiranjana Pais was a homemaker who looked like your typical bahu in full salwar kameez and a huge bindi. She was hooked to Halo, Hitman and Counter strike and had been initiated into gaming by her brother in childhood. So addicted is she to the game that she uses an old N-Gage phone just because it is designed better for gaming. Another woman I met was an office goer and for her lunch break was the time to play racing games and beat her colleagues at strategy.

But during all this time what I kept wondering was that a male player would get exciting assignments like rescuing a damsel in distress and then having her as a virtual girlfriend. A female player would have to pretend being straight because the game would only give her a girlfriend! But then I discovered that the women oriented sites had games like Rescue your boyfriend. But it’s a long way off to equality when it comes to game world female characters. Only once in a while do you have a Lara Croft, otherwise the combatants are generally taken for granted to be men. But if gaming companies are to be believed, this too is soon changing. Maybe soon in the future you could choose whether you want to be a male operative or a female one. Till then I shall just be sugar and spice but nowhere close to nice while I shoot my targets away.

P.S. check out the story at http://ibnlive.in.com/news/game-for-a-game-30-pc-hardcore-gamers-women/101572-11.html

Before breaking news

2009-09-16T04:47:00.001-07:00

On our channel yesterday we paid a tribute to Doordarshan turning 50 years old. We had the most recognisable and the first news anchor of India Salma Sultana on the show. I don't know how many of you remember the lady with a severe face who always sported a flower behind one ear and read the news on DD. When Rajdeep Sardesai asked her that you were in an era where there was no breaking news, the lady wittily replied, "Hamare zamaane mein breaking news nahin, rukawat ke liye khed hai hota tha." That brought so many memories of watching movies where right at the time of the climax when the killer was going to be revealed or the villian was going to be shot, suddenly there would be a black out and after a few seconds it would state 'Rukawat ke liye khed hai.' Man I grew up with all of that.

I was born the year Indian TV saw its first cricket world cup broadcast and what fortune we won that cup. Now looking back I sometimes feel I am very old. Many people today dont know what a great achievement it was for a family to buy a TV and then to switch from black and white portables to 14 inch colour. Today we are in the hometheater age. Maybe it was this feeling of achievement that Onida TV exploited when it came up with the tagline 'Neighbours envy, owners pride.'

The thrill of waiting for Sunday mornings that started early with Rangoli, went on to mythologicals and then to the favourite cartoons and special children's shows. The Jetix generation would probably never know how excited we used to be by He-Man and Spiderman cartoons and how eagerly we would wait for weekends for the latest episodes. We also waited for the Sunday evening movies and the only show my friends and I were allowed to watch during our exams was Chitrahaar.

Serials were about families and the troubles of the aam aadmi and aam family. Clean fun, no extra marital relations, no vamps, no generation leaps, only realistic, normal people like you and me. Social messages on Nukkad and Rajni, emotional sagas on Buniyaad and Humlog, short story wonders on Malgudi days, Mitti ke rang and Potli Baba ki. Comedies did not mean mindless aping of regional accents or tomfoolery, but clean fun with situations and liberal use of puns. Idhar Udhar, Ye jo hai zindagi, Mr. Yogi, Flop show and Dekh bhai dekh come to mind, shows that can be watched even today with equal pleasure. If it was science you had turning point. DD had something for every genre. If it was thrillers and detective shows that you liked then you had the amazing Byomkesh Bakshi, Tehkikat and Reporter. If it was travel and culture you wanted then you had the unbeatable Surabhi. I remember getting the first rush of watching a romantic story when they telecast Kashish. You had regular quiz programmes. Afternoons were about educational and women oriented shows. India's first daily soap Shanti was quite a revolution in women oriented programming. And DD had some really cool year ender and summer vacation programming.

And your serials didn't have to have only Gujaratis, Punjabis or Bengalis as central characters. You had even Kashmiris play central characters in Gul gulshan gulfam. You had UPites in Neem ka ped and Talash. You had a Maharashtrian in Wagle ki Duniya. Malgudi days had essentially south Indian characters. Truly unity in diversity.

I remember seeing how news evolved from lines just being read out by an anchor to showing some pre edited visuals, to news magazines like World this week and Newstrack, discussion shows and then to the current style of news stories and live telecasts. DD had tied up with CNN to get the live telecast of the Gulf war and thats when for the first time they had started bulletins in the afternoons also. There are countless stories of how politicians used to sabotage news telecasts because DD was after all the government mouthpiece.

But somewhere along the way after Cable tv was allowed in India, the bureaucracy started dictating more and more terms to the government channel. Viewers moved on to fresher looking programming (though I must swear that even shows on Zee and Sony were much better then) and as the viewership declined, producers also stopped giving fresh shows to DD. DD bosses also being slaves of bureaucracy were not really bothered because their salaries were probably not based on the channel's TRP's. The channel declined fast after that and today hardly anyone watches it.

But give me a Byomkesh Bakshi, a Surabhi or a Malgudi days anyday over a screeching, dramatic woman trying to choose a husband or a foolish whacko trying to outsmart other people in some random house or jungle. Give me atleast one show that I would write about 20 years after it got over.

Virginity and ambition

2009-09-09T01:06:00.000-07:00

There is a new movie in town called Kaho na Kaho. Of course you may never hear of it leave alone go for it, but what you must know about is the wonderful tagline they have come up with for their poster. It reads, hold your breath darlings, "Ambitious woman always loses her virginity." (You don't believe me, please check out the poster at the Dadar station.) What I would really like to do is find out if the actresses of the movie consider themselves ambitious or not :-P And the million dollar question who was at the helm of the marketing and copywriting for this film?

A friend of mine on seeing it commented so does that mean unambitious women don't lose their virginity? Most of us do at some point of time or the other isn't it? So I fail to understand what is the connection between ambition and virginity? Let me refresh their knowledge of history a bit. Long ago there was an ambitious Tudor princess in England called Elizabeth and you know what she went on to be called the 'Virgin Queen' of England. Any Brit worth his salt would say that she was very very ambitious. Whether she lost her virginity later on is still a matter of debate.

Case in point 2. Can you then explain to me the fact that in the US there are a lot of teenagers who lose their virginity and also drop out of school/college? Some of them end up as housewives too. So unambitious (the conventional definition, not mine) isn't it? And yet they have lost their virginity. So will they now be called ambitious? Actually why go to the US, there are many women in our country who are married off early and remain housewives and marriage does mean a loss of virginity (unless your husband is gay), so are they ambitious or unambitious? I am really confused here.

As I was researching on this topic I found out that some great literary geniuses like Jane Austen, Shaw, Lewis Carrol and W.B.Yeats were celibate. They were all ambitious. Oh heck there are two men here, how could I forget. Men are supposed to be ambitious, natural instinct and all that so it doesn't matter if they are virgins does it? In fact there are people in the West wondering if celibacy means more productivity? (For the simple reason that celibacy means no severely close relationships, no surrender of control of your life to another human being and therefore you could do what you want and not because virginity is sanctity).

But is virginity about ambition or is it about preparedness for a sexual life? Why the drama over virginity? If you look at history closely one of the most obvious reasons to ensure virginity of a bride was so that the successor born to that particular woman is surely that of her husband, a ploy to ensure that property goes to a genuine member of the bloodline. (However the devil in me wonders what if a woman loses her virginity to one man and bears the child of another, who was to tell in the era of no DNA tests?) And why is only a woman's ambition or virginity an issue? If a woman has to necessarily be a virgin, who is to guarantee that the man she marries is a virgin? A man can be ambitious or not ambitious, but it never affects any of his choices in life. But an ambitious woman is always a BITCH (Babe In Total Control Of Herself btw).

So is this tagline talking about the casting couch? If so, is it only the ambition of the victim to be blamed for the existence of such an institution? So what will they say about ambitious men who sleep with men for jobs? (Yes it happens you know). But well, we have a tendency to always blame the victim. If a girl gets raped, she has invited it and if a guy/young boy is raped by another man or woman, he didn't have the guts to fight back. It is always the victim's problem. And hey what ambition do rape victims have I would like to know because even they lose their virginity.

There will be many who will denounce me as trying to corrupt the value system of the society. All I want to tell them is that I am not advocating mindless sex, all I am saying is that virginity is not the measure of character or lack of it. Nor is ambition the measure of when you will lose it. Ambition at best is just the measure of where you see yourself in the future not even how the world sees you, because everyone has their own definition of ambition isn't it?

P.S sorry for any loss of coherence in the post, the ridiculousness of the whole thing just made me a bit angry.

Drinking buddies

2009-08-19T07:18:00.000-07:00

It was a usual night at Shabnam bar tucked away in a lane behind a local train station in Central Mumbai. Some were nursing drinks, some gulping them down, some brooding over every sip and some laughing hysterically at not so funny jokes. Kishore and Rafi were alternately crooning about the greatest disappointments of their lives on the bar's music system.

And as it was a usual night, Rajesh was there. Everything was familiar here and that soothed his senses. It was a refuge from daily struggles, a place to reflect, appreciate the songs born out of life's ironies and generally numb oneself at the end of the day. Most of the clientile was the same. Hardly anyone new came there, but Shabnam had many loyalists. Rajesh knew everyone's story. He liked to hear them and marvel at how much better his life was. And at times when he felt the other person needed it, he told his story too.

Suddenly the door opened and a gust of the pouring rain from outside breezed in and along with it came a man who had the most disturbed face Rajesh had seen in quite sometime. He didn't look like someone who drank, but then who can say that anymore. The man sat down and ordered 2 pegs, neat. Rajesh raised an appreciative brow and went back to his drink. After a while when Rajesh started to leave, the man was still there, ordering 2 more. It seemed that he had had quite a few of them already and didn't want to stop until he lost himself completely.

The other man started coming in regularly. Another Shabnam loyalist, Rajesh smiled. His name was Abhishek; Rajesh had seen him swipe a card once. They had both started acknowledging each other's existence by now. Abhishek would get pissed drunk every night. Rajesh enjoyed his drinks but he had a self imposed limit, one that he stuck to, just enough to get some relief at the end of the day. But this man seemed to be on a mission to drink his body down.

One night however, Abhishek seemed to be even more melancholy but he was gulping down drinks with the same fervour. Rajesh got worried. What if the man was on some suicidal mood today? He certainly looked so. Rajesh went up to Abhishek's table and tried to start a conversation.
"Hi, have been seeing you here regularly now, I am Rajesh. You on some drink till I die mission today dude?"
"Err...hi...you won't understand."
"Try me..."
Abhishek smiled with melancholy dismissal.
"They say majority of men drinking in dimly lit bars are of two types. Ones who are thinking of the girl who got away and the others who are trying to forget the pain of having one. So what is it with you?" Rajesh persisted.
Abhishek laughed out harshly, "Maybe they are right. But let's hear whats it with you?"
"Mind if I take a seat," Rajesh pulled a chair next to Abhishek. "The one who got away. She was my college mate. She came into my life when I had almost lost hope. I can still feel her hands cupping my face. There never was anyone who could love so unselfishly, so truly. We would have done anything for each other."
"That would have been a fairytale, " Abhishek pointed out.
"Yes, if we could have stayed together that is what it would have been."
"So what was it? She turned out be a fickle woman? Triya charitra was it?"
"Just shut up ok, I won't hear a word against her. She was never like that. She was everything one could ever dream for in a companion. She was mine for as long as she could and somehow I know she is still mine, though she is far away, married to someone her parents wanted her to. She hasn't cheated on him physically though, that much I can tell you. She is his for all worldly purposes, but I know her heart will always be mine."
"Aah but if your love was that true, you had to lose her buddy. That's the way of the world. Its a law of nature I think, that if you love truly, you won't ever get it back, or be fortunate enough to live out this dream love. I love her too completely, honestly, but somehow it never penetrates her heart. Its like she will never understand it. You are lucky. Your love was atleast reciprocated. I had no such luck."
"No dude, you are lucky. You have no idea how bad it is to lose what you once had. You have never had it, so your pain will ease away. Don't lose heart. You have no memory of how glorious it felt to have her close and then to be reminded everytime that its gone forever. You are lucky Abhishek. For people like me, love is now just a picture inside a wallet." Rajesh pulled out his wallet, took out a picture, "This is all that I have of her now. Look at how sweet a thing I have lost," he smiled ruefully.
Abhishek was completely silent for a while and then he rose from the table, "I should go. You are right I am the kind who don't have the right to even die," he said somewhat heavily and left. Rajesh sat there looking at the picture.
Out on the street, Abhishek thought, "You have no idea that its more painful to never really have what you have." The girl in the picture was his wife.

What is a successful marriage?

2009-08-17T06:41:00.000-07:00

Long ago, in a school debate, I had spoken out for arranged marriages. That was before I had ever seriously thought about what marriage would entail, at a time when I was just out of my teens and believed that some prince was waiting somewhere to whisk me off, with my parents blessings of course. But its been almost a decade since then and I have seen quite a few make ups and break ups in my friends' lives to understand what a relationship constitutes in today's world. It is simply not the same age old era where people put up with each other because they feel that is their destiny. In fact, destiny is an out dated word. Choice is the reality of today. No one needs to stay on in a marriage now and that is what has challenged all our known notions of marriage.

In our society we are still big on tradition, which is why the child maybe outgoing and outspoken in every other way, but when it comes to marriage, she/he is still expected to toe the family line. She/he is expected to settle with someone who the family selects. If you do that, you will forever be called the grateful child. A colleague had once put this into sharp focus when she talked about her and her brother. Her brother was always the obedient types while she had been the rebel. But while the brother married someone of his choice, she after having her fill of testing waters, settled for an arranged marriage. She jokes about how that one decision washed off all her past flaws in her parents' eyes.

We are told parents know best and when both sets of parents are in agreement, there will always be someone to salvage your marriage if there are some problems. That is a debatable thing. But the argument that I hear the most is that arranged marriages last, whereas love marriages generally end up in divorce. There are statistics to prove this too, I agree. But is longevity the only measure of a successful marriage?

I know of many couples who are married to each other just because they feel they have no other option. Life is a cycle of forced responsibilities and civilities and oh yes, the most important word of all - compromise. They say that is the most important thing in a marriage. Excuse me, have we confused adjustment and acceptance with compromise here? For according to me marriage is supposed to be a union of equal, mature individuals who share a life, without losing their individuality. But that is not the case I am told. Compromise is the word that ensures that marriages don't break up. But after a long day at work in a competitive world, does anyone have the time and energy for a compromise?

I know of couples who have been married for ages, but rarely talk with each other now. But for the society's purpose, theirs is a successful marriage. They haven't broken up and divided their children's life. A friend's grandparents chose to separate after all their children were settled. No they didn't divorce, they just started staying with different children. No divorce, so successful isn't it? There are some who don't talk to each other and their children act as go-betweens. There are others who lose their own identity (both female and male) to keep the marriage going. After all, if it lasts, its successful. Also families do bind these relationships, there is pressure to listen to them and stay together, so what if its killing you? Its gotta last.

I am not building a case here for love marriages or for divorce at the slightest provocation. What I am trying to say is that our idea of a marriage itself is skewed. Marriages are not made in heaven, you need to work them out here on this earth, no doubt about that. But what is a marriage really? Is it just something you get into because you are expected to? Is it something bound by the correct background, kundli alignment and surname? Is it a way to get sex with societal approval? Or is it something you get into because you want to share your life with someone? Because you found someone with whom you can relate to on an intellectual and emotional level? Is it about understanding and accepting a person unconditionally so as to be able to be a soul mate? Because if marriage is about meeting the match of your soul, it could happen anytime, in any way, with anyone. You don't need to go through countless profiles of ready for marriage 'fun loving, caring, blend of traditional and modern values' type of people on marriage websites to find the one. They just might happen to you.

But if they happen to you, families will probably tell you that it is an emotional/hormonal reaction. Umr ka takaaza hai. These things don't last and if they don't last they can't be successful can they? Well they might last if the couples don't always have it in the back of their mind that they have done something they shouldn't have and that they would have been better off had they listened to their relatives (sometimes this emotional blackmail continues even after the so called acceptance).

Longevity is a virtue in any relationship. But it can't be the sole factor to determine its success is what I feel. What is needed whether the match be arranged or love, is a mental connect. If you can relate to the person, if you feel that you can talk to that person any time of the day, if you think that you can handle waking up to this same face everyday, then I guess you have a shot at a successful relationship even if your mom thinks that he/she is not the dream catch. Call me a romantic if you will. But no point in getting married to please someone else, because those people will be long gone or far away, while you might have to remain 'stuck' with either a 'dutiful' bond or a failed relationship. The choice is always ours and a decision once made needs to be followed through, whatever be the ramifications, isn't it?

Sheltering and the effect it has

2009-07-29T04:45:00.000-07:00

Siddharth Gautam Buddha’s story is very well known, but let me retell it for you. An astrologer told his parents that he would either grow up to become a Chakravarti or will renounce the world to become a saint. Scared at the prospect of losing his heir to ‘sanyaas’, the king decided to never show him any of the sadness in the world. The king thought that once cosseted in the comforts of the palace, the prince will become used to the good life and would never want to quit it. A normal experience of life was so to say banned for him. Siddharth grew up in perfect luxury and to ensure that he was totally shackled by the bonds of the ‘saansarik sukh’, he was even married off to a beautiful princess. But one day a charioteer made a mistake and took the prince slightly out of the palace bounds. The sights of misery that Siddharth saw put him off the life of luxury forever and finally he renounced the world and became Gautam Buddha.

I always have wondered had the king let Siddharth grow normally, maybe those sights of misery wouldn’t have affected him so much. As much as Gautam Buddha’s life is a lesson in enlightenment, it is also a lesson to society I believe of what fearful control mechanisms do to people. Take sex education for example. If we go by the theory that exposure to sex education makes children more experimental and pushes them to indulge more in amorous activities, then by that standard India’s more repressed states should have less of sexual crimes. But is that the truth?

I cannot say much about other states, but two examples come to my mind. Tamil Nadu and Delhi. These are two states where in most cases men and women don’t interact normally with each other. Boys and girls are taught at an early age to intensely dislike and distrust the other sex. So there is no communication and most of the children grow up looking at the other sex like they are some aliens, part fascination, part hatred. High school classrooms are full of sexist jokes and weird stereotypes about male and female behaviour. But the curiosity is always there and it takes the form of eveteasing, groping and rape.

My friend who studied in a pretty good school in TN used to say that they would make fun of any guy who was just friends with girls. Afterall, the guy had to be a sissy if he could only talk and not get any action out of her. And any girl who even deigned to talk to a guy had to be of a loose character. (I would not say this is completely true about every school in TN). My best friend and her boyfriend in Delhi have been dating for 8 years now. They are school sweethearts and no they haven’t yet done it. Jeeju’s friends tell him that she is definitely going to ditch him after all she hasn’t surrendered herself yet and not just that, they advice that the only way to keep her from breaking his heart is by making her physically his. Jeeju says, “main jaanta hoon un logon ne kabhi ladki nahin dekhi, kabhi jaana nahin ki sahi maynon mein relationship kya hota hai, kabhi mauka hi nahin mila na, isiliye aisa sochte hain.” How true.

But it is not just sex education, there are many choices in people’s lives that are forced upon them because of a fear psychosis. Parents of girls restrict them from doing lots of things thinking that if given freedom the girl will develop a mind of her own and might disgrace them. In this fear, they push her to such an extent, that in the end, more often than not, she unknowingly does the very thing they were afraid of. Some guys are brought up in a strict atmosphere because the parents believe otherwise the boy will take to vices. Mostly these are the very guys who tend to take up vices at the first taste of freedom in a college hostel or out of town job. People from smaller towns talk all the time about that boy or girl who went to ‘shehar’ and changed so much, mostly for the worse(according to them, may not be true actually). Why do they change? Because they were constrained for so long, that at the first chance they will defy everything their past life stood for. Rebels and for that matter even psychopaths are never born. They generally are the ones who were pushed into some sort of a corner, a corner that was either suffocatingly comfortable or scorchingly uncomfortable. The result is always the opposite of what is desired.

If only we learnt how to be more open and accepting!

Mayfly or butterfly?

2009-07-22T20:19:00.000-07:00

Ive built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate...

She went about her daily work, crossing her arms at her abdomen, closing herself off. The phone rang and it was him. He was sweet and fun. But why was he calling everyday. She had to tell him off. She couldn't afford all this. The last burn was bad enough so she told him that daily calls made her uncomfortable. Can I call you once in two days then he quipped. Smiling reluctantly she let it go at that.

I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.

Work was her salvation. She buried herself in pursuit of excellence. After all no one could ever ever take that away from her. That would remain with her. It was tangible. It wasn't like people and emotions. But these days she found herself wondering about him. She wondered if she could take a chance once and see where it takes her. What if she did enjoy the ride? Then again what if she got hurt? No, no, let her stay the way she was.

Dont talk of love,
But Ive heard the words before;
Its sleeping in my memory.
I wont disturb the slumber of feelings that have died.
If I never loved I never would have cried.

She was humming Simon and Garfunkel again. Story of her life. She had forced herself in a confinement, feeling nothing. It was all closed up yes, but it was safe. And some of the people who led her to this shell did it because they want to protect her isn't it? She owed it to them, so she should respect their wishes and stay on in the cocoon. But his voice kept calling her. And despite everything she was going to meet him today. She told herself it was just curiosity.

The meeting went well. She didn't remember the last time she had laughed and teased so much. She felt young again, really her age, not like the wisened self she usually maintained. She met him again and again. Don't talk of love....

But she couldn't help it. He was slowly easing her out of the cocoon. She had managed to crawl out of it like a caterpillar. It didn't hurt. But what if it hurt later? What about those protectors of hers? Was she betraying them? She didn't know. But somehow getting out didn't feel wrong. Fly my baby, he said. Don't cross your arms against the world. Open up and let me in. I want to be within that circle of your arms too. Yes, she wanted that too.

She didn't know how her protectors would feel. She tried telling them she wanted to try flying. But they didn't seem to understand. What if you end up as a May fly and not a butterfly they said. She feared that too. What if she hurt him with her frenzied flight or by retreating? She didn't know the answer to that too. All she knew was that she wanted to try flying. Maybe she would be a May fly but atleast she would know what it is to fly. She wouldn't die wondering how it would be. Even if for a brief bit, she would feel the wind beneath her wings and he would help her find whatever piece of sky was meant for her. Together they would find love and hope, even if it wasn't meant forever. They would atleast have had it truly for once. For that one moment of true love, she will take the chance. Never mind how it ends. All that matters is the beauty of the journey isn't it?

Umbrella wars

2009-06-25T22:21:00.000-07:00

The messy monsoons are here in Mumbai (yeah I know we need rains, but it would be nice if they didn't mess the city). Fred Astaire made singing in the rain with an umbrella famous, but you surely can't try that in Mumbai. Walking with your umbrella held aloft would take the skill required by the Crazy Taxi in dodging other cars.

Your feet are sinking in muddy, messy water, you are trying to avoid puddles and there comes the competitive auntie with the huge umbrella. The competitive umbrella aunties are ones who think only they are in a hurry. They try to overtake you with as much vengeance as a motorbike rider who snakes his way through bumper to bumper traffic, unmindful of what happens to the rest of the world. This auntie will hit you with her elbow, her umbrella will get into your hair, she will jump into the puddle in her haste splashing water all over you.

The complete opposite of the competitive auntie is of course the I-am-out-for-a-stroll-in-the-rain aunty. This auntie will be walking to a tune of her own and most of these aunties are so bulky that they make it almost impossible to overtake them without stepping into some open gutter or some messy puddle. And while you try to do that, again your umbrella gets hit.

Then there is the corporate guy who has made getting his way a habit. So hitting your umbrella to retard your progress is something he enjoys. Pulling people down gives him a high. And one fails to understand why poking umbrellas in another's hair is such a fun pastime!

Then there are the kids who jump around and splash water everywhere. Even if you are wearing three fourth pants, they will get wet thanks to these I-so-love-the-muddy-water kids. And their partners in crime are motorists with expensive cars who love to speed over puddles and make your white office wear brown. Aargh!

I know you will all tell me that I should stop using umbrellas and try wind cheaters or raincoats. But what the hell, my head is so small that none of the hoods stay on it. I hate rains.

Total recall

2009-06-22T02:19:00.000-07:00

There was a problem with the HTML in the previous post...so posting it again...

[tRIAd] recently referred to an article a cartoon who I know very indirectly wrote.(You could read [tRIAd]’s piece here) Managed to get hold of the original article and found that it really had no new information. It set me thinking about what my boss, whenever he descends on us from his ivory tower, says about our lack of story ideas. ‘News is all about rehashing’ he says. Find a different angle, find a different quote, a different perspective that’s all there is, because apart from crime, fickle politics and current events, everything has already been done before.

I totally agree with him because this is the third year in a row when I am doing stories on the Mumbai monsoons. I have done countless stories on vegetable price rises, the ‘urbane’ issue of Mumbai’s stray dogs and how could I forget the ever visible and ‘attractive’ potholes. These are the issues our target audience wants to know about, I am told whenever a flicker of doubt creases my journalist’s brow. This is what the SEC A and B want to watch. And since I know there is only one rule in this world, I agree and have so far been successful in getting something new everytime to a perfectly same story. (But then I have been around for only a short while now I guess).

Rehashing is a diktat every media organisation follows. But there are some media persons who do take the term quite literally. I happened to pick up one of those women’s magazines after almost half a decade. And surprise, surprise, there was still the same advice about haldi-chandan ubtan, how to fool/snare a man with your non-existent original beauty and other random advice that wouldn’t make any sense to the male readers of this blog. I was shocked and actually picked up some more back issues to check if things ever changed. Well they never did.

Another breed that believes in complete rehashing is the Talk show crew and those that write the so-called socio-psychologically relevant articles (I have written those too at one point of time, but more on that later). A typical talk show has the typical faces. One starched sari figure, one flamboyancy incarnate personality, one moderate type and an arm flailing, screeching moderator. And the topics? (Think SEC A and B please) Should girls wear jeans? How much pocket money should children be given? Are the rich really criminals or are they being wrongly targetted? Are our values (huh?) crumbling? The current news trigger might be different each time, but the topics, the debate, the opinions they never change (and to think we used to be advised in school to watch this crap to broaden our thinking). According to me talk shows are quite a waste of air time, what has ever been achieved by them anyway?

The socio-psychological articles are also the same. Throw in some management jargon, some self help jargon and connect everything however obtusely to Freudian theories and voila, an ‘insightful’ article is at your service. Something similar to what [tRIAD]’s cartoon wrote. And the best part about these rehashed things is that they are damn easy to do. There are always the ‘Dial-a-bite/quote’ social commentators, psychiatrists and socialites. You can dream of a story idea during your so called ‘power nap’, call up these people and get your story ready for the next day. How simple is that! Of course, some journos just love these philanthropic bite/quote machines. The man in the ivory tower parties with them so he has to keep them included in what his media house does. Of course, he tells the staff at times that he is tired of the same faces (after losing a game of poker to them, I guess). So the staff does try for fresh faces at times only to be then told that the fresh face did not match the expectations of SEC A and B. So its back to the we-scratch-each-other’s-back brigade. Aah the ease of redoing a done to death story!

Total Recall

2009-06-21T04:31:00.000-07:00

Of families and marriages

2009-06-05T00:41:00.000-07:00

IHM has written recently about domestic violence and how there is widespread acceptance of it even among the educated class. A lot of interesting comments have appeared on that. I remember this particular comment which talked about the widespread belief that men do lose control at times. A few years ago, I had thought that about a friend's father, because I knew the mother to be a highly unrealistic person, someone who had married early and thought that life would only be a romantic dream. Things had soured when she couldn't accept the fact that her husband, whom she had herself chosen, wasn't the romantic type. And both husband and wife wouldn't budge from their list of expectations and duties. Things kept piling up, the relationship deteriorated further after my friend was born. And in the belief that the wife was like an errant child, in the next 20 odd years the husband beat her around half a dozen times (maybe sounds little compared to what some women go through). She too had her own emotional blackmail tantrums. It was just a doomed relationship I guess. And though I didn't justify the beating, the very fact that I tried to rationalise it shows how deep rooted this philosophy is in us. Auntie has now finally moved out, something she should have done long ago, to spare the herself and my friend all that mental agony. My friend still hopes that the parents would reunite. Yes, divorce is traumatic but living in an abusive or incompatible relationship is even worse.

But while domestic violence is something more tangible, most women in India suffer from something more subtle. Mental abuse. The judgemental attitude that is based on the whole she is an 'outsider' theory. Most families want a custom made bahu who is modern and yet not too modern, educated but not too educated and so on. And she has to be a super woman who should never complain or get angry. The Tulsis of the world can cry in private and moan their fate, but they shouldn't air an opinion. Just voicing an opinion amounts to disobedience. There is very little scope for honesty in Indian relationships. Pretenses have to be maintained at all costs. And most women are taught that right from childhood, however educated the parents might be.

So even if your MIL constantly harps on how lowly your family is, you are supposed to put up with it. If you answer back you are the bitchy DIL, the potential home breaker. Your husband might have a tendency to treat you like a dimwit and make fun of you in public, but hey atleast he provides for you and doesn't beat you. He might be a complete loser, never managing to hold on to a job and yet you are supposed to hold on to the hope that with time he will get better. In no circumstances are you to lose the hope that things will work out in the end, because of the doli-arthi theory. And hey aren't women supposed to be more tolerant by nature, more patient, more everything that tends towards doormat.

How many times do we hear things like the women in the family didn't get along and that is why the family split? Is binding a family together just a woman's duty? If the men wanted, couldn't they have stayed together and tried to build a consensus? Are men really kids that they can be 'seduced' and 'swayed' by what is called pillow talk? Don't they have a mind of their own? Well apparently, though women are supposed to be chastised because they are not mature enough, when it comes to such things men are the impressionable ones.

In India, we are supposed to marry families and not individuals. And when I see all these things happening, I feel disturbed and somewhat scared by the prospect of marriage. Is there anything like a balanced family or is it a myth? Will I be able to hold on to my identity once I get married? Is marriage really worth it? There are 'good' families out there I guess, but they are extremely rare.

The longer line

2009-05-27T07:30:00.000-07:00

He had already stumbled across to another faceless woman by the time Rhea straightened up. But she wasn’t disappointed. In fact, she was very satisfied. She had been standing in the smoke filled corner, when he walked up to her, a slow smile on his lips. He smelled of grass and whiskey. Glazed, bloodshot eyes sized her up. She gave him an inviting nod. It had been a quick thing, so quick, that it had hurt. Precisely what she had wanted. She took a long drag, smoothed her dress, picked up her satchel and walked out.

Long ago, Rhea had heard a story. A teacher once drew a line on the black board and asked the students to shorten it, albeit, without erasing it. A boy drew a longer line below it, effectively making it shorter. She had taken the story literally. At home, her brother was like the first line. The apple of everyone’s eyes. The star performer at school. She paled in comparison. So she worked harder at pleasing her family. She completed all errands before time, she studied till she drooped over her books, she learnt salsa while her brother played quarter back and she joined university while he dropped out of high school. She had drawn the longer line.

College was in the nearby metro. For the first time Rhea realized how different she was from the people around her. She had strived for excellence all her life, because uptil now, excellence had guaranteed acceptance. Not anymore. She tried to fit in, but found she couldn’t. Whenever she was with the other students, she felt like that dot which was on the circumference and therefore, on the circle, but still not a part of the circle. At first she started living in denial. There was nothing wrong with her, so she needn’t change. She just needed to maintain her hard work and only partially shroud her conscience. It seemed to work. They all seemed to be in awe of her unique personality. She managed to get the highest paying job too. Again she was able to draw the longer line or so she thought.

The look of awe always gave Rhea a high. But, it actually threw her out of the circle and placed her on a different plane. She was an alien to her family. Men either adored her or loathed her. All that excelling had made her incapable of leading or even envisioning a normal life. Now it felt like standing on the pinnacle. If you want the pinnacle, you stand there alone, but if you value company; you need to step down. She could do neither. Her lonely nights seemed to be getting longer. Her throat ached with the lump in there. She was reminded of the longer line. That was when she started visiting Night Lights; defeating all those years of abstinence. If you want the aching lump to feel small, it should be shrunk. The drinks did that for her. She always gulped them down quick, so that they could burn her throat and shrink the lump. When the ache settled in her chest, she sought to punish those hopes of a normal life filled with love. And just like tonight; there was always some bloke available at Night Lights. The physical pain eased her heart. If fate dealt her a blow, she punished herself twice as hard. She had to draw the longer line, after all. Only she never felt she had succeeded in drawing it. As she walked along the deserted lane, Rhea resolved to beat fate at its little game. Dawn seemed to be descending on the eastern sky. Soon it would be another day, another rival, another bottle, another bloke, another black board and another line to shorten.

Relatives Uff!

2009-05-22T00:58:00.000-07:00

Mom says relatives are important. They will help you whenever you are in need. Now really! But going by these common instances where relatives come into the picture, I would rather say, thanks but no thanks for the help.

The ‘my kid is my pride’ syndrome:

This starts in school. You are set up to compete with some relative who was born before or the same year as you. They get As and if you don’t, concerned uncle is sure to express concern to some third party about how bhaiya No. 2’s beta is so hoshiyaar or the beti is so ‘susheel’ because she can balance her studies and a tea tray equally well. All the conversations take place in such a manner that they reach your parents in a round about manner for sure. So the next you know is that they are worried about saving face. And you get enrolled into tuitions and courses you never wanted in the first place. All so that next time you beat bhaiya No. 2’s bachha. And so, you either study hard/excel at extra curriculars and try to please all, or you become an out and out rebel.

The girl/boy hunt:

Before you or your parents realise you are eligible, the matchmaking auntie realises. So before you can convince your parents about what are your preferences are in marriage, whether you want a Mr./Ms. Right or want to go it alone or even whether you believe in caste or compatibility, your parents are forced to toe the society’s line. So your parents start fretting even before the word dating crosses your mind. The girl’s mom is worried about her 'virtue' and maintaining a 'spotless reputation' and the guy’s mom is worried that he might be ‘seduced’ by some unworthy girl. And what about the boy and girl? Well….that’s everyone’s personal love/sob story I guess.

The marriage comparison meter:

Ok, so finally, you have beaten the pests during the hunt and have found your soul mate. Now its time for D-day. So how will the marriage be planned? Well, the jewellery has to be from the same place as that of the phoophi’s daughter only grander and heavier. The dowry has to be higher what mama’s ladka got. Everything has to be on a grander scale than previously scaled by any relative. Whatever for? After all, at the end of every marriage, every relative says stuff like ‘dal mein namak kam tha’, ‘sajawat ke phool murjhaye hue the’, ‘jodi mujhe toh pasand nahin aayi par khair apni apni kismat’, don’t they?

So I reason with Mom, that friends are better than relatives. They are the ones who will stand by me and not these relatives. After all, neither they nor I had a choice in being each other’s relatives, so I will be civil but don’t expect more. To which her standard reply sounds something like out of a Bollywood family drama ending with the blood is thicker than water theory. Relatives uff!

Falak

2009-04-26T02:30:00.000-07:00

Raghav was very happy today. His wife, Shaina, had gone to visit her parents. He was all by himself tonight. He couldn't contain his excitement. Today when he went home; it would not be Shaina's nagging face that greeted him. Falak would be there for him. Oh, how he had missed Falak, missed those comforting arms around him. But today, he would get a taste of heaven.

Raghav was from a prominent business family of the city. He was the eldest son and was expected to marry into a family that matched his social status. He was supposed to marry a beautiful, rich girl; whether he liked it or not. And being an obedient son, he did so. He married Shaina. She was everything a business man's wife could be. She was smart, she was a great hostess – she was just perfect. But like all socialites; she was the perfect bitch too. Life was hell with her. And what was more; try as hard as he might, he could not bring himself to love her. She wouldn't let him divorce her too; not that he had the courage to file a suit. And so, he did all that was expected of him, playing the perfect provider. The only bright spot in their marriage was their 4 year old daughter, Sara. Luckily, she had taken after him.

He finished his work and rushed back home. Falak was there – just as he had expected. Falak's face lit up on seeing him. Raghav took in the sight in front of him. Neat white T-shirt and a smart pair of shorts. He shuddered with pleasure. Falak smiled sensuously, "Welcome home, darling. Sara's fast asleep. What took you so long?" They hugged each other tight. Raghav felt that this was a true home-coming. How he wished he could be with Falak forever! But, he didn't have the guts. Anger welled up in him – why couldn't he have his share of happiness?

Falak sensed his tension and eased away. He smiled ruefully. "Come sweetheart, I have made some chicken fried rice for you." "I can't wait to have it, Falak." They ate savouring each other's company. God! How badly he wanted the night to last forever. But that was not to be; so they had to live each moment of the night. After dinner, they sat down to watch a rerun of Will and Grace. This was pure bliss – Falak's head nestled against his shoulder. The night was running out. No, he couldn't let it go like that. He hugged Falak closer. Falak looked into his eyes. "I love you, Raghav." Feeling gushed forth as he tightened his grip; almost smothering Falak, "I love you, love you." And they made love – slowly, passionately. Every move unleashed the love that had been suppressed for so long. The inevitability of their separation when Shaina returned, just fuelled the passion.

The next morning; they continued the pretense of a happy home. Raghav lazed on the sofa with the newspaper; while Falak made coffee. They smiled at each other contentedly. Just then Sara walked in with her teddy bear, rubbing her sleepy eyes. As soon as she saw Falak she squealed and ran upto him, "Falak uncle, you lied to me. I slept soon; but the Pumpkin Fairy did not hide any present under my pillow. Now buy me a chocolate." "Ok sweetie, now be a good girl and go brush your teeth," Falak hugged Sara. Raghav watched on wistfully – if only they could be a family!

Being 'Firang' and easy

2009-04-18T02:27:00.000-07:00

When the Slumdog debate was at its peak, Tarun Tejpal wrote a scathing piece in Tehelka on the stereotypes associated with Indians. It was a brilliantly written piece like most of Tarun Tejpal’s work and had received a lot of positive comments. But there was one strong voice of dissent. It was a letter by a foreigner, a lady, who questioned the righteous anger of Indians by asking uncomfortable questions about our own portrayal of ‘firangs’ in Bollywood. She wondered if showing all foreign women as only sex symbols and easy wasn’t a stereotype. Foreigners in Hindi movies were addicts, sex-o-maniacs or home-breakers, so wasn’t that unfair to them she asked. I was reminded of this statement when I was covering the gang rape of the American student at TISS. The headlines in the newspapers next day screamed that the boys hadn’t anticipated that she would cry rape. Why? Did the boys think that being American she would just shrug it all off as a time pass orgy? I cant remember the last time I heard someone talk nice things about a ‘firang’ girl. Mostly they are a subject of sexual curiosity and lewd jokes. Her skirts, her white skin, her smile, everything is considered as an ‘invitation’, even if the poor girl is just being herself. Yes, you may say that it is the great cultural difference amongst us, which makes it difficult for the average Indian male to understand that a woman could just be friendly with you, hang around with you, drink with you, without having once thought of ‘seduction’. And that is perhaps the only ‘mistake’ this girl made – that of thinking that these people thought of her as a friend and not as an easy catch. If thought this way, yes, it was all her fault, wasn’t it?

Mating

2009-04-02T00:02:00.000-07:00

The tomcat sitting on the roof opposite Anjana's window was trying to mate. He was smelling the tabby up though she was resisting and mewling almost violently. But he was stronger. He was trying to overpower her and pull her down. He was clawing wildly. The tabby was not giving in either. She clawed and scratched and both of them were rolling all over the tin roof. The mewling grew louder, almost unbearable. It seemed that the tomcat was winning. He had managed to pin the tabby down, her mewls were becoming soft whimpers. But in a sudden show of strength the tabby clawed at the tomcat's eyes. The tomcat screeched and jerked away. Anjana watched with some satisfaction as the tabby ran away to safety just as her own 'lover', her husband, was finishing slobbering all over her.

Life under the flyover

2009-03-29T06:45:00.000-07:00

The bus stop near my office overlooks a parking lot beneath the Big Bazaar flyover in Lower Parel. Every evening as I wait for my regular bus there, I see atleast 2-3 couples camped there. The parking lot is clear of vehicles by this time and is fairly dark. So these couples stand near the pillars, the guys resting against them and the girls gazing up adoringly at them and sometimes doing more. Reminds me of the movie Piya ka ghar. In a city starved of space and privacy, any and every remotely empty space quickly gets occupied.

But privacy starved couples are not the only ones who prefer the somewhat dark and damp surroundings beneath flyovers. A whole world exists beneath Mumbai’s flyovers. The flyover near the Dadar West station for example. Flower vendors, clothes hawkers, cobblers, vegetable vendors – you name it and you can find them there. That flyover is always bustling with activity. There is even a full fledged, fully operational successful restaurant there. Optimum utilisation of space is something that one should learn from Mumbaikars. Of course, this flyover is also congested and the pungent smell of spices makes it almost difficult to walk past it. But the constant activity and hustle and bustle leave you amazed.

Flyovers also solved one of the biggest problems that south Mumbai faces – decent parking space. Parking slot leases earn the flyover managers a tidy sum every month. As you walk past, you see the weary drivers lounging in the expensive gaadis of their bosses who have gone for a meeting or are busy shopping. One door of the car would be open and the driver’s leg would be jutting out of it and Himesh would be playing loudly from the stereo. Or else you would see them chatting up other drivers and maybe playing cards. There is even a second hand vehicle dealership shop under one of the flyovers in Parel.

Then there are the homeless. Families that beg on the signals also live under these flyovers. Their children can be frequently seen running around naked and playing under the flyovers. Even children from chawls use these spaces for their cricket matches on Sundays. With most of the recreational grounds encroached upon by high end clubs or slums in the city, these spaces beneath the flyovers are also alternate recreation grounds. In some places, even slums have come up underneath the flyovers. There have even been drives to evacuate these encroachers, but more often than not, they return in a few days.

At night you find these spaces taking on a different and somewhat dangerous hue. At night, these are gambling dens. Drug dealers wait about and some of the flyover spaces also serve as pick up points. The weary daily wage labourer who doesn’t have a roof over his head also comes here to rest. The chaiwalas who sell chai and bun on a cycle all night can also be found near some of them. But at the crack of dawn again these spaces are bustling with activity and the cycle starts again.

Then there is also the life along the flyover, which I had mentioned in my first post on this blog. The life in the homes whose windows overlook the flyover. Homes that stand naked in front of the traffic buzzing past, a traffic that hardly cares to look into these open windows, so atleast that way, the privacy of these homes is safe. These spaces again are a distinct feature of Mumbai’s somewhat crazy, somewhat distinct lifestyle. All this can happen only in a city like Mumbai :-)

The Parting

2009-03-16T20:56:00.001-07:00

They were sitting on a bench at the seaface. The twilight silhouetted their bodies and added to the gloom. She looked up suddenly and said, “Maybe it could have worked. Maybe I should have done it differently.”

“No Seema, some things just aren’t meant to be. It was probably just destiny that brought us to this stage. Nothing you could have done could have prevented this.”

“But why did it have to be like this, Jatin? I did try, trust me I did; though it may seem to you that I didn’t, but I did try. I had never believed I would fail like this.”

“I had never believed I could turn out like this too. Things that were so beautiful, so endearing in the beginning, I never really thought we would drift apart. But sometimes we just have to move on in life. I know both of us tried, but it simply didn’t work out for us.”

“Maybe you are right, its just destiny. We should forget all this and move on. We should start afresh. This day is over, but another would dawn soon.”

“Yes, come on, let me drop you home. By the way, what will you tell them about vanishing to the seaface, so soon after your husband’s tragic death?” He laughed bitterly at his own joke.

She smiled, a smug smile. “Its simple, I had to get away from the memories you see. The memories of seeing him come home wearing a different scent day after day. The memories of his ridicule. It was good that you told me about those guys. A builder being shot is not so uncommon. I am rid of him now and yes it feels good.”

“Was the least I could do for you. Your husband, he was just like Sheeba, both of them just trampled all over us. I didn’t want anyone else to suffer the way I had. So when I arranged for the top class socialite Sheeba to be murdered by a so-called stalker, I thought an underworld man could rid you also of your problems.”

“Good riddance then. When is your train?” She asked as she was about to enter her house.

“I am leaving tomorrow. Its goodbye to this town and to that horrid past and yes to you too. Do take care of yourselves and I hope you find someone better.” He smiled and then they went their own ways.

Rasam

2009-03-04T23:19:00.000-08:00

She watched as the reddish brown liquid slowly trickled down the drain. Her tomato rasam had gone wrong even this time. It never tasted like she wanted it to be. Never like her mother’s. No matter what she did. She knew she couldn’t ever manage to make it like that, but she had to try, if only to face the failure again and again.

She remembered the countless days, as a child when she rushed back from school because she knew her mother had made rasam. She used to have it with rice and then drink up a bowl full like it was some therapeutic soup. She absolutely loved it. Everyone in her family knew her love for rasam. Aunties and grannies at times tried to entice her with promises of rasam at their homes. But no one made it like her mom and so she never had rasam at their places.

Then she had to leave for higher studies. Every time she returned for holidays, her mom greeted her with rasam. Then she got a job and the prospect of returning to her hometown and to her mom’s rasam dimmed by the day. So she got the recipe from her mom and started making it on her own. Her rasam was a hit among friends. At every house party, she was the official cook and she would call up her mom and thank her for teaching her such a beautiful thing. Her new friends had become her new life. And one day Abhishek walked into this life. Abhishek with his shy demeanour and soothing voice. It started with cute smses. The smses became long phone calls and the phone calls translated to long walks by the beach and soon they were in love. Abhishek told her later that she entered his heart via a bowl of rasam. Nothing could have been more beautiful.

She couldn’t imagine life without him. But her parents wouldn’t hear of it. She tried convincing them. Abhishek tried to pacify them. But they wouldn’t budge. Her mother who had never raised her voice at her, had raised a hand. Still she thought that maybe they would agree after a time. She married Abhishek.

It had been ten years and every week she tried to cook rasam. Abhishek had always liked it, but it never felt right to her. So after a year she had stopped serving it to him. But she still made it, hoping to get it right. If only the masala was right, if only she had waited some more for it to boil, if only the colour was a bit darker, if only the tomatoes were juicer. If only, her mother took her calls. The rasam drained away…

Closure

2009-02-25T14:22:00.000-08:00

It just hits you from nowhere. This feeling of closure. One day you are sitting and wallowing that there doesn’t seem to be any goodness left in the world, and then suddenly someone manages to show you the light and you are left counting your blessings. That was how she felt now.

For a year now, she had been living like a zombie. The end of her relationship had made her suspect she would never feel again. There had been the usual damp pillow stage, then the determined, put it aside stage and finally the getting on with whatever is left stage. For quite sometime now, she had just been getting along. She had stopped doing a lot of things. Not that any of them reminded her of him. Just that so many things had stopped making sense to her now practical mind. And it helped that the we-are-so-grown-up world around her, wanted her to kill her exuberance and appear as practical and professional as they were. So she played the part well now. No one she met knew that she had any kind of life other than her job. No one knew the dreamer that once lived in her and those who could sense it, despised that quality in her, because it didn’t fit with her practical surroundings.

Life was a home to office routine and it didn’t help that she had always been a loner. So much so that she no longer knew how to interact with people and as she had no desire to make a fool of herself, she just kept away. Aloof in her own world, battling her own demons, trying to make loved ones understand her innermost thoughts and failing each time. She had forgotten that she was young; that she could breathe. Everything was on autopilot. She shuddered at the thought of having someone else share a day with her. She was afraid that if she had fun today, she may have to pay for it later. So she modeled her life after everyone’s expectations. How ironic then, that these burdensome expectations would be the catalyst for her.

She was expected to attend that function. Not because of her own love for music, but because it was a social call and no one else in her family could make it that day. It was there that she got her closure. As the band belted out song after song, all old numbers, it was as if all the years of her life were being played out in the screen of her mind. There was the song that was the first ever song that she sang, the one that reminded her of that one evening at the amusement park, the one about the time of her first serious crush, the one when she had started taking lyrics seriously, the one that had fired her ambition, the one that accompanied her on lonely nights. The songs kept coming one after another, just like the tears that were flowing from her eyes. She once again felt her eyes fill with dreams. Dreams that those songs promised, dreams that were hers in the past, dreams that she had deliberately buried under the tears. Today they were all flowing out. It was like she had just been cured of her amnesia. She could remember who she was now. The zombie born of others’ expectations had died. With her vision cleared, she could see her own expectations now and she knew she had to live for them now. Even if it was a gamble, it was worth taking and she was ready to play now.

Touchy Indians in Heaven

2009-01-29T22:45:00.000-08:00

(This is the second installment of the adventures of the very eclectic group called Touchy Indian who specialise in the vocation of protest. Check this link http://ibnlive.in.com/blogs/kajaliyer/1157/3520/touchy-indians-inc.html to know more about them)

No one ever knows when luck would turn against them. Even Naarenathji, head of Touchy Indians Inc. had no idea that death would come to take him, that too on the very evening that he had successfully beaten a liberalist in a debate on artistic expression. His car crashed into a ditch and so Naarenathji and some of his loyal associates were now standing in the chambers of Chitragupta, the divine book keeper waiting for the verdict on their sins.

Just next door, Devendra, the king of heaven, was getting ready for his nightly entertainment. Devendra was really excited tonight. Finally, Vishwakarma, the divine architect, had managed to install a dolby stereo system in the Indrasabha. Today, he would listen to the divine music on an improvised system, watch the beautiful apsaras shake a leg and also enjoy the freshly brewed somaras (an alcoholic drink). But as Devendra started walking towards the divine auditorium, it was not music that welcomed him, but sounds of crash and boom.

Aarghh thought Devendra, that bumbling Vishwakarma must have messed up the new sound system. Just then, one of the guards came running to him.

“Devendra, Devendra, there is an emergency.”
“What happened? Did that Vishwakarma break my new system? I swear I will suspend him from his divine post.”
“No O Lord, its not Vishwakarma, but some earthlings who are destroying your precious auditorium and molesting the apsaras.”
“What? How dare they? And how did they get in? Where were all of you?” Devendra asked rushing towards the Indrasabha.

All the crystalware in the Indrasabha had been smashed. The brand new Dolby system was broken to pieces and Menaka, Urvashi and Rambha were on the floor, their clothes torn and noses bleeding. And in the midst of all this stood 4 earthlings in flowing white kurtas and Gandhi caps.

“Who are you?”, thundered Devendra.
“I am Naarenath. I have just come from the earth and what I see in your sabha is completely unacceptable. How can you, being God, indulge in such activities against our Dharma?”
“What dharma are you talking about? And who gave you the right to vandalise my sabha?”
“Don’t you know, I founded the Touchy Indians Inc. Halla Bol is our motto. We do not tolerate any insult to our precious Bharatiya Sanskriti. And you are abusing our culture. All this western stereo systems, these dancing girls clad in revealing clothes and so much alcohol. Do you think there are no saviours of the culture around to question you? It was good that we heard about your plans and managed to slip away from Chitragupta and end all this frolicking.”
“What do you mean against the culture? We have been doing this forever. Much before your kind even learnt the meaning of culture. It is the way of Indrasabha to indulge in the pleasure of the senses. And all your ancestors have also done so. Come on, you guys worship Shri Krishna’s raas leela, Kunti’s polygamy and Lord Shiva’s love for bhang. What culture are you talking about?”
“Don’t try to mislead us, Devendra. We don’t acknowledge all these arguments. You are citing the interpretations of some western historians and some of those damn liberalists. How dare you throw all this falsehood at us? Now that we are here, we will cleanse heaven, in the same manner as we cleansed the earth and we will vandalise your court till you cleanse your mind.”

Devendra was so irritated that he didn’t know what to do. He was tempted to use the Vajra, but he didn’t want to waste it on these trivial earthlings. Just then Chitragupta entered, “Devendra, I have gone through this earthling’s records and I know why he is so anti-fun. You see he had a very uneasy adolescence. He was not allowed to view certain videos and literature that every boy grows up with by his strict father. The father felt that his son should indulge in all these things only after a certain age, but this irked Naarenath and he became increasingly violent. He developed this sadistic streak and decided that if he could not have fun, he wouldn’t let anyone else have it and the first thing he destroyed was his father’s VCD collection. From then on, he has been on a rampage, vandalising any symbol of entertainment that he could not have access to.” His past exposed, Naarenath was speechless for the first time. “Oh,” said Devendra, “that is the problem. Chitragupta, Naarenath and his associates deserve hell but if we send them there without some treatment they would trouble hell dwellers. So Naarenath, we shall imprison you and your associates in our special video cell. Now you can cleanse your mind of all the sadism with these special videos. But you will have to promise you will mend your ways.” A grateful Naarenath promptly went to the video cell, never to damage any auditoriums or art halls.

Journalistic ambitions

2009-01-09T06:20:00.000-08:00

As a journalist, every one of us probably wants to be an Anderson Cooper or a Christiane Amanpour. We all want to do the high profile stories, bust rackets, hob nob with those who matter. The power trip seems important to many, which leads to the misconception that if you are not there, then you are nowhere. In my short career so far as a journalist, I have seen that view being reiterated many times. You cannot be just a reporter, that’s not done is what you are told. You need to be seen with the right people, appear to be leaning on the acceptable side (no matter what your personal views are) and have a slightly if not totally elitist approach. The last because as a country we still have a colonial hangover and we believe that it is fashionable to say that ‘I can hardly speak Hindi/any regional language.’

And when you are way down in the corporate hierarchy, all these issues seem to have the potential to ‘make or break’ your career choice. I firmly believe that talking things out with other experienced people, with people from other professions and also reading up and watching movies help a lot when anyone faces such problems that are common to youth all over. So it was not a surprise when I found some of my answers in the movie Bruce Almighty. Jim Carrey plays a journalist who does happy go lucky stories about blood donation camps and cookie making contests. But he is not happy even though his editor says that he has the rare gift of making people laugh. He wants the anchor job and that’s all he cares about. He messes up his first live opportunity (which he gets at the age of 40, my boss would probably say look we give you these opportunities much earlier), because he gets to know that his rival has been given the anchor job. He messes his relationship, when Jennifer Aniston goes to dinner with him, expecting a ring, Carrey quashes all her expectations by saying that the party is for him getting the anchor job. Carrey is so blinded by what he doesn’t have that he fails to consider what he has. It’s a habit we all get into. Eventually God comes in and straightens things out in true Hollywood style and Carrey is seen telling his editor in the climax that he is ok with doing the funny stories and making a fool of himself, because that’s what he is good at.

Watching that movie, I realised how many times we all fall into this trap of aiming at something we may not be. In some ways, we never grow out of high school, always trying to fit in with the ‘in’ crowd. It is a trap and many times we know it, but fall into it nevertheless, because we are conditioned to believe that our self worth depends on what others think. Maybe its not that important to get that exclusive, maybe its not that important to boast about an address book with contact details of the who’s who in the world. What is more important is whether you were happy when you did that story. Whether you were satisfied with what came of it. This fact was reinforced for me by an assignment that I got this week. A story on how a group of owls were rescued by some rock climbing experts from a crack in a building wall. It was a totally random story, something some may even scoff at. But it was by far one of the most interesting and enjoyable stories I have done. I met interesting children, interesting rock climbers and some homemakers, one of whom I interviewed later on for another hard news piece. So it was a win win story, even though I may never get an award for it.

Over time I have realised that though ambition is good, it should not be to the point that you lose your own sleep. There is a need to draw the line, know how far you should go. I know I don’t want to be Christiane Amanpour. I know I want to be just me and want to be remembered however faintly, by whatever non descrepit story I do. Its easy to get disappointed that one is not among the ‘chosen few’, but maybe one would start a creed of one’s own :-)

2009-01-05T05:41:00.000-08:00

(These were my feelings after I realised the enormity of 26/11...when death comes so suddenly you realise the meaning of the philosophy that life is just a mirage.)

Passing through the streets

Looking at people and things

But seeing nothing

Like a numb zombie

Days and nights pass

And you can never see

Whether you are living

Or is it worth dying

You wait for something

You crave just anything

That would make you

Feel again

And it takes death

To realise that you live

Standing as a witness

Unmoving, immobile

As the specter hangs

In the night air

You see how little

Do things really matter

Those trivial fights

Those trivial tears

Fade with the blow

Of the fatal hand

How small and delicate

How inconsequential

In the cycle of times

One life and its troubles are

A country of fatalists

2008-12-20T23:11:00.000-08:00

On night shifts, it is common for reporters to roam the city, hunting for news. I was supposed to cover a car rally that was starting from the Gateway of India at around 5:30-6am in the morning of 12 December; which meant I left my office somewhere around 4:30am.

It was two weeks since the terror attack, 26-28 November 2008, and this was the first time that I was visiting those spots; in the dead of the night; after the incident.

As I left my office, I felt a chill. I remembered the last time I had been to Gateway, some 4-5 months ago.

Like visitors do, I had walked around the Taj’s outer corridors, trying to get a glimpse of the happy times that were hidden behind those glass windows, wondering about the fun people had in those dim and tastefully-lit restaurants.

But now, I knew those windows had been sealed with wood and cardboard; to hide the devastation, 60 hours of terror had caused. The Taj was covering its scars, so that healing could begin.

*****

These were my thoughts as I drove through the quiet streets of Mumbai. We passed through the CST railway station – the pride of Mumbai. I could feel the enormity of what had happened here just a few nights ago. Bullets had been flying; bullets that two of my colleagues had barely managed to escape from. But many others hadn’t.

In the past 15 days, nothing had happened to reassure me that bullets would not fly here again. “So who would it be next time?” I shuddered to think.

In the quiet of the night we proceeded towards Gateway. When we reached there, we found the area was barricaded. How ironic!

When the whole anti-terror operation was going on, anyone and everyone from the general public could get real close. But now after all was over, the barricades were up, with two policemen on guard.

Why is it that we always take re-active measures? Haven’t we heard that prevention is better than cure?

At Gateway, I was met by my counterparts from other channels. The first question everyone asked one another was how they had fared after the coverage.

As we stood there, we noticed two youngsters with knapsacks waiting for the morning ferry. Did the terrorists also look as commonplace as these two kids? Was that why no one stopped them when they moved freely around the city, unleashing terror?

Yes, it was irrational to be reminded of Kasav and his cohorts, just because there were two young men in front of us with knapsacks.

But then paranoia is irrational.

This chain of conversation was broken as two morning walkers came along and asked us if we thought it was safe to take a stroll near the Gateway.

Walking at Gateway and Marine Drive is so taken for granted by every Mumbaikar. And yet here they were today wondering if they could walk!

*****

The rally arrived; its members were to go to Delhi to hand over a citizen’s charter to the prime minister.

Suddenly there was some hope in the air. Maybe more of such movements would be launched and people would take them seriously.

But call it a journalist’s cynicism, I wasn’t sure if this fervour would last. But for now, these people really seemed to want to make a difference.

I hope it lasts, but the issue of citizen’s security seems to have taken a backseat as our rulers play at diplomacy and mandate 2009 politics.

The terrorists used the sea this time and targeted hotels. They might use and target something else next time. Are we any better guarded than we were 15 days ago?

More than 600 people have died during the last 3-4 months in this country in terror attacks. But no one seems to have learnt a lesson.

Maybe that is why we will continue to be fatalists. Wondering, when we leave home every morning, if we would be back home safely in the evening, and shrugging it all off, with “Is desh mein kahin bhi kuch bhi ho sakta hai.”

My interview with Madame S

2008-10-31T04:17:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to any person or incident is purely intentional and made with the express purpose of infusing some humor into the current situation :-)

The Marathi vs. Non-Marathi issue is heating up again; and so its time to speak to some ‘intellectual’ Maharashtrians. And if you are talking about Mumbai’s intellectuals, how can you miss Madame S. Madame S is intellectual, fashionista, socialite, controversy all incarnate. And though she has for long been a Maharashtrian in denial, she admits that the ‘dynamic’ Raj Thackeray has reminded her of her roots. I went to meet her one fine afternoon. She descended all decked up in the latest of fashion, which was nothing but a rehash of the bold beads, bright colors, flower generation look. Here’s an excerpt of our small talk.

KI:
Madam S, how lovely to see you (fake plastic smile in place). You know Ma’am, up until now, I never knew you were a Maharashtrachi Mulgi. You were such a ‘cosmopolitan’ figure. Why this sudden pride in the Marathi culture?

Madame S:
Oh darling, I always do whatever is the ‘in’ thing. You see, in the last few days, the only thing talked about in Mumbai is Raj Thackeray’s ideology. And I seriously believe in the principle of reflected glory. If you cant be the sun, be the moon. Soak up the limelight, and reflect it as your own darling.

KI:
Oh, so you mean you are talking about this now because it is in ‘fashion’? You mean you don’t believe it?

Madame S:
Believe (laughs out loud). Belief is the opium of the masses dear. I am above all these common man things like belief. What we do is talk about X when all the world is talking about Y and by doing that, we make Y into a trend and a belief. Everyone of my ‘intellectual’ friends was busy talking against Raj. Now, if even I joined them, how would the world see me as a trendsetter. I need to be the one starting and heating up things baby. Raj has the ammo and the fuel, and while the fire is raging, I thought why not warm myself in it.

KI:
I get it Ma’am. But surely, you have lived in this city for so long and you are a Maharashtrian, so naturally you love the Marathi language. I completely empathise with your anguish when you say that no one talks to you in Marathi anymore.

Madame S:
Darling, again you don’t understand. You see sweetheart, when I was a youngster, English was the language that very few could speak. It was considered elite to know how to speak English. But now, every Ramu, Shyamu and Gonu speaks English. Where is the novelty in it anymore? Now, Marathi is the rarity. Though my upper class education taught me to look down upon it when I was young; I have realized that it is what will make me stand out today. And since I was born into it, I think I should use it to my advantage baby. In fact, in our next kitty, we are going to have a Name It in Marathi contest. The winner will be crowned Bhoomiputra and the loser will be called ‘Bhaiyaa’. Don’t you think that’s a cool idea?

KI:
(still confused) Ohhhh ok, but surely you have taught your children the language, so that they might also use it to their … ummm… advantage?

Madame S:
(laughs and gives me a ‘poor you’ look) Why should I teach them Marathi? They don’t plan to live here anyway. They are already on their way to becoming NRMs (non-resident Mumbaikars). My children will live all over Europe. You see, these days its fashionable to be an Asian intellectual in Europe. And once you establish your brand as an intellectual, no one ever questions your rights and wrongs, because anything you say is important and starts a trend. (Makes a face like a cat purring after getting a bowl full of milk)

KI:
Err…ummm…let me get this right, you are not a genuine supporter of the Marathi cause…
(interrupting me)

Madame S:
Sweetheart, only brands can be adjudged as genuine or fake. Like this bag you see, its genuine Gucci. Nothing else is ever genuine (gives me the benign ‘you new generation idealists’ look). And now, sweetie, I have to leave. I have a botox appointment. And one more thing, if you ever meet Raj, do tell him he is really ‘hot’ but he needs to wear more fashionable glasses. Ta-da baby.

The ultimate romance

2008-06-18T17:00:00.000-07:00

I am a sucker for romances. Happily ever after endings. And mostly its only romances that I read coz they are simple, no need to tax your brains and you get a happy ending worth the trouble of reading the book. But the mother of all romances I think is Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. I read it the first time when I was 11 - an abridged version and I fell in love with it. For the next two years I was hunting for the original and finally when I found it I read it in one go. Took me about 7-8 hours I think. But I couldn't let the book go. Every romance written after that borrows from Jane Eyre in some way or the other. Be it the independent streak in the woman, or her confidence despite her plainness or poverty, all of this was probably articulated in the best manner in Jane Eyre. But the best part about Jane Eyre isn't Jane. Its Edward Rochester, the hero. The only other hero who comes close to surpassing Rochester's charm is Heathcliff created by Charlotte's sister Emily. But whereas Heathcliff comes across as almost black (except for his love of Catherine), Rochester as Jane so aptly puts it is 'human and fallible'. Rochester set the trend for the brooding, brash and highly independent hero. The kind women wanted to save and keep for themselves. I have often wondered why we women fall for the brooding, silent types. Is it that these men seem to present more of a challenge, or is it just the attraction that curiosity brings with it? In the novel there is always a sort of tension built around Rochester. He is the ultimate man. Brash, know-it-all, sensitive and perceptive and yet there is an air of mystery about him that adds to the allure. The aloof man who one cannot read, but who is also very perceptive. Rochester was perhaps the first of the infinitely experienced men who fell for unsophisticated virgins. How many novels after this have tried portraying men for the so called 'different' women? But none has achieved the brilliant characterisation that Charlotte achieved. When you read the novel if it were not for the references to candle lit rooms, large mansions etc, you wouldnt guess its a novel written some 200 years ago. Jane behaves very much like a 21st century woman 'Equal as we are' she tells Rochester. The kind of courage Bronte breathes into Jane is hardly found amongst many women even today. But whenever I read the novel or see any of the numerous film adaptations, I am trasported back in time. To the days when I was 13. When I did dream that men like Rochester existed and that one day some such guy would be mine. Silly adolescent dreams. Probably a man like him would be a disaster to have as a husband. But you dont care about such things when you are a teenager. And its funny how all those feelings you have buried under mounds of practicality come alive with the merest reference to an adolescent memory. Maybe its true that we never really grow up.

Living alone!

2008-05-07T02:38:00.000-07:00

Its been about 3 years now...living in hostels, rooms...at times it seems its the life of a pariah dog...going from place to place...living with so many different people...while you can call most of them friends...none of them is family...the kitchen at the paying guest accommodation, well, somehow the pots and pans dont look right...somehow the tea tastes different, the salt less salty, the spices just not quite there...I cant cook there...not that I was ever an enthusiastic cook...but still this kitchen feels alien...and well your whole life seems to be at the mercy of some other person at every time...your broker, your landlord, your roommate, your cabwallah all the time at the mercy of someone or the other...and yet through all this you learn different things...you learn how to handle people...you learn finances...and most importantly you learn how easy your life was with family...how you cribbed about it then, but you were actually so blessed...and its true, distance does make the heart fonder!

2008-01-28T23:19:00.000-08:00

Touchy Indians Inc.

It was the umpteen call from my editor to cover an umpteenth protest. Frantically he yelled over the phone, “Where are you? What’s your plan for today?” And before I could say anything, he pounced upon me, “Listen I am sending you to this protest at Azad Maidan (its every Mumbai protestor’s favourite haunt). There are these people called the Touchy Indians Inc. who have organized a unique protest against…uh um…against something just go and find out.”

So left with no choice; I went to Azad Maidan, braving myself to meet this extraordinary league of gentle?men who called themselves the Touchy Indians Inc. I had heard about them from my colleagues who had covered their other ‘unique’ protests before. My poor colleagues had to stand in the hot sun while they sat on one of their infinite protests in hi-fi shades fitted with fans. They had gone hungry entire days trying to capture the ‘uniqueness’ of these protests. Sigh, it was my turn today.

When I reached Azad Maidan, I saw all the members of Touchy Indians with a placard hanging by their neck ‘Halla Bol is our copyright; ban the film’ and shouts of ‘Halla Bol pe Halla Bolenge, nahin chodenge, nahin chodenge.’ The PRO Zindabad Singh soon spotted me and directed me to the makeshift office of the director Naare Nath. A portly man with a distinct Neta look, Naare Nath sat on one of those extremely common white plastic chairs used at every meet and protest; looking every bit the I-will-change-the-world-because-what-I-think-is-right leader that he was. “Naare Nathji,” I ventured, “why are you against this film, it has not even released?” “We will serve a notice to the makers of this movie. It has hurt our sentiments, how can someone name a movie Halla Bol, how can they hurt the sentiments of hundreds of Indians? How can they threaten our identity? Tell me is this right?” “But Naare Nathji, what is the reason?” I tried to understand his indignation but failed. “Don’t you see, the movie is called Halla Bol. That is our patented Naara. No one except us can use the phrase. We have copyright, trademark, IPR and every other documentation on the phrase. Halla Bol hamara janma siddha adhikar hai.”

And because I didn’t know how to react and kept quiet, he continued. “Do the makers of this movie have any idea that they have ridiculed such a great institution of public service like ours. Dharti ham jaise logon ki vajah se tiki hui hai, do you know that? If we didn’t raise our voice frequently, our Indian culture and ethos would have ceased to exist. We say Halla Bol to all those who are a threat and we reduce them to pulp. But all said and done, we are the most secular and seva bhavi group in India. Our Hindu cadres extort gift and card shop owners every Valentines and give away all the money to Sadhu babas who teach us how to uphold Hindu traditions. Our Muslim cadres are constantly on the look out for independent girls who defy tradition. I don’t understand why all of them want to wear skirts and model in the backdrop of dargahs. Disgusting! Our Christian cadre hunts down every possible violation of the sanctity of the Bible. Then we have caste based sub groups also. They are very tech savvy, you know. They have this monitoring department where they view all the channels and track inflammatory statements made by starlets, inflammatory songs, movies, movie titles so that they can challenge insensitive people and uphold their dignity. Now, madam, you might be thinking that we don’t do anything for women. No no, it is not like that. We also have a stree morcha sangha. Very powerful women (he pointed towards some hefty women sitting at the dharna…they surely must have been power lifters…oh my god); their favourite pastime is blackening men’s faces…you know these leery men who cast their unholy eyes on our Bharatiya Naari. And let me tell you madam, all these leery men are always outsiders. These migrants, firangs and others like them. You might also argue that we destroy public property; but you know as well as I know that unless we break or set to fire these old buses, trains and buildings, then the government will never buy/ build new ones. So you see madam, how much good work we do. What would have happened if we didn’t exist? And these filmwallahs are taking away our pehchaan, our only naara Halla Bol. I say, Halla Bol on them.”

As I was escaping from all that information overload, my editor again called, “Haan, tell me what’s the scene like?” “Sir, aah well…” “Did you get why they are protesting? Good…now just file a story…and try to get some opposing views you know…liberalists…go to Mahesh Bhatt or Shobhaa De or arre you know who to call…” And so, went my day battling for sanity, juggling with the super traditionalists and the super liberals. And oh…there will be many more…sigh, sigh!

When eyes becomes strawberries!

2007-09-24T00:21:00.000-07:00

Strawberry kanne...goes the popular song from Minsara Kanavu (Sapnay in Hindi)...a fine example of the brand of lyrics from Vairamuthu, the popular tollywood lyricist. Could eyes be like strawberries? Were they red or were they semi-conical? Surely Kajol's eyes don't look like that. Vairamuthu signifies the way Tamil song lyrics are going these days. A dash of English, some Punjabi or hip hop tune some tamilian dhol wonder and there is your average Tamil hit song. But the best part are the lyrics. Sample this...Sachin adicha Sixer thaan, Sivaji adicha puncture thaan (from Sivaji The Boss). Meaning if Sachin hits, its definitely a sixer and if Sivaji hits you, your muscles shall be punctured. Could there be a better simile? Then there is TR and his son Simbu. In a recent movie Simbu sings much to the delight of crazy fans Kangal mudi eeravu thoongum pothu, enn bedroom fanum kezhavanthu enna ezhuputhe, unna neeniaka solluthe! …” (When I close my eyes in the night, even my bedroom fan stoops down to wake me up and make me think of them) Talk about being crazy in love.

50 kg Tajmahal Vairamuthu calls Aishwarya Rai. And in Annian the line goes...Rambaigal heartile ringtone Remo (Remo is the ringtone of the nyphm's heart...huh?) And the heroine talks about the perils of her own beauty by singing 'May matham 98il major aanene major ana nalai naanum bejaaraanene'(I turned 18 in May 98 and that was when my troubles began). Who can forget 'Telephone manipole siripawal ivala' (Is she the one who laughs like a telephone?) Tring, tring is that the sound. I would like to meet a guy who would love a girlfriend who laughs like that. And Vaali says in Boys 'Girlsa chewing gum aakathey heartile kudisai podathey' (don't treat girls like a chewing gum don't put up a cottage in my heart). Talk about women's lib. And the song Oh maria goes Kadallukku fishing nettu kadhalukku internet (for the sea there is a fishing net, for love there is the internet). Praoffound I say. But my favourite goes 'Coca Cola brown colour da en akka ponnum athe colour da' (Coca Cola is brown in colour, my sister's daughter{i.e. fiance} is also the same colour). Who wants fair and lovely?

The point is Tollywood lyrics are not about poetry anymore. Its about getting a rhyme by hook or by crook. And alliteration and atrocious similes are the only way out. By writing such lyrics and composing such songs, Tollywood music fraternity thinks that they are getting to the level of rap and hip hop artists. Sadly, they are just ruining the language and accomplishing nothing else. What saves the day sometimes is the instrumentation in most of these songs; which are generally folkish tunes set to western beats - a combination that appeals across classes. And we cannot expect songs that take the story further (remember Paartha Nyabakam Illayo from Puthiya Paravai). The songs are generally far removed from the movie, shot in exotic locales or elaborate sets a la the latest hit Sivaji. What has remained over the years is the boastful quality of songs of superstars. Be it Naan Anai Ittal for MGR or Sega fighta Sivaji righta for Rajnikant. Long live Tamil machismo. Long live Tanglish, after all, that's the only language that remains to save the great Dravidian pride.

The Rear Window

2006-11-20T06:03:00.000-08:00

Have you travelled by bus in Mumbai? Over the J. J. Flyover? The flyover passes through many of those less metropolis looking areas of Mumbai like Bhendi Bazaar. As your bus whizzes past, you can't but help indulging in voyeurism. For spread out right across your window are the balconies and windows of scores of apartments. Bhendi Bazaar is what the average Mumbaikar would tell you, a Muslim middle class area. And so these flats just have the average amenities. As you look at them, fascinated, just like Jimmy Stewart does in The Rear Window, you get the feeling of peeping into a different world in a different era. These are houses that have the most basic furniture as can be guaged from the open balcony doors and windows. Evening time and you shall find most households surrendering themselves to the charms of television in the light of a 40 V bulb. You also find ornate dressing mirrors (that look like items from chor bazaar) and eager women sprucing themselves up to meet their beloved who would arrive any time now. Then there are the 60+ abhi to main jawaan hoon uncles trying to comb those few remaining strands. Then there are the children prancing about, fighting, playing. From those windows you can almost see all of their sparcely furnished little homes. Homes that seem to live in some pre-independence kind of era. Homes that have some sort of a warmth and attraction to them. But the attraction wears off when you see those few houses where women sit on the floor holding their heads in their hands. The starkness of all that simplicity strikes you then. But you still watch on. It is voyeurism, yes, but it is a study, a revelation of how the odds have been in your favour most of your life. The flyover and the homes seem almost endless as you realise this. And it also strikes you why certain members of the elite class didn't want a flyover near their house. After all it might reveal some of the shards of their own existence to the unsuspecting Peeping Tom.

For starters

2006-11-20T05:49:00.000-08:00

Hmmm... what shall I start with? Well, a blog just sounded interesting and different from a regular diary entry, so well I am at it. Nothing much to say about myself, just would like to write about things I have done, places I have been; just an airing of views. So let's get started.