22 December 2008

REUNIONS

Exciting yet nerve numbing are thoughts about school/college reunions; we get to meet all the geeks and the freaks of the class, and laugh with them as we were partly both. The only problem is the spouses. Wives / Husbands will get to meet our Ex-es (if you had any, I know I didnot) and crushes. The not so funny part about school reunions is that, what transpires in all the reunions across the world is exactly; well almost, same. What people say and what it really means, what people do and what activities go in such reunions can all be summarized in not more than 10 points to be precise.

1) “Wow, you have not changed one bit since the last time I saw you, that was in school.”

This is mostly used by girls; One girl to another. What she really means is, “Have you been dieting, working out etc?” The class mate is totally jealous and will go on to ask the “beauty” secrets so that even she can fit into that school uniform once again. Her husband would love that you know. One should handle such questions very diplomatically and let the asking person know how beautiful they still look. One may add the ace, “You look so mature.” But beware, this sentence has to be used as a supporting assertion to an equally cool statement, example: “wow, you have grown into a hottie, and the hair do makes you look so mature, total head turner, Girl!” Remember never to use the aforementioned ace stand alone, which plainly means she looks old.

2) “Wow, you look so different, I bet I could not have recognized you on the road if you passed me by.”

“Aah, indeed I do.” “I have undergone exactly one surgery more than Michael Jackson. In fact he had recently called me up to inquire how to keep the nose intact after so many surgeries.” Such questions are aimed by girls/guys to guys usually. Because it either means that your daily breakfast, lunch and dinner constitutes junk food in abundance or you were a couple years late to reach puberty and gather the hormones it takes to look like a grownup. I am a bit emotional about this one as I get this sentence a lot. Use your sense of sarcasm to shove such sentences away like, “Yeah, I need 30mg dose of amphetamines just to cross the road and hence I refrain from indulging into any activities, lest, it involves food and drinks, where is the food counter by the way?”

3) “Where have you been? What do you do these days?”

This is one of the most genuine questions that one comes across in reunions. But being an Indian having blind faith in allegedly organized Education sector, there are at least one or two guys / girls, who have become chronic diabetic/heart patients after working those grave yard shifts and living Chetan Bhagat’s millionaire fantasy. Nothing wrong in that except for two things; of which, first being you always thought that these subject dudes/dudettes would turn out to be the next rocket scientists and the second and most important being Chetan Bhagat is an IIT & IIM pass out, who would have either ways raked in the moolah.

4) “Is that you, ohh my God?”

This borders treacherously around the question in serial number 2, however, this is a first person question aimed only at a specific category. You have almost lived your life forgetting that one guy/girl you always bullied. He/She have now turned out to be either Arnold Schwarzenegger or the next IT kids on the block. They used to share their Tiffin boxes with you, unwillingly of course. But opportunity knocks at all doors and such is the knock on their’s they can either knock you out cold or they can get you that dreaded pink slip. And you try to find a way to sulk into oblivion for the rest of the evening staving off from their path. And try to be as discreet as possible during the buffet.

5) “Do you remember that guy/girl, who used to…dress like that/ talk like that etc etc. Where is he/she now? Any clues?”

Beware of the comparison barometer protruding its ugly head once again after so many years. As kids, we indulged into comparisons and we haven’t changed mentally a bit when talking in terms of comparing with other students/kids. As a class mate we never took any interest of any sort to find out the human side of the subject person and suddenly after so many years you remembered, out of all the people, him/her? Fate plays its vicious card and sadly the person has been standing right besides us during this entire stretch of discussion. An evil snarl, good old cuss word or two follows and he/she walks away to meet some other, better known classmates.

6) “Are you married/when are you getting married/Any kids etc?”

Yes, yes, it’s in the pipeline and I don’t know when I would see the light at the end of that tunnel. The best one liner comes from the worst off in all this love/marriage thingy (me being a good example) “I am waiting for the right person.” By far the best line I have heard till date is, “I am waiting for this wave of inflation, global meltdown and recession to pass.” Yeah right, like the girls only say yes to proposals when the consumer price indices are at their lowest. Awkward questions in testing times, they test our patience and will to exist as a bachelor for some more time.

7) “Are we meeting like after 15 years?”

What difference does it make? It’s actually 115 years, but since you were space travelling, time has caught up with us and half of us are dead. The other half are about to commit suicide after hearing you talk on “making half fried eggs in zero gravity.” The point I am making is at least we are meeting, finally, after all have successfully cleared their matriculation/graduation. Except for that dude who migrated to USA and the one who went to Kenya and that kid who migrated to Canada and that guy who went to Zimbabwe…ZZZZZZZ!!!!!!

8) “The Teacher’s pets Vs. Teacher haters debates”

One of the most interesting debates and times of the reunion in general, sides are chosen and battle lines drawn. While the guys were physically attracted to that one hot teacher who taught the most boring subject, girls were emotionally attached to the ones who shaped their lives, they do believe in this theory. How ironical would it be for a history teacher to shape future? Or a Geography teacher trying to shape the future, as haphazardly as he/she drew the map of our country. Science teachers always get mixed responses in such debates. They are loved for the love and knowledge of the subjects itself, while hated for demanding hypothetical proofs for not doing homework etc.

9) “Fun and Frolic and reminiscing the old days”

Yet another one of my favorites; this would be at the top in the list. Antaksharis, Dumb Charades, Housie, Lotto and what and what not. The best part about this ordeal of playing games is the part where you become kids/collegians again. For those moments, I don’t know about you guys, but I have tried to live those moments when all were together in those uniforms etc. The pondering and talking about the one day and week long picnics; the excursions…Einstein would have come to know about “time travelling” had he been to some of the reunions that take place across the globe. Arghhhhhh.

10) “The Tata/Bye byes and we should do this again sometimes.”

Call me mushy or over emotional. I hate these bye byes. Phone numbers are exchanged and a promise to be in touch with each other, with plans to meet often, but life goes on and we seldom meet again. Life goes on and we look for a chance to live those moments, remember those wonder years. We take active part in our kid’s upbringing for the very same reasons, I feel. We try to live those magic moments again through him I guess…Those were the days. Rather, like Brian Adams would croon, the best days of my life.

21 December 2008

Figures to the Right, Left and Center

Most of my friends keep asking me why do you prefer to keep the pictures on your blog in the center or left side.

Well, as an Indian victim of allegedly organized education, I am trying to rebel with the thought as to why only figures to the right indicate full marks?

Damnation.

09 December 2008

What Women Want?

After quite some time I heard the song by The Beatles - Can't Buy me Love. A nerve numbing question occurred to me when Lennon was crooning, "say you don't need no diamond ring and I'll be satisfied", What Women want? Well, honestly, the thought also occurred when a dear friend put up a community on online social networking website by the subject name.

I frantically researched, nah, googled and found some queer facts: Karl Marx (co-writer of Das Kapital and father of communism) lived a meagre existence, reason being his lavish expenses. He further reasoned it that such expenses were necessities for his wife and kids. If the biggest communist of this world can't convince his wife on the theory of needs and wants, masses are a far cry. And they did cry, under communism. Ironically, Marx died as a stateless person (pun not intended).

My mortal capacity seizes here to understand what women want? I mean, even Plastic is forever, well almost, like diamonds. I don't find plastic being adored by women though. "Dear, I want a cool new plastic necklace for our anniversary" sorts. As they say, behind every successful man, there is a women; who wants more. I am not trying to be chauvinistic here; however, materialistic pleasures of life have been personified by women. Always.

For example, if you want to sell anything at a price way above its actual cost, all you have to do is, get it advertised by a hot looking woman. This, however, proves what men want and not women. In this quest of mine, I have confidently deduced that women do not want anything. They just have needs, which are complex and logically undecipherable.

A story reiterates this logic: The Frog king story where the princess bangs the frog on the wall and he turns out to be a prince. The story starts with princess playing with a golden ball which accidentally rolls into water, a frog pops up and offers to help, provided she would take him into the castle and let him eat from her plate and sleep in her bed. What a lecherous amphibian. The frog helps but princess does not keep her word. The king demands her to do exactly as she promised. She does everything except the sleeping part and bangs him onto a wall. The princess happily sleeps with the prince charming though, post marriage.

My inferred moral of this story: Every time a girl breaks her promise, some frog is waiting to be turned into a Prince. But, there aren't many kingdoms left and hence they turn into Pink loving Metro sexual urban males.

I did an experiment once. I wrapped Hershey's chocolates (lots of them) in a bubble wrap and gave to a dear friend (girl), on her graduation day. She actually waited to devour chocolates until she had popped all the bubbles. Out of modesty, she even let me pop a bubble or two. The picture below has been provided just for representational purposes. See the joy on her face and also on the face of those metro sexy (?) frog princes in the background.



Sincerely, nothing is as satisfying as seeing a smile on a girl/woman's face. A Rose sometimes, making sure her car has enough petrol, help in chopping vegetables, praising her on her looks and food cooked by her, asking her how her day was, helping her in shopping (phew)! And, loads of "I love you", "You are an awesome friend", "you are the bestest sister", "The coolest mom ever" etc...Etc are the things most women yearn / want to hear and so totally deserve. They need to be appreciated. Of course, when you repeatedly use these phrases, there might be a complaint that you don't mean them anymore and just say it for the heck f it, so be innovative folks.

Well, till the time I do not find my princess, I will keep pondering upon what women want and figure a way to transfigure myself into a Frog. I hope that some biology loving knife happy person does not find me. And, I have already registered on matrimonial website :) Droink Droink!

03 December 2008

Travel & Living: Fear Psychosis and much more.

Growing up in the City off 21st century – Navi Mumbai has not been much of a daunting task; Life is relatively safer than Mumbai. Of course, except, if we forget our “load shedding” woes. But, given a choice between choosing life and electricity, I would undoubtedly choose the former. Sadly, Choice and freewill which construe whole of Lord Krishna’s “Geeta” (also crux of Matrix movies), are exactly the things we: The Aam junta have been deprived of.

It all began in 1993, 13 bombs ripped the city apart. “The most deadly and devastation causing attack, ever.” But, Mumbai had a will of its own (just like the ring of power). It kept on growing. A milieu of vibrant cultures from across India and abroad as well. Its effervescent spirit could not be shaken, lest, it might lose its fizz. No sir. India was united to fight for a common cause, “terrorism”. Yes, the spirit lived on as usual; rather, spirits and ghosts of the dead ones. I was 12 then.

But, then it happened again and again and again. Not just Mumbai but, pan India. The word spirit itself had become two penny hooch, advertized frivolously by politicians, yet it lived on. And we kept on paying a heavy price for the same. Here is the data of blasts (I have restricted it to Mumbai as the pan India list is way too big. You can see that list/data here: http://satp.org/satporgtp/countries/india/database/index.html


War on Mumbai, 1993-2008

26-29-Nov-08 10:
Fidayeen attack at: at the crowded (CST) railway station; at two five-star hotels: the Oberoi Trident and Taj Mahal Palace & Tower; at the Leopold Cafe; at the Cama Hospital; at the Nariman House; at the Metro Adlabs; near Mumbai Police Headquarters; blasts at Mazagaon; a taxi blast at Vile Parle near the airport.

Killed: 171 Injured: 327

11-Jul-06:
7 blasts at 7 locations in local trains across the city

Killed: 181 Injured:890


25-Aug-03:
Gateway of India and Zaveri Bazaar
Killed: 50 Injured: 150


29-Jul-03 Ghatkopar. Killed: 3. Injured: 34


14-Apr-03 Bandra.
Killed: 1. Injured: 0

13-Mar-03 Mulund Railway Station
Killed: 11. Injured: 80

27-Jan-03 Vile Parle
Killed: 1. Injured: 25

6-Dec-02 Mumbai Central railway station
Killed: 0. Injured: 25

2-Dec-02 Ghatokpar
Killed: 3. Injured: 31

27-Feb-98 Virar
Killed: 9. Injured: 0

24-Jan-98 Malad
Killed: 0. Injured: 1

28-Aug-97 Near Jama Masjid
Killed: 0. Injured: 3

12-Mar-93 13 blasts across the city

Killed: 257. Injured: 713

Total
Killed: 687. Injured: 2279

Courtesy: www.satp.org

I am not too sure about the numbers killed and injured in the recent attacks but heck, I do not care, as one person dead is a loss, number of them dead becomes a statistic. For me and countless others every time it has been a loss; loss of faith in Govt. establishments and the TRP hungry TV news channels; loss in what our politicians’ inabilities and their in-between bickering which causes security lapses.
The scars of 13 May 2008 (Jaipur Blasts) to 01 Oct 2008 (Agartala blasts) were still fresh during our (me & my family) visit to Ahmedabad / Vadodara during Diwali. We reached the Mumbai Central station with an hour to spare and had to go through ‘Metal Detectors’ which beeped with each and every person going through it. Kids thought it was a showpiece / play item. Under the given circumstances, so did I. I am 27 now.

First look at the platform and I thought that an entire 1st division of Mumbai police was travelling in the train but then it occurred, the previous name of the city had been Bomb-bay. Also Laloo’s Railways were under verbal line of fire from Mr. Raj Thackeray. I was in total paranoiac mood. First the Bhaiyyas take my job (I was looking for a career as a Taxi Driver / laborer) and then terrorists take my life. Once inside the train and after a thorough sniffer dog (a huge German shepherd) search, the train was on its way.

I felt safe and secure. However, I was not too sure about the uncle who was passing ‘Methi Theplas’ around as if it were Diwali sweets. He was 15 years a little too late to do such ghastly and cowardly (yet another word made famous by politicians) act of being nice to fellow passengers. Did he not know that co passengers were to be looked at with suspicion as a public prosecutor looks at an accused person? Then it occurred that he must either be a Non resident or Non reliable Indian. I breathed sigh of relief when we reached the destination.

November was going hunky dory and people had almost forgotten about the bomb blasts and politicians were again back to bickering with each other. Vote bank manipulators were happy with daily dose of “Hindutva Terrorists” news that was taking the country by its – Horns. Err, sorry, even the stock markets were bearish then. So, no Horns. Divisional politics was at its best and nationalism (kargil war, 15th August, 26th January and during natural calamites), once again, had taken a back seat. Navy had sunk a pirate’s vessel in Gulf of Eden (that’s near the country Oman, if you guys do not know).

Then befell the ‘26.11.2008 – 29.11.2008’ proxy war on Mumbai, once again it was the worst attack ever. Masterminded by our “bhais” from across the border; probably they must be the bhais, who had lost their track. Bhais of an unsound mind. Blood thirsty Freaka-zoid Bhais. Just like our very own, Dawood Bhai. They (ten extremely well trained punks) took Mumbai by her balls and took her for a ride for three days. The damage done is listed above in the table. It also damaged careers of Shivraj Patil, Home Minister of India, and a selected member to the legislative council. Hurray! Mr. R.R Patil, Home minister of Maharashtra, a genuine leader, who paid price for his faux pas. Did I mention that Shivraj Patil has a wardrobe full of safari suits?

The Chief Minister of Maharashtra took his son and a film producer along with high level security strategists to examine the damages done to all the places under attack. His justification was more degrading than his political IQ, “a son can come along with his father”.
This happened on 01.12.2008 I guess.

I wondered the consequences of a news reporter son tagging along with his doctor father administering an enema to a V.I.P (very important politician) patient. Could it impale his (politician’s) career? Could such an act stimulate evacuation (from his seat)? Puns are not at all intended here.

I was watching and reading about the assault on Mumbai continuously. The part that irked me the most rather psyched me was a news reporter (a fool for a man) took position beside a sniper to show us the live feed of Hotel Taj. Why would someone want to give away position of a sniper now? Time to time, they also showed us from where and how the commandos were entering. The only thing they did not show was the “strategic plan” of the NSG to flush out the “fidayeen”. It would have tremendously helped us (Shock T.V), the terrorists, and their bosses who were telling them the exact details of the operation, as shown LIVE. A commendable job done by television news channels to delay the operation by a day minimum, and they woke up to their foolishness on 29.11.2008 and told their audiences that they can not show the operation part, lest, that might help the terrorists. Did they not see films like Munich and A Wednesday? Could they not understand the sensitivity of the operation? Or was it done, deliberately? To hell with Shock T.V.

I was in Ahmedabad when these things happened and I started for Mumbai on 30.11.2008. A cool new acoustic guitar was accompanying me. I was wearing cargos and sweat shirt. I was dressed for travel. A heavy rug sack was on my back (with a week’s clothes). And I could sense from the people’s looks in the bus what transpired in their minds. One uncleji even touched the guitar case to make sure that it was indeed a guitar. I asked, “Uncle fat rahi hai kya (slang for Are you scared)?” he just laughed and said, “Arre nahi beta, kya tum yeh bajate ho?” Me: “Hanji uncle, baja leta hoon thoda bahut.” Again, no puns intended.

Jokes apart, some people have their very own perspective of looking at things and most of the time, it revolves around food. One person sitting besides me (a foodie) was discussing about the macabre events. He told me, “Did you see that the terrorists were eating dry fruits?” “And people had to eat bullets.” “Indeed I saw it, I retorted “Do you eat with your foot in your mouth or would you like to eat your words?” I reached destination 01.12.2008. And my fiddle sounds better than Castro himself. It survived the onslaught that the journey put unto her.

Mumbai Proxy war was relayed world across; it was not just war on Mumbai but war on humanity. Pakistan is paranoid now assuming an attack by India. Or is it? The problem is lot of Pakistan military is near the afghan border (western side) helping America’s “War on Terror”. In frenzied attempt, Pak might move its army to its eastern side: Kashmir/India side. Surely U.S does not want that. Hence, Condoleeza Rice comes to pacify both the nations.

Surely War on Terror (Global) is bigger than War on Mumbai (local), and as usual, India might enter into Dialogues. We all know what the result of that is going to be. We have seen it countless number of times; right from the inception of terrorism since 1993 or inception of proxy war since Zia ul Haq’s time.

So what can we as citizens do? Well, the elections are 100 days away and sincerely enough is enough (a new phrase coined this time) for not just Aam Junta is killed this time but also ‘the privileged few’ the who’s who that matters are, as well. The repercussions would be the huge this time even though more people were killed during the train bombings and when the epitome of our democracy “the parliament’ was bombed.

Lets for once, as aam junta, show the Political class what we, the middle class can do to their chairs this time. For the Tata’s Taj Mahal hotel (heritage bldg) was hit this time.
Gulp down the Tata Tea and for once really “Jago Re”. Let’s vote this time for our survival and our right to exist freely. For liberty is not just America’s patent. Sadak Pani aur Bijli ke sath we want our LIVES.
Vande Mataram. Bharat Mata ki Jai.

27 November 2008

Advices.

Suggestions are like Condoms. When used, they are always satisfying, but, counterproductive.

18 September 2008

The Flashback - Shadows follow.



The night will be young and sea isn't roaring, its low tide. The tangerine skies invoke my instrospective self. What now transpires between a mortal and the nature is a secret that is ebbing away; only to flashback with the dark of the night and swelling sea, with the high tide. Three dimensions of a dying sun, rising moon and Sea. Choice is one thing I do not want to get involved with - I will go with the Tide, wait for the morning Sun and bask in the moon light. Let Time decide this time.

This is my first encounter with the three of a (different) kind.

17 September 2008

Human Afterall!

Yesterday, on Sunday, I saw altogether eight movies, 20-22 hours of varied emotions. Laughing, crying, empathizing and sometimes, self-loathing - I moved from one movie to another. I chose to live the lives of those fictional characters on silver screen rather than socializing and having a life of my own. This whole brain numbing experience taught me something. The black hole of a want of company or having a good time can never be filled with movies. This further got me to wondering the purpose of people collectively going to cinema houses to watch movies. I sincerely think now it goes way deeper than just having a good time together and buying over priced pop-corn, Samosas and water bottles.

I feel it’s about relating with the movie, connecting with the group of people, with friends, family and people in the theatre in general. As the movie proceeds and you move along the trip, you are bound to have collective emotions along with your friends / family. For E.g., take this new movie “Tashan.” As the movie neared its end, everybody in the theatre were using cuss words for the producers, directors, writers and anything and everything related to the movie. A thorough national integration of thought processes, resulting in a combined outburst of anger and rage cutting across age, caste, creed, sex and species. ‘Tashan’ indeed, the movie lived up to its name for sure. Since I had insisted upon watching this particular movie, my friends physically assaulted me in the interval.

The point is, irrespective of movies, combined non-communal wave of emotion sweeps over the audiences, for E.g. “National Anthem” before every movie; disgust, agony and abhorrence over parking and walking issues after it.

Diverting from the topic for a while, a movie has a power to transform people temporary or permanent depending upon the individual and how we relate to the movie and the characters in it in general. Once upon a time I thought I could relate with A.K Hangal Sahib of famed “Sholay”. All I kept saying in those days was “Itna Sannata Kyun hai” and then I found the telecast of “Sansani” of Star News, “Sannate Ko Chirti Sansani”. The transformation was swift and effective. A new age superhero of our Times! A crime fighting super Star (Pun intended)!

Many a times I have noticed people dressed like Sanju Baba from Vastaav yelling “Pachhas Tola”, beautiful girls dressed like and idolizing Madhuri Dixit, Urmila, and Katrina. Sadly very few cool punch lines are ever given to Female actors in Bollywood; their existence is restricted to a Patni, potential Patni or a Woh. But O the times they are a changing – with films like “Being Cyrus”, “Ek Hasina Thi” “Anjaam”, where women have successfully portrayed powerful characters, standing ovation deserving performances. I have seen Auntijies looking mean after watching a Lalita Powar Flick, Uncles looking meek after Parikshit Sahani and Alok Nath’s sympathetic performances. Trust me; I have seen people dressed as Ghosts after enjoying India’s M.Night Shyamalan – Ramu’s movies.

Reverting back, what exactly is it about cinema that cuts across caste, creed and sexes; makes us look up to the silver screen sitting in balconies and upper stalls for answers?

Or are we sitting there enjoying a piece of fiction to forget all the questions, which haunt us? I think it goes a bit deeper than the make-up, glitterati and Technicolor. A movie surely cuts across the entire social strata in the rawest form – of course some people like what they see and some people don’t. But as they say, aren’t such differences that make us Human?

Well, there are some things that we can not explain or answer and Cinema, in my opinion, has successfully achieved what Government could not in the last 62 years. Collective National Emotions on any given single subject – acknowledging differences at the same time.

Mera Bharat Mahan – Highly inflammable. Horn, OK Please – Use Dipper at Night.

11 September 2008

Garza What?

My dead culture - consumed by politick vulture
we the new face of the state; your bait for the day of valentine when I am with my date
Your ideologies are hypocrite plaza,
Garza Maharashtra Maza.


The hard working farmer is dying, malnourished children crying
Your non-performing career is thriving
Contractors governing, law-(un)making detractors
Vidhan Sabha -Ek Bazaar (Market)
Garza Maharashtra Maza - Hey Viknaar (They will Sell).


Malling consumers swiping to glory
begging paupers feeding on poverty
Screaming protester's untold story~conked equality
buy the people~for the people~crutched democracy~a cripple
We shed our electricity, food, dwelling, road, water
existence stifled.

Life is a tolled Bonanza

Garza Maharashtra Maza...


Om Keshavay Namah, Madhavay Namah, Govindaya Namaah!

Jai Hind Jai Maharashtra.

21 August 2008

Random Musings.

They say if you ca­n write on any subject without any emotions involved, then you have become a professional writer, right, but where is the fun in that? How do you differentiate then between writing and a desk job in some multinational? Writing should always stem from heart, never mind even if half the heart is filled with cholesterol. For me, each string of words are a weave of feelings, remember how our moms used to knit a sweater for us when we were kids. Imagine what moms must be thinking then. Well, I feel we think the same way while trying to thread a story, a poem, expressions of thoughts about someone, something or someplace in writing. Of course we can never achieve what moms can in their hearts for their kids; we can definitely reach, say up to 35 percent. Well, this year when my mom tried knitting for me, I had grown up to be an 80 kg brick of cheddar cheese, so she chucked the idea and knit for my nephews instead (one is 4 years old another one is 11 months and a third one is on its way). And, deep inside from a broken heart stemmed the brilliant idea of writing “how to get 8 pack abs within 16 weeks” (one set of pack every two weeks). I am just kidding here folks, except for all you Arnold wannabes who would love to read that story. Steel prices have sky-rocketed right now, so if you have weights at your place, you can make some good money out of it. I know, spoken like a true Indian eh?

But that is not the point. I wanted to share a story of how one guy meets a girl, falls in love, but, his father is against the idea and her father wants to marry her in their own sub-caste and how the girl does not even know that the guy loves her, and how the guy wishes that someday she will…ha-ha, Yes, you guessed it right. I love Hindi Cinema, which red blooded Indian wouldn’t? And that is precisely what I shall scribble about in the coming paragraphs. Let me discuss some queer and evil things that have taken over our beloved mush churning industry.

The viral crossover fever: Now let me scrape some of that dead gray matter off the brains of my dearest fellow aliens who think that crossover meant making movies in alignment with the West. Our intelligent, yet uncreative producers and directors have re-defined crossover as taking an already hit English movie and making a replica of the same in Hindi using Desi actors and raking in the Moolah. Brilliant, ain’t it? You not only reduce chances of creating a dud film, but also save on writers and scripts. The recent movies are all a proof of that “Kismet Connection” = “Just my Luck.” “God Tussi Great Ho” = “Bruce Almighty.” “Singh is King = partially inspired from1989 Jackie Chan film “Miracles.” Most of Farah Khan films = …Naaahhhiiii. Farah Khan films are pure unadulterated, Grade A - 100%, sometimes original bullshit. Neither are they accurately inspired (How does one make mistakes in copying man) nor do they entertain and even she knows that they can only instigate humans in a negative way. Karan Johar and party are an exception. Ten minutes into the film and you start cursing, biting and thrashing the seat cushions; I did an experiment once; in one of her films, I kept the popcorn untouched and by interval, they had turned themselves into kernels again. That dear readers, is a skill, yet unheard of. Laudable indeed! Intermission forever please!

Allegedly Contemporary Leech: This sub genre of films is rather new and like bird flu is infecting the industry. Some good definitely comes out of experimenting. Like; Being Cyrus. Ugly aur Pagli. Waisa Bhi Hota Hai Part II, sorry, there is no et cetera here. But the problem starts when our actors of yore adorn the director’s hat to make films (read Amol Palekar). Diplomatically made movies on socio political issues is called government appeasement Mr. Palekar and not contemporary. He has pioneered that. This phenomenon crept into commercial cinema as well and spread across to Hollywood. Out came Matrix. I love the series by the way. But please, mixing “nuances of Geeta with science fiction”? Awesome script gone too logical, probably. There are few self proclaimed Raghu Bhais, right (Sanjay Dutt in epic film “Vaastav”), well our hostel had Morpheus. One night after way too much Rum, that’s where ALL THE RUM GOES, Mr. Depp, in our Hostel; our discussion steered towards matrices, the Morpheus was talking in plural and parallel Matrix. Whoa! “How do you know you exist, Neo?” His question was aimed at my roommate, the alleged anomaly in the system and anagram of ONE. A tight slap on Morpheus’s face and an owning answer followed. “I don’t, but now, you do.” “The slap isn’t real Morpheus, but the pain is.” I stealthily slipped the weird goggles in my drawers, err, desk drawer.
My point here is that contemporary cinema can sometimes have adverse effects on young and reckless minds. Consider thousands of Neels and Nikkis roaming around in our beloved country, Blasphemous. Such movies should only be screened to viewers under heavy sedation. It eases the agony and renders the movie harmless. Whatever happened to Evil Fathers, Penniless Heroes, beautiful heroines, her helpless parents and desperate villains all singing, dancing and fighting in permutation combinations? God, please bring the golden days back.

Hazards of Heredity: This is my favorite subject of discussion. “Papa kehtein hain Beta Naam karega” is to be interpreted as “Papa kehtein hain Beta MERA Naam Bada Karega.” And nothing wrong in it. This applies to Betis as well; I don’t want to be termed sexist my Mother’s Bhishi group (chit fund friends) or my sister’s kitty party group. Doctor’s Son becomes a doctor, Engineer’s son becomes an engineer, Politician’s son becomes a criminal and Actor’s son becomes an Actor (again, applies to daughters as well). And the kids pioneer in that. Then how do we explain ghastly recurring phenomenon, yet undiscovered by Mr. M Night Shyamalan, of Uday Chopra and Tushar Kapoor? I guess they are the real NEOs. At the end of the film they should die to save mankind from mental destruction and Producers (In their cases, always family) from being sued for punitive damages. Due to such phenomenon, rightful and brilliant actors are robbed off their success. Parents are accused of nepotism. But sometimes parents are wrong as well, it seems. Now why in the hell would a flop making machine Mr. Harry Baweja introduce his own son, Mr. Herman; now that is a funny name, seems like female version of He-Man – in a movie named Love Story 2050 and ask him to imitate Hritik Roshan. Isn’t he worried about his kid’s future at all? You need to be inspired by Mr. Steven Spielberg to re-create ‘Jadu’ for your kid man. Think ‘Hatke’. Make a movie like “Hind Mahasagar key Samudri Looterey” or “Khushi ka Peecha” (pursuit of Happiness) and make a bright future for your Kid; Sky is the limit then. Did I hear someone say Superman (Unke Woh – Aadmi Zabardast)? Her man Super Man, he he. But Dad, you are the greatest. Emotions overwhelm me and reruns of Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gum aur Kabhi Rum follow. Since Baghban is against the very fabric that is Indian Culture, I hate it. My Aunt does too, she feels her only son might do something like Baghban and put her name to shame. Thanks to K series such illogical, paranoid-al emotions reign supreme in all households these days. Jane Kahan Gaye woh Din!

Well, I hope you are enlightened enough to the recent evils that have conjured up in our beloved world of glamour and Cinema. I further wanted to discuss issues like “Mahesh Bhatt”, but there are somethings beyond reforms, for such things, there is always Shiv Sena. So beware fellow brethren, of Danish cheese (it stinks and is foul) that the film industry might serve you. Horse anesthetics are not easy to get now and you might have to suffer for a while before you can come back to senses, its better to take the BLUE PILL because in India, you never know, the RED PILL might be a counterfeit.

Disclaimer: - Although “Satya Ghatanao pey adharit”, these musing have no intention of defaming anyone’s name or character. These are my opinions and they can be disagreed with. After all, when I will be rich and famous, of course not as ugly and stupid as Mr. Salman Rushdie (how did he score with a chick like Padma Laxmi, and how stupid of him to let her go) or brain hemorrhaged like Arundhati Roy, people might criticize me as well. Feel free to do so; you may start by scribbling in the comments section.
Please note that words like “Bombs”, “Jihad”, “Fuck you”, “Kafir” are closely monitored by BlogSpot, hence, kindly refrain from using them.

21 July 2008

The Trip.

The day of departure finally arrived. 31st May 2008. I was ready, my bags were packed. The flight was at 0745 hrs and Airliners expected me to check in 3 hours prior, what a waste of sleep time! So there I was awake at midnight talking on the phone, saying my final goodbyes and take cares to my friends and family. No, I was not going to Afghanistan in search of Bin Laden. But, I exactly knew about the calling rates from U.A.E to India and if you are one of those people, like me, who truly believe in mindlessly expressing themselves @ 30 paisa per minute in India, death due to non-corrigible, non-understandable Arabic telephone bill is imminent. F.Y.I, Orkut is banned in U.A.E as well, Goodbye friend’s network; it simply cannot follow. They have a bank there though, which is Simbbly better. It successfully phattens its profits by tapping the Ex-pat Maliyali population (God’s Own people).

The excitement of moving to a far away land did not allow sleep to come. So, after doing loads of time pass and last minute packing of “Maa ke hath ke bane hue Theple aur Aam ka Achar” (Hey, I am a Gujarati at heart, so buzz off), I got dressed in my favorite blue jeans; and the zipper broke off. What a bad omen! Fly with my fly open, no fucking way. It was like Pilot keeping the cock-pit door ajar, allowing passengers a view of the joy-stick. It is considered an abominable security breach. Strange was the time and vast was my plight. 0200 hrs in the morning it was impossible to find a tailor and unwillingly I changed into not so cool attire. My ride for the airport was waiting and I said a long bye to my family. Billo had started to bark in a queer manner, probably she knew her ‘Whoof, Whoof’ (she lovingly calls me that) was going away. I snuggled her for one last time, sat in the car and off we went towards the airport, first phase of an excitingly saddening and lonesome journey I had so willingly embarked upon…

Airport, especially ours’ (India’s), is a fascinating place to get bored and window shop overly priced eatables, mineral water bottles and useless duty free artifacts. I was checking out hot chicks, a rare occurrence, as I waited to check-in, nearly for an hour. Finally the moment arrived. Whilst my hand bag weighed a bit more than permissible limits, owing to laptop and a few books; the girl at the counter cracked pathetic jokes about me stowing away mangoes. I retorted, “As one stows, so shall one keep.” I knew it was an extremely lame comeback, but heck, I was too world-weary to notice my dwindling humor quotient.

The immigration thing went quite smoothly. My passport was stamped. Since the alleged non existent mangos cost less than what customs required declaring, I could easily pass through this passage, which was scarier than Star News and their infamous program “Sannnate ko chirti Sansani;” known only as the “Green Channel.” From there everything was going to be easier, so I had heard. The only part remaining was security checks.

The security lounge was huge and strewn with recliners for people to laze around. The wait seemed endless, amplified by the last night’s sleep deprivation. The recliners made matters worse. I was worried I might sleep through this entire cumbersome procedure and find myself on Mumbai Airport wondering, “Main Kahan Hoon.” But nothing of such sort happened and I cleared the security checks and within half an hour of waiting I was aboard!

The Plane took off, with it, my mind did as well. I thought about her, the girl I loved so tenaciously. I lucidly remembered how everyday she used to walk from the same corridor. Her colorful dresses always lit up our office. She walked wearing a smile on her face, greeting everybody, up to her seat. I eagerly waited for this particular moment every day. Never had I seen such mystical eyes. The world went in slow motion around me when she used to be around. Her Flowing hair created ripples in my heart. Her one smile had capabilities of melting million hearts. It was indeed a million dollar smile. God knew I was going to miss her. I could barely keep my eyes open as I remembered the times that were. Unknowingly indeed, I had flown to what my real destination should have been.

The air hostess was yapping about oxygen masks and seatbelts which I could faintly hear. I knew I would wake up in a different land and a time zone one and a half hour behind India. I was confused whether my good time lay ahead or I left it behind. I had compromised it for a ‘Tax Free Dream’. And, I slept.

04 May 2008

My Life: Document1 – Microsoft Word.

What to write in a blank word document, when your mind is empty of words and devoid of thoughts. When we want to express ourselves, but our basic vocabulary betrays us, deprives us from speaking our true feelings. What then transpires between whom you love and she does not is – Zero. Indeed. Such a sullen state of mind we delve into that only a black hole could understand. What does the mind yearn for then? Clichéd words of comfort, ‘Life moves on’? Fuck no.

What we want is (we as in me and My Precious – heart) to calm ourselves with a sunset near the backwaters of Kharghar, only this time, unlike always - the waters don’t comfort, instead, as the waves crash on the shoreline with mild intensity; tears well my eyes. As the darkness ushers in, silence starts to weave a melancholic tune, the crashing waves completes the background score. A symphony of heartache, Nature creates. But then it rains, out of the blue, the fragrance of freshly watered mother earth soothes me, “Son, nobody is ever alone, up there, he understands, he cries with you too.” “No need to wait till dawn, an eternal rainbow, now, shines in your eyes and heart.” “Mother,” I said, “Only you could have conveyed in such a manner – Life, indeed, moves on!”

29 April 2008

Revving into Madness

Fridays are usually utilized, in office, planning the weekend parties. However, life is not so hunky dory on other weekdays, wherein, we have to put in some productive time for the company, daily. Now productivity is an obstacle as huge as the late Anna Nicole Smith’s – Life; for guys and girls, who have to commute up to 15/20 kms (one way) daily, on their bikes / in their cars in a city like Pune.

To ride/drive in Pune is not only exhausting, but is a kind of torture that not even the fascist inventors of concentration camps or the communist inventors of labor camps could have imagined.

They say, ‘Man usually tries to find order in chaos,’ we try to make way in it. And God bless the traffic wardens of our city. I used to actually buy cigarettes but now I get ample amounts of carbon monoxide free for inhaling and enjoying the bliss of smoking 20 cigarettes a day in just an hour’s time. The best part is that you don’t even have to blow the smoke out. Everything including the toxic gases exhausted is completely inhaled, totally corroding the respiratory system up, Government’s innovative way of keeping pollution under control.

Daily, I start an hour beforehand for office. 30 minutes to ideally reach the office and 30 minutes for traffic signals, bickering with other commuters, negotiating with police wardens (if your number plates are of outside Maharashtra, you have had it!) and teaching the rickshaw wallahs a thing or two about road discipline.

If you want to survive on Pune streets, you have to learn a thing or two about how the traffic and the people, who create it, function. The first lesson is to apply Newton’s third law of motion, ‘every action has an equal and opposite reaction.’ Two types of gesticulations are salient features of each and every minor accident (when people bang each other near traffic signals at speed of 5KM/HR, or at crossings and circles etc). The outward palm, meekly mouth, wide grinned ‘SORRY’ and the inward palm, snarling faced ‘WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING’ gestures.

If you are at fault, do the ‘Sorry’ gesture because the other party has already shown you the latter, ‘the cultured middle finger action’ and vice a versa.

Now the positive part about riding in Pune is that there is no dearth of beautiful girls riding around wearing multicolored terrorist masks. While going to office, you have no scope of seeing who the chick is, in the morning (they wear glares too). But while coming back, you can fall in love at first sight for ample number of times. So many eye-tems to choose from, hee hee!

Extreme concentration and caution is necessary while driving though. Some times the signals are hidden and if you mistakenly jump them, quite possibly the traffic warden is hidden somewhere. In such a scenario you quickly have to hide your wallet and use the ‘Sorry’ gesture again. However, if you are from the city itself and have been riding for couple of years then no need to worry, most of Pune population considers signals are randomly flickering assortment of lights, which would have served a better purpose in discos and pubs than on streets. Jumping signals, like freedom, is their birth right. No disrespect meant to the great freedom fighter here.

You also need to be an expert in urgent or emergency braking, including optimum use of hand brakes (for cars only). There are adventure freaks and adrenaline junkies in abundance in Pune who would gesture you the stop sign, in the middle of the road, as they jay walk. However I sympathize with the jay walkers, as almost 40 % of the vehicles stop at the signals, past the Zebra crossings. The rest 60% are busy jumping the signals and the jay walkers. Such is their (jay walker’s) dilemma and skill that they could give tough competition to the suicide-ing Vidharbha cotton farmers and Russian trapeze artists. After it’s a life and debt, err, death situation.

Now if you can’t handle all this, think twice before relocating to Pune. But if you can drive with such haste and hurry as if you have been suffering from irritable bowel syndrome, Welcome to Pune, no place like it on Earth. BTW, I loved every day of my stay in the city, that’s 4 years altogether. And I am not trying to be diplomatic. Just being Pune-kar.

Chori karna paap hai!

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Indian Citizen Ranting by Varun Gawarikar is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.5 India License.